#don't you hate it when you suddenly get back to reality and the first thing you hear is

[my-mind-is-afk-rn]

Why the fuck am i listening to lemon demon at 2am??

[crookedteethed]

18+ -mdni

ᥫ᭡. he'll come back, rafe always does.

warnings smut, infidelity, anal, angst, a-to-v (don't do this, unless you want a vag infection)

"Does your wife ever let you fuck her in the ass?" you'd asked Rafe. 

"Shut up." Rafe had told you, stern face, steady body, and his hand slowly sticking his cock into your ass.

"Fuckkk." You melted as you felt his thick tip entering inside of you; inch by inch, you felt Rafe fill you up to the core. 

And when Rafe finally bottomed out inside you--his pelvis touching your asscheeks, he stayed in that position for a peculiarly long time before slowly dragging himself out of you, then pile-driving himself back into your ass--this time with much more force. 

Your ass hadn't even fully adjusted to his length before Rafe relentlessly pumped himself in you.

All you could do was cling onto the pillow that hosted you up, and drool, while Rafe wrecked you.

Fuck, did you miss this: after a long day of work, opening your phone and seeing a "can I see you?" text from Rafe.

You and Rafe hadn't been seeing each other as much ever since he wanted to "make things right with his family." Which meant he had to stop seeing you.

You hated anal, and you hated being Rafe's second pick, but if that's what all it took to be with him, then so be it.

"You were the first guy I let fuck me in my ass." you told Rafe once you adjusted to his length, the feeling starting to feel bittersweet.

Rafe said nothing, his eyes glued to your heart-shaped butt, his cock rutting into you on a mission.

"Does that mean nothing to you?" You asked him. "You were the first guy I'd done anal with, and what do I get? 'my wife, my wife, my wife.' You mocked, laughing.

Suddenly, you heard a low growl from Rafe, and then he stopped fucking you.

"Fuck this, Y/n." he said, pulling himself out of you. "This was a bad idea--"

"No." you pleaded. "Please don't stop fucking me." you looked at Rafe with puppy dog eyes--which never failed to fail with Rafe.

Rafe hesitated, his eyes conflicted as he looked at you. For a moment, you thought he might leave, but then he growled and roughly flipped you onto your back, and lined himself with your cunt.

"You want me to fuck you? Fine. But don't expect this to mean anything," he snarled, thrusting back into you forcefully.

You gasped at the sudden fullness, wrapping your legs around his waist. "I don't care what it means," you lied, clinging to him desperately. "Just don't stop."

Rafe set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours. You could see the struggle in his eyes - desire warring with guilt. But his body betrayed him, chasing pleasure relentlessly.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned. "Why do you do this to me?"

You didn't answer, too lost in the feeling of Rafe's deep penetration in your tight hole--gushing from Rafe's every thrust.

Rafe's fingers dug into your hips, surely leaving bruises. You arched your back, taking him even deeper. A strangled moan escaped your lips.

"That's it," Rafe panted. "Take all of me."

His thrusts grew erratic, his control slipping. You could feel him throbbing inside you, so close to the edge.

"I can't… I shouldn't…" Rafe's words were strained--which you didn't think was meant for your ears to hear. 

You clenched around him deliberately, drawing a sharp gasp from his lips. His resolve crumbled.

"Y/n!" Rafe cried out as he came undone, spilling himself inside you.

You followed moments later, waves of pleasure washing over you. As you both came down from your high, reality began to set in. Rafe pulled away, unable to meet your eyes.

"This can't happen again, y/n, I'm serious." Rafe said, quickly putting on his dress shirt and slacks.

You sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around yourself. "Rafe, wait," you pleaded softly. "We need to talk about this--you can't keep getting my hopes up."

He paused, his back to you as he buttoned his shirt with trembling fingers. "There's nothing to talk about. This was a mistake - one we can't repeat."

"And yet, you still do." you whispered.

Your soft, mournful words hung in the air like a heavy fog, lingering long after Rafe had left your apartment and was on his way home to see his beloved wife. The sound of his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

a/n: I have a funny story about this fic. I wrote it back in August, and it's been sitting in my drafts until now. Haha, isn't that funny? 😐

[hwaslayer]

vivrant thing (jwy) | four.

—SPOTIFY PLAYLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST

—SUMMARY: after getting into a little accident, wooyoung decides to do his sister a favor by pretending to be your date at the company summer party. as soon as the night ends, wooyoung would go back to his usual routine of hanging out with his boys, keeping his distance from committed relationships and being a typical brother to jiwoo. except, the favor comes with more than what wooyoung expects and he finds you occupying his mind more than usual. 

—PAIRING: jung wooyoung x f. reader

—GENRE: (18+ - minors dni) bestfriend’s brother au | fluff, angst, smut

—WORD COUNT: 6.2k

—CHAPTER CONTENT / WARNINGS: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, angst angst angst, accusations are being thrown, jiwoo is mean, wooyoung is angry, hongjoong tryna play peacemaker, oc is sad, crying, its kinda a mess??, some insecurities coming to surface, mentions of past relationships and wooyoung's fuckboy history

One thing you also don't expect at Jiwoo's family lunch is how incredibly tense and awkward you and Wooyoung are. Maybe you need to wake up a little more and sit with your reality, but you surely hate the feeling it brings. It's almost obvious how you both freeze at the sight of each other, the both of you trying your hardest to keep it together but avoid eye contact.

Wooyoung's first mistake was keeping you [somewhat] at a distance after the party. Truthfully, he was scared as he sorted through his thoughts— not really sure how to make sense of any of it. Even though, he knew deep down that he did have newfound feelings for you and it wasn't something he could ignore. It wasn't like anything he's felt before, and he knew it'd only grow despite him trying to push it aside to buy him more time.

Wooyoung's second mistake was leaving you that morning without saying much afterwards. Leaving you and him in limbo. Though, this was the one core moment when he could honestly and truthfully say his feelings grew for you. He was locked in, and there was no going back. He should've told you right then and there instead of making you feel like one of them.

One of his hookups, his tap-n-dash's, his toot-it-n-boot-it's. 

You were not that. He meant every word he said to you that night, and he should've fucking told you. Now, he's stuck with not knowing how to do it after some time has passed.

—FLASHBACK

Wooyoung's eyes flutter open to the sun beaming into your studio, causing him to squint and shift a bit in his position. He tries not move too much when he realizes your back is pressed against him, and he's got an arm around you. Luckily, the movements don't wake you and Wooyoung can't help but smile to himself at how tired you seem to be. He snuggles against you for a few more minutes, giving you tiny kisses on your shoulder, the back of your head. His hand gives your side a soft squeeze, and he finds that this is how he'd like to wake up every morning.

With you, in particular.

But as equally as the thought is exciting, it is also frightening. Because every moment seems to make this more and more real and he's not sure how to act. So, he freezes. Those 'few more minutes' are suddenly over, and he's slipping himself out of your bed gently. He needs time to figure out what to say and how to say it without sounding like an idiot. He slips into his clothes and finds a stack of post-its nearby, scribbling a quick note to leave on your nighstand to at least let you know he's thinking about you. He is, he truly is. He doesn't wanna rip himself off you, but he has to cause he needs time—

morning cute stuff! text me when you wake up. had to run off cause im shy and don't want you to see my morning face lol jk need to meet up with san for a workout. talk to you later! hope you slept well :)

Which, isn't entirely a lie. He does need to meet San for a workout, it's just hours later.

He darts out anyway, giving your door one last look before he heads to his car and begins his journey home. When you wake about 15 minutes after he leaves, your heart drops when you realize Wooyoung isn't behind you anymore. You were giving him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he might be locked away in the bathroom.

But, nothing.

His clothes are gone.

Wooyoung is gone.

And although the note leaves a small smile on your face, you can't ignore the way your chest tightens knowing he left in somewhat of a hurry; at least, before you could wake up. Was it because this was always how Wooyoung was? Did he really mean everything he said last night?

Or were you just like them?

The thoughts don't make it any easier on you, and you've swallowed the lump in your throat in an attempt to push the tears back. You can't help but feel hurt despite knowing how Wooyoung was. You weren't any different, and you shouldn't have relied on that. You shouldn't have gotten so comfortable, you shouldn't have opened up to him the way you did.

You were a favor to Wooyoung, nothing more, nothing less.

jiwoo: goodmorning to my baby!!!

jiwoo: sorry i didnt text you last night after dinner, we can catch up later!

jiwoo: come with me to my family lunch tomorrow? we can have a girls day after since i feel like its been so long

jiwoo: we can get our nails done and go shopping then just cry over our favorite movies!!

Then, the reality hits you even more. You're gonna have to tell Jiwoo what happened because even if you try to hide it, you're terrible at lying and Jiwoo will catch on eventually. She'll know something has changed, she'll know something has hurt you.

And you're not ready to tell her it's her own brother.

you: okay 😌 i'm down for lunch and a girls day tomorrow. i need it.

jiwoo: okay, yay! 💕 me too!! i'll pick you up around 11:30 tomorrow.

you: sounds good.

—END

"The most important people have arrived! Sorry to worry you guys. It was kinda traffic." Jiwoo says, greeting her family and San.

"No one asked." Wooyoung glares at her before making a face while she hugs him tightly. "Get off." He whines when she doesn't pry her arms around her brother right away, making her giggle mischievously. When she finally lets go and moves onto San, Wooyoung shifts his attention to you.

"Hey Y/N." He says with a pursed smile, bringing you in for a one-armed hug that feels forced and too stiff.

"Hi." You softly respond, avoiding all eye contact. It sucks, it sucks, it sucks. You didn't end up texting him that morning. As much as you wanted to, you didn't wanna look sad and desperate even though you longed for Wooyoung's company. You spent time with your grandpa to get your mind off of it, but it was difficult. He didn't take the chance to text you either, so that told you more than you needed to know.

Sometimes silence can be the most deafening.

You scurry along to say hello to San before greeting their parents, back to hiding behind Jiwoo as you all wait to be seated.

"Where's Hongjoong?"

"Not here because it's a girls day after this." Jiwoo links her arm with yours as she follows her parents into the restaurant when they're called, Wooyoung and San following behind.

"Girls day? What are you ladies doing afterwards?" Their father asks as all of you settle at a round table. You fall in between Wooyoung and Jiwoo, of course, and you almost wanna tell his sister to switch just for your own sake.

But, you don't. You suck it up. 

You sit. He sits.

It's quiet.

Wooyoung grabs chopsticks from the center container and passes them out to his parents, San, then you and Jiwoo. He doesn't really say anything else, he can't really look at you just like you can't with him.

And all of this is so awkward for no reason.

Well, there are reasons, but it doesn't have to be this way and Wooyoung is constantly calling himself dumb for creating this divide, this distance. For making you feel this way. All he wants to do is hug you, kiss you a few times, hold your hand. Be all cute with you.

He's an idiot.

"Gonna get our nails done and go shop."

"I'm surprised Yeosang didn't come." Wooyoung pauses as he's skimming through the dim sum menu, hoping you don't catch the way his jaw slightly clenches. How he almost rolls his eyes at the sound of his name. He doesn't have a reason to dislike Yeosang at all, but he finds himself getting irked knowing that Yeosang has feelings for you. He shouldn't, though. He can't claim you like that, especially if he's being dumb and not knowing how to be upfront about his feelings properly.

"Oh, no. That probably won't happen for awhile." Jiwoo says.

"Aw, why not? Is he just busy nowadays?"

"Busy sulking." Jiwoo mutters playfully. "Didn't snag the girl of his dreams." She teases you and you roll your eyes.

"Stop that."

"He'll live." Wooyoung adds nonchalantly while him and San check off items on the list, and Jiwoo doesn't even bat an eye at the comment.

"What happened?" San whispers to Wooyoung and he furrows his brows at him. "Did Yeosang ask Y/N out or something?" But before Wooyoung can respond, his mom cuts in with the same question—

"Aw, no! Did he ask you out?" At this point, the waitress brings water and a kettle full of hot barley tea.

"Yeah, but we just decided to stay friends." You look at her so innocently Wooyoung can't fucking take it. Jesus Christ. Kinda reminds him of the other night.

"We, more like you." Jiwoo teases and you glare at her.

"Well, she was honest and I'm sure he appreciated it." Their father chimes in. "You don't ever wanna force anything, that's the number one rule." 

"If he truly values you and respects you as one of his good friends, he'll understand and won't treat you differently from before." Their mom adds. 

"That'll be awkward for them." San says lowly to Wooyoung just as he hands the checklist off to the waitress in passing.

"He's a grown ass man, he'll get over it. You win some, you lose some." San furrows his brows at Wooyoung's reaction. He truly can't help but notice that his bestfriend has been on edge ever since you and Jiwoo came. He's not sure he's ever seen Wooyoung so awkward and.. weird. And he knows you're pretty shy, but you're also acting very weird and.. avoidant?

"I guess so." Is all San says.

"Is there someone else?" Wooyoung almost chokes on his water. The heat instantly rises to your cheeks and you feel somewhat suffocated from the question alone. "Jesus, Wooyoung. I told you to drink slowly." Their mom adds. 

"Mother chismosa. All up in her business." Jiwoo laughs at Wooyoung's response.

"I'm just wondering! She's like my baby, too." She furrows her brows at her son before returning to you with a smile on her face. 

"Oh, um. No. There's no one else." You pause, missing the way Wooyoung is looking at you through his peripherals. "Just thought we're better off that way."

"I see. Well, you know Y/N, the right person will come in time. Don't rush it."

"Sometimes, I wish Wooyoung could find a nice girl like you." His dad chimes in. "He is a pain in the ass, though."

"I'm sorry, I'm confused. Did we gather around over some dim sum just to get on my ass? Did I miss the agenda?" Jiwoo and San snicker.

"Stop it, you're making him embarrassed." Their mom shifts her attention back to you. "Y/N, anyway. How's Papa been?" Jiwoo pours you more tea to drink.

"He's been okay. I spent the day with him yesterday. He hasn't been feeling the greatest, though."

"Oh? Is he sick?" You shrug.

"He seemed to be fine yesterday. He just says he's more tired lately, been feeling this on-and-off dull pain in his lower back. I told him we should go to the hospital, but he doesn't think it's a big deal. He thinks he just needs to keep exercising and stretching properly."

"I see. Otherwise he's been okay?"

"Mhm." You give their parents a small, toothless smile, tugging your turtleneck sweater up when you feel everyone's eyes on you for a second. "He's the same." Underneath the material are the little marks Wooyoung left, and they've barely started to fade away.

"That's good to hear. Please bring him by soon, we'd love to see him again." You nod.

"Girl, aren't you hot wearing that turtleneck?" Jiwoo tugs on the material and you kinda shimmy away from her grip.

"No, I'm okay."

"Is it just me then? Am I getting hot flashes already?" Her mom clicks her teeth and tells her to stop being so dramatic. At this point, the food is rolled in and placed on the table like a game of tetris. Everyone automatically digs in, passing food along until everyone's satisfied with their first serving. Usually by now, Wooyoung has at least teased you one way or another, cracked a joke or poked fun at you. That's how he typically is with you. Today, you're seeing a very different side of him, and you're not sure what you did wrong.

When you finish your food, you try to reach over for another piece of dimsum but it's a little further out than expected. Suddenly, Wooyoung grabs a few pieces and places it on your plate— still not making any eye contact with you.

He's so confusing.

You're not sure if you want it to be like this.

You quickly decide that you don't. You don't want to be this way with someone, you don't want someone to ever be unsure of you. You don't want someone to make you feel the slightest bit of doubt. Which, is crazy to think about. Because Yeosang could've been that person, but you were too busy wanting Wooyoung. You were too busy having feelings for Wooyoung, and even though you still feel guilty about the whole thing with Yeo, there was no way you could've forced yourself to feel a certain way.

Wishful thinking, perhaps?

At least, now you know, and you'll never allow yourself to do that shit ever again.

You continue to eat and engage in small conversation with Jiwoo and her parents, Wooyoung and San mostly in their own world together off to the side. He was seemed to be fine with San, and you don't know if you made it worse for you. You tried to push it to the back of your head, trying to tell yourself that you shouldn't feel this way. That you didn't need to be so hung up over Wooyoung. That you didn't do anything wrong.

Still hurts, though. You wonder if he'll ever talk to you again or bring it up.

When lunch is over, their parents pay for the bill and leave a hefty tip, passing out the little candies that were brought over with the receipt. Jiwoo quickly shuffles you away, thanking her parents for lunch before taking you down the street to a popular nail shop for your appointments. 

The nail shop is as busy as it gets on a Sunday, but you don't wait long before you and Jiwoo are seated at the spa chairs for the pedicures. Jiwoo starts to tell you about how her and Hongjoong are going on a last minute trip to Japan and that you were welcome to come along if you wanted. You've gone on little trips with Jiwoo and Hongjoong before, and they've never made you feel like a third wheel. But, you wonder when you'd get to go on trips with your own special someone, your person.

Would this change things in the future? When Jiwoo and her family invite you on their trips?

Would this change everything?

It makes you feel like you really should've thought about your decisions before letting things escalate that night. Everything feels like a hard ass lesson, and you hate it. Everything is reminding you of your recklessness, of how you relied so much on the way Wooyoung treated you at the party. You can't say you regret it though, but it's starting to feel like a mistake.

When you politely decline and tell her to have fun with her boyfriend, another tech comes to work on your hands, beginning your gel manicure while the other tech continues with your pedicure.

"Has Yeosang texted you?" You shake your head.

"No." You sigh. "We probably won't be the same for a bit. He did say he needed time."

"I'm sorry." Jiwoo looks at you with a small pout. "He'll be okay, though. I know he cares about you regardless."

"And I care about him, too. I just want us to be okay."

"Are you sure you don't wanna come with us? Leave this place for a few days. Work won't care if we're both off last minute, we have enough team members to cover." You chuckle.

"I'm good. Promise."

"What do you wanna do after? Should we shop, then pick up some takeout so we can watch our movies?"

"Sure. I do need to buy some new clothes. I haven't spoiled myself in a bit." She gasps dramatically.

"Same."

"You went shopping when we bought our dresses."

"And that was awhile ago." She shrugs. "I'm on the lookout for this thick zip-up jacket. My brother has one and I keep taking it from him. He keeps getting mad." You don't respond. "I hate to say it, but Wooyoung has taste. Sometimes."

"Hm." You hum.

"Did you notice Wooyoung being all quiet today? It's not like him."

"I guess so."

"Well, he was quieter than usual. It's so unlike him."

"Why don't you ask?"

"Because my brother won't say a thing. I could tell him all my problems, but he won't tell me most of his. You know this. I dunno if it's some kinda façade or front to maintain this strong, older brother image. I know things bother him, but I also know a lot of things don't. It's difficult to read him." Ain't that so, you think. He is terribly hard to read.

"Do you think it's over a girl?" You awkwardly ask, looking to see what her reaction is.

"Wooyoung sulking over a girl? I doubt it. I haven't seen him do that since him and his exes broke up, and that was years ago. I'm convinced stuff like this isn't worth it to Wooyoung anymore. I haven't seen him be different around anyone."

"Oh." 

"Yeah, well. Whatever. I'm sure he'll get over it."

"Yeah, I think so." You respond softly, which Jiwoo kinda catches on. She sees how quiet you've gotten and how you've managed to hide back in your shell— you probably tried not to make it so obvious, but as your bestfriend, it's easy to pick up on your switches, too.

It is a little odd, but she won't bother. She just wants to have a good girls day with you.

After the nail appointment, the both of you make your way down to the biggest mall in town to shop, especially for her trip. You find a few new outfits, one you can't wait to wear out and flaunt. Wooyoung briefly comes to mind, but you shake it off and correct yourself— because no, you're excited to wear and flaunt the new outfits for yourself. 

No one else.

You were genuinely happy for the first time today. You felt good about yourself.

Until tonight comes, and all of that goes out the window rather quickly.

When you get back to Jiwoo's apartment, the both of you are pretty exhausted from the long day being out and about. It's a little past 6pm when you drag yourselves in. You take a quick shower and wind down for the evening, changing into comfier clothes that you've packed in case you wanted to spend the night at Jiwoo's. You lay out the food on the living room coffee table while Jiwoo takes her shower. You've already decided on a lineup of movies tonight: Brown Sugar, The Wood, Love and Basketball. As you wait for Jiwoo to be finished, you scroll through your phone to see if there's been any new updates, new texts.

Nothing.

Though, you've noticed Wooyoung has posted on his Instagram story. You're not usually one to peep, but you are curious; you can't help yourself. For the most part, they're just random photos of the city, San. There are two photos that do catch your eye and you're not sure if Wooyoung meant to post this for a particular reason or just cause. The first photo that catches your eye is an old vintage poster of Spirited Away. It's alongside other vintage Studio Ghibli posters, but he posted this one in particular. The second photo is of the view. You remember that Wooyoung goes there to clear his mind. You wonder if San tagged along.

"What a day!" Jiwoo comes out of the bathroom, hair still damp. She rushes over and plops next to you on the floor in front of the coffee table and TV, sending Hongjoong a quick text. "Ready, babe?"

"Mhm." You nod, the both of you popping your lids to your bowls open as the movie begins. "Thank you for today."

"Of course, are you kidding?! I love a good girls day with my bestfriend." She smiles at you, digging into her food. You swallow the lump in your throat when the truth settles in the pit of your stomach, almost making you lose your appetite completely. She gives your arm a good squeeze. She's so happy— you can't believe you're gonna be the reason why all of that changes. You needed to be honest with her, if not yourself. 

Because what happened, happened. There was no going back to change it.

You give it a good hour or so, making sure the both of you have finished your food and are satisfied while you sit in your thoughts and determine it's probably a good time to talk to Jiwoo about everything. The night has settled, the climax of the movie has passed. You don't wanna wait too long, and you feel like you shouldn't; somehow hoping it'll lessen the damage, lessen the blow.

"Jiwoo." You poke her arm softly.

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk?"

"Sure, of course." She looks at you with concern, pausing the movie. "What's up, babe?"

"You know the other night, when I had dinner with Yeosang?"

"Mhm."

"There were other things I didn't get around to telling you."

"Did something else happen with him?" You look at her and you already feel the impending breakdown ready to take over in about 0.5 seconds.

"N-no. Not Yeosang." You physically shrink as you try to gain the courage to continue on.

"Huh?" Silence. "What is it, Y/N? What're you hiding from me?"

"I-I—" You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "Your brother. I meant to text you while I was drinking at the convenience store, but I accidentally texted your brother. He ended up swinging by and he walked me back home. A-and—" You pause, tears now slowly streaming down your cheeks and they seem to keep coming even with you constantly wiping them away.

"And, what?" Quite frankly, she knows where this is going. Jiwoo just doesn't wanna believe it. But, she has no choice when you hit her with the:

"We hung out for awhile, and things went further."

"Further as in?" You start to cry a little more. "Further as in.. what, Y/N?"

"Things just escalated so quickly, I'm—"

"Escalated? Did you sleep with my brother?" She's in utter disbelief and her tone says it all. She doesn't even need to hear a verbal response from you because your face completely gives it away.

"Jiwoo, I'm sorry. Things just happened and—"

"My brother? Out of all people? Was that why you were so quiet today?" More silence. "Y/N, what were you thinking?! He's no good for you! All he's gonna do is hurt you like he does with every girl that gets tangled up with him. He doesn't care, he's—" She stands as she keeps going, but you aren't hanging onto one word she's saying. You just wanna get this over with, you just wanna get away. You don't wanna hear what you already know. It's your fault; she told you so. You should've known.

"Jiwoo." You plead with your eyes, hoping she stops. It doesn't make anything better, and you feel like a child getting scolded.

"What did he say to you?" She pauses. "What did he say to you? Did he say some sweet shit to get into your pants or what? Were you really that naive?"

"Jiwoo, enough. Please." You cry. "He didn't have to say anything to me, things just happened and it wasn't just Wooyoung. I played a part in this, too." You're not really sure why you're explaining it the way that you are, but you feel as if you have no choice at this point.

"Yeah." She says, almost mockingly. "So, what now? Has he even talked to you after that?" You shake your head pathetically and your tears fall even more. "Exactly, I thought so. Because that's who he is, Y/N. I thought you knew that! He's not gonna change. Now you're here crying over him like the rest of them usually do!" You cry harder, feeling like you're about to be shoved in a corner for timeout. "You can't tell me you actually have feelings for him." She scoffs.

"I'm sorry." Is all you say. What you're sorry for, you're not sure. For yourself? For how things quickly unfolded? For having feelings for her brother?

All of the above?

"Did he even tell you he had feelings for you? Did he tell you anything before he ran off and got what he wanted from you?" You shake your head. "Unbelievable." She grabs her keys and her purse. "You should go."

"I'm sorry. I thought—"

"Please, Y/N. I need some time to process this."

"Where are you going?"

"To my brother's. Quite frankly, I can't look at the both of you right now, but I need to talk to him." You shake your head.

"It's not gonna change anything."

"It's not, but he also deserves to hear it since you're here crying in my living room about it." She furrows her brows in deep disappointment before giving you one last look. "Thought you knew better than that." She turns on her heel and leaves you in her living room. You cry, and you cry. You cry that you don't even know what you're crying over, what you're feeling hurt over.

You cry because one bestfriend is mad at you, and the other bestfriend needs his time away from you.

You cry because you have feelings for Wooyoung.

You cry because you feel so naive and stupid for admitting it, for going along with everything.

Were you wrong for feeling the way you do over him?

You quietly clean up and gather your things, sadly throwing the duffle bag over your shoulder as you lock her door from the inside and walk out. Your head hangs low when you start to walk to the nearest bus stop, taking the long way back home so that you can clear your mind and stop by Papa's apartment on the way over. Honestly, you don't blame Jiwoo for acting the way she did. You knew she was very protective of you, and you knew she was coming from a good place. You kinda just wish everything went down a little differently.

So, you continue quietly. Tears streaming down. Phone tucked away and on silent. Shutting down and ignoring the rest of the world like you always do when things go awry.

"Baby, don't you think you should just simmer down first before talking to your brother?" Hongjoong says over the bluetooth in her car.

"Simmer down for what? I can't believe he'd do that to her."

"Well, you don't really know if he actually had bad intentions. It does take two to tango. You ever think maybe, he's always had it for her and just never realized until he had to be her date? He probably needed the time. I don't think Wooyoung would mess around with Y/N like that."

"Kim Hongjoong. Aren't you supposed to be on my team right now?"

"I am, that's why I'm trying to tell you this is probably not a good idea."

"He was wrong, okay! She's naive, he knows that." She groans, causing Hongjoong to sigh.

"There were better ways to go about it, sure. I just don't think he's intentionally trying to hurt her like you think he is."

"I'll hang up in 5 seconds, Hongjoong." He clicks his teeth.

"Where is Y/N anyway? Thought you two were having a girls day."

"We were until she dropped all of this on me. She's probably on her way home."

"Why did you just leave her?"

"Because I'm angry and I can't deal right now."

"Then, go back home. You can yell at your brother any day, but you shouldn't leave her."

"I'll call you later. I'm at Wooyoung's."

"Jiwoo—" But before Hongjoong can say anything else, Jiwoo is ending the call and shutting off the car. She slams the driver's door and heads into the lobby, furiously pressing the elevator button to bring her up to the 6th floor. When she gets off and heads to his door, she repeatedly knocks until she hears shuffling on the other end.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Jiwoo storms into Wooyoung's apartment as soon as he swings the door open. He knew this would happen at some point— he just didn't think it'd be tonight, exactly.

"You really don't have to yell—"

"My bestfriend!? Why would you sleep with her! She's not one of your fucking girls to toy around with, Wooyoung!" He's actually appalled at the way Jiwoo is coming at him right now. Most of the time, he can handle her. Today is just one of those days where he can't, and he feels himself losing it a lot quicker due to the sensitivity of the subject. He hates how Jiwoo looks at him this way, and he hates how she's so quick to badmouth him, especially when it comes to you.

What if he truly, truly cared about you?

"No one said she was!" Wooyoung matches her tone and San is awkwardly sitting off to the side, unsure of what to do. He didn't think he'd ever hear it this way, let alone didn't think Wooyoung would ever sleep with his sister's bestfriend. It wasn't a secret that Wooyoung thought you were cute, attractive. He just never crossed those lines because he didn't think he should, especially with the way he had tendencies to be a dick.

San is so unsure of how to take all of this.

Did Wooyoung just cave after the party? Did he plan for this to happen? How did he even get you to do all that with him?

"What else can I call it? Why would you take advantage of her—"

"Slow your fucking roll, Jiwoo. I never said I was just using Y/N for anything, nor do you have the right to assume that." Wooyoung says seriously. It's true, and he finds himself hurt at the wild accusations Jiwoo is spewing out. He wasn't always good, but he wasn't entirely bad. He's made some terrible decisions and acted poorly in certain situations, but he never failed to  learn from his mistakes and be the bigger person about it. He'd be honest, and in the end, he would never let his pride win just to get away with it.

"What am I supposed to think with your amazing track record?"

"I don't care if I made some mistakes or fucked around in the past, you don't get to say all that just because you're angry."

"All of a sudden you're good and pure when it comes to Y/N." She groans. "I swear to god, Wooyoung. The favor was supposed to be just a favor, not a window for you to add her to your roster—"

"Aye, stop while you're ahead." Wooyoung cuts her off. "You don't get to come into my space and yell at me for shit you know nothing about. Stop painting me like that, Jiwoo. I'm not this shitty person you like to think I am. For real. I don't appreciate it. You're spitting out all these crazy accusations when you have nothing but my past to refer to. I was never planning to 'put her on my roster' or treat her that way, I never meant to hurt her in any way. It's fucking wild you'd assume that."

"Then, why haven't you talked to her if you wanna claim this is different, Wooyoung?"

"Because I just need time to sort through my shit, okay! As much as I wanna talk to her, I don't know how and I'm trying to figure it out, that's all. Sorry. I'm not tryna mess this up more than I might've already done."

"You're unbelievable." Jiwoo glares at him. "Do you have feelings for her or not? It's a simple yes or no. Stop dragging it out so unnecessarily—"

"No. We're not doing this right now."

"Wooyoung!"

"I don't care! That's not for you to decide, so don't push it." He says sternly. "I'm not answering your question cause we're not talking about this right now, not when we're both angry. We're gonna go in circles like we always do and we're not gonna get anywhere. So no, I'm not saying anything to you, especially until you stop yelling and accusing me of things." He glares at her. "I sure as hell hope you didn't come at Y/N this way because she didn't do anything wrong. You don't get to talk to her like that either." He pauses. "Where is she?"

"I told her to go home."

"Oh, so you left her alone just to do this? The hell is wrong with you?"

"Can't I say the same shit about you? Leaving her that morning without saying a word." She scoffs while he bites his tongue, hoping she'd leave after getting this out of her system. "I thought so. You better fix this properly." Is all Jiwoo says before she turns on her heel and slams his door shut.

"And you should fix your attitude while you're at it!" Wooyoung yells. He groans loudly and plops onto the couch with a loud sigh. "Sorry." Is all he says to San, who is still dumbfounded over the argument that just went down.

"It's all good." Wooyoung is running a hand down his face before tossing his phone onto the table and resting his head back against the couch. As much as he loves to push his sister's buttons, he doesn't enjoy it when they fight. He doesn't like it when they're heated and angry at each other. He knows she can't help but protect you [rightfully so], but he hates the way she treats him like he has zero common sense. He wouldn't do that to you, especially out of all people. 

You would never be just another girl to him.

"So, what happened exactly?" Wooyoung lets out a breath.

"It was the other night, after she had dinner with Yeosang. She meant to text Jiwoo while she was drinking at the convenience store, but she accidentally texted me. I swung by to make sure she was okay, and things just escalated that night."

"That's why you two were weird around each other today."

"Yeah, but that's mainly my fault. I ran off when I shouldn't have. I didn't talk to her the way I wanted to because I froze. I haven't really felt like this in a long time and it scared me. It's a dumb excuse."

"Woo, are you sure this isn't just a phase or something?"

"A phase?" San shrugs. "You're not serious, right?"

"I don't know. I just have to ask. I feel like you've had moments when you thought you liked someone, but it wasn't like that."

"San." Wooyoung almost looks hurt when he turns to him. His expression says all.

"Hm?" Wooyoung shakes his head.

"It's not like that at all. I-I genuinely have feelings for Y/N. I really, really like her."

"Oh." San looks at him, a mixture of confusion and concern plastered on his face. "Oh, okay. So it is like that."

"Fuck." Wooyoung groans. "I fucked up. I should've just told her. Fuck!" He repeats, now pacing around his living room. San doesn't even respond because he's not sure how to. He watches as his bestfriend runs his hand through his hair, quickly texting away before making a call.

Wooyoung's third mistake is letting this linger. Now, everyone, including you and his sister, are continuing to paint him as this bad guy; a bad guy that he has a tendency to be, had a past history of being. But, with you, he's different. He needs you to know that. He should've done this differently.

He just needs to be honest, and he knows he can't put this off any longer. It's time.

Wooyoung feels the inner panic when he tries to call you a few times, but you don't answer. He sends a few texts asking where you're at. If you're safe. If he can come see you so he can talk to you because he really needs to.

wooyoung: y/n. i know you probably don't wanna talk to me right now, but i really wanna explain.

wooyoung: i'm so sorry y/n, i fucked up. can i come see you so we can talk about this properly?

wooyoung: at least let me know if you're okay and safe if you don't wanna talk tonight.

And you see the missed calls and texts from Wooyoung. But, they're overshadowed by the missed call notifications from Papa. You barely get a chance to let it marinate, especially when you approach his apartment and all you're welcomed with is chaos.

Bright lights. 

"Papa?" You walk closer to his apartment, seeing the paramedics coming out with your grandfather on a stretcher. "Papa!" You cry, pushing your way through them to get a good look at your grandpa. He's conscious, barely clinging onto it, though. He gives you a small smile as you hold his hand and climb into the truck, sitting right by his side. He called because he needed you, and you weren't there. You weren't there because you were too busy justifying your actions to Jiwoo, you weren't there because you were too busy trying to find out how to tell her you had feelings for her brother.

You weren't there, and he's here.

Wooyoung is the last thing on your mind right now.

—TAGLIST: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @heyitsmetonid @ldysmfrst @intaksfav @wooyoungsbrat @hyukssunflower @yunhoswrldddd @gotthicbish @thespiffynerd @jaytheatiny @yoonrixx @aurorajoye @i-love-ateez

[ursuu-la]

Just in time. - S. Reid.

summary: Where Spencer was at the right place and time.

wc: 1.9k

tw: mentions of suicid3, suicid3 att3mpt, not feeling enough, driving at full speed(?).

a/n: this is not exactly romantic, but I felt the need to post something angsty and this was the first thing that came to my mind. I hope that you enjoy it, but that you don't identify with the feelings :( if so, my inbox is open♡

Also, requests are open!! I think I'll write about Hotch too, just so yk

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"See you guys tomorrow!" Spencer waved goodbye and walked out the door. You smiled before he left and turned your attention back to your stuff.

You were organazing all the things on your desk, at the same time you kept on your bag the ones you always took home: your phone, your keys, and some paperwork that you didn't want to finish in the office. It was almost 9p.m. and there were now only three members of the team left in the office: Morgan, JJ and you.

Once you finished clearing your desk and had everything you needed inside your bag, you walked past JJ and Derek, greeting them both goodbye. You spoke a little with both of them, making sure that the case hadn't affected them so much. You cared about your friends, and wanted to be there for them if they needed someone to vent to. Both of them told you that they felt as usual, which conformed you.

"And you? How are you doing, (y/n)?" JJ asked when you finished checking up on her.

"Fine, I guess." You spoke and smiled to her. Your friend just returned the gesture, wished you goodnight, and then dragged her attention back to the paperwork.

You walked out of the office and, for a second, you kept the smile on your face, but then it slowly started to fade as you walked towards your car.

Even though you had just told JJ that you were feeling fine, the truth was that the last couple of months had been rough on you. The explanation was hard to find, but during this time, you were feeling... just bad about yourself. No matter how many people you saved or how many cases you solved with the team, whenever you got back home, you couldn't help but feel that you hadn't done enough.

The feeling started growing bigger and bigger as the months passed by. You had tried to speak about it with the rest of the team: but something was stopping you. It was frustrating because you didn't usually have any trouble communicating your emotions, and the fact that no one noticed you were struggling made you feel even worse.

Now you were driving back home, no music playing, only your thoughts filling your head. You remembered every part of the case, and as you replayed it in your head over and over, you found new ways in which you could have been more helpful.

"Agh... I hate this..." Your voice sounded frustrated. What was the point of keep going to cases if every single time you felt the same afterward? What was the point of having people around you if you couldn't open up to them and vent your feelings? What was the point of it all?

Suddenly, you felt one tear falling down your cheek. You wiped it off. It brought you back to reality. You were driving, and since it was late, there was no one on the street. Your hands started to shake as the thought appeared in your head.

The whole street was empty, your car would be the only one damaged. You would be the only person hurt, the only mortal victim. Your hands were still shaking, anxiousness creeping inside you as you tried to think of a reason why that was stupid.

But nothing came to your mind.

Nothing was stopping you.

Not even red lights.

Now there was more than one tear falling down your cheek, and you were wiping none of those off your face: you were letting them fall. Your foot pressed the gas with all of its strength, you could hear the engine getting louder each second.

Your heart rate accelerated, your eyes were blurring because of the tears, and you could feel how every part of your body shook. You were about to turn aside your car, knowing that at that speed there was no way of getting out of there intact, but you heard a noise: it was another car.

You stopped the car as fast as you could because your vision had suddenly been cleared, and you noticed that a car was in front of you waiting on a red light. That same car had made the noise. Scared of not stopping at the right time, you turned sharply the steering wheel, causing you to end up in another lane.

When your car was still, you took your hands off the steering wheel and placed them in your head. Just in that moment, you noticed what you were about to do, which made you burst into tears.

"What the hell was I think- AAH!" You yelled out of fear when you heard a knock on the car window. You rolled it down, ready to yell at whoever was standing there. But when you saw the person, your words got stuck in your throat.

"(y/n)?" His voice was like a slap across your face. You felt like you couldn't move. "Hey, are you okay?" He placed one hand on your shoulder, taking you out of the state you had gotten into.

"Spencer..." Was the only thing you were able to say. "Did you...?"

"Yes. I mean- I saw a car coming at full speed behind me, and I tried not to get killed. But... Are you... Are you okay? What were you doing driving like that?" Spencer questioned, yet he didn't have an accusing tone. It was a worried and concerned one.

"I was..." You couldn't speak. How were you supposed to tell him that you almost committed suicide and that almost got him into a car crash? 'Hey Spence, guess what? I wanted to kill myself and almost took you with me, haha!' There was no easy way to say it nor a way to disguise it as something else.

You looked up at Spencer, his gaze met yours. His face was scanning every inch of yours, looking for an answer. When you saw him properly, you felt like you didn't need to speak: you felt like you needed a hug.

"Step back, I'll open the door." You spoke, Spencer took a few steps back and looked confused at your every action. When you walked out of the car and suddenly hugged him, his face turned surprised.

"I don't know what to..." His voice was low. He was hugging you back, perceiving that you needed it. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

You nodded with gratefulness, appreciating Spencer's words. The two of you remained silent for a while after you let go of the hug until you dared to speak about the situation. Both of your cars were parked on the side of the street, and you were sitting on the sidewalk.

"Spencer, I was... trying to end it all, I just wanted to..." He lifted up his gaze to meet your face, but you were looking down at the floor. Not sure if you wanted to make eye contact while confessing the situation.

"Where you about to...?" Reid couldn't finish the question, he averted what you were about to say, he just didn't want to believe that it was true. You were one of the happiest people Reid knew, and thinking that behind that bubbly personality he knew, hid an amount of pain that made you think of suicide as a solution, made his heart sank.

"Yes. I... I don't know what I was thinking... I just reached the edge, and everything feels like too much." Now you dared to look into his eyes, concern filled his face. Seeing Reid like that made you feel worse because you felt like you were only bothering him. "Oh, dear lord. Now I'm just taking away your time. Maybe I'll just need to sleep this off..." You started speaking as you tried to get on your feet, but Spencer stopped you.

"Wait. Don't try to escape the problem." He spoke as he gestured you to sit comfortably again. "I'll be here until the sun comes up if it's necessary. I care about you (y/n), and what just happened is not something to take lightly."

Spencer's words were simple, but they were the right ones; as soon as you heard him, you started crying. Reid tried to hide it, but seeing you like that made him want to hug you as tight as possible and never let you go. How could someone so good be suffering this much? He thought you didn't deserve to feel that way.

"I just don't know what's happening to me... I don't usually feel like this, but these last months have been from bad to worse."

"And we didn't notice?" His voice was loaded with guilt. He was a profiler, and he couldn't have been able to notice your mood or signals. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)."

"It's fine. I jus-"

"No, it's not. We should have noticed, I should have noticed you were struggling. Because what would have happened tonight if I wasn't there with my car?" Reid's voice cracked at the end of the sentence, you could swear that you saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

"But you were there. You saved me." You spoke as you rested a reassuring hand on his arm. Spencer chuckled and shook his head. "What is it?"

"I'm the one that's supposed to be reassuring you. Not the other way around." You couldn't help to smile, which had the same reaction on Reid. "You're always putting others first and yourself last... You're too good for this world."

"I'm not that good. I can always do better on cases, and I barely help to resolve anything." The words that had been repeating inside your head for the last couple of months were spoken for the first time. Spencer looked at you, his face getting sadder than it already was.

"Stop putting yourself down. You're literally the best human being I know." He spoke with a sad smile on his face. "I truly can't understand where you got those awful ideas about you."

You didn't speak. Every word that came out of Spencer's mouth made you feel worse for even trying to do what you tried to. For the third time that night, you were crying, but this time, a hand was caressing your face. You looked at Spencer, who had started to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

"I just... Don't understand myself... I feel like everything I do has a negative effect on people. I need to take a break... from everything..."

"I get it. Maybe it would be better if you just take some time off work. Take some time to care about yourself, treat yourself with some love, and maybe that will help you to heal whatever has triggered these emotions." Spencer took his hand away from your cheek. "Furthermore, I could help you to find any kind of professional help to overcome this. There are plenty of ways in which I can help you, just say the word."

"Thank you, Spence." You spoke with a soft voice, he only nodded lightly.

"I didn't do anything, really. I just happened to be there." He was trying to be modest, but you were way too grateful to let him be like that.

"Spencer, you saved my life. Take a little credit for that." You chuckled, and Reid's face lighted up: seeing you at least a fraction as happy as you were before made him feel better.

Reid wanted to tell you how happy he was for being there at the right moment. He wanted to tell you how important you were to him and how he would have been devastated with your loss. But now was not the time: he knew you needed to think about yourself, and once you felt better, maybe then he would dare to confess his feelings to you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[makeyoumine69]

Love ur writing it always makes me so happy when you post

For the celebration can you do breeding, belly bulge, and loss of innocence/virginity please 🥵🥵

Obsession

◥ PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: When your father told you that you were going to marry the son of his biggest business partner, named Patrick Bateman, you didn't believe him at first, but eventually you had to face reality and accept your destiny.

◥ WARNINGS: Smut, hurt /comfort, forced marriage, forced pregnancy (kinda), loss of virginity, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, nipple play/tit sucking, teasing, vaginal sex, creampie, belly bulge, Breeding kink, Praise kink, Innocent kink, Size kink, sweet dirty talk, multiple orgasms, humiliation, manipulation, pet names, horny hubby!Patrick Bateman himself.

◥ WORDCOUNT: 4.1k

◥ SONG REC: Mariah Carey - Obsessed🖤

◥ A/N: Finally, I managed to finish this prompt. I really enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for this request, I hope you like it!

◥ LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [BWC MASTERLIST].

You were so scared and lost that you couldn't really believe it was happening - you wished that marrying Patrick Bateman was just a dream... but it wasn't. It all felt so real when after the super luxurious wedding, you rode in his limo to the Plaza Hotel for your first night together. Because the whole situation between the two of you was so rushed, you didn't even have time to get to know each other better, your father was too impatient and he wanted this marriage to happen as soon as possible. However, you remembered Patrick since you were children and all the girls around were always so charmed by him, even when he was just a little cheeky boy.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Patrick suddenly asked, placing his large palm on your knee. 

With a sharp gasp, you shrugged from his unexpected touch and turned to face him, holding for a moment to admire his beautiful, brown eyes. 

“Nothing.” You replied, breaking eye contact with him once you noticed you were staring at him for too long. 

You heard him letting out a tired sigh, and then Bateman tried to cuddle with you a bit, wrapping his arm around your slightly shaking shoulders. ��I know that everything seems to be a bit messy but…”

"It doesn't seem like it, but it really is," you looked at him again, his face so close to yours that you had to hold your breath. "Literally…everything."

"Baby, please. Don't interrupt me, okay?" Patrick tried his best to be patient and polite, but you could feel his hand tightening on your back with each passing moment. "Things are really messed up, but I want to assure you – if you can be a good wife, I'll be a great husband to you. That sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?"

Shivering from being so close to him, you almost writhed in your seat when you felt his searing lips brushing behind your ear as he murmured something soft, something soothing, but you couldn't concentrate as the meaning of his words slipped away from you like a leaf in the wind.

“Pat-Patrick, actually … there’s one thing I didn’t tell you yet,” you mused nearly audible. “You know, I’ve never been close with anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

As soon as you opened your mouth to respond, the limo stopped and you both looked into the window to see the beautiful illumination of the Plaza. 

“Oh thank God, we’re finally here … I really hate NY in this time of the day, because of these fucking traffic jams.” 

Bateman’s rants still resound behind your back even when you got outside. Gently, he held your waist for support as you moved to the entrance to the grand hotel, your hand kept fixing the hem of your massive dress. 

It was not surprising that Patrick chose a luxury presidential suite for you, with large rooms and high ceiling above. You couldn't hide your fascination and that made him smirk loftily whilst he was helping you to remove your half-coat. Little by little, you moved to what was supposed to be a living room and took a seat on the huge black leather couch, suppressing growing anxiety inside your chest. 

“Do you like this place?” Patrick looked at you before letting out a short whistle, removing his jacket. 

“Yes, it’s really nice.” Smiling timidly, you clutched at the skirt of your dress once you saw him coming closer. 

“Uh, you always loved fancy things, darling,” he sat next to you, throwing his leg over another and placing his hand on the back of the couch, almost touching your shaky shoulders. “Well, nothing's too good for my wifey.”

His kiss on your lips was so sudden that it sent a million chills down your spine, causing your lungs to cramp from the lack of oxygen. At first, you clawed frantically at his solid biceps as you felt his hot tongue slide against your mouth in a demanding manner. You jolted once you gave him what he wanted, because this kiss was nothing compared to the one you shared at the wedding - it was much more passionate, but still you couldn't relax.

“Pat-Patrick, please … wait,” you whispered as your voice shook, searching for his brown eyes which now were dark as a midnight sky. “You must know one very important thing.”

“What is it, my dear?” 

"I'm..." you stuttered from the way he was staring at you, his hungry gaze literally eating you alive. "I'm a virgin, Patrick."

He frowned for a moment, then laughed uproariously before pulling up the hem of your dress, messing with its countless layers. "You can't be serious."

His reaction really embarrassed you, so you just pushed his big palm away and got up, leaving him on the couch with a disappointed grimace on his face.

"Hey! Where are you going?" He asked annoyingly, his golden Rolex wiggling on his wrist as he raised his hands in confusion.

"I want to get off this dress and change into something else," you complained, trying to reach the ties at the back of your dress to undo them. "I hate it!"

It was as if he hadn't even noticed your ranting when he rejoined you: "And what about that guy from college who was hovering around you like a fucking shark? Poor guy missed his chance to get a bite of a delicious pie like you?"

Gritting your teeth, you shrugged at the unpleasant sensation and shouted: "Don't you dare talk about him like that!"

He chuckled again, in his natural haughty way. "He was always a loser, and I always knew you would be mine."

You were almost done with the ties, but as soon as you heard his last words, you froze, feeling something snap in your mind. "What did you just say?"

Bateman's grin grew even wider as you turned to face him, with an unhidden dread in your eyes. "I said I always get what I want..." He stood up and walked over to the large coffee table near the couch, taking a glass and pouring some red liquid into it. "Wine?"

When you didn't answer, he took a sip of alcohol before continuing his malicious confession: "As you probably remember, my dear (Y/N), my father wanted me to marry," with every word he said, Patrick was slowly closing the distance between the two of you. "And he also wanted me to have an heir. The American dream family, that really works best for a good social reputation".

He paused, standing almost face to face with you, you could feel his expensive perfume enveloping you like a mist. “And?” 

Your curiosity made him sneer with delight, so he cupped your cheek and looked down at you, murmuring softly as if trying to lull you into a fake sense of comfort. "And then there was a business meeting with your father where I remembered you as the ideal candidate to be my wife," he smiled almost lovingly, stroking your cheekbone and placing a tender kiss on your temple. "Too bad you couldn't see the look on your father's face when we talked about it, he was as happy as if he'd won a fucking billion dollars."

Stifling the immense pain in your heart, you closed your eyes and almost fell into his embrace from the feeling of being so miserable in this selfish world. His words only proved your thoughts about being just a figure in another chase game of your dad, and according to what Bateman just told you - your father won a jackpot by forcing you to marry the son of his biggest business partner.

“But to be fair, I didn’t expect to be that lucky …” he murmured before pulling you closer, his hands traveling around your lower back. “… to get such an innocent flower.”

When Patrick kissed you on lips again, you didn’t even struggle as the dark void inside your soul was consuming all of your thoughts and feelings, leaving you completely empty. With no rush, Bateman was undoing the rest of the ties on your dress as if he was unwrapping his most desirable gift. Your throat shivered in a choked gasp, as your body was traitorously responding to each touch he made, especially when his large palms ran across your boobs to give them a slight squash. 

"Baby, you don't have to be afraid of me." His suddenly charming voice sounded like honey, so sweet and stringy. 

"I'm not afraid," you stared up at him, catching his hands that were now caressing your thighs. "I'm so... so fucking disappointed."

"It's understandable."

"But not for you," you scowled a bit, biting your lip to keep the salty tears from welling up in your eyes. "I'm just a toy for you... just like for my beloved father."

Suddenly Patrick's eyebrows knitted, making him look a little frustrated. "No, you're not."

"Enough lies," you wanted to push him away, but he only held you tightly, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. "This is all so fake!"

"Maybe everything around us is fake, but we are not..." he gently traced a finger along your cheek, moving down to outline your trembling lips. "We're real, and when I said I'd take care of you, it wasn't a lie."

The way he looked at you was literally captivating, it caught you off guard and you couldn't help but breathe out sharply as his plump lips nestled against the sensitive spot on your neck. 

"Pat... Patrick," your hands clung to his shoulders as you desperately searched for protection, and your inner nature told you that he could do it - his strong arms were like a shield between you and the whole world. "I really want to make it work, but..."

Bateman didn't allow you to finish, pressing his thumb against your mouth and then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing as he walked into the big, fashionable bedroom. Shaking slightly, you closed your eyes from the sense of unreality that clouded your mind like the strongest alcohol.

Did he just say he was going to take care of you? 

The man you had always known as a total egoist, who loved no one but himself, now covered your small frame from above as he laid you on the king-size bed, planting little kisses on your cheek before settling on his knees, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his white shirt.

"You look gorgeous, (Y/N)," he mused, taking your leg to peck at your ankle, causing your back to arch at his unexpected tenderness. "As you always do."

Cautiously, Patrick slid down your luxury wedding dress, exposing your bare skin that was not hidden under your beautiful white lingerie - just a glimpse of it made him swallow hard, and when you gave him your most innocent look, he licked his lips briefly as his nostrils began to turn red.

Panting barely audibly, Bateman stood on the floor to remove his clothes, not wasting a moment to admire your embarrassed face, the more naked he became, the more noticeably you began to fidget.

"Come here, darling." He purred like a cat and beckoned you over to sit on the edge of the bed.

There was something sweet about him, as all the girls always said when they saw him, which was probably the reason why you couldn't resist him as you obeyed and knelt beside him, waiting for his next move.

“Babydoll,” he stroked your cheekbone, and you closed your eyes again from the blissful sensation of his warm palm. “Tonight, I’m gonna guide you into the world of pure pleasure … ”

You shuddered at his promise as your insides tightened like a spring - that strange sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You'll never be the same after this, sweetheart." Bateman crooned, wrapping his hand around your neck, not to hurt you, but to make you feel his unspoken dominance.

“A-ahh,” your low moan caressed his ears and that was one of the most delighted things he ever heard. “What do you want me to do?”

Your hasty question impelled him to humm in absolute adoration, as Patrick drew near your mouth to kiss you hungirly, never in your life someone was kissing you like that, sucking on your lips one by one and biting them a bit, making you literally melt in his strong arms.

"Be yourself, (Y/N)," he whispered into your ear, hugging your shoulders before pushing on them determinedly, and now you were sprawled on the bed beneath him. "You're incredible just the way you are."

Trembling, you wanted to scream as his words worshiped your broken soul, even if he was only doing it to befuddle you and get what he wanted - in that moment, you didn't care as the strange, burning desire grew from the inside, corrupting your innocent mind by the second.

Delicately, Bateman darted his soft fingers against your belly, sliding them up to your heavy breasts, teasing your nipples with light strokes, you gasped from that contact, creasing the blanket and spreading your legs that allowed him to rest himself more comfortably. 

“Good girl,” he praised you and pulled down the straps of your lingerie to expose your extremely hard peaks. “Mmm … my sweet, little girl.” He gave one of them a few licks, before he took it into his hot mouth, sucking it with pure delight. 

“A-aww, Gosh … ” You wailed and enfolded your arms around his head, not even realizing you were pressing him closer. 

Patrick exhaled a muffled groan and switched to your other nipple, swirling his wet tongue around it so deliciously that the tight knot in your lower abdomen was begging to be released.

“Patrick! P-Patrick please!”

“Mmm, honey, you have amazing tits,” he huffed and trapped your swollen tip between his sharp, white teeth, forcing you to freeze in silent moan of pleasure. Seizing the moment, he sneaked his long fingers between your legs to grope your taut lower lips. “Fuck, you’re soaking wet and we have only just started.”

Breathing heavily, you look up at him from under your lashes with your dazed eyes, feeling his soft finger pads slide up and down your feverish pussy. Bateman stared back at you, smirking in his arrogant way, especially when you jerked beneath him as he slipped a thumb inside your panties and pressed it against your sensitive nub.

"No one's ever touched you like this before?" Patrick asked, rubbing your clit steadily, forcing you to bend your legs into knees to give him more space to play with. 

You tossed the pillows around to cover your face and just nodded, feeling his ministrations becoming more and more insistent, you didn't know how long you could stand it. 

"Mmm, does that feel good, baby?" He watched you from above, admiring the view of your trembling body as his fingers slid over your cunt like clockwork, making obscene, sleek noises.

"A-arrh, yes ... mmm ... so good."

To be fair, Bateaman knew what you were going to say before you answered, because he was absolutely confident in his sex skills, and you would remember this night for a long time.

First, he left a light kiss on your side, passing your rib bones as he descended to your mound, leaving a wet trail of hickeys. Fondly, Patrick opened your hips wide apart, and he had to hold them securely as he pushed your underwear aside. You winced because you knew what he was going to do, and when he finally latched his plump lips against your blushing clit, you didn't know whether to stop him or explode right here - his skilled tongue left you with no choice. 

"Mm-mmhm, ohhh God, I can't... I can't, Patrick! It's too much," you writhed on the bed, the tension in your womb too intense for you to bear. "P-Please ... ah, please ..."

Uncertain of what you were pleading for, you let him strap your legs over his broad shoulders as he lapped at your cunt without stopping, sucking your burning flesh and consuming your sweet juices like his favourite dessert. You were so fucking close to combustion when a sudden sharp pain ripped through your body, causing you to shriek in agony.

"Shh, it's all right ... I need to prep you, (Y/N)," he smooched the inside of your hip, slowly pushing his thin fingers into your spasming cleft. "Hang in there, baby. Will you do it for me?"

His voice was so soothing, so convincing. As you wiped away your tears, you saw him offer you a hand and you took it, letting your fingers intertwine. Patrick interpreted this gesture as a 'yes' and the next moment his lips found their way back to your clit, flicking it with his warm tongue and sparingly pumping your pussy with his expert fingers.

As much as he attempted to be gentle, it was still painful as he plunged deeper with each passing second.  "Mmm, I..." you stammered as you felt him add another finger. "I'm scared, Patrick."

"Don't be," Bateman mused after tugging on your little tip with a squelch, slowly twisting his digits and looking at you from between your legs. "As long as you're a good girl for me, you've got nothing to worry about."

Swallowing hard, you closed your eyes from the stinging sensation of your shimmering tears. You knew there was no going back, you belonged to this man now and he could do whatever he wanted with you. Still, you tried to believe him, it might be naive and stupid, but... you just couldn't deny your sympathy towards him, especially when he treated you so kindly and lovingly.

Maybe one day you would regret it, but for now all you could do was whimper loudly and writhe on the king-size bed in the most expensive suite at the Plaza Hotel as your lawful husband was about to make you his, now and forever.

After a while, your taut body couldn't take any more of the crazy mix of pain and ecstasy that was intoxicating your mind - you orgasmed so vividly that you were afraid you were going to pass out from the feeling of your inner walls pulsating again and again.

"Yes ... just like that, honey," Patrick murmured, his fingers still pounding into your spasming cunt, prolonging your climax and it seemed you were about to cum again. "Ahhh, baby, you make me so proud."

"Patrick..." your chest rose and fell so abruptly that your face burned from the heat, as if someone had poured hot tea on you. "Mmm..."

You only managed to squeak out as Bateman suddenly rolled you over, forcing you to stay on your knees as he sat behind you. Shit, he was so huge, you felt so tiny in his arms, especially when he wrapped them around you to plant a sloppy kiss on your neck, he could feel the artery beating so fast.

"You'll like it, believe me," he chuckled softly before pushing down on your back to bend you over. "It will hurt, I admit, but not for too long."

At the very last moment, a creeping fear took over your mind and even after several orgasms he had worked you up, you couldn't relax, knowing the pain to come. Nervously, you bent down to rest your head on your crossed elbows, his hot flesh poking at your tight little hole. God, he was so big... you knew it from the time you danced close together at your wedding, your inner channel clenching around nothing in anticipation of what would happen next.

"(Y/N)," he called your name longingly, stroking his full length as he spread your wetness around his engorged head. "I've never wanted someone as badly as I want you now."

Bateman lowered himself to lick your neck, and then you screamed loudly as he began to thrust into you, gripping your hips tightly as you instinctively tried to slip away. 

"Pat! Mmm, I'm so f-full, Goshhh," you tried your best to hold yourself back from crying, but the tearing sensation in your lower abdomen was too much to handle. "W-wait!"

"Almost there, darling," Patrick lied, as it was only the tip, but he didn't want to make the current situation any worse, so he decided to just keep going, ramming into you with more effort, grabbing you by the waist and almost digging his fingers into your delicate skin. "You're doing so well, mmmm ... F-fuck, you're so tight, baby."

Bateman really tried to control himself, but the way you embraced his thick cock was too blissful, it brought out his inner beast faster than he thought.

"Aaa-awww, so... so big, oh mmmm," your eyes rolled back in your head as he buried himself completely into your squeezed womb, your saliva dripping uncontrollably from your mouth. "Ah! It hurts..."

Without hesitation, Patrick leaned down to your neck and tongued your earlobe in order to soothe you a little, and when that didn't help, he cupped your face to bring you closer as his red-hot lips locked with yours. Passionately, he attacked your mouth, sucking and licking your tongue with a slurpy sound. 

"You will give me a child, sweetheart," Bateman muttered in a demanding tone before forcing you to sit on your knees and covering you from behind. "A beautiful son..." he thrust deeper, holding you by the neck. "...or a daughter...or both."

The sounds of flesh meeting flesh mixed with the squelching your pussy made each time his beefy shaft moved in and out of your inner channel, relentlessly hitting your cervix with its tip.

"Yes, P-Patrick ... I'll do anything you ... want ... aaaww!" Your ability to speak diminished each time he rocked into your body, pressing you closer to his solid muscles as he settled more comfortably on his knees beside you. 

"Of course, you will, baby girl."

Bateman was about to lose it at any moment from the way your tight hole was squeezing his dick, and your lascivious moans only encouraged him to fuck you harder and faster. 

"Do you feel that love?" Patrick put his hand on your belly, impaling you relentlessly on his thick cock. "Can you feel my dick hitting your belly? Arrgh-fuck, you're so delicate and fragile ... I'm even afraid of breaking you."

After his brief confession, Bateman took your palm and placed it on your tummy, so you could sense the outline of his huge dick sliding inside you, and that sensation literally made you choke on air. 

"I feel it ... Patrick, I f-feel it ... aaah," you threw your head back, resting it on his sturdy shoulder. "Patrick..."

You mumbled his name over and over as a saving mantra, your eyes now full of tears, and as if that was not enough, his hips began to slam into yours with increasing intensity. For a moment you found yourself fading away from the tremendous sensation of being so fucking full and abused that you couldn't even pronounce a world, only moaning wildly as you were fucking like animals, so ruthless and totally out of control.

"F-Fuck, I'm gonna make you pregnant again and again, mm-my dear wifey," he suddenly lowered his palm down your mound to rub your oversensitive bud, smearing your slick all around your pubic area and causing your legs to tremble frantically. "Shit," he felt you clenching around his dick as you climaxed so abruptly from his rubbing circular movements. He watched you quiver in his arms, your mouth paralysed in a silent cry as he kissed your temple and contemplated: "I wanna see your belly swell with my child ... I bet you'll look so beautiful, ahh-fuck."

Growling, Patrick closed his eyes from the surging ecstasy that soon consumed him, causing his whole body to cramp and his thrusts to become absolutely raw but ragged. As he pumped his fertile seed into your pussy, he didn't stop ramming into you, holding you tightly in his muscular arms until he was spent to the last drop. The feeling of warm cum filling you from the inside was so overwhelming that you didn't have time to be afraid, as if it was destined to happen before you could even think.

‘Just be a good wifey for him,' kept nagging at the back of your mind, your tears falling on your sweaty body as your eyes were wide open, staring at that one spot on the ceiling above with bitter sorrow in your chest.

From now on, you would never belong to yourself again. Not ever.

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (6) // finnick odair x f. reader

merry christmas to all who celebrate, my gift to you 🎄

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter / next chapter

midnight rain

5k words

warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT MDNI (y'all better eat it up while it's here bc this might be one of like twice or three times so merry christmas lmao), orgasm denial, teasing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slightly mean finnick but also softdom, mentions and allusions to trafficking and sexual trauma, self-hate, manipulation of someone's feelings, allusions to death/violence, pnv, usage of weapons, terms of endearment, no use of y/n, unedited, cumming inside, mental health issues, self doubt, hypocritical reader, savior complex finnick

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Cold air hit your skin as the doors to the training center opened, instantly you could feel the onslaught of goosebumps on your arms. “Remember brush up on skills, knives, spears and number one objective-”

"Katniss.” You finished for him. "You go get your hands back on that trident, and hopefully my instincts will remember what it takes to throw a knife or a spear.”

"If not, work on some survival skills, but I think the instincts will kick in.” You tilted your head to the side, uncertain but humoring the idea. He kissed you softly, “See you soon."

"I'm only going to be a few hundred feet away, Finnick.” You smiled and he did too.

“Well that's a few hundred feet too far.”

"Good thing you can come find me anytime you want.” Squeezing his hand as you reluctantly took a few steps back.

“You don't want to come and admire me back in my element?" He joked, his grin bearing his shining teeth.

“In your dreams, Odair."

“Absolutely!" Finnick's eyebrows quirked up before you finally pulled yourself out of his magnetic field to focus on the more viral thing, survival.

It had been so long since you'd thrown a knife with purpose, over half a decade which had been what you felt most confident in. Of course there had been a couple times, admittedly more than a couple, when your nerves spiked up and a moment where you were simply making dinner, chopping something up, to being spooked by a noise that led to a knife wedged in a wall or cupboard. So Finnick cooked and cut, he wasn't as easily startled or on edge.

This year they had clearly made more of an investment into the training, a little pad verifying it was you when you stood on the elevated block. You took a second before lifting the tiny weapons from where they lay, the weight was instantly familiar in a way that made your chest heave. It felt like you were that same young girl again, trying to see what could help her survive, help her overcome others. Finnick has been right, how to throw a knife, how to throw it to kill, all came back like child's play.

The instant the first hologram appeared it was like your brain went on autopilot, they weren't real but your brain was screaming, survive, survive, survive. Each knife flew from your hand with lethal aim, your arms instinctively knew what to do, how to throw precisely as fast as possible. So you trusted your body when suddenly the simulation was over, you felt your head coming back to reality. It was terrifying, you'd felt like you were in a dizzy high and suddenly you were that same young girl terrified in the arena. Full of guilt and regret for the lives you'd taken.

“I thought your weapon of choice was a spear." A voice cut through your thoughts, bringing your thoughts back to the person you were now. Peeta, ever outgoing and charismatic just as he'd been depicted, with an untrusting looking Katniss not far behind.

“No, that's what was convenient at the end, but the spear was never mine, it was-"

“Conway’s." Katniss finished the name you hated saying, hated remembering for you. “You killed in the Bloodbath with knives and then the girl from District 2." She must have been rewatching everyone's games, learning their tactics.

“Ironic, weren't they the District 2 girl from last year's weapon of choice as well?" You asked, stepping off the platform.

“Yes." She was tense, stiff it radiated off of her, stagnating the air.

“When there's such limited options, it's hard to get much differentiation. You certainly helped mix the bag last year.” Not just with her little bow and arrow, you hoped she knew what you were really saying, but couldn't with the people watching from above. She probably didn't, she was like a guard dog who didn't know whether or not one could be warmed up too, but would always assume the worst.

“I'm glad that was entertaining." Her voice was bitter as if she had no idea that everyone here has gone through the exact same trauma and felt the same way.

“It certainly was for them." You glanced upwards, towards the head game maker and his cronies observing you all like lab rats. “Most of us were." The Morphlings certainly had to be the most boring show of all, to those who couldn't realize it was such a smart tactic to stay alive, even if it didn't make great daytime television.

“You should teach us how to throw sometime." Peeta inserted himself back into the conversation. "If you want, we could teach each other things. I could go over camouflage.” He offered with a smile.

“Yeah of course!" You smiled back. “When you blended into the rocks by that stream, it was truthfully unfathomable in talent to be able to do that."

“And Katniss can shoot, I'm sure you've seen, but she never misses." Katniss shot him a glare, "Just following Haymitch's orders.” Peeta shrugged before his eye was caught by Johanna finishing up with her ax training. “I should get a formal introduction." He was walking away when Katniss spoke again.

“Why'd you volunteer for that girl?" She asked, and you turned your head towards her.

“For Annie?" You felt like it was obvious, but Katniss just nodded. “I wasn't going to put her through this again, that wouldn't have been fair of me. I couldn't let any of them, I couldn't have lived with myself if I had, so I might as well die on that hill now." Your candor seemed to make her less stiff. “You know, she was the first tribute I mentored. Years after my games, I did everything I could to help her win, to prepare her, but I couldn't prepare her for what happened after. Seeing her after that it was like I failed." Annie would forever be known as the one who went "a little crazy.” Maybe that was a blessing though, maybe it saved her from a much worse fate. Katniss' eyes finally looked more soft, not off guard, but not blocked off from your words.

“Even though you know this time only one of you can come out?" Her eyes briefly flickered towards Finnick before landing back on you.

“I'm not expecting to be the one who makes it out and she wouldn't have either. It's worth it to save her, he'll be fine without me." The words were too raw, too much like being stripped naked, but you knew you needed her to trust you and being honest would probably be the most effective route. Of course she couldn't completely trust you if she'd watched your games, you didn't blame her for that, but you just needed a little of it. “It's not different from what you did for your sister, sometimes you just know when that person needs to be protected no matter what that means for you."

Katniss began walking over to where the spears were located, “Like Peeta said, if you show me how to use the spear and the knives, I can show you how to shoot the bow and what plants and berries you can trust." This was her way of some form of acceptance you realized and internally congratulated yourself.

“Sounds like a deal to me." You picked one of the heavy spears up, it was also just as you remembered. It brought back flashes of the boy who taught you how to use it, the boy you'd killed with it. You could tell what she was thinking as you held it, how you used Conway, used his emotions and then his own weapon. “You know, the funny thing is people act like he didn't know, but that’s really what made it so brilliant.” Katniss looked confused as you stepped into the platform, which confirmed it was you. "Looking back you realize how early on he had me figured out and was playing me right back, I really think that's what endeared us to each other in the first place. He was trying to beat me at my own game almost from the beginning and I didn't even realize.” You launched the spear into the first hologram before quickly grabbing the other as Katniss watched on, absorbing the seemingly impromptu rant. “I can't blame him, I don't blame him even if I'm the one who gets it all placed on my head, which I probably deserve." Another spear knocking the hologram figure apart. The final one ready to fly. “You just have to remember who the real enemy is."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"You two already have an advantage being from District 4, plenty of opportunities to practice with what you would be good at using in lessons. So stick with whatever you were good at then to impress, but don't forget to learn other skills that could be life saving in the long run.” Finnick was breaking down the plan for the two of you as the walk for the first training session with the other tributes was about to ensue. Although it went unspoken you'd also been blessed with extra practice even from back when you were dating Finnick in the district, he was so anxious that he needed to ensure you knew how to protect yourself. That you polished your skills, which he was sure you could do.

"Show off your strengths, but don't forget you're not just impressing the gamemakers, but the approval of other tributes can be vital. Alliances are important.” Ondine added.

Finnick nodded in agreement, “Another advantage from District 4, is the availability of the Career pack of tributes. All of the best trained and prepared tributes, especially if you show off enough to impress Districts 1 & 2 you're both a shoe-in. I'd encourage that as the strongest choice."

“I don't think we should do that." Conway’s voice of disagreement made you stop in your tracks. What was wrong with him? What could possibly be going on in his head that possessed him to argue with your mentor, someone who'd won before? Finnick raised an eyebrow, in a look you could only describe as patronizing. “I'm just saying that also means they're the best prepared to stab us in the back when it comes down to it. If we ally with tributes from a less prominent district it could make it easier when it comes down to it, make it less vicious.” He was delusional, it would be vicious no matter what when there were just a few people left.

You looked at Ondine who’s eyes were closed as she shook her head, Finnick's arms were crossed as he looked at the two of you, and Conway looked expectantly right at you. Then it hit you, this was a test. In order to maintain his trust in the fantasy you'd been carefully creating you'd have to take his side, prove you weren't loyal to every thing Finnick muttered. Even if it was hypocritical it angered you, it felt hellishly unfair that he would put you in a predicament like that. Who cared about the relationship between you and Finnick when he was the mentor offering advice to save both of your lives?

Conway pointed at you, urging you for a response. “I mean, what do you think? I'm just babbling aloud, I'll drop it if you think it's stupid." Maybe you were just paranoid, no, this was definitely a loyalty test. To him your love would mean support, it would mean unwavering devotion. So you painfully forced a caring, understanding look in your eyes, for your muscles to relax, and a loving smile on your face.

“Of course we should keep our options open, I mean we're not even there yet, the Careers this year might not even be the best options. You're right, Conway, we should consider every path to help us." Of course the Careers would be prepared, he was going to get you killed if he kept pulling this. Reasoning that at least your actions were well calculated not blindly emotional scrutinization. It made you slightly resent him, but the answer seemed to satisfy him as he grinned at the other two before beginning to walk again.

The slight spring in his step was obvious to anyone paying close enough attention, it upset you. When you hoped Conway wasn't watching, you shot a look towards Finnick. It was quick, but you grimaced and hoped your eyes could express your annoyance. Although the bob of his head was equally quick you could see he understood and was feeling just as enraged as you felt if not more. How could Conway claim to care about you when he could threaten a potentially life saving alliance to try and prove a point about how much you felt for him over Finnick? Although Finnick still wore a charming smile you could feel him seething and it comforted you somehow to know that he would never, that he would always pick safety, your safety and that he wouldn't stand for Conway’s games either. Even if rationally it did make sense, you were messing with him which both you and Finnick knew, but there wasn't time to think on that when it was life and death.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“You're brilliant, even if it pains me to admit that you beat me to it." Finnick shook his head, smiling wildly. Haymitch had informed you that so far Katniss would have liked you as an ally if it weren't for the package deal that included Finnick. A feat considering all the tributes that wanted to ally with her after her impressive show in the archery station. It had truly been amazing, how smoothly she used the weapon, and how accurate she was.

“Well, you're welcome." You pecked him on the lips, smiling. Sitting down on the bed and smoothing out your robe, Finnick soon followed.

“I love you so much." He mumbled as he crashed down onto the mattress.

“I love you too, Finnick." Your head lay down by his, quietly counting the freckles scattered across his face.

“Staring is rude." His eyes shone with his internal brightness that he couldn't hide from you.

“Isn't that a perk I should get being your wife and all?" He scooted closer, nose brushing against yours.

“I suppose. Don't know why you'd need to, there's no need to memorize when you're stuck with me forever now."

“Good." There was nothing you wanted more than to see his handsome face every day, from when you woke to when you slept and every moment in between.

His hot hands embraced your cold face, making you shiver and he smirked. It was so patronizing, how he knew that his skin to yours was like fire on ice so you had no choice but to melt, but you couldn't stop yourself from softening anyways. Before you could even try and conjure up words to try and call him out, his lips were on yours.

He wasn't aggressive, never, but his gentleness didn't take away from his control. Your lips chased him and suddenly you were beneath him, swept up in his plush lips. Hands searched for him before he pulled his face away. You couldn't stop yourself before you whined at the removal of his lips from yours, pouting at him.

He scoffed, looking down at you slightly condescending, “Really, angel?" You could feel your face heating up as his eyes gazed at you, his hand delicately tracing the hem of your robe. “We don't have to do this, if you don't want to, sweet girl. You have to communicate with me, I don't want to push you, if you even don't feel comfortable you need to tell me." It felt like too much in the moment when it seemed so blatantly obvious that you wanted him, craved him. But it also made you love him so much more.

For so long it had been difficult to even be touched. The Capitol had come in and dug their talons into you, your own intimacy didn't even belong to you. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. You'd tried to push it down, he'd dealt with it for so much longer, since he was so much younger. Pushing it down didn't stop the roots of trauma from taking root deep within your soul though.

You felt guilty for not being able to give yourself in so many ways to Finnick who was unbelievably patient, of course he was, he understood, he cared. When you'd finally grazed your hand against his and let him grab it, the pureness of the touch was enough to make you burst into tears. That made it more difficult too though, your tears. A tactic that had once seemed wise in winning over the Capitol as a sweet, innocent girl had come back to bite you. Echoes of how pretty you were when you cried.

When you'd finally given that part of yourself to Finnick, of your own accord, the will that has usually been taken from you. He'd made sure you wouldn't regret it, he brought back the positives of intimacy which you'd forgotten about. You were so used to calling upon the tears as you zoned out, floated away. But not with Finnick, never with him. Where you both belonged to each other and were truly connected as one.

“Are you comfortable?" You asked softly. It felt selfish that he was so worried about you with what he'd been through as well, like it was too much about you.

Finnick sighed, “Don't do that." You looked at him quizzically, “Averting the question, you shouldn't be doing it to please me, I'll be okay. I wouldn't have gotten this far if I wasn't.” His hand stroked the side of your face which chased each movement. "Are you certain you want this? I'm not going to be upset if you say no, angel.” The way he loved you so deeply to be going step by step wasn't even grating anymore it just made your heart buzz even more.

"I do want this Finnick, I know what to say if it is too much.” The thumb grazing your neck was enough to make your eyes roll back, your entire body sensitive with the waiting.

Finnick nodded, slowly. Making sure you weren't just trying to appease him, "Color?”

You sighed dramatically, "Green.” He tugged your hair lightly, "Ow!”

"So impatient, trying to take good care of my girl and she's too desperate to appreciate it.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

You pouted, “I'm sorry, Finnick. I'm just-" You gasped as his hand slipped in your rope, warm hand grazing the cold, hardness of your nipple. Legs rubbing together, his other hand, instantly sitting between them to hold them still.

“Speak up, angel. Just what?" That's what you appreciated so much, he was dominant, took care of you without the casual cruelty others often used. Of course he could be cruel in the best way, a type that still cared and knew what the line was and respected it.

“Need you, please. So, so bad." Your hands grabbed his shoulders, then the sides of his neck desperately trying to feel more of his warmth.

He hummed condescendingly, “You do?" His hand left your breast to the toe of the robe which he slowly unknotted. You nodded, brows furrowed as you tried to buck your hips. The hand prevented your legs from getting closer together, hitting your inner thigh but not in a forceful manner. “Come on sweet girl, can't you behave for me, won't you be my good girl?" His ocean eyes had you nodding along mindlessly. “Words."

“Yes, please, I just, please I need more."

“So needy." The knot on your robe untied, falling open to reveal you to the crisp air. His hand trailing down to where you needed him most, the feeling already sending shocks through your body. You wanted desperately to buck your hips up once again but resisted. He chucked, “Is this all for me? I haven't even really touched you yet." You nodded desperately, the teasing made you want to cry in desperation. Which was fine, but thinking about it scared you, the way they'd taken away two things that were so natural, so personal would distract you.

“Finnick." You said shakily and the time instantly made his face get serious.

“Are you okay? Do we need to stop?" You shook your head vigorously.

"No, just-” Your fingers fiddled with the blanket, embarrassed, "Can you just take some deep breaths with me?”

"Of course, my love.” He grabbed the hand nervously moving around the blankets to hold it to his heart. “You're okay, in and out with me, angel." You closed your eyes, breathing with him, his heart reverberating through you. “Let me know when you want to keep going or stop." He whispered.

“Finnick, I just want to cry, not in a bad way just it's been so, so ruined for me." Weaponized, sexualized.

He nodded, “You can cry if you want, I'll wipe them away from you." The idea made you want to cry at his sweetness alone.

“Okay." Your voice was shaky, “We can keep going, please." His fingers began moving again, right over your core. Palm slightly running against you and it took all of you to not rub with him. Fingers delicately circling your sensitive nub and you moaned out. The first tears falling which he diligently wiped away with his time and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Is that good?" You nodded blissfully and he swatted at your bareness causing a yelp.

“Yes, thank you Finnick, so good."

“Good girl, such a fast learner." You whimpered, toes curling. “What do you need?"

“In me, please."

“What, my fingers?" He held one hand up, moving them in front of your face. The man was mocking you, he knew what you meant and he kept rubbing your clit, making it nearly impossible to keep verbalizing.

“No!" You stammered out desperately. He smirked and removed his fingers from your bundle of nerves, causing you to hit his arm in frustration before he was grinding his clothed member on you and your hands wrapped around his shoulder tightly. You nodded intently, “Yes please. Want you to be inside of me, want to be one Finnick, yours." It hit you that this was the consummation of your marriage which made your heart swell as well as your need.

“Can't deny you anything, sweet girl." He was such a liar, but right now he followed through. Your hands began pulling down the pants he wore, desperate to free him so he could be buried in your walls. He groaned as your hand grazed his tip, precum dotting it. You licked your lips and he smirked cockily, “Another time, angel."

"How do you want me?” You asked, you'd take him anyway he wanted just to be clenched around him.

"Just the way you are is perfect, wanna see you, beautiful.” He lined himself up with your soaked entrance, "Are you sure, you're ready? Don't need more preparation.” You shook your head vigorously, pushing yourself forward to feel the tip and he grunted.

“Don't need it, so wet, I can take you, promise."

"Only if you're sure.” You nodded again, pouting.

"Please!” You whined and with that he didn't hold back, pushing his full length in and you nearly screamed. Clenching your walls around him, fingernails digging into him.

“That feel good?"

“So, so, so good." You began sliding your hand down, but he caught it tutting in disapproval.

"I've got you, angel, just lay there like a good girl. Let me take care of you too, you're making me feel so good.” His expert fingers went straight back to your clit as he began pounding in and out of you.

“Oh God, Finnick!" Your eyebrows pulled together and eyes snapped shut as he filled you. It was like you were a perfect fit for each other.

“So perfect angel, just looking at you made me think I wasn't even gonna make it into you." Finnick groaned, he knew exactly what you liked, what pace to go. You'd been so used to faking it or them not caring at all, but with him he could get you there so fast, so hard, and could do it over and over so perfectly. His fingers rubbing into your bundle of nerves that had you biting into your bottom lip to stop you from waking the whole floor. Both actions made you want to scream in ecstacy. “Are you close already, angel? Do I really make you feel like that, so fast?” You nodded, dumbly making mindless noises as his hips thrusted in and out. “Me too. I don't know how you do it to me. Where do you want me, stomach, mouth, inside?" His groaning was making his own speech shaky.

“Inside please, need to feel it, Finnick."

“You sure?" He asked, biting down on his bottom lip as your moans from his skilled fingers working their magic as he kept moving inside of you made him even closer.

“Yes, yes, yes, need to be one, just you and me. Need it inside." He pinched the bundle of nerves lightly as he hit the spot inside of you that had you kicking your feet on sheets. “I'm gonna, oh I'm gonna-"

“I know, just wait a little bit longer, angel, I'm almost there. So close, be my good, good girl." You whined, nodding.

“Wanna be so good for you."

He nodded, the words bringing him even closer to the edge as he roughly thrusted into you. “You are, so good, just gotta hold back a little longer." You were sobbing, lost in the high as he wiped away the tears streaming down.

“Feels so good, Finnick, I can't please let me, need to."

“Wait." He said sternly, at this point he felt like he was denying himself too just to watch you squirm and listen to his every word. Grabbing your face softly so your eyes were trained on him, hand still rubbing fast circles on your clit. “Been such a good girl, don't ruin it." His hips started stuttering inside of you.

You shook your head, “I won't, I'm sorry. Wanna be good." He let go of your face with his free hand and pinched your nipple. “Finnick, please, I can't. Please don't be mean, I need you.”

"Making me feel so good, my love. Clenching around me, trying to hold back, you're such a good listener." He pinched your clit again, he was being mean, he couldn't deny it but the way you cried out and started trying to push away from him was bringing him straight to the edge. “Color?"

“Green." You choked out, “Please, Finnick, I can't." Your hands pushed against his chest.

"Then you know what to say, angel." He raised an eyebrow, “So you can." It would feel so much better, be so much harder for both of you the longer he kept this up. His lips attached to your breast and you tugged his hair, he moaned onto you and the vibrations had you desperately trying to fend off the orgasm approaching.

“Please, I need to. I know you are too." He thrust into that special spot in you again and your hands hit the sheets in frustration as your eyes fluttered.

“Be patient, don't be a brat." He pulled away from your breast to look at you. He pressed down on your clit and thrust into you again, “Oh god, gonna let go inside of you now, angel. Be all over your walls, gonna feel so good. Been such a good girl, you ready to let go of me."

“Yes, please!"

“You can let go, sweet girl." His lips pressed to yours to quiet both of you moans as you finally both let yourself go. You could've sworn the way his split inside you made your shaking even harder. It was so good, so worth it.

You were nearly breathless when you pulled away, “That was new."

“Are you okay?" He asked, eyes full of concern.

“Yeah, of course. I just, you're always incredible, I'm great.” You laughed breathlessly.

"Oh, good.” He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

“Thank you."

“You don't have to thank me, angel."

“Yes I do, they've taken so much of both of us and you just bring so much of it back to just being so real, so it doesn't feel like they own it anymore."

“That's just being a decent human, I just want to take care of you. Through all the ups and downs." He was so kind, it made you ecstatic that for as long as either of you were alive you'd always be one with each other, bonded through everything you loved. “Come on, we have another long day tomorrow, let's get cleaned up."

“What if we just didn't go, just laid here together, until it passed."

“I'd love to." His eyes were earnest and like pools you could drown in, “Nothing I want more than being with you forever. But they'd drag us out and we have things to do, my love.” He helped lift you up from where you lay comfortably. Your nose scrunched up." What?”

You pulled apart your thighs, "So sticky.”

He laughed before he could stop himself, "Well I'm not the one who asked for it.” That smug, loveable ass.

"Shut up, you loved it.” Softly shoving his arms as you went to stand.

He raised his arms in defense, "Guilty as charged."

He was so perfect, the way he was so effortlessly funny, so compassionate for all your needs even if you didn't verbalize them, how patient he was yet so stern and guiding. Much too good for what you could give him, you'd go to hell and back to do half as much as he did for you. Of course he always assured you of all you did to help him, but it felt so miniscule compared to what he did for you. The things you would sacrifice to help him, to be by his side were unmatched.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so much for reading!! I haven't written smut in so long and this really isn't a smut heavy series but I felt like exploring how what snow did to the victors who were deemed to be desirable would effect their intimacy and sometimes a little spice is needed to deal with all the angst I write. if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, likes, comments, reblogs, anything and my ask box is already open if you have any questions or ideas! thank you all so much for reading 💋

taglist: @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @avoxrising @artsyaquarium @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @darlingsoulbeautfulthoughts @thatonegayloser616 @kybermp3 @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @ravensinthedaylight @innercreationflower @uhnanix @aesthetic0cherryblossom @yourdailymemedelivery

[harukamitsuki]

Ugghh been consuming some bnha stuff and I'm reminded of why I largely prefer fanfiction over the actual story. I have so much hate and pettiness within me. Even so, I am never going to change my mind on how much I hate how bnha is just an amalgamation of wasted potention. Search the definition of wasted potential up and there's just an image of bnha.

I remember watching it as the first season was coming about because it was made by Bones and I just have to watch it in that case. I watched episode one and was so excited.

We have our mc, Midoriya Izuku, being powerless in a world full of quirks.

His childhood friend turned bully, Bakugou Katsuki, is shown to be favoured by literally everyone and this feeds into his ego.

All Might, the number one hero, is jaded and powerless for 21 hours of the day because of a fight nobody knew existed. Izuku is attacked and helpless, but saved by All Might. All Might tells him he can't become a hero. A much needed reality check because Izuku didn't work out a single bit before then and it's so incredibly hard to fight someone who has something you lack.

Then Bakugou is attacked and helpless. Bakugou, who is so much stronger and who people love, is left useless, only able to make the situation worse with his explosions creating a fire hazard. The pro-heroes can't do anything. All Might and Izuku both hate themselves for the part they played and how useless they are. Then Izuku sees how scared Bakugou is. He runs in, inspiring All Might as he mocks himself for breaking Izuku's dream yet forgetting the core of heroism.

Then, after all is said and done, All Might goes back to Izuku. And he tells him he can become a hero.

...

Then he offers him One for All. Now, when I was watching this for the first time, I was so disappointed. You set up a powerless mc in a world full of powers and you just give him the power of the strongest hero? Great. But, I kept watching.

I watched Izuku work to get his power, struggle even after getting a quirk. I watched as Izuku finally stood up for himself and win against Bakugou. I watched as the series went on and I... I started noticing more and more missed opportunities.

See, bnha is supposed to be a zero to hero story. It's supposed to be about the mc going from powerless to powerful. But it does it so quickly. Suddenly, it's not about Izuku finding his own form of strength, or realising how being quirkless may not give any advantages but it also has no disadvantages, or even any commentary on quirk discrimination or fantastic racism or anything.

It turns into a story about controlling your power. It's not what I signed up for.

That's just one missed potential. There's so many more. Horikoshi clearly tries to make some commentary on quirk discrimination and female heroes/sexism in the workplace and entertainment over peace. There's some effort put into making a comment on how heroes are glorified and people don't see them as public workers, they see them as celebreties.

But it's never delved into. We don't see how bad people with mutant or 'villainous' quirks are treated, and we don't see how people with weak quirks are treated, or how the quirkless are treated (because the only reason Izuku was treated so horribly was because of Bakugou). We don't see how female heroes need to have a bit of allure in their personas to have any sort of support.

Yuuei is literally a camp for making child soldiers, yet there's no controversy over it? There's no such things as heroes having to take lethal action and no moral dilemmas over it? There's nobody speaking out about how Midnight flirts with students?

We have literally no information about how heroes work. We don't know how their salaries are decided, how they're ranked, how undergound heroes work. if twilight heroes are a thing, how anybody but Rock Lock feels about bringing children into adult matters, (seriously, why do people hate Rock Lock for being rightfully worried about having 15 year olds in a raid against the yakuza), we don't know how villains work and how to decide if one's a criminal or a villain.

Heck, the only laws we know of are fanon, and the canon stupid idea that you can't use your quirk in self-defense.

It's just. Incredibly infuriating.

Also, analysis as a whole is so under-utilised. Both Izuku and Shigaraki are deemed creepy for their analysis, which is such a useful tool. I mean, Izuku accurately guesses Stain's quirk, which is useful because, otherwise, they wouldn't be wary about Stain licking their blood or cutting them. Shigaraki accurately guesses the time intervals between Aizawa's blinks, which helps him a shit ton.

But is it ever used outside of these situations? No. The thing is, quirks are scientific in nature, not magic. Therefore, they're not restricted like magic is. Fire doesn't always have to be fire, it can be smoke or just heat. Ice can be water or steam. Acid can melt through anything or just be used as a mario kart banana peel.

There was so much missed potential and that's exactly why there's so much fan content.

Horikoshi leaves so much out, and everything he misses tends to be the interesting parts. He willfully explains Bakugou's quirk in detail, but everyone else? Nah. Fuck them.

I mean, let's look at Ochako's quirk.

Gravity negation. Or is it? See, if it were just gravity negation, then two things, in particular, would happen. First of all, Izuku would have fucking died when she saved him from falling. Second of all, she would not have been able to get infinity in the ball throw.

Negating gravity does not negate the forces. Therefore, when she saved Izuku from falling, he would have still been affected by the force of his fall. It would have been no different from hitting the concrete. Additionally, when she threw the ball, it kept going. Air drag would have made it so that she couldn't possibly get an infinity.

More accurately, rather than force negation as some fanfics suggests, she's telekinetically accelerating whatever she touches. She telekinetically accelerates Izuku's body to stop him falling, and does the reverse for the ball, making it so that it continues to accelerate after she throws it.

See what I mean? Because Horikoshi gave Bakugou's quirk a scientific explanation with him sweating a nitroglycerin-like substance and being able to spark it, you have to look at every quirk with scientific knowledge. He could have said 'oh, yeah, I store energy from my quirk in these gauntlets' but Hori just had to be a smartass.

By the way, because of Bakugou's explanation, it's possible that his quirk is not what is named. Yes, it's possible to have two sides of a quirk, as we see in Shouto, but Bakugou's quirk isn't explained in the same way.

Rather than his quirk being creating explosions, his quirk is more like creating sparks in his palms. Why? Well, you see. Bnha never delves into actual quirk theory, but there's more than enough canon evidence that you have one main quirk and then one or more quirk mutations. For example, Ashido Mina's quirk is secreting acid that she can manipulate the acidity and viscocity of. Her appearance is not related to her quirk at all, meaning it's a quirk mutation from her parents. Same with Tokoyami Fumikage. Quirk is Dark Shadow, so there's no need for the bird head.

Why does this relate to Bakugou? Let me explain: Bakugou explains that he recieved a mutation from his parents with his mother secreting glycerin and his father sweating acid with combustive properties. In other words, Bakugou inherited nitroglycerin-like sweat from his parents, but his actual quirk is being able to create sparks.

His quirk is 'Sparks'. Not Explosions.

Why am I ranting about this? Because bnha completely misses all of this! It makes no sense which is a shame because the concept is so interesting! But then it throws away any scraps of potential left when it becomes 'My Kacchan Academia'.

Seriously, why do people and why does Horikoshi love abusive pieces of shit so much? Why did he throw away the potential to look into Shouto and his siblings' feeling about Endeavour? Why did he make Dabi's plot all about Endeavour instead of Shouto?

It's so easy to compare the ways Dabi and Shouto handle their trauma and their ways of revenge. It's so easy to look at Dabi and think about how easy it would have been for Shouto to become like him.

Shouto was transfixed on Endeavour. Everything he did related back to his hate for Endeavour. Using his quirk, fighting, grades, social interaction, everything. His only reason for becoming a hero is to spite Endeavour. It's only because Izuku reaches out to him and saves him from his own toxic mindset that he's able to move one and do things for himself.

Dabi, or Touya, on the other hand, doesn't get that. He doesn't get that person who recognises how far he's gone, how, in trying to spite Enveavour, he's living a life centred on him. How he's jealous of his little brother for being abused and tormented.

While Shouto became a hero to spite Endeavour, Dabi became a villain.

They're both full of hatred at first, but Shouto is saved from that spiral. Izuku helps him. Dabi doesn't have that. It would have been so interesting to see these two face of as parellels, but nope. It's all about Endeavour. Shouto is nothing more than an accessory.

I understand Dabi being hung up on Endeavour, but to outright replace Shouto with the abusive flaming trashbag? No.

Also, if Horikoshi wanted Dabi to be seen as sympathetic or redeemable, don't make him kill innocent people. Don't make it so that he unlocks an ice aspect to his quirk in a life-or-death situation because all that means is that Endeavour was right to hurt Touya the way he did. All that says is Endeavour should have hurt him more.

AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON BAKUGOU.

This piece of shit bullied Izuku relentlessly for years, used his quirk on him (yes that is canon), told him to end his life, tried to assault him in Yuuei, tried to kill him, threw a tantrum at an abused kid for not being magically okay with using a quirk that reminded him of his abusive father, assaults Izuku when he tries to work together but still magically gets a pass for being carried out unconcious which Sero was failed for, and the list just keeps growing.

Oh, but my bad. He has a sad backstory. You see, he fell in a river.

[yandere-sins]

Yandere who was trying his best to not kill Y/N because they are taking away/cock blocking their way to his love life AKA y/n's friend. So what they do is they try to research about Y/n's information in hopes to find their weaknesses and get rid of them so that they can have their friend, but he found himself falling for them instead 👀.

I'll admit, I am not usually a fan of a fickle yan who'd just take anyone to feel something and jump darlings. But I do sometimes think of yandere, who learns that what they were feeling was all just a facade, all fake. This works very well for your idea here, too!

Because they were really convinced of their cause. They were down to marry and have a family with their chosen darling, no matter what. They would have done anything to protect this idea of love they have falsely created, maybe to satisfy something, their parent's wishes, or the idea that they'd finally feel right if they stuck to social norms. They even went so far as to stalk their chosen darling just so they could prepare and woo them properly, and that was all well for a while.

Until you had to butt in.

The yan is already furious at you for not backing off when they told you to. For not heading their warnings to stay away from your friend and then having the audacity to go to said friend and question if the yandere was any good. You just keep stopping the yan and your friend from making progress with their relationship with your doubts, and—infuriatingly—your friend still takes your side, no matter how much effort the yandere puts into creating love between the two of them.

There's no question that the yandere has thought about getting rid of you countless of times, but with how much their darling clings to you... somehow their promises of doing everything they can to make the relationship a reality becomes lackluster. Perhaps it's because they are trying to fabricate something that isn't true. Still, somehow they lose their faith when they watch how happy their darling is with you but never smiles at them the same way.

So, instead of using force, they decide to put you in a bad light with their beloved and get rid of you this way. They are already way too committed to their act anyway, might as well do it the natural way. They start following you on your social media, check out where you live, and thanks to lots of practice on their darling, they don't even break a sweat stalking you to find some dirt they can use against you.

But instead, the yan finds something very unexpected.

Love.

True, unfabricated love. Ravishingly beautiful love. The kind that makes them feel truly needed in this world for the first time.

It's the little things that make them fall for you the longer they "have to" watch you. From how you browse the store windows with a soft smile to your choice of drink at the coffee shop. The way your fingertips tap against your thigh as you drum along to a song, or how you smooth out your clothes as you hang them up to dry. Your laugh caught by the breeze and the moonlight sparkling in your eyes.

Before long, the yan doesn't even realize that "having to watch" you turns into "longing to watch you". How they grow bolder, sitting closer to your table at lunch just so they can hear your voice, and stay inside your room dangerously long, almost getting caught, just to hug your pillow for a second longer.

Only when the yan's darling begins noting how strange they have become recently, and you point out to your friend that the yandere might have an affair, do they realize that it's true. At least emotionally, they are having an affair, but then again, is it truly emotional when the love the yan had for their darling wasn't actually... anything, really. Discardable.

It becomes clearer suddenly that when they are not with you, they feel nothing for anyone around them. But it's too late. Because if they break up with their darling, you will hate them too, even just out of solidarity. All this time, they tried so hard to shoo you away, but now, all the yan wants is to have you close. However, it's different now. This time... they won't hesitate.

They will have you, no matter what they have to do. No matter who they must kill, kidnap, lock up, or hurt. You will love the yan.

Just like they love you.

[paradiseprincesss]

Ooo I have been loving ALL your fics and your robert fischer one gave me an idea… the reader is a call girl who grew up poor, he hires us and after a while slowly falls in love with her and feels guilty and happy ending for both of my sad babies🥹

pov - robert fischer x reader

hi anon! I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG but i love this - robert fischer will always be a soft character in my mind, i feel like he's just...like that. i just feel like he's a sad and lonely guy with the sweetest heart - i need a robert fischer in my life fr.

summary: as a call girl, your life was chaotic. ever since you were a little girl you had struggled with both self acceptance and self love, but you suddenly meet a client who changes your perspective of everything you thought you knew.

word count: 4,444 exactly lol

warnings: smut 18+ minors dni!!, oral (fem!receiving), p in v, kissing, swearing, mentions of toxic household, daddy issues, mentions of escorting/prostitution lol

…to be loved is to be changed.

you never know when you'll meet the one that changes everything - fate is funny that way. you don't know when they'll show up in your life, maybe you already know them, maybe you don't.

"god, you have no idea what it's like for me! i was struggling to pay my tuition. i'm doing what i have to do to get by, mom!" you scream, tears streaming down your face.

"then go get a job," she yelled back at you, "being some old mans escort is not a real job!"

"i'm- jesus, i'm a call girl it's- it's just different, okay? and it pays well. i can't continue to pay for college if i don't do this. you know a regular job doesn't pay shit." you say, your hands trembling as you argued with your mom.

the one figure in your life that was supposed to show you unconditional love wasn't there for you; but you didn't hold any animosity towards her. she was struggling as much as you were. did.

not anymore.

you hated this - fighting and arguing with her. it hurt you deeply. but, you did what you had to do to get by. your father wasn't in the picture, and your mother worked two jobs but that was barely enough to make ends meet.

your whole childhood was tumultuous, you grew up in a home with a single parent, the other one gone without a trace. you didn't know love growing up, and honestly, it fucked up your perception of the world - of the word love.

you put your all into school; it was the only thing that distracted you from your home life, and you were good at it. you managed to get pretty good grades in high school, no less than an A- in any subject you took, and post-graduation, you got into a pretty good college in your area.

you had moved out the day you turned eighteen, eager and excited to go out and blossom in life; but reality hit you, hard.

rent was expensive, and paying for college? god, that was a struggle in itself. you worked the odd job here and there, whether it was a cashier job or waitressing job, but neither paid enough. you did a little online research and came across escorting. the only thing that really enticed you was the paycheque - and my goodness was it a hefty one.

you kept this life of yours a secret - but you told your mom the truth earlier when she came by to visit you. she was surprised to see the apartment you were living in; decked out and lavish. she'd asked you where you had gotten the money to pay for this from, and you told her what you were doing.

turns out your mother wasn't too happy about her daughter being a glorified escort, and after arguing with you, she slammed the door in your face, which left you a sobbing mess.

but at least you had money now, right?

after scoring a position with a lucrative company which you couldn't disclose for...certain reasons, you received your first job. then you booked another, and another, and soon, you were a top money maker there.

with a face like that and the body you had - you were not short on cash, let's just say that. you were getting paid thousands just to make appearances with rich men - and getting paid tens of thousands to sleep with them.

as much as you loved the cash, you were miserable on the inside. money got boring after a while, it was just another part of your unexciting, depressing, melancholy life.

diamonds and designer bags couldn't fix the hole in your heart, they couldn't fix the emptiness that lingered within you.

if there was someone who understood this feeling better than anyone else - it was robert fischer.

sure, he never grew up poor or struggled to have money, but he knew damn well that money couldn't solve all your problems. in fact, having a lot of money came with more problems, he thought.

robert didn't know love - it was unfamiliar to him. none of his ex-girlfriends loved him, they just loved his money. they didn't care about him, they just cared about cashing in.

and every time he broke it off with them, they would tell him "don't leave, i miss you" - but he knew better than that. they didn't miss shit but the money, designer bags, and the lavish lifestyle.

after a particularly agonizing day at work, robert came home to his penthouse; head clouded with stress. honestly, it had been months since he had sex - been forever since he just felt loved or had any form of intimacy.

he craved it real bad.

so, he sighed as he dialled the number on his phone, waiting as the line rung quietly. quickly, someone answered and he put in his request - "i'll give you fifteen grand to send over your best girl," was all he said over the phone, quickly giving his address over afterwards.

and that is the story of how you ended up as robert fischers personal call girl - but that was just the beginning.

when you first met robert, you were pleasantly surprised. usually, your clientele consisted of old, rich men who were (at least in your opinion) disgusting. however, robert on the other hand was handsome, young, kind and rich on top of all that.

he was your best client thus far, and you were his favourite girl - not that he had any other girls, anyway. he paid you way more than any other man did, and he tipped generously on top of that.

soon enough, you were only seeing robert - exclusively. for work reasons of course. and he tried to tell himself that, too. that this was just sex. it didn't mean anything, right?

wrong.

he pushed you down onto the bed gently, running his hands all over your body while his lips caught yours in a deep kiss. today, you were waiting for him in his penthouse wearing a baby pink, lacy babydoll with matching pink panties and some stockings.

robert damn near lost his mind when he saw you in your lingerie, his cock was straining against his pants the second he laid eyes on you - sprawled out on his bed, biting your lip teasingly.

"fuck, i love you in pink." he groaned against your lips - but what he was really trying to tell you was "i love you."

he positioned you so that you were now sat up against the headboard of his bed, propped up against the plush pillows looking like a princess. slowly, he took his hand up to your thigh, blue eyes still locked with yours, and teasingly started to take your stockings off. he did it excruciatingly slow with the other one, too.

once your stockings were off, he looked at you with admiration. he truly thought you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen. ethereal. "can i?" he asked softly, his hands now trailing down your inner thighs, dangerously close to your clothed heat.

"m-mhm." you hum with a small nod, trying not to lose your mind. keeping your composure around him was proving to become more and more difficult every time.

he hooked his finger into the waistband of the tiny, lacy, pink thong and pulled it down your legs, groaning softly at the sight of your cunt all soaked for him.

"you're soaked. i can see it." he said lowly, and it takes every fucking ounce of self restraint you have in your body not to moan at the way he says it.

"y-yeah. s'cause of you, robbie." you say softly as he spreads your legs open, his mouth watering at the sight. he peppered kisses onto the insides of your thighs, teasingly kissing everywhere except where you so desperately needed him to kiss you.

"please." you whisper, and that was all he needed to hear before he was lapping up your pretty pussy. he licked a stripe up your cunt and you let out a desperate moan at the feeling of his mouth on you.

he continued to eat you out as if it was the last thing he'd ever do, making your head spin. you were moaning his name over and over, begging him to let you cum on his face as he sucked on your clit.

he took one of his fingers and slowly started to pump it in and out of your soaking hole. "oh fuck, i-i need you inside of me." you pleaded, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to release.

"only if you cum on my tongue, baby." he says between your legs, and you started to gasp and moan as you felt your orgasm approach you at full speed.

"i'm- gonna cum!" you desperately cry, feeling yourself cream all over his face as he took every last drop of it.

he sat up wiping his mouth and chin, glistening with your slick, and smiled at you dopily - he was in heaven.

“lay back on the bed for me, princess.” he commanded softly, and you oblige immediately. as you find comfort within the huge, king-sized bed and soft pillows, he unbuttoned his white dress shirt and undid his tie, taking it off while you watched like a predator stalking its prey.

next came his slacks, which he was rushing to get out of. as his cock sprung free from his boxers, your body felt like it was going into overdrive. robert got between your legs and took hold of your hips before lining his cock up with your drooling entrance.

slowly, he pushed in and the both of you let out sinful sounds. sex never had any meaning for you - it was just your profession, you didn’t know any different. but when he was inside you, when you let him into you - things felt...different.

robert was in way too deep to get out now (both figuratively and literally), and he slowly started to thrust himself in and out of you at a slow pace. one thing you noticed about robert, especially when you guys were fucking, was that he never broke eye contact.

nobody had ever fucked you so sensually before, let alone with such care. he fucked into you gently, the both of you moaning and breathing heavily, and he got lost in your pretty eyes.

he loved you - and he knew it was wrong.

it was the one thing you shouldn’t do when hiring a call girl - fall in love with her. he knew he shouldn’t fall in love with a woman who’s literal job was to pretend that she loved you and fuck you right, but he couldn’t help it.

robert - like you - didn’t know what love was until he felt you. until he knew you.

“f-fuck, faster robbie.” you whispered, breathless and feeling almost out of touch with reality with how good he felt inside you - it was like he was made for you.

“god, you’re so fucking tight. you- ugh, you feel so good, baby.” robert moaned, and you could almost hear the desperation in his voice. “i’m already about to cum, jesus-“ he stammered, voice strained.

“then cum, ah-.” you urged, wrapping your arms around him in a way that was a little too intimate for it to just be part of your job.

“how much extra do you want, ten grand?” he panted as he fucked your pretty pussy, feeling you tighten up around his hard cock.

“wha- robbie, what?” you try to talk properly through the pleasure he was bringing you; it was overwhelming. you weren’t sure why he was bringing up payments and money now of all times, this had been discussed already at the beginning of…whatever this agreement was.

“how much to make you mine? please - i love you.” he said, losing himself in the feeling of you.

you felt your mouth go dry as the words fell from his lips, and in a panic you struggle from underneath him, trying your hardest to push him away.

“wait- wait, stop-“ you say all flustered and panicked. this wasn’t supposed to happen - this should never happen between you and your clients.

he stops as soon as you say the word, and you backup into the the headboard of the bed anxiously, grabbing the blankets to cover yourself up as soon as he had pulled out.

you had never known love before, so when you heard those words, it sent you into an abysmal spiral.

“i-i’m sorry, i just-“ he stammered, the two of you looking each other awkwardly, and robert felt his heart break in two silently.

“don’t apologize, it’s my fault.” you sigh, looking down.

“no, cmon- i shouldn’t have said that.” he said back, and you glanced at him for a second - he looked like he was hurting. like it physically hurt him to tell hear you turn him down in a sense.

you felt a tear run down your cheek, and you wiped it away, already embarrassed enough. this had never happened in front of a client before.

was robert just a client, though?

before you had a chance to answer your own question, robert answered it for you. he took his hand out, gentle and soft, and wiped the tears away from your cheek.

“what’s going on?” he spoke softly, and you just shook your head, avoiding all eye contact.

“i- please, i’m so embarrassed. i’m sorry. you don’t need to pay me for today.” you whisper.

he shakes his head, and grabs a robe that he had draped over the ottoman in front of his bed, and quickly threw it on. you stayed with the covers pulled up over your chest and the rest of your body, watching him carefully.

he approaches you cautiously, and without another word he pulls you into his embrace - warm and inviting, just like him.

it felt like the missing piece in your chaotic, incomplete puzzle that you called your life.

words failed you in that moment, but it felt foreign. the feeling of being loved, being comforted, being vulnerable was new to you. you didn’t know such feelings could exist - at least, you grew up thinking that anyway.

"i'm really sorry, i shouldn't have said that." he said softly, petting your hair gently. "no, it's- fine. i-i don't know why i reacted like that." you reassured him, not quite knowing the reason behind your erratic behaviour.

"we don't have to continue, okay?" he reassures you in a soothing tone, and you let yourself fall into the feeling of his touch and embrace for a moment too long, before coming to your senses.

"t-thank you," you mumble, "i just don't think i'm in a good head space right now."

"and that's okay." he reassures you once again - he was really good at that. "why don't we just end todays session and i'll see you again next week, same time?"

"yeah, okay. i'm sorry, robbie." you murmur, and robert could feel his heart beating rapidly as you said his name like that - the name you called him.

after that, you had left in a rush (and felt super unprofessional about it), profusely apologizing for what had happened but he kept telling you that it was okay.

once you got back to your place, you ran a hot shower for yourself to collect your thoughts and calm yourself down. after that, you got into bed and fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the day you had.

the next morning, you woke up feeling groggy, and frankly - still super embarrassed from yesterday. cringing at your own actions, you felt like you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never show your face again.

why did you react like that? why did you have to make a scene? why did robert's confession throw you off so badly?

deep down, you knew the answers to these questions.

you reacted like that because you grew up around constant chaos and poverty, you didn't know what it was like to be cared for, to be loved. you made a scene because for someone who's never known love, facing the unknown was terrifying.

but why did robert's confession throw you off? why?

you sat there in bed, wondering. wondering to yourself why he would want you of all people - some call girl he ordered because he was bored. why wasn't he with some other girl who had come from money like him? come from class? why would he chose you?

in that moment, it went right over your head, but his confession threw you off because you didn't feel worthy. you didn't know how to trust - you couldn't see yourself the way robert saw you, after all.

suddenly, you heard your phone buzz beside you. looking a the notification, you found yourself shocked. you had received an e-transfer from robert of double the normal amount he was paying you.

your jaw dropped and you had to re-read the numbers in your account to really make sure this was real. in a state of shock, you look through your contacts and give him a call in the spur of the moment.

"hello?" his slightly raspy morning voice answered, and you felt your heart do a little flip at the sound of it - but you pushed it aside.

"hey, robert, it's me," you say, taking in a breath, "i...you didn't have to pay me, i told you."

he sighed on the other line, "no, i shouldn't have...told you what i did. i'm sorry, i...i've been thinking about it."

you stayed silent, unsure of what to say next, but he continued talking regardless. "can we talk? i'll pay you for your time."

"you don't have to do that, robert. and yes, yeah let's, um, talk." you say to him, and the two of you arrange to meet at his at three.

you get yourself ready, doing your hair in your favourite hair style and your makeup all glamorous, throwing on your favourite saint laurent heels with a matching satin mini dress.

you rush out the door, and hopped into your car, speeding off to his place. usually, he would send a driver out to yours, but you were off the clock. he insisted over the phone, but you urged him that you could drive and it was fine.

as soon as you got to the building of his penthouse, he buzzed you in and you made your way up the elevator. after knocking on the door, he opened it with a small smile on his face. he was wearing the usual - suit and tie, of course.

as he welcomed you in, he told you about the meeting he had at his office earlier that day - hence the whole suit and tie getup.

"anyways, i'm sure i'm boring you with the details about my work meeting." he says, laughing softly and you smile. "not at all, it's refreshing to hear you talk about other parts of your life besides...you know, the usual stuff we talk about."

he smiled back at you, but it seemed he was having trouble getting his words out - he didn't know how to tell you what he wanted to tell you.

"er, please know that, fuck- i just, i didn't mean to scare you away with what i said." he stammered, clearly flustered.

"...what did you mean, robert?" you ask meekly, avoiding eye contact. he slowly steps a little closer, closing the gap between the two of you.

"i have feelings for you." he says, voice strained out of sheer nervousness.

"don't say that," you sigh, "this- us, it isn't real. it's just like, playing pretend."

you so desperately wanted to say, "me too, i fell for you too," but your insecurities stopped you. even though you worked in a profession where you were paid to be pretty, paid to look good as arm candy, you felt inadequate all the time. you didn't feel pretty - you felt indifferent. sometimes, you didn't even know who you were.

there was a lot of baggage that came with you, but it was nothing that would ever scare robert off.

"i know what it's like to 'play pretend,'" he said, emphasizing his words with air quotations, "i've done that for the last ten years of my life - with every woman i've ever dated. they pretended to like me for me and not my money, and i pretended that i didn't see what they were really doing."

"you're literally paying me to sleep with you, robert. this is transactional." you say, trying to convince yourself into thinking that was the truth.

"god- it's not. it's not, you know it, i know it. we both know it." he exasperates, and you look away again as he continues. "i can feel it in the way you touch me, the way you look at me, the way you say my name, i can tell. and i know you can tell by the way i hold you, talk to you - the way i don't want anyone else but you."

as he confessed, you felt your cheeks go pink. you didn't realize that he was this much of a romantic - it was kinda cute. it was obvious that he was so serious about this, but you on the other hand...

you weren't too convinced. you had never received such attention, such care or such...love before.

"why are you lying to yourself?" his voice snapped you out of your anxious thoughts, and you finally found the courage to meet his gaze.

trying your hardest not to get lost in his ocean eyes, you manage to get a response out. "i-i don't know. i guess i just don't understand it. i don't understand how you could like, fall in love with someone who does...what i do."

he sighed softly, tilting your chin up with his finger, forcing you to meet his gaze once again. "let me help you understand, then."

one second you were trying to deny every lovey-dovey feeling you had for him - and the next his lips were on yours. it just happened so naturally.

in that moment, you could feel every insecurity, every anxious thought, every piece of pent up trauma and trust issues subside with him.

he wrapped his arms around your waist lovingly, holding you in his embrace as he kissed you softly.

you were off the clock, and so was he. neither of you were your personas anymore. you weren't just some call girl anymore (not that he ever saw you as just that), and he wasn't robert fischer of fischer morrow right now - he was just yours.

you were the first to pull away from the kiss, and you looked up at him with a small smile, which he returned.

"you have no idea how much i care about you." he whispered softly, "i wish you could see yourself in the way that i see you."

his words struck a chord for sure, and you felt yourself getting teary eyed again. "jesus, robert - stop making me cry." you laugh softly, trying to hold back the tears.

"i want to know who you are - not the usual work stuff. tell me about your life." he said softly, keeping you close.

and so you did - you did exactly that. that evening, you had spent the whole time getting to really know each other. from childhood memories to what you ate for breakfast that day - no parts left out. he told you about himself too, and finally, you felt safe.

you finally felt like the years of walls you had built up were gradually coming down, and all the baggage you accumulated over the years was slowly fading.

you looked over the terrace of your suite in your lace slip, taking in the beauty of the eiffel tower which you could see from your luxurious hotel room.

"s'pretty, just like you." robert says, wrapping his arms around you from behind, placing a soft kiss behind your ear. "good morning, mrs. fischer."

ah, that's right.

you were mrs. fischer now - newly married and happier than ever. after that fateful night in roberts penthouse, the two of you just clicked. it was fate, no - destiny. it was like something you had never known before, the pull between you two was on a metaphysical level, and for once, you didn't fight the fall.

now, nearly three years later, you were taking in the gorgeous view of paris in the early morning on your honeymoon.

your wedding was beautiful - private and intimate - but beautiful. it was just the way you imagined it would be; everything you dreamed of. robert had proposed to you a week after you graduated from your program in college, and the two of you were happily in love - still happily in love, and always would be happily in love.

you decided to quit your call girl job, as there was no longer a need to work anymore at all. robert covered all of your finances, never once did you ever pick up the bill with him. he supported you in everything that you did, always being there for you and showing up for you when you most needed him.

he never judged you, never belittled you, never made you doubt how much he loved you. it was like he had superpowers with the way he was able to permeate through all the past trauma you had. it didn't matter to him if you were working in the escort business before he came along; he simply didn't care.

your past is in the past for a reason, that wasn't you anymore. you were a different woman now. softer and no longer had her guard up constantly. sometimes, you felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself.

because he loved you for you. he taught you how to be grateful for yourself, to show up for yourself, to love yourself the way he loved you.

"i love you so much, honey. god, i love everything about you." he said softly, kissing down your neck, making you giggle.

"mm, i'd love to see me from your point of view." you say, taking in the breathtaking view of paris, and your new life.

[bangchansdirty-slut]

Hi Hi! you did so well with my first request so I have another one:)

I was thinking FTM reader (no surgeries) x roommates Chansung. Chansung are dating and they hate you and you hate them with how they keep you up at night being loud as hell when Ji fucks Chan. One day y'all are in a heated argument with lots of yelling and aggression but there's so much damn sexual tension between the three of you that things suddenly turn SPICY mid argument.

Paring: Switch!Bangchan x Top!Han x Bottom!FTM reader

Genre: Smut

Requested

More: Masterlist

A/n: Omg, I finally finished writing! I hope this is what you were asking for. I really tried my best to write it as clearly as possible.

In the dimly lit room, the shadows danced across the walls like ethereal lovers, their soft caresses blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. The air was thick with anticipation, the heavy silence of three people caught in a web of unspoken desires. Y/n hated it. Hated the way his roommates Jisung and Chris looked at him, hated the way they whispered to each other when they thought he was asleep, hated the way they made him feel so damn uncomfortable. He couldn't help but listen to them fuck, couldn't help but hear Chris's muffled cries and moans from Jisung that seemed to echo through the walls of their tiny apartment. But tonight was different. Tonight, something was going to give.

The argument had started innocently enough, over the usual things: dirty dishes in the sink, unemptied trash cans, the occasional forgotten rent payment. But as the words flew back and forth between them, the tension in the air grew thicker, more palpable with every syllable. And then, suddenly, it shifted. Like a bolt of lightning from the clear blue sky, the sexual tension exploded into the room, filling the air with the heady scent of desire and the promise of something more.

Jisung leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Y/n's face. "You like hearing it, don't you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You like hearing us together." Chris, always the braver of the two, nodded in agreement, his hands moving restlessly on Y/n's shoulders.

"No, I don't!" Y/n snapped, trying to pull away from their touch. "I hate it! I hate you both!" But even as he spoke, he could feel his heart racing, his pussy getting wetter in his panties. The tension between them was unbearable, the air thick with the scent of their arousal.

Jisung rose to his feet, his movements fluid and confident. He took a step closer, his chest almost brushing against Y/n's. "We can prove it," he whispered. "We can show you what you've been hearing every night." Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed Y/n's hand and dragged him across the room, into his bedroom. Chris followed close behind, his expression a mix of determination and desire.

The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from a small lamp on the bedside table. Jisung closed the door behind them, shutting out the rest of the world. Jisung and Chris took off their clothes then they both took off Y/n's. Jisung led Y/n over to the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress so that he was lying on his back. Then he turned to face Chris, who was watching them with hungry eyes.

"Show him," Jisung breathed, his voice low and commanding. "Show him what he hears." Chris nodded, moving forward to stand between Y/n's spread legs. He leaned down, his lips brushing against Y/n's ear. "You like hearing this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath sending shivers down Y/n's spine.

As if in answer, Y/n arched his back, letting out a soft moan. The feel of Chris's hardness pressed against his entrance was almost too much to bear. He wanted it, needed it, despite himself. And then, with a single thrust, Chris was inside him, filling the empty space between their bodies. Y/n cried out, his hips bucking against Chris's, meeting his movements with a fierce hunger.

Behind them, Jisung positioned himself between Chris's legs, leaning forward to kiss his neck. His fingers dug into the firm muscle of Chris's ass as he began to thrust, matching the pace of their hips. The feeling of being so completely surrounded by them, of being taken in every possible way, was overwhelming.

As Y/n lay there, pinned beneath the weight of their bodies, he could feel the pressure building inside him, coiling tight in his core. He arched his back, meeting the rhythm of their movements, his hands clutching at the sheets beneath him. The sounds of their bodies slamming together filled the room, echoing through his head like a siren song.

Jisung's thrusts behind him were fierce and unyielding, each one driving deeper into Chris's ass. The friction caused his cock to throb, and he could feel the familiar tightening in his balls. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Chris's neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. Chris let out a guttural moan, his hips bucking wildly against Y/n's.

Y/n closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by the sensations assaulting his body. He tried to focus on breathing, on keeping himself from losing control. But it was no use. The heat between them, the taste of sweat and skin, the sounds of their bodies colliding together, it all combined into a cacophony of desire that was impossible to ignore.

As Chris's movements grew more frantic, Y/n knew that he was close. He reached down, grasping at the headboard of the bed, using it to steady himself as he felt the familiar tightening in his core. "I'm going to come," he gasped, his voice ragged with need. "Oh god, I'm going to…"

Jisung's thrusts behind Chris became more urgent, his hips slamming into Chris's ass in perfect rhythm with Y/n's movements. He groaned, his breath hot against Chris's neck. "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n's own pleasure was overwhelming, the sensation of being so fully stretched and used sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. He could feel himself on the brink, about to lose control completely. "Fuck, yeah," he gasped, arching his back as he felt the first spasms of release wash over him.

Chris moaned, his body tensing as he felt Y/n's orgasm spill over him. His own climax followed close behind, his hips bucking wildly as he came, filling Y/n with his seed. The sensation of being so completely claimed by them was overwhelming, and for a moment, Y/n couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He was lost in the haze of pleasure, their sweat cooling on his skin, their weight pressing him into the mattress.

Behind them, Jisung let out a hoarse cry as he felt his release, his hips thrusting one final time before collapsing forward, panting heavily against Chris's back. The weight of their bodies pressed Y/n into the mattress, and he reveled in the feeling of being so thoroughly used and claimed. He could feel the warmth of their sweat mingling together, the roughness of their skin against his own, the rhythmic movement of their breath as they struggled to catch their breath.

Chris's arms wrapped tightly around Y/n, holding him close as their hearts raced in unison. The afterglow of their shared passion filled the room, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. Y/n closed his eyes, reveling in the intimacy of the moment, the connection he felt to both of them. He could feel the dampness between his legs, the evidence of their passion still pulsing within him.

Jisung slowly withdrew from Chris's body, his cock slipping free with a wet, sloppy sound. He leaned over, kissing Chris's neck, his lips lingering there for a moment before trailing down to his chest. "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I could do this forever."

Y/n turned his head, pressing a kiss to Jisung's lips. "Me too," he whispered, before glancing back at Chris. "And you know we could. We could stay like this all night."

Chris smiled, his eyes drifting closed as he felt the weight of their combined exhaustion settling over him. "I don't know if I could move right now," he murmured, arching his back slightly as Y/n's hand traced lazy circles over his chest.

Y/n smiled, leaning in to press another gentle kiss to Chris's lips. "Well, we're all here together, so we've got plenty of time to rest," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. "We can just lie here and enjoy each other's company for a while."

[klonnieshippersclub]

Sweet as Honey

So excited for Klonnie Weekend! Here's a little something "sweet" (as the title suggests). This is set during season 3 at the Mikaelson Ball and features Klonnie's first kiss.

"You look delectable," Klaus practically purred, leaning close to her. He was internally giddy; Bonnie had agreed to accompany him to the dance floor, even though she didn't seem happy. He knew from the start that she couldn’t reject him without causing a scene, and they were both fully aware she didn’t want that.

With a heated glare, Bonnie pleaded, "Klaus, please."

"I'm only speaking the truth," he said as he tightened his hold on her body against him. "And I thought you preferred 'Nik.'"

"How can you be so bold with people listening?"

"There's enough commotion that no one can hear us."

"You know better than anyone that vampires' hearing ability is exceptionally, strong," Bonnie exclaimed with a tilt of her head. He knew what he was doing, so why pretend otherwise? She wondered what his angle was.

"You're right," he answered with a smirk. "I just don't care about being overheard."

Bonnie and Klaus had grown close in a short period of time. Their bond was more emotional than physical, and it was established under the guise of a truce between the Mikaelsons and Bonnie's friends. Following a recent heartbreak from dealing with her cheating ex, Bonnie found herself feeling isolated. When approached by the Original Hybrid with an offer she couldn't refuse, she found herself becoming infatuated with the most evil person she knew.

She accepted his invitation to have access to his library of grimoires but only when he was present. He didn't ask for anything in return initially. When she arrived at the Mikaelson Mansion to study the spell books, he finally asked her for the payment he had in mind. He didn't want or need money, but he requested to taste her blood.

As they waltzed, Bonnie’s core tightened at the memory. She could recall her arousal upon him drinking from her neck and the kisses he planted upon her skin but never her mouth. Klaus guided her through spells with winks and playful teasing in his library. She knew he was attracted to her but couldn't take his affection seriously considering the dress he gifted her best friend.

As she was brought back to reality, Bonnie remarked, "You don't have to lie to me."

"I have no reason to deceive you," he replied.

"You have the perfect motivation: to drive a wedge between me and my friends."

"Have you considered that I am tired of keeping our relationship secret?" he questioned with a raised brow.

"What relationship?"

"'Relationship' isn't the most accurate word. Does 'mutual romantic interest' suffice?"

"I thought you liked secrets. You're the one who's been flirting with me behind closed doors and pursuing my friend in front of the world," Bonnie said, hating the feeling of seeing Klaus entertain Caroline. He always told her it was only meant to irritate Tyler, but it hurt. After the situation with her unfaithful ex, she vowed to never feel like that again.

"You know that means nothing to me," said Klaus, as his hands wandered lower towards her rear. He'd show that little witch who he truly wanted.

"I know you like to play games, and I refuse to be one of them."

"Oh, I get it. You're jealous."

Bonnie gasped at his delusional accusation. "I am not jealous, and that is absurd to suggest," she responded before she pulled away to leave him.

Of course, Klaus would never make things easy for her, so he followed. "It's absurd that you can deny that I only want you."

The Original grabbed the witch’s hand, and she was suddenly in his embrace again. However, she was unamused by his shenanigans.

"Your actions say differently," said Bonnie, with irritation painting her face.

"You want me to claim you? Fine." Klaus swooped down to capture her mouth in a heated kiss. All he could think of was the taste. Her blood was like wine, and her lips were honey. "You're mine."

[ranwan-love]

Pick a Card: A reality check you need.

Trying to give you a reality check as your blunt bestfriend....

Buy me coffee:

https://buymeacoffee.com/idcbutibel6

Pile one

Friends?? How is your friend circle?? Are you happy with them? Are they really nice people who knows the balance of give and take?? Do they support you even behind your back or just empty words on your face??? How do you feel after spending time with them???? Babe there are some questions you need to ask yourself and these are few of those.

You know what true nature of our soul is stability. It's not high vibration, low vibration or any vibration at all it's completely shunya. Don't confuse this with staying the way you are or not growing because you are at peace whatsoever but it's rather being at peace. Peace brings stability or anything that brings you peace leads to stability. Like walking out of your comfort zone brings peace or resting when needed.

Like let me explain

we are at frequency A; we attract everything of similar frequency. Eventually the space gets filled you can't attract more or if you forcefully try to attract or manifest, same frequency material will come to you in different ways or facade? And you might even feel exhausted or in endless loop.

you increase your frequency; like by doing your inner work, accepting your casualties, improving them and stay in this period for some time. When it becomes new normal to you, your frequencies shift and you attract better new things. This is kinda what I mean with stability and peace. I am sorry if I am not able to explain it well lol. But at same time if you start playing victim or self pity your vibration goes down and you attract same frequency people and things in life!!! So like I don't know if you gonna accept it or not but the friends or people around you are direct reflection of you. So stop resonating with these part of yourself, clean the space and focus on parts of yourself that you want to resonate with.

So now ask yourself if your friend or family don't bring you peace are they right for you? If not, why they are here and to what extent? On what parts they are reflecting on you.

Pile Two

Parents+protection??? Okay does your parents need protection or you need protection from them or maybe protection from yourself as you have mastered there voice in your head which is always there to hurt you.

I don't know why I suddenly thought of Palestine so I am setting intention for them too that they are safe. And if there's some other issues like parents having bad health or just you having tricky relationship with them. I hope it heals too.

You know what this pile at first gave me two type of energies one who love their parents or just hate them but after few minutes I realised no it's rather specific. It's pretty much love and hate relationship. It's like you love them alot but things they do, say or project on you ruins you completely. You might be living under same rooftop which turns out to be really toxic and takes quite a toll on you. At same time you can't hate them completely because you see how much they are working for you.

So I want to say it's ok. Things make way more sense from your perspective intead of some third party who will ask you to cut off them.

Instead try accepting, forgiving and drawing boundaries. I guess it kinda sounds stupid but let me try to explain

Accept that there's a part of them which cares for you even tho their actions says otherwise. Like even there words like wish you were never born, you should die, you would eat us alive anything. They don't mean it. But you would say hey they mean it because it sounded so genuine when they said it! So listen it's there ego self who said it, ego who have been tormented, went through pain, trauma,experience of there own. Try to imagine there higher selfs they definitely hate this behaviour too. Like does there higher self hate you same way, do they wish for you to die? It's just they project there pain on you and it somehow relieves them. You know why because that's all they can do! You have a chance to escape, you have freedom. They never did. Be it your mom or dad! So this is all they could!, so there words hold no value other than just pain.

genuineness you felt in those words was pain they were feeling. It sometimes also comes from a place that my kid is different what if society doesn't appreciate it, worst case hurt him/her? Because that's what happened to them. So while trying to protect you from so called society they become something worse or you can say became the society they were scared of!

So forgive them! Everytime they argue stay quiet, don't give unnecessary reaction,observe where the pain is coming from. You will be able to generate empathy without getting hurt.

Third draw boundaries! Now you accepted and forgave them but that doesn't mean now this is enough so draw boundaries! Start with subtle ones and than eventually increase them. Create space for yourself.

Pile Three

Okay so how does it feel to be your biggest enemy? Does it feel good? Are you enjoying it? Just a genuine question are you sadist or masochist? Maybe both??? Like is it enough or are you going to do it more?? Do what??

"SELF HARM!!!! SELF PITY!!!!"

Like okay bud! I know you had harsh life, traumatic childhood even whole of teenage but does that mean you gonna keep self pitying yourself? Do you think a prince will come?? Your twin flame will come or perhaps jungkook will come??

It's wierd to explain but it's more like you don't play victim but self pity alot!! It also takes away power in really quiet way.

Let me try explaining with example. Imagine you have set of bad experiences, where you barely survived and reached here. You definitely observe how strong you were or how much you have grown. You analyse that thing so well to point you have realisation that you were not a victim but a warrior. But than you self pity like oww man why me why such harsh experience didn't i deserve better, i was a kid too. Would I be better if things were different??

You just keep reliving the moment and the pain.

At this point you just like pain? I think you watch way too many kdrama where main character is shown so powerful because she goes through so much. So you have made this belief

"pain=growth/greatness". The pain or experience you were given they might have been source of transformation or growth but you reliving those experiences in your head is not. You are just patting your ego that you are next chosen one or something. Babe even if you are chosen one , if you stay stuck in your head, procrastinating what you need to do, ignoring your body needs you won't be able to fulfill your purpose of chosen one. So do some grounding and practical work. Like if you are doing everything and still things are not working it's simply because you are stuck in this mental cycle.

I don't know if this will go along the above message but just accept whatever happened,happened.

You already learnt from it, If some message is important it will come as direct clear sentence in your head. Best of luck.

*you might be poet or writing poems might help you release this self pity or pain inducing habbit!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks alot!!! 💚

Please please let me know if it resonated with you.

It will help me develope confidence as I am really new to doing readings for other people. It was always limited to myself or my really close people. So your opinions would matter alot.

Thanks alot once again

[ko-existing]

Hello Ko! I'm so glad you joined Tumblr, I think out of everyone I know and follow, you are the most trustworthy person to get information from. You truly know what you're talking about and you're very very helpful to us with questions. ❤️ I'm gonna try to make this as short as possible because I don't want to make you read a long, rant-ish question. Basically, I really really need some guidance/advice. Like I need some serioussss help..

For about 6 years, I've been "trying" to manifest, reality shift etc. I was focused on desires and getting. I was focused on doing methods to get things and "trying" things. would look all the time for information and "how to's" because I just wanted to shift realities so badly so I could experience all of the crazy things I would imagine. Nothing ever worked for me, not once in those 6 years. I eventually started to panic and think I was wasting years of my life on stuff that wasn't real (yet I'd still hope and try anyway) however I found non-dualism. Like I said, I was VERY focused on desires and getting, so as much as I told myself that I understand non-dualism, deep down I was still attached to ego and understood nothing. I viewed nondualism as a method. I still wanted desires deep down, even if I tried to say "No I want to be free!". I've now come to accept that if I truly want to be free, I need to genuinely STOP seeking desires and things of the ego. I need to accept that if I'm gonna be stuck on desiring, then ND isn't for me. So with that said, I told myself I'd follow non dualism properly and I wouldn't use it as a manifestation or shifting method.

This is the part where I ask for advice. When you're someone who has been stuck up on wanting to shift realities and get things so badly, for SO long, it's hard to let it all go suddenly. I don't know how to drop these thoughts that I get. I feel delusional and depressed because I hate this "life". I remind myself that it isn't real but then I feel insane and I tell myself I need to accept reality and stop hoping for miracles. I no longer wish to fulfill desires or use methods, I want to be free from feeling like this, I want to genuinely not live as if I'm ego anymore but it feels like my thoughts never stop. In the back of my mind, I always think "but I just wanna shift" "I'm delusional" "I am this body/mind"

Ko, I need any kind of guidance. Is there some materials I should read? I'll honestly read whatever books necessary. I don't know what to do 😅 I want to have the same understanding you do. I go to sleep every night thinking "maybe I can wake up in a new reality" and it completely defeats the purpose of me having no duality. I'm always hoping and trying, even when I don't want to "hope" or "try". I get so confused so easily and I think about going back to manifestation, but it never worked and I got depressed because of it. I want to free myself from these ego emotions, free from thinking I need this or that, free from having duality. I want to TRULY understand nondualism and live that way. Forgive me if this is long! I didn't intend to trauma dump or vent in your ask box, like I said before you're just one of the people I trust most. You're very knowledgeable on nondualism and I appreciate your posts very very much 🤍

First step, understand that Non dualism is ONLY(!!!!!!!!!!) a POINTER to what 'you' are. Being fixiated on 'trying to understand ND' is a trap you shouldn't fall into. I used it as a pointer(!) i do not "practise" any concepts.

I cannot stress enough how it is ONLY A POINTER, NOT THE "SOLUTION" NOR "ABSOLUTE TRUTH". "THAT" which you fundamentally are, IS Absolute.

Who has been "trying" all this time? -> The 'person' you THINK you are.

Who "wants" to understand? -> The 'person' you THINK you are

Use it as a pointer and then drop it.

I'm so serious, NEVER see it as the solution, it is a trap to do so. It will help as a start but go BEYOND that. It is nothing but another concept TO HELP.

A lot of you speak about the "ego" like it is some separate entity causing confusion and suffering but it is not. It is ONLY(!!!!!) who you THINK(!!!!) you are. If you stopped thinking about it, could you tell me who you seemingly are?

There are no books needed to """understand""" the basics of this concept, even if you read it, to drop it and be beyond such illusory concepts, is something that is done with or without books.

What you are can NEVER be defined. "THAT" has no name, no label, no characteristics. Nothingness. Yet it seems(!!!!!!) to contain "everything".. but "everything" = "nothingness".

By repeatedly returning to "Nothingness", it becomes clear that you never actually left that "Nothingness" and that it is everywhere.

Drop every label and concept. Everything you SEEM to know. What are you left with?

-> " "

If 'you' want to, you can listen to "YourHigherSelf" on YouTube or the shorter videos of Swami Sarvapriyananda on YouTube.

But again, seeking continously for the Absolute, is a funny game and an even funnier trap. Have enough discipline to not do that and simply BE.

[sydneymykah]

☆☆THE STRUGGLE OF ROUTINE ☆☆

✧─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Some people can just get out of bed and automatically do what they need to do to get the day started. And the same people seem to be the ones we see the most on our screens. "My Morning Routine", "My weekly regimen", "What I eat in a day", and "My Nightly Routine". These people are seemingly put together and perfect like their said routines. But here you are slouched on your undone bed, still in your pajamas, wearing makeup from the day before after waking up after 12 pm. You meaning me, lmao. ☆...

☆The struggle of routine is something we all face regardless of what social media persists to tell us. But I don't really want to talk about how "social media is fake" because that's not even fully true. Some people really do live like this and have very structured routines for their day to day lives, granted it's what pays their bills but that's still technically their routine. But I'm more concerned about talking about how DIFFICULT it is to keep a constant routine. Especially in this weird time we live in.

ミ★I'm a perfectionist. I hate when things don't go the way I want and I tend to want things one way or not at all. But life doesn't live by those rules. Life will throw whatever the hell it wants at you, whenever it feels like it. As an individual you have to learn to work around it all. For me it's an inconsistent work schedule, minor (or major) inconveniences, mood swings, and of course the main culprit is laziness/lack of discipline.

☆We've all done it. On a random day of the week you're up way too late reflecting on your life and what you're doing with it. You suddenly feel the hyperactive urge to fix everything about yourself. You want the perfect body before the summer. You want your hair to grow longer faster. You want to get all your life goals written down and planned out dow not the last minute. You want to post a 1 minute video everyday on TikTok at exactly 3 pm EST and post at least 4 pictures to your instagram every other day. So you open the notes app and make an extremely specific, unrealistic, and way too intense routine to follow everyday. You set reminders, add 30 new alarms to your phone, you fill your amazon cart with stuff you believe you'll defiantly use. And after you make yet another playlist of YouTube workout videos you go to bed confident your life is gonna change forever after this...

Now one of two things happen:

You completely throw away the routine the minute you wake up the next day

Or, you do it for a few days but eventually burnout and find yourself back where you were before, now with just more useless junk you have no room for...

ミ★I have personally been both. But we can all empathize with this because if maintaining a routine was easy it wouldn't be such a successful phenomenon online. Out of the millions of views under "my morning routine" posts, many, if not majority, of them are people who wish they can live the way these people do. I think we as people have developed mindsets that are negative first, positive later. Ever since the quarantine we've been used to online overconsumption. The idea that "more is better", and the scare that was the virus has sparked this fear in us that is wasted time. Hence us wanting to build new giant routines in the middle of the night just to eventually abandon it because our minds and bodies don't evolve or develop like that overnight. Most the time the routines are grueling and just makes us feel exhausted over accomplished. When we don't see immediate change a lot people, including myself, give up then and there.

☆Im not here to tell you how to keep a constant routine or how to become more disciplined because all that information is in the palm of your hands. Honestly at the end of the day it's about your mindset. Realizing what is around you and remembering the reality you live in. You want that body? You want that hair growth? You want to post? It's all possible but here's where the issue lies:

ミ★We forget to forgive ourselves and to be patient with ourselves. We fall under the pressure to perform for social media as well. In this digital age we try to make social media real life 24/7 and put real life on the back burner. Everything must be aesthetic or else! Or if you can't keep a constant routine for a week you're a failure! But the reality is no one just wakes up in their perfect aesthetic one day and has this perfect routine down pat the first time. Another thing that we keep doing is what everyone else is doing. Another example of putting the online first before real life. We've forgotten the beauty of growth, and how things develop overtime. It reminds me of how small artists have the potential to blow up overnight. They suddenly have all these eyes on them and then the GP turns on them simply because their exceptions don't match the artist's personal growth. I think we do the same to ourselves. But regardless of what other people, social media or even what you might even say to yourself the best way to find a good routine is get to know yourself, not someone else. And to not go by others expectations. It's good to hold yourself to a high regard and to make ambitious goals. But you should remind yourself that you want this to last and you don't want to burn yourself out trying to perfect your life like it's a speed run.

☆When following creators who makes content like this I advise to follow people you relate to first. Not saying you can't follow those extremely aesthetic ASMR morning/Night routine videos because hell I watch them too. But know that I watch them for simply that. I've come to the point where I can watch that stuff and not feel incompetent or that I'm failing in life but I digress. Don't pay attention to the many trends and what's hot, just look for people who you might see yourself in, or people who have qualities similar to yours. Physically, mentally, ect. Because if you're a black girl who wants to know how to do a specific 4C hairstyle you're not going to the white girl influencers for tutorials are you? For me I watch Jackie Aina. Her and I don't even have the same tastes in certain aspects, specifically clothing and home decor but she reminds me a lot of myself and some of my values. Her content inspires me but doesn't make me feel like I need to reinvent myself overnight. That's not realistic nor healthy. I think subjecting yourself to that will just give you an identity crisis. Her content helps me feel confident and you should follow people like that too.

ミ★My purpose of this post is not "continue to be a slob" (I'm a Taurus stellium and Venusian. Girl we don't do that over 'chere.) it's to remind and to encourage. A reminder that what you see online isn't what real life is 24/7. Doesn't mean it's all fake, it just means that life doesn't just look like one thing. Social media just tends to make our vision a bit tunneled. Yes, some peoples lives surround what they eat in a day, what they do when they get out of bed, and the steps they follow in their nighttime skincare routine. But our attachment and overconsumption to these types of creators constantly fails to remind us that they're still human. Hell even when the human creators tell y'all "hey I'm human" they still aren't treated as such but guess what? They are! So are you. You are still human. Finding a groove that works for you will take time. And many times you will fail. You will probably forget to do something, you won't have the time for certain tasks, or an inconvenience will pop up out of no where that knocks you off course. But if at first you don't succeed, try again. Social media picture perfect propaganda (lol) has made us forget that life happens and that we will essentially always struggle with routine. Some things stick, some things don't. Some routines last a long time, some only stay for a day. We live in an age where everyone's trying to move as fast as they can to keep with the trends, keep up appearances, and to make up for lost time. And as much as I love the thrill of the fast life, how can I expect to see my growth, what I like, what needs changing and how to fall into a good rhythm when I'm too busy trying to keep up.

✧─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xoxo, Sydney Mykah -☆

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 5 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Word Count: 25.1k+

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), conversations about/admitting to having an eating disorder, strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy, emotional/verbal abuse from a parent

SMUT-18+ ONLY: unprotected sex, sex in a library, fingering, (f rec) a bit of spanking, tiny bit of cockwarming, a tinge of possessiveness, overstimulation, hickies, praise, heavy use of sir/doll pet names, very sweet sex. this chapter is a little sappy in places, lol.

a/n: thank you all so so much for being patient with me. your support means the whole world. ♡ love you all endlessly.

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been lying on top of him, tangled in the sweaty, rumpled mess of his sheets, for what feels like hours—though it’s only been a few moments.

There’s something about his embrace, his strong and toned arms fully enveloping you; There’s a sense of safey here that you’ve never quite known, one that you’re suddenly terrified of ever losing.  

And yet, there’s still something plaguing you. As you’re cuddled up the most intimately the two of you have ever been, you’re feeling the guilt of how things transpired tonight. Of how you’re game you’d been playing with Sam eventually caught up to you. And though you don’t regret where it’s landed you, you do regret the dishonesty that brought you here. 

“Jake?” You say, meek and quiet as you lift your head to look him in the eye. “C-can I be honest with you about something?"

His eyes were closed, but he opened them the second you began to speak. “Of course, doll.” He hums, kissing your forehead and donning a lazy grin. 

You sigh as you lift yourself off of him and lay over on your side so you can better face him, laying your head in the crease of your elbow. 

“What’s the matter?”  He asks, following your movement by laying himself on his side, too, facing you as he props his head up with his hand. “You look a bit troubled.” 

Starting this drawn-out, difficult explanation isn't easy. But here you are, already committed. Best to just come out with it, to finally relieve yourself of this burden. "First, I want you to know I didn't sleep with Sam. We got close, but I stopped it." Sitting upright, you grasp the black satin sheet to shield yourself, though it's not your exposed body that leaves you feeling vulnerable right now. "I hated seeing you with Stacy that night, and I understood why you went into your room together. So, I tried to get back at you by getting close to Sam. But I couldn't go through with it, and I—"

When he clasps your hand, a sudden air of confusion flickers in his sleepy eyes, prompting you to halt your over-explanation.

"I don't want Stacy.” His tone is resolute, firm. His eyes are imploring you to trust his words. "She tried hard that night, but I turned her down."

A rush of embarrassment flushes your cheeks. How could you have misunderstood so completely? 

Yet, there's still the lingering suspicion that he might be telling you what he thinks you want to hear, especially considering his state before he drove you home that night...

“Why weren’t you wearing a shirt when I came back down stairs? And why did you look exactly like you do right now before you drove–”

"Y/n." He stops you, squeezing your hand tightly, urging you to stop overthinking. His eyes lock onto yours with intensity, pulling you into his earnest gaze. "I need you to believe me when I say nothing happened between us. It doesn't mean she didn't try, and I admit, I entertained the idea for a moment. But I couldn't stop thinking about—" He wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. "I couldn't stop thinking about you..." Leaning in, he kisses you softly and sweetly. "And how badly I wished it was you in my room with me," he whispers. "Not her."

He carefully lays both of you back down, you resting on top of him just as before. "Do you believe me?" He asks gently, reassuringly.

Though uncertainty is still weighing on you, present in the tightness forming in the pit of your tummy, you know there's no reason to not believe him. He’s not given you one that should make you doubt his words, and his actions as of late have certainly validated them. 

Even if they had slept together, it's in the past, just like your almost rendezvous with Sam.          

You can’t change the past. You can’t destroy the tumultuous foundation you and Jake built upon first meeting one another. You can only grow as a result of it. Everything that has happened in the past is just that–in the past. 

What’s the sense in dwelling on it when you can put that energy into something far greater? 

Terrifying as it may be, and though you tried with all of your might to deny it, you want him. And you’ve got a pretty good inclination that he wants you just as much–something you once convinced yourself was impossible.

In truth, what’s happening right now is all that matters.

“Of course I do,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss the flesh of his peck. “Do you believe me?” 

You're left a bit perplexed as his chest erupts with a vibrating chuckle, a lazy snicker escaping his lips. "What's so funny?" you ask, a touch offended, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him.

"Relax, doll. It's nothing," he replies, still chuckling softly as he gently guides you back into your previous position. "But I have to admit," he continues, his fingers now tracing over the chilled goosebumps on your arms. He reaches over, pulling the tangled covers over both of you. "It does feel good to come out on top with Sam."

"Jacob," you giggle softly, feeling your body completely relax under the warmth of the sheets and the comforting heat from his body beneath you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re realizing the very reason why Jake was so adamant about wearing this costume in particular. He’s petitioned for it since filming first began months ago, but Josh simply wouldn’t budge. 

“Not until the right moment,” he’d told Jake the countless times the conversation had been brought up, each time Jake nearly demanded that he be allowed to wear this outfit. 

It got so bad that Josh took some rather extreme measures, resulting in hiding this costume from Jake until he and Malachi believed the time was right. 

So, because of that, you hadn’t seen it. Not on him, at least.

That is, until this very moment as he’s sauntering out of his room with an air of confidence you’re finding so fucking sexy. 

And this outfit…it’s certainly forcing you to feel things you most definitely should not be feeling right now.

The first time you’ve seen him in all white, and you’re quite literally shocked by it. It’s Jake, but it’s a completely new version of him.

The first thing your eyes fall to are his white pants that fit him a bit too well. The most snug fit you’ve seen on him, and they’re not doing much in the way of concealing his…member. 

To make things so much worse for you, the white shirt he’s wearing is cropped, donned with a silver breastplate over his chest. The jacket over top is also cropped, with a long train in the back that flows elegantly behind him with each stride of his legs. 

And, your favorite part: his sword. 

It’s held tight to his waist, secured in the black sheath with the belt wrapped around his hips. 

And you’re sure he’s done something different to his hair, looking as though he’s taken a curling iron to it. 

He’s moved closer to you, locking eyes with yours as he throws you a quick wink. And that confirms what you were already wondering the moment he walked out of his room; he’s wearing fucking eyeliner. Tightlined on the bottom and top lids, smudged out a little on the outer corners.

This is all far too much to take in right now. Your knees feel as though they're on the verge of buckling beneath youtu. 

Fucking Jake. 

“Alright, everyone,” announces Josh while he finishes packing up the last few things he’ll need for today's shoot. 

Your head snaps over in his direction, your eyes longing for Jake as soon as you do so. 

But, you don’t have to be too sad for too long, as you feel Jake come up behind you. Close enough to your back that you feel his firm abdomen against your body. And, to your utter demise, you feel as he lays a sneaky hand against your hip, squeezing just enough to let you know he’s there.

Fuck. 

You do your best to focus on Josh as he rambles on, explaining (in his typical, long-winded fashion that quickly became one of your things about him) the ins and outs of today's scene. 

“And what better place for that than our beloved campus?” Josh remarks, flashing a wink your way that you snicker off. He’s a goof. 

He goes on about how the shoot will take place in front of the historic U of M law school, the most eye-catching of all the buildings on campus. The one that looks just like a castle fit for the King of Britain himself. 

“I can’t begin to fathom that, after this scene, this little brain child of mine will be completely filmed.” He quickly wipes a stray tear from his glittering eyes as he starts to pace around the living room, stopping when Malachi wraps a supporting arm around his shoulder. 

“I just wanted to thank all of you for your endless help and support on the most extensive project I’ve taken on. This film…” Josh pauses his talking to gain a bit more composure, his voice beginning to crack with the heavy emotions that are begging to be felt. “...it will open so many doors…for all of us. And I undoubtedly believe that.”

Josh’s eyes flick to Jake’s behind you for a blip of a moment. Was that meant specifically for Jake? If so, what did it mean? 

On top of the secret look, Jake’s grip on your hip loosened just a bit for the briefest of moments. It would’ve made you ponder further, but only seconds after he’d let up his hold, he was back to grasping at you. 

This time, his thumb brushing purposefully against your ass for just long enough that you had to cross your legs awkwardly. 

Fucker.

As Josh sturdies himself against Malachi, taking a moment to gather his emotions, he clears his throat in preparation for one more announcement. “But before we head over there, I’d like to share with you all the official title of this masterpiece we’ve created together.” 

Josh said from the very beginning that he wanted to wait until the filming was nearly complete before giving it a name. He wanted to see it to the end before giving it an “all encompassing heading.” 

Knowing the title of this film will make the ending feel official, and it makes you a little emotional to see it all come to a close. This project has given you so much you never thought you'd have, and to finally know its name...

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Jake’s hand land on your lower back, sliding slowly up the hem of your shirt as he lightly scratches the bare skin with dulled nails. Every inch of you is painted in goosebumps, and you’re suddenly finding it hard to take a full breath any longer. 

“The purpose of this film,” he begins, effectively drawing your attention back to him, “Was to show a different side of the infamous, yet idolized romance. It’s a beautiful retelling, full of love, betrayal, hurt, and eventual death. After witnessing the genious of this immaculate cast,” he continues, being sure to make eyecontact with everyone in the room so that no one feels excluded. “I finally decided on a title that I feel speaks for the film.”

Josh looks to Sam, who begins a fake drum roll with his fingers against the kitchen counter. 

“Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur,” Josh proudly boasts, making a dramatic display by excitedly clapping his hands together and bowing to everyone before him. “I know, it’s somewhat of a mouthful.” He laughs.

“And that translates to…?” Danny asks, he and Nat cuddled up on the couch together.  

“Ah, I was hoping you’d ask!” Josh smiles, pointing his finger toward Danny before crossing his arms over his chest. “It means The Dark Intrigues of Guinevere and Arthur. I thought it fitting to stick with the French theme, given the source from which the script was derived.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself on 

The Dark Intriges…

With everything surrounding this film, everything it’s brought you, it just couldn't be more suited. 

Your eyes are drawn to Sam once more when his connect with yours, seemingly paying no mind to how close Jake is standing behind you as he smiles and subtly winks you way. Smiling back at him hurts, because you’ve got a solid feeling he knows nothing of what's going on with you and Jake. What you hope will happen is he’ll figure it out on his own. Telling him would, frankly, fucking suck. The guilt you feel is tremendous, though.

And for that reason, the title of this film is all too fitting. Even beyond it. 

“I love it, Josh,” you tell him. “It’s beautiful.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I can see why you fought so hard for this outfit,” you say, slyly as Jake is driving the two of you to campus. 

Jake had actually called you as his riding partner on your way to the parking lot…in front of everyone. 

And while it’s not exactly been a secret (amongst almost everyone, at least) that you two have this thing for each other, it still made your skin heat and butterflies fly rampant in your belly when he claimed you’d be riding with him. He certainly didn’t want anyone else riding with you — only him. 

He’d told you as much as soon as you were both closed into the Black Pearl, his hand momentarily having squeezed your thigh when he spoke the words that made your heart flutter. 

In the present moment, you can see the flush in his cheeks as he grins, full toothed. “Yeah? Like what you see, huh?” He says with a cock of his eyebrow. 

“Mhm. Very much so, actually.” 

“C’mere,” he tells you just before he stops at the red light. You lean over toward him, and with a finger hooked under your chin, he pulls you in for a heavy, deep kiss.

He’s clean shaven, his face feels so smooth. And he tastes just like his birch wood aftershave. 

It’s not until the car behind you honks that the kiss is broken, and you both realize the light has turned green. Judging by the now continuous honks, it's probably been that way for a bit.

“Best we don’t start something we can’t finish, hm?” He utters, laughing when the car behind passes him and the driver throws him a very erect middle finger. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Stacy wasn’t supposed to be involved in filming today, and still yet, to your pure and utter disgust, here she is. She’s standing next to her car, eagerly jumping up and down as you all approach the parking lot across from the law building. 

Even with the radio on, and the windows rolled up, you can still hear her shrill screams of irritating excitement to see everyone. 

What the fuck.

“Jake!” She blurts as he gets out of the car, ignoring her attempt to give him a hug while he makes his way to the passengers side to let you out. “O–Oh! Hi, y/n! Didn’t think you were filming today!”

Yeah, I could say the same for you. 

“Nice to see you again, Stac,” you say, doing your very best to not sound like a total bitch. “Just wanted to watch the final scene being filmed. I assume that’s why you’re here, too?” 

Anyone else would have no problem seeing right through your fake kindness, but Stacy doesn’t seem to. In the time you’ve known her, you’ve noticed that she’s not the best at picking up on most social cues. She just continues to live in her little happy delirium, unable to read every room she graces with her movie star beauty.

“Oh yes! I can’t believe our project is almost over.” 

Our project? 

She inserts herself between you and Jake, standing as close as possible to the two of you, facing Jake with her back to you. The chemical-like smell of her cheap coconut body spray (which she’s obviously bathed in) stings the inside of your nose. Combined with her equally cheap hairspray, it's an abrasive scent she’s clearly nose-blind to.

As much as you’d like to say a few choice words, you bite your tongue and step away from her. Jake, looking just as annoyed as you, quickly joins you and begins leading you across the street to the front of the building. The sound of Stacy’s mule heels clicking against the pavement grows louder behind you as she hurries to keep up. 

Read the room, Stac. 

Josh and Malachi are already in full production mode as they’re working together to set up the perfect shot in front of the law school. “Can you bring me the light reflector, babe? We need the right balance of light on the bricks,” you hear Josh as Malachi as he’s looking through the viewfinder, making adjustments to the framing. 

“How’s that?” Chi asks, holding the reflector steady. 

Josh looks through the camera again, motioning for Jake to come stand in front of the lens as he tells him how to position himself. “Ah!” He exclaims, throwing an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Perfect!”

Just then, Sam, Nat, and Danny pull in the parking lot in Nat’s Escalade. Even from across the street, you can vividly see the look on Nat’s face when she spots Stacy. Her expressionsays it all—her annoyance for Stacy has only grown in the last several weeks, and one thing about Nat? Her thoughts rarely stay safely within her mind. 

“What a…pleasant surprise,” Nat grumbles sarcastically as she approaches all of you, her eyes narrowing on the blonde standing to your right who’s trying to wedge her way in between you and Jake yet again. 

Stacy’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, putting on a sweet and clueless grin. “Hey, Natty Batty! How are you?”

You have to quickly muffle your giggles with your hand when you see Nat wrinkle her nose at whatever the hell that nickname was. The look of utter disgust on her face is blatantly obvious to everyone else. But, not to Stacy. To no surprise,

Danny, ever the peacekeeper, excels at diffusing tension with his genuine smile and warm embrace. Nat’s irritation melts away instantly as Danny tenderly kisses her nose, eliciting a wide grin and a rosy blush. He is her perfect balance, just as she is his.

“My twin!” Josh shouts, snapping his fingers while still squinting one eye at the viewfinder. “Someone send my twin over here—this shot is more perfect than I couldn’ve imagined, and I don’t want to waste daylight!”

Jake gently squeezes your hand. “Looks like it’s my cue,” he says, smiling down at you. “Wish me luck.” Your face glows red when his lips carefully brush against your cheek. No one seemed to notice that he did this, no one except Stacy. Her shock is evident on her face as her eyes are locked tight with yours as you simply smile and casually wave her direction. To which, she rolls her eyes and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest in a silent temper tantrum. Good.

Your attention is pulled back to Jake as he’s walking toward the camera, and there’s no sense in trying to avert your gaze. His body is so strong, so broad and sturdy. His walk is most definitely one of the sexiest things about him. So confident in his strides, and the way he’s holding on to the sword swaying from his hips…It’s taking everthing in you to put on a casual facade. But, if anyone is going to see right through it, of course, it’s Nat. You feel her nudge your shoulder, breaking you from your Jake-induced trance. “A little distracted, there?” She winks, her and Danny both chuckling at you. 

“Here’s the king!” Josh booms once Jake finds his way in front of the camera. “Okay, Jakey boy. This monologe, it’s incredibly significant to the entire piece, and will close out this story we’ve created.” He steps away from the camera, meeting Jake in his spot to brush out a few wrinkles in his jacket and guide him to the exact position he needs him in. “It will also serve as the King's final oration before his death. So, you know, no pressure or anything. But, it does need to be pristine.” He giggles, offering a gentle pat to his cheek. 

“I won’t let you down, good sir,” Jake returns, saluting him. And when Josh finds his place back behind the camera, he mimics the very same to his twin. 

“Ready, Jake?”

With a nod of his head, you watch Jake effortlessly slip into character. Straightening his posture, he places his hand on his sword, (excalibur, of course) readying himself for the draw of his weapon. 

“And…action!”

Then, with a deep breath, Jake begins. 

“I stand before thee, on the brink of battle, yet my heart is heavy with a betrayal most grievous.”

His eyes, as glowing as ever, cast downward in heavy emotion, as if seeing the haunting memories play before him. 

“Guinevere, my queen, my love, has forsaken our sacred bond for the arms of my most trusted knight. The pain of this treachery pierces deeper than any sword.” 

He’s using his accent, the very one that Josh swore he despised, but it seems Jake has been practicing. He sounds much more believable this time. Perhaps it’s the emotions he’s conveying, the seriousness of the scene. Whatever it is, it’s the best he’s ever sounded. 

His voice wavers slightly, his emotions suddenly becoming even more palpable as he looks off in the distance. You swear you can see welling tears in his honey eyes, the way they’re beginning to glisten against the sun. 

“My soul, shattered and consumed by the weight of a despair so fraught and injust. I am but a man, burdened with the agony of a broken heart. A wound that may never heal. Yet, I must not falter. For the sake of my beloved Camelot.”

His grip on excalibur tightens, his knuckles nearly white. 

“I will rise above my personal grief to fight for all that I hold dear. But know this, my loyal knights—if I should fall on this day, it will be not from the blade of our enemy, but from the tremendous sorrow that consumes me.”

He then pulls excaliber from her sheath, holding her high as the metal gleams against the dying sunlight. And when he does, he looks at you, holding character while his eyes pierce your soul. Tears begin falling from your eyes at the heightened emotions emitting from him, the woe that he’s conveying so well. It nearly feels real, as though it’s been pent up for a long time. It’s striking, it’s beautiful. 

“Let it be known that King Arthur fought not just against the foes outside these castle walls, but against the demons within his very own heart. My story,” He holds his weapon even higher, looking up to it in admiration and strong will gleaming through his eyes. “Will become a great title of an unimaginable fable, woven through the seams of time. And to that, I say, onward! Onward for Camelot, onward for Guinevere, the queen of my desolate heart!”

Everyone is silent once the monolouge finishes, letting it hang in the air for a moment as Jake still holds the sword high above his head. It seems everyone is a bit awestruck after that, after what you’re sure will be the most powerful ending to this film. 

Josh slowly steps away from the camera, looking at his twin with his mouth hanging wide open, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “...cut,” he says quietly, purely astonished. “And that, my friends, concludes the filming of Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.” He practically runs to Jake, grabbing him in a tight embrace. “Bravo, my brother!” 

Jake hugs him back, one handed as he’s still carrying the sword. “Should we do it again? Just to be sure it’s oka–”

“Fuck no!” Josh cuts in. “We won’t get any closer to perfection than that. That was raw, you just let yourself become the King with no hesitation. No, no.” Josh shakes his head, breaking the hug, wiping the tears falling along his cheekbones and placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That was it. That was our ending.” 

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“I insist,” he keeps on, refusing to accept any answer that’s not a yes. “And I mean no offense but, your cooking skills are lacking a tad.” 

“Well now officially offended, Jake!” You can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s absolutely correct. It’s true that you’re no cook, but damn–he’s certainly humbled you a bit more. 

He’s been on your case all day about having you over for a “proper dinner,” according to him. One that he’s prepared entirely from scratch. Rather adamant about it, in truth. Your phone buzzed all throughout classes, during your small shift at work. And now, as he’s walking you to your car from the library, he's not dropped the topic since he met you at the circulation counter.

“Josh will be working the office, and Sam has plans with Danny.” He takes the key right out of your hand as you approach the driver's side door, unlocking it and holding it open for you. “So, you’d actually be doing me a favor.” 

“Oh yeah?” You snicker as he hands back the key, leaning your back against the frame of your clunker. He steps in between your slightly parted legs, pressing his body against yours. “And what exactly would that be?”

He steals a quick kiss from your lips as he runs his fingers through your locks. “Keeping me company, of course.” 

His lips linger on yours a bit longer this time, another plea for you to at last agree to his proposition. How could you possibly deny him any longer? “Alright, alright,” you concur. “What time should I be there?” 

He smiles, snatching one more kiss before quickly making his way to his Rover. “No later than 6:30. And you’re to bring nothing but your lovely self.” He winks as he climbs in the driver's seat, starting the engine and peeling off before you have a chance to argue that last bit. 

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The kitchen is filled with the tantalizing aroma of fresh ingredients as Jake had everything laid out and ready to make dinner before you go here. The scallops are neatly arranged on a plate, a bundle of fresh spinach resting nearby, and a bowl of gleaming pomegranate seeds wait to be transformed into a glaze.

“You ready to become a master chef?” Jake asks, flashing you a playful grin as he hands you an apron.

You manage a smile, though your tummy is fluttering with nerves. Nerves over fucking up the meal, but even more so, nerves over eating the meal. 

It’s the only reason you were apprehensive about tonight. It’s as simple as your fear of eating, of eating in the presence of someone else. But what you didn’t know was Jake’s plan to have you help prep the meal. 

What made him want to do it this way is completely beyond you, but you have to admit that it seems to be helping even the slightest with your fear. 

Still yet, you’re uncertain about the whole thing. If you had it your way, the two of you would plant yourselves on the couch and watch something on the television, fight eachother over dominance when you start getting handsy with one another. 

As if he can sense your hesitation, your racing thoughts, he steps closer, his smile softening into something more intimate as he helps adjust your apron. His fingers brushs against your waist, lingering for just a moment, but long enough to steal your breath. “No worries, doll,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve got me as your sous-chef. We’re in this together.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides down to gently rest on your hip, guiding you to the cutting board. “First things first,” he starts, his tone casual though his touch is anything but. “We’ll start with the spinach. Rather easy—we’ll just chop the leaves into smaller pieces.”

You pick up the knife he’s placed beside the greens, noting its heavy weight of this massive blade. Jake’s hand hovers nearby, his presence steady and warm. “You’ve got this,” he murmers, his voice close to your ear. The proximity is sending a shiver down your spine, but his presence makes you smile, nonetheless.

As you begin to chop, Jake leans in, his breath tickling your neck as he begins telling a story about his first attempt at cooking scallops. “I burned them so badly, they were basically little hockey pucks,” he giggles. “And don’t even get me started on the smoke alarm. Sent my brothers in a screaming frenzy. I swore my grandfather was ready to kick me out.”

You chuckle at the image of Jake frantically trying to clear the smoke out of the kitchen, of Josh and Sam being scared to death over it. But it doesn’t fully distract you from just how close he is, how his arm brushes agaisnt yours  when he grabs another knife to help you chop the last of the leaves. 

With the spinach done, Jake moves on to the scallops, setting a pan on the stove. “Alright, here’s the trick with scallops: you want a hot pan. They should sizzle as soon as they hit the surface. Like they’re saying, ‘We’re here, mother fuckers and we mean business!’” 

Laughter bursts from your belly at his completely cheesy remark. He jokingly pats himself on the back at making you laugh so hard before handing you the metal tongs. He lets you take them but keeps his hand on them as well, guiding you as you place the scallops in the pan. 

While the scallops are searing, Jake moves on to the pomegranate glaze. He pours the juice into a saucepan, adding honey and lemon with a flourish. “This part’s fun,” he says, giving you a wink. “We’re basically making a magic potion. When we drizzle it over the scallops, it’s going to taste like pure heaven.”

His voice drops a notch, and when he holds the spoon to your mouth to taste the glaze, his fingers softly brush against your lips. You open your mouth to allow the tangy sweetness of the glaze to spread across your tongue, but your mind is admitidly elsewhere, fixated on the heat radiating from his body.

“What do you think, doll?” He mutters, his eyes watching your tongue as it collects the sauce that dripped on your bottom lip. “Is it to your liking?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

You take the spoon from his hand and lick off the reminents of the glaze, taking your time to put on a bit of a show for him. When you set it back down on the counter, his hands, still a little sticky from the sauce, grab hold of your face and pull you closer to him. “Let me try,” he moans sweetly in your mouth, tasting what’s left of the glaze on your tongue. “Mm, you’re right,” he says, stealing one more taste of your lips. “Perfect.”

With the scallops now seared and the glaze ready, Jake guides you through plating. He arranges the spinach on the plates, then hands you the spoon to drizzle the glaze. “Just a little drizzle,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Like you’re adding the finishing touch.”

You follow his lead, trying to focus on the task, but it’s rather hard with him so close, his hand brushing your back as he leans in to admire your work. “Not bad for a first try, huh?” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Not bad at all,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The evening was about as close to perfect as you could’ve hoped for. Well, aside from your mom’s phone calls beginning to become persistent as the night lingered. 

The meal was glorious, and the way Jake had you help with preparing it gave you some sense of control over it all. It certainly helped you overcome some of the fear of eating, and though you’re normally the cook at your own place, tonight just felt different. Perhaps it was because Jake was with you this time, his peaceful aura working to calm you. You felt okay. More than okay. 

While the fear was still there, Jake’s voice worked to quiet the no-so-nice ones in your head. 

He helped. He helped a lot. And he doesn’t even know it. 

But now, you’re home, lying in your bed with a belly full of seafood. The thoughts are much louder now than they had been all night; the anxieties have managed to slip back in your head now that he’s not here to protect you from them. 

The night ended far quicker than you wanted, though you know it’s not anyones fault. Josh called needing Jake’s help with a particulary irate tenant, one that only Jake knows how to deal with properly. 

After more than a few minutes arguing on the phone, after Jake promised to kick Josh’s ass for making him come help, you offered to get out of his hair so he could handle the situation. It was late, and you knew being out any longer would result in more phone calls from your mom, more guilt for being gone. 

You miss him. You miss the safety and reassurance he provides that you just can’t get at home. 

No, there’s no safety here anymore. 

There’s tension, resentment. On both sides. 

When your head hits the pillow these days, your mind has a much harder time shutting off. You’ve replayed the conversation with your mom over and over again. Dodger…

You think about whomever this is almost nightly since the very mention of the name caused her to spew such horrible things your way. The name served as some sort of trigger for her, and you just want to get to the bottom of why. 

Thinking about it is beginning to put pressure on your now throbbing temples and cheekbones. It feels like a rubberband is tightening around your whole head, the only relief coming from the tips of your fingers pressing down on either side of your nose. 

Everything feels out of your control. Everything. If you could just figure out who he is���He?

Suddenly, you remember. 

You sent yourself the contact from your moms phone. You have Dodger’s number. 

One phone call is all it would take. One phone call, and you’ll have your answer. 

The screen of your phone is nearly blinding in contrast to the darkness of your room. The first thing you do is turn the brightness down before anything else so your eyes can have an easier time adjusting. 

You scroll through your contacts until you see the name, your thumb stilled and hovering above it once you see it.

You’re scared. You’re not sure why you’re scared. There’s so much you feel like you don’t know, that’s being hidden from you. And calling this number might mean learning some — perhaps all — of those things. 

You’ve just got a feeling, a feeling that you can’t understand.

The hand that’s not holding your phone reflexively reaches to the necklace around your neck, taking hold of the little charm with your initial. When you rub your thumb over the engravement, you feel a tiny sense of peace in the grasp of your hand, against the ridges of your thumb. 

And you’re also suddenly feeling like calling Dodger may not be the right thing to do.

Not right now, at least. 

There’s someone else you’d much rather talk to, someone that will make you feel like everything is okay, even if it truly isn’t. 

It only rings once on the other end before he answers. “It’s awfully late, doll.” His voice is quiet, deep. “Everything okay?” 

You huff a breath of solace, feeling your nerves dull and the ache in your head begin to ease a bit at merely hearing his voice. “I just wanted to say thank you again for tonight,” you tell him, lips curling into an honest grin. “It meant a lot to me.” 

You hear a faint, breathy giggle in your ear. “Happy to do it, babe.” 

Babe.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You have a fondness for nights like these, when you close the library on your own. There’s something so calming, so peaceful about the vacant building in the evening. 

Albeit a little spooky, it’s in all of the best ways. Never once have you felt unsafe or scared here. 

And you never grow bored. The stories that line the ceiling-high bookshelves provide all the wonder and escapism one could ever want for. 

As for most weekend evenings, it’s been awfully slow tonight. Not that you’re complaining; it's provided you with ample opportunities to explore a little deeper than you’re normally able to. As much as you adore working with Nat, she usually talks your ear off the entire shift, so, without her, you can give yourself a little you time to walk around the quiet space. 

At a quarter to ten, the library will be set to close in about fifeteen minutes. With all of the closing duties complete, all that’s left to do is lock the doors when the clock strikes ten. There’s not been a single person in here since early this afternoon, and you’re willing to place a wager on it staying that way until it’s officially time to close it down. 

But just as you’re thinking the remainder of the night will be still, you hear the familiar creak of the large wooden door. 

Who could possibly need the library at this hour? 

With a roll of your eyes, you make your way down the stairs to greet whomever decided to waltz in here at the last minute. 

And when you catch a glimpse of who it is, you’re not shocked in the least. 

“Hi, doll.” 

You should’ve known as soon as you heard the creaking door. This has, afterall, happened before, as history would tell.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” You ask as you approach, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of him in his denim button up over a slightly torn white v-neck and tight dark wash jeans.

He closes the small gap between the two of you, making graceful strides your way as he reaches both hands out to grab hold of your hips, a lazy grin exposing his pearly whites. “Thought I might check out a book before closing time," he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "Got any recommendations?"

You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his touch. "At this hour? Really, Jake, you're impossible."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "You know me, always full of surprises." He releases your hips but not before giving them a gentle squeeze. "But seriously, I just wanted to see you."

You playfully begin walking toward the shelves, pretending that you’re carefully looking for something that may pique his interest, hearing the click of his black heeled boots against the hardwoods. 

"Well, you’ve got me," you say as you’re facing away from him, trying to keep your tone light while you feel the warmth of his body against you when he gets closer. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

You look over your left shoulder to him as he tilts his head, considering. "How about you surprise me? Pick something you think I'd like."

You nod, turning your attention back towards the bookshelves, grateful for the brief moment to collect yourself. As you scan the rows of spines, you can feel his eyes on you, a warm, steady presence that’s both comforting and exhilarating. After a moment, you pull "Tell Me to Stop" by Charlotte Byrd from the shelf and turn back to him.

"Here," you say, handing it over. "I think you'll fancy this one."

Jake takes the book from your hands, his fingers lingering just a moment longer against yours. "Ah, I’ve heard of this one. Thanks, doll," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate whisper. As he reads the title, his lips curl into a slow, knowing grin. "Quite the dark romance, I hear," he says, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sends a thrill through you. 

“It is rather…enticing,” you snicker, sucking in a sharp breath when his free hand finds your hip once again. “Very dark, very romantic.”

You glance at the clock just as the hands indicate that it’s officially closing time, but before you can tell Jake that you need to lock the doors, you hear the novel thud to the floor as he pulls your body into his. His lips collide with yours while your hands instinctively run all over the expanse of his back and shoulders. 

You savor the taste of him, already familiar yet exhilaratingly new each time. The spicy peppermint against his tongue, the lingering taste of black coffee, sweet and bitter—so very much him.

Inappropriate as it may be, you can’t begin to stop yourself. The library is closed, and the chances of anyone else walking in are incredibly slim to none. And though the risk is there given the doors are still unlocked, you can’t deny that makes this ordeal all the more exciting. 

He pushes your back against the shelf where you found his novel, and the books on the other side hit the floor from the force, their echoing thuds heard throughout the old walls of the building.

You feel him, hard and rock solid against your hip, his lips hungry and eager for yours. There’s a need coursing through your veins that only he can bring forth, a need that waves all caution of being in a public place (closed or not) to the wind. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” you grumble, your lips hardly leaving his. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, rutting his hard cock into your hip. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

Jesus.

He groans, deep and raspy when you reach between your bodies to feel him through his jeans. He thrusts his hips into you, pushing himself into your palm. “Turn around,” he mumbles, already leading you there before the words even leave his lips. 

“Yes, sir,” you moan while you hurriedly turn to face the shelving. One hand softly grips the back of your neck, finding the waistband of your leggings. He pulls them and your underwear down in one swift motion, fingers instantly prodding at your leaking entrance. You groan and sigh his name, your cunt throbbing and yearning for him.

“Color.”

“Green.”

You hear him unbuckle his belt and yank down his zipper with his other hand, his cock now resting on the skin of your lower back while he pushes his middle finger inside to the knuckle. “Spread your legs a little more for me, doll,” he mumbles into your hair. You spread them as much as you can, but you can only go so far with the way your leggings are stretched on the middles of your thighs. “Wider,” he groans, quiet and deep from his throat. 

The threads in your leggings snap when you spread your legs even further, and you feel the breath of his chuckle against the back of your neck. “Is that enough for you?” You snap, half out of irritation, half out of desperation. 

He then pulls his finger from you, swatting the flesh of your ass just enough to startle you. “Careful, doll,” he mutters, the tip of his leaking cock now replacing his finger. “You know what happened last time you got cheeky with me,” he whispers, one hand gently massaging your ass cheek to help remind you, while the other still has firm hold on the back of your neck. 

“Yes, sir,” you comply, noting a snarky chuckle from behind you before he nibbles at your shoulder. 

“Are you ready for me, love?” He questions. His voice is still stern, yet becoming gentler all at once. He kisses your shoulder, the hand on your neck moving to brush your hair out of the way as his tongue follows a path to the back of your ear. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you reiterate, finding there’s hardly any air left in your lungs to speak with.   

Any air that is in your lungs is instantly stolen from you when he slowly glides himself inside your soaked cunt. You hold on to the shelves with a white knuckle grip as he fills you slowly and completely, letting you get comfortable with him nestled away inside of you. 

“That’s my girl,” he growls in your ear, keeping his thrusts very slow and deep. “Always so wet and ready for me, huh?” 

He then takes both of your wrists, bringing them down to rest against your lower back, holding them still with one hand. His pace quickens with this new leverage, pounding himself into you with a force that causes at least five more books to fly off of the other side of the shelves. 

“Wish you could see this, doll.” You feel him lean the upper half of his body back as his hips keep their rythmn, keeping your wrists held together while his other hand holds you sturdy by your shoulder. “You look so lovely like this.” 

Your wails reverberate from the high pitched ceilings, bouncing off every wall. His cock sliding in and out of you at this momentum has the band within you daring to snap at any second, your walls fluttering and squeezing his twitching dick. 

A series of explicitives mixed with his name escape your lips, near incoheriences as you’re feeling your body coming closer and closer to letting go for him. 

“Jake Jake Jak–” 

“That’s it, doll. Give it to me, so fucking wet.” His breathing is labored, hitched as it’s becoming caught in his throat as you gush around his twitching cock. A feeling of bliss so indescribable, so intoxicating. An intoxication only made possible by Jake. 

He’s close behind you, his rhythm faltering and becoming sloppier and harder. You’re on the brink of overstimulation, but you don’t care. You’d let him keep going forever if you could. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks, slowing enough so he can gain a bit more composure before he gives it to you. 

“Inside,” you plead with a high pitch in your tone, desperate to feel full of him. “Please, sir.” 

“Fuck.” His hips pick up their previous speed as he lets go of your wrists, letting you grab hold of the shelves once again. “A-are you sure?”

Is it risky?

Absolutely. 

But, the risk is there whether he pulls out or not. And right now, with every heightened, burning cell in your body and the already present risk of doing this at work, you want it. You need it. Every caution went out the window the moment he walked through the doors tonight. 

“Y-yes,” you stutter. “Fill me up, sir.” 

A deep, rumbling sound you’ve yet to hear from him erupts from the depths of his chest, and within seconds of your plea, he’s doing just as you said. He’s filling you with everything he’s got, so much that you feel it spilling down the insides of your thighs. 

He slows himself to a complete stop, stilling himself inside of you as he catches his breath and letting you do the same. “Goddamn,” he mutters through panting breaths. “You’re just too fucking perfect.” You hiss as he pulls himself out all the way, slow and steady so you’re as comfortable as possible. You reach down to pull your leggings up, but he gently stops you before you can finish. “Just a second, doll.” 

You turn your head over your shoulder as he’s taking off his denim shirt and reaches it down to clean the traces of him left on your inner thighs. “We sure made a mess,” he snickers as he helps you bring your leggings back up. 

You feel you have to muster every little bit of strength you have left to turn your body around to face him. He giggles at your exhausted state, and you can’t help but grin at the state of him. Sweat accumulated on his eyebrows, dripping down his cheeks, his eyes heavy and drowsy.

He drapes his shirt over his shoulder before he pulls you into a lazy hug, holding you against his warm body. You fully melt into him, letting your arms fall to his sides and your head rest against his chest. “You’re going to have to help me put those books back on the shelf,” you chuckle, remembering just how many of them hit the ground. 

You feel his chest rattle as he laughs and kisses the top of your head. “Let’s just leave ‘em. Blame it on the ghosts.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve never looked forward to your birthday. Years of it being spent alone, your mom never allowing you to have birthday parties, people constantly forgetting about it…you just can’t recall a time that you actually felt loved on this day. So, it’s just another day to you. You’ve learned to not expect much from people when it comes around. 

And just like any other day as of late, today is filled to the absolute brim with school, work and the countless things you’ll need to do at home. 

Just another day.

But you know that this one will perhaps be a bit harder, as it’s the first you’ll spend without your dad. Even though birthdays have always left you feeling just as insignificant as the other 364 days of the year, your dad would still make it a point to surprise you with a little something every morning on this date.

Usually, it was a red velvet cupcake from the Sweet Crumb bakery just down the street from your home, adorned with a single golden candle that he would wait to light until you were awake so the wax wouldn’t melt all over the cream cheese frosting. And, without fail, every year he’d lay a single white gerbera daisy on your pillow for you to wake up to, usually with a little note tied to the stem that said, “To My Wildflower.”

On your sixteenth, he gifted you your once favorite piece of jewelry— a little golden heart charm with the initial of your first name engraved on it, hanging from a golden chain. 

The very one you wore every single day. Well, until he left, that is. And that was when you decided you no longer needed it, that it simply didn’t mean the same to you. 

But somehow, it made its way to Ann Arbor, even though you distinctly remember throwing it away along with the handwritten letter that had been in the jewelry box. The same letter you still can't seem to find, even though it was always kept alongside your necklace. You recall hesitating when the thought of throwing it away crossed your mind. In the end, you weren’t quite ready to part with it.

Odd. 

And yet, despite everything, you’ve recently found a quiet happiness in knowing you still have the necklace. Today feels as good a day as any to wear it. Even though he left, he can’t take the necklace away, and wearing it gives you a small sense of control over it all.

Alas, there’s no cupcake or flower awaiting you this morning, though. Not much of anything, actually. Only once in your life can you remember a gift from your mom, and you’ve a strong feeling this year won’t be much different. 

You can’t remember a time in your life that you’ve truly been celebrated as a person, just for who you. You’ve always been left to wonder if you’ve just never been worthy of it. A life in the shadows, you’ve always said. In the shadows of everyone else around you, around the important people. 

For that very reason, you’re grateful to have stumbled upon the people who are in your life now—the ones who’ve been a thousand miles away but feel like they should have been with you all along.

But, they're in your life right now for a reason. There’s a deeper purpose to the fact that you’re just now meeting them in this stage of your life, not any other one. 

What the reason is, you may not know for a long time. Or, you may never know. Regardless, you’re grateful to them. And they have no clue just how much they’ve helped you come into your own in the incredibly short time you’ve known them. 

As you gaze at your closet, only partially filled with clothes, the thought of wearing something a bit nicer for class and work crosses your mind. Yet, as you rummage through the same five pairs of leggings and your tattered sweatshirts and oversized sweaters, you realize there’s nothing that nice to wear.

Your ensemble from the infamous night at the haunted house is washed and hanging neatly in the back corner of the small space, but the thought of wearing that again isn’t exactly a pleasant one. There’s just too much associated with it to want to put it on your body again. There’s always the outfit from the night of the birthday party, but you haven’t had a chance to wash those clothes just yet. So, your uniform of choice— leggings and a massive sweater— will have to do for today. 

Just another day.

Although, you figure it’d do little harm to wear your nice sweater today, the white button up with beige flowers stitched all over it. The one that pairs perfectly with your white, hightop converse, sprucing up your usual look a bit. And with the addition of your dads gifted necklace, your vibes are at least a little nicer today. Nicer than you normally feel, at least.

And, fuck it. You may as well add a touch of makeup, throw a few curls in your hair, just for the hell of it. 

Once you finish dabbing on a little black mascara and rose colored lip gloss, you take a step back from your vanity to get the full image of yourself. And surprisingly, you’re quite pleased with the outcome. 

With a few spritzes of your Being Frenshe vanilla cashmere perfume, you feel it’s about as good as it’ll get for the day. And, oddly enough, you’re pretty happy with it. 

Your birthday may not be your favorite, but at least you can make yourself feel a little better with your appearance. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to you, to feel okay in your own skin. But you’ve found that, lately, it’s come a little easier. 

(And you know exactly who to thank for that.)

You grab your cross body bag, picking up your phone that’s still plugged into the charger, and before you place it in the front zipper of your bag, you notice there’s an unread text from Jake that he sent about fifteen minutes ago. 

Before even opening the message, there’s a warm feeling flooding through your body at seeing his name, something you’re sure you’ll never get used to.

Jake: May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly. And yours, burning brightest as you embark on another trip around the sun. Join me for a celebratory feast on this fine eve. At the stroke of 7:30, look for me from the balcony of your watchtower. I’ll be awaiting your anticipated arrival from your chariot of the night, The Black Pearl. 

It’s not that you expected him to forget, but the prospect was strong in your mind nonetheless. It’s historical that people have forgotten your birthday, or at least didn’t pay it enough mind to reach out to you about it. So it’s no wonder why you questioned whether or not someone you’d just met a few months ago would think to text you. 

But, it's Jake. Jake is different, and you know that. You've seen his heart.

Just as you’re about to respond, you see the three little dots bubbling under his last text, so you wait a second to see what else he has to say.

Jake:  Also, there's a surprise for you in your car. (Please lock it at night) See you in around 12 hours, beautiful.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re shocked when you see the most beautiful bouquet of white gerbera daisies mixed with wildflowers sitting propped up in your driver's seat. It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen; there must be at least fifty daisies wrapped up in there. 

(It appears as though you did get your daisy this year after all— and then some.)

But that’s not it. There’s an incredible red dress lying across the back seat with a jewelry box sitting on top of the crimson, satin fabric. And just when you think he thought of everything, you spot a pair of black heels on the floorboard, a note attached to the ankle strap of the left one. 

Wear this tonight, and you’ll be the loveliest sight. - JTK

My god. The lengths he has gone to, all to make today as special as he can. It warms your heart, yet sends a slew of uneasy nerves through your blood. 

As much as you’re grateful for this new addition to your wardrobe, you can’t help the burgeoning thoughts that it may not fit the way you’d like.

Clothes shopping is a difficult task for you. The mere thought of knowing your size, your exact measurements…it’s a massive trigger, suffice to say. 

So, you just don’t do it. Sticking to leggings and oversized tops is the easiest thing for the very simple fact that those items always fit the exact same. Most of what you have in your closet that aren’t those things are items you bought years and years ago that you’d always had the best intentions of wearing, but couldn’t ever bring yourself to do it.

The thought of trying on this dress is a scary one. The thought of it not fitting…terrifying. Mind-numbingly.

Jake doesn’t know that. Of course, he had no idea of your inhibitions to try new clothing when he bought this for you. It’s the sweetest gesture, and his intent is nothing but pure. Nonetheless, you’re worried about the whole thing.

What if it truly doesn’t fit? What if you despise the way it looks on you? It could highlight all of your worst features, it could cling to the areas of your body and put them on display. 

But he’s expecting you to wear it. 

A rock in a hard place. You’re completely stuck. 

The last thing you’d allow yourself to do is make him feel bad for something he had no idea would trigger you so bad.

You can’t control how your body will look in the dress, how it’ll hug you in perhaps a few ways that may be unflattering. But one thing you can take control of today, is how much food you decide to put into your body.

Meals are simply out of the question today— until your date, at least. 

You’re not risking the inevitable pooch that will make itself present with anything you decide to eat. A little hunger is okay if it means you might fit the dress a little better. 

You take the dress, shoes and jewelry from the back of your car, grab the lovely bouquet and head back up to your apartment to set everything in your room.

As you stare at the dress laid out on your comforter, you can’t fight the rush of anxieties creeping up. As much as you want to try it on now, so you’ll know for sure if it’ll be a good fit for tonight, you just can’t. Not yet. You’d like to remain as blissfully unaware for as long as you possibly can. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You feel rather accomplished as you leave your Classic Horror course, having just gotten back your analytic paper on the ever scandalous novella Carmilla with a ninety eight percent decorating the front left corner in red ink. 

And even better, your professor told you that your paper scored the highest out of the forty six people in your class. 

You're mentally patting yourself on the back as you head to the library for your shift, feeling a sense of pride in your work that you initially thought wasn’t worthy of any praise. 

Movack's class is canceled for today, and you’re a little sad about that. You never thought the day would come when you’d be upset about not having Movack’s class, the one that’s shown you grief after grief this semester. But, it’s the one that introduced you to Jake. And with how things are at last falling into place, that class has turned out to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.

But, not having Movack’s class means you can get a few extra hours of work in. Your bank account will certainly be grateful for it, and, in truth, you love your job enough to sacrifice a few hours of free time. 

You’re almost sure that you’re the only person in the world who wants to go to work on their birthday. Natalia offered more than once to work extra to cover your shift, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Apart from being with Jake, the library is the best place to be today. (And t certainly beats being stuck at home.)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A huge bunch of sparkly silver balloons is the first thing that catches your eye as you’re nearing the circulation desk.  And right next to the balloons, is your dearest Natalia with an excited smile stretched across her perfect teeth. 

She’s not even supposed to be at work today. Yet, here she is. And you’re so happy to see her.

“The birthday girl!” She exclaims, practically sprinting to you while holding out a gift bag that perfectly matches the balloons. 

“Nat! What did you do?” You exclaim through a ridiculously large smile, so big it’s almost embarrassing. 

You’re not used to this kind of attention, especially on your birthday. 

A day that you had prepared yourself to be just another day, has turned out to be one of the best birthdays you’ve ever had. 

And you needed it. 

You just didn’t realize how badly you needed it until you got it. It feels silly to be so emotional about everything, but it just can’t be helped. Happy, thankful tears begin falling down your cheeks as you try to sniff them away, but to no avail.

Nat sets the gift down and pulls you into a full body hug the moment she sees your emotions surfacing. There’s no sense in hiding them, especially with Nat. If anyone is going to understand your feelings, it’s her. 

“I’m not letting go until you do,” she says, squeezing you tightly in her toned arms. She smells so good, so much like her. Like a field of lilacs and freshly brewed coffee. 

When you finally decide to let go, she uses the sleeve of her fitted mustard yellow turtleneck to wipe thye tears from your cheeks.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you tell her once you notice the splotch of mascara you left on the shoulder of her top. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she responds, picking the gift back up and holding it out to you once again. “But you have to open this before you go fix your makeup.” 

With shaky hands, you take the bag from her, instantly noting its weight. 

“Nat, you shouldn’t have done–” 

“I wanted to,” she interrupts. “Now, open it!”

You reach your hand in the bag and pull out something wrapped it white, sparkly tissue paper. It’s heavy, but not too heavy, and oval in shape. As you begin ripping away the tissue, you see the beginnings of a beautiful bronze antiqued frame with rose gold flowers carved into it. And when you see the photo it surrounds, the tears begin making their appearance one more.

Why can’t I keep it together?  

It’s a photo of you and Nat, a candid shot of her helping you fix your hair as you’re getting ready in Jake’s room for a scene. You’re dressed in the red gown from earlier scenes, so the photo is at least a few months old. 

It's beautiful. It perfectly embodies your friendship with Nat, capturing where it was then and where it is now. It's a frame, frozen in time, depicting how she has helped you every step of the way since the day you met her, always being right there behind you in everything you do.

“Nat it’s–” You try, choking on your words through heavy emotions. “I just love this so much.” 

You stare at it a few moments longer before pulling her in for another embrace. But as you’re holding her close, you suddenly begin to wonder…

“Who took this?” You ask her, breaking the hug only a little so you can see her face. 

“I’ll give you one guess,” she winks. 

“Jake?” you ask, shocked. Yet, somehow, not shocked at all. She nods her head to confirm, and all you can do is smile at the lovely thought that this simple gift represents so much. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Get a plate! There’s plenty here,” Nat says as she’s filling her silver paper plate with one of everything from the spead.

Cupcakes, a massive variety of chips and every dip one could possibly want for, pretzels, popcorn, an entire fruit tray with a white ceramic bowl holding a fluffy cream cheese dip…

So. Many. Snacks. 

So much temptation on a day that you really don’t want to be tempted. You can’t risk your tummy sticking out tonight for your date, and any amount of these snacks will do just that. 

But dammit, they look incredibly appetizing. And your empty stomach is begging you to scarf down one of those vanilla cupcakes with the pretty baby-pink frosting. 

You feel guilty about it. Shameful. Nat spent so much time and money on this for you, but you just can’t allow yourself to do it. You won’t do it. 

Eating isn’t a priority right now.

“I will in a bit! I just need to enter these returns really quick,” you tell her, pretending to focus on your computer that isn’t even turned on yet, making haste in gathering up whatever paperwork that’s around you to try and bullshit your way out of this. 

It’s not really working, though. You don’t even have to look at Nat to know what she’s thinking, what her face is saying. 

“It can wait,” she jolts, her tone short and sharp as ever. “I know you didn’t eat breakfast. And I can bet you don’t have any lunch plans.” She grabs the papers out of your hands, setting them aside. “So, eat something. Now.”

How does she–? 

Think of something to say, y/n. Quick. 

“I, um, I actually have food in my car for lunch. Just forgot to bring it in—”

“Come here,” she cuts you off, taking your right hand from the keyboard as you’re trying to sign in to the computer and leading you to the back room. She closes the door and motions for you to sit down next to her on the pile of old books you usually sit on when you’re sorting through things to be shelved. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing! I just—” 

She holds a hand up between you both, stopping you before you can continue with whatever bullshit was going to fly out of your mouth. “Don’t you dare tell me nothing. You hardly ate anything at the birthday party, you never take your fifteen minute meal breaks at work, you turn me down for lunch almost every day and when you do actually go with me, you take maybe three bites of your tiny salad and chug your water.” 

You’re stunned silent for a moment. For several moments, actually. 

What do you say? There’s nothing you can say, no excuse that could ever suffice when she’s caught on to this much.

You don’t like talking about it. Talking about it, to you, is a much worse feeling than the painful hunger you’ve put yourself through. Admitting you have a disorder makes it all the more real; it’s too vulnerable of an admition for your liking. Especially outloud in the presence of someone you know you shouldn’t keep secrets from. 

“I—,” you start, but it’s useless. There isn’t a single word ready to leave your tongue. Nothing is ready at the forefront of your brain.

“You’re losing weight, y/n. And you’re losing it in the most unhealthy way possible.”

No. You can’t do this today. It’s not the time. 

It’s never the time.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Nat,” you spit as you stand up, walking toward the door until she stops you with a firm grip of your forearm, holding you in place. 

“We have to talk about it,” she asserts, frustrated. “You have to talk about it. You can’t keep pretending it’s not an issue. Stop avoiding it.”

You quickly snap your arm out from her hand, refusing eye contact. You know she’s right, but this means you have to confront it. And doing that is probably the worst thing about this illness that you’ve been carrying for so many years. It only shows itself periodically, making you believe you’re finally healed, only to rear its ugly head just when you think you’ve rid yourself of it once and for all. 

Confronting it feels like you’re giving it some sort of power; you’ve convinced yourself that ignoring it will make it go away. Eventually. 

But, you know that isn’t true. Years of living by that very sentiment have proven it. No matter what, it keeps finding its way back. An unwanted, cruel friend that somehow brings you a bit of comfort, no matter how horrible it may be to you. 

You can’t bring yourself to lie to Nat. Besides, she knows you well enough that there’s no use in it; she’d know you weren’t being honest. Both a gift and a curse that she knows you so damn well. 

Unsure of what to say, you just bring your hands up to your face in a sore, pathetic attempt at muffling your cries. 

Nat doesn’t say anything as you feel her grab you and hold you tight, keeping you close to her. You can feel the beating of her heart against your own chest, beating almost as quickly as yours is. 

As hard as this is for you, it’s probably hard for her, too. 

“I’m sorry to bring this up on your birthday,” she begins, slowly pulling herself away from you, taking your hands away from your tear-soaked face so she can look you in the eye. “But I’m doing it because I want you to have more of them.”

“I’ve just lost so much control, Nat,” you sob, finding it rather hard to look her in the eye as the words begin to spill from your lips. “Everything is out of my control. My dad leaving, my mom, my feelings for Jake that I wasn’t prepared for…” 

Even when good things are beyond your control, they’re still beyond your control. You never meant to fall for him as deeply as you did– it just happened. You tried to resist it, to keep your emotions in check, focus on anything else. But, feelings, especially those holding this much weight, can’t be controlled. Not by anyone. And as wonderful as these feelings are, there’s still this persistent fear that something, anything could go wrong with Jake, and you’ll find yourself powerless against it. Just one more thing you can’t control. It’s just so heavy. 

“But the one thing that I can control is–” 

“Eating.” She says it before you can, like she knew how much it hurt to say it out loud— she wanted to do it for you, take away some of the fear. “It’s something you can control when everything else seems too hard to manage. But, at some point, it’s not you that’s in control. It’s the disease that’s controlling you.” She pauses, waiting until you gather the courage to look her in the eye. “And when you avoid it, you’re letting it control you.” 

Every single thing she’s saying is true. Undoubtedly. 

It’s just not as simple as not letting it take control. God, you wish it were that simple. But with every factor at play– the unrelenting need to have reign, the severe bouts of body dysmorphia– it’s bound to take over, whether you like it or not. And that is where she’s very much correct; this illness manipulates you, makes you believe you’re the one calling the shots, when it’s truly the opposite. 

As you see the tears beginning to fall from her honeyed irises, your heart swells. She cares. She cares more than just about anyone else in your whole life has cared. “Please, y/n. You have to take care of yourself.” She hugs you again, holding you even tighter than before as you both cry together. “Take care of yourself for you, and for all of the people who need you healthy, who need you here.”

Need. 

You’re needed? 

Even with as long as you’ve been taking care of your mom, needed isn’t something you’ve ever felt of yourself. You’ve never felt good enough to be needed. 

“I know he hasn’t said anything yet,” she continues quietly, still holding you tight. “But Jake has asked me several times if you’re okay. He knows something is up, y/n. And he cares.” She pulls away, her arms outstretched as her hands hold onto your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the place where your bones are beginning to protrude a bit more.  “He just doesn’t know how to approach you about it, and he’s not always the best at showing it, but I promise you; he cares.”  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

There’s a plate of food sitting in front of you, and a war waging its highest battle inside of you. 

One thing you’ve always known to be true with this illness are the intense feelings of shame involved with…everything. 

Eating is shameful, not eating is shamefiul.

And what’s worse about the shame associated with not eating; when people know. 

Realizing that Nat knows, coming to terms with Jake knowing…

You’ve managed to swallow a few bites. A piece of popcorn here, a pretzel there. A few chips, (but no dip) a nibble or two of the pink frosting on top of your vanilla cupcake.

Do you eat because you want to? (Because you need to?) Or do you do it because people are starting to notice?

Right now, you know you’re only doing it to appease Nat. To make her feel better, to keep her from being upset with you. 

Is it right? No, absolutely not. It’s wrong in about twenty different ways. But, you’re eating. A half step in the right direction is still moving foreward. 

Things have been a little quiet with you and Nat for the last hour or so, quieter than usual. The only words you’ve spoken have been exchanges about students turning in or checking out books. You can’t get rid of the tension between you two, and you hate it. It’s not that she isn’t trying to ease it, you’re the one feeling awkward as fuck right now. It’s a strange feeling associated with someone knowing about your struggles. Even if it is your best friend. It’s yet another vulnerable layer of yourself peeled away from its protective barrier.  

If anyone should know, you’re glad it’s her. And you know that of everyone else, she has your absolute best interest at heart, always. No matter how brash she comes across. She’d never use it against you. 

Still yet, she knows. And anyone knowing is hard for you. It just means that she’ll keep a closer watch over you, especially when it comes to food. That is something you most definitely don’t want. 

You just don’t want things to be different with her. But, no matter how badly you wish for that, things will probably be much different from now on. People will always view you differently when they know what you struggle with, and Nat is no exception. 

“Looks like you’ve got a little visitor,” you hear Nat say as your eyes are fixed on the computer screen, breaking you from your endless thought train. When you look up, you see a vase filled with a lovely bouquet of more daisies, just like the ones left in your car for you this morning.

Jake. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he came to surprise you at work, too. 

“More flowers?” You say with a winded giggle, reaching to slide the vase over to the side so you can see his face. “You’ve done way too much, Ja–”

Before you finish moving the vase, your stomach drops when you see who's responsible for this beautiful gift.

It’s not Jake who brought them to you. 

It’s Sam. 

And here he is, standing before you in one of the nicest outfits you’ve yet to see him in; black slacks with a handsome red knitted top underneath a black blazer. He’s holding your favorite coffee in his hand, and wearing the sweetest smile that has his mustache curling on either end of his lips.

“S-Sam! Oh, this is so sweet, but I—” 

“I figured you were probably getting off work pretty soon,” he interrupts, setting the coffee down next to the flowers. “I thought we could,” he pauses, removing his aviators and tucking his hair behind his ear. “ I just wondered if you’d want to go get dinner tonight. For your birthday, of course.” 

Fucking hell. 

His red cheeks and warm smile are making your heart ache. 

Looking at his sweet face is just…it’s almost too much. You know turning him down is going to hurt him. But it just might hurt you more. 

“That’s so sweet of you, Sam. But I…” 

Fuck. 

“I actually already have plans tonight.” 

He tucks another strand of hair behind his ear, fidgeting with the sunglasses he’s still holding. “Oh, okay,” he says with a heartbreakingly innocent smile. “With your mom?” 

Ugh.

Do you tell him? Do you lie to him for the sake of protecting him? It might crush him, and you don’t want to do that. But, he needs to know. And as much as you don’t want to utter the words, lying about it, only for him to find out later, is far worse. 

Well, here it goes. 

“No. I’m going with Jake.” 

That fucking hurt like hell. 

You have no doubt that the look on his face will stick with you for a very long time. His eyes, suddenly downturned like a puppy who’s just been separated from his mom, and his lips that have parted just slightly. His whole body slumps over, his shoulders seeming to go weightless as his arms fall to his side. 

I’m so sorry, Sam.

You hear Nat abandoning the desk, shutting the door to the backroom and leaving you alone with Sam, in complete silence. Good call, Nat. 

It’s the kind of silence that’s so quiet, it nearly hurts your ears. It’s awkward tension, your words left hanging in the air all around him. 

Please say something, Sam. Anything.

You feel like the dirt beneath the deepest points of the earth, even deeper than that. You and Sam weren’t anything even close to exclusive, but you know you led him on. Selfishly, and for all the wrong reasons. You love Sam, but you can’t see any relationship with him beyond the beautiful friendship you’ve grown. But now, you’re worried that all but vanished as soon as you uttered his brother's name.

“We just made the plans this morn—”

“...you’re going with Jake?”

His tone is almost pleading with you to say it isn’t so. He sounds sad. So, so sad. 

A part of you thought he might’ve gotten the idea by now that you and Jake have become a bit of an item. Or that Jake would’ve said something to him. 

But, given his reaction to this news, he most certainly had no idea. Meaning, you get to be the one to break it to him. 

Great.

He looks you in the eyes as he nods in understanding, a tiny, defeated smile on his lips. “Okay.” He hesitates, looking down to the ground for a brief moment, then back to you with a smile a bit more genuine than the last. He takes a deep breath and places his sunglasses back on his face. “No big deal. I hope you two have a great time.”

You try to thank him for the sweet gifts, but he’s already walking towards the door. Your heart suddenly hurts, hurts incredibly bad. You know he is hurt, and that is the very last thing you ever wanted to happen. 

But, at least he knows. Perhaps, since nothing was ever actually official between the two of you, he’ll be able to move on with no problem. 

As much as you are enamored with Jake, there will always be a soft spot in your heart for Sam, the one who’s been the most graceful with you since the very day you met him.

I’m so sorry, Sammy. 

You hear the door behind you creak open as Nat has determined the coast to be clear of any more awkwardness with Sam finally gone. “Well, that was brutal.” She says. “I guess I thought he would’ve figured it all out by now.”

“Me too,” you respond, still picturing the sad look about his sweet face. You feel weighed down with guilt, with shame. You shouldn’t have let it go as long as you did, shouldn’t have used him the way you did. 

But, what’s done is done. There’s nothing more you can do about it.

You just hope he’ll find it within himself to forgive you someday… 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve just finished your shower, with your hair and makeup flawlessly done. Your skin carries a subtle, enticing fragrance of vanilla and cashmere, and you’re wearing the new black lingerie set you’ve been eager for Jake to see.

But now, with everything perfectly in place, it’s time to finally try on the red dress he bought you. You’ve managed to put it off until now, but with only twenty minutes left before he’s due to pick you up, your time for stalling is running out. 

You’re feeling incredibly nervous, your tummy tight and a bit nauseous. You’ve not even checked the size yet—what if it’s completely wrong? What if it’s too small or too big? Did he guess your size just based on how you look?

No, y/n. He probably got your size from Malachi who has your literal exact measurements for your costuming.

But, what if it just doesn’t fit and looks terrible on you? Will it accentuate everything about your body that you don’t like?

Goddammit.

You’d give almost anything to have someone by your side right now. You wish your mom could be here to calm your nerves like she used to. But you know that turning to her might only heighten your anxiety. Instead, you’re frozen in fear, staring at the red dress draped across your bed. Its silky fabric shimmers softly in the dim light of your room, only  your apprehension.

But then, an idea crosses your mind. The only person who knows about your dysmorphic thoughts, your best friend who understands you better than you sometimes understand yourself, is just a mere phone call away. A FaceTime away, even. Though things were a bit rocky with her today, she's still the only person you want to help you through this right now.

With only fifteen minutes until he’s set to arrive, you quickly grab your phone and search Nat’s contact, tapping the little film icon to the right of her name.

You set your phone up on the vanity as it’s ringing, and just as she answers, the look on her face reminds you that you’re only wearing a black lace bra and matching thong. 

“Goddamn, y/n!” She shouts, bringing her closed fist up to her mouth. “Daniel definitely has some competition now!”

“Nat, stop it!” You chuckle, making a horrible attempt at trying to cover yourself up. 

“Whatcha need, hot stuff?” 

“Jake bought me a dress to wear tonight, and I’m terrified to try it on,” you say, holding it up in front of the phone so she can see it. 

“Girl, that will look sexy as fuck on you. What the hell are you so scared about?” She asks, shocked as you show her the gorgeous outfit he so lovingly surprised you with. 

“I’m just…what if it doesn’t fit me and I look like utter shit in it?” 

“How the fuck are you going to know if you don’t just put the damn dress on?” She loudly asserts, intently watching you with a very annoyed expression, impatiently waiting for you to try it on and get over this hesitation you're feeling. “We’re not having another Alter’d State dressing room incident; put that bitch on.”

“Jesus, okay! Give me a second.” 

You step out of frame, rolling your eyes and giggling at her aggressive love that you’re starting to somewhat get used to. 

And, being distracted by her aggressiveness has somehow helped you to finally put this dress on your body. You did it so quickly, without hardly a thought, that you honestly didn’t even realize you actually did it. 

Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the soft, silk fabric, smoothing it over your hips and tugging it into place. It feels tight, a snug fit you wouldn’t normally choose for yourself. 

But without having taken a single glance in the mirror, you can tell that it most definitely fits you. As you instinctively run your hands up and down your sides, feeling it out before looking at your reflection, you’re realizing that it actually fits you really well.

But, you’re worried about how it looks on you. As you’re feeling around your body, you’re noticing the way your lower belly sticks out, the very distinct protrusion of your hips, the dips above your thighs. It’s very tight. It may fit a little too well, and that meaning it's probably putting all of your insecurities on display.

“Y/n! Hurry up, already!” You hear Nat spout from your phone that's still perched upright on your vanity. 

“You have to be honest with me, okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” Nat scoffs. 

Running your hands over your body once more, sucking in your tummy as much as you possibly can, you take tentative steps in front of your phone screen. 

It’s just Nat, it’s just Nat…

“Well?”

“BITCH!” She yells, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, almost falling over from her sheer volume. “That dress was fucking made for you! Why are you always so weird about clothing, when everything you try on looks perfect on you?” She continues, Danny now in the frame and agreeing with her. 

A wave of relief washes over you, feeling your cheeks warm at her words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You really think so?”

“Uh, yeah, babe. You’re going to leave that boy completely speechless.” 

You step to the side, allowing yourself to see your full image in the vanity mirror. With every ounce of strength you have in you, you do your best to ignore the things about yourself you typically focus on. Instead, the first thing you notice is the way your breasts are accentuated beneath the tight fit, the way the square neckline is just low enough to highlight your clevage in a tasteful, yet sensual way. You’ve never seen your breasts so round and full at the top like this. Part of it is all thanks to your new bra, and part of it is definetely due to the fit of your outfit. 

Wow. 

And although it’s sleeveless, thick straps being the only thing giving your shoulders some coverage, you’re not tempted to put anything over to cover your arms over fear you’ll hide the incredible things it’s doing for your chest. 

“Thanks, Nat. You’re the fucking best, you know that?” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” she chuckles, her and Danny blowing you mass amounts of kisses over the phone. “Have the best time tonight, and keep me updated!” 

She hangs up the call just as Jake sends you a text that he’s just about here. 

The strappy heels he gifted you with the dress are sitting next to your bed. You place your feet in them, (perfect size, of course) securing the strap around your ankles. When you stand, you feel a bit like a newborn deer attempting to gain balance. But after a moment of practice, striding around your room a few times, you feel a bit more comfortable in them. 

With one final glance in the mirror, doing everything you can to only focus on the things about your appearance that you do like, your gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the left of your vanity. The very one Jake left in your car along with the rest of your outfit for the evening. 

You lift the lid, and inside are the most glorious, tear shaped black diamond earrings. My god, they’re stunning. And not that you’d care either way, but by the looks of them, they’re most definitely real. You can’t even begin to fathom the amount he spent on them, on everything he’s done so far. And the night has hardly begun. 

It’s an almost uncomfortable feeling to be so cared for on your birthday. There’s a budening, lingering thought that you truly don’t deserve everything that’s been done for you so far.

The birthday party, where everyone showed you immense amounts of love and adoration, Sam’s sweet and gentle gestures, the beginnings of what you’re sure will be the most elegant evening you’ve ever experienced…

Is it possible that, just maybe, you are worthy of a love you’d never thought fathomable in your life thus far? 

It still feels awfully strange, but, a good strange. A welcome strange. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Where are you going?” You hear your mom rudely question, with a cough behind the Kleenex in her hand, as you’re pulling your coat from the front closet. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Going out,” you say while looking through the peephole to see if Jake has made it up the stairs yet. “And it’s a new dress.” You check your makeup once more in the mirror next to the door, brushing away the fallen eyelash sitting on top of your cheek. “Dinner is ready for you in the oven, and I left your medications next to your bed— have you taken them?” 

She scoffs as she looks you up and down, as though she’s horrified by what she sees. “And with who?” She asks, sounding utterly shocked that you could possibly have anyone who’d want to celebrate you on your birthday while altogether ignoring your question. 

“Jake.” Your answer is sharp and quick. To the point, not letting yourself fall for the guilt she’s inevitably preparing to lay on you. 

You’ve done everything she’s needed tonight. The apartment is spotless, there’s plenty for her to eat, her oxygen tank (that she refuses to wear against the doctor's order) is full. 

God forbid you get to enjoy your own birthday—for once. 

“So I don’t even get to spend your birthday with you?” 

There it is. 

There’s no doubt of what she’s trying to do, and you’re not going to give her the space to do it. She’s never prioritized your birthday, hasn’t even so much as acknowledged it once today. She just wants an excuse to argue, a reason to keep you here when you both know you don’t need to be. 

If you don’t give her the attention she wants, she doesn’t hold the power to make you feel bad. So, you’ll just ignore her every attempt at putting you down. 

And clearly, she’s not happy about it. “I see,” she mutters. “Guess your mom isn’t important enough to spend your special day with. And that dress is a little too skimpy, if you ask me.” 

She knows the perfect way to trigger you, the perfect things to say that’ll make you want to rip the dress off and cover yourself with the nearest oversized outfit, or hide beneath your covers and forget tonight was ever supposed to happen. 

 “Trying to impress him with your body won’t get you where you think it will,” she keeps on. Her voice is becoming louder, as if she knows you’re choosing to not hear what she’s saying. She thinks yelling will get your attention a little better. “A little pathetic, if you ask me!”

Good thing I didn’t fucking ask you, you think safely to yourself. 

She’s making it really fucking hard to not say anything, but thankfully Jake knocks on the door right at the perfect time before your mouth gets the best of you. 

Don’t listen to her, don’t listen. 

You hear her make continued, snide remarks about how your body looks, but you’re too preoccupied with getting to the door to meet Jake. And once you do that, you’ll be safe from whatever shit she’s spewing at you. The first thing he does when you open the door for him is greet your mom, but she isn’t having it. 

“Don’t be out all night,” she says as she makes her way to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

“Just ignore her,” you say to Jake. “She’s in a mood.”

“You look like an absolute dream.” He completely disregards the interaction with your mother, choosing to focus all of his attention on you. He walks in a circle around you, eyes grazing every inch of your body. “I knew this would look immaculate on you,” he attests, hands reaching out to gently squeeze your hips.

But the real dream is him. 

He’s adorned in his usual all black, but it’s much different than anything you’ve yet to see him wear. 

Handsome just simply isn’t a strong enough word. Perfection is the closest way to describe what you’re seeing in front of you. 

Tailored black pants that hug him just right. A black vest with a dramatic scooped neckline that plunges far past his chest, allowing for the best display of his chain that holds so many silver coins, more than you ever see him sport. And alongside them, hanging a little lower than the rest, is a silver sword charm That one, specifically, is reminding you of where it all began with him. 

My Arthur. 

His blazer drapes over his broad frame with effortless elegance, sitting atop his wide shoulders as if it were crafted just for him.

And his hat. 

His black, wide brimmed hat, the very one you’re sure he wore the day you met him. The one that, despite your every reservation, piqued your interest. 

Just when you thought that he had gone all out with his attire, the extra nine is added when you catch sight of his silver and black striped boots.

“Jake, you look…” Your breath catches in your throat. No word seems adequate. You can’t find the strength to resist pulling him in for a deep kiss, the only way to truly express how much you love the way he looks.

You catch a hint of his aftershave on his lips, mingling with the taste you’re coming to know as distinctly his.

God, he tastes so good. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you last saw him, but you’ve missed his lips.

And you miss him the moment he pulls away, just as the kiss deepens.

“We better go, love,’ he whispers against you. ‘Can’t be late for our reservation.”

Reservation?

“Where are we going?” You inquire, staring intently at his lips that you want nothing more than to become lost in. 

“You’ll see when we get there.” 

With a playful, gentle slap to your ass, he takes your hand in his and leads you out the front door. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It looks like a fucking castle come to life directly out of a medieval romance. (Rather fitting.) A wonderful, massive Victorian mansion that nearly appears out of place in the modern streets of the big city. 

How have you never seen this place before?

The outside is full mortar stone, the roof different levels of height with rounded columns that are peeked at the top. Extravagantly huge balconies are wrapped around each level. It’s glorious, it’s too much. 

“What is this place?” You ask, stunned and wide eyed as he pulls the Rover up to the man dressed in formal attire waiting for him at the circle drive near the back of the building. 

It has valet parking. Fucking valet. You’ve never been to a place fancy enough that you don’t even have to park your own car. 

Now that you’re closer, you’re able to read the red, oval sign to the right of the elegant circle drive. 

The Whitney: Restaurant | Ghostbar | Gardens is displayed in white lettering. 

One thing is for absolute sure; there is nothing like this where you’re from. Not even remotely close.  

Out of instinct you reach for the handle of the door, but Jake stops you with a firm grasp on your upper thigh. 

Fuck. You’ll never get used to the grip of his hand, how strong and intentional his fucking hands are. You never knew you could be so turned on by a man's hand before; that was before Jacob Thomas (and his sexy ass hands) entered your life. 

“Stay right there,” Jake tells you as he jumps out of the driver's seat, handing the formally dressed man his keys along with a tip for his services. 

When Jake opens your door, he takes your hand and helps you from your seat, as though you truly are royalty. 

Once you're out of the car and sturdy on your feet, he locks his arm with yours, almost as though he’s escorting you to the most lavish ball. 

Before taking control of the Rover, the valet opens the door for you and Jake, revealing the incredible interior. 

And just as you suspected, it’s stunning. It’s more than stunning. 

You knew places like this existed, but never in your wildest fantasies did you think you’d be stepping foot in one of this magnitude. 

The first thing you notice is the baby grand piano sitting in the massive foyer near a painted portrait that must be over a hundred years old. 

Gold’s and royal pink’s detail the walls an intricate pattern, and the ceiling. Wood carved in utter beauty and class. 

“Right this way, Mr. Kiszka.” 

A woman, dressed in a floor length, black gown, guides you around the corner to a private room. 

Your breath is abruptly stolen from your lungs when you walk through the massive, gold trimmed french doors separating the space from the rest of the mansion. It’s dimly lit, with most of the emitting from the candles positioned all around the room. Next to the single round table, fixed with a black lace cloth and red napkins in the shape of roses, is a tremendous fireplace that surpacres your height. 

As Jake leads you to it, you're able to really see the intricate detailing across the stone work. It’s full white stone, with angels that are nearly the size of you carved into the sides, reaching from the top to the hearth. 

“Here you are, just as you requested.” She motions to the quaint table, the only one in the whole room, seated directly next to the immaculate fireplace. “Included in our private dining is a complimentary bottle of Antinori Tignanello, imported directly from Tuscanny. May I begin the evening by pouring you both a glass?”

Jake instantly looks to you for your answer, and when you eagerly nod your head, he tells the waitress that you’d both love to have a glass. 

“Jake,” you whisper as she leaves to fetch your drinks. “Imported from Tuscanny? How much did all of this cos–”

“That, my sweet doll,” he interrupts. “Is not something you should worry your pretty mind over.” 

His smile may actually melt your heart. You can tell, with the twinkling in his eyes, that he truly wanted nothing more than to give you the best. This all feels so authentic, so pure. Nothing you’ve ever quite felt before. 

Before you know it, the waitress is back, setting large, deep wine glasses in front of you and Jake. “The Tignanello is rich with notes of cherries, red berries, and a hint of lavender.” She begins pouring your glass first, then carefully finishing with Jakes. “It’s beautifully complimented with notes of roasted coffee and a touch of cocoa powder, closing with a tad of spice and fresh herbs.” 

Jake takes his glass, holding it out in front of him and signaling you to do the same. As soon as you do, after a clink of your glasses, you both take a sip. 

Wow. 

“Extraordinary,” Jake says to the waitress, who’s earnestly awaiting your reactions. “Absolutely remarkable.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the way he’s swirling the liquid around his wine glass, as though he’s a bonafide wine connoisseur. So very classy, so very sexy.

You start to feel a bit nervous when she and Jake then look to you to hear your thoughts. You’re not sure what to say that won’t sound completely silly. Jake knows how these places work, and being from the tiniest town in Oklahoma, you most surely do not know the proper etiquette of a place such as this. 

You’re no expert when it comes to imported wines, but you certainly know a good wine when you taste one. And this one is probably the best you’ve ever had. But how do you say that without sounding too…Oklahoma?

“Uh it’s, I mean it’s the best I’ve– it’s truly stupendous.” 

…stupendous?

Jake covers his mouth to conceal his little giggle, and the waitress has a bit of a dumbfounded look about her. You couldn’t have said that any more awkwardly if you tried. 

“G-glad to hear that!” She giggles, breaking the unease hanging in the air. “I’ll be back momentarily with your salads.”

Your head falls in your hands from pure embarrassment. “I am so weird,” you say, muffled. 

Jake chuckles again, taking your wrist as you look up to him through your fingers. “You are not weird. That was adorable.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The vibration from your phone can still be heard, though it’s tucked away in your clutch. 

Someone is texting you, and you’ve a good feeling it may be your mom. Your anxiety grows stronger with each text that comes through, knowing she’s probably sending you messages out of anger over tonight. 

Though you want to just ignore it and be present, when it vibrates two more times, one message sent directly after the other, you decide to just turn your phone off for the rest of the evening. 

“Everything alright?” Jake asks, noting your sudden onset of anxiety when you see several text messages from, just as you thought, your mother. 

They all say essentially the same thing, accusing you of not caring about her, of only caring about yourself and Jake. It’s not worth the turmoil of responding. She’s been fully taken care of for the night, she’ll be just fine on her own for a little while. 

“Just my mom,” you tell him as you shut your phone off and slide it back in your clutch. 

“I know she’s sick,” he begins, finishing off the last bite of his arugula salad. “But, that doesn’t give her the right to treat you the way she does.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, searching for the strength to eat more than a few bites of your salad. “You’re right. She hasn’t always been this way, though.” 

You know that doesn’t matter. But you also know, deep down, that she has always been like this. You’ve just convinced yourself that it was okay, that she wasn’t that bad. 

He thanks the waitress when she takes his now empty salad plate, leaving yours as it’s still decently full. “When did she start acting this way?”

Ugh. 

“I guess…Well, it got worse when my dad left, around the time she got her diagnosis. And the move was a lot for her.” That felt weird to say to him. 

“Natalia told me a little about him, about your dad,” he admits with a worrisome tone, like he’s revealing a great secret. “I–I hope that’s okay. That she told me, I mean. You hadn’t said anything about him and I–”

“Of course it’s okay,” you nod, interrupting his apologetic spiel. You’re glad he knows, and you’re even more glad that you didn’t have to tell him.

You then start feeling a familiar ache in your heart associated with thinking of your dad, reaching up to grasp your necklace. “He just couldn’t handle it any longer, I guess. We were just too much for him.” 

I was too much for him…

“Do you miss him?” He continues, eyes attentively narrowing on you. 

“I shouldn’t,” you start, awkwardly shifting in your chair. “But, yeah. I do. He was…it felt like he was the one who loved me most, you know? Or, I thought he did. And when he left…I just didn’t expect it. Never saw it coming.” 

Knowing in your heart that you miss him is one thing, but saying it…

“It’s okay that you miss him,” Jake says, reaching across the table and taking your hand, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “Even if what he did hurts like fucking hell, you can still miss someone who hurt you. You can still love them, too.”

That isn’t something you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge, that you can still have feelings of love for someone that caused you so much pain. But, you do still love him. You love him so much. And you thought he loved you the same. That is why it hurts so fucking bad. The memories of him are comforting, but they serve as a reminder of the fact that he chose to leave. 

You squeeze Jake’s hand as tears begin to form. “I’ve just felt so guilty for missing him, like I’m betraying myself for missing someone who left us…who left me.”

“Missing him doean’t make you wrong or weak,” he tells you, gently shaking his head as his waves brush against the tops of his shoulders. “Just makes you human, you know?”

For the first time in quite a while, you feel a spark of hope. Maybe, through Jake, you can find a way to heal, to embrace a future that isn’t held back by pain and abandonment. 

A smile tugs at your lips at the thought, wondering if there could be a future with Jake. Right now, you’re having a hard time imagining one without him. “Thank you, Jake. I really needed this tonight.”

“You deserve it, doll.” He lifts your hand, kissing your knuckles through a smile. “This and so much more.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The anxious, intrusive thoughts are relentless as she sets the beautifully plated Chicken Francese before you, urging you to take only a bite or two and leave the rest untouched on the fine china

But when you look at Jake, sitting across from you, taking a generous sip of his wine, it’s clear he’s waiting for you to take a bite before he starts on his own.

A gentleman, through and through. 

It’s no surprise that when you look into his eyes—kind and unwavering in their adoration for you—the anxious thoughts suddenly dissipate, melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

My safe place. 

The way he looks at you, as if you’re the most stunning vision he’s ever laid eyes on, with pure awe shining in his golden irises.

He makes you feel beautiful, like you’re enough.

And when you feel that way, you feel deserving of nourishment. He makes you feel worthy. There’s something about his presence, about how he cares for you as if you’ve been together for the better part of your young lives, as if you’ve always known him…

He has a way of quieting the intrusive thoughts, even if only for a moment. Just the two of you, in this palace, enjoying each other’s company.

And, a moment is all you need to fill your body with the love you’ve been so scared to show it. Perhaps it’s how much love he shows your body that forces you to believe it’s okay for you to show it some love, too. 

The first bite feels like a small act of defiance against the days of hunger you've endured. The moment the warm, buttery chicken touches your tongue…it’s suddenly more than just food; it’s a reminder that you do deserve to nourish yourself. As you chew, the richness of the sauce envelops you, and the warmth seeps into your very being, igniting a spark of joy that you seem to only feel about food when Jake is around. 

You’re not just feeding your body; you’re healing your spirit, reclaiming a piece of yourself. With every forkful, you allow yourself to believe that it’s okay to feel good, it’s okay to fill your body with what it needs to sustain. 

As you stick your fork in what will be the last bite, you look to Jake. He seems to be enjoying the food just as much as you. And when you lock eyes, you fill your mouth with the very last morsel left on the china. A strength you didn’t know you had, but he has helped you discover it. 

Instead of feeling shame over eating the entire meal, you’re grateful for it. You’re happy you ate it all. Your body needed it, your mind needed it. 

No, there’s no shame. 

This is a new feeling; you're proud. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You certainly didn’t give me much time for planning,” he says while placing a small, red velvet box on the table between you. “But thankfully, I was able to purchase this on rush order.” 

“You’ve done so much, Jake. I can’t accept anything else—” 

“Yes, you can.” He smiles, warm and comforting. “Open it, doll.” 

There’s no chance you can deny him, especially with that little pet name that not once has failed to make you utterly weak. 

You’ve no idea what this could possibly be, because he truly has gone all out for you. It makes you wonder what he would’ve done if he’d had more than just two weeks to plan everything, because it feels as though he’s done it all. 

Once you open the box, your jaw nearly hits the table beneath you. It’s a necklace with the most gorgeous sword pendant hanging from its chain. And, even better, it’s a near identical match to the one’s wearing. Only a bit smaller to suit you better. 

“To commemorate the completion of our film” he begins, standing from his seat and walking around behind your chair. Taking the box from your hand, he carefully pulls out the necklace and places it around your neck. “Because it led me to my Guiniverre.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

With a clink of your silver forks, you cheers with your first bites of chocolate lava cake before filling your mouths full of the gooey, decadent dessert. 

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.” He licks the extra chocolate off the fork, his tongue wrapping sensually around the metal, eliciting a few strong feelings within you. And he must notice; he catches your glare, (that you’re not exactly trying to hide) winking at you while gliding his tongue along his bottom lip. “Here’s to the enchanting splendor that is you.” 

He brings his napkin up from his lap, carefully dabbing his face with it before accidentally dropping beneath the table. “Oops,” he sneers. “Rather clumsy of me, hm?” 

You chuckle as he fluidly and elegantly dips under the white tablecloth to retrieve it, taking his time while he does so. 

It isn’t long before you feel a gentle, sturdy hand wrapped around your calf, slowly leading up to your bent knee. Then, following the smooth glide of his touch, you feel the softest kisses against the smooth skin along the same path. The fabric of your dress is bunched up to your upper thighs, his lips following, urging you to at last uncross your legs. And when you do, his kisses, more fervent and intentional, meet the inner thigh of your right leg, then your left. 

“Jake…,” you whisper, wanting more than anything to submit to his advances, yet feeling the shame of it all at once. “Not…not here, baby.” 

He responds with one long, slow lick of his tongue, nearly meeting the heat between your legs before backing away altogether. 

“Jake…please.” You reach your hands under the table, searching for his face to bring back to you. You feel his hands find yours, pulling your hand to his lips where you can feel him smile as he kisses your palm.

You can hardly conceal your elongated sigh of dismay when he lifts back up to sit in his chair. “Don’t look so sad, doll.” He folds his previously dropped napkin in front of you, teasing the hell out of you. “We’ll go home very soon for the rest.” He stands up, pushing in his chair before offering you his hand to help you up. “But first, we must embark on our tour of the mansion.”

As badly as you want him to take you right now on top of this table, the floor, anywhere, you can’t deny your excitement to get a better look at this glorious place. “Sounds wonderful,” you mutter as he leans in for a quiet kiss, leading the way to the foyer where your waitress is generously waiting to guide you through the Victorian home.  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“We’re no strangers to the paranormal here,” she admits, walking you through a narrow hallway that leads to a multitude of rooms you’ve yet to explore. “There are numerous accounts of ghostly sightings. Many claim to see the very same apparitions.” 

She opens the door to a room decorated with Victorian furniture. Large, hand painted portraits of a man and a woman hang from the walls, framed with antique gold. 

“David and Sara Whitney were the original owners of the mansion after its completion in 1894,” she begins, pointing to the portraits that immediately caught your eye. “David personally oversaw the construction of his home, being sure that all fifty two rooms he requested were structured to his liking. Sara, his wife, insisted on a fireplace in each room,” she continues, drawing your attention to the one in the room you’re standing in. “But David wouldn’t hear of it. So, instead of the fifty two fireplaces she wanted, she only got twenty of them.” 

She continues taking you through each room that is available for tours, showing you seven of the ten bathrooms, giving you a detailed, rich history of the place and showing you photos of the paranormal activity caught on camera.

Though you’re utterly fascinated by it all, especially the ghost stories, you can’t seem to keep focus with Jake’s wandering hands. Every corner you turn, he reaches down to squeeze your ass. Everytime she looks away, he cups your breast with a strong grip.

You’ve smacked his hand away each time, fearful that she’ll eventually catch on to what’s happening behind her back. 

But, when Jake stops you, holds you up against the wall and locks his lips tight with yours, you decide to blow all caution to the wind at this point, unable to deny him any longer. That is, of course, until your fear becomes recognized. 

She stops mid sentence, clearing her throat to get your attention.“The tour is almost over,” she says, standing in the middle of the hallway, her hands resting on her hips. “Do you think you two and handle yourselves for just a few more minutes?”

Feeling completely embarrassed, you both awkwardly apologize and agree that you can manage it. (Hopefully, at least.) 

You wipe the smudged lipstick from your face and Jake’s before carrying on with the tour, keeping the touching to a minimum of just handholding. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The drive back to his place was full of red light kisses, heavy and hungry touches. Every still moment in the Rover resulted in your hands all over each other. 

Neither of you wasted anytime getting in the front door and down the hall, Jake stopping just as you approached the door to his bedroom. He’s holding you against the wall, hands wrapped tight in the roots of your hair as he kisses you hard and deep. 

His lips stay attached to yours as he leads you into his dim, warmly lit room, closing the door before he guides you to his bed, seamlessly laying you down on your back as he braces himself on top of you, taking his black hat off and tossing it to the other side of the bed.

He’s holding the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your now messy locks, his tongue filling your mouth with the taste of the last hints of the imported wine, reminding you of the lavish evening he’s already spoiled you with. 

He carefully moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck, kissing and sucking on the tight skin, humming everywhere his lips touch. You open your eyes only for a moment, but when you do, you see his dark red SG sitting on the stand. It’s reminding you of a promise he made, that one day he’d play for you. As much as you don’t want this to end, hearing him play is something you’ve thought about almost everyday since you discovered this facet about him. 

“Jake, can—can you do something for me?” You ask him while he continues to caress you with his lips. 

He stops only to respond, keeping as close to you as he can. “Anything for you, doll.”

Having the worst time attempting to talk as he’s licking along your neck, you point to the guitar sitting beside the bed, hoping he’ll know just what you’re wanting. 

“Yeah?” He plants one more kiss as he begins to sit up on the end of the bed. “Want me to play you a little something?”

You move to sit next to him, smoothing down your hair a bit, looking into his golden eyes with eagerness. “Would you?”

“Of course, my queen.” He flashes the warmest smile, tucking loose hair behind your ear while he sweetly kisses you once more. “I’d be delighted.”

He approaches the guitar stand, fingers lightly brushing against smooth surface before gracefully grasping the neck, taking it from where it rests. Draping the black leather strap over his shoulder and across his chest, he adjuts it so that it fits snuggly against his torso, cradling it comfortably against his body, letting the weight of the instrument settle in his hands.There’s a still humming sound when he plugs the chord into the small Marshall amp in the corner. 

“Needs a little tuning.” He takes his pick from the top of the amp and uses it to pluck a few strings, adjusting the knobs along the head. It doesn’t need much, though. It sounds wonderfully melodic already. And god, does he look beautiful holding it. It’s a brand new side of him that you’ve known was there, but seeing it…it’s only serving to increase your every desire for him. 

He lets out a satisfied hum when the strings are in perfect tune, his eyes flitting back up to you with a loving smile.“Any requests?” 

“Whatever strikes your fancy,” you tell him, ready to hear just about anything at this point, your body beginning to vibrate at the vision before you.

“Hm, what strikes my fancy…,” he begins, heavy in contemplation. Then, he looks at his wide brimmed hat still sitting on top of the duvet. And as though that was his very inspiration, you see the gleam in his eye when he picks it up to place it back on his head. “I feel it’s only proper when playing a little SRV,” he winks. 

He starts playing a few chords, and while you can’t quite place them, they do sound awfully familiar to you. They sound peaceful, soothing. “Do you know the story about Lenny?” He asks, continuing to play the beginning notes of the melody.

You smile when you suddenly make the connection. Lenny, a staple for any Stevie Ray Vaughan lover. Of course you recognize the melody, it’s a classic. You do know a bit of the song's backstory, but you’re willing to bet you don’t know as much about it as he does. And, you’re very much looking forward to hearing him talk about it. 

“I can’t say I do,” you admit, shaking your head, looking into his dark, whiskey eyes. “Tell me about it.”

His fingers continue strumming the all too familiar tune, swooning you with each heartfelt chord he plays.“It’s a profound melody, heavy with the weight of love for his wife, Lenora.” Still standing, he lifts a leg and places his foot along the edge of the mattress, letting his guitar rest against his knee. “He loved her deeply, and he set out to express that love through music. No lyrics, just pure music, melody.” 

You can feel the vibration of every note he plays, your eyes flicking back and forth from his to his fingers methodically and intentionally moving along the fretboard. The way he’s playing from memory, as though the song is woven into his very soul–it’s nothing short of exhilarating to witness such a beautiful thing. 

“It shows his ability to convey the deepest emotions through his guitar, how he can almost manipulate it to sound like a voice. There’s not a single word throughout the entire piece, yet you can indubitably hear the essence of his heart being spoken through his fingertips.” 

You’ve always been able to hear it in Stevie’s playing, and you swear you can hear it in Jake’s playing. The tune sounds nearly identical to the original, yet the message he’s conveying is a bit different, a bit more melancholy. Whatever is weighing on his heart, is coming through with every movement of his hands. 

When he reaches the most pivotal part of the song, he throws his head back, his eyes closed and brows furrowed together. His lips are parted, speaking quiet whispers to his instrument as his fingers move at a speed you didn’t know possible. 

The rich, bluesy tones emitting through his instrument, the painful yet adoring cries of the melodies. The careful vibratoes and reverbs that are so identifiably Stevie’s, mimicked in Jake’s very own stylistic approach. The rhythms, the variations in tempo…you know, without a shadow of a doubt that Stevie himself would be more than flattered by such a gorgeous rendition of his beloved piece. 

He then becomes fully immersed in the tune, his back arching as he throws his head back even further than before, sending his hat tumbling to the ground but he’s not paying it any mind. Just when you thought he couldn’t look more captivating, more sexy, he forgoes his pick, placing it on the edge of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, he plucks the remainder of the song at a slowed down tempo, each note still resonating with deep emotion. 

“He called her his guiding light, the source of his every inspiration,” he mutters after taking the pick from his mouth, gently strumming the final chord. “His love for her was evident in everything he did, but nothing quite captures it the way Lenny did.” 

He gazes at his guitar for a moment, his fingers gliding along the fretboard, a soft smile playing on his lips. With a lingering touch, he removes the strap and carefully places the guitar back on its stand.

You slowly rise to your knees on the edge of the bed, beckoning him with a subtle wave of your finger. He does without hesitation, and when he’s within reach, you grab hold of both sides of his jacket collar, drawing him even closer. His eyes, dark and heavy in lust, meet yours with a half grin, the air thickened with anticipation. 

“Does this mean you liked it?” He whispers, beginning to close the tiny gap between you. His hands find your hips, rubbing along the satin material of your dress until the fabric becomes bunched up at your waist. 

“Loved it.” ” 

Feeling as though you can’t hold back any longer, you pull him by his collar and melt your lips into his. So much passion, so much vigor behind his lips. 

His hands reach around to your exposed ass, squeezing the flesh hard in his grip before cracking his open palm against your right cheek. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. You then lean down to kiss his neck as your fingers diligently begin to unbutton his vest. Much like when he was playing you the song, he throws his head back to allow you better access to the skin, his lips parted and heavy breaths falling from them. 

When you reach the last button, he lets you pull his jacket and vest off his body in one go, leaving his top half bare. You then lean down even further, letting your lips kiss along his sternum, sucking marks on the skin of his chest, licking along his nipples. He sucks in a breath as you do so, his fingers then becoming tangled in your hair while he hums and groans as you lean up to his neck once more. 

“You sound pretty, Jake…,” you mumble into his flesh, feeling the sped up beating of his heart as your lips meet the pulsepoint of his neck. “I think I like you like this.” 

You feel the bobbing of his Adam's apple against your lips as he chuckles, breathing deep and heavy while you continue grazing your lips over the tight skin, sucking and biting, smiling at the goosebumps and dark marks left behind.

“Jesus, what have you done to me?” He groans, still grinning when you bring your gaze to his pretty face. 

Each time you think you’ve at last broken through the entirety of his exterior, you find yourself digging deeper and deeper still, discovering there’s still much more beneath the surface that he’s slowly allowing you to reveal. You can feel him begin to crumble under your touch; for him to grant you this position of power… it’s not the Jake you met a few months ago. It’s a Jake you convinced yourself wasn’t there, that he wasn’t real.

As much as he makes you unravel before him, you’re discovering that you have the same effect on him. And oh, how empowering it feels.

Your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing his pink cheek bones. His eyes, pupils dark and heavy against the warm amper of his irises,ock onto yours as his grip finds the small of your waist. “What have you done to me?” He softly echoes before his lips gracefully meet yours.

He leans you back gently, laying you against the mattress. Standing before you as you’re sprawled out on the bed, he gazes down at you with eyes that hunger for everything you are.

And the vision of him, shirtless and sweaty, his cock hard and strained against his black slacks. 

Goddammit. 

How could someone this alluring, this striking, be looking at you the very way he is right now? 

“Just want to look at you like this for a bit, doll,” he whispers, fingers delicately grazing your calves, falling to your ankles. “You know you’re beautiful, right?” He takes the heel off your left foot, then your right. He leans down closer to you, hovering above you. His hair tickles your chest, his lips brush against your collar bone. The coins hanging from his neck feel cold as they graze your chest. “Tell me what you want from me.”  

His breath is hot against your skin, his voice husky and deep.

His hands trail slowly down the curve of your torso, the warmth of his touch leaving a lingering everywhere they touch. When he reaches your shoulders, he pauses, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he gently slides the straps of your dress down your arms, the silken fabric whispering against your skin as it slips lower. With a soft tug, he exposes your bra, the lace barely concealing the soft rise of your breasts.

He dips his head, his hair splayed across your chest, and begins to nip and kiss the tops of your breasts. His lips leave a series of gentle marks, each one a claim, as his tongue, wet and warm, starts its slow and deliberate journey. He glides from the valley of your cleavage to your neck, savoring every inch of the path. He playfully takes the silver sword charm he gifted you earlier in his teeth, letting it dangle for a moment before releasing it to rest against your breasts.

With the charm now lying between you, he continues to lick along the curve of your neck, tracing the line of your pulse. His journey seals with a tender kiss, ending his path with an intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me," he repeats.

Your mind and mouth are suffering a massive disconnect, your lips unable to utter the words you so desperately want to say. All you can do is whimper, squeal out a pathetic plea for him to ravish you. The upper hand you once had has all but vanished, all thanks to the power he will always hold over you.

He softly giggles when you grip his shoulders, pulling him into you as you wrap your legs around his back. What your mouth can’t say, your body certainly can. 

The kisses are heavy, sloppy. Your hands find their home weaved in his locks, pulling gently, but enough to elicit a weighted whimper from him, the most gorgeous sound. 

“Again,” he moans. “Do that again, doll.” 

Oh, he likes this. 

You comply, tugging at his chestnut waves once more, this time with more force. The same whimper escapes his plump lips, sending a shiver through your core.

As you pull again, his hand quickly moves between your legs, his fingers finding their place against your fluttering clit, moving in slow but intentional circles over the black satin covering you. 

Upon instinct your arch your back, silently imploring for more and more. 

Your mind and body ache for him when he sits up. He’s standing at the end of the bed once more, staring down at you, a sultry grin curling at the corners of his mouth. 

He says nothing as he pulls his belt through its buckle, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down from his pants. He drops them to the floor, leaving him only in his black boxer briefs. 

He reaches his hand down, lightly rubbing his palm against his clothed cock that’s practically begging to be freed from the constraining fabric. 

Jesus. 

As much as you’d love to feel his fingers, his tongue, you’re nearly desperate for his cock at this point, not in any place to wait much longer for him to fill you. 

His eyes darken as he watches you sit up and pull your dress off in one go, removing your bra next just as quickly. 

He hums as you bare your breasts, groaning as his eyes fall to your secret ink below the curve of your breast.“Lie back down, doll,” he groans, his voice rumbling deep from his chest. When you comply, he swiftly yanks your panties off, discarding them onto the floor. He then removes his boxers, finally revealing what you've been craving.

With a swift motion of your hips, he draws you to the edge of the bed, standing before you and sinking his fingers into your soft flesh. His cock glides against your folds, slowly tracing your slit, the tip teasingly nudging your clit. You press yourself against him, yearning for more contact as his head finally probes your wetness. 'Please,' you whisper, your voice cracked and trembling with desire.

You needn't say another word as he fills you slowly, inch by inch, gripping the backs of your thighs while he watches himself enter you. His heavy-lidded gaze remains fixed on your cunt as he stretches you, maintaining an impossibly slow pace. 

“Jesus,” he huffs through a staggered breath. “I love watching you take me.” He slides out slow and gentle, thrusting back in with the same deliberate pace. “I love the way you grip me, how you pull me in.” His voice grows deeper, raspier. “Feel me, doll?” He lays his palm against your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure slowly as his cock disapears inside of you. “Feel how much I fill you?” 

The thumb of the same hand that rests over your tummy glides down to your swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bud ever so lightly as he maintains his slow pace. You can no longer keep your eyes open; your lids grow heavier by the second from the overwhelming stimulation, listening to your mutual heaving breaths and the clinking of his silver pendants against his chest. 

Your cheeks flush with heat, and every muscle in your body tightens. You feel your walls clenching around him, pulsing and fluttering with each breath. 

“Let it go, doll,” he mutters deeply, watching as you begin to fall apart beneath him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

One more flick of his thumb sends you crashing into waves of pleasure. Your hand reaches down to grip the sheets, your nails digging into your palms. Your other hand finds your breast, sending jolts of sensation through you. Your back arches off the bed, skin tingling and glistening with sweat.

Each breath from your lungs is rigged and stuttered, your lips only able to cry his name over and over. 

He doesn’t stop, only slows enough to let you come down slow and easy, letting you truly feel every bit of your pleasure. 

After a moment to catch your breath, you muster the strength to reach up for his shoulders, pulling him down to you. His lips crash into yours, and he remains tucked inside you, staying numbly still as your walls flutter, your cunt making a mess of both him and the sheets.

“You okay to keep going, doll?” He asks, the sincerity in his tone tugging at your heart. 

You nod, silently pleading for another kiss—you suddenly find yourself craving the taste of his lips. “Mhm,” you mumble, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his.

Without breaking the kiss, he uses the strength of just one arm to flip the two of you over, his cock still nestled deep inside you.

You’re on top now, still kissing him as you begin to grind your hips slowly against his. You find the perfect rhythm, each movement consistently hitting that special spot inside you. Positioned just right, your clit rubs against his lower tummy, forcing you back into the precipice of another blissful end.

He moans deliciously against your lips, and you lift just enough to see his face. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips parted and pursed. “There you go, doll,” he mutters, his voice quiet and ragged. “Give it all to me.”

His hands grip your thighs, his nails leaving crescent moons on your skin. As they move to your hips, they urge you to move faster. Summoning the little strength you have left, you follow the rhythm of his hands, bouncing and grinding your body against his. 

With a sweaty palm, he slaps the left cheek of your ass, forcing you to cry out his name louder than you ever thought possible.

“Inside,” you manage through a whimper. “Cum inside, sir. P-please.”

'Fuck!' he groans, and within seconds of your request, he’s painting your insides like a masterpiece. You’re not sure how you find it within you, but your body succumbs to the overwhelming need for release once more.

Together, both of you reach a blissful peak in the most intoxicating, exhilarating way.

Keeping him inside you, feeling the trickles of his release drip from you, you slump down, burying your face in his neck. His skin feels warm against yours, sticky with perspiration.

“Are you okay, my doll?” He asks, panting and breathy.

My doll. 

You can only manage to nod your head, to smile against his neck as you leave a gentle peck to the dampened skin. 

He chuckles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on top of your head. His finger glides up the curve of your spine and back down, caressing the top of your hip. It’s an area of your body you’ve never been particularly fond of, yet you find yourself warming to it under his tender attention.

If he appreciates your body like this, especially having now seen you so intimately more than once, maybe you can learn to appreciate it, too.

"You okay like this for a little while, doll?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Is it alright if we stay like this for a moment?”

You’re not ready to end the contact just yet, longing to feel his warmth against you, in you, for a little while longer. You’re grateful to know he feels the same way.

You hum in agreement, planting another gentle kiss on his neck and nuzzling your face against him as closely as possible. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ 

It’s the darkest point of the night, the moon settled against the earth in her fullest form. She creeps in the windows ever so slightly, mixing her silver hue with the golden light from the single lamp positioned in the corner of Jake's room. 

The air feels cool, and the tiny beads of sweat that once covered your skin have left a chill in their wake, sending a swarm of goosebumps across your body. But he’s so warm—so warm that the cold doesn’t matter when he holds you. This is one of your favorite things about him: how closely he embraces you after you’ve shared your bodies. 

Chest to chest, your hearts slowing their rhythm together.

Though your bodies are no longer intertwined as they once were, you sense an even deeper connection with him now, lying together in the purest forms of yourselves, cuddled up to fend off the night’s chill.  

You can’t recall a time in your life when you’ve felt more at peace than you do right now. Everything feels far too perfect to be real, too wonderful to be anything but a dream.

Things feel good. Things feel right. Yet, in this blissful moment, a nagging fear begins to surface—a sense that something will inevitably come along to shatter it all. It’s a lingering worry you just can’t seem to shake, not matter your efforts to do so.

But for now, you’ll savor this moment as it unfolds. It may become a distant memory someday, and you want to remember as much of it as possible if—or when—your haunting fear becomes a reality.

“Looks like you’re the one all marked up this time,’ you giggle softly, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbows to admire the purple marks you left on his neck and chest. “Sorry about—”

“No need for an apology, doll.” He leans over toward you, gently pecking your lips. “I’ll wear ‘em with pride, let the whole world know the lips from which they came.” He throws his head back, holding his arm high in the air as if presenting himself to some invisible audience, basking in his imaginary applause after his scene. 

You kiss him once more, chuckling against his lips that are curled in a satisfied grin. “That was absolutely terrible Jake.” 

He grins wider, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but it got you to kiss me again, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes playfully as he leans over the edge of the bed, rummaging around for something.“One more gift,” he says, reaching for whatever else he has in store for you.

“Jake,” you start, breathless and giggly. “I’m serious this time. No more gifts.”

“Hold out your hand.” 

“No I can’t–” 

“Last one. I promise.” 

Shaking your head, you do as he said and hold out your open palm. He drops it in your hand, and instantly, you know exactly what it is. 

“Your pick?” You ask, stunned over such a personal memento. “I can’t take this, Jake!”

“You must not know much about guitar players,” he jokes, closing your fingers around his final gift and kissing your knuckles. “I’ve got a million and one of these lying around. This one belongs to you.” 

No words could ever come close to revealing what’s in your heart at this moment, and the only way you can think to thank him is with your lips. You kiss him slow and gentle, wishing on every star that father time would somehow stop his hands of time right at this very moment. 

This plain, black guitar pick, worn from its obvious heavy use, little lines left from the indentions of his thumb, has suddenly become your favorite gift.

To keep it safe, you place it inside of the sage-green case that protects your phone. And by doing that, you’re sure to carry it with you everywhere you go.  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The rise and fall of his chest from his deep, sleeping breaths, the beating of his heart against your upper back, his arms wrapped lazily around the front of your body, his face nestled in your hair against your neck, his warm breath on your skin…

You’re sure there’s no better way to wake up in the morning. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, fearful that once you do, the most perfect dream of being held close to Jake will be just that— only a dream. 

But your fears are put to rest when you feel him begin to stir, a soft kiss of his lips meeting the skin under your ear. “Good morning, love,” he whispers before slowly creeping out of bed. “Stay where you are, I won’t be long.”

A sleepy grin graces your lips as you feel yourself dozing off again, relishing in the early morning quiet. 

The inviting smells of cinnamon sugar and fresh coffee lull you awake after a little extra rest. Jake left the door cracked, so his whole bedroom smells like the most delicious breakfast. 

After a few more moments of resting your eyes, you open them to the bright sun creeping through the blinds of his mostly dark room. With a stretch of your rested limbs, you sit yourself up on the edge of the bed, looking around the room and admiring all the things you love the most about it. The things you love the most about Jake. 

With the door only cracked open, you can see the Edgar Allen Poe canvas you love so much hanging on the back. “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” 

God. You love his mind. Reading it is reminding you of the very first time you walked in his room, how wholly nervous you were to witness such an intimate part of him before you truly got the chance to know him. 

And now, while you’re sitting on his bed after having been together the whole night, the memories of meeting him for the first time begin flooding your brain. How much you thought you hated him, when in reality, the two of you just didn’t know what to do with the feelings you had for one another. 

Then, as you glance to the bedside table right next to you, you’re reminded what really started this whole thing. The film, yes. But even before that, it was the book you lent him. 

Your copy of Le Morte d’Arthur, the very one you gave him all those months ago for the sake of the film, is sitting on the very top of the other books he has stacked on top of eachother. 

You’ve not seen it since you let him borrow it, and truth be told, you’d nearly forgotten he had it still. 

I’m sure he won’t miss it, you absently think to yourself as you pick it up, fully intending to take it home with you today. 

But as you do, two folded pieces of paper fall from the front cover and land on the floor beside the bed. Old copies of film scripts, perhaps? You knew they had been using this book to help write it, maybe these were the early versions of the final thing. Pure curiosity begs you to look at them—you’re quite interested to see their process of creating this beautiful masterpiece. Surely Jake won’t mind, since you’ve been so involved in this whole thing.

You pick them both up and open one of them, fully expecting to see an early, handwritten version of the script that would become the cinematic masterpiece that is Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur. 

But, that isn’t what you see. Not even close. 

At the top of the page, in bold letterhead, reads The University of Oxford. And beneath it is the London address where it’s located.

And beneath that…

“Dear Mr. Kiszka, 

With reference to your application for graduate study at Oxford, we are delighted to convey the decision to offer you a place in the Literature and Arts Masters program beginning in the Spring of 2024.”

Spring of 2024…next semester. 

The pit of your stomach drops, as though the most dense weight has settled there. You keep reading the words, hoping that by some tiny chance you’ve somehow misread them. But, as your eyes scan the words over and over again, there’s not a smidge of doubt. 

He applied for a school in London. He was accepted. 

He’s leaving. 

And he’s leaving soon. 

You're struck in a state of shock, of disbelief. It’s a familiar feeling of betrayal, one you hoped you’d never have to experience again. 

You’re trembling as you unfold the second piece of paper, and just when you thought this whole thing couldn’t become more painful, you’re proven wrong. 

The other folded document is his schedule of classes. He’s gone as far as to make a schedule. And their starting date is in two months. 

Less than two months, and he’ll be gone.

Hurt and angry tears begin to well, blurring your vision so you can no longer read the words on the papers held in your hands. This kind of sadness, this ebb of shock and disbelief, it’s overwhelming. Your mind is stuck on an endless loop, replaying every moment from the last few months. There must’ve been signs you missed. But how? How could you have been so blind? 

He had so many opportunities to tell you, yet he didn’t. You’re left to wonder if he ever planned to tell you, or if he was just going to leave, leave you as though you never existed. 

Maybe you truly are easy to leave. First your dad, Jake…

You hear his footsteps coming down the hallway, getting closer to you. The door opens all the way, and you look up to see him carrying a plate full of food and a coffee mug as he greets you with a gleeful ‘good morning.’

Then, he realizes. 

His expression turns from one of joy to alarm when he sees the silent tears falling down your face, the papers you’re still holding in your hands.

“Shit, y/n I–”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You question quietly as you try to swallow down every tear. 

His face pales, and he hurriedly sets the plate and mug on the dresser beside the door before taking tentative steps towards you. 

“I–I was going to tell you I just–” 

His stuttered words hang in the air, unfinished. He runs a worried hand through his tangled hair, breathing heavily at the sight of you with his best kept secret in your grasp. A hurtful silence lays between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words, of broken trust. The room suddenly feels colder. 

He slumps down on the bed next to you, eyebrows knit with concern. His beautiful features, painted with guilt and worry. “I tried not to let this happen—I mean, I just didn’t think things between us would—“

What?

“…you weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

There’s so much you want to say, yet each word that dares to pass your lips feels useless. In truth, there’s nothing you can say. 

It’s already done. 

The distance between you now feels more pronounced than ever before, like he’s already left. 

Your source of comfort, your safety, your guiding light…

He's already gone. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i suppose our girls intuition was right...

what do we think will become of this? & who do we think will provide her with some much needed comfort?

& on that note, see you in chapter 6🫣🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?)

sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

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[natasha-in-space]

Uhm... Thinking about sitting on Unknown's lap today (original, I know) and how this one simple action can reflect on your relationship with him as a whole.

The initial experience is very awkward. Uncomfortable. Weird. For you both, in fact. Of course, you wouldn't know that. Unknown would rather choke on his own words and die than acknowledge that you are causing him to feel out of place. He needs to be in control... And he will go above and beyond to keep that control, even if it makes things more difficult for him in the long run.

He is keeping you on his lap because he hasn't got a setup for you yet. He never intended to bring you here, after all. Not beyond fantasizing about being the cause of your laughter or telling you about his favorite ice cream flavor. He doesn't know why he thought of such stupid things while researching your routine. In any case, it was pointless. The effort he put in was not worth it. All because you made the choice to do what he hates the most.

Lie to his face.

He'll get you for that later, of course. But he keeps you where he can see you for the time being. He could have let you sit on the cold floor, but he didn't. Unknown isn't willing to admit to himself that the thought of letting you sit there reminds him too much of the days spent curled up on the floor of his childhood home.

You have just arrived here, and you are already causing trouble just by being in the same space as him. Causing his thoughts to become erratic when he has so many tasks to complete.

You both look stiff as hell. Your aim is to maintain as much distance between you as possible, mostly for the sake of decency. Unknown allows you to do as you please. He is unaware of how people cuddle, anyway. He is utterly clueless about where to put his hands or what angle to have his head in order to view all that he requires to see on the monitors. Your body is feeling cold and tense. But both of you are silent.

It persists like this for a few days.

His first attempt to pull you close to his chest occurs on impulse. A sudden alert went out, and he had to act quickly to immediately assess the issues. So, he yanked you close, placing his head right on your shoulder, as his nose scrunched up in displeasure.

Only, he stays put even after the problem is resolved. You do the same. Your back feels more relaxed since you don't have to keep your posture upright all the time, and receiving extra warmth from his chest pressed up against your back is a wonderful gift, to say the least. And Unknown finds himself liking the feeling of your body pressing up against his, more than he would like to admit.

It feels soft. And warm. And grounding. He would usually only feel desperate for something like that during short periods of distress when the nightmares are plaguing his mind again. But now, it's very much a reality.

He gets a bit grabby after that. He truly doesn't have any ulterior motives with his actions, but it's only natural for you to get rather uncomfortable when he suddenly kneads at your upper thigh or squishes your sides. Unknown has no clue about what is acceptable or not according to society's standards. And, in his mind, he's only using you as a living stress relief or a stimming toy. Without having a grasp of the concepts, of course.

In fact, if you were to express your discomfort, he would likely offer a muffled apology. He sure doesn't like it when other people touch him without his permission. In a way, he'll understand if you explain why you don't like him doing that.

You are a mystery to him, just as he is to you.

It's only when you two start opening up to each other as people that your working arrangements start to shift. You become more comfortable settling into a relaxed position against him, and Unknown no longer sits stiff as a wooden board, nor does he grab at you like a plush toy or something. You two begin conversing with each other as you go about your duties. Making jokes. Mostly with you doing the jokes and Unknown simply raising a confused eyebrow at you.

You start seeing him as more than just some weird guy who snatched you away into some god-forsaken place, and he starts seeing you as a genuine companion to share his time and thoughts with.

Unknown becomes more relaxed, his shoulders slumped as he rests his chin on the top of your head or on your shoulder, depending on his mood and your height. He starts trying out different positions, and at times you provide him with small hints on where to put his hands, which he actually listens to. He finds that having one arm wrapped snuggly around your middle is one of the most calming things ever, even if his workflow slows a little due to him only typing with one hand. And you find that you can always fiddle with his hair once you feel him get tense or frustrated when something doesn't go his way. One time, he even got so lost in the moment that he hummed and leaned his head into your touch like an affectionate cat begging for pets.

You have never commented on it.

Unknown never knew how touch-starved he was until he had you. The feeling of being touched was pleasant. And it was pleasant to touch someone in return. Your touches were not painful, nor were they conditional. He never had such affection before. He becomes rather hungry for it.

This is why he snarles and tells the unlucky believer who finally brought you a new chair to fuck right off. Rather rudely. Not like he cared.

And once your relationship progresses and becomes romantic, the stiffness and awkwardness of your initial impression feels like a distant dream. Unknown grows bold in his affection for you. Casually peppering the side of your neck with light kisses as he scrolls through the recent log, randomly biting down on your shoulder for... no particular reason at all (is he a cat or something?), nuzzling into your hair with a frustrated huff when things don't go his way.

It's cute. But also a bit annoying. You find yourself working even less effectively than you did when you were just starting out. It's hard to do any work when your boss is actively nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck to keep himself awake. But he doesn't care. It seems that your 'usefulness' is not as important to him as he said.

Your company is more than enough.