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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 2 days ago

Text

unfaithful

one-shot

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Sam's Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: It's been the same almost every night since Dean left. You wander the halls of the bunker, feet always carrying you to his closed door. Only tonight? It's open.

Warnings: 18+!, language, angst, cheating, mocking, guilt, pining, smut (dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, fingering, p in v, ass-play kinda, gagging), I think that's all.

Word Count: 4,410

It starts with silence. The kind that swells in old, haunted places—thick with ghosts, thicker still with the things left unsaid.

The bunker was never quiet when Dean was alive. Even asleep, he filled the space—snoring down the hall, boots echoing off stone, laughter ricocheting off walls like a warm, familiar gunshot. But now? Now it's just Sam.

Sam and the weight of all that's missing.

He sleeps restlessly beside you, long limbs tangled in the sheets, one arm slung over your stomach like it's instinct. You've been his anchor for years, since before Lucifer, before Ruby, before the bunker was even carved into your lives. His grief is a living thing now—tucked into his spine, sewn into the dark crescents under his eyes. He doesn't cry. Sam doesn't do that. He burns. Quietly. Patiently. Like a fuse with nowhere to go.

And you love him. God, you do.

You love the way he softens when you brush his hair back. The way his voice cracks when he says your name like it still means safety. The way his fingers find yours in the dark, like maybe you can hold each other together.

But you haven't been sleeping. Not since Dean. Not really.

Because love isn't always enough to quiet the hum beneath your skin. The one that started when the bunker went still. When Dean's door slammed shut. When Sam stopped saying his name with any emotion because the syllable hurt too much on his tongue.

It's been a couple months, maybe more, since Dean disappeared. Since the Mark swallowed him whole and left Sam behind to dig through the wreckage.

He won't call it that. Disappeared. He says gone, like he's coming back. Like he's late, not lost.

But every time Sam leaves to follow another lead—a demon sighting here, a body drained dry there—he comes back heavier. Shoulders hunched. Jaw clenched. A little more wrecked than the time before.

The last time, he came through the war room doors with his arm in a sling and blood crusted in his hair. He wouldn't look at you when you pressed your hands to his chest and asked what happened. Just muttered something about a crossroads deal gone sideways and that he "got what he needed."

You didn't ask what that meant. Not because you didn't want to know. Because you weren't sure you could carry it.

So you kissed his temple and made him tea and sat beside him in bed, letting his weight lean into yours until the tension bled out of his body. He was asleep in minutes.

He always sleeps when he's home now. And you? You stay awake.

Because when he's gone, the bunker is all stone and silence and the sound of your own spiralling thoughts. And when he's here, it's somehow worse. Because you can feel how far away he is—even with his arm around you, even with his head on your chest.

He used to laugh more. God, he used to laugh.

Now, he only talks about Dean. His voice tight. Raw. Like the name alone is a wound.

And you love him. You love him with everything you are. But love doesn't keep the walls from closing in. It doesn't stop your skin from prickling every time you pass Dean's room. It doesn't erase the way your heart beat different when Dean was still here—messy and loud and impossible.

It just makes you feel worse for noticing.

You don't mean to get up. You try, god, you try to just lie there, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of Sam's breathing beside you—soft and even, his body warm under the blankets, pressed into your side like he knows the second you leave, he'll feel it.

But still, you slide out from under his arm like a ghost. Still, you pull his flannel off the back of the chair and slip it over your bare shoulders. Still, you pad barefoot across the bunker floor, silent and aching, like something inside you is pacing the walls of your ribcage.

It's not that you're not tired. It's that you can't rest. Not with all this noise inside your head.

You make your rounds like you always do—through the library, past the war room. Everything's dim, quiet, lit only by the soft golden wash of overhead lamps left on low. Books you've already read sit open-faced on the table. A mug of tea long gone cold. Nothing helps.

Your feet move on their own. They always do. And you know where they're taking you. You always know.

Past the weapons room. Past the corridor where the lights flicker just a little when you breathe too hard. And then—

There it is.

Dean's door. Always shut, still sealed like a tomb. Except tonight, it's not. It's cracked open, just barely. Just enough.

You stop in your tracks, throat going tight. Your heart pounds like it's got something to say—but you don't want to hear it. You should go back to bed. You should lie down with Sam and pretend you didn't notice. Pretend you don't always end up here, standing in front of the last place Dean touched.

But the truth is...

You were always going to stop.

Even when he was alive, there was something about Dean that pulled you off course. Something gravitational. It wasn't like it was with Sam—steady, soft, true. Dean was a fire you kept your hands from, even when your skin ached for the burn.

You never said it out loud. Not even to yourself. Because to name it would've been to shatter everything you'd built. And you loved Sam. You still do. That's the worst part.

But Dean... Dean was something else entirely.

Something dark and sharp-edged and dangerous. Something you only let yourself want in your dreams—the kind that leave you waking up gasping, thighs clenched, shame curling in your gut like smoke.

You thought the ache would die with him. You thought grief would overwrite the hunger. But here you are, standing in front of his door again.

And tonight, it's open.

Your hand moves before your mind can catch up. Fingertips against wood. A breath held in your throat. The door groans quietly as it opens wider beneath your touch.

And he's there. Standing in the middle of the room like he never left.

Dean.

But not.

His hair is perfect, of course—flawless in that infuriating, tousled way like he rolled out of bed smug. His skin is golden under the low light, his jaw shadowed with stubble. A tight red shirt clings to him like a second skin, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms flexed like he's waiting for something.

But it's the look on his face that stops your heart dead in your chest. That grin. That slow, smug, shit-eating grin. It's Dean, and it isn't. His eyes are darker. Not black, but close—gleaming with something feral. Something cruel.

And he's leering at you. At your bare legs. At the way you're clutching Sam's flannel closed around your body like it's armour. Like it's going to protect you from him.

"Lookin' for me, sweetheart?"

His voice is a low drawl, thicker than you remember, honey poured over poison.

You can't move. Can't speak. You just... gawk at him.

Because what the fuck?

Sam has been tearing the earth apart looking for him. Nearly died chasing after scraps and whispers and demon tracks. He's got a sling on his arm and bruises he doesn't talk about and a look in his eyes like something inside him is breaking, and—

And Dean's just here. Standing in his room like it's a Tuesday. Looking you over like you're dinner. Like he's already decided how this ends.

"Cat got your tongue?" He murmurs, cocking his head, eyes dragging slowly down your body. "That mine?" He adds, chin-jerking toward the flannel you've pulled tight over your chest. "Or Sam's?"

You swallow hard, voice lost somewhere between your ribs and your gut.

He steps forward. One slow stride. Then another. And the closer he gets, the clearer it becomes—this isn't the Dean you remember.

This Dean doesn't carry guilt like a second skin. He's not breaking apart under the weight of his choices. No—this Dean is whole. Whole and dark and dangerous. And from the way he's looking at you now? He's starving.

Your voice slips out of you like it's been trapped behind your teeth for weeks.

"...Dean?"

He exhales like you just gave him life. His eyes flutter closed for a second, jaw flexing, that awful, beautiful grin widening.

"Fuck," he whispers, almost to himself. "There's that voice I missed."

When he opens his eyes again, they're molten. A furnace. Locked on you.

"You have any idea how many times I imagined you saying my name just like that?" He says, low and lazy, taking another step closer. "'Cept maybe you're on your knees. Maybe you're spread over Baby's hood. Or—fuck, maybe you're sittin' right in Sam's lap while I'm—"

"Dean."

It comes out more like a warning than anything else, but your grip on the flannel tightens. Your knuckles are white.

"What the hell is going on?" You whisper, pulse pounding in your throat. "You're alive? Where the—how are you here? Sam's been—he's been looking for you, he's been—"

"Oh, I know," Dean cuts in, eyes glittering. "Sammy's been very busy. Playing hero, getting himself all bruised up just for little old me." He steps close enough now that you can smell him—soap, leather, whiskey, and something wrong. Something deep and sulphurous beneath the surface. "And where's his sweet little girlfriend while he's out savin' the world?"

You don't answer. Can't.

Dean's gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers there. Then drags slowly back up.

"Home alone. Wrapped up in his flannel. Lookin' like a fuckin' gift."

"Dean, stop—"

"Why?" He murmurs, cocking his head. "You're standing in my doorway, baby. Wearing his shirt but lookin' at me like you wanna drop it and let me ruin you right here."

You stumble back a step, but he follows, slow, stalking. A predator playing with his food.

"I mean, shit," he drawls. "You don't think I noticed how you looked at me back then? All those years? You were so good, weren't you? Loyal little thing. Always kept your legs crossed, always trying to keep your eyes on Sam."

He steps close enough to touch you, but he doesn't. Not yet.

"But I bet you wondered," he whispers, voice like smoke curling around your ears. "Bet you laid awake more than once, wondering what it'd be like to get a taste of the bad brother."

Your breath catches, and Dean smirks.

"Lemme guess. You'd ride Sam's cock like a good girl, but you were thinkin' about me. About how I'd make you beg for it. About how I'd tear you apart and leave you a mess on the sheets. Don't lie. I can see it all over your fuckin' face."

"Dean, stop," you say again, but your voice is thinner this time. Weak. You don't sound convincing, and he knows it.

"Oh, you want me to stop?" He purrs, finally reaching up, brushing your jaw with the backs of his fingers, so gently it makes your knees tremble. "Or you want me to drag you into this room, bend you over that chair, and fuck you like you need it?"

You're shaking. You hate him. You love him. You hate yourself for standing there. And still—

You don't run.

Dean's fingers brush your jaw again, and when you don't flinch—don't recoil, don't run—he grins. That grin. Wicked and slow. Like he knew this would happen eventually.

"Atta girl," he purrs, voice gravel-thick with satisfaction.

Then he grabs you.

Not rough, not yet—but with enough force to make your breath stutter. His hand closes around your wrist, dragging you across the threshold and into the dim, still room that smells like leather and bourbon and the faintest trace of gun oil.

You don't fight him. You should. But your feet move where he leads. Right into the lion's den. And then he glances at the door behind you, fingers tightening ever so slightly on your wrist like he's weighing something. Considering.

Then he looks back at you with a raised brow, lips twitching.

"...Fuck it." He lets the words roll off his tongue like a dare. "The door stays open."

Your heart lurches in your chest.

"What—"

"I wanna see if you can keep that pretty little mouth shut," he says, stepping in close, his breath hot against your cheek. "Wanna know if you can take my cock and not wake Sammy up down the hall. That sound good, sweetheart?"

You shake your head—somewhere between no and I don't know—but he's already walking backward, pulling you with him.

"You really shouldn't be here," he says, faux-regret dripping from his voice. "But fuck me, you look so goddamn good in his shirt. Like you want me to wreck you while you're still wearing it."

He backs up to the desk and spins the chair around behind him.

"C'mon," he murmurs, low and filthy. "Over the chair, baby. Let's get you nice and bent for me."

You hesitate. Just for a second.

But then he tugs the flannel—Sam's flannel—just a little, exposing one shoulder, and hums like he's opening a present.

"Keep it on," he says, voice darker now. Rougher. "I wanna fuck you in his clothes. Wanna ruin you in the last thing he touched."

Your knees hit the chair. His hand is on the back of your neck now, guiding, not forcing—but firm enough you feel your breath stutter.

"Bend over," he whispers. "Hands on the seat. Ass up. That's it."

You're shaking. And he loves it. He kicks your legs apart gently with the side of his boot.

"There we go. Look at that. That's my girl."

You feel the flannel shift as he runs his fingers down your spine. His palm smooths over your ass, slow and proprietary.

"All these years playin' house with Sammy. Being good. Loyal. And all it took was one look at me tonight, and now here you are—wet and desperate and ready to get fucked like the filthy little secret you are."

He leans in, breath at your ear.

"You gonna let me ruin you, baby?"

You break before he even touches you.

Tears spill without warning, hot and fast, sliding down your cheeks as you grip the edge of the chair. Your body's trembling. With shame. With want. With everything you're too afraid to name.

Dean pauses. Then you hear his boots shift behind you. A second later, he's in front of you. Squatting down, one knee bent, his eyes catching yours beneath the curtain of your hair.

"Oh, baby," he coos, voice like silk dragged across a blade. He reaches out, thumb brushing your cheek, swiping away a tear.

Then he brings it to his mouth. Licks it clean.

"Cryin' already?" He murmurs, tilting his head. "That for me, sweetheart? Or for Sammy?"

You sniff, ashamed, eyes closing as another tear rolls free.

"There's no use in cryin'," Dean goes on, softer now. "You're getting what you've wanted for years."

He leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth, feather-light. Then your lips. You melt into it without meaning to. A broken whimper caught in your throat, your whole body pressing forward into the kiss like you need it.

He grins into your mouth. Smug. Knowing. And you hate him for it. But you don't pull away. When he finally draws back, he wipes your other cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"That's my girl," he whispers, and then—he's gone. He circles behind you again, hands dragging slowly down your back. "Flannel still on. Good."

Then you feel it—his fingers sliding beneath your panties, tugging them slowly down your thighs. He catches them just before they fall past your knees, lifts them to his face, inhales.

"Christ," he mutters, voice wrecked for a moment. "You smell like sin."

He folds them up, tucks them into the breast pocket of his red shirt like a souvenir.

"Mine now."

You whimper again, and he hums, pleased. A belt clinks open. Denim rustles a fraction. And then he's back—kneeling behind you this time. His hands spread your thighs wider, and then—

Oh god.

He sniffs you.

Right at the crease of your thigh, slow and obscene. Then his tongue drags a stripe up, hot and deliberate, until he's right at your centre.

He moans.

"Fuck."

Another kiss, soft and maddening, pressed to your clit like worship.

"You have no idea," he breathes against you. "How many nights I used to lie awake in that bed..."

He presses a finger inside. Slow. Deep. You choke on a gasp.

"...jerkin' myself raw, thinking about this pussy. About how sweet you'd sound begging me to ruin you."

The finger curls. You cry out—too loud—and he growls.

"Shhh. You wanna wake him up? Huh?"

You shake your head, clutching the chair like it's the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

"I'd come back from hunts all wound up and pissed off," he continues, voice ragged. "And you'd be there—wearin' your little shorts, leaning over the table with your mouth all smart and your ass lookin' like sin. And I'd be thinking about what you sound like when you come. How tight you'd feel clenching around my cock. What kinda mess you'd make."

He slips a second finger in. You cry out again—quieter this time. More desperate.

He grins against your thigh.

"Bet Sammy's never even made you come like this, huh?"

Dean's fingers pump into you slow and steady—just enough to make your thighs shake, but not enough to push you over. You bite your lip to hold back the sounds, forehead pressed to the seat of the chair, breath fogging the leather.

"You wanna wake him up?" Dean mutters, his voice low and tight as his fingers curl just right. "You wanna hear him walk down that hall and see you spread for me like a fuckin' whore?"

You gasp. Whimper. Shake your head.

"Didn't think so," he huffs. "Then keep your goddamn voice down."

He thrusts his fingers deeper, scissoring them inside you, tongue dragging along your inner thigh again like he's starved.

"Son of a bitch," he groans. "You're tight."

He fucks you with his hand like he means it, wet and obscene, the sound of it echoing off the stone walls of the bunker like a crime.

"Holy crap," he breathes out. "This is even better than I imagined. And trust me, sweetheart—I imagined it a lot."

He grazes your clit with his thumb, just a whisper of contact, and your whole body jolts.

"Shit, look at you," he laughs. "So fucking desperate. So goddamn wet for me. And in his shirt, too. That's real cute."

Your legs are trembling. You can feel it coiling in your belly—that tight, unbearable pressure.

You're gonna come.

"Dean—please—"

"Oh no, sweetheart," he cuts in, voice going sharp as he slows his pace to a crawl. "You don't get to come yet. Not unless you tell me what I wanna hear."

You shake your head, gasping. "What—what do you mean—?"

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, fingers curling inside you with cruel precision.

"You don't come," he says, low and commanding, "until you tell me you love me."

You freeze.

"Go on," he murmurs, breath hot. "Say it. Say you love me. Say it like you mean it."

"I—I can't—"

"Then I stop," he shrugs, withdrawing his fingers with a slick, obscene sound. You cry out, body clenching around nothing, so close you could scream.

"You don't wanna come that bad?" He taunts. "Guess I overestimated you."

"No," you breathe, desperate, eyes stinging again. "Please—please, Dean—"

"You think Sam would make you beg like this?" He growls, grinding his cock against your ass now through his boxers. "You think he'd know how to ruin you right? Like this?"

You moan, the friction almost enough to tip you over again, but not quite.

"Then say it."

He grips your hips hard, hissing under his breath. "Say you love me or I'm leaving you right here dripping and empty."

And you break.

"I love you," you sob. "Dean—I love you."

There's a beat of silence. Then—snap. His belt hits the floor.

"That's my fuckin' girl."

He's kicking his jeans off, tearing his boxers down, and then his cock is pressing against your soaked entrance, thick and hot and so fucking wrong.

He pushes in slow. Deliberate. Every inch feels like a sin you can't take back.

"Holy shit," he groans. "You really are tight."

You bury your face into the seat, choking on a cry, your entire body shaking.

"Take it," Dean hisses, hips rolling as he bottoms out. "Take all of it, baby. Fuckin' feel me."

He starts moving—hard and slow and deep. The chair rocks beneath you with every thrust, the open door behind you reminding you exactly how close this secret is to shattering.

"You feel that?" He pants. "Feel how deep I am? That's where I belong. That's mine. Always has been."

You're moaning now, helpless, face streaked with tears and pleasure.

"You keep clenching like that," he grits out, "I'm not gonna last long."

His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back as he thrusts into you harder, meaner.

"Bet you think about this every night now," he snarls. "Bet you go back to his bed with my cum dripping down your thighs and pretend you're still a good girl."

You scream into the leather, your body unraveling under his, fire licking up your spine.

"Come for me," he orders, voice raw. "Do it. Let go. Fuckingsay my name."

"Dean," you gasp. "Oh—god, Dean—"

You shatter.

And he doesn't stop.

You're sobbing into the chair now, blabbering incoherent pleas between the aftershocks, your thighs shaking violently as Dean keeps moving inside you—slower now, deeper, like he's savouring the feel of your body spasming around him.

"Fuck," he breathes, sweat beading at his temple, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "Look at you. Wrecked. Can't even talk right, can you?"

You let out a broken noise—somewhere between a whine and a sob.

He chuckles darkly. "Didn't think I'd fuck you stupid this fast."

His hand slides up, reaching into the pocket of his shirt—your panties, still warm from being tucked against his skin. He pulls them out, dangles them in front of your tear-soaked face like a prize.

"As much as I love these pretty little sounds," he murmurs, mocking sweetness dripping from every word, "I ain't ready for Sammy to come wanderin' in here asking why his girlfriend's whining like she's never had cock in her life."

He stuffs the panties into your mouth, slow and deliberate, pressing them past your lips with two fingers.

"There we go," he coos. "That's better. Nice and quiet."

You gag around the fabric, drooling, tears still leaking from the corners of your eyes—and Dean groans, hips stuttering at the sight.

"Jesus Christ, you look so good like this. Stuffed full'a me, mouth full of your own shame. Fuckin' perfect."

Then—he slows. Just a beat. Just enough to lean down and really ruin you.

One hand snakes between your cheeks, thumb pressing just under your tailbone, circling—until—

You jerk, whimpering around the fabric, eyes wide.

Dean laughs, low and cruel and utterly delighted.

"Sensitive, huh?" He murmurs, pressing the pad of his thumb just inside your ass, keeping you right where he wants you. "Don't squirm, sweetheart. Gotta keep you nice and still while I fill you up."

His thrusts pick up again—harder now. Meaner. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, echoing off the walls like a fucking dirge.

"Been waitin' years for this," he pants, voice going ragged. "Years of watching you play house with my fucking brother—dressed up like his little good girl, never lookin' twice at me."

Another thrust. Your whole body jolts.

"But I knew. I knew what was underneath. Knew you'd fall apart the second I touched you. And now look at you—soaked, stuffed, fucked out, cryin' into a goddamn chair while Sammy dreams down the hall."

He's getting close. You can feel it. His rhythm falters, hips jerking.

"You're mine now," he growls, biting out the words like a vow. "Don't care how many years you've been with him. Don't care what he means to you. You let me in, baby. That's all I needed."

One more thrust. Two. And then—he groans, low and brutal and satisfied, hips grinding as he comes deep inside you.

He holds you there—panting, trembling, pulsing around him—thumb still snug between your cheeks, panties stuffed in your mouth, Sam's flannel hanging off your shoulders like a scarlet fucking letter.

"Goddamn," he breathes, resting his forehead against your spine for a beat, voice low and reverent now. "Better than I ever fucking dreamed."

He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

"You're not walkin' straight tomorrow," he adds, smug. "But don't worry—I'll be right here to remind you why."

He doesn't pull out right away. Just stays there—buried deep, still twitching inside you, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other slipping up under the flannel to palm your breast with lazy ownership.

The silence is thick. The kind that rings. Your heartbeat is all you can hear—fast, frantic, shame-soaked.

Dean breathes deep, then exhales slow. "...Shit." It's almost fond.

He slides out with a wet sound, groaning under his breath, watching the mess drip from between your thighs with open satisfaction.

"Fucking hell, baby," he murmurs, dragging a finger through it, spreading it with no shame at all. "Can't believe you let me do that. In his shirt."

You whimper, still gagged, still shaking. Your knees nearly give as you try to straighten up.

He catches you by the waist, steadying you effortlessly. Then, softly—mockingly:

"You done crying?"

You don't answer. Can't. Not around the panties in your mouth. But your eyes say everything.

Dean leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

"I want you in my bed next time," he murmurs, voice like velvet and poison. "Naked. On your knees. Beggin' me to do it all over again."

You let out a broken sob—quiet, shameful.

He grins. Stands tall. Tucks himself back into his jeans without taking his eyes off you.

Then—

"But if you're just gonna go crawl back into Sammy's bed and cry yourself to sleep..." He shrugs, flicks his belt shut with one hand. "Might as well run along."

His eyes flick to the door.

"It's still open."

You turn—barely able to walk, face flushed and soaked with tears, the flannel falling off one shoulder. Every step away from him is a scar.

And as you reach the threshold, he calls after you—softly, smugly:

"Don't forget what you just gave up, sweetheart."

Your legs are barely working. You're half-naked, wearing Sam's flannel, marked inside and out by his brother's mouth, his cock, his voice.

The silence chokes you now.

Behind you, Dean drops into his desk chair like a king after war—chest rising and falling, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you go. He doesn't say anything else. Doesn't call you back. Just... waits. Because he knows what he's done. He knows what you are now.

You stop in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Look down the hall—toward the room that's supposed to be yours. The bed you share. The man you love.

Then you glance back. At Dean's bed. Unmade. Open. Waiting.

You stay there a second longer—undecided. A trembling silhouette caught between sin and salvation. And the door never shuts.

A/N: Okay, I am well aware of how goddamn cruel this was... but I lowkey don't really care (sorry Sammy bby) because how fucking hot? Ew. Gross levels of hot. Let me know what y'alls think pleaseeee. All the love.

Dean taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @liiiilsss @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn <3

Also tagging @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth because I need you to see that I wrote it, please don't sue me. <3

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the-internets-girlfriend · 3 days ago

Text

Secrets in Doncaster: Part 2 - George Clarke

George Clarke x Y/N (1600 words)

A soccer Saturday in Doncaster is spent laughing and drinking with friends... and the occasionally minion. However, can a secret go viral?

warnings: alcohol consumption, creating bets, swearing, a grumpy minion.

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"Diddly ding! Diddly dong! We've woken up!"

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The train finally comes to a halt, and we all stood, eager to spill out onto the platform. Unfortunately, our escape wasn't immediate, as we became stuck in the narrow aisle.

I was wedged between Arthur Hill and George, clutching a half-full can, saving the last few sips to drink for when my feet reached solid ground.

Then, a sudden shove rippled through the aisle, and the crowd behind us shoved towards us. George was now pressed flush against me - his chest pressed up against my back. A steady, strong arm slid around my waist, grounding me and George as we stumbled slightly with the motion.

His grip didn't loosen, even once we'd regained our balance - in fact he had held me tighter, his thumb finding the space between my jeans and deep red singlet, and rubbing small circles onto my skin. It sent a shiver up my spine, as I only focused on the two of us in between the chaos of leaving the train.

Looking forward, I see there is still no movement ahead of us to get off the train and decide to lean back into George for comfort. I now could feel the soft rise of his breath against the back of my neck, providing familiarity and comfort.

I tilt my head slightly to look up at him and give the boy a pout - my lips tinted red and eyes pleading. Our eyes met as he gave me his classic half smile - before his eyes dropped to my lips and he was leaning in to connect our lips.

Before they can met, there's a breakaway in front of us and the crowd movement surges us forward once again to move our legs and leave the train.

As we leave the train, George is still pressed behind me but I move away from him to collect a drunk Arthur as he is thanking the train conductor. "Thank you, thank you very much." I grab the boy by his backpack straps.

"Sorry about him but thank you." I say with a friendly smile, dragging Arthur away back to the group.

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We walk the quiet streets of Doncaster; wondering as to where the town may actually be. Becky and I linger to the back of the group with the boys trailing in front of us, taking the lead as they veer off to peek down sidestreets.

"Babes you know I love you, yeah?" Becky asks me suddenly, straying from our previous conversation about what girls night theme should be next - we've settled on pyjamas and the conjuring trilogy.

I glance as her, caught off guard, "yes?"

She gives me that look - the one that says she's about to call me out lovingly but with no room to dodge. "Well then, when in the bloody world are you proudly gonna show off George?"

My stomach flips, and not from all the alcohol.

I freeze for a moment, as my gaze flickers ahead to where George is following closely next to the other boys, laughing and joking amongst themselves.

"I don't know." I answer truthfully.

"George and I haven't really mentioned it since we've got together officially." I continue, looking to Becky as she gives me a look with a raised eyebrow, "but it would be nice to not be worried about showing affection in public, and someone spotting us before we've announced it."

"Babe, you two are attached at the hip everywhere, in public and in every single video; like do you remember that one hide and seek sidemen video where you and George hid in a small cupboard for hours, with no one else?"

I think back to the fond memory of George and I; we had yet to start dating yet. When the game began George and I instantly decided to hide together. We sat in the cupboard for two hours, pressed closely together where his scent overtook me.

"Everyone can see it - like babes think of all the edits out there of you too, so just admit it to your fans; you love him, he loves you and it's okay to announce it - doesn't even need to be a big thing."

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks; understanding what Becky is saying and seeing that she is 100% right. Becky notices my thinking face; tilting her head with a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, "just think about it love." She says picking up her pace to match the one of the boys and walk alongside them.

I make the decision to catch up too, heading to walk beside my boyfriend and interlocking my hand with his. George looks down to our hands in shock - sure we had held hands many times in public but this felt intimate and a new step in our relationship. He looks to me with a small grin - swinging our hands as we walked.

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The atmosphere changed as we walked into our first pub; the group remembering what we are here for - to get drunk.

George films a montage of the vlog where he's pleading for his safety, but all I could focus on were his large biceps as he flex whilst holding the camera. Chris grabs the camera back as I'm still staring, and decide to finally advert my eyes away to look up and see George across from me already looking at me with a smirk.

"Were you enjoying the view there love?"

I feel my cheeks begin to heat up at his question, realising I've been caught starring. I raise my hand to cover my mouth as if to say 'whoopsie', but end up just laughing. "What can I say? You're hard to miss Georgie."

Becky sits back watching the two of use with a shit eating grin, and Isaac makes a joke about how whipped George and I are for each other.

"Well if you're done starring, why don't we head to the bar and grab the drinks for the group?" George suggests, and I am instantly moving off of my chair, reaching my hand out for him to grab.

As we head up to the bar, we are stopped by one guy who looks to be our age. "Shit! Mate are you George Clarke?" The fan quietly says, not to draw attention to us out of respect.

George gives a nod of his head, before the fan turns to me. "You're Y/N, my missus loves you. Mind if we get a picture?" The fan asks. I see his eyes flick down to our interlocked hands and closeness but he doesn't say anything.

George and I take a selfie with the fan, smiling wide as he thanks us before hurrying back to the pool table where his friends stood. George and I share a look - one that says that was sweet - and continue our way to the bar to order.

The place is packed, the bar lined shoulder to shoulder with people, so George gives my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. He guides me forward, lightly pressing a hand to the small of my back to push me through a small gap along the bar.

I end up flush against the bar, when I feel George step in behind me. He places his hands on either side of me, palms flat against the bar, boxing me in protectively from the crowd.

He catches the attention of the bartender before saying, "can we grab something red for a group for a group of six please?" The bartender nods with a grin and signals that it might be a little wait.

I glance back at George, feeling his breath warm against my cheek. The pub is loud, filled with laughter, pool balls clinking and the sound of beer taps - but his closeness drowns out the background noise. George leans in close to me, as I feel his breath on my ear.

"So you were starring before?" He suggests again with a smirk.

I roll my eyes, but can't hide the smile blessing my lips. "Not my fault my boyfriend was flexing and looking so good."

He chuckles lowly, as I feel the vibrations from his chest against my back. He slowly moves his arm away from the bar as if he was going to flex again, but quickly one of my hands wrap around it to stop.

"Just trying to keep you impress darling." He teases as me, and this time I turn to fully face him, leaning back against the bar with a raised brow.

"You always impress me Georgie."

"Impress you enough to get a kiss?" He says with a gentle smile, as he gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips.

My teeth tug on my bottom lip, as I think - we hadn't kiss in such a public, busy place before but my thoughts quickly exited my brain as I leaned into George pressing my lips to his.

George dips head ever so slightly, kissing my lips softly as I lean in; pressing my body further into his.

I feel his hands move from the bar to press into my sides - us both forgetting we were in a pub as we continued our private pocket of time.

George moves one hand to cradle the side of my face, his thumb brushing along my cheek as he deepens the kiss slightly; feeling a smile tug onto his lips.

When we finally part, our foreheads rest together for a blissful moment. His eyes flutter open as I say, "see, I'm impressed. I love you Georgie."

Before George can reply, a bright flash of a camera was directed towards us.

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Whoops, cliffhanger... hehe

First off, thank you all so much for all the love on part 1!!! I am forever grateful for everyone who may have read it, liked it, commented on it, or reblogged it and I hope that you enjoy this part just as much!

I'm planning for this to be three or four parts - and maybe some bonus parts... There's just so many parts I want to add in from the video because it's so bloody hilarious.

See you next time,

mwah x

#george clarke #george clarke x reader #george clarke fics #soccer saturday #george clarkey #george clarke fanfic #sidemen #george clarkey x reader #british youtubers #uk youtubers #ukyt

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shouyuus · 3 days ago

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we know how jealous vi would go down, what are your thoughts on vi x jealous!reader? esp if r got an attitude about it?

ohhhh my god okay no but lets talk about this -- bc ur sooo right anon, there's a lot of jealous!vi (for good reason, she's possessive don't get me wrong) but i feel like if you were to get jealous, she'd get such a kick out of it --

she'd tease you, lean into it for a bit (not far enough to actually upset you, of course) but she likes the way you pout, likes the way you get a little huffy, likes the way you tuck into her side just a bit tighter after she's leaned juuuust a bit too close to another girl at the bar -- maybe she was trying to catch something the other girl was saying ("it was so loud in there, baby! i didn't wanna be rude...") or she was trying to catch a whiff of the perfume the other girl was wearing bc she wanted to buy it for you ("it smelled so good on her but... god, it would smell delicious on you.")

and if you got a bit snappy, if you got a bit petulant, all the better. bc lemme tell you brat tamer!vi is here to play, and here to stay. she'd lean back, watch you work yourself up with her arms crossed, an amused little smirk playing at her lips. and when you're done complaining, she'd cock her head --

"yeah? you all finished?"

you nearly stamp your feet, "i just -- i didn't like it, okay?"

vi chuckles, "i could fill a library with all the things you don't like, pretty girl." she makes her way towards you, slow, steady, in no particular hurry one way or the other, "hot milk, cilantro," she starts to list them off on her fingers, "when i sleep in too late for get up too early," here, she grins, reaching forward to tug your chin towards her, giving your face a tiny shake, "when i talk to other girls at bars..." she murmurs, her body now pressed against yours, and you can feel her -- all of her, pushed against you, crowding you back till you topple onto your sofa, your breath coming in short pants.

"what about all the things i don't like, hm?" she asks, rhetorical. you sigh, licking your lips. she gets down low, props one of her arms across your legs to look up into your eyes, her gaze sharp and steady all at once. "what're you gonna do about those, sweetness?" she asks.

you bite your lips, shrugging.

"well, lucky for you... i've got a few ideas," vi says, grinning as she reaches up to rub a thumb along your bottom lip, a tiny gasp stitching out of you as you let your mouth fall open. your lashes flutter; your glance up to meet her eyes -- they're dark, pupils blown wide as she presses the pad of her thumb passed your willing lips.

"there's the good girl i've been looking for."

#⛈ monsoon season #arcane #vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi x you #arcane x you #GEEZ LOUISE i need to stop LOL #brat tamer!vi.... save me

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verdancy-hime · 21 hours ago

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This is another reason for me to support tariffs

No one can explain to me a good reason to be against them, anyway

1. Nobody I know is going to retire. Even if they have a job that offers 401k or whatever they have no stability in that job and don't make enough

2. Nobody I know has stocks or trades currency except crypto bros but crypto is doing ok

3. Everyone I know has cradle to grave debt. Like the recession vs not recession is just every 7 years when people get their debts forgiven. Everyone who has student loan or mortgage debt is expected to die before they pay them off or transfer to another when they pay it off

4. Even if manufacturers don't build here, if companies are just viewing Americans as consumers and a big test market they absolutely should be paying us for that the way that companies pay Amazon a fee to show up in Amazon search results and market to Amazon customers

5. Most of our budget is either the military or social security. Social security was supposed to be a trust fund that paid for itself but the military borrowed money from it and now it's struggling. Most of our military actions are towards nations that did not attack us and that we are not at war with. We basically function as an unpaid mercenary group to other nations who need military support. Trump is correct when he says we should get paid for sending our kids to other countries to potentially die.

6. No one, literally no one is in favor of tariffs when I Google "tariffs are good actually" or "why I support tariffs" I can't get any results

7. Other nations have tariffs

8. No one has said that China and other countries can stop selling goods manufactured in their nation in the US. They have said prices of goods will have go up.

9. People already can't afford to live

10. I don't understand why it's not possible for companies to build factories here other than "building factories is expensive" if they are paying too much they will have to do it

11. Even company analysts and stuff are just talking about uncertainty and not wanting the tariffs they don't actually say the company will go under or whatever

12. People keep talking about Trump "bankrupting the casino" but whenever we need money for social security to pay the trust back so old people can retire or we need money for food stamps or schools or whatever they say we're broke

I still will never support Trump because he supports anti dei and project 2025. I will never support any candidate who is not pro abortion pro divorce pro closing the pay gap and pro separation of church and state. Anything the churches support is bad for anyone who isn't part of their nazi breeding cult and yes 100% every Christian in America is part of a nazi breeding cult. But I think he's right on this one.

It seems like currency manipulation is used to make the dollar an important currency and keep the cost of Chinese goods low for American consumers so that labor in our country can't compete and that Chinese people on red note have a similar standard of living to people here but with no debt or credit scores and no property taxes on homes they own. It seems like yes there are bad working conditions at some factories but it looks similar to what the people I know who work in warehouses and factories and the medical field and retail work in my country. It seems like if companies start to build factories here they will start to design factories according to our stricter labor regulations and companies always build everything according to specifications.

I live in a small poor town and whenever a company has locations in California they're a good place to work because they just follow the standards in California for all their locations so they have more paid time off and higher wages and more breaks.

I support protectionist policies that make companies overseas have to follow stricter labor laws. Like if they wanted to charge companies money if their factories in other nations were not up to code for a US factory or ban goods if the factories didn't meet US labor codes I would be in favor of that.

I support the idea that it's bad when companies have an HQ overseas so they don't pay US taxes like in the Pandora papers or the Panama papers. I support making companies pay taxes on their operations in the USA in some way if they want to operate here.

The tariff kinda seems like a way to do that and the only people who really eat it are international financiers and the military. The military will be fine.

I really have a hard time having sympathy for hedge fund managers and international banking concerns and companies that sell debt and credit card companies. There's probably a better word for "international financiers" that doesn't make me sound anti Semitic. I can't think of one. I'm in favor of rich people eating it. I don't care if they're Dutch or Korean or what. The guy I saw having a meltdown who worked for citi on tv last night was from Chicago. The ceo of Mastercard who basically controls what people do in porn and censors it is a German guy. But a lot of these people, their company buys and sells consumer or mortgage debt or whatever. Their business is people in the US being debt serfs

I don't like that.

Idk people on red note are always like "why won't Americans work in factories?" And I tried when I was in my 20s for years to get a factory job. Specifically there was a window factory up the street I stalked and I wanted to work there so bad. They did have long shifts and it might have been miserable but the pay and hours and benefits were good and steady.

I keep seeing YouTube videos called "what happens to a consumer economy when we're all too broke to consume?" And like? We've been too broke to consume for like... my entire life it's just sometimes covid happens and people have fewer expenses and a stimulus or they pay off their debt for a while.

What happens if Trump actually does sell a bunch of government buildings and forces federal workers to do work from home to save money? What happens if more companies do that? What happens if we don't have car culture anymore? What happens if AI takes tons of jobs?

There's already like... everyone I know in the precariat. So I would feel sorry for people if people were coming at them for being from other countries but if they're just feeling economic uncertainty like everyone else I don't see how that's bad for us.

If the dollar isn't the world currency anymore no one has explained to me why that will make the life of someone who is not working for a hedge fund or storing their money in an offshore tax haven any worse. So even a broken clock is right sometimes.

The Right has a cesspool of race-to-the-bottom influencers. #knownothingism

Dumb commentary for dumb people.

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katsu28 · 2 days ago

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oooh kait i love the list!!

what about lando + 50. putting a hand over the other's mouth where lando is yapping abt smth?

got a little carried away with this but fuck it we ball

lando norris x sainz!reader, 1.7k. request something from here :)

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You glance up from your phone to see a grinning Lando leaned up against the wall next to you, and you raise an amused brow. “It’s my brother’s wedding.”

“Yeah, I know, I was just—”

“Why would I not be here?”

“Jesus, I was just trying to be funny, you don't have to be mean about it,” He huffs, bumping his shoulder against yours with a roll of his eyes.

“Sorry, Lan. You’re just too fun to mess with.” You tease, reaching out to pinch Lando’s cheek.

He scowls, batting your hand away haphazardly. “Carlos said you were gonna be here early to help get everything settled.”

“Aw, were you waiting for me?”

“No, I wasn't.” You shoot him a disbelieving look. “Okay, maybe I was. I had to work with your great aunt, and lemme tell you, that woman is handsy.”

“Oh, you poor thing.”

“I know. All because you abandoned me.”

“I had to help Rebecca with some last minute adjustments. And besides, It takes time to look this good, Norris,” You tut, gesturing towards yourself. The bridesmaid dresses Rebecca had picked out are absolutely gorgeous. Hopefully gorgeous enough to get you what you want.

“You do look amazing,” Lando murmurs, eyes not-so-subtly raking up and down your body a little too long to be considered innocent. Mission accomplished.

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself,” You reply, letting your gaze do the same. His tailored suit fits him wonderfully, and his hair is styled to perfection. You fight the urge to run your fingers through his curls and ruin it by pulling him close.

Things between Lando and yourself are…complicated, to say the least. You were both young when you’d met, all the way back in 2019 when Carlos had done his time with McLaren. Since then, you’ve both grown up, kept in touch, and somewhere along the way, you’d come to a realization.

You like Lando. A lot. And you think he might like you back, but neither of you have done anything about it. You flirt with each other like people who have feelings for each other and tease each other like friends, dancing around the elephant in the room whenever you’re in the same vicinity.

It certainly doesn’t help that Lando is one of your brother’s best friends. He looks up to Carlos, respects him as a mentor, and wouldn’t dare make a move against his baby sister. But honestly, you wish he just would. This back and forth is starting to get a little old.

Now is as good a time as any, with Carlos distracted on his big day. And what was that again people said about weddings being the perfect chance for blossoming romance?

Someone with a headset and a clipboard comes up and whispers something in your ear, cutting your moment with Lando short. You stow away your phone in your purse, already prepared to follow them to attend to whatever needs doing.

“Duty calls. I’ll see you later, Lan,” You say, straightening Lando’s tie with a sweet smile aimed at him. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Lando chuckles, looking equal parts fond and amused. “I’ll try my best.”

The next time you see him is right before you're meant to walk down the aisle together. You take your mark right next to him, smoothing out your dress one last time before looping your arm through his.

He leans towards you, lips almost brushing your ear with his whisper. “Missed you.”

“Thought you said you’d try your best not to?”

“Guess it wasn't good enough. Listen, can we talk later?”

He sounds uncharacteristically serious, and it has you giving him a cautious sideways glance. “Of course,” You say. You nudge him gently with your elbow. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.”

“Well, now that you tell me not to worry, I think I might,” You reply, brows furrowing.

“Then don’t.”

“Seriously, Lando? You couldn't have waited until after the ceremony for this? I mean, honestly—”

Suddenly his lips are on your cheek briefly, causing your outburst to die off mid sentence. You stiffen momentarily at the unexpected action. When you turn to gawk at him, he’s looking straight ahead, a satisfied little smile gracing his face.

You don’t have time to process anything any further before you're being guided towards the beginning of the aisle. Straightening up, throwing your shoulders back, you tighten your fingers around your bouquet of flowers.

Now isn’t the time.

The ceremony goes swimmingly. There isn’t a dry eye in the place at seeing just how much Carlos and Rebecca love and cherish each other. Every so often, you’ll catch Lando’s eye across the aisle and he’ll wink back at you, settling your nerves at standing up there in front of everyone.

You start to wonder what he wants to talk to you about. Your mind immediately goes to the worst possible thing, but surely it can’t be too bad. Right?

Lando doesn’t bring it up until well into the reception. He catches your eye from afar, tilting his head towards the nearest exit. Everyone is on the dance floor now, nobody would notice if you left.

He slips out of the large hall silently and you follow a few seconds later, only startling a little bit when he grabs your hand and leads you further down the corridor until you can’t hear the lively music anymore.

“What’s going on, Lando?”

He drops your hand in favor of starting to pace, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “I’m gonna be really honest with you right now. Probably brutally honest. And it might fuck things up, but I think I might explode if I keep it in any longer.”

“Uh…okay. That sounds concerning,” You say hesitantly, shifting on your feet.

“It is. I mean, no, it’s not, it’s nothing but, I just…”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night, because you look absolutely stunning,” He blurts. “But not just today. I wanna kiss you all the time, and I know—I know I probably shouldn’t because Carlos is one of my best mates and you’re his little sister and he’d likely kick my ass if he ever finds out, but I don’t care, I—”

“Lando,” You interrupt, fighting to keep your voice level. Finally, finally, something is happening.

He continues on as if he hadn’t heard you at all. “—can’t keep doing this…this whatever thing we’ve been doing. I really like you, and I need you to know that even if it ruins our friendship.”

Normally you’d entertain his yapping tendencies, but you want to tell Lando you feel the same way and he just keeps on talking like he’s the only one in this conversation, so you’re left with no choice.

You push him back against the wall behind him with one hand splayed across his chest, the other hand coming up to cover his mouth. Lando’s ranting dies off the moment your hand touches his face, like you’ve just found his off switch and powered him down.

“Can you please just shut up for a second?” You say exasperatedly. He nods quickly, completely doe eyed under your palm. “You gonna let me talk now?” Another nod, this one a little slower. “Good. I like you too. Have for ages.”

Lando’s fingers curl around your wrist, prying your hand away from his mouth with furrowed brows. “You—you do? Really? Why’ve you never said anything?”

“Why haven’t you?” You shoot back, cocking your head.

“Because…because!” He says incredulously, wrinkling his nose. “You’re Carlos’s little sister, I—he’d have my head.”

You scoff. “Carlos isn’t my keeper, Lando. I’m an adult, I can make my own choices without having to consult my brother. If I want to date you, I can!”

Lando’s gaze sharpens, the edges of his mouth curving into a smug little smile, and you know you’re in for it now.

“Then let me take you out. On a proper date,” He proposes. It’s a bold move, considering you’ve still got him pinned against the wall with one hand, but his bluntness makes your focus flicker.

Lando takes the opening and makes his move, now suddenly you’re the one with your back against the wall and he’s pushed himself closer than you’ve ever been before. For someone who was just worried about Carlos finding out mere seconds ago, he seems quite confident.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” You ask softly, searching his face for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. What you’ve wanted for a long time is finally happening, but that doesn’t make you any less wary. If anything, it feels even more daunting.

Slowly, Lando’s hand comes up to cradle your cheek almost delicately, like he’s afraid you might disappear into thin air if he moves too fast. His tongue darts out to wet his lips just before he leans in, deft fingers shifting from your cheek down under your chin, tilting your head up just enough to meet him in a gentle kiss.

His lips are softer than you expect, tasting a little like the rum and cokes he’s been nursing all night mixed with something else sweet, and definitely living up to every dream you’ve ever had about this very moment.

Lando’s thumb rubs along your cheek, a soft smile playing across his face when you break apart. “Believe me, I’m more sure about you than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.”

You smooth out the lapels of his suit jacket from where your fingers had bunched into the material, beaming at him happily. “Always such a sweet talker, you.”

“Worked on you, didn’t it? I mean, it took years, but I’ve got you now, don’t I?”

“Depends on where you take me on our date,” You joke.

“Oh, I’ll take you anywhere you want, baby. Name it and it’s done.”

“A sweet talker and a smooth talker. That could come in handy for when Carlos finds out.”

“No, it—why?” His voice squeaks on the last word, eyes widening almost comically.

You give his chest a firm pat, ducking out from under his arm to return to the reception. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, hm?”

“Sweetheart, c’mon! He won’t try to fight me, right? Right?”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

#requested!#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine

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saetiate · 2 days ago

Text

itoshi rin x f!reader smut, portal sex, lowk witchcraft (sigils mean that his sex toy = your pussy basically), very slight semi-public don't get caught stuff (you don't actually get caught), oral f!receiving, p in v word count: 1.75k author's note: please save me i'm deranged

Rin has loved you for years.

He twists his phone in his hand, your contact name right at the top of his notifications. Just thinking about confessing to you has his insides turning, makes him want to slam his head into the nearest wall. He'd rather waterboard himself than say something.

He almost runs into the old lady that holds a hand up to stop him in his tracks.

She tells him that he "seems to be in a bit of a predicament," which he doesn't get at all. But then he looks up as she lead him into a little store right next to a sex shop, handing him something in one hand, the other hand holding up the little machine for making a payment.

Imagine her whilst you use this.

That's easy enough. He's been imagining having you for years. Memorized what your laugh sounds like, twinkling windchimes; how your face looks when you smile.

The toy part is new though. He turns it around. There's a little image near the base of it, like a drawing of some sort.

God, this is so dumb. He knows it even as he lays down in bed and closes his eyes. But then he finds himself all-too-easily imagining your thighs clasped around his head, the taste of you fresh on his tongue.

You're at work when it starts.

You're in the pantry getting a necessary pick-me-up coffee between lunch and the end of the work day when you start to feel something between your legs that makes all your movements stop. Something that has wetness blooming immediately. You try to shake it, keep the thought boxed up in the back of your mind, but you- you can feel it. Can feel something between your legs even when you know logically there's nothing there.

The only thing you know is you've got to get out of here. Away from your coworkers and their gossip session in the corner, the girl kicking the printer at the end of the corridor as you stumble into your office. You quickly pull on the blinds to shut them, only half-registering locking the door before you're falling into your seat.

What the fuck.

It feels like a searing hot, wet tongue is cleaving right between your folds. Your hand clamps around your mouth with a slap, hyperaware of the feet you can see walking by your office right at the bottom of your blinds. Hyperaware that anyone could still knock, have a question or need an update.

You've always been glad to have your own office, but you've never been quite so grateful now. When your legs are clasped together so tight they ache, and slick drips down your cunt.

The worst part might be that the only person that's running through your mind throughout all this is Rin.

Rin, who you've known for years. Who has been a stable friend. Who you know is attractive to the point of model-beauty, successful and busy and you're being forced to come to terms with the fact that this is not the first time you've thought of him like this. Clear blue eyes that peek past your inner thighs and lap at your cunt with so much fervor you're almost embarrassed.

You swear you can feel the tap of the tip of his tongue over your clit, the precise way it circles around that has you leaning over your desk, gripping it tight. It's a miracle you haven't made a loud enough sound to disturb. You feel the wave of your orgasm coming to you fast. How long has it been since you've had someone eat you out so vigorously? How is it so clear in your mind to the point where you can feel every movement, unpredictable even to you?

You feel a tongue lap over your clit again and again, the noise of the office outside turned background as the coil in your gut turns tight and you're keening over, coming hard in your chair, so wet you're half worried about whether it's seeped through your work clothes.

You think that's it, and then —

It gets so much worse.

You can feel something entering you, a hardened phantom-cock that slides past your wet folds with ease, every inch sinking in. You squeal behind your hand, shutting your eyes tight.

This you can't just be imagining, not when you can feel the stretch of your pussy accommodating for what's entering you. It slides back out of you just a little before pushing in even further, so big it feels like it's bullying you. You think you can almost feel the warmth radiating off of it from between your legs.

You can't help but moan when you finally reach what you think (hope) is the base, cock head pressed so deep in you that you feel stuffed full.

Rin half-thinks he's losing his mind, crazy with how hot and wet what is supposed to be a toy feels as he slides it over his cock. Are sex toys supposed to feel like this? It's so tight around his cock, contracting on its own, he feels like he's being pushed out. He tries to pull out just a little, only to feel like he's being sucked in instead. Like even you can't decide how you want him.

He gives in to his own temptation, pressing in despite the way it feels like a vice wrapped around his cock, and resistance gives way to slick, wetness dripping over and coating his member.

He feels dizzy with need as he presses in close, until the toy is around the whole of his cock, right at the base, the head of his cock hitting the back of it. Everything is warm and wet as he can't help the way his hips thrust up into it anyways.

You feel the phantom cock lodge deeper inside you even as you mentally beg to no one that you're so full, that there's no way you can take any more.

The way it fucks into you is with an intensity you've never experienced before, pressing into you over and over again. Your heart beats fast in your chest; the thrusts a little too fast, too deep to what you're used to. You want them to slow down and keep going all at once, slumping over your desk in a silent scream.

He imagines you in different ways, clear like sunlit water, something that both scares him and makes his dick throb. Underneath him, pressing your thighs close to your chest, slamming into you with his mouth against the column of your neck, and then lapping up your sweat in the valley between your breasts. On top of him, his hands on your waist as he brings you up and down over his cock.

All Rin can think about is how good it feels, your pussy wrapped around his cock. How you'd look under him, flushed and pretty. He wants to drop his head in the crux of your shoulder, breathe you in, listen to you moan and whine. He can feel your slick drip down his cock, how you're clenching around him so hard it makes him hiss and grit his teeth.

"Fuck," the words leave him in a heated exhale. "Gonna-"

The way his cock fucks into you is so pointed, something that feels like lithe fingers circling your clit until stars burst into your vision. Another heated hand feels seared to your side, pulling you down over his cock.

Your hand is wrapped around your mouth so tightly, afraid to make a noise, your breath coming hard and fast as starlight sparks up your spine, a desperate mewl leaving the back of your throat.

Hearing Rin groan next to your ear, more real than you have ever imagined before — that has you crashing hard into an orgasm.

Rin feels your walls get impossibly tighter around him. He wants to see you like this in reality. Wants to see if you really arch your back in exact way he's imagining, wants to press a long kiss to your lips as his hot breath pants over your skin.

Your cheek pressed against his cheek, saying his name. The details all come together. An embarrassing dream he will never admit to anyone, something as soft as his name on your lips and your skin pressed against his, enough to run him entirely speechless, making him rut into the toy, and has him spilling into it.

Fractured breaths make their way up your throat as you come to your senses, spell like a fog descending and dissipating into the ground.

You're in your office. You can make out the click-clacking of keyboards outside the room, light chatter, the sound of your emails coming in.

Oh, fuck. How long were you out for? You can feel the mess between your legs, your pussy both is dripping and isn't, your slick soaking your panties, damp against your inner thighs.

But somehow it's… not as much as you initially thought it was? How it felt?

Your hands find your phone before you can think it through, tapping Rin's contact, something both impulsive and natural.

Rin's vision finally blinks into reality, the vision of you still like a lingering dream, toy still in his hand. He touches the inside of the toy curiously, a finger tracing the inner wall.

He swears it didn't feel like that when he had his dick inside of it. It felt softer, warmer, slick with need.

Whatever. He probably just imagined it, in his insanity of want for you. He cleans the toy out and chucks it in a box, a dark hidden corner where he doesn't have to see the scam he bought ever again.

And then his phone starts buzzing.

He picks up on fifth ring, after the shock leaves his system.

"Rin?"

"Yeah." He clears his throat, gulping down the emotions he brought up just moments ago.

"Hey! Hey, um. Haha. So I get off work in like, just over an hour ish? Do you wanna- um," he swears your voice sounds almost shaky, out of breath. "Do you wanna get dinner or something? I mean, it's been a while since we met up, hasn't it? And you're like, off-season or something, right?"

Rin spins around to eye where he just threw the toy.

"Yeah." His back hits the wall behind him, a small, soft smile tilting up the corners of his mouth just slightly. "Okay."

hi hello here's the rin version! so the diff between the sae and rin versions is that rin isn't really thinking about why or how this is happening in the moment HAHA he's much more pleasure chasing than sae going what the actual hell is happening and continuing anyways :> OKAY sorry for the wait for this and i hope you enjoyed!!!

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #fragments of memories #fragments of memories: fic #fragments: bllk #fragments: bllk: rin #x reader #blue lock x reader

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mssishipi · 9 hours ago

Text

taste of indulgence - sjy, pjs

CHAPTER 4 — SHOW ME SPICY

— Avoidance was your only way to move forward, but Jay and Jake weren’t about to let you slip away so easily. How could you pretend you didn’t want them when your body told a different story? If you wanted to play stubborn, fine. But brats don’t get to run—they get put in their place. And they were more than ready to show you exactly what spicy really meant.

content tags: everyone is gay or fruity!!! angst! reader is self sabotaging, she made jake cry, jay is angry (and stressed), let's play back to friends by sombr, psych majors who don't know how to communicate, reader assume sunghoon's sexuality, reader cuts her hair short, jay's pov, sunoo is just sunoo.

explicit content (smut): uhm threesome (switch jake, rough mean dom jay, sub reader), dubcon!!! public sex, unprotected sex, humiliation (?), dacryphilia, rough throat fucking, cunillingus, jake tried to be angry but went soft, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration, creampie, anal sex (mxm). MDNI! WC: 21.5K

want a taste?

"I think red nails would look good on me, don't you think?" You flipped your hand over, inspecting your nails with a thoughtful look.

Sunoo barely glanced up from his phone before reaching out to grab your hand, tilting it side to side. "Hmm... Maroon, definitely. With silver designs," he decided with a nod.

"Almond shape?" you asked, watching his expression closely.

Sunoo furrowed his brows, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he considered. "Square could work too... gives that classic, clean look. But yeah, almond is a solid choice. It'll look good when you're, like, casually reaching for things."

"Okay, I should set an appointment with the nail tech Wonyoung keeps talking about," you mused, already pulling out your phone. As you both walked past a full-length mirror in the store, you stopped in your tracks, turning your head slightly to get a better look at yourself.

"Maybe I should cut my hair, no?" You ran your fingers through the strands, tilting your head as if trying to picture it. "Or maybe I should dye it? What color do you suggest?"

Sunoo looked up from his phone, finally giving you his full attention. His mouth was slightly open, eyes squinting as he observed you.

"I tried a new makeup style today," you continued, adjusting your reflection with your fingers. "I don't know if it suits me yet, but if I cut my hair, maybe it would. This length would be good, right?" You pointed just below your ears, mentally mapping out the bob cut you were suddenly considering.

Sunoo blinked, then gasped dramatically. "You're planning to get a bob cut, bitch? Are you fucking serious?!"

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. "What? You don't think it would look good?"

He placed both hands on your shoulders like he was about to shake some sense into you. "Do you have any idea what a bob cut means?"

You laughed, shaking him off. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Short hair on a hot girl?" Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. "That's a crisis cut. A post-breakup cut. A someone just emotionally wrecked me and I need a fresh start cut!"

You rolled your eyes, but your smile faltered slightly. "Maybe I just want a change."

Sunoo wasn't buying it. He crossed his arms, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Yeah, right." He paused before adding, "By the way, Jake keeps texting me, asking when our vacant period is. He says you're not replying to them."

Your steps faltered, but you quickly regained composure. "I already told them I'm busy," you said, forcing a casual shrug. "Our internship is coming up next year, so I have to start networking now. I need professors to recommend me to the best hospitals—ones that actually offer jobs after the internship."

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "That's a solid excuse, I'll give you that. But babe, you're literally ghosting them."

"I'm not ghosting."

"Bitch." Sunoo deadpanned. "You left them on read for two weeks."

"Because I'm not in the mood to fuck them anymore," you said flatly, resuming your pace.

Sunoo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh my god. The coldness. The absolute heartlessness." Then, his voice softened. "Babe, you sound like a total bitch right now, but I know you. And I know there's a reason you cried that night."

You exhaled sharply, staring straight ahead.

"I'm your friend," Sunoo continued, his tone gentler now. "You can tell me if they hurt you. Did they do something? Say something? I mean, yeah, they're my friends too now, but you know I'll always have your back first. So tell me."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "It's not like that. They didn't do anything."

"I just... I don't know, Sunoo." You stopped walking, running a frustrated hand through your hair. "I thought I could handle it. I thought it would be easy to keep things casual. But the longer I stayed, the harder it got. Now, it just fucking hurts."

Sunoo crossed his arms, watching you carefully. "You like them."

"Sunoo—"

"You like them," he repeated, this time with certainty. "Not just one of them. Both of them."

Your throat felt tight. "It doesn't matter."

Sunoo scoffed. "It matters if it's eating you up like this."

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. "I was never supposed to catch feelings."

Sunoo let out a long breath, his expression softening. "You're human, dumbass. Not a fucking robot. It was bound to happen."

"It doesn't change anything." Your fingers clenched at the hem of your uniform. "It's just—fuck. I don't even know where I stand with them. I mean, they're sweet, they treat me so well. Who wouldn't fall for them?" You let out a bitter chuckle. "But that's the thing, isn't it? I don't know if it means anything."

Sunoo tilted his head, watching you carefully. "Have you told them how you feel?"

"What for?" You scoffed. "So I can humiliate myself? So I can hear them say, 'Oh, that's cute, but we never actually saw you that way'?" You let out a hollow laugh. "No, thanks."

Sunoo pursed his lips. "You don't know that's what they'd say."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo. Because even if—if—they felt something, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm still just an extra in their relationship. They've had each other for years. I'm just..." Your voice faltered, and you forced a small smile. "Temporary."

"Babe," Sunoo frowned. "That's a really shitty way to look at it."

"Is it?" You met his eyes, voice quieter now. "Or is it just reality?"

Sunoo sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'm saying, maybe just tell them what you feel. Communicate—"

"No." You cut him off, shaking your head. "It's better to just move forward. Cut them off and be done with it." Your voice wavered, but you quickly steadied yourself. "As I said, even if they did feel something, it wouldn't change anything." You swallowed the lump in your throat, "I'll just consider them a hookup. That's all they were supposed to be anyway."

Sunoo huffed. "Look, babe. You wouldn't be spiraling over them, trying to change your hair, your nails, your entire damn life just to get away from the way they made you feel." He sighed again. "I get it. Feelings suck. But lying to yourself? That's worse."

You exhaled sharply, looking away. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo."

"It does matter." He poked your forehead. "And sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it."

Well, too bad because Sunoo didn't have a choice but to deal with your stubbornness. He had seen you shut down before, had watched you bury your emotions so deep that even you forgot they existed.

Avoidance was the only way. Cutting them off was the only way. If you ever told them the truth, it wouldn't change anything. If they did feel something for you, it still wouldn't matter. Because being together with two guys? It wasn't realistic.

Jake and Jay were perfect together—enough for each other. Their love was already deep, already established, already real.

You were just an afterthought, a temporary distraction, a spice added to their relationship to make things more exciting for a while.

That was why you had to let it go. Because holding on would only break you more.

Avoidance was the only option. But that didn't mean it was easy.

You shared three majors with them, which meant there was no real escape. Every time Jay or Jake tried to talk to you, you scrambled for a half-baked excuse, something—anything—to put distance between you.

And you felt guilty. Because at this point, you weren't just avoiding them, you were leaving Sunoo to deal with the fallout.

Every. Single. Time.

"Sorry, I already made plans to get my nails done," you said, forcing a smile as Jake grabbed your arm after your laboratory class, trying to pull you toward the arcade.

"We can just go with you!" Jake perked up immediately, his eyes practically sparkling at the idea. He turned to Jay, beaming. "Right?!"

Jay, as always, was quieter, but his gaze was on you.

You resisted the urge to sigh. "Uh—actually, I'm going with my other friends."

Beside you, Sunoo tensed, trying not to roll his eyes so hard they got stuck.

"Then Sunoo can go with you guys," you added quickly, shoving the attention onto him.

Sunoo's head snapped toward you so fast, "Excuse me?" His expression was pure betrayal.

Jake blinked, tilting his head. "Wait. Sunoo's not going with you to get your nails done?"

"Nope!" Sunoo answered before you could. "Because I'll be with you guys. Losing all my money on rigged machines. Can't wait!"

He hooked his arms through Jake and Jay's, dragging them away before you could say another word. But not before shooting you a sharp, knowing look.

Avoidance was the only option, but it was hard.

It was almost funny, how desperately you were trying to erase them from your life, only for your own mind to betray you at every turn.

Jay's lips were always dry. Did he ever listen and start using the lip balm you recommended? Or was he still stubborn about it?

Jake had a terrible habit of not drinking enough water, always running on boundless energy until he inevitably crashed. You wondered if Jay kept that in mind—if he reminded him to drink more, if he handed him a bottle without a word, the way you used to.

Not your problem anymore.

"Your nails are so pretty!!!" Wonyoung screeched, grabbing your hand and turning it under the flashing club lights. The silver designs shimmered, catching every flicker of neon.

"Thank you," you muttered, tipping back your drink without hesitation. The alcohol burned down your throat, but you welcomed it. Anything to dull the edges. Sunoo sat beside you, talking how he wants to have sex tonight.

Another drink. Then another. By the time the rest of your friends arrived, your head was already buzzing, you can't even keep up with the conversation anymore. You laughed at the right moments, nodded when necessary, but your mind was elsewhere.

"Can you recommend a good waterproof mascara?" you mumbled, resting your head against Sunghoon's shoulder.

He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed with your state. "I don't know? Maybelline, I guess? Or some Japanese brand—those are good too."

"You're gay," you giggled, voice slightly slurred.

Sunghoon scoffed, shifting slightly so you didn't slide off him. "How the fuck is that gay?"

"You just know things." You poked his chest, eyes drooping.

"It's called having sisters, dumbass," he deadpanned.

You giggled, the alcohol making everything funnier than it should be. "Hehehe, ever since you joined our group, you've had this, like... boy love energy."

"I'm not into boy love," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Oh my god. You're homophobic."

Sunghoon choked on his drink so hard he nearly spit it out. "What?! Where the fuck did you get that from?"

"How are you not into boy love?" You slurred, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Boy love is great. It's wholesome, it's cute, it's—"

Your voice cracked and your lips wobbled, remembering Jay and Jake. Suddenly, your eyes burned.

You sniffled. Sunghoon, who had been mid-rant about how you made no sense, suddenly froze. He stared at you, wide-eyed.

"Hey... are you—are you crying?"

You sniffled, waving a hand dramatically. "I miss them."

Sunghoon blinked. "Miss who?"

"Boy love!" you wailed, smacking the table. "Boy love is so cute! It makes me so jealous! Agh—fuck! How can you not like boy love?! I miss seeing some boy love, but it hurts seeing some boy love!"

"Bro, what the fuck are you talking about?"

You sniffled harder, rubbing your eyes aggressively. "It's so unfair. Why are they so perfect together? Why can't I just be happy watching them be happy?!"

Sunghoon, still utterly baffled, slowly turned his head, scanning the club for someone or anyone to deal with your mess. His gaze landed on Sunoo, who was currently twerking in the middle of the dance floor, hyping himself up with your other friends.

"It's really hard to avoid them," you hiccupped, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. "I miss them."

Sunghoon let out a slow breath. "Uh-huh."

"I'm making the right decision, right?" you asked, eyes wide and desperate, like you were begging him to validate your self-sabotage.

He scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh... yeah?"

"Yes," you repeated, sniffling. "I'm right. They'll stop. They'll forget me. They'll live happily ever after."

Sunghoon nodded again, then you let out a wobbly sigh. "I will also forget about them," you declared, before promptly bursting into tears again.

You wiped your nose aggressively. "I'll just go back to my old self. No more stupid feelings, no more heartbreak, no more—no more them."

He gave you a cautious thumbs-up. "Sounds... healthy."

"I'll just masturbate with my vibrator," you continued, completely ignoring him. "At least my vibrator doesn't make my heart hurt."

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ."

"Women can over-complicate things, and that's because they go deeper—sometimes too deep, admittedly."

Yes. Exactly. To avoid over-complicating things, avoidance was the only solution.

You were just walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when a hand suddenly grabbed yours.

You yelped, eyes widening. "What the—?!"

Before you could even react, you were being pulled, not roughly, but firmly, until you stumbled into an empty mini-theater room. The door clicked shut behind you, and your heart pounded as you whipped around.

"Jake?"

He was standing there, hand still wrapped around your wrist, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. His usual playful energy was nowhere to be found.

The room was too quiet and intimate. The only sound was the distant hum of the campus outside, muffled by thick walls, the kind that trapped secrets and held them hostage. Your pulse was a dull roar in your ears as you stared at him.

God, you missed him. The playful lilt of his voice, the way he always smelled like clean laundry and something unmistakably Jake. You missed the way he touched you—soft, then rough, then soft again. You missed them. Him and Jay.

Your chest tightened, instead you swallowed, immediately trying to pull away. "Jake. Let go."

His fingers twitched against your skin, like he was debating something—like he wanted to hold on a second longer, just in case you changed your mind. But then, finally, he released you, but he didn't step back.

He was still too close.

"You are avoiding us." He said, wounded by frustration. "Why?"

Panic coiled inside you, what the fuck. You weren't ready for this. Your thoughts scrambled, reaching for an excuse, anything—anything—that would make him back off. Think. Think. Think.

But then Jake's face softened, and he exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry if we did something wrong," he said. "Just—please, talk to us. If you don't want to have sex anymore, that's okay. I understand. We understand." He took a step closer, voice cracking slightly. "Just don't shut us out, please."

Fuck. You almost caved. Jake have this eyes that knew exactly how to weaken you, but you spent enough time to hardened yourself. Pulled your walls up so high that even you couldn't see over them.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

You crossed your arms, forcing a blank expression. "I'm busy, Jake. I don't have time to play around with you two anymore."

Jake blinked, hurt was flashed across his face. "P-Play around?, I-Is that what this was to you?"

You scoffed, "What else would it be?"

Jake's expression twisted, like your words had physically knocked the breath out of him. Good. Maybe he'd finally get the hint.

"Look, Jake." You forced yourself to keep your voice steady, swallowing down the lump clawing its way up your throat. "I don't want to be mean, but get a fucking clue. Okay? Yes, I'm avoiding you. You and Jay were fun. The sex was good. But that's all it ever was."

Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His eyes, still locked onto yours. "Just explain to us, why?"

"I don't owe you an explanation in the first place!" you snapped, voice rising despite yourself. You could feel your resolve cracking, your emotions clawing their way to the surface. But you couldn't let them win. You couldn't let him see you break.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"I got tired of it, okay?!"

Jake's breath came out unsteady. "You could've just told us," he said, "I-Instead of... this—instead of just shutting us out like we never meant anything. We're friends, r-right?"

That last word came out, and his voice cracking, and that was what almost broke you.

Because Jake was looking at you like he was desperate to understand, like he needed you to say something—anything that could make this all make sense.

"Friends?" You let out a cold, hollow laugh, tilting your head like he'd just said something stupid. "Jake, we were never friends."

The second the words left your mouth, Jake flinched, his breath stuttering. His entire body stiffened, his shoulders curling inward.

"Don't say that," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You don't mean that."

You clenched your jaw so hard it ached. "I do."

Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at you like he was trying to see through the wall you'd just slammed between you. Like if he looked hard enough, he'd find something—some sign that you were lying.

But he wouldn't. Because you were good at this. You were good at pretending.

"Just tell me why," he tried again, softer this time, more pleading than before. "If you ever cared about us at all, just... tell me why you're doing this."

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, your entire body screamed at you to stop, to take it all back, to fix this.

But you couldn't. You forced out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "God, Jake, you're so clingy." Jake flinched, and you saw the exact moment something in him cracked.

"You took everything way too seriously," you continued. "It was just sex. I don't know what the fuck you thought this was, but it wasn't deep."

"You were convenient," you added, twisting the knife deeper. "That's all. And now? I'm over it."

Jake sucked in a breath, his shoulders stiffening. You noticed the way his lips trembled. And then slowly—he nodded.

Tears streaked his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away. He didn't lash out. He didn't beg. He just looked at you—looked through you—his expression heartbreakingly soft despite everything.

Jake didn't yell. He didn't curse you out, didn't demand answers or call you a liar. Instead, he just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. His eyes were soft—too soft, filled with a quiet kind of devastation that made your stomach churn.

Without another word, he turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and that was it.

Your body sagged the moment he was gone, like the strings holding you together had been severed. You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but the air felt suffocating. Your hands trembled at your sides, your fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out, to pull him back.

Don't break down. Don't be weak. You did what needed to be done.

One minute. Just one minute to get yourself together.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your throat burned from holding back something that wanted to crawl out, guilt, regret, longing, you didn't know. Didn't want to know.

Then, finally, you exhaled. Straightened your back. Set your shoulders and walked out.

The hallway was quiet, but not empty.

Your steps faltered as you saw them—Jake, standing there with his back slightly hunched, his hands gripping the hem of Jay's uniform. His shoulders shook and his breathing uneven.

And Jay stood right in front of him, tense and rigid, watching him with a concern expression. His fists were clenched, but his hands hovered just slightly—like he wanted to touch Jake, to comfort him, but didn't know how.

And when he looked up, his eyes found yours. The softness that was there for Jake was gone.

Jay's gaze was dark, sharp, and cold in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no visible anger, just an overwhelming quiet rage simmering.

Your pulse kicked up, you immediately turned away to avoid his gaze.

Spun on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, forcing your steps to be even, controlled. Ignoring the way your chest ached, the way your throat felt tight, the way your lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air.

You did the right thing.

BACK in high school, Jay never really liked being around too many people. He wasn't exactly antisocial, he could hold a conversation when needed, and he got along fine with classmates.

But having a solid group of friends wasn't his thing. Socializing felt like a chore, something that drained him. It was exhausting trying to keep up with people's expectations, their small talk, their unnecessary drama. So, he kept his distance, floating between different groups without ever fully settling in.

Girls, especially, were a whole different kind of exhausting. He wasn't clueless—he knew most of the guys in his class were obsessed with them, always whispering about who had the best tits, passing around porn links like they were trading cards.

Sure, Jay could admit that women were attractive. Sexy, even. Tits were nice, pussy was great. But in his experience, being around women felt more like a headache than a pleasure.

They were too complex, too hard to figure out. One moment they were sweet, the next they were upset over something he didn't even understand. And somehow, he was always expected to know why. It was frustrating. The high-pitched screeching in the hallways, the emotional rollercoasters, the way they'd take out their bad moods on him for no reason—it was all too much.

So, he stayed detached. Women were beautiful, but from a distance. Up close, they were just another thing he didn't have the patience to deal with.

"Did I just... get rejected?"

Jay barely had a second to process before the words came tumbling out from the stranger standing in front of him. The guy was wearing a soccer jersey, his eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying for a while.

Jay raised an eyebrow, not sure why he was being dragged into this. He didn't even know the guy.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" the stranger asked, pouting up at him like some kicked puppy.

Jay gave him a once-over. The guy was about his height, maybe a little smaller, with messy hair and wide, golden-retriever eyes that only made his pathetic expression worse.

"She said I give the best head," the guy continued, sniffling. "But, continue to say some monologue that it's not me, it's her. What does it even mean?"

Jay sighed, running a hand down his face as he stared at the sky. Out of all the people this guy could've dumped his sob story on, why him? He just wanted to go home, lay in bed, and maybe practice a few guitar solos, not babysit some heartbroken stranger.

And that's how he met Jake.

If Jay was being honest, Jake could be a lot to handle. He was loud, clingy, and had the attention span of a golden retriever, but somehow, they just worked.

They balanced each other out in a way Jay never expected. They didn't argue much, jealousy was never an issue, and even when they weren't in the mood to deal with each other, they just shrugged it off—no drama, no unnecessary fights.

And Jay loved him. So much that he followed him to university, enrolling in the same classes just to be with him.

That was why, when Jake first brought up the idea of a threesome, Jay had been flabbergasted. He wasn't the sharing type. He was possessive by nature, and the thought of someone else touching his Jake made his blood boil. But Jake was patient, communicating his feelings in the only way he knew how: between tangled sheets.

It took months for Jay to even consider it. He didn't know what to think, didn't know if he'd be okay with it. Whether it was another guy or a girl, the thought of it made him wary.

Then, one day, he and Jake went out to his favorite café, and that's when he noticed you.

You weren't looking at him. You were looking at Jake. Staring—too long, too obvious.

Jay's eyebrow twitched. He knew exactly where he had seen you before.

You were the girl at the freshmen welcoming party, kissing random girls like it was nothing, completely lost in the haze of alcohol. He remembered the way you moaned when two girls did body shots off your stomach. You were that drunk—so far gone that, by the end of the night, it was him and Jake who had been instructed to carry you back to your dorm.

And now here you were, staring at his boyfriend.

You like guys too?

He huffed, raising an eyebrow when he caught you looking.

Then there was the train ride during the retreat. Another moment. Another time you stared at Jake when you thought no one was looking.

Jay had noticed.

"Do you think she's into threesomes?" Jake had whispered to him that night, curiosity practically dripping from his voice. He was always like this—open, playful, intrigued by new experiences.

Jay had just sighed, brushing the thought aside. "How would I know?"

He didn't think about it much after that. At least, not until he saw you sneak out of the drinking room at the retreat.

And for some reason, he followed.

He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was suspicion, or maybe it was something else. And that's when he saw you grinding against some guy named Heeseung, lips locked in a messy kiss, your whimpers barely muffled by the night air.

Jay's fists clenched at his sides. He should've turned back. Should've left. But instead, he stood there, watching.

And fuck, he didn't expect his pants to feel this tight.

Jay thought you were beautiful. Not just in the obvious way—yeah, you had the kind of face that turned heads, but it was more than that. You had this energy, this pull, something that made people gravitate toward you like you were a magnet. And Jay had always been the type to keep his distance, to stay in control, but even he wasn't immune to it.

And he knew Jake wasn't either.

Jake was naturally affectionate, clingy even, but with you, it was different. He paid attention in a way Jay had never seen before, like he was cataloging every little thing about you.

"She likes soft textures," Jake mused, scanning the shelves of the convenience store. He grabbed a puff pastry filled with chocolate and strawberry, tossing it into their basket. "She'd like this."

Jay raised a brow, watching as Jake continued down the aisle, muttering to himself.

"I think we should get makeup wipes," Jake said, grabbing a pack without hesitation. "She uses this brand, right?"

Jay exhaled through his nose, amused. "Since when did you memorize her entire skincare routine?"

Jake shrugged, grinning. "Since she started leaving her stuff at our place."

That part was true. At first, it had been little things, a stray hair tie, a forgotten hoodie—but now there was a whole section of their bathroom cabinet stocked with your products. Your shampoo was in their shower. Your chapstick was on the nightstand. Your presence was everywhere, lingering like the scent of your perfume.

It annoyed him, how easily you captured Jake's attention, how effortlessly you slipped into their dynamic like you'd always belonged there. Jay had never been the jealous type, not really, but something about the way Jake gravitated toward you, the way he paid attention to you in ways that felt too careful made something uneasy settle in his chest.

But over time, Jay realized it wasn't just Jake.

He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit, listening when you talked, remembering the small details about you without even trying.

He started noticing things—how you always smelled like vanilla and something sweet, how your nose scrunched up when you were focused, how your lips parted slightly when you were about to tease someone. It wasn't just Jake who was drawn to you. Jay was, too.

"Men have different parts in their brain," their professor droned on at the front of the lecture hall, pacing slowly as he gestured to the board. "It's an anatomical difference that affects communication—"

Jay barely heard the rest. Instead, his attention drifted to you, slumped against Sunoo's shoulder, your mouth slightly open as you slept. Sunoo was just as bad, his head tilted against yours, completely knocked out.

Jay huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

The two of you looked ridiculous, but for some reason, he felt that same annoying warmth in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore. The same feeling that made him buy your favorite snacks at the convenience store without thinking. The same feeling that had him listening a little too intently whenever Jake talked about you.

"Anatomical difference, my ass. Men just use their dicks instead of their mouths, that's why they're assholes," Yunjin muttered, typing away on her laptop while half-listening to the lecture.

Jay didn't agree with that. He knew men communicated—just differently. Maybe not with words the way women did, but through actions and through presence.

Like how Jake never outright said he wanted you, but always found an excuse to bring you up in conversations, to keep you close.

Like how Jay himself never said much at all, but still, for some reason, his attention always gravitated toward you.

They just had different ways of showing affection, and for a while, Jay thought that was enough.

Until it wasn't.

"It's freezing. What are you doing out here?" Jay asked, stepping onto the snow-covered porch where Jake sat curled in on himself. The night air was sharp, biting against his skin, but Jake didn't seem to notice.

Jay's eyes trailed over him—his red nose, the slight tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes were swollen and glassy.

"Were you crying?" Jay frowned, reaching out to tilt Jake's face toward him.

Jake flinched, but he didn't pull away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

"Baby, talk to me," Jay said, firmer this time.

"I—I..." Jake's voice wavered. His breath came out in a shaky cloud, visible against the cold air. "I'm sorry."

Jay's brows furrowed. "For what?"

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, as if saying it out loud would break him.

"I like her, Jay."

Jay's breath hitched at the confession, Jake had always been expressive—his love was loud, easy, all-consuming. But maybe, just maybe, Jay had never truly listened. Never truly looked. Because if he had, he would've seen this coming.

Jay let out a slow breath, steadying himself. Then, without hesitation, he cupped Jake's face, thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I know it's wrong —"

"You don't have to be sorry," Jay murmured.

Jake sniffled, confused. "But—"

Jay shook his head, cutting him off. "I like her too."

Jake stilled. His grip on Jay's jacket loosened slightly, as if he didn't believe what he just heard.

Jay exhaled, looking past Jake for a moment, toward the snow-covered street, the dim porch light casting a soft glow around them. It had taken him too long to realize it, but now that the words were out, they felt right.

"I didn't want to admit it, but I get it. I get why you feel this way."

Jake's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching. "Then why did we—" He hesitated. "Why didn't we talk about this sooner?"

Jay fell silent, because that was the problem, wasn't it?

Their entire relationship had been built on silent understandings, unspoken words, actions instead of conversations. It had always been enough—until it really wasn't.

Jay wasn't the type to talk about feelings, and Jake... well, Jake always just went with whatever Jay was willing to give.

Jay sighed, finally meeting Jake's gaze again. "Because we never really talk about things, do we?"

Jake let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking his head. "No. We really don't."

Jay reached up, threading his fingers through Jake's hair, pulling him into a slow, grounding hug. Jake melted into him instantly. For a while, neither of them spoke. The cold wind bit at their skin, the snow crunching softly beneath their feet as they shifted slightly in place. But neither moved to go inside.

"I miss her," Jake finally whispered. His voice was small, fragile in a way that Jay rarely ever heard. "Is it right to tell her how we feel?"

Jay stiffened slightly at the question, that was the real problem. It wasn't just about their feelings anymore—it was about yours too.

He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed the shift in your energy, the way you had started pulling away, the way your texts had become shorter, emptier.

Maybe you felt it too. Maybe you had been trying to fight it just as much as he had.

But unlike him, you had chosen to run.

And Jay hated that.

Because the truth was, he had spent so much of his life avoiding unnecessary complications, keeping people at arm's length to protect himself from feelings he didn't know how to deal with. Relationships were easy when they were just sex, when there were clear boundaries that everyone followed.

But you had blurred every single one of those lines.

He had spent months trying to ignore the way he felt, convincing himself that this was nothing more than what it started as — just a bit of fun. But then you wormed your way into their lives in ways he never anticipated.

It was in the way you laughed at Jake's stupid jokes, in the way you pout your lips at certain foods, in the way you always took extra time to make sure Jake was drinking enough water or that Jay wasn't skipping meals.

It was in the way you would fall asleep on their couch, curled up like you belonged there, as if you had carved a space for yourself in their world without even realizing it.

And yet, they had never said anything. They had never talked about what any of this meant, never acknowledged the growing weight of their emotions.

"I don't know," Jay admitted, "but I know I don't want to lose her."

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on Jay tightening. "Me neither."

He wasn't sure how to approach this, wasn't sure how to untangle the mess they had all made. But one thing was certain—he and Jake wanted you.

And if there was even the slightest chance that you wanted them too, Jay would figure out a way to make this work.

Poly relationships existed, didn't they?

And if that was the way to keep you, then Jay would do everything in his power to make you stay.

...

Except you were acting like a fucking bitch.

Despite all the planning, about how to approach this properly, Jake had gone ahead and done the one thing Jay told him not to do—talk to you without a plan. Without giving you time. Without preparing himself for the worst.

And now Jake was curled up in Jay's arms, shaking, trying to choke back his sobs while Jay clenched his jaw so tightly.

Jake was impatient, and you were pushing them away.

Jay's head was going to fucking explode. He didn't know how to handle this. He hated seeing Jake cry, hated the way his hands trembled as he held onto him. Hated the way you had shut them out like they didn't mean a goddamn thing to you.

Well, he knew that they meant something to you.

Jay's patience had been stretched thin for weeks now. Every time he thought he might have a chance to talk to you, you slipped away like smoke between his fingers. It was pissing him off. He could feel you pulling back, putting up walls he hadn't even realized were there. And the worst part is he had no fucking idea how to break them down.

He wasn't the kind of guy who begged. He wasn't the kind of guy who chased. But for you? For you, he was losing his goddamn mind.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay, I'll talk to her," Jay murmured, his voice steady despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. Jake sniffled, his face buried in Jay's shoulder, but his grip didn't loosen. His whole body shook, fingers digging into Jay's back.

Jay sighed, bringing a hand up to wipe Jake's wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Jake's lips trembled.

"She's not even giving us a chance."

Yeah, he fucking noticed.

And it pissed him off. Not just because you were avoiding them, not just because you were pushing Jake away—but because Jake wasn't even mad about it. He wasn't angry; he was hurt. Both of them knew you didn't mean what you had said that day. But what could they do when you refused to talk? When you were so hell-bent on running?

"...Many individuals engage in self-sabotage not because they don't want happiness, but because they fear it."

Jay blinked at the professor's voice, his jaw tightening as he focused on the lecture.

"Fear of commitment, avoidance of intimacy, and reluctance to accept positive emotions often stem from deep-seated insecurities. This can manifest as pushing people away when they get too close, fixating on imperfections to justify emotional distance, or convincing oneself that they are 'better off alone.'"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.

"To put it simply," the professor continued, leaning against his desk, "people self-sabotage when they don't believe they deserve good things. They anticipate failure or abandonment, so they preemptively destroy what could be good before it has the chance to hurt them."

Jay's head instinctively turned to where you usually sat. Your seat was empty. Of course, it was.

His fingers drummed against the desk, irritation flaring in his chest. He already knew you were avoiding them, but it was becoming worse. First, it was the silent treatment, then skipping plans, ignoring texts. Now, you were barely showing up to class. What the fuck were you thinking? Were you really about to fail a major subject just to get away from them?

Jake nudged him lightly, his eyes worried. "She's really doing this, huh?"

Jay clenched his jaw. "Fucking ridiculous," he muttered.

He didn't understand. Why were you acting like this? They had never once made you feel unwanted. Never treated you like an afterthought.

The professor moved on, but Jay wasn't listening anymore. His mind was spinning, the weight of your absence pressing heavily against him.

Prelims came and went. And still—no shadow of you.

Jay barely glanced at his exam paper as he turned it in. He had spent the past hour only half-focused, tapping his pen against the desk in frustration, mind elsewhere. He already knew his score wouldn't be his best. Not with the way you were consuming his every thought.

Outside the exam hall, Sunoo approached him hesitantly. Jay didn't miss the way he shifted awkwardly on his feet, fingers twisting together like he was debating whether to speak.

"I'm sorry," Sunoo finally said, sighing. "I hope... whatever's happening with you guys, you'll be patient with her."

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose. Yeah. He was trying to be patient, but patience was running thin when you wouldn't even look at them anymore.

Sunoo hesitated again before glancing around, making sure no one was listening. "It's not my story to tell," he admitted carefully, voice softer, "but she likes the both of you." He shook his head, lips pressing together. "She just... she's being negative."

Jay's grip tightened on his exam booklet. Of course, he fucking knew that. It wasn't just obvious—it was the only explanation that made sense. But hearing it from Sunoo, having someone else confirm it, should have made him feel better. It didn't.

Because knowing that you wanted them didn't change the fact that you were pushing them away. It didn't change the fact that you were choosing to ruin this before they even had a chance to prove to you that it could work.

Sunoo studied Jay's face, reading his silence before sighing. "She's just scared," he muttered. "That's how she is."

Jay huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I'm getting really fucking tired of watching her run."

Sunoo gave him a look, almost as if to say, then catch her.

Fine. He would. One thing was clear—this avoidance shit? It needed to end.

They had to talk. They had to communicate. Well, they had been trying. But talking to you was like grasping at smoke. Jay had tried to contact you, but it was clear you had soft-blocked them both. His messages stayed unread. Calls went straight to voicemail.

Jay had tried to find you. But every time he did, you ran. Midterms came. Jay was exhausted, irritated, and so fucking done with the distance.

And then, he saw you. Laughing like nothing had happened, like you hadn't disappeared off the face of the fucking earth. You were standing outside the library with a group of friends, flexing your nails dramatically as the others fussed over them. Jay's steps slowed. Your hair was different, it was short.

A bob cut. The sight of it made his chest tighten. It wasn't a bad thing—hell, it looked good. But it was different. You were different.

He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, but before he could close the distance, your gaze flickered up. And you saw him for a second your expression froze.

Then, before Jay could even process it, someone else entered the scene.

Some guy. That fucking guy and his girlfriend.

Jay watched as they approached you, watched as the girl kissed your cheek, Heeseung slinging an arm around your shoulder.

And you let them. You let them pull you away before Jay could even reach you. No fucking way.

"Do you think we should give up?" Jake had asked once. Jay only shook his head. No.

Communication is key—but with the way you're acting, they need a different strategy to reach you.

You don't get to run. Not anymore. Men speak in different ways they said, and if the softest way doesn't get through to you then he'll have to go rough.

"Oh my God, this is the most chaotic event ever," Sunoo complained loudly, fanning himself dramatically with his schedule sheet. "Who in their right mind thinks it's a good idea to hold university games when summer is practically melting us alive? That's actual insanity."

Sweat clung to your forehead, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. All around you, students were sprawled across the open field, desperately searching for shade or breeze.

Sunghoon turned on his small turbo fan and aimed it toward you and Sunoo. A soft hum filled the air, and you immediately leaned into the stream of cool air.

"Bless your soul," you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as the breeze hit your face.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung sat cross-legged on the grass nearby, sipping water with a serene expression, completely unbothered by the scorching sun.

"This is actually so unfair," you muttered, glancing at her in disbelief. "I look like a soggy dog, and she's out here looking like a skincare commercial."

"She's probably not human," Sunoo said flatly.

You slumped dramatically closer to the turbo fan, shoulders sagging with defeat. "Why did you even register us for dodgeball?!" you whined, voice muffled as you practically shoved your face into the breeze. "I look like I've been through five stages of grief, I don't even barely survive now that we don't do anything, then what about tomorrow."

Sunoo shrugged, unapologetic. "It's tradition. And it's the only time I get to legally throw a ball at people I don't like."

You gave him a flat look, lifting your face just enough to mutter, "That includes me, doesn't it?"

"Depends on how much more you complain," he deadpanned, eyes hidden behind his oversized sunglasses.

Sunghoon leaned slightly forward with a furrowed brow. "Hey, your mascara is kind of melting. Like... a lot."

You gasped, sitting up straight. "No! No, no, no—" You fumbled through your bag in a mild panic, fishing out your phone. The moment your reflection came into view, you groaned. "I look like a raccoon who just got dumped."

"You always say that," Wonyoung chimed in with a lazy smile, finally acknowledging the conversation as she shifted beneath her sun umbrella. "And yet somehow you still pull."

"Not in this heat I don't," you grumbled, pressing a tissue to the corner of your eye. The moment you pulled it back, it was smudged black. "Great. I look like I'm melting from the inside out."

You leaned into the mirror on your phone, trying to fix the damage but the more you dabbed and adjusted, the worse it got. The eyeliner smeared into your under-eye, and your lashes clumped at odd angles. You cursed softly under your breath, cheeks hot with both embarrassment and the unforgiving sun.

"I need to go to the bathroom," you muttered, standing quickly and brushing off the back of your shorts. "This is a mess—I need to fix this before I look like I got dumped and then thrown into a fire."

"I told you to change your mascara," Sunoo mumbled. "Waterproof isn't just a suggestion in this weather."

"I didn't think it'd get this bad!" you hissed, reaching for your bag—which, naturally, was hanging from Sunghoon's overburdened shoulder. He handed it off without complaint, arms already full of Wonyoung and Sunoo's things too.

"Where are you going?" Wonyoung asked without moving.

"To salvage my face," you said over your shoulder. "If I don't come back, assume I drowned in the sink."

You didn't wait for a reply, slipping away from the group as your shoes scuffed against the hot pavement. The chatter of students faded behind you, replaced by the distant hum of activity inside the university. The moment you entered the shaded hallway, the temperature dropped just enough for you to breathe.

Your footsteps echoed lightly as you made your way toward the restroom, the cold tile of the building cooling the soles of your feet through your sneakers. You exhaled a long, slow breath—finally out of the noise and the sun.

You pushed open the bathroom door and slipped inside, letting it close behind you with a soft click.

You dropped your bag on the counter, you pulled out your makeup, eyeing the smudged disaster on your face. Carefully, you began dabbing away the ruined mascara and eyeliner, patting concealer beneath your eyes and slowly rebuilding the illusion of composure. Your lashes clumped slightly as you reapplied your mascara, and you leaned in closer to the mirror to separate them.

You were just about finished when a voice cut through.

"Figured I'd find you here."

You jumped, nearly knocking your makeup pouch off the counter. Your head whipped toward the door—where Jay stood, leaning against the frame.

"This is the girls' restroom," you snapped, the panic slipping into your voice. The last thing you wanted was to be cornered by him. And God, of all the times, why did he have to look so fucking good in that damn denim jacket?

Jay didn't flinch. He just stared. "It's not like I haven't seen everything already," he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him with a low thud.

You scoffed, hard, grabbing your bag off the counter. "Right. And that gives you a free pass to stalk me now? Is that how it works?"

Jay's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed low. "I didn't stalk you. I came to talk. Since you're ghosting every call, and message, avoiding us, and you made Jake cry," he added, emphasizing the last part.

"Maybe because I don't want to talk," you bit out, slamming a lipstick back into your bag. "I already told your boyfriend—I'm done with the both of you. So stop. Stop being so fucking annoying."

You tried to storm past him, but his hand shot out fast, gripping your shoulder, forcing you back.

"What the hell is your problem?!" you snapped, "You think cornering me like this is gonna change anything?"

Jay's eyes darkened, his voice dropping a notch. "Yeah. Maybe it will. Since the version where I let you push us away didn't work."

"You don't get to decide how I feel," you hissed, shoving at his chest. "You don't get to show up like this just because you're pissed I won't answer you."

"And you don't get to shut down every time something doesn't go your way," he shot back. "You act like you don't care, but if that were true, you wouldn't be shaking right now."

Jay's eyes dropped to your arm, the subtle tremble giving you away. You quickly swallowed the lump rising in your throat and tucked your arm behind your back.

He raised a brow. "Can you stop being a brat for five seconds and just hear me out?"

You scoffed, biting down the sting in your chest. "I told you—I'm not interested anymore. Why are you so damn pushy?!"

"Because we fucking like you!" Jay snapped, you stiffened, the silence that followed hitting louder than his voice had. Your breath caught. His jaw clenched, and the space between you suddenly felt way too small.

Being with them isn't realistic.

Push them away.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"Wow. Great. That's your excuse?" you spat, though your voice shook just enough to betray you. "You like me, so now I'm supposed to just roll over and forget everything? Grow up, Jay. That's not how this works."

Jay stepped forward slowly. You instinctively backed up, your spine hitting the cold edge of the counter.

"You felt something too," he said, eyes fixed on you. "Don't bullshit me."

"Shut up," you shot back too fast, and too obviously defensive.

He didn't stop. His gaze locked on yours, footsteps steady. "You can act cold, pretend you're done, like we didn't get under your skin. But I know better."

You pressed harder into the counter. "You don't know shit," you hissed. "It was a mistake. A phase. Whatever the hell you thought you saw—it wasn't real."

Jay's mouth curled, smirking. "Funny. That 'phase' made you tremble like that? That mistake had you gasping my name?"

Your chest rose and fell fast, your heart thundering behind your ribs like it wanted out.

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. "You're not scared of us. You're scared of how real it felt. You're scared because it meant something—and you don't know what the hell to do with that."

"Shut up," you repeated, but your voice cracked on the edge of it this time.

Jay went still and finally, he heard it. That tiny crack in your armor, the one you didn't mean to let slip. The one he'd been waiting for.

His expression shifted, the usual smirk gone. What was left was quiet, focus and dangerous stare.

"You can keep pushing us away. Say it was fake. Say it was a lie. But you and I both know—" his voice dipped, "—it was the most real thing you've ever felt."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. If you met his eyes now, it was over, you knew it. So you stared at the floor, at the sink, at anywhere but him.

"Look at me," he said.

You didn't. So he grabbed your jaw, rough, and tilted your face toward his. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you locked eyes with him. And that was it. The moment cracked open, revealing everything you hadn't said.

His gaze bore into you, not blinking, not softening. "You gonna keep pretending this meant nothing?" he murmured, breath ghosting over your cheek. "You gonna keep walking around like you're not haunted by us every fucking night?"

You said nothing because you couldn't. Jay stepped in closer, so close the space between you vanished, the scent of his cologne hitting you hard, that familiar deep and musky. Your legs wobbled, barely holding you up, and you cursed your body for betraying you.

He leaned in, his hand still holding your face, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. "You really think you can just move on? That someone else is gonna touch you the way we did? Know you the way we do?"

His voice dropped even lower, a growl at the edge of it. "You think you're just gonna give that cunt to someone else?" His hand slid down, slow, dragging along your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. "You think it's gonna listen to them?"

Your thighs clenched on instinct. Fuck.

Jay caught the reaction—he always noticed. His lips curved just barely. "Your body doesn't lie," he said, "It remembers us. The way you moaned. The way you begged. That pussy listens when we speak. You know it. I know it."

His hand rested just above your chest now, feeling your heartbeat racing beneath it.

"You can lie all you want," he said, eyes dark and locked on you. "But your body's telling the truth."

You were frozen, pulse slamming in your throat, heat spreading beneath your skin. Jay's lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Say it didn't mean anything. Look me in the eye and say it."

A soft, broken gasp—no, worse. A moan left your mouth. You felt the slow smile curl against your skin, felt the change in the air as his grip shifted.

"There she is," he murmured. "Couldn't hold it in, could you?"

"Fuck you," you choked, breathless, humiliated, every inch of your skin lit up with heat and shame.

His hand slid from your chest to your neck again, thumb brushing your jaw as he tilted your head up. "You already did," he said. "And you fucking loved it."

His other hand slid to your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he stepped in fully, pressing his body flush against yours, pinning you between the counter and him.

"Push me away," he said, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling, eyes locked on you like a hunter cornering prey.

But you couldn't look away. His scent coiled around you, and your legs barely held you up. You felt it, the warmth blooming between your thighs, the traitorous ache soaking into your panties, and you hated how much he could still do this to you with so little.

"Push me away," Jay repeated. "Make me cry the way you fucking did to Jake."

His hand tightened around your throat suddenly. Your hands flew to his wrist on reflex, clutching him but you didn't push. You didn't even try. A squeak escaped your lips, your fingers just held him there, trembling, as the air caught in your throat and heat flared down your spine.

"Stop talking," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut, as if you could block out the sound of his voice.

But his grip on your throat only tightened. "Why?" Jay murmured, his tone taunting. "Can't take it?"

Your lips parted, breath ragged. "I—I'm s-sorry, okay? I'm sorry," you gasped.

Jay's eyes narrowed, and a sharp, mocking smile curled at his lips. "Sorry?" he echoed. "Now you're sorry?"

"No. You don't get to say sorry and pretend that fixes this," he snarled. "You lied. You ran. You made Jake cry. You threw us away —and now look at you."

"Look at yourself," he hissed. "Pathetic little whimper in your throat every time I speak."

You tried to shake your head, but he didn't let you. "No. Don't look away now," Jay growled, fingers still wrapped tight around your throat, forcing your eyes up to meet his. "You wanna play cold? Strong? Then own it. Stand tall. Push me off. Say it was all a fucking lie."

Your lips trembled. You tried. You tried to hold it in—but everything broke at once. "It's not!" you cried, voice cracking, hands shaking against his wrist. "It's not! I'm sorry!"

Your chest heaved. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to—I just—" your voice splintered into breathless pieces, eyes glassy, vision blurring, "please just—just—fuck!"

You grabbed his shirt, knuckles white.

"Touch me, please!"

The words left your mouth like a scream torn from your core, soaked in shame, in need.

"There's the truth." His grip released your throat to slide lower, hands now on your waist. Your hips met his, and the hardness pressing against your core made your breath stutter, arousal flooding you so hard your legs gave a twitch.

"You begged," he whispered, eyes never leaving yours. "Say it again."

You swallowed hard, breath catching, lips parted and trembling.

"Say it," he repeated like a command. "Say it so you remember how low you got."

You hesitated, just for a second, but the ache between your legs, the fire in your belly, the heat in your cheeks—it was too much.

"Please..." you whispered, eyes wide, voice shaking. "Touch me."

Jay tilted his head slightly, then leaned in to your ear again, mouth brushing your skin. "Louder."

You shut your eyes, biting your lip, humiliated but so fucking far gone. "Please," you gasped, louder now, every word dripping with shame, "touch me. I need it. I need you."

Jay didn't answer immediately. He let the silence hang heavy, waiting—making you sweat in it. Then he leaned closer again. "Think you deserve it?"

Your breath caught. "No..." you whispered. "N-No. I don't."

Jay smiled. "Exactly." And then, without another word, he pulled away. Just let go of you and stepped back, turning his back.

"H-Huh?" you breathed, the air suddenly cold without his touch. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the field," he said flatly. "You don't deserve shit—not after all the stupid games you played."

Panic flared so violently inside you it made your knees weak. The throbbing heat between your legs was unbearable now, your panties soaked, your stomach aching from how badly you needed release. But worse than the arousal was the cold pit of humiliation, of abandonment.

You lunged forward, clutching his wrist with both hands. "No, no—please! I'm sorry!" your voice cracked. "Please, I'm sorry, I just— I got jealous. With you and Jake, I— I like you. I like both of you, I just thought..."

You were sobbing now, tears spilling hot and fast down your cheeks. "I thought it would be better if I was out of the picture. I didn't know what to do. I miss you! I— I need you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Jay turned slowly. "And you acted like a bitch because you thought it'd be better?" he hissed. "We chased you for three fucking months."

You froze, mouth parted, lips trembling. "And what did you do?" Jay continued, voice rising. "Blocked us. Ignored us. Walked away like we were nothing. Like you didn't feel anything."

"I did," you whispered. "I did."

He stared down at you, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on your tear-soaked face and the hands still clutching his wrist

"You're going to earn your place back," he said coldly. "We're not just taking you back. You'll crawl for it. You'll beg for it."

You stood there, frozen, tears still fresh on your cheeks. Shame burned through you, and the arousal between your legs was only getting worse.

"You want me to touch you?" he asked, his voice low, mocking. "You think I'll give that to you just like that? Just because you cried a little? Because you finally admitted you fucked up?"

You shook your head slowly, lip trembling. "N-No..." you whispered.

"No?" he echoed, lips curling. "Then why are you still standing like you're in control?"

You blinked at him, confused for half a heartbeat. And then the word dropped. "Kneel."

You flinched. Your legs almost didn't respond but your body knew. Knew the command, knew his tone, knew exactly what was expected. Your knees buckled beneath you, and you sank slowly to the floor, the cold tile biting into your skin.

Jay towered over you now, looking down with nothing but cold amusement in his eyes. "Pathetic," he muttered. "You were so full of fire. So quick to run your mouth. What happened to all that attitude, huh?"

You kept your head down, cheeks flushed hot, hands trembling in your lap.

He stepped in close behind you, hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back just enough for you to gasp. "I should make you wait longer," he said, staring down into your eyes. "Should make you watch me walk away again. But then I'd miss watching you break. And I like this view too much."

Your lips parted, breath caught between a sob and a moan.

"You know what I should do?" Jay whispered. "I should call Jake. Let him see what's left of the girl who told him she was 'done.' Let him see you begging on your knees, soaked and broken. You think he'd feel sorry for you?"

You shook your head again, tears welling up all over, and yet—your thighs pressed together.

Jay smirked. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

He released your hair, let you slump forward just slightly. "You're going to stay right here," he said. "On your knees. Hands behind your back. You don't get to touch. You don't get to beg again unless I say."

"Yes..." you whispered, eyes shut, heart racing. "Yes, okay..."

You heard the soft rustle of denim—Jay pulling off his jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the counter. The metallic click of a belt followed, then the slow grind of a zipper sliding down. The sounds alone made your pulse spike.

Jay stood above you, fingers resting at his waistband. His gaze dropped down to meet yours and the look in his eyes made your stomach twist in the most helpless, humiliating way.

He shifted his stance slightly, drawing closer, one hand sliding into the front of his jeans, adjusting himself as his breath hitched low in his chest. A dark patch spread along the front of his briefs, Jay let out a low hiss through his teeth, his jaw tightening as he watched you watching him.

Jay's thumb brushed your bottom lip, dragging the soft flesh down just enough to part your mouth. With one hand, he pushed his briefs down just enough to free himself, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his cock. The head was flushed, already wet at the tip, and he slowly angled it toward your waiting mouth.

You opened for him without hesitation, lips parting wide, tongue slightly curled. You saw the flicker in his expression, by the way his breath hitched sharply, his brows twitching together.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, just before his hips surged forward. The sudden thrust made your throat constrict, a choked gasp escaping you as you adjusted, eyes watering.

Both of his hands moved to your head now, fingers splaying through your hair, rough and needy. He let his fingertips glide against your scalp at first, almost soothing, before his grip tightened. A sharp tug followed.

"Why'd you cut your hair, anyway?" he asked, breathless, but the question was half a growl, half a genuine bite of irritation. His fingers tangled in your shorter strands, clearly missing the length he used to wrap his fists in.

Tears blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks, but you didn't stop. Your throat worked hard around him, swallowing, adjusting, the wet sounds of gulp, gulp, gulp are echoing against the tile walls of the bathroom.

Your lips stayed stretched around him, tongue coiling beneath the shaft, dragging slow and deliberate from the base upward as you swallowed him again and again.

The world outside the bathroom didn't exist. You'd forgotten where you were, forgotten the echo of distant footsteps, the fact that the tiled walls weren't just enclosing heat and pleasure but public space. You were too far gone in the taste of him, in the stretch of your lips, in the burn of each breathless gasp you took through your nose.

Then—knock knock. A sharp, sudden rap on the door snapped. You flinched, instantly trying to pull back, eyes wide in panic, throat clenching around him. But Jay didn't let you go.

"Shh," he murmured. His fingers tightened in your hair, the other hand sliding to the back of your neck. Before you could react, he forced you down—all the way. His cock sank into your throat in one sharp, complete thrust, your nose pressed flat against the skin of his pelvis. The breath caught in your lungs. Your eyes watered harder. You were choking, but you stayed, frozen, as his grip held you exactly where he wanted.

The door creaked open.

"It's just me," came a soft, casual familiar voice.

You heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place behind him. A moment later, you could feel the weight of Jake's stare, as he stood there, just inside the bathroom door, watching.

Jake's tone was edged with uncertainty, but not surprise. "You said you were just gonna talk," he said as he took in the scene—your knees on the cold tile, face flushed, cheeks hollowed, and Jay buried deep in your throat.

Jay exhaled through his teeth, head tilting back slightly, his grip finally loosening just enough for you to breathe again. But he didn't pull out.

"That's her way of apologizing," Jay hissed, his hips rolled forward again with purpose, forcing another wet choke from you. "Isn't that right?"

His hand remained in your hair, holding you steady, guiding your mouth with every thrust. His other hand slipped down to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, smearing the spit that clung there like gloss.

You looked up and there was Jake.

You'd always remembered Jake as soft-spoken, the kind of boy smiled too gently. Sweet to a fault. The kind of person who would've cupped your cheek and whispered it was okay, would've helped you up and kissed the tears from your face.

But not now. Now his eyes weren't soft. They were cold, sharp and predatory.

Even through the blur of your lashes and the sting of fresh tears, you saw it: the shift. The hunger.

"You're crying," Jake said. He tilted his head, studying your face. "She's crying, Jay."

And how you remembered, too well, the way he had this thing with you crying every time he fucked you. A fascination of your tears.

"She should be," he said flatly. "After the shit she pulled? She should be sobbing." He thrust forward again, slow and deep, watching your throat stretch to take it.

Jake didn't blink. His expression didn't soften. He just knelt lower beside you, one hand resting casually on his knee as he leaned in a little closer. His eyes were fixed on your tear-streaked face, watching every twitch of your mouth, every breath you struggled to take around Jay's cock.

His cock twitched in his pants. There was a fire building in his chest stoked by the sight of you like this—on your knees, choking, tears running, all for his boyfriend. And yet... all he could think about was that moment. That time he tried talking to you, voice soft, reaching out with patience, and you'd barely looked at him. Just shrugged him off.

Maybe he'd been too kind. No—he had been too kind.

Jake didn't know exactly what he was feeling as he watched Jay drive himself deeper into your mouth, but it wasn't softness. Not anymore. A new edge in his blood he hadn't recognized before. Every time your throat clenched, every time another tear slipped down your cheek, something inside him twisted tighter.

"You're so unfair," Jake said. He stood slowly, eyes never leaving your face.

Jay reached up, hand curling around the back of Jake's neck, fingers threading into his hair. He pulled him down, and their mouths met in a slow kiss.

You whimpered around Jay's cock, your voice small and choked as your eyes followed the scene unfolding above you.

They didn't look at you. Their kiss deepened quickly, mouths open, tongues sliding together in a messy, hungry rhythm. Jay tilted his head, humming low against Jake's mouth, and Jake responded with a moan that vibrated through him—a sound that made Jay's grip on your hair tighten just slightly.

Their bodies leaned into each other, mouths devouring, heat bleeding off them like they'd forgotten you were even there. You whimpered again, louder this time, throat sore, nose running, your jaw aching, but they still didn't acknowledge you.

Then you sobbed, your body trembling as another wave of tears spilled down your cheeks. Jake pulled back from the kiss, breathless, lips slick.

"Stop being dramatic," he muttered as he looked down at you. His hand came down with no hesitation, fingers sliding into your hair alongside Jay's to push you further.

You whimpered one last time, cut off by the sudden pressure as your head was forced forward. Your nose pressed flush to Jay's skin again, throat stretched to its limit.

"Shut up," Jake said quietly. Jay hissed through his teeth, his body jerking slightly as your throat took him again, deeper now under Jake's added weight.

You gagged again, but Jake didn't flinch. He just turned his head and watched his boyfriend with a crooked smile. before leaning in to kiss him again. Their mouths met above you, hot and open, tongues sliding as if you weren't there.

You couldn't breathe.

Your throat burned, raw and stretched too wide, and your jaw felt like it was splitting apart under the unrelenting ache. Jay's pace had become erratic now, his stomach bouncing against your nose with each desperate thrust. You could feel the tightness in your chest spreading, oxygen slipping further and further out of reach.

Your lungs screamed. Your eyes streamed. But neither of them looked down.

And just when you felt his cock throb in warning, when your body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable—

Jake pulled you off.

You gasped as you were suddenly released, choking, coughing, collapsing sideways onto the cold tile floor. Your body folded, weak and trembling, chest heaving as you dragged in greedy, ragged breaths. Your lips were swollen, spit-slick and trembling, and the back of your throat felt like it had been clawed raw.

You barely had time to lift yourself onto your elbows when you saw Jake move again.

He dropped to his knees smoothly in front of Jay, his mouth opened without a word, and he took Jay in deep, his jaw relaxed. You watched through bleary, tear-streaked eyes as Jake's head began to bob, slow and sinuous, his lips wrapped around the same cock that had just brutalized your throat.

Jay groaned, one hand bracing against the counter, the other curling in Jake's hair. His hips jerked once, twice—and then he came.

Jake didn't flinch. He swallowed it all, his throat working silently, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring it. His fingers dug into Jay's hips, keeping him in place as the last tremors rolled through him.

You stayed on the floor, trembling, watching through a curtain of tears you couldn't stop.

Jake pulled back with a wet drag of his mouth, lips glossy, tongue flicking out to catch the last trace of Jay's release. He looked up at him with hooded eyes, mouth still parted slightly, breath heavy. Jay let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing Jake's hair back from his face.

Something in you twisted again. Bitter. Ugly. It crawled up your chest and sat there. You wiped your face with the back of your trembling hand, smearing the tears more than cleaning them. The other reached up shakily, trying to push your hair out of your eyes, trying to regain some kind of dignity.

But Jake didn't give you the chance. He turned to you slowly, head cocked, still licking the corner of his mouth. His gaze locked onto you, that same hunger was still in his eyes.

"You think you're done?" he asked. Jay's hand dropped from Jake's hair, and looked down on you again.

Jake stood and approached you with the lazy certainty of someone who already knew you wouldn't resist. He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours. He reached out and brushed your hair back

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak. "I-I'm sorry, Jake..." you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. "Both of you mean something to me. I just... I didn't know how to handle it. I miss you. I didn't mean to make you cry. You're precious to me, baby."

Jake stilled. For a moment, he didn't blink. His gaze searching yours. His breath hitched, just enough to give him away, his jaw tightening as his face flickered with softness. Behind you, Jay leaned back against the wall with a soft exhale, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flicked between the two of you.

Jake's hand hover near your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You leaned into it simply to feel him again. Just that brief, tender contact that used to come so easily. Your skin brushed his fingertips, and he didn't pull away.

"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. Your body trembled, shoulders shaking, the emotion too big to contain any longer.

Jake exhaled sharply, his entire demeanor going soft suddenly. "Shhh..." he finally whispered, pulling you into him.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, and he tucked his face into the side of your head. His nose pressed gently to your temple. One hand moved to your back, slowly rubbing up and down.

"You meant it?" he murmured. "All of it?"

You nodded into his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist as you clung to him. "I meant it," you whispered, breath hitching. "Every word."

Jake didn't move right away. He just held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other drawing slow, rhythmic circles against your spine. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, faster than it should've been.

For a moment, everything else faded— the ache in your throat, the sting of your tears, even Jay's quiet presence nearby. It was just Jake. Just the closeness you hadn't had in too long.

"I should be angry," Jake murmured after a pause. "But I missed you too much." He pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you. "Don't lie to me again. Don't run." he said softly.

"I won't," you whispered. "Let me fix things." The moment the answer left your lips, Jake moved, he hooked his arms beneath you, lifting you up.

You let out a small gasp as he turned, setting you down on the cold counter behind you. Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, the glass cool against your scalp as your legs instinctively parted to accommodate him stepping in between them.

He kept his eyes on yours, even as his hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers working them down. "Let's fix things, huh?" he murmured, dragging your shorts down in one motion. "You want to make things right?"

You nodded again, barely able to breathe as the air hit your wet skin.

"Then spread those pretty thighs," Jake growled under his breath. He dropped the fabric carelessly to the floor, hands sliding up your inner thighs, his eyes landed on the soaked fabric of your panties before he pushed them aside.

"Already dripping," he muttered. His fingers pressed against your folds through the soaked cotton, dragging slowly up your slit, teasing you. The friction of the fabric sent jolts through your core. He pressed a little harder, making your hips twitch in response.

Another presence pressed close—Jay. He moved in behind Jake. "You're spoiling her again," Jay said as he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

His hands slid up your body from behind, palms rough, until they found your breasts. He cupped them through your top, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they stiffened beneath the fabric. He gave a sharp little pinch that made you whine, your body jolting forward as your thighs tensed around Jake.

"I don't think she's learned her lesson though," Jay muttered, rolling your nipples between his fingers lazily.

"She looks sorry," Jake said, but his eyes were locked on your glistening cunt. "But I don't think that mouth means anything until it's begging."

Jake dropped to his knees between your legs, mouth already parting as he pressed it against your heat. He pushed the fabric aside with one hand and gave your folds a slow, deliberate lick that made your head fall back against the mirror.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, voice shaking. "I mean it—please. I'm really sorry!"

Jake didn't answer. He just groaned against your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit. The vibrations made your thighs clench around his head, but he held you in place, grip firm, unmoved by your squirming.

Jay chuckled above you. "That's one. Keep counting." He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. "You don't get to say you're sorry once and expect it's over, sweetheart."

"I am, I swear—" you gasped as Jake sucked your clit into his mouth, making your hips jerk. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jake. Jay, please—please forgive me..."

Jay's hand slid lower, fingers trailing a heated path down your trembling stomach. His hand slipped between your thighs, right above Jake's head, and his fingers found your clit in seconds, rubbing slow, tight circles in contrast to the deeper movements of Jake's tongue.

The combination made your head tilt back, a cry caught in your throat.

Jake groaned against you, the sound buzzing through your core as he pushed his tongue into your hole, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. His nose nudged against Jay's fingers as he worked in tandem.

Jay's free hand found your breast again, making your shirt up to your collarbone and exposing your skin. His fingers found your nipple in your bra, pinching it between his knuckles until your back arched involuntarily.

Jake pulled back just enough to speak. "She tastes like guilt," he muttered before dipping back in. This time, his tongue flattened against your slit, licking long and firm, each pass rougher than the last.

"I am guilty!" you cried out, voice cracking as your fingers clutched the edge of the counter. "I fucked up—I know I did, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I missed you, both of you—"

Jay didn't respond right away. His thumb rose to your throat, brushing the hollow there gently, deceptively. "You're not forgiven yet," he said calmly. "But keep begging. Maybe we'll believe you."

Jake moaned into your cunt, tongue working harder, faster, burying himself in your heat while his grip on your thighs tightened, nails biting into your flesh to keep you still.

Your body arched reflexively, head pressed hard against the mirror behind you. The cold glass was a cruel contrast to the fever building inside you, the friction between their mouths and fingers making your thoughts blur and your words tumble out in desperate, breathless gasps.

"I'm sorry—please, I'm so sorry—Jake, Jay—don't stop, please—don't leave me—I'll do anything—"

"You will do anything," Jay murmured, lips brushing your jaw as he kept one hand working your clit and the other still wrapped around your throat. "But that doesn't mean we're done punishing you."

Jake pulled back just long enough to spit on your cunt, watching it drip down before diving back in.

"Y-Yes, yes, yes..." you breathed. A few strands of your hair had fallen across your face, clinging to your flushed cheeks. Jay tsked under his breath, brushing the messy hair away with care. His fingers swept your temple, tucking the strands behind your ear to clear the view. He wanted to watch your face, every twitch, every tremble, every silent plea written across your features.

Jake's tongue flicked over your clit again, followed by a slow, deep press inside. Your thighs shook against his shoulders, toes curling over the edge of the counter.

"You don't even know which one of us you're moaning for, do you?" Jay whispered.

"I c-can't—" you whimpered, breath stuttering. "I'm sorry—Jake, Jay—I'm sorry, I swear—please..."

Jake growled softly between your legs, like your apology alone made him want more. He shifted his angle, tongue plunging deep as his nose rubbed against your clit, creating friction that made your spine arch and your head knock back into the mirror again with a dull thud.

Jay caught your head this time, hand sliding behind your skull, fingers threading through your hair.

"You'll come like this," Jay murmured, his lips brushing yours without closing the distance. "On his tongue, with my hand around your throat, and every breath you take will be ours."

"Jake—fuck!—Jay—I'm—" You choked on your own voice, the climax coiling inside you about to snap.

Jake didn't slow. His tongue moved in steady, ruthless strokes. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored, legs trembling under the weight of everything he was drawing from you.

Jay's hand remained firm around your throat, not choking but holding. His thumb pressed lightly just beneath your jaw, grounding you as the rest of your body lost control. His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every flicker of surrender build in your face.

"Look at me," he ordered softly. "Don't look away."

You tried—God, you tried—but your vision blurred with tears and white-hot pleasure, your eyes fluttering, lashes damp as you clung to consciousness. "I—can't—" you gasped, every breath shallow, high-pitched.

Jay leaned in, brushing his mouth against yours without kissing you. "You can," he whispered. "You will."

Jake's mouth locked around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast, perfectly cruel. One hand slid beneath your ass, lifting you just enough to change the angle, and the pressure hit exactly where you needed it. The world around you fractured.

Your entire body arched.

A scream tore from your throat as Jay's hand held your windpipe and Jake's tongue forced you over the edge. Your vision went white behind your eyelids, every nerve in your body seizing with the violence of your orgasm. Your thighs clamped around Jake's head involuntarily, hips grinding into his mouth.

"There it is," Jay growled, watching the climax crash through you. "Fuck, that's it. That's what sorry looks like."

You sobbed, mouth open and shaking as aftershocks rolled through you, making your legs twitch, your fingers slip on the counter's edge.

Jake didn't stop right away. He licked you through it, each drag of his tongue coaxing every last tremor from your core. Only when your body jerked from overstimulation did he finally pull away, mouth slick, chin wet, his breath ragged.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough as he looked up at you from between your legs. "Still the sweetest fucking thing I've ever tasted."

Jay eased his grip on your throat and let your head fall forward against his shoulder. You collapsed into the space between them, boneless, panting, your body trembling and used, your voice lost somewhere.

Jake rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached for his waistband. He was flushed, breath ragged, hands already moving to undo his pants. You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide, still dazed as you looked up at Jay. "A-Are we really doing this? In here?"

Jay arched a brow. "Jake just had his mouth buried in your pussy," he said smoothly. "Don't start playing modest now. Don't be selfish."

Jake let out a sharp breath as he freed himself, hissing softly as his hand wrapped around his cock.

Your breathing hitched when he stepped in closer. He lined himself up with you, the swollen head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding up through your folds, collecting the wetness there before grinding it against your clit.

You whimpered at the friction. "My back hurts..." you managed to stammer out. "It's... it's uncomfortable."

Jake didn't even flinch, he pushed in his whole length into you in one motion. You both moaned at the feeling.

"We'll make it comfortable." Jake growled, breath hot against your cheek as he gripped your waist.

Without warning, he lifted you off the counter, his hands strong under your thighs. You let out a startled gasp, your legs instinctively locking around his hips as he held you up with ease. His cock stayed buried inside you as he adjusted his grip, settling you in against him.

"Ahh—Jake!" you cried out as he began to move, bouncing you on his cock. Every thrust drove him deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing sharp against the cold tile walls. Jay moved without a word. He slipped in behind you, one hand found your hip, steadying you as your body jolted from Jake's pounding pace, while the other reached up, sliding to seize your breast.

"God, fuck—" Jake groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your damp skin before he started kissing and biting, not caring about the sweat.

Jay's mouth found your shoulder first, then your throat, trailing wet kisses up your jaw until he reached your lips. Your head lolled back against him, mouth already open, and he took full advantage—tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing the moans Jake was forcing from your chest.

You whimpered into Jay's mouth, his cock grinding against your lower back, the friction syncing with every bounce of your hips. Your body moved helplessly between them, each movement rubbing him against you, closer... lower...

"You're so fucking wet," Jake growled against your throat. "I can feel it all over me." He thrust harder, teeth grazing your shoulder as he panted.

Jay broke the kiss with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, tugging until you gasped. "I think we'll fit," he said, voice low, eyes flicking down to where your bodies met. "Don't you think?"

Your heart lurched.

Your eyes widened as you felt Jake adjust his stance, your weight shifting in his arms. Your body tensed immediately, the pressure at your core tightening to near-panic. "Wait! W-Wait—!" you stammered, breath catching in your throat.

Jay was already positioning himself, one hand on your lower back, the other on Jake's hip for balance as he leaned in. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before you felt it—his cockhead, thick and hard, pressing lower just beneath where Jake was already buried inside you.

The angle was careful. Slick with your arousal and the lingering wetness of Jake's earlier mouthwork, Jay began to push slow his shaft grinding against Jake's through the tight squeeze of your entrance, the pressure unbearable even before he was fully inside.

Jake slowed immediately, holding you tighter in his arms, breath ragged against your cheek. His voice was low, firm, grounding.

"Relax for him. Breathe. You can take it."

But your body was shaking, the stretch is too intense, and too foreign.

"Fuck! I can't—" The words tore from your throat, panic bleeding into your tone—cut off almost instantly when Jake surged forward and kissed you. His mouth swallowed your cry as Jay began to sink in, splitting you further, claiming space that wasn't there.

Your entire body tensed, clutching, pulsing, your walls clamping down instinctively on both cocks as they shifted inside you, working together to make room.

Both men moaned low in your ears. "Shit," Jake gasped into your mouth, breaking the kiss just to breathe. "Fuck, she's tight—Jay—go slow."

Jay's groan was more guttural, his lips brushing your shoulder. "I am—she's gripping us like she's trying to push us out."

You whimpered as your body was forced to take it—all of it. The thick drag of Jay's cock sliding in alongside Jake's, every inch of your walls stretched to their absolute limit, friction pressing between them, heat building inside you so violently it made your toes curl.

Their hips pressed in unison, the base of their cocks grinding together deep inside you, buried to the hilt. You could feel them inside each other through you, the shared space, the impossible pressure, the slow pulse of them twitching inside your cunt, both thick and deep and so full it.

Jay hissed, forehead pressed to your back. Your mouth hung open, panting. All you could do was hold on—legs locked around Jake's waist, arms limp around his shoulders, your body trembling violently between them.

You couldn't tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

Jake's head dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel him," he whispered. "Fuck, I can feel him moving through you."

Jay's hand shifted from your hip to Jake's jaw, guiding his face upward. Their bodies pressed so close, only you between them, joined not just through you, but with you.

Jay leaned in, lips met Jake's, tongues brushing, mouths sliding together as their hips shifted slightly, still buried inside you. Their kiss deepened quickly, tongues pressing hard, teeth grazing. Jake groaned into it, when he pulled back from Jay only to kiss you next.

His lips claimed yours fast, almost needy—salt and sweat and desperation—and Jay didn't wait. He was already kissing along your neck, up behind your ear, while his hand slid between you to stroke your clit with slow circles.

The shift in pace was dizzying. They weren't pounding into you. Not yet. They were just holding you. Deep, warm, kissing, mouths trading between you and each other.

Jake finally broke the kiss, forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, "You feel like heaven right now."

Jay's mouth brushed your shoulder again. "She's shaking. Poor thing's too full to even speak."

Your fingers digging into Jake's shoulders, back arching slowly. The pressure of them both still lodged inside you kept your body humming with tension.

Jay kissed the side of Jake's mouth again before murmuring, "Move with me, baby."

Jake nodded once. They shifted. And then, slowly, carefully, they began to move.

One would pull back while the other pressed in, your body stretching and clenching around the rhythm. It was slower than before, more controlled, but no less overwhelming. The glide of two thick cocks inside you, perfectly in sync, had your body twitching, tears pricking your lashes again.

Their mouths kept moving, on your throat, on each other, across flushed skin and slick shoulders. They didn't speak much, just low moans, shuddered breaths, the soft slap of bodies finding rhythm again. Jay's hand never left your clit. Jake's arms held you close.

"Stay with us," Jake whispered into your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Don't run next time," Jay added, his voice deep in your ear. "We just want to keep you." And their cocks kept moving, slow and deep and together, keeping you open, full, and exactly where you belonged.

Jake shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his stance, the grip on your thighs tightening as he found more control in his movement. The slow rhythm gave way to more deeper, and faster, his hips slapping up with wet, rhythmic sounds that bounced off the walls.

The moans pouring from you grew louder. You were unraveling again, overstimulated, but your legs refused to stop twitching, clinging around Jake's waist as your hands clawed at anything for purchase—his shoulders, Jay's neck, the edge of the mirror behind you.

A sudden sound echoing outside, footstep and people murmuring as they pass by. Panic stabbed into your chest. You froze for a moment, instinct flaring, shame bubbling up behind your ribs. The reality of where you were hit hard—legs wrapped around one man, another flush to your back, both of them inside you, fucking you, right there in the university bathroom.

But the pleasure didn't stop. You twitched, thighs squeezing reflexively, a cry caught in your throat. "Someone's—"

Jay's hand came up instantly, cupping the side of your face as he leaned in, swallowing your next sound with a kiss. His mouth sealed over yours just as Jake drove up harder, his thrust knocking the breath from your lungs, forcing the moan straight into Jay's waiting tongue.

"Let them hear," Jake hissed, voice rough against your skin, his pace unrelenting now. "Let them wonder who's making you sound like that."

The footsteps outside faded, but your heartbeat didn't slow. It thundered in your chest, driven by both fear and the savage pleasure coursing through your nerves.

Jay broke the kiss with a strand of spit between your lips, eyes half-lidded, and flushed. "You're squeezing us like you want to get caught," he murmured, fingers slipping between your bodies to rub your clit again, drawing a fresh, keening whimper from your throat.

Every drag of their shafts against each other inside your overstretched cunt sent aftershocks through your core, your body trembling violently with each grind and press. The feeling of them rubbing together inside you, separated only by the thin, spasming walls of your body, wasn't just overwhelming—it was ruinous.

"F-Fuck," Jake choked, hips jolting up hard. The impact of his thrust slammed you forward into Jay's chest, your breath ripped from you as your body tried—and failed—to brace for the intensity.

Jay grunted, catching your body easily, his hand fisting your hair as he held you in place. His cock surged deeper alongside Jake's, the slick sound of their movements inside you impossibly loud in the quiet space.

"Can't hold it," Jake panted, sweat dripping from his temple, breath stuttering. "She's—she's so tight I can feel you through her—fuck, Jay—"

Jay growled, his own control shattering with every convulsion of your clenching walls. You could barely think anymore—your mouth hung open, no words left, only broken gasps and sobs as your body tightened around them again. The pressure had built too fast. It rolled up from your core, cresting so high you couldn't breathe.

Your orgasm hit hard. It exploded through your abdomen, a pulsing, electric burst of heat that seized every muscle. You screamed, not even a word, just sound—your voice breaking as your cunt clenched violently around them, walls spasming uncontrollably.

"Fuck—" Jake snarled, the rhythm of his hips shattering.

He slammed in once more, his cock jerking violently inside you as he came with a rough moan, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt. You felt every spurt, thick and hot and deep, and the sensation of being filled only sent another shiver of pleasure rolling through your already-fractured nerves.

Jay wasn't far behind. Your body's violent squeezing around both cocks at once pushed him over the edge—his thrusts turned erratic, hard, his breath tearing through his chest.

"Gonna fill you up," he groaned against your throat, voice ragged, hips pressing as deep as they could go. "You're gonna take all of it."

Then he came. You felt the way his cock throbbed next to Jake's inside you, the rush of hot fluid spilling in, mixing with Jake's release, both of them pouring into the same aching space. Their hips jerked in sync, involuntary tremors shaking them as your body held them tight, refusing to let go.

Your own climax still burned through you, wave after wave wracking your limbs, your nails digging into Jake's shoulders as your vision blurred.

You were just there, caught between their shaking bodies. They didn't pull out. They stayed inside you, panting, foreheads pressed to your skin, arms wrapped tight around your waist. The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, the soft whisper of sweat-slicked skin, the occasional stuttered groan as aftershocks rolled through all three of you.

Jake leaned his forehead against yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're so beautiful."

Jay's hand came up to stroke your side. "No more running, okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke. "We're going to talk this time. Really talk."

You tried to nod, but your head only shifted slightly. A soft, low hum escaped your throat as your vision swam and your body slumped against Jake's chest. Everything ached. You weren't sure if your legs were still attached, or if you'd ever feel your core without that deep, burning throb again.

It had been so long since you'd let yourself be used like that... and even longer since it had ever felt like this. Safe. Claimed. Held.

Jake was the first to move, easing himself out of you. You whimpered faintly at the loss, but even that sound felt distant in your own ears.

"Hey," he whispered, fingertips brushing your cheek. He tapped gently, calling your name. "Hey, come back to me, baby."

But you couldn't answer. Your eyes were half-open, glazed with exhaustion. Your body limp between them. There was no strength left in your limbs just the slow throb of overstimulation and the deep, quiet ache that said you'd been pushed right to the edge of yourself.

Jake's expression changed instantly. "Shit—she's out of it," he muttered, voice sharp with guilt.

Jay's brows furrowed. "She's overwhelmed. Fuck."

Together, they moved quickly, shifting their grips. Jake bent to retrieve his pants, tugging them up with one arm while the other held you carefully to his chest. Your body sagged against him, boneless but trusting, your cheek pressed to the slick skin of his shoulder. "I've got her," Jake said quietly.

Jay adjusted himself quickly, stepping in to help. His hands cupped your thighs, his gaze scanning your face. "We need to get her cleaned up. Somewhere soft."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his hand smoothing the back of your hair.

You couldn't speak—not really. You were too far gone, too worn down in the sweetest, most bone-deep way.

But you felt them. You felt the tissue as they wiped between your legs, cleaning their combined mess from your trembling thighs. Another passed over your face, cool and damp, brushing away the sticky sheen of sweat and the tears you didn't remember shedding. Fingers were tender as they tucked your hair back, smoothing it down, and you sighed softly into the sensation.

Jake carried you effortlessly, holding you to his chest. You felt Jay beside you, one hand steadying your legs as they moved together. Their voices were hushed now, murmurs exchanged just beyond your hearing, their steps soft against the tile.

When the door opened, the shift in air hit instantly—cool and dry from the hallway's air conditioning, raising goosebumps across your flushed skin.

You managed one last, drowsy breath as the cool air washed over you. Then your eyelids dropped.

You stirred slowly, the first thing you felt was warmth. A soft bed cradled your body, the sheets cool against your bare skin, but it was the sensation wrapped around your waist that anchored you. The scent pressing against your back was just as recognizable—clean sweat, faint cologne, and something uniquely him.

You blinked slowly, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks before you opened your eyes fully.

Your head was nestled into the crook of someone’s neck. His skin was warm beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your ear. You shifted slightly, body still sore and heavy, and looked up.

Jake was watching you, eyes soft. He rubbed slow circles against your side with the pad of his thumb, his other hand still resting gently across your waist, holding you close.

“Hi,” he whispered.

You managed a small, sleepy smile. “Hi. How long was I out?” you asked, blinking again to clear the haze still lingering behind your eyes.

Jake exhaled through his nose, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “About an hour,” he murmured.

Your brows knit faintly, and he brushed a thumb along your temple. “Don’t worry,” he added with a soft smile. “We covered for you. Told them you fainted because of the heat—overexerted, nothing serious.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry in your throat. “Technically not a lie…”

Jake’s grin widened just slightly, a playful glint flickering behind the softness in his eyes. “Mm. They don’t need the exact details.”

You gave a breath of a laugh, but it faded quickly as your gaze lingered on his face—the gentle curve of his smile, the creases near his eyes, the way he was watching you so closely.

“Jake…” your voice came out small.

He stilled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your side. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, the flood of everything you’d been trying to suppress surged up your throat. You swallowed it down once, then let it rise.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For avoiding you. For running off. For shutting down instead of just…” You trailed off, sighing as your brows pulled together. “I was scared.”

Jake’s lips parted slightly, his grip on you tightening for a moment before he pulled you in closer, pressing your cheek against his chest. You felt the beat of his heart against your skin.

“I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling,” you continued. "I started… caring. And that made everything messy. Because you and Jay—you’re already whole. You don’t need someone like me getting in the middle of that.”

Jake was silent, listening, his hand still tracing soft patterns into your skin.

“And I kept thinking…” You swallowed hard. “If I let myself fall deeper, I’ll only be the one who ends up hurt. Like I’d ruin what you both already have. That I didn’t deserve it, any of it.”

He finally spoke, his voice low. “Why didn’t you just tell us that?”

“I didn’t know how,” you admitted. “And then when I saw the two of you together, being so perfect—it made me realize how small my place in this is. Or… was.”

Jake shook his head, exhaling as he tilted your face up gently with his fingers. “You think we’re perfect?” he said, a sad sort of smile curling at the corners of his lips. “We’re not. We’ve made mistakes. We didn’t talk about a lot of things. But one thing we were sure of?” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone. “We both want you.”

Jake's thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. His breath was warm as he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing briefly. “I’m sorry we didn’t make it clearer,” he whispered. “We thought we were showing you—through touch, through time, through every little thing we did. But we never said it. And maybe that’s where we messed up.”

You blinked back the heat behind your eyes, your throat tightening. Jake’s fingers brushed under your jaw, coaxing you to look at him again.

“We want you,” he said, “In every way. Not just in our bed. Not just when it’s convenient. We want you in our life. You’ve already made space in it—you didn’t ruin anything.”

You let out a shaky breath, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your face into the crook of his neck again, seeking warmth, shelter, reassurance. His arms wrapped tighter around you.

“And Jay?” you asked quietly, voice muffled against his skin.

Jake chuckled softly, the sound a little choked. “Jay’s downstairs trying to pretend he’s not pacing. He’s been wanting to talk to you too. But I asked him to give me this moment first.” He pulled back just enough to brush your hair from your face. “You mean more to him than you think.”

The soft knock came, Jake didn’t move right away, just held your gaze, giving you a choice without saying a word. When you gave the smallest nod, he leaned over and called out gently, “It’s okay. Come in.”

The door cracked open, and Jay stepped inside. His eyes immediately found yours, and the moment they did, the edge in his posture melted. He wasn’t guarded like he usually was.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, stepping closer.

Jake shifted slightly to make space on the bed, and Jay took it without question. He sat on the edge first, then leaned in beside you, bracing one hand on the mattress near your hip.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Sore,” you said, voice raspy with sleep. “Like I got hit by a very… affectionate truck.”

That pulled a laugh from both of them. Jake’s body vibrated behind you with the sound, and Jay let out a quiet chuckle as he rubbed a hand gently over your knee, his thumb brushing just above where the blanket had slipped.

“Sorry,” Jay murmured, though the smirk was playing at his mouth now. “Not sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him when he bent down and pressed a kiss to your temple. His lips lingered there for a beat longer than expected. When he pulled back, he looked more serious.

“No more running,” he said quietly, “I’m not great with… talking. Feelings. All that shit.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down briefly before returning to yours. “But I want this. I want you."

Jake let out a quiet huff behind you, shifting closer as he nuzzled the back of your shoulder. “He’s always like that,” he whispered, “I was the one who confessed first. Initiated the first kiss. First sex.”

Jay’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You asshole,” he muttered.

“You blushed when I touched your wrist,” Jake added, grinning now.

“I was cold,” Jay shot back. You laughed then soft, but real—and both of them stilled like they’d been waiting for the sound. Jake’s smile softened, and Jay, still glaring at his boyfriend.

Jake grinned wider. “He literally couldn’t make eye contact for twenty-four hours after we slept together the first time.”

“I hate you,” Jay muttered, but he was already reaching for you again, hand slipping beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, drawing you back toward him as he curled in behind.

“You don’t,” Jake replied, smirking as he met your gaze. “He just never knows how to say the nice shit.”

“I will push you off this bed,” Jay warned to keep Jake from opening his mouth again. “Then we’ll fall together,” Jake countered smoothly, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist.

You sank into their warmth, nestled between their bodies. You turned your face slightly, resting your cheek against Jay’s collarbone while one of your hands found Jake’s under the blanket.

For a long, comforting moment, no one spoke. Then, quietly, Jay’s voice rumbled near your ear. “Were we too rough earlier?”

You shook your head without hesitation, cheek still pressed to his collarbone. “No. I needed it,” you murmured, honest and calm. “It pushed me out of my head. That’s what I needed.”

Jake’s hand tightened slightly around yours, and he smiled softly. “So… are we okay now?”

You turned your head toward him, lips curving with amusement. “That depends,” you said. “Was that makeup sex?”

Jake raised a brow, mouth twitching. “Wait—that wasn’t?”

Jay snorted behind you. “If that was just a warm-up, I’m scared to know what the actual makeup sex is supposed to look like.”

You laughed, low and a little breathless, the sound making both of them smile wider.

“I guess we’ll have to do it again,” Jake said, voice dropping just enough to make the tease linger. “Y’know. For clarity.”

It didn’t take long. Clothes were shed, tossed carelessly across the floor—shirts half-inside out, underwear tangled near the foot of the bed. You were on your back with Jake above you, his mouth on yours, his tongue moving with a tenderness that made your body ache all over again.

Then Jay moved. You barely had time to gasp before his hand curled into Jake’s hair, tugging sharply. Jake groaned into your mouth, the kiss breaking as Jay pulled him back.

“Not so fast,” Jay said, “You had your turn.”

He dragged Jake down the length of the bed, making him twist and arch, until Jake’s head was between your thighs, his back curved beautifully under Jay’s grip. Jake didn’t resist—he melted into the position, groaning as he inhaled the scent of you, mouth finding your cunt.

You gasped, your legs parting without thought. The sting from earlier still lingered, but it was chased by the familiar, glorious heat of Jake’s mouth. He licked into you slowly at first, tongue stroking over your clit.

Your back arched as he moaned against your folds, his face buried deeper. “F-fuck, Jake—” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, hips twitching against his face.

Jay watched from behind him, one hand stroking down Jake’s spine, the other trailing lower. You didn’t see the moment he slipped his fingers between Jake’s cheeks, but you felt the way Jake moaned louder against your cunt, hips jerking slightly as Jay began working him open.

“Want to see you fuck him,” you breathed, voice cracked with need. “Please. I want to watch.”

Jake whimpered into your pussy, tongue fucking you deeper in response. Jay’s eyes lifted to yours. His fingers were slowly pushing into Jake. “She wants a show,” he said, leaning in to kiss Jake’s neck. “You gonna be good for her?”

Jake moaned again, his voice muffled by your cunt, and you tightened your grip in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp.

Jay’s hand slid away briefly, and you heard the soft click of the drawer beside the bed opening. A moment later, the quiet sound of a bottle opening filled the space. Cool lube met skin, and Jay didn’t hesitate—he returned to Jake’s body with a steady hand, working the slick between his cheeks.

Jake whimpered again, body shuddering beneath both of you. Jay kept stretching him, fingers moving in slow, deep circles, curling and scissoring in a rhythm that made Jake pant harder against your pussy. His mouth never stopped licking, sucking, groaning into your folds with more desperation the more he was opened up.

You looked down and nearly lost your breath at the sight: Jake’s flushed face buried between your legs, his lips wet and glistening, while Jay knelt behind him, eyes dark, and focused as his fingers slick, sliding in and out of Jake’s ass with increasing ease.

Jake was trembling now, his thighs twitched against the sheets, and you could hear the breathless hitch in his throat each time Jay’s fingers pressed just right inside him.

“She’s gonna see how good you take it." Jake moaned hard against your clit, and you cried out—your hips bucking into his face. He didn’t stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, tongue working you open.

Jay leaned forward, pressing a kiss between Jake’s shoulder blades. “You ready for me, sweetheart?”

Jake’s reply was only a ragged whine, and it made your pulse spike.

“Please,” you said softly, the only voice in the room not breaking. Jay’s eyes flicked to yours, gaze locking for one searing moment. Then he leaned forward, hand steady on Jake’s lower back, and began to push in.

Jake let out a strangled groan against your cunt, his tongue faltering for a heartbeat before diving back in with renewed force. Your legs tightened around his head, your hips rising helplessly into his mouth.

“Good boy,” Jay breathed, voice thick as he slid deeper. “Keep eating her.”

Jake moaned again, the vibration pulsing through your clit as Jay’s cock pressed deeper inside him. You could feel Jake struggling to hold rhythm, overwhelmed by the dual sensations—his mouth locked to your cunt while Jay slowly filled him from behind.

Jake’s fingers were clutching your hips, knuckles pale, his lips slick with your arousal as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again—desperate, hungry, obedient. Behind him, Jay moved with a slow, grinding pace, hips rolling forward, burying himself inch by inch into Jake’s tight, slicked hole.

“Shit,” Jay groaned, head dropping for a second as his hands gripped Jake’s waist.

Jake whined against you, hips pushing back to meet Jay’s thrusts even as his mouth stayed locked on you, his tongue circling your clit in dizzying spirals. You could feel him moaning again and again.

Your hand threaded deeper into Jake’s hair, pulling tight, guiding his mouth where you needed him as your hips rolled shamelessly against his face. His moans were frantic now, high-pitched, especially when Jay snapped his hips forward harder—burying himself to the hilt.

His tongue was relentless, and the pressure was building again in your core, fast and burning, pulled taut by every flick of his mouth, every grind of Jay’s cock rocking through him from behind.

You were right on the edge—suspended between pleasure and the raw thrill of watching them together.

Jay’s rhythm grew rougher, his groans more ragged. One hand slipped from Jake’s hip to curl around his waist, holding him in place, deepening every thrust. The wet slap of skin filled the room, matched by the obscene, eager sounds of Jake’s mouth on your cunt.

Your back arched. Your breath hitched. “I’m—fuck—Jake!” you cried, your orgasm tearing through you.

Jake moaned loud and deep into you as you came, your body spasming under his tongue, your legs clamping around his head as your hands tangled tight in his hair. You rode it out on his mouth, grinding into him, the pressure of Jay’s thrusts making Jake groan right through your high, pushing you even further.

Your body melted into the sheets, chest heaving, but your eyes stayed locked on the scene unraveling in front of you.

Jay didn’t relent. He adjusted his grip, arms slipping under Jake’s chest to haul him higher, fucking into him harder from behind with a pace that was nothing short of brutal. His skin slapped against Jake’s ass with wet, relentless rhythm, and Jake took it beautifully—his moans muffled, body twitching with every deep thrust.

You watched them, your lips parted, breath shallow. Both their faces were flushed and wild, lost in each other. And instead of jealousy, the sight only fed the fire already burning in your gut. The ache that never really went away around them now pulsed hotter, deeper.

Jake’s voice broke as he moaned loud enough to echo through the room. “Jay, baby—oh fuck!”

Jay reached up, tangled a fist in Jake’s hair, and yanked him back just enough to crush their mouths together. The kiss was messy, desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding, both of them breathing into each other’s mouths.

The noise of it made you whine. You couldn’t stay still. You crawled forward on shaky limbs, eyes locked on Jake’s cock, thick and flushed and bouncing wildly with every one of Jay’s thrusts.

Your hand wrapped around it in one slow, sure stroke, and Jake shouted into Jay’s mouth. Jay pulled back just slightly, his eyes flicking down to see your hand wrapped tightly around Jake’s length, pumping him in time with the rhythm of their bodies.

Jake’s head fell back, hips jerking forward into your touch, his stomach tight and trembling. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, then a broken moan when you dragged your thumb over his leaking tip, smearing the precum down his shaft.

“Fuck,” he choked, voice shaking. “That—God, that feels so good.”

Jay groaned behind him, his rhythm stuttering just for a second at the sight in front of him. His gaze dropped to where your fingers wrapped around Jake’s cock—your nails catching the light, long and perfectly shaped, moving over him in steady, merciless pumps.

He hissed through his teeth, fucking into Jake harder. Jake moaned again, louder this time, his whole body pushing back into Jay while thrusting forward into your hand. His eyes fluttered open, hazy and wild as they met yours, lips parted.

Jay’s voice cut. “Lay down, baby.”

You blinked, heart pounding. You released Jake’s cock with one last stroke, watching his hips twitch at the loss, and moved backward on the bed without a word. You lay back across the pillows, your legs parting instinctively as you settled into the space, your body already pulsing in anticipation.

Jay pulled out of Jake with a slick, wet sound, his hand curling around Jake’s hip to steady him. “Come on,” he said, gaze flicking to Jake, then to you. “Enter that pussy and ride my dick.”

Jake didn’t wait. He crawled over you immediately, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, and with one fluid motion, he lined himself up and sank into you.

You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the stretch hit you hard all over again. Your walls were still sensitive, still twitching from your last orgasm, and now he was filling you again.

Behind him, Jay didn’t waste time. He adjusted, positioned himself, and with one slow, deliberate push, slid back into Jake’s ass.

"Ahhh!" Jake’s whole body jolted. A strangled sound caught in his throat, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that was sloppy, all tongue and open breath. His hips began to move almost immediately, short shallow thrusts between your legs while Jay drove into him from behind.

“F-fuck,” Jake moaned into your mouth, pulling back only to drop his lips to your throat. He bit down hard—just enough to make you cry out—then dragged his mouth lower, tongue hot on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way down to your collarbone.

Your fingers clutched at his back, and every time he thrust forward into you, it was followed by the shock of Jay’s cock driving him forward again—his motion caught between both your bodies.

Jake was trembling, moaning louder than ever, his rhythm completely overtaken by Jay’s pace. Every thrust from behind forced him deeper into you, the sensation nearly too much. His moans spilled against your throat, turning into helpless gasps as his cock slid in and out of your soaked cunt.

His voice broke in short, frantic cries. “Jay! Jay—please, baby, oh God—”

His mouth returned to your neck, teeth scraping the skin before he latched on, biting down with desperate force. The sharp sting drew a gasp from you, the pain blooming into pleasure just as Jake’s hips jolted forward again, burying himself to the base.

He held there for a moment—frozen, panting, his breath hot against your skin. His back was slick with sweat beneath your palms, muscles twitching under your touch.

Then he pulled back, just enough for you to see his face. His lips parted, breath shaky and shallow. His eyes were unfocused, lashes wet, the flush across his cheeks deep and burning. He looked wrecked, and completely beautiful—mouth closed now.

You clenched around him involuntarily. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “So fucked-out.”

Your hips rose instinctively, pushing up into him, your body begging for more, for all of it.

Jake let out a shuddering groan. He rolled his hips again, slow and deep, and the way you took him made him press his forehead to yours.

Behind him, Jay didn’t slow. He was pounding into him with brutal control, groaning with every thrust, his grip locked tight around Jake’s hips to keep him in place. You could feel each stroke reverberate through Jake's body, transferring into yours.

“F-Feels so good—ahh, fuck—feel so good!” Jake cried out, voice cracking, mouth open in a moan that bordered on a sob.

You reached up with a shaky hand, brushing the damp strands of hair from his face, your thumb stroking gently along his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

Your body clenched again, the pressure cresting high, unbearable and exquisite.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet his every desperate thrust. “Jake—cum with me, please—ahh—now!”

Jake’s breath hitched, his hips faltered before he slammed into you one final time, burying himself deep. His entire body seized, a loud, gasping moan torn from his chest as he came hard, cock pulsing inside you with wave after wave of heat.

You fell with him, your orgasm ripped through you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your cunt clenched around him, milking every drop of his release. Your cry echoed into his mouth as he kissed you again.

“Fuck—both of you are so hot—God—”

Jay’s pace grew rougher, deeper, his restraint unraveling with every breathless sound spilling from Jake’s lips, every clench of your cunt around Jake’s cock. He watched you both, panting, his hands gripping Jake’s hips so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

“Fucking hell,” Jay growled. Jake moaned again, overstimulated and soft, his forehead still resting against yours as Jay buried himself one last time with a low groan,

You felt it in Jake’s shudder, the way his breath stilled as Jay’s cock throbbed deep inside him. The sound Jay made as he emptied himself, his body pressing tight to Jake’s back.

Jay was the first to exhale, his lips ghosting over the back of Jake’s neck as he slowly eased out. Jake let out a soft whimper, his body twitching from the sensitivity, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, one hand sliding over his spine.

Jake collapsed onto you gently, his full weight cushioned by your body, his cheek pressed to your shoulder as he panted, still flushed and wet with heat. You stroked his hair, letting your fingers card slowly through the damp strands.

Jay shifted beside you, climbing up the bed on unsteady arms before dropping down on your other side. His chest was heaving, he wrapped one arm around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach, fingers brushing softly against your skin.

Jake tilted his face up to look at you. “You okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded, stroking his cheek. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Better than okay.”

Jake gave a breathless laugh, burying his face briefly into the crook of your neck. “Fuck,” he groaned, still catching his breath. “That was the most delicious orgasm I’ve ever had."

You chuckled, breath hitching a little as you threaded your fingers into his hair again.

Jay leaned in from your other side, his body pressing close, his mouth trailing a soft kiss along your shoulder before brushing Jake’s temple. His arm wrapped around the both of you, pulling you tighter into the warmth of him. Your legs tangled instinctively, bodies nestled under the sheets that now clung to the lingering heat of sex and skin.

None of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching comfortably between heartbeats and shallow breaths.

Then you glanced between them, your voice still breathless. “So…” you murmured, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Does this mean I have two boyfriends now?”

Jake’s head popped up slightly, a crooked grin forming. “Only if you’re okay being heavily spoiled and never allowed to escape.”

Jay made a quiet sound of amusement beside you, his thumb brushing a lazy line along your hip. “We’re clingy,” he said, voice low, eyes half-lidded but sincere. “Terrible at sharing. Lucky for us, we just want the same person.”

You laughed, letting yourself melt back into the weight of them, your body still pulsing with quiet aftershocks and warmth. “I think I can live with that,” you said softly, eyes fluttering closed as their hands continued to drift gently over your skin.

And then you suddenly remember something. Your eyes snapped open as panic surged through your chest.

“Shit—Sunoo!”

You shot up so fast that the blanket fell off your chest and Jake practically flinched, startled, his sleepy post-orgasm daze completely shattered. Jay blinked at you from behind, frowning in confusion. Then he realizes what you meant.

“Sunoo!!!”

Jake’s voice echoed across the grassy field the next day, dramatically over-the-top as he broke into a slow-motion sprint—arms wide, expression exaggerated with mock desperation.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, trailing behind him with your fingers laced through Jay’s. Sunoo, on the other hand, stood perfectly still ahead, arms crossed, expression locked in a glare.

Just as Jake went in for a hug, Sunoo’s palm came up and smacked him square across the face—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jolt the dramatics right out of him. Jake stumbled back, blinking.

“You didn’t text, you didn’t call, and my best friend just disappeared with you two?” Sunoo snapped, pointing an accusing finger toward you and Jay.

You smiled awkwardly, offering a sheepish little wave behind Jake’s shoulder.

“She fainted!” Jake explained, hands flying up. “We were busy assisting her. Medical-grade care. You should be grateful your best friend fell into the right hands.”

Sunoo’s eyebrow arched so high. His gaze slowly dropped to your neck… and then narrowed. “Yeah, right,” he said dryly, arms crossing again. “That why she’s covered in poorly hidden hickeys?”

Jake blinked, he slowly reached out and bit his own finger, eyes wide as he turned to stare at you. “Babe,” he whispered. “You said you’d cover those.”

You flushed, dragging the collar of your shirt higher with a quick tug. “I did! Jay distracted me!”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Dodgeball’s starting now—don’t actually faint this time.”

Your fingers gently slipped away from Jay’s, reaching out to Sunoo instead. You slid your arm through his as you began walking beside him, your shoulder brushing his. He let you lean into him without hesitation.

“I assume the three of you are okay now,” Sunoo said after a pause, voice lighter, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m still scared,” you admitted. “But… as long as I’m with them, I think I’ll be fine.”

Sunoo gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me at your back too.”

Jake popped up beside Sunoo, slinging an arm over his shoulder with a wide grin, pressing in close to you on the other side. Jay followed right behind, falling into step beside you with that calm, quiet presence that always made you feel anchored.

“So,” Jake said casually, stretching his arms above his head before locking them behind his neck. “What do you guys want to eat later? Because I’m seriously craving some Samyang Buldak noodles.”

Sunoo stared at him, blinking once. Then, flatly: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jake blinked back, innocent. “What?”

“It’s thirty-four degrees,” Sunoo said, gesturing wildly to the sky like the sun itself was his witness. “And your dumbass is out here craving spicy death noodles? Are you okay? Do we need to check for brain damage?”

"Well, I love spicy!" Jake scoffed, throwing his hands up.

Their voices quickly dissolved into muffled bickering again—Jake insisting it was about heat and thrill, Sunoo arguing that eating molten fire under the sun was a cry for help.

Jay exhaled a quiet laugh beside you, his fingers brushing against yours. You felt the heat of it—not from the sun, not from the air, but from them.

From all of this. And as you watched your best friend and your boyfriend argue, with Jay steady at your side and your pulse still echoing from the day before, you couldn’t help the smile curling at your lips.

Maybe Jake was right.

Maybe a little spicy-ness was exactly what made life interesting.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enha smut #jay x reader #jake x reader #jay smut #jake smut #enhypen x reader #jay x jake

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neon-delirium · 2 days ago

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a warning in this story for dog bites and hospitals but I promise it's very funny and has a good ending

so when I was 6 years old in first grade my school tested every class for spelling bee candidates using spelling tests and my hyperlexic autistic ass got a perfect score and was selected to do a spelling bee and I was absolutely so hype about it. I would be able to show how smart I was as an eager little tiny me and I was just so happy that when I went home I decided to play horsie riding my dog. this was a Mistake

my poor old dog who I'm gonna call opera for privacy reasons had a bad back but otherwise would never hurt a fly and every time I tried to ride her she would just push me off and move until I cornered her in front of my parents' door and she barked at me. her teeth BARELY grazed me and I actually didn't feel her bite so I'm pretty sure my dumbass leaned in and nicked myself but either way my skin which was paper fucking thin I guess on my nose and my right temple started bleeding. again this was at my parents' bedroom door so I scream not out of pain but Blood Happening that my parents open the door to this terrifying fucking scene and it wasn't until after that I could explain this was my fault entirely but my dad had to drive me to the ER and explain to the nurses while I'm holding a rag to my face but again I'm not in pain so I'm just sitting there kicking my legs in the chair just sorta taking it. and everyone is looking at me deeply concerned

the bite didn't need stitches they were just gonna superglue it so it would heal faster. unfortunately the doctor I got was a Dipshit. I mentioned the injuries were on my nose and temple. well. when he tried to glue my nose wound his hand drifted. and drifted. and. bam. glob of superglue on my left eye. he went OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY! and glued my nose. whatever. inconvenient but I get it because it was right next to my eye. I did close my eyes thankfully but it did bond my eyelashes together so my eye was very much glued shut. fuck it, we ball anyways

then he went to glue my right temple. and then drifted to the left... again... AND GLUED MY RIGHT EYE SHUT TOO. WHAT THE FUCK

"oh my god are you doing okay???" the doctor who GLUED MY EYES SHUT asked in horror

I didn't remember what I said. but my dad does, and he told me I stunned the doctor into sputtering by sassing him with "I was doing pretty good until you glued my eyes shut" in autism bluntness

so he glues it again and we go home. I Can't Fucking See. I still manage to learn for the spelling bee by reciting lists orally with my parents and practice pretty well. unfortunately Doctor Dipshit Gluefingers also didn't disinfect my wounds very well so they got infected! and it was kinda comical because I looked like I was bruised from a boxing match. as a 6 year old.

my parents and teacher asked me, do you wanna go and do the spelling bee anyways? I think about it. I think about how hard I worked to be a smartie. I think about how I can still spell even if I can't fucking see. I can see a little at this point because we were given a solvent to dissolve the glue over time gently without harming my eyes but even then I can barely open my eyes at this point and everything is blurry. so it's a fair question

I think. I ain't giving up my spot to the runner up over a little glue and a couple scratches. I don't care that I look like a blueberry I'M DOING THE SPELLING BEE

so I march up on stage and I perform the best I can. I'm spelling 3 syllable words that are impressive for my age like original and fantastic. there are 4 kids left including me.

they throw a word at me I didn't anticipate, one so simple, I choke. it was pretty. I spelled it with one T. I focused so hard on the long words I choked at a short one thinking it was easy. I get fourth place.

I'm kicking myself for losing to such an easy word but my dad picks me up and says he's proud of me for toughing through it even though I was having a really hard time. he takes me out to get soft serve and says I'm still a winner and a champ for everything I managed. I didn't care for soft serve ice cream until that day and I still get nostalgic anytime I have it on occasion 16 years later. and I can still navigate my childhood home with my eyes shut to this day.

btw opera lived a long and happy life after and we were still thick as thieves and I haven't faded the scars as a memory of her because besides this incident she was a fucking angel to me and I never faulted her and it was SUCH a good lesson on the importance of respecting animals

hey say something nice to me

#tw dog attack #tw blood #tw hospital #I'm just putting these tags here for anyone filtering that

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nightplvmes · 2 days ago

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birthday girl

you'd always known you had a different side of Sylus, a side no one else had because you couldn't remember a time he hadn't made you feel special. he had made your birthday special after so many years. ☆ sylus x fem!reader — fluff ! MDNI! ☆ birthday special ☆ an: hi! so it's my birthday!! and i wanted to post a special. it's not a long one shot and it's not a big deal, i thought about making it a bit more personal, mentioning that Sylus' birthday was also close but i felt like that would be tooooo self insert. anyway, save this and you can read it when your birthday is close 🫶🏻 i was planning to do something with the rest of the LIs so you all can read them on your bday too but i didn't have time, especially because of Sylus' birthday :( anyway, if anyone is interested in a special like this from another LI, you can request it <3 – likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

your birthday wasn't something you liked. you'd done your best to hide it from Sylus because didn't want to celebrate it, especially this year. you knew your efforts to hide it hadn't worked when you got home that night. you opened the door, and the lack of light made your brows furrow, but the small flicker of candles caught your attention.

Sylus was standing next to a table, his hands behind his back, and beside him was a beautifully set table. it was a dinner party, and you probably would have thought it was nothing more than a date night, if there wasn't a cake in the middle of the table. "what... what's this?" you asked, a lump beginning to form in your throat, even though you knew the answer perfectly.

"you thought you could hide your birthday, sweetie?" Your cheeks turned red. you'd suspected it; you knew he was going to find out somehow, but something inside you hoped he wouldn't.

"I... it's not important. I don't like my birthday." you shook your head. you expected something from him at home if he found out, and maybe something like a forced outing the next day as a celebration. however, you didn't expect that. you had called him an hour ago, and he had said he'd be home maybe two hours later because he still had a few things to do.

"it's important." Sylus approached you, his arms around, pulling you close to his body. "I cooked for you and this is your birthday dinner." a small smile spread across your face, and you felt... a kind of tranquility. it wasn't a lie that you had never liked your birthday, but there was something intimate about just the two of you, about this being your birthday celebration.

"when did you do this? I thought you were working." you placed a kiss on his cheek as he moved away from you enough to walk to the table where he had prepared dinner.

"when I said I had things to do, I meant dinner." a laugh escaped your lips. you didn't even know how he'd found out about your birthday; you'd kept it a secret until... a memory came back to you. yes, you could remember Luke and Kieran standing around you asking questions.

"so... you'd say your stay at Onychinus was good?" you looked at Luke with a frown and then at Kieran, who was sitting on your other side.

"I'm not even staying here. it's not a hotel."

"you're the boss' girlfriend. you sleep here all the time," Kieran said, making your eyes widen in a mixture of embarrassment and surprise. he wasn't actually lying, but it still wasn't a hotel you had come to talk about your stay there. your didn't work for Sylus either.

"yeah, my stay at Onychinus is good," you replied, giving up. the twins were too persistent, and you knew you wouldn't be able to win against them. at some point, you stopped listening to them completely; even Luke's voice sounded so distant that you only just started answering without thinking.

"how old are you?" it had been one of the casual questions Kieran had asked, even though they knew your age perfectly well.

"when is your birthday?"

"those two..." you muttered to yourself as you narrowed your eyes, remembering all of Luke and Kieran's questions. they had inundated you with questions to the point of exhaustion, so you'd answered everything without even thinking about it. Sylus chuckled as he sat down across from you, he'd realized you'd already figured it out, and that there was no evaluation for Onychinus residents—it was just him trying to find out your birthday. well, he'd done a pretty good job, you had to admit. "I can't believe you sent your two shadows to get information out of me," you muttered, annoyed.

Sylus seemed to be searching for something in his pocket, and it took him a couple of seconds to answer. "they were gathering information for an Onychinus project." you rolled your eyes, knowing it was a big lie and you were about to say something, but something stopped you suddenly.

Sylus placed a small box on the center of the table. for a second, you thought it was an engagement ring, but then you realized it was a necklace as soon as he opened it. but it wasn't just any necklace, it was obviously expensive; it was shaped like a kitten and surrounded by red diamonds. "what's this?" you asked, still open-mouthed in surprise, despite knowing the answer perfectly.

"happy birthday, kitten." that was enough to know it was his birthday present. Not only had he taken the time to research your birthday and prepare an entire dinner, he'd bought something else for you. something that was actually meaningful.

maybe you were too excited or too stunned that words came out of your mouth, but you didn't even know what you had said. when you came back from your little bubble, Sylus was behind you, helping you put the necklace on. "you didn't have to, really." you shook your head as he placed a kiss on your forehead before returning to his seat across from you.

"how could I act like your birthday didn't matter?" you narrowed your eyes at his words, knowing they were something you'd said last year after throwing him a surprise party. he'd used your own words against you.

you looked down at the necklace now on your neck and circled the tiny kitten with your fingers, gazing at it for so many seconds. you'd always known you had a different side of Sylus, a side no one else had because you couldn't remember a time he hadn't made you feel special. he had made your birthday special after so many years.

#sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x reader fluff #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lnd #lads #lads x reader #lads fluff #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff

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boyfiechan · 3 days ago

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[The Series: Unscripted, Act I: Practice Run]

…or the one where your quiet roommate turns out to be a camboy, and you offer to help—just for money, of course.

Camboy!Bang Chan x Reader Notes: I present once again another instance of porn that pretends to have a plot, but that's the charm of this blog at this point. Don't get used to this one, it will get dirty pretty soon, Content Warnings: AFAB reader, explicit sexual content, masturbation, self-exploration, handjobs, explicit language, on-camera activities, blindfold play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, private filming for money. [18.3k words] [The Series: Masterlist]

You'd always sensed something peculiar about the way Chris lived, but it was the kind of peculiar that didn’t make you feel uneasy, more like a quiet, private kind of strangeness, the kind that comes from living in such close proximity to someone yet knowing so little about the life they lead beyond the hum of the kitchen. You and him weren’t close, not by any stretch, not really, just coexisted fine enough. Roommates by circumstance, not by friendship—he was polite in a distant, unapproachable way, worked late, kept to himself, and always paid his rent with an almost mechanical punctuality. There wasn’t much else to think about.

You’d noticed him once or twice, the soft glow of his screen slipping under the crack of his door, the quiet, steady click of keys when you passed by on your way to bed. You’d assumed the rest. Freelancer, maybe, gamer, probably. Night owl, definitely. You never thought much beyond that, until the night you lingered too long in the dark outside his door.

It had started like any other night could, the apartment was silent, all the lights off but his, a faint purple glow leaking under the crack of his door. The kind of light that seemed to pulse rather than shine, low and velvety, painting the hallway walls in soft violet bruises that shifted each time he moved inside. You hadn’t meant to stop, not really, and you couldn’t quite say what made you do it. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was the sound of something you weren’t supposed to hear—his voice, low and slow, murmuring words that were too smooth, too sweet, too soft to belong to anything as mundane as ordinary conversation.

You’d stood there, at first, with the lazy excuse of adjusting your phone brightness, scrolling mindlessly, pretending you were just passing by—until the gap in his door pulled your eyes downward, and you saw the outline of him.

The first thing you noticed was his posture. Slouched low into the wide chair he kept near his desk, thighs spread carelessly wide, a lazy sprawl that didn’t suit the version of him you knew from the kitchen. He was bare-chested, the lean stretch of his stomach visible even under the violet wash of the LED lights, sweat-slicked in the way that suggested he’d been at this for a while. His hand was wrapped around his cock, slow and unhurried, stroking in smooth, practiced pulls, the kind of touch that looked less about chasing release and more about feeding some unseen audience. His head tilted back against the chair, lips parted, throat shifting on shallow breaths as his other hand brushed over his stomach, fingers dancing higher now and then to tease his chest, the pads lingering over his nipples when his grip tightened between his legs.

And his voice. God, his voice, you’d never heard him speak like that before, that lazy, drawling murmur that bled through the air like syrup, low and intimate, every word softened by the quiet slur of arousal. You couldn’t hear the exact phrasing, but the tone was enough—coaxing, teasing, the same way someone might speak to a lover lying close. But he was alone.

Or so you thought, until his head shifted slightly, chin dipping forward, and his gaze slid to the side, right where the camera sat, perched on his desk like the world’s most private audience. The red recording light glowed steadily in the dark, and his lips pulled into the faintest curve of a smile, and just like that, you knew.

You should’ve left, you should’ve turned, quietly padded back to your room, buried the image under your pillow and never looked at him the same way again. But you didn’t, you stayed, watched, felt the heat rise in your face, the sharp little pinch of breath catching in your chest. The longer you stood there, the more you felt it, an undeniable certainty creeping in that he knew you were there, that he could feel your presence just beyond the door, as if the space between you had suddenly shrunk to nothing.

His strokes slowed as his body shifted just enough, eyes flickering toward the camera, then past it, toward the door with the faintest tilt of his head, as if inviting something invisible closer. You stayed rooted in place, pulse thudding hard enough you thought it might carry through the floorboards, until the quietest sound of release slipped from his throat—soft, breathy, a sharp little groan as his stomach tensed, and his fist curled tighter around himself, the glow of purple light catching the thick stripe of cum that spilled over his knuckles.

You left before he could clean up, before the camera could stop recording, before you had to admit to yourself that you wanted to stay longer.

The morning in the apartment sat heavy in the quiet, wrapped in that lazy kind of stillness that only happens when two people are avoiding the same unspoken thing. You’d heard him moving around the kitchen before you’d dared to leave your room, the soft clink of a mug against the counter, the low rush of the kettle, cupboard doors opening and closing in no particular hurry. His routine was the same as always, and yet everything felt altered, like the world had shifted an inch sideways overnight and neither of you were ready to acknowledge it.

When you padded into the kitchen, bare feet against cold tile, Chris was already leaning back against the counter, coffee mug in hand, dressed in the same lazy mix of sweats and an old black t-shirt, the fabric clinging faintly to the damp curve of his collarbone, hair still pushed back and tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with the mirror that morning. His eyes flicked toward you when you walked in, and for the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth lifted, soft and unassuming, as if the night before had been nothing but a strange shared dream. It was you who broke the silence, the air thick with the unspoken, your voice a fragile disruption in the quiet that had stretched between you, like a thread about to snap.

You know, you started, voice light, curling your fingers around the edge of the counter as you stood opposite him, for someone who lives in permanent mood lighting, your room actually looked kinda nice last night. His brow arched, slow, deliberate, but his mouth didn’t lose that faint, easy smile. Yeah?

You nodded, reaching past him for the sugar jar, your shoulder brushing his arm for the briefest second, and you tried not to think about how warm his skin felt, how different it was to stand this close in the dull, forgiving light of morning. Yeah. That purple wash you’ve got going on—hard to get it even, especially if you’re using LEDs. Most people overdo the saturation or blow out the highlights. Yours was pretty clean. Chris let out a soft huff of air, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and sipped at his coffee. It took me forever to get it to look decent. I kept getting washed out.

You glanced sideways at him, watching the way the steam curled from his mug, the casual slump of his shoulders, the soft gravel still lingering in his voice, the kind of voice that, if you closed your eyes, might have still sounded exactly like the one that had whispered to a camera the night before. Yeah, purple’s tricky. You have to balance the white point or your skin turns grey. Most people don’t bother. But yours looked...good.

The pause after that wasn’t heavy, if anything, it felt easy, comfortable, like the two of you had silently agreed to dance around the real topic, circling it, brushing fingertips along the edges without ever fully picking it up. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend, stood there with the same calm ease he always had, like the parts of himself you’d seen—the ones you weren’t supposed to—weren’t worth hiding. Guess I got lucky, he murmured, gaze flicking toward his mug, thumb tapping lightly against the handle. Or...just a lot of practice.

The quiet stretched, soft and pliant, and you let it. Let the weight of the unspoken sit between you, unthreatening. The distance between I saw you and I know you know I saw was a thin, crumbling line neither of you seemed in a rush to cross. Practice, huh? you echoed, voice dry but fond. Yeah, I bet. He looked at you then, properly, over the rim of his mug, dark eyes steady but not sharp, just watching, a flicker of something unspoken, a shared secret, a silent understanding, a space carved out between your ribs and his chest where the moment settled, warm and strange. And just like that, the conversation drifted back into safer waters—the weather, groceries, the next door neighbor’s awful music taste—both of you too skilled at sidestepping to let the truth drag you under so soon.

It wasn’t like the two of you suddenly grew closer after that night, but something shifted. Something subtle, quiet—the kind of shift that didn’t alter your routines, but made the space between them feel different. He was still Chris: quiet, calm, always with his head bent over his laptop or his phone, bare feet propped up on the coffee table, coffee mug perpetually half-full and cooling at his side. But the silence between you wasn’t the same, not heavy, not uncomfortable—just aware.

It crept into little things, like the way you lingered longer on the couch when he was already there, tucked under a blanket with his laptop open, the soft tap-tap of his fingers against the keyboard keeping you company while the muted flicker of some mindless sitcom lit the room. He never seemed to mind, if anything, he looked content, quietly so, like he’d grown used to your presence there, and the way your socked feet ended up resting on the same edge of the table, toes nearly brushing.

Or the way he started offering you the last slice of pizza instead of just assuming you’d already eaten enough, his voice warm and dry when he’d nudge the box toward you. Take it. I know you’ve been eyeing it for the last ten minutes, and you’d roll your eyes, but your hand would still reach for the slice. Or the nights when the apartment felt too still, too late, and you’d both end up in the kitchen again, hands brushing as you reached for the kettle, neither of you commenting on how the soft glow of the stovetop light painted his face—sharp jaw softened by the dimness, curls wild from his constant running of fingers through them, dark eyes ringed faintly with exhaustion but still steady, always steady.

You don’t sleep much, do you? you’d asked once, voice low, the question casual but honest. He’d only shrugged, lips quirking at one corner. Neither do you.

It was hard to argue with that.

You weren’t friends in the way some people were, the kind that shared playlists or went out drinking or curled up on the same side of the couch, but there was a comfort between you, easy and quiet, laced with something deeper you both danced around, a low hum beneath the surface, a shared, unspoken thing. And when his door glowed purple at night, you noticed, you always noticed.

And sometimes, you wondered if he kept the door cracked on purpose.

The apartment felt smaller that evening, not in a physical sense but in a way that made the quiet between you and Chris feel almost palpable, like a thread pulled too tight between the two of you. The soft hum of the city outside was drowned by the thrum of his headphones, his usual go-to for when he didn’t want to be bothered, but he hadn’t put them on tonight. His attention, however, remained firmly on the screen in front of him—fingers moving in quick, practiced motions as he adjusted the angles of his camera, rearranging the lens so it caught the soft gleam of the neon lights behind him. The soft purple glow filtered across his features, washing over his skin and highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the quiet curve of his lips as he muttered to himself under his breath.

You weren’t sure when it had become a habit to sit across the room and just watch him, but tonight it felt different, less like an intrusion and more like something else. You’d told yourself you were just curious, but the quiet rhythm of his movements, the way he settled into the moment, calm and precise was like a magnet pulling you closer without you even realizing it. A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye broke the spell, as Chris had stopped adjusting the camera, tilting his head slightly as if waiting for something. He was staring at the reflection of the room on the screen now, eyes sharp behind the black baseball cap resting on his head and it wasn’t until you caught his gaze through the faint glow of the monitor that you realized he had been aware of you all along.

For a second, neither of you said anything, then, with a low chuckle, he leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his chest. You know, I thought you might feel uncomfortable. Or maybe think it was a little spooky, finding out something like that, he said, his voice calm but tinged with something like amusement, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. You blinked at him, feeling the weight of his words settle for a moment. His gaze was still on you, but there was a softness in it now, as though he wasn’t quite sure what you’d say, but you didn’t feel uncomfortable, not really. If anything, you felt more intrigued by him now than ever before.

It wasn’t an unpleasant sight, you answered with a teasing tilt to your voice, leaning back slightly against the edge of the couch. But honestly, I was more fascinated than anything else. Like... how does it even work, the whole thing? His eyebrows lifted, a subtle shift of surprise in his expression, before he uncrossed his arms and set the camera down. What do you mean? He sat back in his chair, his fingers resting lightly on the armrests and he seemed thoughtful for a moment before speaking, as though trying to find the right way to explain it. How do you even manage to do it? Sitting there, knowing people are watching.

It’s not as weird as you’d think, he began, eyes shifting toward the purple light again, as if considering how best to break it down. Kinda addictive, actually. Knowing people are watching, waiting for you to give them what they want. He paused, glancing back at you. It’s not about confidence. It’s more fun than that. You stop caring what anyone thinks, you just get used to the attention. The smile deepened, the kind of look that suggested he liked it more than he was even letting on. Feels good, knowing they’re hooked on you.

You thought about that for a moment, leaning forward slightly, the words settling in. There was an honesty in his voice, sure, but underneath it was something else entirely. Not distance, not detachment, but satisfaction, like he liked the game of it, the power in it, the knowledge that people were watching and wanting and waiting on him. Like the attention wasn’t something he had to get used to, but something he’d learned to crave. Does it ever get... hard? you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it— though the moment the words left your mouth, you weren’t sure if you meant the nerves or something else entirely. His mouth pulled into a slow, teasing smile, like he’d caught the double meaning before you did.

You mean the job, or something else?”, the teasing hung there for a beat, lazy and warm, before he leaned back a little further in his chair, his voice dropping softer. Not really. That’s the part I like. His fingers drummed lightly against the armrest, his eyes flicking toward the soft purple light before settling back on you. It’s not really hard once you stop overthinking it. Kinda fun, actually. Knowing people are watching, waiting for you to do something that gets them off. His mouth curved again, softer this time, almost thoughtful. You don’t have to fake confidence or any of that shit. You just... let them look.

You nodded, thinking about what he said, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way he looked a little more vulnerable when he spoke like this, like a layer of the calm front had cracked for a moment. I guess that makes sense, you said after a beat, feeling the weight of the conversation hang there between you two. The air in the room felt thick now, like there was something more being said than either of you were willing to admit as Chris shifted in his chair then, his gaze flicking back to the camera, his fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the lens. Yeah, it’s not easy for most people, he said, quiet. But once you’ve done it enough, you get used to it.

You sat back, lost in thought. The idea of it all—the performance, the detachment, the way you had to turn yourself into something else for an audience—it was more complex than you’d first thought, but the way he talked about it made it seem almost normal, like it was just something he had to do, something he’d learned how to manage over time, something he's addicted to. And for some reason, that made you feel even more curious.

The apartment went quieter than usual, the evening winding down with the soft hum of the city outsideas you curled up on the couch, a book in hand, but your focus was more on the quiet, steady movements from across the room. Chris sat at his desk, the vibrant color casting shadows on his features. His face was relaxed, his fingers moving quickly over his laptop as he adjusted the camera set-up once egain, testing, the motion fluid, practiced. You’d never noticed how captivating it was to watch him before, how easily he slipped into this world—this quiet, controlled space he created for himself, But tonight, something about it was different. Maybe it was the way the light highlighted the angles of his face, or how at ease he seemed in the rhythm of his own world, but you couldn’t deny that you were watching him.

Chris glanced up from his screen, sensing your gaze, and when his eyes met yours again, there was that familiar soft smile. He didn’t seem uncomfortable, just aware. I really thought you might think this was kind of weird at some point, he said, a hint of humor in his voice, as if reading the way you were watching him. His gaze was curious, almost inviting. I didn’t think you’d be so, uh, interested? Your cheeks flushed slightly, a small part of you feeling caught. You had been watching him for longer than you realized, and now, the silence between you felt heavier, like an unspoken acknowledgment of the unspoken curiosity.

I mean... You cleared your throat, averting your eyes to the book in your lap, a little too embarrassed to keep staring. It’s not exactly something I see every day. You smiled awkwardly, trying to make the situation less tense. But it's really not, uh... unpleasant. Chris chuckled, the sound low and warm, and there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. I didn’t think it would be, he said lightly, leaning back in his chair, a shift in his posture that made the casual, almost playful atmosphere settle in. He seemed relaxed, encouraging even. You seem kind of... comfortable with it. Is it weird?

You weren’t sure where the question had come from, maybe it was just the curiosity bubbling up, or maybe it was the way the purple light washed over his face that made him seem less like the roommate you’d known and more like someone you were seeing for the first time. But you asked anyway, looking back up at him.

Chris shrugged, his smile soft, but it was still there, that steady calm. I’ve done it long enough that it doesn’t really feel weird anymore. But I mean, there’s always a little awkwardness at first, right? His eyes glinted with a bit of humor, a challenge in his voice. But if you’ve got questions, I mean, I’m not exactly shy about it.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. It was funny how easily he could make it sound so casual, but something in you was still nervous, you didn’t want to come off as too curious, too invasive. Too affected by it. I don’t know... just, like... You glanced down at the book in your hands, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to find the words. How do you do it? I mean, just... put yourself out there like that. Isn’t it... kind of hard? There was a brief moment of silence between you, and for a second, you wondered if you’d crossed a line. But when you looked up, Chris was smiling again, softer now, with something reassuring in his eyes.

It’s not confidence, he said, his voice slow, like he was picking his words carefully. It’s just... you get used to it. You stop thinking about it so much. You kind of just let go, once you've done it a few times. He shrugged lightly, looking almost nonchalant, but the way his hands lightly gripped the edge of his desk suggested something more. It’s just being okay with the fact that people are seeing you. People are imagining you. You nodded, processing his words, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. But the curiosity was there, bubbling beneath the surface, and you found yourself wanting to ask more. It's easier when if enjoy it.

But doesn’t it ever, I don’t know, mess with your head? Like, being in front of so many people, even if you’re not really, you know, interacting with them? The words came out quieter than you’d intended, and you immediately felt a small flush creeping up your neck. His gaze softened, like he could see the uncertainty there as he leaned forward a little, the glow of the light turning his face into a sharp contrast of shadows and soft highlights. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. Sometimes, he admitted, his eyes holding yours. But it’s also kind of addictive, you just learn to focus on the task at hand. His mouth twitched slightly, and his eyes brightened with a touch of humor.

He shifted in his seat, leaned back like he was finally settling into the truth of it. It’s not really about being watched for me. Not exactly. It’s more like… He trailed off for a second, searching. It’s knowing exactly what people see. Controlling it, curating it. There’s something weirdly satisfying about that. Another pause, another glance at you, longer this time. Like, I get to decide how much they get. What they think they’re getting. It’s a power thing, maybe. Or a trust thing. Either way, it’s not just about sex.

You nodded slowly, the air between you both feeling oddly comfortable, like you were talking about something that was almost normal, almost. There was a slight tension in his words, a calmness in the way he spoke that made you realize just how much of a routine it had become for him. That’s... pretty impressive, you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. Being able to control that. To just... do it. His grin softened, and he shrugged again, his tone light. You’d be surprised what you can get used to.

You paused, the conversation hanging there between you like an open question. You had no idea how deep it went, how much more there was to uncover, but something told you, in that moment, that this was just the beginning. He looked over at you, his expression still soft, but there was an understanding there. If you’ve got more questions, just ask, he said, his voice lighter now, like he was inviting you in, like he wasn’t afraid of what you’d say next. I don’t mind talking about it.

The invitation was there, and for some reason, you felt like you wanted to know more.

There was a slight shift in the air, something deeper, unspoken, as you looked at Chris again. His smile softened, almost as if he was sensing the curiosity in your gaze, or maybe it was just that subtle pressure that had been building between the two of you. He leaned back in his chair, turning his attention back to his laptop screen, though his fingers hovered over the keyboard. I won't lie, at first, it was about the money, he said casually, but there was a new tone in his voice, one that was less guarded, more open. I needed the cash, so I did it. But over time, I guess it stopped being just about that.

He glanced back at you, eyes meeting yours, and there was something about his expression, relaxed but also a little vulnerable, that made your heart skip. I guess it's more... interesting now. The whole process. The performance. The way people react. It's like—well, it's not like anything I thought it would be. He shrugged, but his voice didn’t carry the same lightness it had before, there was something deeper there, something that sounded more like an honest admission. At first, it was just about getting by. But now, I sort of enjoy it. I like the control. The feeling of being in charge of the whole thing, of being watched, I guess.

You nodded slowly, processing what he’d said. His admission caught you off guard, but there was a raw honesty to it that you didn’t expect. That makes sense, you said, voice quieter than before, almost to yourself. But then you caught yourself, the curiosity you were trying to suppress creeping back in. But how do you... how does it work, exactly? I mean, like, are you just filming, or... Your words trailed off, the questions almost too many to ask at once. His eyes flicked to you again, sensing your hesitation, but his face softened, almost like he was waiting for you to push, to ask more, to show you were genuinely interested.

There are lives, he said slowly, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. I’ll go on, like, a live stream for a set time. It’s kind of like having a stage but no audience in the traditional sense. It’s more intimate, though, people tip you for what they want to see, and they make requests. Sometimes it’s something simple, other times it’s way more personal. And the pay is really good, like, actually good. You can make a whole paycheck in one night depending on how much you’re willing to do. He stopped for a moment, his gaze drifting back to his laptop, but he didn’t seem to be focused on anything in particular. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk, almost like a nervous habit. And I can choose what to do. I don’t have to follow every request. If something doesn’t feel right, I just... ignore it.

You weren’t sure why, but hearing him say it like that made you feel both reassured and strangely intrigued. It wasn’t what you’d expected, but there was something fascinating about how he spoke about it, something cool and controlled, like he had a whole world of his own that you hadn’t known about before. So you get to pick? you asked, still surprised by how much you were wanting to know. What people want to see?

His eyes flicked to you again, and this time there was a little more amusement in his smile. Yeah, I mean, I’m not gonna do anything that makes me uncomfortable, you know? But it’s weirdly empowering. You get to see who’s paying attention, what they want, how far they’re willing to go to get it. And, like I said, the money’s really good. And sometimes it feels more fun than I thought it would. He shifted slightly in his chair, his voice dropping a little lower, almost like he was sharing a secret. There’s something about controlling the whole experience, the way you can make them want you, even if they don’t know who you are. It’s... strange, but it feels good, in a way I wasn’t expecting.

You weren’t sure how to respond, the words swirling around in your mind but not quite reaching your lips. It was all so much more complex than you’d imagined, more intricate than just a job or a performance. The way Chris spoke about it made it sound almost personal, like a part of him that he wasn’t just giving away for money, there was a depth to it, something that pulled you in without you even realizing it. Do you ever feel, like... disconnected from it? you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before you could stop them. I mean, how do you not get, like, sucked into it? Watching people watching you…

He paused, his fingers halting their rhythmic drumming on the desk and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head, as if he was deciding how much of himself he was going to reveal to you. It’s not just about them, really. At least, not for me. His voice shifted, dropping lower, like he was letting you in on something personal, something raw. It’s about what I’m doing, how I’m doing it. What they see is just the surface. It’s almost like being an actor, but I get to write the script. I’m the one who decides what’s on display.

You felt your breath catch, a pull of something unfamiliar tugging at your chest. You hadn’t expected it to feel this... close, this visceral. There was something magnetic about the way he spoke, like he wasn’t just sharing an experience with you—he was inviting you into it, letting you taste the edges of something you’d never fully understood. You didn’t even realize you were leaning in until you caught yourself, eyes locked on his, the curiosity bubbling up inside you.

That sounds kind of interesting, you murmured, almost to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear. The thought of it, of being able to control every detail, every moment, of crafting the experience—something about it felt like it could be so much more than just a performance, it felt like power, but also freedom. He caught the shift in your expression, the way your eyes softened, the intrigue clear in your gaze. He gave you that slow, knowing smile, like he was enjoying watching you think it through, piece by piece. It is, he replied, his voice low and almost indulgent, as if he were savoring the idea of you understanding it. You should try it sometime.

The words hung in the air between you, thick with something new, something dangerous, and you found yourself almost wanting to say yes. Not because you’d ever planned on it, but because the idea of feeling that—of being in control of the whole thing—sounded far too tempting, far too consuming to ignore. You took a breath, feeling the pull of curiosity turn into something else, something more visceral, more alive. The atmosphere around you felt heavy now, charged with an undercurrent you hadn’t expected to feel, you could hear your pulse quicken, your chest tightening just slightly under the weight of it. Maybe, you said softly, almost without thinking.

Chris’s grin widened, that same teasing glint in his eyes, but this time it was different, it wasn’t just play anymore. It was a dare, genuine. Yeah? he murmured, leaning in just a little, as if testing the waters. We’ll see. And the way he said it, the way his words made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something, made you wonder if you weren’t already in it.

Chris shifted in his chair again, casting a glance over at his desk, and his eyes briefly lingered on the setup of his equipment—the camera, the lights, the laptop as you followed his gaze, noticing how it all seemed so meticulously arranged. There was an air of careful consideration to it, even though the room itself was far from anything resembling a pristine studio. It was homey, comfortable, it was easy to forget that this was also his place of work, his stage.

Hey, Chris said, almost hesitantly, his voice softer than usual as he scratched the back of his neck as if he was unsure about bringing it up. I’ve been messing with the lighting setup for a while now, and I think I finally got the purple light working, but there’s something off about it. It’s not... dramatic enough, you know? I feel like it’s still too harsh on camera. He glanced at you, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that always made you want to reassure him. You seem to know about these things—think you could help me adjust it? I mean, I know it’s not a big deal, but it could make the whole setup look cooler, I think.

Yeah, you said, not even hesitating. You were still somewhat surprised by how natural it felt to be here with him, so comfortable in each other's presence, even after everything that had been said. I can take a look. I'm not a professional or anything, but I’ve played around with lighting before, so maybe I can help you tweak it. You gave him a small, reassuring smile, feeling a slight warmth spreading through you.

You made your way over to his desk, trying to ignore the flutter of your pulse as you got closer. The lights in the room had a strange effect on the space, casting deep shadows against the walls, the purple glow adding an almost surreal atmosphere to the entire scene. You ran your fingers over the setup, adjusting the brightness here and there, angling a few things differently, the way the light hit the camera, the way it caught the edges of his features—everything about this setup was so precise, so deliberate, that you felt like you were taking part in something far more important than just fixing a few lights.

So, you said, glancing over your shoulder at him as you made some last adjustments. You’re going for a more moody look, right? Less harsh, more subtle? If you make the light hit more at an angle, it’ll soften the shadows on your face. It’s more mysterious that way. You let your hands adjust the light again, testing the new angle. It’s all about creating contrast. Not too much, though, or it’ll just look weird.

Chris nodded along as you spoke, watching your every move with an intensity that you couldn't ignore. When you glanced back at him, you saw that he wasn’t just watching the setup; his focus was entirely on you, his eyes dark with something more than just curiosity. For a brief moment, it felt like you weren’t just helping him with the lights—you were helping him with something else, something deeper. You brushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled between you. Yeah, that’s better. Much better, he said, his voice low and steady. Thanks. You’ve got a good eye for this kind of stuff.

Happy to help, you replied with a grin, brushing your hair behind your ear as you looked at the camera’s new angle, satisfied with the results. Honestly, it’s fun. I mean, I can’t imagine how much focus it takes to get everything perfect every time you film.

There was a small chuckle from Chris, and you could tell it was one of those moments where he was thinking about the whole thing differently now. It’s kind of exhausting at times, he admitted, his voice more relaxed than it had been earlier. But yeah, it does take a lot of focus. Especially with how particular my audience can be. But it’s not... It’s not like I’m just doing this because I have to. I actually like doing it. I mean, not just the filming part, but the whole experience. The setup, the performance. It feels good when it’s all done right.

You smiled faintly, feeling the lightness of his confession hanging in the air between you. I can see that, you said, moving back to his chair and sitting down, as if you were continuing this strange little moment that had unfolded naturally. It’s all about the little details. If the lighting’s off, if the vibe isn’t right, it messes with the whole thing, right? You paused for a second, your fingers tapping lightly on the desk. But you’re good at it. You definitely have the uh... confidence.

His gaze flickered to yours, just for a second, then he looked away, running a hand through his hair. Confidence? he said quietly, almost chuckling to himself. That's a way to put it. He paused, his voice dropping lower. It’s control, I guess. That’s the part I like the most. Being able to decide what people see, and what they don’t. It’s a game, in a way. But a game that you control. His voice was steady, but there was something sharper behind it now, a kind of satisfaction in what he was saying, like he was sharing a secret. And that’s what makes it… addictive.

Well, I think you’re definitely good at it, you said, unable to hold back a teasing smile. Maybe you should give me some tips next time I’m in front of a camera. Chris smirked back at you, the spark in his eyes telling you that he was all too aware of what you meant. Maybe I will, he said, the playful note in his voice returning, but there was something else underneath it, something that felt almost like a challenge.

Before you could respond, he hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again, quieter this time. Thanks for helping with the lights. I’ve been struggling with them for a while, kind of nice to have someone else’s perspective on it. You nodded, smiling warmly, feeling that strange connection between you both growing stronger as you sat there in the dim glow of his room and then, just like that, the door to something new seemed to crack open, and the rest of the night felt like it was about to follow suit.

The next morning you found yourself in the kitchen, the soft hum of your phone the only sound as you aimlessly scrolled through it. Chris walked in, and immediately something about him felt different—though the change was subtle, it was unmistakable. He moved with a quiet ease, like something had shifted inside him, settling into place, his usual carefree energy still radiated, but there was a weight beneath it now, as if he was just a little more grounded. His hair was tousled, his hoodie slung carelessly over his shoulders, but it didn’t seem out of place. It was the kind of look that made him seem effortlessly comfortable, like he was the embodiment of a lazy, unbothered moment.

Morning, he said, his voice low and warm, offering a small smile as he reached for a mug, the soft clink of porcelain filled the silence as he poured himself coffee. I've been thinking about last night. The lights really do look better now. So, uh, thanks again for the help. You glanced up, your gaze meeting his for a beat before you pushed your phone aside. No problem, you replied, a playful grin tugging at your lips. I’m just glad I could be of use.

He laughed softly, clearly entertained. Yeah, it definitely feels less overwhelming now. I guess I owe you one. He took a long sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if toying with an idea. Maybe I should hire you full-time. You know, like a lighting consultant or something. You’ve got a real talent for it. His voice was teasing, but there was something behind his words that made it sound more serious than a joke.

You raised an eyebrow, stifling the urge to smirk. A lighting consultant? you teased, crossing your arms with exaggerated seriousness. Sounds like a pretty high-profile gig. You sure you can afford me? Chris leaned casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Oh, I can definitely afford it, he replied with a playful grin. If anything, it’s more about finding someone who gets my vision. He let the words linger, his tone turning almost teasing. And you seem like you get it. You’ve got the eye for it.

You laughed, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes. Well, I wouldn’t call myself an expert or anything. I just know what looks good to me. But if you’re serious about hiring me, I suppose I could consider it, for the right price. His eyebrow arched in mock disbelief, clearly amused. Right price, yeah? What are we talking about here, you want to be paid in coffee and snacks?

You tightened your arms across your chest, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. I’d prefer something a bit more substantial. Maybe a steady paycheck? With health insurance and benefits? That’s how I’ll know you’re really serious. He laughed softly, shaking his head at your antics. Alright, alright. I get it. You drive a hard bargain. The playful edge of his expression softened, and for a moment, he was quieter, his gaze more thoughtful. But seriously, if you ever wanted to, I could use someone who knows how to handle the details. And not just the lighting.

Your gaze flickered up to meet his, and the shift in the air was unmistakable, something deeper, more meaningful in the way his words settled between you. It wasn’t just about the lighting anymore, it was everything: the whole setup, the way he worked, the way he saw it all—not as a job, but as an art form in its own right. You paused, the weight of his words sinking in, your mind racing through the implications of what he was suggesting, but before you could respond, Chris flashed a lopsided smile, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark.

I mean, you don’t have to say yes or anything, he added, his voice light, yet with an undercurrent that told you he wasn’t entirely joking. I just thought I’d throw it out there. But hey, if you ever get curious about what it’s like to be behind the camera more, just say the word. We could work something out.

His words lingered, hanging in the air between you, filled with a tension that was both playful and loaded. It was clear he wasn’t asking for anything more than the mere possibility of you joining him in that space, of being a part of something so personal, with no pressure attached. But the offer was there, undeniably tempting, dangling in front of you like a whisper of something thrilling and forbidden as a flutter stirred in your chest, a mixture of curiosity and a touch of uncertainty. The idea of stepping deeper into his world, of helping him with something so intrinsic to him, was both alluring and a little intimidating sparked something within you.

You leaned against the counter, letting the moment stretch a little longer as you weighed his words. I don’t know, you replied, a playful glint in your eye. But you might’ve just sold me. Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer, but I’m gonna need a few more perks to sweeten the deal. Chris chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. Of course, of course. You drive a hard bargain, he said with a smirk. But I think I can handle it, we’ll figure something out.

You both shared a light laugh, the conversation flowing with that familiar, teasing rhythm you’d fallen into over time, but beneath the easy banter, something unspoken simmered between you, a tension building slowly, almost imperceptibly. The more you teased him, the more you could feel it—this pull, something deeper that hinted at the shift in the dynamic between you. It was as if the air itself was thickening, growing heavier with the possibility of something more, something a little more complicated than you’d ever anticipated.

The conversation lingered for a moment in that comfortable space, a soft hum of familiarity hanging between you. Then, Chris pushed off the counter with a smooth motion, stretching his arms above his head. You couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed, the subtle hitch of his t-shirt as it rode up, revealing a sliver of skin before it settled back into place. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make you acutely aware of him in a way you hadn’t been just moments before.

So, he started, drawing the word out with a teasing lilt, his eyes glinting with mischief. Since we're already talking about all this, I should probably give you the full picture. I mean, you saw the lights and the camera setup, but there’s a little more to it than just that. His grin was wide, his usual confidence slipping back into place, but there was something more, an edge to his voice, like he was enjoying the way this conversation was unfolding.

You nodded, intrigued, leaning forward just slightly, your curiosity now more genuine than before. Right, I figured there was more to it. I can imagine how complicated it must be to get everything just right. You let your gaze linger on him a moment longer before speaking again, your tone shifting, no longer casual or playful. But how exactly do you... record? What's the process? I mean, how does it all come together?

Chris raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected you to ask so openly, but then he shrugged, as if it were nothing to him now. Well, I mostly use my camera for the actual recording, but the lighting and background are key. The setup is pretty essential to get the right vibe, you know? The atmosphere. He gave a small nod, clearly proud of how he'd managed to perfect his space. The lighting’s gotta be just right, and the camera angles need to match it. When I’m doing it live, I have the camera up on the tripod and make sure the frame captures everything in a way that’s... well, flattering, I guess.

You listened closely, fascinated. You hadn’t thought about the technical side of things before—it had always just been about the idea of him sitting in front of a camera, doing what he did, but now you were seeing it from a different angle, the thought behind it all. That makes sense. It’s not just about turning the camera on and going for it, is it? you said thoughtfully. There’s a lot of preparation that goes into it.

Chris smiled, clearly pleased that you were picking up on things so quickly. Exactly, he said, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. It’s a bit more involved than just hitting ‘record,’ especially with how I like to control everything. The requests, the feedback—it’s all part of the process. He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side, as if he was mulling over something. Actually, I've had a few requests recently. Some of them are... well, let's just say, more explicit than others. You raised an eyebrow, sensing a subtle shift in his tone. There was a little more tension in the air now, something deeper. More explicit? Your voice dropped into a more serious register, the curiosity clear in your words. You wanted to understand more, wanted to get a better sense of the world he was talking about, the world you were only just beginning to see.

His lips curled into a small smile but his eyes softened, like he wasn’t trying to hide anything anymore. Yeah, well, that’s part of the gig, he said, trying to keep it light, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind his words. But not everything’s like that. Some of the requests are a little more toned down. More about the vibe, you know? And that’s where I thought you might come in. He hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a moment, before he bit his lip as if debating how to continue. I mean, if you’re interested, you could help me with some of the less explicit stuff. Just to get a feel for it all.

You blinked, your heart rate picking up, but you didn’t look away. This wasn’t the same playful teasing from before—it was something different, an invitation, and you could tell he was being serious now. Help you? you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity, the question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. And how would I help, exactly?

Chris ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flickering between you and the space around him, clearly trying to find the right words. Well, there’s things like adjusting the lighting while I’m recording, making sure everything looks right while I focus on...other stuff. It’s really just the technical side of things. I’m not asking for anything too wild, just— He stopped himself and then let out a small chuckle, —well, you know, if you’re comfortable with it. It’s just more about making sure I’m doing it all the right way, you know?

Your mind raced, trying to weigh the situation. You weren’t sure why you felt so drawn to the idea, but there was a weird mix of curiosity and something else, something that made you feel both hesitant and excited. So you'd just need me to be there? To adjust stuff as you go, right? Chris nodded, his tone slightly more serious now. Yeah, exactly. You’d just be behind the scenes, helping with the setup, maybe giving feedback. It’s really just to help me keep everything running smoothly. Nothing that... well, nothing that would make you uncomfortable.

You hesitated, the offer lingering in the air. You wanted to ask more questions, but something stopped you, maybe it was the way his voice had lowered, the subtle shift in his demeanor that told you he was looking for more than just help. Or maybe it was just the fact that you were starting to really think about it, wondering if this was something you could get involved in.

I don’t know... you said slowly, your voice almost a whisper. I’ve kind of thought about doing something like that before. It’s not that I’m not curious, you added quickly, your words tumbling out. I just don’t know if I could actually help with something like that. Chris smiled softly, stepping a little closer to you. Hey, no pressure, he said, his voice soothing. It’s just an idea. I know it’s not for everyone, but if you’re up for it, I think you could help. Plus, I trust you, you know? You’ve already been helpful with everything else.

His words were gentle, encouraging, but there was that spark in his eyes that made you think maybe he was hoping for something more than just your help with the lights. You were unsure, but part of you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to step into that space with him, to see firsthand how it all worked. To be part of the world he’d created. Okay, you said finally, your voice quiet, but decisive. I’ll help. But we’ll take it slow, yeah?

Chris grin was immediate, his eyes lighting up. Of course, he said, clearly relieved but also excited. We’ll take it one step at a time. But, uh, just so you know, once you’re in, there’s no turning back. His grin turned teasing. You might get hooked. You raised an eyebrow, but there was no denying that his words had sparked something in you—a mix of intrigue and anticipation. Guess we’ll see about that, you said with a smirk, the playful tone returning to your voice. Chris only chuckled, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, his gaze intense but appreciative. We will.

It wasn’t until the next evening, when you wandered past his door and caught the faint glow of purple light spilling from the crack, that the conversation picked up again. He’d left it slightly ajar, just enough to suggest the room was occupied but not closed off, like a habit more than an invitation. You knocked lightly against the frame with your knuckles, and his voice answered from inside. Come in.

The room was tidier than it had been the first time you’d seen it, but the familiar setup was still in place—tripod stationed near the foot of the bed, laptop open on the desk, the LEDs washing the space in violet and shadow. He sat cross-legged on the mattress, hoodie slung loose over his frame, hands fiddling with a camera cable, like he was in the middle of untangling it when you’d interrupted. Busy? you asked, lingering in the doorway.

Chris glanced up, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile. Nah, just setting things up for later. His fingers paused on the cable, gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary before dipping back to his hands. You can sit, if you want. You hesitated, then crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the slight dip in the mattress as the distance between you narrowed. For a moment you didn’t speak, watching his fingers deftly feed the cable through the clamp at the base of the tripod, the small clicks of plastic on metal filling the space. So this is what you do, then, you said softly, your voice almost getting lost beneath the hum of the LEDs. Set everything up first and... go?

Pretty much, he murmured. I don’t overthink it. I used to, when I started, now I just turn the camera on and do what I feel like. He leaned back against the headboard, stretching his legs out, his gaze sliding back toward you, as if measuring how much you wanted to know. Some nights I have requests, though, depends. You tilted your head, curiosity sparking again in the quiet. How does it work?

Subscribers send them in. Sometimes it’s super specific, sometimes it’s more open. It’s easy money if I want it to be. His voice wasn’t defensive, no self-conscious shrinking from the subject, just calm, matter-of-fact, like he was talking about any other side job. You toyed with the corner of his comforter between your fingers. Is that weird for you? Having people ask for stuff like that?

There was a short pause, and then he gave a soft laugh, low and under his breath. Not anymore. His eyes flicked back to you, unflinching. I thought it would be, when I first started. But it’s not. I actually I like it. That small confession hung in the air for a second too long, making your throat dry and you tried to swallow the flush rising at the back of your neck.

I didn’t think I’d ever hear someone admit that so easily, you murmured, your voice light, but the meaning curling deep beneath the surface. Chris only shrugged, a small tilt of his head as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. It’s easy to admit when it’s true. The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Your mind drifted through the details you’d overheard so far, trying to stitch them together into a clearer picture.

What type of requests you get? you asked, the words soft but bold enough to cross the line between curiosity and something more personal. His expression didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. All kinds. Sometimes just me, sometimes people want more, roleplay stuff, specific positions, props. I get to pick which ones I want to do. If it’s not worth the money or the experience, I don’t bother. You nodded, trying to look thoughtful rather than affected, though the heat prickling at the tips of your ears betrayed you.

He tilted his head, studying you, his voice dropping just slightly. You’d be surprised how much people are willing to pay for things that aren’t even that wild. Your lips twitched at the corners. And the less explicit ones? you asked, your voice lighter, more playful this time, leaning into the safety of the phrasing. Chris stretched one leg out, foot nudging gently at your ankle beneath the blanket as he answered. Sometimes it’s just stuff like setting a scene, talking, the right lighting, angles, clothing. Making it look real, people eat that up. Doesn’t even have to be graphic.

His hand drifted toward the laptop, fingers ghosting over the trackpad. The screen lit up, and though you couldn’t see what was open, the soft glow danced across his face, sharp jaw, dark lashes against his skin, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as he clicked idly through windows. Actually, he added, glancing sidelong at you, I’ve got a few requests in the queue like that. Low-effort, easy ones. I was going to set them up tonight, but I could use a second pair of hands for the setup. If you’re still curious.

The suggestion came out casual, almost careless, but you weren’t blind to the subtle weight in it. It wasn’t really about needing help. It was about whether you’d say yes. Your heartbeat picked up, though your voice came out even. You want me to help you with that?

His gaze flicked to you, head resting lazily against the headboard now, the small smile returning. If you’re interested. I figure it’s easier than explaining, you’d get the gist pretty fast. He let the sentence hang there, not pressing, but not pulling away either. And you found it harder to pretend you weren’t tempted.

You didn’t answer him right away. The pause stretched long and light between you, a breath caught somewhere in the middle of curiosity and caution, and the weight of it settled like the dim glow washing over both of you from the LED strips running the perimeter of his room. It softened the sharpness of his jaw, turned the dark tangle of his hair violet where the strands curled toward his temple, and pulled every line of his face into something close to cinematic, too clear, too still, too perfect to be real. And maybe that was part of the problem.

He didn’t look real, not like this. It struck you suddenly how easy it would be for him to sit like this for a camera, how practiced the quiet of his body was, how comfortable his mouth seemed curling around bold confessions. How different this boy felt, only a few feet away from you, than the boy you’d lazily lived beside for months. He wasn’t shy about any of it, no edge of shame lingering in the gaps of his sentences, just a soft, open honesty, like it didn’t even register as something worth hiding. Yeah, you said after a moment, voice quieter than you meant, fingers toying again with the edge of his comforter. I think I wouldn’t mind. Helping, I mean. If you want.

His gaze didn’t waver, and you felt it more than you saw it, heavy and unblinking, like the steady, deliberate focus of a lens settling into place. The curve of his mouth barely shifted, just the subtlest tilt at the corner, more acknowledgment than amusement, and then a single, quiet nod. Good, he murmured, the word low and even, threaded through with quiet satisfaction rather than surprise. Could use someone who isn’t just guessing where to put things. Hard to get the angles right when it’s just me.

You let the breath slip out slow, lips tipping into something that wanted to be a smile, even as your chest pulled tight around the slow, unfamiliar warmth unfurling there, heavier than casual, softer than just helpfulness. He straightened, shifting the laptop off his thighs and onto the nightstand, the move smooth and unhurried, and when he leaned forward to reach the tripod, his bare forearm skimmed your thigh—just a glancing touch, light and fleeting, but sharp enough to send a spark snapping through you.

His fingers settled on the tripod, adjusting it with the same quiet precision he’d shown you all night, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped, softer now, like he’d felt it too. I’ll show you what I usually do, he said, almost gentle. Easier to get a feel for it if you see the framing first. You’ll pick up the vibe before I hit record. You nodded, mouth dry, watching his hands move, the smooth rotation of the tripod head, the practiced sweep of his wrists, the ease of it all, like the camera belonged to him, like the light bent for him, like this was muscle memory.

The technical part was what grounded you. For a moment, it wasn’t about what he did in front of the lens, just the practical puzzle of space, shadows, shapes as you asked questions about the lights, about the way the light softened the contrast in his skin, about why he chose certain backdrops. He answered all of them without hesitation, walking you through the small, controlled world he’d built between the camera and his bed.

And you let him, yu let the conversation stay there, balanced neatly between curiosity and pretense, pretending, for now, that you weren’t imagining what the lens usually saw once the frame was set. Pretending the thought of it wasn’t curling hot and low through your stomach. When you finally stood to leave that night, lingering by the door, his voice stopped you one more time. Hey. You glanced back, hand resting against the wood. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, somewhere between playful and sincere. Thanks, by the way. For helping.

You shrugged, feeling the warmth creep across your cheeks again. You’d better pay me if I end up being your assistant. The smile he gave you then was slower, deeper, sharp with something you couldn’t name yet. Maybe I will, he said, voice light but the meaning hanging heavy beneath it. If you’re really good at it. And you couldn’t tell, walking back to your room, which part of you hoped he meant it.

It became a quiet rhythm, almost natural, the way some things fold themselves into your life before you realize they’ve rearranged the shape of your nights. You found yourself in his room more often than not, tangled into the fold of his soft-lit space under the glow of that low, lazy purple hue, like the entire room had learned to breathe slower once the sun dipped and the world outside slipped quiet. It was the kind of light that didn’t press you for conversation, didn’t weigh down the air with expectation, only let it sit between you, heavy with something unspoken but not unwelcome. You started recognizing the way he moved when he was adjusting for his setup, the silent precision in the way his hands shaped the space around him, dragging soft shadows into place, turning the camera by barely an inch at a time until the angle cradled his frame just right. You learned the faint curl at the corner of his mouth wasn’t a smile, exactly, but a sign that the image on his laptop pleased him, that the space finally looked like a scene worth being seen.

Most nights, you left before anything began, before the room turned from his, the quiet, worn-in little box that smelled like clean sheets and him, into the kind of space meant for strangers’ eyes. But not always. Sometimes you stayed long enough to notice the way he softened into the lens, the way his posture shifted not with nerves, but with ease, like his body belonged more to the camera than to himself. And you knew, even if you never said it, that he knew you lingered for that part on purpose, that you watched because you could, and he let you, because he didn’t mind. The quiet between you had never stretched thinner than those moments—stretched so tight, you thought one of you might snap, but neither of you did. Not then.

It wasn’t until later, when the night was thinner and the air pulled colder through the window, that he broke the thread of silence from where he sat at his desk, legs sprawled, body relaxed into the chair like he’d melted into it. His thumb was flicking lazily at his phone, the soft light from the screen washing his face in pale blue and casting his face into softer lines. His voice came out unhurried, like he’d been thinking it for a while and only just remembered to say it out loud. Some of the requests lately are fucking weird.

The words hung in the air, casual, but the undercurrent wasn’t. You shifted on your side against the crumpled weight of his blanket, cheek pressed into your palm, letting your gaze drift over the slow, tired flick of his fingers over the phone screen. Weird how? you asked, light, but genuine. His mouth twitched, barely there, and his head tilted slightly, as if mulling over whether you were actually curious or just being polite.

Some people want really specific shit. Props, setups, full scenarios. Like, outfits and dialogue. Almost like acting, except, you know. Not. His eyes cut toward you, one brow raised, but not unkind. Some pay stupid money for it, though. You blinked, letting the quiet fill itself around you again before your voice nudged back into the space between. Is that, like, normal? That people pay that much for one video?

Yeah. Happens more than you’d think. His head tipped back lazily against the chair, fingers drumming against the armrest now, eyes half-lidded under the muted glow. There’s one from the other night I haven’t answered. Pays almost twice as much as usual, but I don’t know if I’ll take it. The pause after hung just long enough for your pulse to stutter, and when you lifted your gaze fully to meet his, his expression was unreadable, but not cold, just open. Just honest. They want a video of a girl giving me a handjob.

It landed in the room like a soft thud, not sharp, not meant to shock—just a fact, the same as anything else he’d told you. You sat up slightly, fingers pressing into the blanket, smoothing out the fabric in an absent, pointless motion, your throat tightening around the simplest response. Oh.

That was all you managed, your mouth parting like the rest of the thought might follow, but nothing came and he didn’t rush to fill the silence either, only watched the way your gaze shifted, the way your body folded slightly inward, thoughtful rather than uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure if the flicker inside you was surprise or curiosity or something else entirely.

A soft, breathless laugh slipped from your mouth before you could swallow it back, not sharp, not mocking—just light, easy, like the air needed to move somehow as you dragged your nails gently over the stitch of his comforter and looked at him from beneath the soft droop of your lashes, voice lowering. Guess you can’t really fake that one. His head tilted, the faintest smile curling the corner of his mouth, one shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug. Yeah. Not the solo kind of job.

You let the quiet stretch again, but your mind wouldn’t stop folding around the shape of the thought, the strange ease with which he’d said it, the new weight of understanding that this was his life, his body, his reality, shared on demand for money, for strangers, and for pleasure, maybe not just theirs. And before the heat prickling under your skin could talk you out of it, you let the words slip past your lips, quiet, almost playful but too honest for it to be harmless. I’ve thought about it before.

His brow lifted slightly, though his expression didn’t shift much, his attention sharpening just enough to tell you he was listening. Not the, um— you stumbled, cheeks burning, but pressed through it, —not the handjob thing. I mean, being on camera. I think I’d be too chicken for it, though. His eyes stayed on you, softer now, warmer, the curve of his mouth less like a smile and more like an invitation. The pause that followed stretched out, but the tension wasn’t uncomfortable, it was gentle, curious.

Yeah? His voice dropped lower, the barest hint of coaxing under the word. You nodded, pressing your knuckles under your chin, lips twitching with the kind of shy honesty you rarely let show. I don’t know. It’s kind of interesting, I guess. The whole idea of it. But I’d probably freeze. For a moment, he only hummed, a low sound deep in his chest, eyes sliding lazily toward the ceiling as if considering something, before his gaze fell back to you, steady, unreadable.

You’d get used to it, he murmured, voice softer now. It’s easier when you realize the camera’s there for you, not the other way around. You didn’t answer, not right away, only let the weight of his words sit with you, heavy and quiet, sinking just deep enough into your chest to leave you wondering why you hadn’t already left. And even when the night shifted forward, and the room pulled darker around the violet glow, the question you’d left unspoken stayed there, waiting, pressed between your teeth and his.

The conversation didn’t leave you after that. It lingered, quiet and sticky, clinging to the walls long after the night folded itself into sleep, long after you’d retreated to your room and pulled the blanket up over your chest, staring at the familiar water-stained curve of your ceiling with your mind still back there, on the edge of his bed, on the soft purpling light against his skin and the ease in his voice when he’d said it. You’d get used to it. It’s easier when the camera’s there for you, not the other way around.

You didn’t know why those words looped inside your head so easily, why the idea of it—the two of you, the lens, the soft click of his voice against your ear, the weight of his body under your hands—sank deeper into your skin the longer you let yourself sit with it. You told yourself it was just curiosity, just the simple intrigue of a world you’d never stepped into, but the truth pressed harder against your ribs than that. The truth was warmer, hungrier, and when the next night found you perched in the same spot on his bed, knees drawn up to your chest, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone while he finished adjusting his tripod, the words came easier than you’d expected. So… about that request.

The pause was short, but telling, his hand froze on the lens, fingers lightly draped over the focus ring, and his gaze flicked toward you, steady but unassuming, like he’d been waiting for you to circle back to it on your own. What about it? he asked, tone as easy as the way he leaned back against his desk, arms crossing loosely over his chest. The faintest smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, not smug, just patient.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, letting your gaze drift toward the glow of the LED strips washing the edge of the desk, the light pulling soft shadows up the line of his throat. You’d meant to sound more playful, more offhand, but the words slipped out quieter than that. I mean you could do it, right? If you had someone. His brow arched slightly, head tilting as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, thoughtful. Yeah, I guess. The space between you stayed still for a beat too long, stretched thin and humming with the weight of everything neither of you had said yet, until you finally dragged your eyes back to his, voice softer now, more tentative. I guess... you could just ask someone.

Could, he echoed, and his mouth twitched into something closer to a real smile now, though his voice stayed smooth, unhurried. But that’s not exactly the kind of thing you drop on a friend over coffee. You huffed a breath, a dry little laugh easing the tightness in your chest, fingers twisting idly at the edge of his blanket. Yeah, no kidding.

He let the quiet settle again, his gaze tracing the shape of your face, the slow burn of your curiosity now plain, the softness in your posture a far cry from discomfort. You weren’t squirming, you weren’t pulling away, if anything, you looked like you wanted him to press further. So he did. If you’re curious, he started, voice low and even, we’d split the money.

You blinked, your head tilted slightly, searching his expression for some sign of a joke, but he only sat there, still and open, like he wasn’t asking something strange at all. Like it was the most natural offer in the world. That’s how it’d work, he added, softer now. I wouldn’t expect you to do it for free. Especially not that kind of video.

You felt your throat tighten, breath catching behind your ribs, and for a second your mind tripped over the thought—the image of your hands wrapped around him, his voice breaking against your ear, the knowledge of the lens catching every twitch of your fingers, every shift of his hips, the weight of his body straining toward you under the steady, deliberate eye of the camera. It wasn’t just the money, not for either of you. The thought alone made your stomach twist in ways money couldn’t buy.

You swallowed, trying to ease the heat prickling at your skin, trying to keep your voice from sounding too breathless. Wouldn’t be weird? you asked, the question smaller than you meant, softer and his eyes didn’t leave yours, the faintest ghost of a smile shaping his mouth, something warm, something reassuring but no less heavy. Not if you wanted to do it. And you did, you could already feel it, curling slow and sure in your chest, even if you couldn’t say it yet.

You didn’t answer him, not right away. The room held the silence for you, the same way it always did, soft and dim, the purple light skimming lazy across the walls, humming in the corners like it knew how to wait, like it had learned the rhythm of these conversations long before either of you had.

You let your thumb drift over the fabric bunched beneath your palm, a quiet, thoughtless motion, grounding. You could feel the shape of it inside your head already, the weight of the moment, the way it’d go if you said yes, the cool edge of the camera lens hovering somewhere behind your shoulder, the deliberate way his hands would move, how careful, how slow, how utterly unbothered he’d be, even with you that close, even with your hands on him. He’d probably guide you through it with the same easy calm he used when adjusting his camera settings, like it was second nature, like it didn’t mean anything at all that it was you.

But it wasn’t nothing, not to you. And not to him either—you could tell by the way his eyes stayed on you, steady and unflinching, like he was already cataloging your reaction, already learning the shape of the decision you hadn’t made yet. He wasn’t pushing, just waiting, letting it unfurl. Your voice found you again, softer now, barely more than a breath. I don’t think I’d know what I’m doing.

A low sound left him, not quite a laugh, more like something under his breath, warm and smooth, a quiet little pull at the corners of his mouth. You don’t have to, that’s the point. You looked at him. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t joking, just stating it, plain and simple, like it was obvious, like it made sense and maybe it did, because your heart was still skipping in the same tight rhythm, and you still hadn’t told him no. It’s not a bad offer, he added after a moment, shifting his weight against the desk, fingers drumming idly against the wood. You’d be helping. You wouldn’t even have to show your face, if you didn’t want to. Just your hands.

Your stomach twisted at the thought, heat spreading like syrup beneath your skin, slow and thick. You imagined it—the anonymity, the safety in it, the strange, intoxicating thrill of being invisible and known all at once. The camera would catch every detail of what you did to him, every sound, every twitch, every quiet shift of his breath and you’d be invisible to the people watching, but not to him. He’d know, he’d always know and that was the part that had your mouth going dry.

You swallowed around the weight in your throat, managing something between a nod and a shrug. I guess I could think about it. His smile didn’t widen, but something softer flickered in his expression, some quiet understanding. No pressure. His voice was low, smooth as velvet. If you change your mind, just tell me. But you both already knew you’d made your choice, even if you couldn’t quite say it yet.

It was easier than you expected, the first time, easier to fall into the rhythm of it, easier to pretend the camera wasn’t there, easier to act like it wasn’t all slowly rearranging something in the space between you. The lights were warm that day, more yellow than purple, and the room felt smaller under them, softer too, even with the tripod standing tall and sharp against the corner. You’d helped him adjust it for something simple, some shirtless video that barely even warranted your help, just a few clips of him shifting through poses and angles, flexing his back the way he told you the viewers liked, the lens pulling at the slope of his shoulders, the cut of muscle beneath his skin. You held the diffuser at the angle he showed you, adjusted the stand when the shadows on his chest weren’t sharp enough, learned the rhythm of his setup through repetition until it didn’t feel strange anymore, until the thought of your presence there—behind the camera, standing close enough to see the way his breathing changed—felt more natural than the nights you used to spend on your own side of the apartment.

He was still buttoning his jeans when the conversation picked up again, casual, offhand, like it was any other day, any other topic. You’re getting good at this. You’d laughed, quiet but genuine, lowering the reflector you’d been holding as he stretched his arms behind his head, spine arching slow, lazy, until the hem of his shirt rode up enough to tease the shape of his waist. Not the kind of skill I thought I’d pick up living here, you joked, but the words came lighter than you felt them, and your gaze lingered on him longer than it needed to, not even bothering to hide it.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, just that soft little pull at the corner, the one that meant he’d noticed, the one that always came when you thought you were being subtle. You’ve been helping a lot, he said, voice lower now, eyes cutting toward you as he fixed the loose chain around his neck. I’ve been meaning to ask, the air pulled tighter in your chest. You looked at him fully now, the question already hanging between you even before he finished it, you remember that request I told you about?

You did. You’d been thinking about it more often than you wanted to admit, you’d played it through in your head more than once, the feel of it, the way the room would look under that purple light, the closeness of him, the deliberate tension of knowing the camera was there. You could almost picture the sound of his voice if it ever happened—low, breathy, a little unsteady, saying your name, or maybe not saying it at all. Maybe just looking at you like he did now. You swallowed around the thought. Yeah. His hands slipped into his pockets, head tilting slightly, casual but watchful. Still haven’t found anyone for it.

You hesitated, your fingers grazing the edge of the light stand, and for a moment your voice almost didn’t come at all. But the thought had lived in you long enough now, warm and heavy and quietly demanding. I could help, you heard yourself say, so soft it barely reached the space between you. If you want.

The words settled there, hanging between the two of you, and his gaze stayed locked on yours, steady, unreadable for a long moment. Not surprised, not confused, just waiting as if he’d known all along you’d say it, like it was only ever a matter of when. You sure? he asked, the question low, almost gentle. You nodded, exhaling slow, feeling the answer settle deep in your chest. Yeah. If we split the money. That smile returned then—small, warm, and a little sharper around the edges this time, like satisfaction and approval tangled all at once. Deal.

And just like that, it was settled. There was no dramatic shift, no sharp inhale or flustered laughter to cover the weight of it, just a quiet, mutual understanding, the kind that had been growing between you for weeks now, soft and slow and inevitable. Just business, you told yourself, but the way his gaze dragged over you then—the slow, lingering slide of it—felt nothing like business at all.

The days blurred together after that. You and Chris continued in the same pattern, the same rhythm, like the decision hadn’t really changed anything, even though it had. Every moment between you seemed heavier now, thick with a quiet, unspoken tension, but you didn’t dare mention it, instead, you helped him with little things, adjusting the lights, tweaking the angles, getting everything just right. It was almost like you were pretending it didn’t mean anything. Except it did, it did, in every glance that lingered a little too long, in the way your fingers brushed against his when you reached for the tripod, in the way your breath caught in your throat when you had to stand that close to him, watching him work, watching him move.

It was more than just the physical proximity now. There was an edge to everything, an unspoken understanding that, somewhere between the clicks of the camera and the soft hum of the lights, something had shifted, maybe when you had agreed to help him, but you both knew there was more to it than that. You were treading a line, and neither of you acknowledged it directly, but it was always there, pressing, lingering. That night, after you’d set up everything for another round of recordings, he hesitated, his hands pausing over the controls, eyes flicking up to yours. He was quieter than usual.

Hey, he said, voice easy, almost offhand, but underneath there was something else, something quieter, something you couldn’t quite name. His eyes didn’t leave yours. You wanna try it? The words settled between you, deceptively simple, but your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your pulse jumped, breath stalling in your throat. Try it. You knew exactly what he meant—the shape of it, the weight but saying it out loud felt like crossing a line you hadn’t even realized you’d been toeing.

His voice dropped, softer now, careful but coaxing. We could start slow. A beat. Just a simple test, no pressure. See how it feels. And there it was again, that shift. Something different in the way he said it tonight, like the offer wasn’t just about helping, or curiosity, or convenience anymore. Like he was holding something out to you, something more personal, a question wrapped inside the offer.

You sat there, the silence stretching long and thin around you, his gaze steady, waiting, not pushing. And for a moment you thought about telling him no, telling yourself no, turning around and pretending the words had never left his mouth. But the truth was you didn’t want to, you hadn’t wanted to walk away for a while now.

Okay, you said, and your voice surprised you—quieter than usual, but steady, certain, like the decision had already lived inside you long before he’d asked and your lips twitched at the edges, the barest ghost of a smile. I’ll help. The shift in his expression was subtle but unmistakable, his lips twitched up in that small, approving smile, the one that made something warm coil in your chest. Thanks, he murmured, his voice low. You don’t have to worry about anything. It’ll be just like last time, only... more involved.

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the tripod stand as you adjusted the angle once more. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you could feel his presence in the room, steady and commanding, even if he wasn’t saying a word. You could feel the shift, you could feel it in the air, the way it was charged now, thick with expectation, with the weight of something both forbidden and irresistible.

You both got into position, him standing in front of the camera, waiting for you to get everything just right. He had that same quiet concentration on his face, the same practiced calm that made you feel like you were the one who was nervous, the one who wasn’t sure how to breathe. The camera clicked on, its soft whirring filling the room, and you stood behind the lens, adjusting the angle one last time. There was a moment of silence between you two, before he turned to face you again, waiting for your signal and you nodded once, and he exhaled, his breath barely audible as he began to speak into the camera, his usual tone smooth and easy, like this was just another day at work.

But it wasn’t, and you knew it.

It wasn’t until a few days later that the conversation circled back, quieter, more deliberate this time, stripped of the usual teasing ease that had always softened the edges between you. The request still sat there, lingering, unspoken but understood. And finally, he asked again, no pressure in his voice, no coaxing, just that quiet kind of suggestion that left the door open for you to walk through or leave untouched.

You’d agreed before you could second-guess yourself. You didn’t even know why your mouth said yes, only that the weight in your chest felt lighter once the word had fallen from your lips, now you were here, the dim purple glow humming through his room as you sat on the edge of his bed, palms clammy, staring at the camera already set up on the tripod across from you, trained perfectly on the spot where he’d be. Where you’d be.

Chris was calm, too calm. He moved through the space with the same quiet, steady self-possession he always did when setting up a shoot, arranging the lighting, adjusting the angle, testing the focus, tapping his finger lightly against the lens and glancing down at the small display screen to make sure everything looked right. You tried not to let your eyes linger too long on him, bare-chested and relaxed, sweatpants riding low on his hips, the deep shadows cast by the purple LEDs sharpening the lines of muscle that flexed and settled with every small movement.

And then, when there was nothing left to fiddle with, he turned to you, holding a soft black eye mask in his hand, the strip of fabric dangling loosely from his fingers. His voice was softer this time, more private, like the space between you had tightened even though he hadn’t moved. I figured this might help, he said, offering it to you. So you don’t have to feel like I’m watching you the whole time. You can go at your own pace. Your throat was dry, your voice barely a whisper. You trust me with that?

A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, not teasing, not sharp, just warm, like he’d known the answer long before you’d asked the question. Yeah. I do.

And just like that, the fabric was tied over his eyes, knotting softly behind his head. He sat back, legs spread casually, head tilted slightly as if listening for you in the silence, as if you were the only thing anchoring him in the dark. Without the weight of his gaze, it was easier to breathe, but it didn’t make the situation any less charged. If anything, it made the moment heavier, the air denser around you, like the room was holding its breath with you.

You hesitated, your fingertips brushing along the seam of your jeans, restless, your gaze locked on the shape of him beneath the soft, worn fabric of his sweats—the thick, unmistakable outline already beginning to shift, heavy and slow, as if the thought of your touch alone had coaxed his body halfway there. You hadn’t even laid a hand on him yet, but the anticipation between you had done most of the work, thickening the air, making your stomach twist with something sharp and sweet and unfamiliar.

Your hand hovered for a long, quiet moment, the space between your palm and him humming with heat, so close it made your breath catch, like if you moved too fast the moment would dissolve. When you finally let your hand settle against him, tentative and featherlight at first, you felt the sharp pull of his inhale, the shift of his chest beneath it, as though his whole body had braced for the contact long before you gave it and you stayed there, barely moving, just feeling him, the warmth bleeding through the fabric, the sheer weight of him unmistakable even like this—thick and heavy and growing harder beneath your palm, slow but steady, like the more you touched, the more you teased, the more his body gave itself away to you. Your fingers traced along the shape of him, soft at first, then firmer, smoothing your hand over the full length of it, watching the way his hips twitched under the pressure, a quiet, helpless reaction that only made you bolder.

The weight of him beneath your hand was dizzying. The way he filled out the soft stretch of his sweats, thick and solid and still swelling under your slow, deliberate touches, it felt surreal, almost addictive—the way he sat there so still, blindfolded, breathing raggedly through the tension, letting you explore him at your own pace, giving you all the power and asking for nothing but this.

When you finally slipped your hand beneath the waistband, skin meeting skin, the heat of him made your breath stutter, the velvet-soft skin stretched tight over the heavy, unyielding thickness beneath. His head tilted back slightly, muscles in his throat flexing with the motion, and his mouth parted around a soft, low sigh—the kind that sounded too real, too unguarded, slipping from him without thought or restraint. The sound curled through the quiet like a hook, sharp and sweet, pulling you deeper, until all you could think about was the way his body leaned into your touch, so open, so willing, like the only thing tethering him to the moment was the slow drag of your hand wrapped around him.

You worked him with slow, careful strokes, your fingers adjusting to the slickness of his skin as you found a rhythm, and his body responded in kind—muscles twitching, chest rising and falling in steady, measured breaths, his thighs shifting just slightly apart to give you more room. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop your hand even if you wanted to. The camera sat there, silent and unblinking, capturing nothing but your hand and his cock, the two of you moving together in that tight, private frame, faceless, voiceless, just the sound of skin on skin and the soft, shaky breaths he let out every time your thumb circled the head. It was almost too easy to forget you were recording. Almost.

Your hand moved with more confidence now, the initial awkwardness dissolving into something else entirely, something that had you watching the way his body reacted more than your own nervousness. The steady pulse of him under your fingers, the way his chest twitched with each slow stroke, the way his hips gave these tiny, involuntary shifts that told you you’d found just the right pressure, just the right speed. You hadn’t expected it to be so easy, or for him to respond so openly, so unguarded, like the blindfold had stripped away any self-consciousness and left only the raw, instinctive side of him.

His head tipped back against the wall, lips parted, a faint furrow pulling between his brows—not from discomfort, but the kind of sharp, concentrated pleasure that unraveled him slowly. His hands fisted lightly in the blanket at his sides, fingers flexing in time with the pace you kept andhe sound of it, slick and wet, filled the space between you in place of words, and the deeper, more ragged notes of his breathing stitched into the silence like music, like proof of just how much he felt everything.

You let your palm twist a little on the upward stroke, adding that faint roll of your wrist he seemed to respond to best, and the sound he made—a soft, breathless groan pulled from deep in his chest—rewarded the effort immediately. You could see his stomach tighten, muscles pulling taut under his skin, thighs shifting apart even more as if his whole body was chasing your touch, needing it, needing you to keep going exactly like that.

You could feel how sensitive he’d grown under your hand, the way the head of his cock grew flushed and slick, how the smallest variation in pressure now had his hips jerking up into your fist, his body no longer able to hold still under the pull of it. He was close, you could tell, but he wasn’t rushing it, wasn’t begging for you to end it. He was letting you set the pace, like he wanted you to have all the control, like giving in to you was just as satisfying as the release waiting at the end. And in the soft glow of the purple lights, in the quiet hush of the camera whirring beside you, you kept your strokes steady and slow, watching him fall apart piece by piece. His voice cracked the quiet first, low and thick, the words dragged from somewhere too deep for polish, too honest for control. Fuck—just like that.

It was barely more than a rasp, breath breaking around it, but the sound of him saying it, the way his hips lifted into your hand, like his whole body couldn’t help but obey the pull of your touch—it loosened something in you, made your fingers curl tighter around him, your strokes slowing just enough to tease, to draw it out, to watch him strain against the want.

The blindfold had left him open in ways you hadn’t expected, stripped away that careful self-awareness he wore like armor most days, the soft-spoken roommate with his shy half-smiles and quiet domestic habits, the one who always washed his dishes and never left his clothes in the hallway. But this wasn’t that version of him, not now, this was the part he usually only gave away on camera, the side of him crafted for strangers on the other side of a screen, for money, for pleasure, for performance.

But none of those people had their hand wrapped around his cock now, none of them had him tipping his head back like that, mouth slack, chest heaving, skin flushed under the purple light like every inch of him was wound too tight to hold on, none of them got to feel the way his thighs tensed, the way his breath caught and dragged rough through his throat, the low, wrecked little sounds spilling out of him without filter.

Fucking hell, you’re good at this, he groaned, the words breaking apart at the edges, half-slurred and laughing and soaked in need, like he couldn’t hold them together anymore. Gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum—, his voice cracked off, too wrecked to finish, caught somewhere between a warning and a confession, and the sound alone sent a pulse straight between your legs, sharp enough to make your breath hitch.

You tightened your grip, twisting your wrist just a little harder at the top of each stroke—the exact way he’d choked on a gasp for earlier—and the reaction was instant, his whole body snapping tight under your hands, muscles straining, a raw, punched-out exhale splitting from his chest as his hips bucked helplessly into your fist. One, two sharp jerks, and then he was spilling over your fingers, thick and hot and so much of it, his cock twitching with each pulse as the orgasm dragged him under, leaving him slumped and shaking, breath ragged and broken.

But you didn’t let go, not yet. You slowed your pace, hand still working him through every last spasm, fingers gliding through the slick mess you’d coaxed out of him, dragging more shudders from his overstimmed body. His thighs quivered, soft curses tumbling from his lips, cracked and breathless, tangled up with the low, dazed sound of a laugh—dark, spent, and so fucking pretty.

When you finally let your hand fall away, the room stayed thick with it, the heat, the weight, the heady scent of sweat and sex still hanging in the air. Your palm was slick, fingers tacky with the mess you’d pulled from him, and he hadn’t moved much, muscles slack and twitching, chest still rising and falling in slow, uneven waves. The blindfold stayed fixed over his eyes, but his lips parted around a heavy exhale, like the sound alone was the only thing keeping him tethered to his body. Fuck, he mumbled, voice rough and shredded, cracked open at the edges like it barely belonged to him anymore. You didn’t even let me fake it.

The corner of your mouth lifted, slow and self-satisfied, the burn in your cheeks impossible to hide—not that you tried—and your voice came out softer, almost a purr. You didn’t need to. A laugh slipped from him, dry and breathless, more like defeat than humor, his head rolling lazily back against the wall. The blindfold stayed firm, keeping him wrapped in the dark, and for a moment he just lay there, letting the aftershocks ebb through his bones, dragging in another deep, ragged breath as if it took everything he had to collect himself, to pull his composure back from the wreckage you’d left him in.

I really didn’t, he echoed, voice still low and warm, wrecked and fond all at once, like the ghost of your touch still lingered, like he could still feel your fingers curled around him even now. That was... jesus, I wasn’t expecting it to be that good.

His words made something flicker through your chest, sharp and electric, blooming hot beneath your skin as your palm still tingled with the weight of what you’d done, the sticky warmth of him drying slow between your fingers, the faint ache in your wrist from the steady, deliberate pace you’d kept. The camera, still sitting there with its little red light blinking in silent satisfaction, caught none of your face, only the evidence of what your hand had done to him, how thoroughly you’d wrung him out. You reached for the tissues nearby, wiping your hand slowly, your mind still caught on the way he’d sounded, the way his voice had dropped into something rough and unguarded, so far from the casual conversations that had led you here, so far from just being his roommate.

His hands dragged up over his face, pushing the blindfold off and up into his messy hair, eyes slow to blink open, his gaze finding you even in the dim purple glow. There was something softer in the way he looked at you now, stripped of the usual distance, the half-shy, half-playful boy who lived with you replaced by the same version of him you’d glimpsed through his half-open door all those nights ago. Only this time you weren’t watching from a distance, this time you’d been the one who made him fall apart.

You’ve got no idea how much money that video’s gonna make, he murmured, letting his head tip back again, throat exposed, skin flushed and still slightly damp with sweat. We might have to split it fifty-fifty. Might not be fair otherwise. You breathed out a laugh, shaking your head, trying to play off the heat still pooling low in your belly, the way your body buzzed with it. That good, huh?

That good, he confirmed, still sounding a little wrecked, voice thick with something that wasn’t just satisfaction, something heavier, something closer to the quiet admission neither of you had dared make out loud yet. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the room settled into a heavy quiet, thick with the aftertaste of what had just happened, the camera’s tiny blinking light the only thing cutting through the silence.

Chris let out a slow, rough breath, scrubbing both hands over his face, and when his gaze dropped back to you—bare, clear, no longer hidden behind the blindfold—there was a shift in it. Not the usual teasing glint, not even the playful edge he’d kept through the conversations that had led you here, something else entirely, something closer to quiet satisfaction, deep and lazy, and a little bit proud. Proud of you, of himself, of what you’d done together, even if neither of you had the words for it yet. You really were a natural, he said finally, voice softer now, but no less certain. That didn’t feel like the first time.

You pressed your lips together, heat crawling up the back of your neck despite yourself, and wiped the last of the mess off your fingers before sitting back on your heels. You could still feel the way his body had shifted under your hand, how easily he’d given himself over to you, how real it had all felt, even with the camera catching every second of it. It kind of wasn’t, you answered, quieter, letting the confession slip past your lips before you could swallow it. I mean. I’ve thought about it before. You hesitated, pulse jumping in your throat. Not just filming. But... that. With you.

You didn’t mean to say it, not fully, but you saw the way his mouth twitched, the smallest pull at the corner, not a smirk, not quite, more like a quiet acknowledgement, like he already knew. Maybe he had for longer than you realized. His voice dropped a little, lower, warmer. Yeah? Guess I got lucky then.

You huffed a breath, trying to shake the weight of it, but the air still felt heavy. He sat up slowly, finally reaching over to switch off the camera, the room dipping into an even softer hush once the little red light blinked away and then his gaze was back on you, steady and easy, as if nothing about this was strange, as if this was just something normal, something inevitable. Guess you’ve got a new side hustle, he said after a beat, voice light but edged with something more meaningful, almost fond. If you want it.

The pause stretched, but your answer was already settled somewhere under your skin, your stomach still knotted with leftover nerves, but your body hummed with the memory of his reaction, the way he’d melted for you, the way you’d liked it—all of it. The power, the closeness, the way he hadn’t needed to fake a single thing for the camera and you licked your lips, glanced toward the now-silent camera, and met his eyes again. Yeah, you murmured, heartbeat hammering behind the word. I think I do.

It should have felt stranger than it did, sitting there on the floor in the bruised-purple wash of his room, skin still prickling with leftover heat, hands wiped clean but the weight of him still curling warm in your palm, as though your body hadn’t quite let go of the moment. The camera sat dark now, but its presence still lingered, as if the room itself remembered what you’d done even if the recording was finished, even if the lights would one day be switched off and the footage sent away, sold to people who would never know the real shape of this, the slow and quiet way it had all unfolded.

Chris stretched his legs out, muscles still sluggish and heavy, the casual sprawl of his body ruined only slightly by the faint tremble in his thighs, the red flush still high on his cheeks. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, palm dragging along the edge of his jaw, fingers pressing into the mess of curls at the base of his neck, and when his eyes flicked back to you, they softened, some quiet amusement tucked beneath the haze still clouding his gaze.

You really didn’t think you’d be good at it? he murmured, and the way he said it wasn’t teasing, it was too soft for that. Like the thought genuinely surprised him now, like watching you do it had settled any lingering doubt so thoroughly it almost embarrassed him that he’d ever imagined otherwise. You snorted, shifting your weight onto your hands behind you, palms splayed against the warm floor. I didn’t think I’d do it at all, you admitted, voice low, shoulders tipping in a shrug that barely masked the shiver chasing through you now, cold finally seeping in beneath the adrenaline. Didn’t think I’d like it, either.

That earned a small smile from him, slow and knowing, the corners of his mouth ticking up before he ducked his head, letting out a soft, breathless little laugh that cracked around the edges. That’s the thing, he said, voice warm and even, as if he was only just letting you in on the quiet truth of it. You think it’s about the money, or the attention, or the way it looks on camera, but it’s not. Not really. His gaze lifted back to you, steady and unblinking. It’s just... fun.

The word sat there between you, heavier than it should’ve been. You’d seen the truth of it yourself—the way his body had responded, how little of it had been acted, how little either of you had needed to pretend. Your throat worked around a dry swallow, pulse ticking hot against your neck, and you nodded, slow, careful, as though agreeing to something much bigger than the words. I noticed, you said softly.

The quiet stretched out again, comfortable now, the kind of silence that settled in the space between people who knew there was no going back, not really. Your mind still spun, half in the present and half in the replay of every small detail—the way his hips had jerked into your hand, the way his voice had cracked open for you, the way his release had coated your fingers, warm and thick, proof of your effect on him caught in every inch of the room’s stillness.

And when he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, softer, like an invitation you’d already accepted without realizing.

Lot of requests coming in lately. His eyes flicked to the dark screen of his laptop, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. The ones that pay well... they always want more. His gaze lingered on you, a little too knowing. Bet I’ll be getting a lot more of those now. It wasn’t a question, more like a quiet dare, like he already knew you’d set something in motion just to see if you’d follow through. And you felt your lips twitch, warmth curling low in your stomach, sharp and certain. Then I guess they’ll get their money’s worth, you said, your voice steady now, the smallest edge of pride catching in your throat.

And the grin that stretched across his face, slow and wolfish, said he already knew they would.

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#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan thoughts #bang chan hard hours #bang chan hard thoughts #bang chan smut #chan hard thoughts #skz smut #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #bang chan headcanons #chan smut #stray kids smut

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socialobligation · 2 days ago

Text

schedule disruption: you

you and izuku midoriya have been best friends forever. he's busy, responsible, always on schedule—you're not. but when your night goes sideways, he drops everything to come get you. you say something you might not remember. he hopes you do.

the music inside is muffled now—blurry thudding base pressed against the walls like it's trying to escape. your phone glows in your palm for a few seconds longer, until izuku’s "i'm on my way" disappears. you blink, feel the chill air wrap around your shoulders, and finally set it down beside you on the grass.

the night air is cool against your skin, a little too cool for how flushed your face feels. you're barefoot, or at least... one shoe is definitely missing. whatever. it's fine.

you curl your arms around your knees and squint up at the stars, counting exactly none of them.

the front door opens behind you with a roar of noise and then shuts again. laughter spills out into the dark for a second, but it doesn't reach you. you sit there in a haze, cheek pressed against your arm, blinking slow. everything feels floaty. you're starting to regret that last drink.

when the familiar black car pulls up to the curb, headlights washing over the lawn, you sigh in relief. izuku parks in a weirdly straight line, like even now he needs to make sure he's perfectly aligned with the sidewalk. of course he does.

he's out of the car in a second, jogging around to you. "y/n?"

you lift your head and wave weakly, "heyyy, 'zuku."

he exhales through his nose, crouching diown. "are you okay?"

"mhm," you hum, then after a beat, "no."

he doesn't ask anything else. he helps you up with one arm around your shoulders, leading you gently to the car, careful not to rush you.

"you smell like cheap tequila and regret," he says as he buckles your seatbelt for you.

"mmm. that's just perfect."

the drive to your dorm is quiet at first—until it's not.

"izuuukuuu," you sing, dragging out the vowels.

he glances at you, just long enough to check you haven't somehow turned into a puddle in his passenger seat. "yeah?"

"do you think that if trees could talk," you say, eyes glazed and face pressed against the window, "they'd be mad at us for always carving initials into them? like. what if that was their face?"

"...what?"

"like—what if—what if it's like if i just came up to you and went '<3 Y/N + I.M.' right across your cheek with a knife."

he blinks hard, struggling not to laugh. "okay. maybe no more frat parties for you."

"you're not even listening to the message, izuku," you pout.

"i think you should write a thesis on it. present it to the botany department."

"you're making fun of me," you say dramatically, eyes fluttering closed. "wow. and to think, i was gonna marry you."

he almost swerves. "what?"

"hmm?"

"...nevermind."

when he pulls up to your dorm and puts the car in park, you frown.

"shit," you mutter, blinking hard. "i don't have my key."

he turns to look at you. "what?"

"my roommates brought me. they were gonna unlock it when i got back. i didn't... i didn't think i'd need mine."

he lets his head fall back against the headrest, then sighs.

"...okay. you're coming back with me."

by the time you get to his apartment, you're half-asleep and still clinging to his arm like gravity doesn't apply to you anymore.

"okay, come on," he murmurs, locking his car and adjusting his grip around your waist. "let's get you inside."

the walk to his building is slow. you trip on the curb and immediately latch onto him with both arms, face smushed against his shoulder.

"you smell nice," you whisper.

"that's—thank you," he says, trying to breathe through it.

he unlocks his door, nudges it open with his foot, and guides you in gently.

you kick kick off your lone shoe and immediately make a beeline for his bed, flopping face-first into the mattress. he sighs and tugs a blanket over you, tossing you a hoodie too—just in case.

he exits the bedroom and returns a few minutes later with a bottle of water, aspirin, and a small trash bin.

you've turned onto your side, face buried into his pillow.

"y/n," he says softly, kneeling beside the bed, "can you sit up for a second?"

"mm. no."

"i brought you water."

"...fine. if you insist," you grumble, lifting yourself up with all the grace of a wet noodle.

he hands you the bottle and the pills. you down them obediently.

then, after a long pause: "you're too nice to me."

"someone has to be," he replies, tucking the blanket around you. "your decision-making tonight was... not ideal."

"hey."

"you were drunk. by yourself. with nobody around that you knew."

you frown, suddenly more awake. "okay, well—sorry my friends ditched me? that's not my fault."

he sighs, eyes soft. "i know. i'm not blaming you."

you grumble something incoherent and flop dramatically onto your side. "felt like you were."

"wasn't," he says gently. "just... worried."

you peek up at him, eyes squinted. "...i guess that's allowed."

"thanks for the permission," he says, and you swear you hear the tiniest smile in his voice.

he starts to stand, but your hand catches his wrist.

"hey, izuku?" he pauses, looking back at you.

you blink slowly. "you're my favorite person. like ever."

his eyes widen a little. he swallows. "...y/n—"

"'s true. dunno when it happened but i love you."

he blinks.

you blink.

"...what?" "i love you," you repeat, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "kinda figured you knew that already."

his mouth opens. nothing comes out.

it's not the first time you've told him that.

you've said it before, offhandedly—over childhood goodbyes, late-night calls, after especially rough days. but something aboiut the way you say it now is different.

it doesn't sound like a best friend.

it sounds like everything else.

"i mean," you continue, voice soft and sleepy," why else would i always call you first? or wait for you to text back before i do anything. or remember your whole ass schedule even though i don't even know mine."

he looks like he's buffering. you broke izuku midoriya.

which means the only plausible thing to do here is keep going.

"oh," you add suddenly, "and you're, like, insanely hot. in a shy, rule-following, chronic overachiever kinda way."

"y/n."

"what?"

"you're drunk."

"yeah," you agree, "but i'm also right."

he laughs under his breath, eyes warm even in the dim light. and then, gently:

"yeah. i... love you too."

your eyes widen just slightly, and he adds, a little quieter, "i just want you to say it again when you mean it sober. so i can believe it's real."

you grin, eyes fluttering shut. "i'll tell you first thing in the morning, then."

he lingers there a second longer, like he's about to say something else—but he doesn't.

just pulls the blanket over your shoulder a little higher.

and softly, almost too softly: "okay. morning, then."

he turns off the light and closes the door behind him.

#mha #myhero #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #izuku #midoriya #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #mha smau #mha fic #mha fluff #mha fanfiction #izuku x reader #mha x reader #midoriya x reader #socialobligation

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captain-huggy-bear · 2 days ago

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Hi, an idea for a celly:

“Bring a damn charger next time, you scared the shit out of me” w/ Clayton?

P.S. love your writings! You always pop-off with them! 🫶🏼

Thank youu, hope you like it, lovely! So glad to write some Clay for this celly <3 We all know he'd be pissed out of concern if he can't contact you cause your phone dies, man is pulling his hair out but he also gets worried to the point of breaking I think. 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You don't expect to be in this position when you leave your house early in the morning for a long day in the next town over with your friends. You'd sent Clay a text in the morning to tell him you'd speak to him later in the day, both of you in the habit of texting throughout the day, sending updates when you were busy doing your own thing. You never just went radio silent, both of you like the reassurance that the other was okay.

What you hadn't realised was that your phone battery was almost out. You swore up and down that you'd put it on charge overnight like normal, but you must have not plugged it in properly because by 8am it was on 5% charge and naturally you didn't notice until it was too late.

Clay, on the other hand, had spent the entire day freaking out and worried because none of his calls were going through to you, no messages were being seen and he'd yet to get any of your friends' numbers for emergencies. He'd spent the day phoning hospitals in the area in case you were in an accident...suffice to say that when you finally got home at 11pm he was pissed off, breathing heavily as he tried to not take his worry out on you. He was worried sick, adrenaline on a high, buzzing with it under his skin in away he hadn't felt outside of a game.

“Bring a damn charger next time, you scared the shit out of me.” He doesn't raise his voice. Clay never yells, not even when he's pissed off, but his tone changes. It's sharp with worry, nostrils flaring as he breathes heavier. He's been running his hands through his hair, so obvious by the way it's out of place, not as tidy, not as pristine. Clay looks dishevelled, he looks like he's spent the day worrying.

"I'm sorry, I swear I put my phone on charge over night, it should have been at 100...I'm sorry, baby." You feel shitty...so guilty because he'd spent the day thinking you'd been hurt, phoning hospitals, unsure if you were okay or not, only for you to waltz through the door like nothing had happened.

You're reaching for him, arms wrapping around his waist, hands rubbing across his back in an attempt to ease some of his worry, to comfort him. You've rarely seen Clay this worked up and you hate that it's caused by you making a silly mistake, one you normally wouldn't have. You'd have been just as stressed in his shoes and likely less forgiving about it.

"I...I thought something had happened to you...I thought..." You know what he thought, the phone calls to the hospitals said enough...he thought you were hurt, that something bad had happened to you. It has you sliding your hands into his hair as he drops his forehead to your shoulder, "Shit, if something ever happened to you I don't know what I'd do, sweet girl."

Clayton Keller is not someone you would say was overly emotional...no Clayton had a tight grip on his emotions whether it was pain, frustration, worry, sadness...you could count on one hand the times you'd seen him lose that control. But you could already hear the tears starting to choke him up, could already feel the shake in his body, that control slipping more and more. It was almost terrifying in it's own way, to know that he was actually not unshakable.

"I'm okay, I'm good...and I promise from now on I'll keep a spare charger in my bag." Practical promises in an attempt to help put his mind at ease but he's shaking even harder like trying to calm him down just makes it worse.

"Clay..." You clutch him tighter like if you do you can make it easier, make it better, but he's coming down off an adrenaline spike that's been happening all day. The shakes aren't just the impending tears but the adrenaline wearing off, finally able to come back down now that you're here, now that you're safe.

"Fuck.." You feel the tears before you hear them, wet on your shoulder as he clutches you tighter, falling thick and fast as he gasps and sniffles against you. It's almost scary to see him break because you never really have. He's always the stable one, and maybe you haven't made enough room for him to break, maybe this should have come a hell of a lot sooner.

"I'm okay, you're okay...we're both, okay, Clay. I'm not going anywhere."

All you do is hold him. That's all you can do, even as his tears make your own spawn, you just hold him. You run your fingers through his hair, over his back, squeeze him as tight as you can and don't let go. You don't let go after 5 minutes or 10 or 40. You hold him until he's ready to pull back because you want to be someone he can break around, because you know he needs this, because this just tells you how much he cares about you.

There's no shame in his tears, just love.

#Huggy's 1000 celly #huggy bear writes #clayton keller x reader #clayton keller/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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returnofeternity · 3 days ago

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PLEASE. more of that possessive shauna you talked about……. having the pretty, bubbly girlfriend that even nat, lottie, tai, and van adored….. shes wanted by Literally everyone. maybe a “5 instances shauna caught someone coming after her girl and 1 instance where shauna got revenge” and it ends with reader being fucked in front of everyone or in their hut just suuuuuuper loud…….. Pls…… Feed Me…….

synopsis. 4 times shauna caught someone coming after you and the 1 time she got revenge.

pairing: shauna shipman x fem!reader

genre: 18+, smut.

warnings. jealous, toxic shauna???

wc: 2,442

· · 𖦹 · ·

the first time shauna caught someone flirting with her girlfriend, it was nat at the scene of the crime. you were picked to become hunter after nat was chosen as leader by lottie, so you spent a good chunk of time with natalie. she was angry that you were so skilled in hunting because, of course, you had to be. it's like you wanted to hang out with nat. you'd come back to her in the hut, red tint on your cheeks, and talk her ear off about how fun it was training with her. she'd just give you a fake smile, one that you always caught, and continue writing in her journal about ways she could murder nat while you went on about how excited you were for your first kill.

"if you like nat so much, then why don't you just go be with her?" she spits, her hand shaking with so much jealousy that her writing becomes nothing more than scribbles on the page.

you freeze at her sudden anger and recoil a bit. but then you grin at her, and she looks away like she got caught because she did. she's jealous.

"maybe i will?" you test your limits. you move on your knees, getting up to walk out, but shauna huffs and grips your wrist, making you tumble onto her lap.

"i'd kill you both." she snarls quietly, her voice low and dangerous. it makes you thrilled.

you smile and put your hands on her shoulders, leaning in close to her face. "promise?"

before shauna can push you on your back, she hears the worst noise possible: nat calling out your name.

"hey, are you in here?" nat just barges in, face reddening when she sees the compromised position you're in. "oh."

shauna barely notices the way nat's face falls due to her eyesight clouding in rage.

you quickly get up from shauna's lap, much to her annoyance, and wipe the dust from your pant legs as you stand in front of nat, obviously feeling awkward. "did you need something?"

"yeah," she responds quietly, glancing toward shauna for a brief second before lifting up something in her hands. "i fixed the sling for you. figured it'd be easier to carry around like this while you're out hunting." nat blushes as you take it, holding her breath as she waits for a response.

"thank you." you run your fingers along the leather, noticing the little flowers and what seems to be patches of clothes sewn into it. "it's awesome."

she nods and awkwardly places her hands by her side. "you did good today, by the way. you're almost as good as me."

shauna scoffs. "are you fucking serious?" she gets up and pulls you back by your shirt, getting in front of you and hiding you from nat. "i think you can leave now."

there's a staredown between her and nat, shauna daring nat to say something with her eyes. she smirks triumphantly when nat clenches her jaw and walks out, and when she turns back to you, her expression now cold, she takes the sling from you and throws it on the ground.

2. the second time shauna catches someone flirting with you, it's taissa. which pisses her off because she's dating van. she just has to be greedy and go after you too? she's sulking. and she's still upset by what happened with nat. shauna feels like every small sound is 10x louder than it actually is. she can feel it reverberate in her chest and throb in her brain as the wind blows her hair especially as she hears the sound of your laughter. usually, it would make her happy. calm, even. but now, watching you from across the camp, laughing at whatever the fuck taissa is talking to you about, it makes her angry. you keep leaning into taissa's space as you try to stifle your giggles, your hand on her arm as you murmur for her to "shut uppp."

that's exactly what shauna thinks she should do.

and she knows whatever tai is saying is meant to be flirty. she can tell by the way she looks at you. it's the way she looks at you when you're not looking. a soft look and twinkling eyes, looking at you like you make everything better. how dare taissa look at you like that? but she gets it. shauna's always loved how bubbly and pretty you are, a part of her actually liking how everyone here seems to want you. but she's also insanely possessive.

"you better get back to your girlfriend before she kills me." taissa leans in close, smirking a bit, as she notices shauna glowering by her hut with her arms crossed.

you look back, shauna's jaw clenching when you make eye contact. you huff and roll your eyes, which makes steam come out of shauna's ears. turning back to taissa, you shake your head.

"she's fine. i wanna keep talking to you anyway. besides, i know she's gonna be an ass if i go back."

taissa's chest swells with pride at your words. "you'd risk her wrath just to stay with me?" she smiles at how you seem to blush as you look down. "i'm honored."

"you look pretty with your hair like that," she continues, referring to when she did your hair earlier. "you should let me do it again sometime."

when you look back up at tai, her eyes are low and dreamy, and she's smiling dumbly at you like she's in a trance of some sort.

shauna shouts your name so hard that it echoes around the forest.

3. the third and perhaps the worst time shauna caught someone coming after her girl, it was lottie. it was right after her stunt of trying to convince shauna to get everything out and after she told her that "needing a shrink doesn't make you a shrink", quote unquote. she was trying to get her to drink this weird tea that she did not trust coming from lottie. so lottie went to you.

lottie's always been weirdly obsessed with you—weirdly obsessed with shauna too. but she knows it's more than just whatever shit the 'wilderness' is telling her. it's an attraction. she gets a stick up her ass when nat or tai or van flirt with you, but when it's lottie? she just sees red. lottie's always been quiet with her attraction, though. but recently, she's been more forward.

and it's the fucking worst.

the two of you are outside, sitting on a log, just enjoying each other's presence as you play with her hand mindlessly, when lottie walks up. shauna immediately sits up straighter and clutches your hand.

lottie smiles at both of you, stepping over shauna's legs as she gets on your side and bends down.

shauna wanted to trip her so badly.

"you should keep using it. you're doing so well with it." lottie pushes the cup into your lap, giving you a cheesy smile and a tilt of her head, slightly bouncing up and down with excitement.

shauna's eyes narrow. "you drank it? are you fucking kidding me?" she scoffs, roughly grabbing the cup from lottie and pouring it out with a smug look as lottie stares at her, then she scowls at you. "you're going off and getting high with her?"

"no! it...it was one time, okay?" you explain, kind of enjoying seeing the veins in shauna's neck pop as she seethes. "we just talked."

and maybe lottie was a bit touchy as you rested your head in her lap while ranting about shauna and how you feel about everything...

shauna's eye twitches, and she suddenly stands up, reaching over to grab your wrist as she tugs you up and into her body. the look she gives lottie makes you excited down there.

"get someone else to drink your bullshit tea." she says before dragging you into the woods.

4. the fourth and final time shauna catches someone flirting with you before snapping, it's with van. she doesn't know why it ticked her off so much because van's always been playful and flirty, that's just who she is as a person, but it was like a bomb went off when she saw her with you. it was the last straw. the last time she could take everyone trying to steal you away from her. again, she was sulking in her hut, furiously writing in her journal about how she hates how everyone adores you when she heard hushed whispers.

van quietly calls out your name just before you reach your shared hut with shauna. "hey. can we talk?"

shauna stops writing and listens in, her hand squeezing her pencil roughly.

you nod, turning back to look at the pieces of clothing hanging on the hut meant to be privacy curtains and to keep out the cold since it's winter again. you don't know if shauna is in there, and it would be a mess if she were. the whole plan would be ruined.

"is shauna in there?" van asks, wondering the same thing. she doesn't get any less tense when you shrug, but she clarifies, "it's not about... that thing."

oh. you thought she wanted to talk about the plan to get rescued.

"what is it about?" you wonder, looking at her curiously. you take a second to appreciate her scars, the paleness of her face because of the cold accentuating the red marks that you think are so cool.

"it's about you." van says. "and shauna, i guess."

you pout slightly, tilting your head. you raise your brows, signaling for her to continue. you're curious.

van steps closer, something shauna can hear, and looks down at your hands before enveloping them in hers. "she doesn't treat you right."

your mouth opens in surprise at her words, and you let out a small chuckle.

"van..." you assume she's joking. this is the first time someone's been forward in their advances. hell, you don't even know they're flirting half of the time. you can only tell when shauna's jealous. "c'mon."

"no, i'm serious." she continues, and it's only then that you notice the amount of adoration in her eyes.

has it always been there?

shauna thinks she blacked out long ago. when she opens her eyes again, the pencil in her hand is now in two pieces, and there are angry scratches on her journal page. when the ringing in her head subsides just a bit, she's up in an instant, flinging the curtains to the side so fast that they all come undone as she steps out of the hut.

she hears the end of van saying, "...like you."

"what the fuck did you just say?" shauna yells with her chest, her voice booming so loud that you get scared and jump closer to van.

big mistake. huge mistake.

5. everyone's either peeking out of their hut or watching nearby as they hold their breath, wondering if shauna's really about to kill van right now. she's eerily silent as she stares back and forth between you and van and the rest of them, her chest heaving.

"shauna, it was nothing. van was just joking." you try and stick up for her, thinking that it could lessen whatever the hell shauna's planning on doing as punishment. "you're causing a scene. let's just—let's go back inside."

"i'm causing a scene?" she asks calmly, her voice sending chills down your spine. her face is void of any recognizable emotion as she scoffs, a cold smile on her lips. then she seems to visibly relax, standing up straighter and looking around with a hard stare.

and then you're being pulled forward by the front of your shirt, shauna's lips crashing onto yours so roughly that it causes a spark of pain to shoot through your nose as it clashes with her face. you gasp in shock, shauna using the opportunity to shove her tongue down your throat. you can't help but moan into the kiss, your hands reaching up to her shoulders to steady yourself, eyes fluttering shut as her big hands grope your ass.

you forget all about the little audience you have.

until she starts undressing you. first, it's the cold you think of. then, it's the fact that you're not in your hut but outside where the rest of the team are.

"shauna..." you whisper, trying to stop her wandering hands as she messes with your jeans.

"it's okay. they don't mind." she looks up at the yellowjackets, their eyes watching you intently. it only makes the anger and jealousy grow stronger.

she manages to yank your jeans down, stepping back to admire you as you try to cover yourself up. the wet spot on your panties is just too embarrassing.

"take off the rest." she commands. she lets you do it yourself, to give her your consent. she knows you if you refuse, she can just lift you up and take you back to the hut to fuck you, but if you take it off, then she knows you want this—knows you wanna get fucked in front of everyone.

and her breath hitches when you lift your shirt up, smiling like she's proud of you. she licks her lips when you bend down to take off your panties, disappointment in her chest when she realizes they all got a good view of your ass and she didn't.

"mine." she growls, to you and the yellowjackets. shauna stalks forward and turns you so you're facing them, pulling you tight against her chest. she looks toward van, who's still by the hut, and sneers. "you can't fucking touch what's mine."

her hands squeeze your tits roughly, making a loud whine spill out of your mouth. you turn your head in embarrassment, the thought of accidentally making eye contact with one of the girls making you feel lightheaded and shy. but, as you hear nat groan, you can't help but peek up at her, her pale face flushed red as she rubs her thighs while watching shauna use you.

you're absolutely wet enough for shauna's fingers. but it's a huge surprise when she suddenly shoves two of them in your hole. lottie lets out a whiny sigh at how you fold and slump against shauna at the contact, and she drops down to her knees as she analyzes the way your hole greedily sucks in shauna's fingers.

"i know she's pretty...." shauna mumbles, nibbling on your neck and biting down hard, her ears twitching at the lovely sound of your broken whines. "and i know you all want her."

#ilovgore #shauna shipman thoughts 💭#shauna shipman x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #shauna shipman x you #© returnofeternity

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 22 hours ago

Text

[12:22 am]

(cw: f!reader, reader is tipsy, profanity)

You weren't sure if it was the lingering effects of cheap alcohol streaming through your system now or just actual envy. The party had died down an hour ago, you were tucked up in fratboy!Jaehyun's bed, his hoodie hanging over your frame, but for some reason your boyfriend wasn't beside you.

You could hear him. He'd left his bedroom door wide open, so while you couldn't see him from you position in his bed, you could hear him clearly.

"It doesn't look bad at all. Look at your legs, they look great," you heard Jaehyun compliment.

You rolled your eyes, mocking him under your breath. He'd been out of the room for close to 20 minutes just chatting it up with who? Well, none other than his best friend Johnny of course! They'd been standing around Johnny's room and complimenting each other since Jaehyun walked out to return Johnny's gym shorts.

You weren't even sure that Jaehyun had complimented you as many times as he had Johnny, even just tonight. "Bro, your arms look huge. How much have you been lifting?" "My arms, dude? Look at your thighs, looking good, my guy."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Geez, could they get any worse? It was as if they could hear your thoughts. "Bro, we should go to the gym together. I'll spot you," one of them told the other.

You huffed out a breath of annoyance, choosing instead to scroll on Instagram instead of listening to the bros compliment each other and kiss each other's asses.

In the hopes of distracting yourself, you pulled Instagram up on your phone. You clicked through stories, watching various clips and images from the party that had just ended. A video of Jungwoo doing a handstand and falling, a video of Mark breakdancing, oh and of course, the usual boomerang posted by your boyfriend of him and Johnny posted up with beers in their hand.

Your thumb tapped on Jaehyun's username and you scrolled from there. Scrolled past the very rare selfie, tapped through his gym highlight, his Nu Chi Theta highlight, scrolled past photodumps of party. Yet... it seemed like there was one constant, one person who was in almost every post and every story in the highlights. John Suh.

You glared at the screen, swiping with purpose through photo dumps and highlights. Two weeks ago Jaehyun posted his monthly photo dump. Slide one was a picture of all the frat guys, slide two was a picture of the breakfast the both of you shared, slide three was a picture of him and Johnny at the gym, and you? There wasn't a picture of your face until slide 8.

The monthly picture dump from the month before last was the same, the month before that, and the month before that too. Glimpses and peeks into the dates you guys had, moments you shared that he felt the need to document, but no pictures of you until almost the very end of the dump.

It's pretty clear to say that the lingering effects of the alcohol you consumed are making you petty and angry. Jaehyun probably could have chosen a better moment to enter his room, but how could he have known you were stewing in jealously over his best friend? He settles onto the bed beside you as you lock your phone. You can feel the anger bubbling in your stomach as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your neck.

"Oh, have I finally earned your attention?" You ask with a pout.

"What are you even saying right now, Sweetheart?" Jaehyun responds with his brows pinching together.

"Are you sure you don't want to spend time with your precious Johnny instead of me?"

A loud "huh?!" sounds out loudly through the dark room.

"Well, you just complimented each other back and forth more than you've ever complimented me, you always post him in your dumps before you post me, and he basically has two of your highlights dedicated to him since you always go to the gym together and he's your brother! And you only posted him tonight and I looked fucking cute!" You exclaim, breathing heavily as your rant came to an end.

It's silent for a few moments as you assume Jaehyun tries to gather his thoughts and formulate a response. He clears his throat, "you're jealous of Johnny being on my Instagram more than you?"

You turn away from him, shrugging his arm off of you as you huff and cross your arms across your chest. "I don't know... it's just, I think I deserve some attention and posts considering I'm your girlfriend. I think that would be nice," you mumble so quietly that Jaehyun struggles to even hear you.

"I can post us right now, Sweetheart..." Jaehyun tried as he wrapped his arms around you once more and pulled you closer to his chest.

"I don't look cute anymore."

He kisses your cheek, "you look cute and beautiful and sexy and gorgeous all the time, Sweet Girl."

"More than Johnny?" You manage to ask through a yawn as your eyes start to drift shut.

He laughs, "of course, Sweetheart."

You shouldn't be surprised when you wake up in the morning to find that you've been tagged in a post with 20 slides of pictures and videos of you and Jaehyun, some of them you didn't even know he took, but there is still some element of surprise.

You didn't even notice that he's woken up, jumping slightly when you heard his voice, "is the post good enough?"

You shrug before playfully adding, "would have been nice to still have seen a picture of me last night."

"That's slide 19, Sweet Girl."

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mainstreamangel · 20 hours ago

Text

IM A SURVIVOR

Platonic!UCONN x Fem!Reader P. Bueckers x Cheerleader!Fem!Reader

Summary: You were deemed the team mom, always showing up for games and when problems arise they know they can count on you to take care of it.

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): mentions of small injuries like papercuts, mentions of illness, inaccurate medical terms, religious mentions (just prayers).

A/N: Based off of Reba's song not Destiny's Child

WC: 4.7k

I was born three months too early.

Your mother had a home delivery and it wasn't planned. Now you were born under certain circumstances and when you were finally taken to the hospital and delivered to the PICU, the doctors had given your parents the rundown.

"Your child has suffered a few respiratory issues due to premature birth and there is a chance that she could have a weaker immune system since she was born so early. There is also a chance for seizures, intraventricular hemorrhage. This mean she could suffer brain bleeding and neurological damage. We would like to keep her for a bit to watch her over and make sure she's okay. This will also allow us to closely monitor and catch potential issues that may be caused by premature birth." The doctor explains.

Your parents' worlds shattered. They weren't sure what to do. Their baby was born so early and the doctors hadn't delivered good news.

"You should sleep. You must be exhausted from giving birth. I'll stay up to make sure we don't miss any information." Your father says to your mother.

"Alright, I'll try." Your mother wanted to say she was fine and she needs to be up but she's exhausted and can barely function.

She lays down on the uncomfortable bed and tries to catch some sleep.

The doctor gave me thirty days.

A little bit later a doctor comes in holding a tablet.

"Sir? Do you have a minute?" She asks.

Your dad jolts up and slowly walks towards the doctor.

"Your baby is beautiful, she is truly a gift, and I hate to deliver this to you under such circumstances. But because of how early your baby was born... It is likely she will pass give or take 30 days." The doctor says professionally.

Your father just stands there with a horrid expression. How was he going to break the news to your mother? Especially after everything you two went through to have this pregnancy. It was a miracle you weren't a miscarriage. It was difficult to get pregnant and by some miracle you were conceived under the moonlight.

He thanked the doctor and she went off to attend to another patient. Your father slumped back into the uncomfortable hospital chair staring at a random spot on the floor.

He tried to wrap his head around how this could've happened. Was it him? Was there something wrong with him genetically?

When your mother woke up from her sleep, she could see the distressed look on your father.

"What is it?" She mumbled.

"I... While you were asleep a doctor came in." He swallowed hard.

"She said our daughter only has 30 days to live."

Your mother broke down. Her shoulders shook and her sobs rang out. Your father tried to console her but he was pretty broken himself.

"We haven't even given her a name." Your mother cried.

"Well what were you thinking?" He asked.

"I don't know!" She threw her head into her hands again and cried harder.

Your father didn't know what to do. He tried to be strong but he just couldn't. He silently shut his eyes and looked down. Praying for a miracle. Anything that could turn this nightmare into well, anything else.

Your father mumbled a small prayer and then, a name popped up. Randomly in his head he took it as a sign. He said the name that had appeared in his brain.

"What?" Your mom asked.

He said it again.

"It's perfect." She smiled.

That's how you had gotten your name. As you fought in that PICU you had gained a few traits from your parents. Your father's determination and strength, your mother's will and empathy. Also, you had inherited her need to always be prepared. You had inherited her motherly love which you hadn't known you were going to use for a certain group of girls.

Time went by and your mother had been discharged from the hospital. They would go home and rest, recharging for everyday activities and then they would come and visit their sweet baby.

That day was like no other, work went on and then they would come and see their child. They had expected no progress and they had gotten even more solemn as it neared the passing date.

"Ma'am, Sir. There is something I'd like to discuss." The doctor said.

They had become a regular and had created a tight bond with your doctor. She had taken them to a quiet room as they sat down next to each other, your doctor across.

But I must have had my mama's will. And God's amazing grace.

She opened her tablet and turned it so it faced your parents.

"I don't understand?" Your father looked at the doctor for a better, verbal explanation.

"Your daughter is showing great signs of improvement. She's going to be alright and she will a live a healthy life.

Your parents start crying. They had prayed for a miracle and whatever they had done, they were granted that gift.

"She's going to be alright." Your mother hugged your father.

So I guess I'll keep on livin'.

The doctor stood with a bright smile, the joy she felt when families were going to be alright could never be matched in any different field.

By day 30, you were released from the PICU and were taken home and raised like a normal child. Your parents had loved you unconditionally and been there for every first. They spoiled you and treated like their princess because, well, you were their princess. A gift from God, and a miracle that only the special few get to experience.

Even if this loves to die for.

You had made it through elementary, and then middle school, you even got the chance to graduate from high school. All the schools you attended were local. Close to home and close to your parents.

Until college rolled around. Now you didn't really know where you were going to go. You never thought you would get the chance to get this far. Your parents had explained your situation and you were sad to hear about the things your parents experienced but you had ultimately agreed that you were happy that you got the chance to live.

You weren't sure what you wanted to do in the future and that made it difficult to choose which university to attend. You looked at different majors and read their descriptions trying to make some sense of it all.

Your parents were there every step of the way. Told you to consider things like can you see yourself doing said thing in the future? How's the pay? Will the field make you happy for a long time?

That's how you landed on the University of Connecticut. You were going to major in elementary education. You wanted to teach young children and change the lives of them at a young age. Help them grow, and shape their future selves.

'Cause your bags are packed and I ain't cryin'.

Your parents were in tears when you packed your bags, getting ready for the long trip to Connecticut. The journey was filled with laughter and solemn moments and relived memories. But nothing lasts forever. You arrive on campus and your parents help you settle in.

You're walking out and I'm not trying. To change your mind 'cause I was born to be.

"My baby's all grown up." Your mother cried again and you gave her another hug.

"I know you don't want to leave and I'll miss you too, but mumma you gotta go. It's getting late and I know how cranky you get when you don't get enough sleep." You murmured.

"Come on," Your father tears her away and they both say their goodbyes.

You take a deep breath and you look around your empty dorm. It was nice. Being alone. But it was also scary. Your roommate was supposed to be here before you but they had got transferred to a different university and now you had your own place. Double the luxury.

You literally spent the whole night making your dorm your new home. From cute fairy lights to posters of your favourite interests. You arranged furniture and made it a comfortable space.

It was about 2 AM and you finally finished. You didn't bother getting ready for bed, you kind of just crashed.

But your one goal was to join the cheer team. And through determination and a little bit of luck you were able to claim your spot with a good team who loves and supports not only you, but each other.

The first game you cheered at was the UCONN Huskies' women's basketball team. You wore a proud smile as you moved in your uniform. Your hair pristine and tidy and your energy full of life.

Paige noticed you immediately. It's not like she always looked at the cheer team, she never really gave a shit. She would just focus on her game and her team. But something about your energy stood out from all the boring cheerleaders.

You brought more to the table.

She came over to you after winning the game and you instantly hit it off. At the after party you two got drunk and she introduced you to her friends. They loved you and you loved them. You grew close to your girls even though you participated in different sports.

Because you inherited your mother's love you tend to rub it off on other people. Including your basketball friends.

Only 2 years have passed since then and you had grown closer to your girls. Especially Paige. She had asked you out after knowing each other for a bit and you two have never been better. In every waking moment of your time at UCONN, you've cherished and loved. They had deemed you the team mom, always tending to their needs and being the support that they can rely on. Your love is unconditional and you're always prepared.

That brings you to now, and a few times your "team mom" skills come in handy.

1. Azzi's papercut

You were in the library, a few books that were cracked open. Azzi had decided to join you even though you two had different work.

"Snoopy says it's time for a dance break! Snoopy loves a good dance break." You said sweetly.

You were tasked to practice reading out loud without stuttering and stumbling. You held up the book showing Azzi the pictures. She was your test subject and she was attentively listening to you. Kind of.

She was multitasking, pretending to be interested in your little story time and doing her work at the same time.

"He dances with Charlie Brown! He dances with Lucy! He dances with Linus." You add enthusiasm to each sentence and continue to practice your eye contact.

"You don't have to add little quirks it's just me." Azzi jokes

"I'm treating you like a child for the sake of practice, now listen." You laugh.

"I guess I am a child. Since you're the team mom, we're just your super energetic but amazing children." She says proudly.

"I wouldn't say amazing."

"Oh, so you hate us."

"Maybe." You try and say with a straight face but a small smile cracks on your face.

She shakes her head and picks up a loose paper.

"Fuck. Jesus." Azzi dropped the paper abruptly.

"You alright?" You asked, slowly lowering the children's book.

"Papercut. Fuck it stings."

Your baby cannot be in pain. Not on your watch. You dig into your bag and pull out a small travel first aid kit.

"Are you bleeding Az?" You ask, popping the lid open.

"No it's just open."

You nod and take her hand, assessing the damage. You hold her hand as you apply some healing cream and a bandage that fits the cut.

"That feel better?" You asked, looking at her.

"Yeah, thanks MOM." Azzi jokes.

You lightly hit her arm.

"Hey! I am an injured woman. I'm not sure I can play basketball anymore."

"The team would still function the same." You joke.

"Hey!"

You laugh and pick the book back up, where you left off. Azzi got back to your homework and thankfully you two were able to finish up in the library without any other "life changing" injuries.

2. Kaitlyn's fall

You were sitting against the wall as you wrote in your journal, occasionally watching your girls practice. It was a very squeaky environment, from the sound of voices constantly talking and the squeaking of sneakers on polished floors. It was a miracle you were able to get anything written in that book.

But you were used to the noise. Your girls were very noisy you had to say. Some more than others but you were not going to hold it against them.

A yelp cut your thoughts up as your head snaps as you see Kaitlyn Chen laying on the court holding her ankle. Quickly, you bolt up and race over to the girl. Her teammates were circled around her but not doing anything.

"Move." You pushed Paige out of the way.

"Hey, ma. Chen just had a nasty fall.

You get on your knees and look at the girl.

"Are you hurt? Does anything hurt?" You asked quickly.

You took her wrist and started to measure her pulse.

"Heart-rate's good." You lean down and closer to her mouth.

"Breathing's good."

"I'm fine." Kaitlyn laughs.

"Thank God. Does anything hurt?" You ask again.

"My ankle feels a little sore." She sits up with the help of KK and Paige.

You scoot closer to her ankle and take her shoe off. You peel back a bit of her sock and press around it. She winces at some spots and you let go.

"It's a little bit swollen but nothing too bad. Not twisted, cracked, sprained, or anything. It's going to be sore for a bit so just sit around, rest a bit and it should be better before game day. Avoid mass pressure for long periods of time."

You put her sock back on and help her put her shoe back on too. The girls help move her to the wall and she just sighs, thankful for a break. Auriemma had been pushing them more since their last loss.

"Damn, went all doctor on her, ma." Paige smirks.

"Again, there's a reason she's the team mom." Ice states, tossing a ball towards the net.

"Just trying to support where I can." You shrug. "She's all clear!" You shout at Geno from across the court.

He gives you a thumbs up and starts directing again.

"P, you better get back in there." You smile.

"Hold on, I just was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite after practice?"

"Sure, babe." You lean up and give her a quick kiss before sending her back out on the court.

3. KK's bedtime

KK and Paige were live, doing some fuckass dance featuring Paige's bad singing.

You shook your head and close your laptop.

"Alright, I'm going to bed. You two better keep it down." You stated.

Standing up, you walked over waved to the camera and gave Paige a light kiss on the head.

"You coming to bed soon?" You asked her.

"Yeah, soon, ma." She smiled.

UCONNIC5: they r literally so cute omg

PBNJ: i wanna be either of them idc who

azzifuddaround: their mom making sure they behave lol

You nodded and bid the two goodnight. All nice and ready you fell asleep quickly but were suddenly awakened by a loud crash. Looking at your phone's clock you noticed that it had only been 2 hours since you fell asleep.

When you get awakened from your sleep, you are not happy. You throw the covers away, your body soaking in the cold air. You wrap a blanket around your shoulders, the fabric following like a billowing cape.

You walk into the general area and still see the two on live. Now this time before you fell asleep, everything was fine. But now? There was furniture moved, new stains on the countertops and still 2 energetic children entertaining a bunch of people, virtually.

"What. The. Fuck." You furrow your brows.

The music they were playing stops abruptly and the pair turn to look at you.

"Hey, baby..!" Paige chuckled nervously.

"You said you were going to be in bed soon. Why did I wake up to an empty bed?"

"Lost track of time I guess. Sorry, I'll go get ready now." She hangs her head low and sulks. She gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and walks into your bedroom.

Now it was just you and KK.

"Hey..." She smiles, lopsided.

"You need to go to bed. You have practice in the morning and classes after. You're going to be exhausted." You scolded.

"It'll be fine." She dismisses.

"KK." You say, lowly.

You can literally feel the fear radiating off of her, with your tone.

"Going now. Goodnight." She scrambles away and shuts the door to her room.

You sigh and start to clean up. Move the furniture back, clean up garbage and wipe down surfaces. You were exhausted too, but it had to get done or else your brain would have started your day off as bad.

Finally, you were ready to go back to bed but realise that KK's phone was still propped up and on live. You furrow your brows and roll your eyes.

Comments still flooded the screen and you scanned them quickly.

opalopaque: damn she got that mama bear in her

tiredhipreplacement: if i got told off like that id want the ground to swallow me.

grandpounded: paige is lucky to have such a strong willed woman

You smiled at the loving comments and quickly say your goodbyes and goodnights. Ending the live you knock softly on KK's door.

A faint "Come in." was heard and you opened the door, carefully.

"You left your phone." You hand her the device.

"Thanks."

You sit on the side of her bed while she's snuggled under the covers.

"You doing okay? You know I only used that tone so that you would get a good nights rest."

"I know, and I'm grateful for that because I know I will literally die without sleep tomorrow."

"Just doing my job." You smile and rub her arm softly.

"Good night KK."

"Night."

You turn off the lamp beside her bed and shut the door with a soft click. Padding back to your room and saw Paige laying in bed, scrolling on her phone.

"Hey P."

"Hey, baby. Time for bed?" She put her phone down.

"Yeah."

You climbed back under the covers and then you decided that the space between the two of you was not good enough. So you shift closer and you put your body next to hers.

"It's nice that you care for everyone."

"I'd do it again, anytime."

"You'd be the perfect mother, you know."

"I fill the role because I know everything will crash down if I don't." You joke.

Paige turns the lamp off and you two lay there, winding down from the day.

4. Ice's jersey

You were getting ready to head to your final cheer practice before the big game. The huskies also had practice just in a different area of the facility. You were doing your hair before a knock at the door.

"Come in!" You shout.

Ice Brady walks in, her figure broad as she watches you curl your hair.

"Have you seen my jersey?" She asks.

She always misplaces her jersey before games and you have taken it upon yourself to make it a routine.

"It's hanging in the closet by the entrance."

"Thanks." She gives you a smile and walks off.

You hear more shuffling and the sound of her jersey being taken off the hanger. A moment of silence loomed around you as you counted up to a minute. Like clockwork she called again.

"Where are my-"

"Theyre under the shoe rack." You call again.

She finds her pair of sneakers and thanks you again. You shook your head as Paige pops into the bathroom.

"Do you know where my hair tie went?"

You sighed. This one was new. Paige had usually always kept responsible tabs on her belongings but not everyone can be perfect I guess.

You pull open a drawer and fish one out before handing it to her. Also, you slide her hair gel over to her so she can do her signature slick back for practice.

"Hey! Do you know where my-" Ice yells.

"Your keys are in the dish with everyone else's keys. You know this!" You roll your eyes and Paige laughs.

"Thank you for keeping track of our belongings, ma."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't know what you'll do without me when I'm gone."

"I don't plan on letting you leave that easily."

You smile and give her a soft kiss.

"Hey!"

You break the kiss and let out a frustrated groan.

"Your ID is literally in your pocket. It's where you always leave it. I'm literally going to start making you a list so you remember." You stormed out of the room.

Paige shakes her head and starts to do her hair. She also wonders what she's going to do when she leaves UCONN. What you two will become.

5. Cheering them on

Game day had arrived like clockwork and you were hyping up the crowds. Loud voices filled the court as fans from all over had come to watch the national champion game. UCONN v. USC it was an anticipated match and there were a lot of people rooting for both sides.

You pranced around in your uniform, your hair perfect as always. Your smile was bright as you cheered on your girls.

They were currently warming up and stretching as you did your routine.

By the time the game started you had finished the routine and now it was time for your girls to bring home the championship. The score was tight, 78-64, but your girls had managed to pull through.

Confetti rained all over the court and over people. You were ecstatic. You knew they had worked so hard to get to this point and with Paige's last year, you knew this meant so much more to her than you could ever imagine.

That's why, you stepped onto the floor and she came bolting through the crowd until she picked you up and kissed you in front of everyone.

Now your relationship was public but it was more on the back burner than the main focus of Paige's career. Sure it brought her attention but she stated specifically she wanted to be known for her skills on the court and that the moments with her close group was just a bonus.

"You did it, P." You mumbled in her ear.

"We did it." She kissed you again and put you on the floor.

"That hat looks good on you babe." You smirk, tilting it down slightly so it covered both of you.

"Yeah? Gonna keep it on later." She winked.

You lightly hit her and she ran off to go bug Auriemma.

You stood with your team and smiled happily as you basked in the win.

You really wanted to get home but unfortunately Paige had been stopped for a bunch of interviews and pictures.

You didn't mind though, she deserved it. She signed autographs and talked with fans. Now, you weren't as popular or famous as her but there were times where they wanted you in the picture or you signature and you happily obliged.

"So, Paige, what can we expect now that your time here at UCONN is up?" A reporter asked, pointing the mic towards Paige.

"Uh, hopefully enter the draft as the no. 1 pick and have my friends and family with me as I continue and hopefully improve my career." She smiles, looking at you.

"It's said that it is also your girl's last year here too? How will you two cope with the upcoming draft?" She asked.

"Our bond is so strong nothing could tear us apart. Whatever she wants to pursue, I'll support her and I know she'll support my dreams too." She smiled and waved at you after you waved first.

"Thank you, Paige. And good luck."

Paige walked back over to you and gave you a hug.

"You know, we wouldn't be here without you. Taking care of us and what not."

"It was a team effort then."

You smiled and leaned in, capturing her lips in a sweet but savoury kiss.

6. Paige's draft

The 2025 WNBA draft had arrived sooner than either of you had expected. Paige had shown up in a custom fit as she took the carpet. Her energy was attractive and her hair was alluring. Reporters and photographers shouting to get just one moment of her time.

"Paige, what team are you hoping to get picked by tonight?"

"Paige, we see you're rocking a nice outfit. Who's it by?"

"Paige, I see your girl is here to support you. Will she be in the crowd this evening?"

"Paige! Paige! Paige!"

Your girl handled it all with ease. Like it naturally came to her and you were so proud of her. Then you noticed something. There was a bit of red fuzz on her suit, promptly matching your red outfit for the draft.

Quickly, you walk up to her and brush it off her suit, and fixing her hair that was out of place. You leave a soft kiss on the corner of her lips and you wave to photographers before leaving.

In the time while you were gone, she had apparently got mic'd up and she warned you that she was.

"I'm mic'd. I'm mic'd." She smoothed her suit, this time a black suit, compared to her brown one she debuted on the carpet.

"Alright, P." You laughed.

You saw your friends in the crowd and gave them a little wave.

Paige's former coach, Geno Auriemma had taken his seat at Paige's table and you gave him a slight wave. You two had a good relationship. It wasn't as close as Paige's to him but it was still good. You both held respect for each other and you believed that was all that mattered.

"And with that, the first pick of the 2025 WNBA draft, the Dallas Wings select..."

You held your breath and waited in anticipation.

"Paige Bueckers, University of Connecticut."

You smile brightly and stand up along with the rest of her family. She turns and gives you a hug first and you give her a kiss on the cheek.

"You did it baby," You mumbled.

"All thanks to you, ma." She gave you one final hug before hugging the rest of the people at your table and going up to receive her jersey.

You pulled out your phone and started recording like a proud mother who just watched their child accomplish a major milestone. To you, she had.

"Paige Bueckers' girl is out in the crowd tonight. Looks like she's recording like a proud mother." One of the announcers says on TV.

"I'm sure she is very proud, along with herself and her teammates. The public can't wait to see what Paige accomplishes during her time in the WNBA. Her collegiate career had been phenomenal, there's no telling what she will do in the bigger leagues."

"As the no. 1 pick overall, she will be ensured to be a positive contribution to the Dallas Wings and furthermore."

Paige had sat back down and you gave her a proud smile.

"I'm so proud of you baby."

"Thank you. I love you."

You gave her a soft smile and held her hand under the table.

"With the second pick of the 2025 WNBA draft, the...." You continued to listen as best as you could but you couldn't have felt prouder of your girl.

She was on the road to greatness and you knew you would be there by her side.

It was time to retire the title, "Team mom" and start a new era as just... you. :)

A single mom who works two jobs. Who loves her kids and never stops. With gentle hands and the heart of a fighter, I'm a survivor.

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