#going from an island to another to another to another

[geminiwritten]

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

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

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

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

word count: 10937

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

Another awkward stretch of silence. 

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

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

“See you Friday, then.” 

“See you Friday.” 

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

What the fuck did you just do? 

- 

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “That easy?” 

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer is always civilized.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choke on air. “Excuse me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, how are you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?” 

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

“I highly fucking doubt it.” 

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

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

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

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

“I know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it almost wrecks you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the plan, anyway. 

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

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

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought. 

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

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

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

You feel it everywhere. 

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

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck are you doing? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t ask you to come in.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching. 

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

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

BZZZZZZZZZZZT. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dreams? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake…” 

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

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

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

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

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

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

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest. 

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

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

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

“Fuck it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

You wake up warm. Too warm. 

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

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

And then... you remember everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not when I’m this right.” 

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

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Define right.” 

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

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

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

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

You smirk. “Jealous?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock. 

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

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

END.

[cerisereids]

𝗖𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝗜 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝗔𝘁 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁?- 𝗦.𝗥. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟭]

Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Bombshell!Reader

WC- 5k and this is only pt 1 belle shut up challenge

Summary- The BAU receives an invitation to the annual FBI gala. Spencer can't seem to handle the amount of attention you get.

Contains- icky men flirting a lot with reader, avoidant attachment!Spencer, spencer low-key gets in a cockfight with another guy at the event, fight, angsty, fluff in pt 2, reader's dress is inspired by sabrina's grammy dress, only kind of proof read, ending heavily inspired by ness in the new girl ep where cece almost marries shivrang

A/N- first time doing a multi-parter Spence fic in so long!!! I hope everyone likes!! I once again cannot find where I got this divider from I'm so sorry everyone

Your fingers delicately grasp your pink perfume bottle, the floral scent falling over you like fresh rainfall. The scent ends up mixing with all the others taking space in Emily's expansive apartment. Your coworkers whiz past you in all directions, J.J., Tara, Penelope, and Emily scattering to get ready. Emily's kitchen island and master bathroom are now transformed into a provisional beauty parlor, endless arrays of lipsticks, eyeliners, and mascaras littering every inch of counter space.

The infectious beat of ABBA's Dancing Queen floats through the room, seeping its way into your veins. You can't not dance along as you aimlessly finagle your gold hoop into your earlobe. Penelope catches you, moving swiftly into your stride as she dances alongside you. Her own wine glass is perched in her right hand as her left offers you a fresh one. You gladly accept, toasting Penelope's glass before taking a sip.

The acidity tickles your throat, the alcohol oozing into your bloodstream in record time. You make your way to the kitchen island in search of your favorite lip gloss, settling on a stool. You study the rest of the group in your moment of solitude. They're all still frantically puzzling each piece of their intricate looks into place. You've already accomplished your hair, makeup, and now accessories- a routine that's as easy for you as the ABC's. So, you're left alone to revel in the chaos that is the BAU's first annual FBI charity gala.

You're not alone for long, of course, as Emily and Penelope quickly find you, taking their own breaks in your makeshift reprieve. You can tell exactly what's on their minds by the sinister smiles stretching their lips.

"Sooo..." Penelope drags out, taking another generous sip of wine. "How are things going with The Good Doctor?" Emily can't help but nod, enthusiastically supporting Garcia's question.

They're the only ones who know you've been seeing Spencer. Well, if you'd consider three dates and an absolutely incredible kiss seeing each other. You hope he does, though he's still a bit standoffish. You've been telling yourself that he's just readjusting to life outside of prison, but you can't help the small, petrified feeling resting in the pit of your stomach.

"Good, I think..." you snap out of your daze, cheeks heating to an uncomfortable temperature. Your eyes dart anywhere but the women in front of you, and you know it's a dead giveaway, but you can't seem to care.

They squeal, and you self consciously hush them, cheeks now ablaze. Your eyes dart to the other two ladies on the other side of the room, seemingly unphased by the shrill giggles emanating from the kitchen.

They only screech higher, louder, when you smile like an idiot. You can't help it when it comes to Spencer. Your forefinger and thumb find your temples as you hide your face with your hand.

"Oh, you like him!" Emily scoffs, lightly shoving your arm. Penelope nods emphatically, gulping down the rest of her drink.

"It's still so new, I'm not quite sure what I feel yet." It's not totally a lie. You're completely head over heels. You're just not sure he feels the same.

Emily's brow raises, immediately clocking the way your face falls. "But...?" She questions, and you roll your eyes at her all-knowing gaze.

"I'mjustnotsurehowhefeelsaboutme."

It jumbles together on its way out of your mouth, clouded by a deep sigh.

"What?!" Both women exclaim at the same time. Your stomach sinks, and you bury your face in both hands with a dramatic groan.

"He's just so...closed off. Like, when I try to get to know him more, he shuts down. It's like he wants to open up, but all of a sudden can't at the last minute. I just don't know if things are moving too quickly since his release," you confess, biting your lip. You're shocked by how much lighter you feel getting it off your chest.

You were hired on the team while he was behind bars. You served as an extra set of analytical eyes as the team worked night and day to free him, along with any other cases that came across Emily's desk. You remember the moment you first saw him, could never forget it, really.

He was dysregulated, almost unengaged from the world around him as he walked into the BAU for the first time post-prison. You remember the peculiar, distrusting look in his big, gorgeous eyes. The fear in them, the hurt. It took him a few weeks to warm up to you, a new member of the team disjointing the routine he knew prior.

Once he did, though, one of many doors opened in The Mystical World of Spencer Reid. You'd gotten to know each other slow but sure, Chinese takeout in the break room, hunching over case files until early morning. Each time, you fell harder for Spencer Reid.

It's a delicate situation, not only his emotional state, but yours as well. You like him, more than you've ever liked anyone. You will not let yourself throw it all away by being too bold, too brass. Though you know he'd never say that, you'd been told that too many times by too many men. It lives within you like a bad habit.

"Oh!" Penelope lilts. "Well...maybe you can put some feelers out tonight, y'know? See if he wants anything more than just casual dates?" Her brows raise inquisitively, and you sigh.

"I don't know, I'm not sure if tonight is the most appropriate night for that..." you trail off, but you know it's a crock of shit. The proof is hanging on the door directly parallel to you.

As if on cue, Emily furrows her brow, her classic 'yeah right' face penetrating through each one of your walls. "Uh-huh..." she trails, her tongue tapping the roof of her mouth. "So that gold, sparkly number is, what, for fun?" Her gaze is pointed, cocking her head towards the long golden dress that hangs from her closet door.

Your spine straightens, eyes flitting to the fridge behind the interrogating women. Yet, there's that smile again. It's impossible to keep it at bay when it comes to Spencer.

"Is a lady not allowed to look like a smoke show at a work event?" you're sly, slinking off the bar stool with your glass perched in your fingers. You reach for the dress, sauntering into the bathroom, fully aware of the show you're putting on for your friends.

It took a total of four women to help you get into the dress that now adorns your figure. Glittery gold fabric cinches and flows around your waist and hips, a tight corseted bust accentuating your chest.

You're no stranger to having all eyes on you, and tonight is no different as you enter the dimly lit ballroom. Round tables with black cloths take up most of the space, with a dance floor at the front. Men from other units scan your frame as you walk through the space towards your team. You ignore them, the only eyes you care about are the brown ones you found the second you entered the room.

Spencer stands slightly off to the side, his free hand shoved into his pocket as he watches you greet the rest of the team. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, the heat of his gaze searing right through you. When you finally turn to him, those godforsaken doe eyes light up. It's like your eyes make him feel whole again. A soft smile spreads across your lips as you finally greet him. You take him in, a black suit fitting him snugly. You can't help but swoon. It's not often you get to see him in such formal regalia, and you're going to soak up every second you can,

He opens his arms to you, pulling you in for a sweet hug. His hand splays across the expanse of your back, his fingers lightly grazing your exposed skin.

"Hi," he whispers in your ear, his lips barely grazing the skin there. You shiver at the slight contact.

"Hi," you respond, tightening your grip around his broad shoulders.

The hug lingers just a bit longer than what is deemed professional, but you can't seem to care. His cologne is intoxicating, infiltrating your brain at a rapid speed. You stay in his arms even when you pull out of the hug, resting in the crook of his elbow.

His large hands find your waist, splaying over the fabric covering it. His fingers dig in ever so slightly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles where it rests. You settle into his even further, ignoring the knowing glances and smirks Penelope and Emily wear.

"It's good to see you," he mutters, lips now pressed to your temple. "You look phenomenal," he punctuates with the softest kiss to your hairline.

"Thank you," you turn in his arms, hands fastening on his bow tie. "You don't look so bad yourself."

You shoot him a siren's gaze, hooded eyes peering up through thick lashes. He avoids eye contact almost immediately, a telltale sign you've already gotten under his skin. It's only 7:15. A glimmer of satisfaction beams in your stomach. You're only getting started.

"May I say, you ladies look phenomenal," Luke lifts his glass in salute that makes you playfully roll your eyes. "Where did you get this?" He turns to you, referring to the gold dress that has already drawn the eyes of half the people in the crowded room.

You flip your hair over your shoulder, confidence on full display. "Just something I had lying around in my closet, y'know?" You respond playfully, receiving a mix of chuckles from your team.

"Well, you look incredible," he says, and it's not creepy or forward, just kind. It doesn't stop Penelope, though.

"Stop trying to get us to fall in love with you, Alvez, and get me a drink," she quips, turning him by the shoulders towards the bar.

You chuckle at the scene, but a peculiar feeling strikes your chest when you feel Spencer tense behind you. His hand freezes where it rests, his spine straightening. His hand now hovers over your back now, and the break in contact makes you ache.

"Do you want to go with them? I can come with you to get a drink?" he clears his throat as he speaks, another giveaway. This time, of discomfort, uncertain. You haven't been seeing each other for long, but you've made it a habit to memorize him a long time ago,. His ticks, quirks, the cadence of his voice. They all tell you something new about the elusive man before you.

"Yeah!" You say, your mood perking up ever so slightly. "That's a great idea."

You link your arm through his as you make your way to the bar, a clear sign to anyone- any man- whose eyes tend to linger.

You lean your elbows on the bar as you wait for the bartender, eyes scanning over the menu on the screen above.  Spencer’s beside you, facing away from the bar, though his body turns into you all the same. You’re contemplating whether or not you’re in the mood for a dirty martini or a cosmopolitan, when another black suit saddles up on the other side of you. You can tell, just from the acrid stench of his cologne, that it’s nobody that could possibly interest you. 

“What’re you drinking tonight, gorgeous?” the man next to you crooned, and you can barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“Nothing you need to know about, thanks,” you’re polite, but firm all the same. This isn’t your first rodeo. 

“Playing hard to get, I see,” the man chuckles as he waves two fingers at the bartender, almost like he’s calling a dog. It makes your stomach turn. 

You feel Spencer tense beside you, much like he did when Luke complimented you. You rest a delicate hand on top of his. The thought of this absolute fool making Spencer upset shakes you more than anything. 

“Yeah, definitely,” you respond, a sugary sweet cadence lacing your tone, “because when women show you clearly that they’re not interested, as they’re standing with someone else, that obviously means they’re playing hard to get. You nailed it! It’s no wonder you made it to the FBI!” Sarcasm pokes through as the bartender finally comes over to you. You hear a small chuckle from Spencer behind you, and you stand five feet taller

“I’ll take a cosmopolitan. He’ll take nothing,” you smile as if you’re Medusa, and could turn him to stone with just one look. “There’s plenty of girls here tonight. Try it on them.” You pat his bicep in a placating manner, and he walks off before you can shame him even more. You hear him scoff, muttering a low ‘bitch’ under his breath. You roll your eyes, placing a soothing hand on Spencer’s forearm as he stands taller, away from the bar.

You can tell by the wild look in his eye that he's not happy. His lips are pressed in a straight line. He creates another inch of space between you two. Your heart cracks ever so slightly.

"I'm okay, just let him go," you croon, a desperate attempt to calm him.

His muscles relax only slightly. He rests against the bar once more, tension now thick in the air.

 You give a polite smile to the bartender, now offering your drink. You accept gleefully, your glossy lips wrapping around the edge of the glass and taking the first sip. The acidic, fruity flavor coats your tongue, tickling your throat on the way down. 

You turn, mirroring Spencer as you now lean back on the bar. You rest your head against his shoulder, a bold move given his rigidity. Each of you taking frequent sips from your respective drinks as you silently people watch. You both know you should be networking, but you can’t seem to care that much. Not when he’s in such a fantastic suit. Soft jazz music floats through the dimly lit hall, mixing with clinking glasses and rich laughter. 

“Do you want to dance with me, Spencer?” You ask, and he looks at you, almost surprised. 

“Yeah,” he answers, a sly smile painting his lips, “yeah, that sounds nice.” 

He leads you to the floor, and your hand finds his shoulder, your free one lacing with his. He sways you to the soft, lucrative beat, and you settle into a familiar rhythm, like you’ve done this a hundred times. Really, though, it’s the first time you’ve held each other like this, so intimate in a room full of people.  

“You really do look incredible,” Spencer mutters, before spinning you out and pulling you back in. You smile up at him and he chuckles, his eyes flitting to the floor, the disco ball, anywhere but you. It kills you now, when he’s so close. You can see the small freckles painting his nose, the various scars he’s collected from over a decade on the job. From prison. You see all of him, even in the low light of the ballroom. But he can’t see you. He’s choosing not to, and you don’t know why. 

Your heart drops at his avoidance, sinking slowly into your stomach like a rock in the ocean. You have an idea of what might be going on, considering the context of both times he’s tensed up on you. You’re desperate for it to be untrue, though, so you continue to sway with him, squeezing lightly on his bicep to redirect his eyes back to you. 

It works, his honey brown irises piercing straight into yours. His gaze is different now, though. Intense and fervent, almost possessive. It makes the hairs on your arms stand, a shiver unzipping your spine. He feels it, you can tell by the way his eyes immediately soften, the comfort of his hand splayed against your back. His fingers rub soothing patterns along the bare skin left by the scooped back of your dress. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his regard for you gentle now, as if he could read what’s been on your mind in the past two minutes. “You look so beautiful. C’mere.” His voice is nearly strained as he pulls you even closer to him, now chest to chest. 

Your chin rests on his shoulder, your temple meeting his jaw as you continue to sway to the music. He leaves the most delicate kiss to your temple, and you close your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. Your heart beats impeccably fast, and you know he can feel it against him. He spares you some dignity in not mentioning it. You bury your face ever so slightly in the crook of his neck, a pathetic attempt to ingest more of the woodsy cologne he put on for tonight. You can just feel the smirk on his lips, though the soft chuckle shaking his chest gives him away regardless. 

The intensity of the moment is broken by the end of the song, a brief moment of silence cutting through. It’s probably a good thing. The things you want to do to him in this suit are…unprofessional to say the least. He pulls back, holding you at arm’s length so he can look at you again. Your face heats under his pointed gaze, like he’s inspecting every part of you, committing it to memory. Not that it’s hard for him to do, anyway. 

The band shuffles off the stage as a stuffy looking man in a tailored black suit takes their place. You recognize him, just briefly though, from similar events to this. The head of the bureau itself, someone so high up the ladder you couldn’t reach him in six inch heels. You don’t move from Spencer’s arms as the man begins to speak, oblivious to the other people staggering off the dance floor. 

“Good evening, everyone,” he begins. “My name is Benedict Carter. Thank you all for joining us tonight in the name of Care For All. This is an organization that speaks deeply to me, and I hope it reaches all of you as well,” his voice is low, sharp, and succinct. It cuts through the room like glass, and you can’t help but let out the smallest scoff at his clearly scripted words. 

You regret it almost instantly, though, and not for the fact that this man is a mere five feet away. No, you regret that it calls attention to your position with Spencer, attention he skirts away from almost immediately. He nearly jumps from you, as if you’re repelling magnets. You can’t really blame him too much for it. You’re the only people left on the dance floor. Still, it doesn’t ease the dull ache in your chest from the sudden release of contact. He does gently take your hand as he leads you back to the table, where you’re greeted by the knowing eyes of your team. 

You lock eyes with Emily and Penelope, once again regretting your choices immediately. They’re staring daggers at you, playful ones, but daggers all the same. Daggers that say ‘oh my God, tell us everything ASAP’. You shyly tuck your hair behind your ears as you get comfortable in your seat. 

“Dinner tonight is provided by La Città. Please give them a round of applause for their gratitude,” Mr. Carter continues, and a scattered applause responds to him. 

His voice drags you from your addled mind, so induced in the mere idea of Spencer that you hadn’t realized he was still speaking. You flinch ever so slightly, the dose of reality splashing you like cold water. Cream colored plates fill the table, the steaming smell of various entrees filling the air, beef, chicken, fish. 

The clinking of silverware fills the room shortly after, and it’s not long before plates are empty, with multiple glasses of wine consumed. You’re the perfect amount of tipsy, now waiting at the bar in hopes of prolonging that feeling. Your face heats when you feel a large hand on your back, a familiar warmth enveloping you from behind. 

“I think you owe me at least one more dance,” Spencer whispers, his lips pressed against your temple.

It’s flirty, makes your brows raise. You squeeze his hand before nodding. “Let me get a drink first?” You’re not asking permission, more so making him aware of your plans. He nods, of course he does, moving to wait for you at the team’s table. You fiddle with your hands as you wander towards the bar, wringing them together in anticipation. 

Nerves bubble in your gut like a witch’s brew, popping and simmering until your insides are singed. The mere thought of Spencer, waiting there, to dance with you, it makes your heart skip a beat. You rest your chin in your palm, gold nails tapping lightly on the bar as you order another glass of the delicious wine you consumed at dinner. 

You wait for a moment, caught off guard when you feel another figure in your close proximity. It’s foreign, that much you know. Definitely not Spencer. You sneak the smallest peek through your peripheral to find a man with blonde shaggy hair. His suit is tailored to perfection, you can tell that much even from the limited view you have. He’s way too close for your liking, so you inch away ever so slightly, desperate for him to get the hint. 

He just slides closer. Whether he didn’t pick up on the boundary or he just didn’t care, you’re not sure. You straighten your spine all the same, undeterred by the strange presence. You know how to handle yourself. 

“What’re you drinking tonight?” he asks, a pathetic attempt to appear nonchalant as he trains his gaze on the bar menu. 

You roll your eyes. Of course he doesn’t have the audacity to look you in the eye. 

“Is that the only line men have?” you scoff, rolling your eyes before moving away from the bar completely. 

You're completely shell shocked when this man’s arm wraps around your waist, spinning you back to face him. You waste no time ducking out of his arms, appalled at the sheer gall of this man. 

“Leave me alone.” You’re firm, not an ounce of playfulness in your tone or gaze. You leave no wiggle room for interpretation. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. It’s potent, musky in a way that has you turning away from him on instinct. 

“Look, I don’t know why you’re being such a bitch-”

He doesn’t get much further than that before you’re shoving him off completely. If he wants to get physical, you can too. 

“Back up,”calls  a voice from behind you, one you know immediately to be Spencer’s. He wedges his way between the two of you, your brows knitting in confusion at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Back up before I have my entire team here with me. I’d rather not ruin this entire night, though. So, if we’re in agreement, you’re going to turn around, leave, and not bother her for the rest of the night.” 

Your stomach sinks at the sheer brutishness on display before you, eyes going wide at a side of Spencer you’d never seen before. Your insides twist when a sickly smile forms on the blonde man’s face. 

“Aren’t you the one who just got out of jail? Spencer Reid, right? The ‘genius’?” Air quotes surround that last word, and your heart sinks even further, your temples resting between your forefinger and thumb. “I’ve heard some things, so I guess I’ll try my luck elsewhere.”

He finally saunters off, not before shooting you a long, slimy glance before fully turning away. Spencer doesn’t even look at you before he gears toward the exit. You’re hot on his heels, thankful the spat didn’t draw too many eyes. The ones from your team follow you out, staring in shock at the altercation. Your face burns as you catch up to him in the ballroom lobby, a cool draft coming in from outside. 

You shiver, whether from the breeze or from the sheer anger radiating through your veins, you’re not sure. 

“Spencer!” You exclaim, turning him to face you. “What was that? Are you a caveman?” Your voice is hushed, though your tone is sharp as a blade. “I can handle myself!”

Your blood is boiling, your nostrils flared as you breathe heavily through them. Your chest heaves up and down, and you have half a mind to slap him right across the face when his eyes flit down to your cleavage. 

“You clearly couldn’t. He was huge, and continuously overstepped your boundaries,” he spit, his voice a harsh whisper, fire in his eyes. 

“Do you think that’s the first man who’s ever flirted with me?” you throw a hand out in frustration, your other hand resting on your popped hip. 

He flinches at that, and you roll your eyes. 

“Spencer, you’ve been shoving me back and forth all night. You dance with me, then you avoid me. You take me out on dates, yet you can’t seem to ever open up to me. And now this,” your lip wobbles ever so slightly, your teeth sinking in so hard you’re afraid you’ll draw blood. 

Spencer runs a hand down his face, an exasperated look dancing across it. He shakes his head, and the bitter look in his eye makes your stomach sink. 

“I just-” he starts, “Admit that part of you thinks this is a mistake. You and me.”

The statement tilts your world on its axis. Your vision goes fuzzy for a moment, and your eyes drop to the floor. Bile creeps up in the back of your throat. The fear that you’ve so desperately tried to repress springing to the surface, exploding like a pipe bomb. 

“Yes,” you murmur, “part of me does.”

His face falls even more, the confirmation of your fears the final nail in the coffin. A single tear rolls down your cheek. You’re unable to stop it. You swipe it away with a manicured finger, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Then, let’s call it,” his voice is high, almost like he doesn’t mean it. You can’t get your hopes up when it comes to Spencer, though. You’re learning that the hard way. “Y’know, we had a few nights. Maybe that’s all it should be.”

“Great, that feels great. Do you feel great about that?” your voice is shaky, almost sarcastic. He nods, and it’s firm, matter of fact. 

“Great,” you whisper, turning to make your way back to the ballroom. You brush a tear from your cheek as you walk away.

That sickly feeling boils in the pit of your gut. You surrender to the funny, familiar chord you’ve been fighting all night. You know it all too well from boyfriends past. He is jealous. Jealous of the attention you’re getting, of the stares, the whispers, and just like everyone else before, he's punishing you.

[residentwordsofaffirmationdealer]

tracking barbara gordon's skillset as oracle:

she provides directory assistance for several international and intergalactic teams of superheroes (the birds of prey, justice league of america, the outsiders, and she has worked with the titans before).

she is the primary hacker and information network source for many of these heroes.

she helps provide mercy ops (disaster relief and humanitarian efforts) globally.

she is able to hack into the white house cameras.

she hacks into the united states air force routinely to use their memory capabilities.

she is seen as a pentagon level threat.

she writes her own code for scanning new satellite images for human habitations and anomalies.

she's accessed air force rockets no one is supposed to know about and overridden them to fire them.

she has a team of drones ready for surveillance.

she's put her own security systems on arkham asylum.

she hacks into information databases from federal complexes and assembles blueprints and guard schedules so she can send her agents to break into them.

she sets a government complex on fire (she says it is a small and contained fire.)

she also sets the clock tower on fire to force batman to not do murder/suicide.

she hacks into cia debriefing transcripts to obtain information.

she controls a large portion of the world's internet and power grids.

she also is the reason why many world leaders are in power.

she has access to the bank accounts of several supervillains, whom she toys with (specifically for blockbuster, she regularly steals millions of dollars from his accounts in a way that he cannot track who is stealing it and where it is going -- she's stolen 3 million, 17 million, 6 million, twenty million and also a hundred million from him).

she can also hack alien drones.

she can control traffic.

she has several booby-traps in the clock tower for potential assaulters. she also a device to monitor movement of people around it, in case batman decides to show up.

cited panels down below!

"she's the four-one-one for the jla, she the database for the g.c. ex-p.d. she runs mercy ops around the world." nightwing (1996) #38

"you have cameras in the white house?" "don't be silly. the white house has cameras in the white house. i've just tapped into them." nightwing (1996) #66

"i mean, someone hacks into our system and routinely uses our [united states air force] memory capabilities!" "i know!" "often." birds of prey #1 (1999)

"i run a database and search engine for a select few free-land crimefighters." birds of prey: manhunt (1996)

"we scan the most recent images for anomalies. things that don't belong." "where'd you get a program for that?" "i wrote my own code for that one." birds of prey (1999) #3

"they've accessed whitehorse, sir." "whitehorse? no one's supposed to know about that!" birds of prey (1999) #9

"and oracle? we're going to need eyes on several places at once." "i think we can manage that." detective comics (1937) #1077

"they've accessed whitehorse. what's the chance of them arming it?" "all clear?" "oh yeah." "fire!" birds of prey (1999) #9

"[arkham's] security is good, but piecemeal. i installed my own system there after the last breakout." infinite crisis special: villains united (2006)

"batgirl -- that incident a couple months back? when those government agents caught your face on tape? i found out where they're keeping it. it's a federal complex in virginia. i've sent you blueprints, guard schedules -- everything you'll need to break in." batgirl (2000) #17

"where did you get that kind of information?" "they traded another prisoner last month. i hacked into his cia debriefing transcript." birds of prey (1999) #9

"kat, do you have any idea... any notion at all, of how much of the planet's entire internet i control? how many power grids? how many world leaders owe me their positions?" birds of prey #1 (1999)

"i transferred all the funds in her cayman islands account to another offshore account. if she doesn't get the paintings to me in the next forty-eight hours, that money's going to my favorite charities." birds of prey: catwoman/oracle (2003)

"where do you get current [satellite] shots of rheelasia?" "that's my secret, you little netnik." birds of prey (1999) #3

"but the asborbascons were created using languages long dead even on my planet. they are uncrackable." "yes. the absorbascons are uncrackable. but the alien drones aren't." convergence: nightwing/oracle (2015)

"do you have that kind of cash?" "no. but i know someone who does." "there's been a... discrepancy, mr. desmond." "in plain english, mr. vogel." "at one point, three million was electronically transferred from your numbered accounts in the caicos to a bank account in hasaragua. from there to karocco, then yemen, then split between banks in senegal and manila. and then... my hardware couldn't keep up." birds of prey (1999) #3

"seventeen million from your account in the caymans. six from santa prisca. twenty from rheelasia. and a hundred million plus from other holdings of yours around the world, mr. desmond. and where it all goes? nobody knows." birds of prey (1999) #18

"they're taking your cash from impregnable accounts and transferring it electronically to their own." "and you can't find the source?" "there's subsequent transfers performed at lightning speed. the money's split up, rerouted in and out of various banks in an eyeblink. even i can't keep up with whoever this is." birds of prey (1999) #18

"let me handle the traffic." birds of prey (1999) #58

"all of you. keep your hands where i can see 'em." "not a problem. malory. ripken. peppermint." nightwing (1996) #39

[sh4nksslvt]

Got married by accident… Thanks, Vegapunk?

You and Luffy accidentally get married by a hyper-intelligent vending machine on Egghead Island. The crew takes it way too seriously, but Luffy is surprisingly into it.

LUFFY X GN!READER | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, acc!dental marriage, ooc a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 706 : 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Egghead Island sparkled like something out of a futuristic dream. Or a nightmare. Depending on who you asked.

Laser drones zipped overhead, holographic sharks swam through the air, and the vending machines charged a 40% service fee to flirt with you.

You were already over it.

“What the hell is this?” you asked, staring at the sleek, metal screen of a suspicious-looking marriage kiosk that had popped out of a wall.

"CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NUPTIAL INTEREST!" it blared.

You winced. “Nope. Not interested.”

Behind you, Luffy was already poking the glowing buttons like a toddler with a remote. “Oooh! What’s this do?”

“Don’t press that.”

He pressed it.

A beam of golden light scanned the both of you. "MATCH ACCEPTED," it beeped. “YOU ARE NOW LEGALLY MARRIED UNDER VEGAPUNK CODE 6.66 SUB-SECTION WE BALL.”

You blinked. “…What.”

Luffy blinked. “Cool.”

He grabbed your hand with that signature, easy grin. “We’re married now! Sweet!”

“LUFFY—”

Twenty seconds later, the rest of the crew found out.

Chopper: “You guys WHAT!?”

Sanji: (sobbing) “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, Y/N-CWAAAAN!?”

Robin: (smiling behind a book) “How lovely. I hope it was a beautiful ceremony.”

Zoro: “Of course you two would get hitched by a vending machine.”

Franky: “THIS IS SUPER!! WE GOTTA THROW A RECEPTION!!”

Jinbei: (serene) “I’ll call this divine destiny.”

Usopp: “Waitwaitwait—do we all have to get married now?? Is it contagious?!”

Nami, arms crossed, was the only one who looked vaguely sensible. “We’re not on a honeymoon, you idiots. We’re on a mission. Can’t believe you got fake-married on an island run by six genius maniacs.”

“It’s not fake,” Luffy said proudly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“It’s legally binding,” the vending machine added.

“LUFFY,” you groaned, facepalming. “We are not actually married—”

“But you held my hand,” he said with a pout.

“I was trying to stop you from pressing the stupid buttons!”

“But you didn’t let go shishishi” he added.

You were going to kill him. Or maybe yourself. Or maybe the vending machine.

Over the next few days, the crew refused to let it go.

Nami “accidentally” started assigning you and Luffy shared quarters.

Franky built a honeymoon hover-chair for two that followed you around and played romantic music at inopportune moments.

Brook wrote a song called “Wedded Bliss on a Warped Island” and played it constantly.

Zoro made gagging noises every time you entered a room.

Even Vegapunk Stella got involved.

“Fascinating bond signature,” he mused, looking at the machine’s readings. “Unusual compatibility levels. Perhaps a cosmic entanglement. Or just dumb luck.”

You were ready to drown in holographic seagull juice.

Luffy didn’t help.

He insisted on calling you "my spouse."

He’d hold your hand while walking down the lab halls like it was the most casual thing ever.

He used you as a pillow during naps—okay, not new behavior—but now he’d nuzzle your shoulder and murmur, “This is what married people do.”

You tried to zap him with a soft stun from your energy-based power.

He laughed and asked for more.

He started sharing his food.

You shared back.

He offered you half his meat skewer.

You offered him half your fruit cube.

You even started sitting next to him at dinner on purpose.

...You were doomed.

One night, while stuck in a laser barrier room together (thanks to Luffy pressing another suspicious button), things got quiet.

“Hey, Y/N,” Luffy said, lying next to you on the cold sci-fi floor.

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna be married for real someday?”

You paused.

“With… you?”

“Yeah.”

You turned to face him. “You don’t even know what marriage is.”

He smiled, soft and crooked. “I know it means I get to be with you all the time.”

You blinked. Your powers, which usually sparked when you were annoyed or overwhelmed, glimmered gently around your fingertips like starlight instead.

You didn’t respond. Just nudged his leg with yours.

He took that as a yes.

The next day, the machine short-circuited itself trying to process “divorce.”

You pretended to be annoyed.

But when Luffy yelled, “Don’t worry, I didn’t want a divorce anyway!!” and tackled you into a hug, your powers sparked again—glowing soft blues and pinks this time.

And you let him hold you.

[maddie0101]

❤︎ that damn skirt ❤︎

summary: ben can’t resist the sight of you in a mini skirt, so he bends you over in the bathroom, taking what he wants.

tags/warnings: smut (mdni), established relationship, p in v, rough sex, slight degradation, slight choking, tension, literally just smut, possessive!ben.

word count: 705 (drabble)

note: my hormones are out of control, so here’s another smut piece I’ve written :) (I’ve had to restrain myself to not continue this and keep it a drabble, lmfao)

You probably should’ve thought twice about wearing that skirt. Not because it wasn’t appropriate, but because of him.

The evening had started off casually enough. You’d invited a few friends over, a laid-back dinner to unwind, a little too much wine flowing. Ben had been tolerable at first, leaning against the kitchen island, keeping to himself, but then you walked in.

That damn skirt.

You’d put it on just to look cute, nothing too special, just your favorite, flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh. But Ben? His eyes never left you. He clocked you immediately. His eyes dragged down your legs, lingered at your hips, and he never really looked away again.

You were teasing him, you knew it. You were enjoying it too—the way his eyes would linger when you bent over to grab something from the counter, the way his hand would grip his drink a little too tightly whenever you laughed. The little glances, the way he clenched his fists.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just a low murmur under his breath every now and then, but you could feel the tension building. And when the laughter started dying down, when your friends were getting tipsy and the music slowed, you felt his gaze grow heavier, hungrier—more possessive.

You finally excused yourself to go to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe, maybe to escape the palpable tension that was slowly simmering between you. But as soon as you entered, you realized you weren’t alone.

The door slammed shut behind you with a thud, and before you could turn around, Ben stalked in like a man possessed, like he’d been holding back all night and finally lost his grip.

“You think this shit’s funny?” he growled, backing you into the counter. “Wearing that little fuckin’ thing, strutting around like I’m not gonna lose my fuckin’ mind?”

You opened your mouth to say something but his hands were already on you, spinning you around and bending you over the counter before you could get a word out. “Ben—”

“No, baby,” he growled, cutting you off. “Fuckin’ knew what you were doing,” he muttered, dragging your skirt up roughly, bunching it around your waist .“You don’t get to act all innocent now.”

His hands slid down the backs of your thighs, rough palms gripping tight, fingers finding the waistband of your panties and yanking them down without hesitation. You gasped, the cold air hitting your skin, your pulse racing.

“You’ve been teasing me all fuckin’ night,” he said, his fingers brushed between your folds, already slick from the tension that had been building all night.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

Before you could respond, he was there, thick and hard, rubbing against you with the kind of control that made your head spin. And then he pushed into you, rough and sudden, the shock of it making you gasp as he filled you completely. You let out a cry, hands scrambling for purchase on the counter.

“Fuck, baby,” Ben groaned, gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

He started moving, his pace brutal from the start, no buildup, no mercy. Just raw, pent-up frustration and need. Your body rocked with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the bathroom.

“You like this, huh?” he grunted. “Me fucking you like this? Bent over the fuckin’ counter with your little skirt still on?”

You moaned loudly, gripping the edge of the sink as he fucked you harder and Ben laughed breathlessly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He was relentless, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs, his pace not slowing, only increasing. You could barely keep your eyes open as he fucked you, every inch of you consumed by him.

He leaned over you, chest against your back, hand snaking up to wrap around your throat. Not choking, just holding. “Next time,” he rasped, lips brushing your ear, “I’m not waiting, baby. I don’t give a fuck who’s around. I’ll take you wherever I want. Right in front of everyone if I have to.”

You moaned again, and he growled deep in his throat, fucking into you harder.

author’s note:

It took everything in me not to make this a oneshot or continue the fic 😅 I debated on continuing it or coming up with a better plot but this is how I’m going to leave it. I hope you guys like this one! my hormones are raging rn so I’ve been working on a lot of smut lately 😈

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224 @cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @kimxwinchester @julsvdamxn @tinas111 @callsign-ember @ladykitana90 @h8aaz @lunaleah (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off of my taglist)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[bebx]

idea for In-ho whump fic that I really want to write about;

the game's no more. Jun-ho and Gi-hun both return to the mainland. Front Man is presumed dead (they can't find the body). even Jun-ho and Gi-hun both believe that In-ho is dead and his body is at the bottom of the ocean after the island exploded.

Jun-ho mourns him, but life goes on — and as hard as it is (he's lost In-ho before, only to get In-ho back very briefly before he lost him again, for real this time, he believes), he just has to continue living. he goes back to being a cop, but still keeps in touch with Gi-hun. because despite the lie (Gi-hun now knows that Jun-ho's In-ho's brother), Gi-hun is the only person who understands Jun-ho's pain and what Jun-ho goes through. and Jun-ho is the only person who understands Gi-hun's pain and what Gi-hun goes through. so Jun-ho and Gi-hun become actual friends. or maybe not outright "friends", maybe friends is too strong a word. but Gi-hun doesn't have any friend left anymore, and Jun-ho is the closest thing he has to a friend. Jun-ho doesn't have a brother anymore, and Gi-hun is the closest thing he has to a brother. so they have to stay together. (they share the same trauma, same wound, after all.)

until one day Jun-ho, as a cop, is alerted of an incident involving an individual — who appears confused, disoriented — wandering around, covered in bruises and cuts, and nearly got hit by a car. the individual was sent to the hospital after a concerned citizen alerted authorities and called an ambulance. Jun-ho's required to go check to see if there's any foul play involved.

just another day at work, Jun-ho thinks. he goes to the hospital almost bored, depressed as usual, but when the nurse takes him to see the patient — the individual who apparently suffers from amnesia and has no memories of who he is — Jun-ho just forgets how to breathe for a moment because In-ho's lying in the hospital bed. covered in bruises and cuts. and when In-ho's eyes meet Jun-ho's, there's no sign of recognition there.

In-ho doesn't remember who Jun-ho is. doesn't remember his own name. he's treated as a John Doe because he has no ID on him and no one knows who he is either. until Jun-ho. and it's just... Jun-ho's world stops right there. In-ho's alive. In-ho's here.

and then Jun-ho thinks — he has to think fast, what he'll do next that will save In-ho, because revealing In-ho's real identity means turning In-ho in, and as selfish as it is (as much as Jun-ho does believe In-ho should face consequences of his action), he's not going to lose In-ho again. his partner's with him, but he doesn't know In-ho, thankfully (it's been so long since In-ho left the force). and Jun-ho tells the partner that he can take care of this, and thankfully the guy listens to him. (it's one less paperwork for him, after all).

Jun-ho calls Gi-hun. he knows it's probably not a good idea. Gi-hun has no reason to want to help In-ho, but he and Gi-hun are (somewhat) on good terms and Jun-ho knows he can't do this alone.

Gi-hun may not be enthusiastic about this, but in the end he agrees to help keep In-ho a secret. the thing is that In-ho lost all his memories. he doesn't remember the game, doesn't remember being the Front Man, doesn't remember Jun-ho or Gi-hun, doesn't remember his own name.

and maybe it's Jun-ho who comes up with the idea. maybe it's Gi-hun. but Jun-ho and Gi-hun come to the realization that it's for In-ho's own good if he doesn't remember who he is, doesn't remember what he's done.

maybe this is the second chance In-ho needs, a chance to start over without the deaths, the violence, the pain and the guilt haunting him

"who am I?" In-ho asks. Lost.

"Your name," Jun-ho says, "is Oh Young-il."

[giuseppe-yuki]

random ollie httyd headcanons :)

dragon rider!ollie bearman x chief’s daughter!reader

golden retriever personality!ollie x black cat personality!reader

a/n: inspired by the great 🐺 anon <3 + super loose au! based in the how to train your dragon universe

as the eldest of three and heir chieftess of your father’s clan, you were mostly known for two things: being quiet and soft-spoken

it reflected through your daily interactions with the people of your father’s village, in your multitude of classes like dragon defense, map making, and alliance tactics, and even through your dragon, who had the same flittish, shy personality as you

you were never seen hanging out with anybody your age really; you preferred reading up on dragon history by yourself against a sturdy tree or hopping on your sleek silver dragon to go bathe in a neighboring island’s lake instead of tagging along with the others to dragon-race or go group fishing near the sea

that’s why, it makes it that much surprising when you’re seen around the village one sunny morning, your hand not-so-subtly clasped in the hand of the village’s most bubbly, sweet-natured boy, ollie

the villagers send you disbelieving looks as he pulls out a bouquet of fresh flowers for you with a beaming smile and presses a chaste kiss to the side of your face

they watch as you laugh, a melodious, upbeat sound that differs greatly from your usual tight-lipped self, before leaping up onto your tip toes to peck a kiss back onto his lips

they don’t even hide their gaping wide mouths when you show up to the next dragon race, wearing a fur-lined cape that’s more than obvious belonging to ollie

ever since then, they’ve started noticing you’ve been a lot more open, less distant, and more willing to communicate with others- as long as ollie is by your side, of course

but, they’ve also started noticing other new side of you that they’ve never seen before

how your eyes would narrow when you see another girl get a smidgen too close to your ollie (you both disappear into the woods and reappear awhile later with ollie blushing furiously and his neck all marked up)

how you don’t hesitate to tell the other village boys off for teasing ollie about silly thing (they coincidentally get assigned the dreaded fish-gut sorting after the catch of the day)

how you subtly adjust ollie’s dragon racing gear when he’s not looking and help buckle up his saddles without saying a word even if you look affectionless standing with your arms crossed next to him (he wins the race)

how you look like you don’t care, and scoff when you see ollie accidentally nicking himself again after he goes out for a hunting with his dragon, but still bandage his arm with the utmost care with herbs and bandages

when your father finds out about your relationship with ollie, he is overjoyed that there is someone who can help ease you out of your more reclusive self

he absolutely adores your boyfriend and often suggests to you to invite him over to the chieftain family living quarters enough times to make it a little concerning

spontaneously gifts him supplies for his dragon or “randomly” assigns him the best tasks in the village to do

he even turns a blind eye when you and ollie sneak out past curfew, dragons hot on your heels, and go stargazing on a close-by island

when you both are alone, like on the island with yourselves and the stars, it's like your personality switches

ollie lays in your lap and goes silent as you thread your hands through his hair and talk to him about the mundane things you did that day or about how your dragon almost jokingly bucked you off while you were flying at least 500 metres from the ocean

it’s not until the soft beams of the rising sun filter through your eyelids that you realize you accidentally fell asleep, half-shoved next to ollie and surrounded by one of your dragon’s silver-scaled wing

at first, you panic, shaking ollie awake, but your boyfriend just laughs and muffles your words into the front of his fur cloak

it’s okay, he reasons, because your father would forgive you both because, in his eyes, ollie could do no wrong anyways <3

[running-with-kn1ves]

Blue Velvet

A/N: A continuation to Satin Pillows to Cry On. Tell me, who are you rooting for? are either of these yans worth reader's time? Based on Bobby Vinton's 'Blue Velvet'.

Synopsis: Waiting miserably on your anniversary, you find a familiar face in the most unlikely of places, a man who seems to be hiding something unpleasant.

CW: Yandere behaviors, deception, breaking and entering

A date night can’t really be considered a ‘date’ if only one person shows up. What’s more, a date in an unfamiliar place, with staff who barely spoke a word of English that only your husband could decipher in his years of linguistic studies, was not welcoming. You did everything he asked, adorning the pretty dewdrop jewels he deftly laid in your hands on the beach that morning, a gentle order for you to wear them that night in honor of your two-month anniversary. 

Despite their shining luminescence capturing the eyes of patrons and wait staff alike, you sat alone. Your husband is nowhere to be found. 

It was embarrassing to fling your head around every few seconds, wondering if the heavy thumps of fine leather shoes against the smoothened floor was he. It never was. 

Instead of what you prayed to find, you encountered the gaze of a face you knew all too well. One that lingered as you had said final goodbyes, that had once kissed your name softly to your jaw, that ended screaming it in rage.

“You…” You couldn’t finish, seeing him in the fine, ironed white button up, a waiter’s vest of black complimenting his newly sunkissed skin. It seemed his time working on the island had gotten to him. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” He grinned, a little too excited to see you from how painfully you recall your last interaction. Your breaking of his heart, which now seemed to be a faint memory from the way he nonchalantly strode over.

Picking up your hand, his gaze avoided the large diamond on your finger to lay a gentle, but firm, kiss to your knuckles. The manager of the establishment had done the same when you first arrived, all modest and humble. Just as it had done then, your ex-boyfriend’s kiss left you taken aback.

“So you’re officially one of the married’s now, huh?” His gentle, breezy american accent almost made you feel safe in the room of strangers. 

“Uh...I guess you could say that; But you-- what are you doing here?” 

Your ex looked around, almost clueless. 

“Working.” 

“No, I-- you know what I mean, what are you doing HERE, on a random tiny island of all places? Did you… know I was going to be here?”

A part of you tightens up, his funny look not doing much to ease your tension.. He was never one to let things go easily; would he really… go this far?

“I wish I was out here just to see you, would’ve been a hell lot more fun. But no, I came for a change of scenery.” He looked around the rainforest-themed restaurant with odd, fresh wonder. “I sold our old apartment, got a dog, and moved here. I might not know a lick of what they’re saying, but it’s… different. It’s helped me.”

The sting of his words almost flies by you, but they cut deeper the longer his nostalgic gaze lingers. It’s helped him escape from you, from what you did. 

“That’s really great.” You give him your best smile, ignoring how he still held your hand and kneeled next to your table. “You deserve good things.”

At that, he couldn’t help but give you a real smile; good things he did deserve, and in due time he would have them sitting in the palm of his hand. 

“So what’re you doing out here all alone? Where’s mister moneybags?” He moves to sit where your husband should be, stealing a piece of bread from the table basket that tasted more like bitter peppercorns.

“He’s just finishing up some work. Said he’ll be here any minute, which is great because I’m starving.” 

Your smile twitches a little, the back of your mind wondering if those words are unknowingly true, if he’ll see you with another man; or worse, he’ll leave you here for the rest of the night. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I’m sure this isn’t the first time he’s left you all alone like this.” 

Your ex boyfriend takes a sip from the undrunken glass of water across from you in his hand, his knuckles wrapped in flesh-colored gauze.

“It’s that easy to tell, huh.” The sting of shame pulses behind your eyelids. “How embarrassing, and you of all people-- to see me like this.” You bite your lip to stop a cracked sob from escaping. “Do you feel satisfied? You should, you deserve it. After.. Everything.”

“Satisfied?” He scoffed. “I’ll be satisfied when you aren’t miserable-- I don’t get any satisfaction from your suffering.” 

Okay, maybe he did a little bit. But only because he got to be the one to comfort you, to see the way your so-called ‘husband’ put you on the backburner, again.

The candlelight hued small tears tugging at the corners of your eyes, no longer a painful urge to hold them back as they rested there, waiting to fall. Through the blur, you could see a small handkerchief tucked away in your ex-boyfriend’s shirt pocket. A soft, gentle blue, unoffending with the semi-formality of his clothes, almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for your keen eye. 

“Where’d you get that?” Moving, you pluck it from his coat pocket, the small square wrinkled between your heavy fingers. “This is--”

“Hey!” He shouted, almost accusatory as it was snatched back. He grabbed it before you could find the initials you searched for.

The moment it was back in his hand, his agitated frown shifted back to a more nervous smile. “When’d you learn to take things that didn’t belong to you? The wealth get to your head?” 

He scoffed playfully, shoving the handkerchief into his back pocket. 

“No I-- it’s just that he, has one just like that.” Everytime you mentioned your husband, it felt like you were stabbing the man in front of you all over again. 

Another suited businessman walked past the hosts stand, catching your attention until-- no, he was far too aged to be your husband. 

“Yeah well, the manager gives em out to all the waiters to wear. It’s a high-end place, you know.”

His fingers twitched with each statement that tried to sound casual, only to come out closer to a squeaky fib with the intonation of his voice. 

Nevermind the similarity to your husband’s handkerchief, your ex’s behavior was erratic; suspicious in the way he looked at every other server who walked past him, almost hiding himself against the table with one arm propped up. 

“Speaking of which… What's your boss's  name again? He told me when I walked in, but I forgot.” You pull at the bread on your plate a bit with a fork, looking at it unassumingly.

Your ex-boyfriend went quiet, suddenly just as interested in the door as you were. 

His eyes were rigid, swallowing as he seemed caught between something. Perhaps your hunch was towards the right direction. 

“Better yet, what’s this restaurant's name? I’m sure you know, right?” You looked up at him, a part of you hoping maybe you were wrong; but your intuition knew best.

 You should have known it was all a hoax, it was too convenient. While dating, he admitted to having stalked your social media and workplace for weeks before asking you out; It sounded cute when he first told you-- a man lovesick and desperate for your attention. Now, you looked back on it with apprehension. What’s to say he’s still not over you? 

The thought wasn’t pure vanity in yourself; he had a history, one you were well aware of. 

“What’re you trying to say?” His wrapped hand gripped at the tablecloth, squinting at you with a matched suspicion. “You think I’m lying?” 

Your eyes flashed down to his grip, a spot of red clinging between his knuckles and down the bandage. Before you could ask what had happened, for him to try and cover it up with a “kitchen accident”, the familiar sharp steps of your husband came to a halt. 

Your ex was in the process of standing up, looking instantaneously as you did to the imposing figure beside him. 

“Excuse me. I think that’s my seat.” Your husband interrupted, fixing one of his suit’s cuffs; he dressed on brand for the restaurant--formal and clean-cut--- but even you could tell he had just gotten back from his office, having no time to change. 

“Yeah. Was just leaving.” Your ex murmurs, hesitantly pulling away from you. He keeps his head low, watching you with a piercing gaze of furious anguish.

Your husband finds ease in sliding to his chair, looking slightly out of sorts as the tired circles under his eyes seem to have increased since you last saw him. 

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” He searches for your hand eagerly to pull it towards him; he was warm, invitingly so. “My darling.”

He smiles, and a part of it is genuine-- but a corner of his lips pulls tight. 

“Have you been crying?” He asks, almost attempting to bring his thumb to your eyelashes. 

“Oh, no,” You wipe them before he can reach, careful not to smudge or pull anything out of place. “It’s the candles, burns my eyes a little bit.”

You’re not very convincing, but thankfully he doesn’t press for answers despite the skeptical look on his face. Quickly, he became preoccupied with settling himself in and soaking in your glow. 

“I really am just… I’m so sorry I left you here waiting. First it was drunken clients, and then the villa being broken into, and--” 

“Wait, go back, what?” 

He squeezes your hand harder, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as the tell-tale sign of an oncoming headache grows. 

“I got a call about a half hour ago about someone shattering the sliding glass door in our bedroom; left a mess everywhere. Things were thrown all around the house but apparently very little was stolen. They hadn’t even bothered to touch the closet safe.”

Your husband could very clearly see the bewildered look of fear pulling you apart in threads, your jaw dropped as you imagined the scene in your head. 

“But, please let’s not think about that right now. Security is taking care of it as we speak, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Someone managed to break in, and you’re telling me there’s nothing to worry about?” 

Despite the harshness of your words, your tone is despondent. This was the last thing you needed, especially on a trip that was supposed to be some sort of a vacation.

 Your husband sighed. He pulled your fingers to his lips, kissing them as he closed his eyes. There was always something trying to pull you apart from him. 

His silence was telling; he knows. And yet, he says little to fix it, merely trying to soothe himself with the warmth of your palm and the softness of your skin. 

Even with your server coming out with the first course of your dinner, breaking the solemn conversation, you barely looked at your food. Your eyes kept drawing back to your husband’s empty coat pocket, free from the blue velvet handkerchief he was supposed to wear tonight. 

[loveharlow]

↷⋯♡ᵎ MATCHING WOUNDS

JJ Maybank x Dealer!Reader [ more jj content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC ‧₊˚ [idk] Where you and JJ share a blunt and childhood trauma

WARNING(S) & A/N ‧₊˚ mentions of child neglect, mentions of child abuse, underage drug use, swearing, kind of hurt/comfort

THE TRAILER WAS THICK WITH SMOKE. You and JJ sat on the floor, passing a blunt that glowed like a dying ember between the two of you. Josephine had left for her waitressing shift at The Island Club hours ago, a stark contrast to the way you spent your days.

Josephine's trailer, Betsy, was your shared space in Shady Acres — a trailer park on The Cut known less for its scenic beauty and more for housing a significant portion of the island's drug trade — users and dealers alike. You were a dealer, and Betsy, for the time being, was your base of operations. This exchange with JJ was likely your last of the day.

JJ was a relatively new client. He'd appeared on the scene after his previous dealer acquired a lengthy list of charges and fled the state, leaving the blonde high and dry. Unlike many, JJ hadn't gravitated towards Barry, the other prominent dealer in the area. There was an unexpected ease between you and JJ, a connection that had quickly evolved into shared smoke sessions where the lines of business and something similar to pleasure blurred.

"So,” He started. “It's just you and your sister holding down the fort?" JJ asked, exhaling a plume of smoke. He pinched the blunt between his fingers, offering it to you.

"Yep." You replied with a tight smile, taking the offered joint.

"Where are your folks?" He chuckled, watching you inhale. "Or are they the 'out of sight, out of mind' type?"

"They're gone." You said, smoke curling from your lips. "Probably squatting in some crumbling building in another state, chasing their next high." You passed the blunt back to JJ, his fingers briefly brushing yours. "What about yours?" you countered, resting your forearms on your bent knees. The setting sun painted the trailer's interior in hues of deep orange through the open windows.

"Mom, uh, she split a long time ago..." JJ's tone carried a hint of pain. He ran a hand through his hair, toying with the joint. "And my dad, he's...somethin’ else." He sighed, taking a long drag.

"...’S that why you're never home?" You reached behind you, grabbing your Monster Energy drink. "Sorry, if that's…too personal. I've just noticed you're always here, with your crew, or running ‘round on The Cut."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "You been keeping tabs on me, junkie?" A smirk played on his lips.

You scoffed, taking a swig. "Please. You're just hard to miss." You shrugged, taking the blunt back. "And let's not kill the rotation, alright?" You offered him a sarcastic smile as you leaned back against the cabinet.

JJ rolled his eyes, stretching his legs out. "My old man's an asshole, but only at home. So, if I never go home-."

"You avoid the asshole-ry." You finished for him.

"Exactly." He watched you smoke, then turned serious when remembering your words. "But you've got it worse. No way your folks just bail with two kids in the picture."

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your knees. "You think so?"

"I'm just sayin’," JJ shrugged. "That's messed up. They just left? Just like that?"

"Look, blondie, my family was a shit-show with a kitchen that was only kept clean enough to snort lines off of every surface in it." You said, leaning your head back. "Blood don’t mean shit. If my parents taught me anything, it's that."

"Sounds about right." JJ agreed, taking another drink. "Mine's still a train wreck. Just traded the kitchen for a boatyard. And I don't see my dad leavin’ anytime soon."

"Your old man sounds like a real piece of work..." You said. "I'm surprised you haven't been swallowed up by the system."

"The system? Hell, my dad is the system." Bitterness laced his words. "Predictable, abusive, and you can’t escape him. At least the actual system offers three meals a day."

"Ha!" You laughed, the sound catching JJ off guard. "Hardly. You'd be lucky to get three meals a week. Foster care's a damn joke. It’s just free bread for money-hungry assholes and a place for the state to dump kids they don't want." The lightness vanished, replaced by a cold flatness in your eyes.

"...You were in the system?" JJ asked, his gaze softening. You nodded in response. "When?...Why?"

You groaned, pushing yourself into a slightly straighter position. "You ask a lot of questions, blondie." You sighed. "But fine. You want the condensed version...or the director's cut?"

JJ just shrugged. "I've got time."

You leaned forward, meeting his gaze as you spoke. "Alright then." You adjusted. "My parents were addicts. Name a drug, they did it. The neighbors knew, cops were there all the time, but nothing ever changed. My sister and I slipped through the cracks. When I was eight, Jo had just turned eighteen...and she told me she was leaving." Your voice shook slightly.

"I begged her to stay, or take me with her, but she couldn't. As bad as it was there, she had nothing, no means to care for a kid. But she promised she'd call, send what she could, and that one day, she'd get me out." You bit your cheek, fighting back a wave of emotion. "I was alone with my parents for two years. Jo called, but the calls never went through. Without her, the bills went unpaid — no phone, no electricity, no running water. She had to come visit me at school when she could."

"Damn...."

"Yeah," You sighed, fidgeting with your fingers. "When I was ten, my mom came home, freaking out. Next thing I knew, they were throwing stuff in a bag, telling me they'd be back soon." You clenched your jaw at the memory. "It was no surprise when they never came back. And I was there for two weeks, starving and terrified, before a social worker found me. I guess a neighbor had noticed it was too quiet and called it in. Again."

"Hold up. They just left you?" JJ was incredulous.

"Mhm." You confirmed, watching him snub out the blunt in the ashtray, the cherry burning away as he listened. "I survived on half-empty water bottles and moldy PB&J’s. And foster care wasn't some kind of salvation." A bitter edge returned to your voice. "Most foster parents are just in it for the check. And even with the good ones... the system bounces you around so much, you never get to stay." You shook your head, the memories surfacing.

"Dealing... It's something a lot of us picked up inside. Old sleazebags prey on vulnerable kids to do their dirty work. It's hard to get a job when you're a foster kid. So, a lot of us turn to easier, less legal means. And even when you make it out, it has a way of sticking with you. It's all you know." You shrugged. "Jo finally tracked me down and got me out when I was fourteen. By then, I was old enough that they didn't care who took me. Case closed as far as they were concerned." You laughed, a hollow sound. "And Jo, of course, freaked when she found out what I was doing." You let your head fall, a humorless laugh escaping you.

JJ reached out, placing a hand on your knee. "I'm sorry, dude. That's seriously fucked up."

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrugged, deflecting. "Anyway, enough of the sob stories," you said, voice lighter, the shift abrupt. "You ruined our smoke session with all your questions." You flashed a smile, the change in demeanor so fast it gave JJ whiplash. "Wanna hit another one?" You pulled another pretty pink blunt from your pocket.

JJ just stared for a moment, then nodded, the shared vulnerability replaced by the familiar rhythm of give and take, smoke and survival.

JJ Maybank Taglist & Dealer!Reader Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[klwrites]

Little Talks -- Ellie Williams x reader part 1

Prologue Summary: you run away from the seraphites for your safety. Now you adjust to life in Jackson as Ellie helps you find your individuality. You struggle with the adverse change from growing up on the island to living in Jackson.  Reader struggles hella with social cues. Kinda slow burn?

Jackson was overwhelming to say the least. I wasn't aware that people had so much individuality. Tommy finished giving me a tour of the most important places in Jackson. Up until this moment I didn't realize how many decisions I was going to have to make. I eat whatever, whenever? I felt especially alienated since it didn't look like anyone else here shared my struggles. Tommy has responsibilities he has to fulfil, but what was I to do with myself? 

Read comics, make friends, be a kid. Once you've got some meat on those bones we can help you get stronger, then you can help out around here. 

Be a kid. 

What does that even mean? With all of my choices, the most I could bring myself to do was change my clothes and shower. I looked into the mirror– my reflection wasn't something I got to see often. Showers were also a strange concept. So was everything here, from the houses to the people I couldn't figure it out. I observed the scar that crossed my cheek. Scars. A word I didn't like. I thought back to the stares I faced while touring Jackson which were probably directed at my gnarled face. My head turned to the door after hearing a soft knock, so gentle I assumed it was Maria. She made me feel the safest, she reminded me of my own mother. I opened the door and was met with her soft eyes.

“We're having dinner soon, we’d love for you to join us at the table. Joel will be there with a friend of his that's your age. You remember Joel right?” 

I remembered his axe inches from my nose as I cowered against a tree, and how humanity came back to his eyes as he saw the fear in mine. I nodded, following Maria down to the dining area. Joel entered with a young brunette, they smiled at me as I sat from the dining table. I suddenly became very aware of what was on my cheek as I noticed the girl's eyes instantly wonder to it. I think she noticed my shoulders tense as her demeanor changed to cheery. 

She stuck her hand out to mine, “I’m Ellie, what's your name?”

I returned my hand to hers. “Y/N” 

“Welcome to Jackson, Y/N”, she smiled before grabbing something from her bag. 

“A welcome present, don't mind that I had to rip out a few pages but it's still completely usable.”

She passed me a notebook. It was plain, beaten, and dirty. But it made me feel like a kid now that I had something that another kid gave me. I smiled at her kind gift. 

“Thank you. I will cherish this.” Right as the words exited my mouth I knew I came on too strong. 

Ellie's mouth held back a laugh, but she concealed it with a smile. Luckily a bowl of warm soup interrupted my embarrassment. Over dinner I couldn't help but admire this girl's spirit, she had nothing holding her back. Her hair was even short, I had never seen a girl with hair that short unless it was a much younger child. 

Life in Jackson took a lot of getting used to, but at least someone was willing to talk to me. 

I had been deep in my writing when a hand placed on top of my paper interrupted my focus, causing me to glance up. My journal was filled with drawings, mostly of my loved ones that I haven't gotten to see since I left as a way to remember them. It's also filled up with detailed descriptions of the people I met, the new experiences, and the things I missed. As I looked up, a smile spread across my face, meeting the eyes of my one of a kind, Ellie. "Hi," I greeted Ellie with a smile, and she returned it with one of her own.

For the first year or so most of the kids in Jackson were mortified of me, but Ellie always made a point to talk to me. Maybe she was obligated to talk to me by Joel, but regardless I appreciated every part of her. Ellie was a key part in me opening up to the other people my age, sure, I was still off putting, but I could converse with those who tried me. 

“Tonight Dina’s having a bonfire to celebrate her birthday. She wanted me to let you know you're invited.” 

My heart beat doubled, I didn't think Dina liked me very much. 

I had gotten dressed for the fire, wearing extra layers since this fall had been unforgivingly cold after dark. A new part of my daily routine was my mirror. I hovered a finger over the scar that crossed my cheek, and took in how I looked without it. A friendly girl from Jackson was the person I had made up to compare who I was to who I could be. When I moved my finger away I frowned as the scared, angry, shy serephite refuge stared back at me. 

On my walk to Dina’s every insecurity walked with me. Luckily it was a party, and the idea of hiding in a corner was my only comfort. Did Dina invite me to make fun of me? Why would she want me there? I arrived purposely late, hoping I’d miss an awkward introduction. 

Dina’s backyard was the reverse of my expectations. 

I told you she was coming! Ellie finished saying as I made it closer to the group. The small group of like five people. Not a party. 

“Sorry I’m late, did I miss everyone?” 

“Miss who? I only wanted to invite my close circle. Come sit” Dinas voice was warm like the fire, but what did she mean?

Her close circle? Why was I here then? I sat between Dina and Ellie. 

“Happy birthday. Here.” I attempted to cover up my misunderstanding with the gift I prepared. 

After I found out about the bonfire I rushed to find a suitable present, since Tommy said it would be rude to show up empty handed. Embroidery was a hobby I had taken up in Jackson, so I finished a flower I had started days ago. 

“I could sew it into your backpack or anything you’d like.” My shaky fingers presented my gift to her. 

The rest of the night was actually fun. Dina loved my gift, at least she acted like it, and I didn’t feel like a total outcast. Jesse brought out his surprise present, a bottle of white liquor. 

It'll keep us warmer than the fire! He explained. 

The other two faces I didn't know well left early, but they were there way before I was. My favorite part of the night was when Ellie brought out her guitar. Her strumming was mesmerizing. Her occasional glances gave me butterflies, and everytime she spoke I fell deeper into her. The stand of hair that covered her face upset me, I sat on my hands to keep myself from tucking the strand behind her ear. I wanted everything to do with her, but I’m not sure why. 

“Let me walk you home?” Her voice, oh, her voice. It was late, I had a few drinks as did she, Ellie probably just wanted to ensure I got home safely. Tommy probably put her up to it. Regardless, I accepted it easily. 

“You seem like you enjoyed yourself tonight.” Ellie spoke as the journey home began. 

“I didn’t realize I was in Dina’s close circle. I’m glad though. It was really nice hanging with you guys.” 

“You should hangout with us more often,” Ellie smirked, “I don’t know why you don't, Dina and Jesse think you're cool. Plus I really had fun with you.” 

I bit back a smile, trying to play it cool like Dina and Jesse apparently think I am. 

“The feeling is mutual.” Was all I could bring myself to say. I didn't want to come off too strong, but now I had a new fear of not being strong enough. 

We approached my home, and as Ellie bid goodbye, I decided to be stronger than words by pulling her into a close hug. My own gesture of appreciation made my heart race as she returned the hug. I could tell I took her by surprise. 

“Night Ellie, get home safe”

[scramjettracy]

John has blocked me from the IR network while I’m stuck in this three-day meeting marathon because it isn’t a great look when I’ve got half an eye on the live feed and start trying to manage rescues during a marketing dept PowerPoint presentation.

And because they “can manage perfectly well without me hovering and in the unlikely event they need my advice or presence he’ll call direct.”

Apparently I am supposed to feel reassured by this. And not redundant at all…

He’s forgotten the mission reports get forwarded to my work email when they get saved.

So, I’m in the finance team’s year end deep dive extravaganza (or ‘YEDDE’ as the CFO keeps calling it because he thinks it sounds groovy) and am 100% focussed on the detail of the ninth spreadsheet they have sent to my tablet (and not at all on the fact they’ve formatted to 2 decimal places in one column and 3 in another and I cannot for the life of me work out the rationale for this) … I’m being a good CEO and trying not to worry about the family. Because they are grown ups and can handle it without me and whatever.

And just as one of the senior accountants is explaining why 1 + 1 does actually equal 3, an email pops up containing this:

…

…

… what happened???

I have made the executive decision that we all need a comfort break and am now pacing the corridor waiting for SOMEBODY ON THE ISLAND TO ANSWER MY CALL.

Is Gordon hurt again?! He looks dead why does he look dead? Was it the lizards again?! Is he ok??? Where did Virgil get a sword and why has nobody told him how to use it?! Has he hurt his hands? Will he ever play piano again?

JOHN GLENN TRACY ANSWER YOUR COMM RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME I’M GOING TO SEE HOW FAR BEYOND TRACY TWO’S TOP OPERATING SPEED I CAN GET HER TO FLY.

[rwshfordgirl]

Cruel Summer

"what doesn't kill me makes me want your more."

where she is dating her friend's cousin.

pairing kenan yildiz x reader!

a/n: i hope you like it :) those pictures of kenan are MY FAVORITES ONE

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬✮

Your friend's birthday party marked the beginning of another summer season. Everything was extremely planned by you and her, from the location to the guest list.

Alex managed to borrow her aunt's house on the Italian island of Sardinia for five days, five days with her other friends and with a very specific cousin of hers.

When you met Alex at a birthday party when you were 6, she wasn't alone. In fact, she was almost crying, upset with her cousins who were teasing her for falling off the toy. And it was there that your eyes first saw a six year old Kenan Yildiz, laughing at his cousin as if there was no tomorrow.

He always made you nervous, always, every time you met it was the same thing: your head would lower and your cheeks would quickly turn red, while Kenan tried to hide the fact that he found it too cute.

Every summer since the day you met Alex had Yildiz's presence, it was the only time of year you saw him and it was what made summer your favorite time of year.

But things really got more interesting last summer. On the Bosphorus River in the Turkish capital, Alex celebrated her 18th birthday with a boat ride. A fun night that ended with Kenan laughing at a bad joke you told and his arms wrapped around your waist.

The way he held you, the way he threw his head back laughing at you and the way he pulled you into his chest when he saw you shivering in the cold as the icy night wind hit the boat. You would definitely live this night forever and so would Kenan.

Since then, Kenan has only been seen by you during the summer, if he had to catch a plane to come visit you whenever he had some free time, he would definitely go without thinking twice. And on top of that, the video calls at the end of the day were constant.

But nobody knows. Nobody knows why on a holiday in the middle of last month, you decided to visit the city of Turin, alone. "You should meet Kenan there, he lives there. I'll talk to him." Alex said to you when you told her the news.

You tried to hide your smile, as if that wasn't exactly the reason you were going to Turin, "Seriously? Talk to him then."

But back in Sardinia, Kenan was already in the city with his other cousins while you were in the room getting ready to welcome them.

You weren't fast enough, as you finished combing your hair, strong arms wrapped around your waist and soft lips touched your neck. You felt Kenan smiling against your neck, "you smell so good."

You turned to face him, smiling like an idiot, "thanks babe! i was missing you." It was your turn to wrap your arms around Kenan's waist.

"I missed you too, like more than I thought I would." he rested his chin on your head.

"But you'll have to stay away from me, in public." Her words made him pout.

"I don't know if I'll make it, but I'll be close, very close. I'll be watching you."

"Like a maniac."

He laughed at this, "I'll watch you so the real manics don't come near you."

You nodded, amused by his words, "I see it then. Then I must say that I will also be keeping an eye on you as well."

He chuckled at you, loosening his hold on you just to look at you, "I won't mind."

"It's going to be hard to control myself from kissing you every time you do that.", you kissed him, "don't smile at me or anyone else."

He put his hand on his face, laughing at you, "that's good to know, I'll be smiling at you all summer."

"You're going to torture me and force me to kiss you in front of everyone."

"I hope that happens then."

[sscullysglasses]

as much as i love lafleur as an episode, ill never get over how that’s the only episode we get of the dharma years. like yes ok i get it. its incredible how much they’re able to convey in a single episode. but we had a season of flash forwards showing the oceanic six off island and how their lives crumbled without each other. i so wish we’d even had one more on island episode leading into kate, jack, hurley, and sayid’s return. it would have been so juicy to get a deeper juxtaposition between the oceanic six and the time travelers. bc they were both living lies!!! AND YET the implied found family, sawyer’s growth as a leader, and suliet is so so so rich in comparison. especially when you consider that they were also experiencing hauntings from the island and their circumstances. like miles living alongside his parents (and being around for his birth!!), juliet with a younger ben, and the looming date of sawyer’s parents’ deaths. and the difference between the island haunting the oceanic six and the time travelers is that they’d be going through these things together. they’d be living a lie in dharmaville to their community but not to one another. and that’s how they’re able to be so settled and happy regardless of the circumstances.

[reioka-reads]

Title: The Martian

Author: Andy Weir

Status: Keep

So listen. There are going to be some spoilers here. I don’t think they’re going to matter because this book is good even if you know what’s going to happen. I know some of you are thinking “Why should I read this book when I’ve seen the movie? Why should I read it if you’re going to spoil it?” Well, I’m not your boss or your mom, but this book is REALLY FUCKING GOOD. Like, I’m not a sci-fi fan AT ALL, but I had fun with this. This book is absolutely action-packed! There was NO time that I was bored reading this, even when Mark was explaining math or engineering. Every time we seemed to settle into a routine after a near-death experience, ANOTHER GODDAMN DEADLY EXPERIENCE HAPPENED!!!! Which makes sense when you’re accidentally abandoned on Mars with equipment that was only supposed to last (roughly) a month and you have to make it last over a year. Sitting with the knowledge of having finished the book, I actually like to think that the movie is what in-book Hollywood came up with. (Commander Lewis is still agog that the movie sent her out into space in the movie.)

Also the more I think about it, the more we need to get young men to read this. So many times it feels like a book about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and doing for yourself. But every time when you start to internalize that, Mark is there to sucker-punch you with, “No. I couldn’t do this without help.” He isn’t an island. He is LONELY. He misses people. There’s a scene where he says “I thought I would have reacted this other way after making contact with people. Instead I came inside and I bawled like a baby.” and that scene is SO IMPORTANT TO ME. Humans are, for the most part, social creatures, and from the get-go Mark is in survival mode. He doesn’t have time to really internalize how lonely and sad he is, until that moment he makes contact, and he realizes how lonely and sad he’s been. And men need to see to internalize this. It’s so heavily suggested throughout the book, but it’s really nailed home in the last chapter. WE NEED EACH OTHER. I NEEDED OTHER PEOPLE AND THEY HELPED ME WITHOUT HESITATION AND THAT’S WHAT BEING HUMAN IS ABOUT.

This book constantly hammers home that to really succeed, people need other people. NASA was working around the clock to figure out a way to extend Mark’s life expectancy so that the next Mars expedition could rescue him. People gave up things they’d been working on for other projects to make sure they had everything they needed for Mark. China saved the fucking day when they didn’t have to and even after all the enmity between countries. Mark’s team committed mutiny to come get him. Millions, BILLIONS of dollars spent to bring one man home. This book is about the indomitable human spirit, yes, but not just Mark’s. Every. Single. Person in this book would not accept defeat. And that means something. I finished this book, closed it, and wept. Despite all odds, Mark survived. And he couldn’t have done it alone. And he makes sure to tell us that before he even leaves to finally take a shower after over fifty days without one.

[damnmmmmmmmmmm]

🧃🚨 AnnaBitch’s Easter Breakdown:

A Case Study in Desperate PR and Delusional GPS

So after hours of reverse image searching like a CSI tech, tracking airport transfers, monitoring the weather like a retired boomer in Florida, and doing flight math like I was calculating a space launch — I have come to a conclusion. Yes, I’m insane. Yes, I’m a Scorpio. We don’t let things go, we collect chaos like Pokémon, and we require answers with cold, hard evidence and timestamps.

Because AnnaBitch? This chick just tried to convince the internet she’s teleporting across Scandinavia to seduce a man who’s clearly busy being gainfully employed — and I’m here to call bullshit.

✝️ The Long Easter Weekend Where AnnaBitch Tried to One-Up Jesus

So here’s what happened. Strap in.

On Good Friday, Variety publishes a sweet piece on Sebastian’s dad. Touching, right? But then out of nowhere, AnnaBitch slithers into the article like a parasite — her name thrown in like a used tissue. Girl, sit down. It’s not about you.

Next, she reposts the magazine cover to her story with a "red heart" like she wasn’t just shoehorned in there for SEO clicks. Cute attempt. You’re not subtle and you’re definitely not clever.

Then Saturday, People Magazine comes through like the PR lapdog it’s always been, dropping a fluff piece that regurgitates the same “Seb mentioned her” line. (Spoiler: He barely did.) It’s like watching someone scream "I’m relevant!" into a void filled with people blocking her story.

📉 Follower Free-Fall & Deuxmoi Fanfiction

Let’s not ignore the hard truth: even with this PR flood, AnnaBitch is hemorrhaging followers. She’s dropping hundreds by the day. The general public isn’t falling for the soft-focus stories and desperate reposts. So what does she do?

Cue Deuxmoi, always ready to post someone’s delusions. Suddenly, we’re hit with an “anonymous” tip claiming AnnaBitch and Seb were seen in Amsterdam on Easter Sunday. Like Seb flew out of rural Norway in the middle of filming just to take a sad canal walk with her? Okay, teleportation queen. I guess time and space don’t apply to you.

And then on Easter Monday, her friend posts a crusty, irrelevant photo of Seb wearing a shirt from her brand like it’s supposed to be proof of something.

🎬 Meanwhile, in Reality: Seb Was Working

Meanwhile, back on Earth: Sebastian is still in Norway, working on a film with spotty signal — something his actual co-star confirmed. He didn’t attend The Thunderbolts premiere, because he's still working.

So you expect me to believe he skipped a Marvel premiere but flew to Amsterdam for a Sunday Stroll? Lmao. Be serious.

And then Deuxmoi posts a shaky video of two blobs walking in the distance, claiming it’s “Seb and AnnaBitch.” Sis, you could’ve told me that was Bigfoot and the Easter Bunny, and it would’ve been just as convincing.

💋 And THEN Comes the Cheating Rumor

Just when we think this PR clown car can’t hold another stunt — BOOM — a Twitter rumor drops: AnnaBitch was seen kissing a man who is not Sebastian. I’m not even shocked at this point. Honestly? It’s the first believable thing that’s happened all weekend.

And how does she follow that up? She tries to reclaim the narrative by posting videos today from allegedly Norway.

One from the Faroe Islands around 11AM. Another from Rauma at 2PM. Cute try, but geography isn’t on your side, babe. These two locations are nowhere near each other, and no, you can’t “hop” between them in three hours unless you’re strapped to a Falcon 9 rocket.

Add to that the weather receipts? The lighting, the skies — they match the local forecasts perfectly. Meaning the videos weren’t taken within hours of each other. They were taken on different days. Maybe not even by her. Maybe sent by Sebastian’s team because she begged hard enough.

🗣️ The Desperation is Deafening

Let’s be real. All of this? It’s not a love story. It’s a PR panic spiral.

AnnaBitch wants people to believe she’s with Sebastian because she has nothing else to cling to. Her career? Mid. Her public image? Imploding. Her follower count? Plummeting like crypto in 2022.

She thought a little coordinated PR blitz, some bullshit sightings on a non-credited gossip blog, and a few passive-aggressive stories would convince us that she’s still relevant, still connected, still important. But instead?

She just exposed how not in the picture she really is.

So no, Succubus. You’re not “in Norway with Seb.” You’re in delusion, and your PR team needs a raise (and a reality check).

Scorpio-certified. Case closed.

[jjscrybaby]

teenage fantasy masterlist

CHAPTER THREE - the forbidden zone

warnings: language, throwing up, drinking, mentions of guns, cocaine, dealing, talk of sex.

———

One thing you didn’t miss about Sarah Cameron was how early she woke up in the mornings. You enjoyed a lie in, especially during the summer, but every day without fail she’d be waking you up from your slumber; in her defence, it was about eleven am but still.

“This is sweet and all but do I really have to come?” You complained, sipping your iced coffee as you walked down the docks.

“Uh, yes. You’re the one that always goes on about doing more for your community,” Sarah argued.

“Yeah, my community. This has nothing to do with me,” you shrugged.

She was dragging you along with her friends to a beach clean up, volunteering to make the island a better place after Hurricane Agatha. It was sweet, really it was, but the last thing you wanted to do at eleven am was go and clean trash off the sand.

“Don’t say that,” Sarah pouted, shoving at your arm gently. “You’re moving here as soon as we finish college. That was the deal.”

Ever since you were kids you’d had your lives together planned out. College together, roommates of course, you’d marry best friends or you’d marry her brother, you’d move to the Outerbanks and the two of you would share a house on the beach front and everything would be perfect. Nowadays, you weren’t even sure if you’d be able to afford college; not with how your father’s job was going and the money that was slowly making its way out of your college fund.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, giving her a reassuring smile. You didn’t want to dampen the mood by telling her about what was going on back home, this summer was meant to be a distraction.

Topper was waiting for the two of you at the end of the dock, sunglasses on his face and the worst coloured shorts you’d ever seen. “Hello, ladies!”

“What is he wearing?” You hissed at Sarah, she rolled her eyes at you but you didn’t miss the small amused smirk she tried to hide.

“Hi, babe,” Sarah greeted, accepting his hand to help her step onto the boat. “Where’s Kelce?”

“He’s meeting us there,” Topper replied. He ignored your existence as you got yourself onto the boat; clearly still a little bitter over you exposing him the day prior.

You stayed sat at the back of the boat, smoking a cigarette — ignoring the disgusted looks Topper threw your way — whilst the two of them stood up at the front. His arm wrapped around her waist as he drove the three of you to the beach. You were probably halfway there when another boat came into view; you were the first to take notice of who was on it.

JJ met your eye first, his mouth moving as he spoke to his friends. You saw the recognition in his eyes and he grinned, sending a wink in your direction as you scoffed and flipped him off. He laughed, shaking his head in amusement. Kiara stared at all of you in utter disgust, you just took a drag of your cigarette and turned away from them.

“You don’t have to act like you don’t see us, bitch,” you heard Kiara speak as your boats crossed paths.

“What was that?” You yelled back. She wasn’t talking to you, but you knew there wasn’t much of a chance Sarah would speak up for herself.

“Shut up!” Sarah hissed, turning to look at you. You shrugged.

“She’s a bitch.”

The three of you arrived on the beach and were given trash bags and litter-pickers; the sun glared down on you as Sarah began to tell Topper what had gone on with her and John B.

“You should’ve heard how John B talked to me. That kid’s got a mouth on him!” Sarah exclaimed.

“Well, he showed his true colours, Sarah,” Topper replied, making you roll your eyes from behind the pair of them.

From the little time you’d spent with John B yesterday, you didn’t think he seemed so bad — you had a feeling Sarah didn’t either.

“He was so rude!”

“I know! It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I mean, he’s lucky your dad didn’t press chargers,” Topper exclaimed.

“Over scuba gear that he returned?” You snorted, earning dirty looks from the both of them. You held your hands up in surrender.

“It’s just… kind of ridiculous to me. After everything my dad has done for him. Just so generous. You’d think that he’d be more grateful. And then he yells at me like it’s my fault!” Sarah rambled.

In reality, Sarah was upset that the boy she had a crush on was annoyed with her. You could read her like a book, and that was exactly what was going on. She didn’t care he’d stolen from them, she didn’t care if it was disrespectful towards her father, she cared that she was stuck with Topper when there were men like John B out there.

“He’s a Pogue, at the end of the day. I mean, you can say we’re all just people, or— or whatever, but it’s a totally different mindset on the Cut,” Top responded.

“Bullshit,” you muttered under your breath.

“Huh?” Topper asked, looking back at you.

“Look, it’s Kelce,” you said, changing the subject as you pointed to him.

“Yo. You look thirsty!” He grinned, passing over a water bottle to you.

“What have we got here?” You smirked. Maybe this beach clean up wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Have some of that, baby,” Kelce said. You took a sip and gagged, face scrunching up in disgust as your throat burned from the taste. “Yeah, that’s how we do it, baby.”

“Jesus,” you cringed, passing the bottle over to Sarah. “Have some of that.”

She took a sip and laughed, shaking her head. “What did you do to this?” Wheezie grabbed it from her hand, starting to chug it before Sarah grabbed it from her hold. “Since when did you start drinking?”

“Since today,” the younger girl shrugged.

“Going down a dangerous path there, Wheez,” you teased, she stuck her tongue out at you.

The prayer circle you all stood in had you and Sarah in a fit of giggles, soon being joined by Topper. It seemed the more you drank the more you didn’t hate his company, choosing to hang out with the couple for the rest of the cleanup.

“Uh oh,” you murmured with a snort as Wheezie came stumbling towards you, face pale. “You okay, babe?”

“I need to go home,” she groaned, gagging slightly after her sentence.

“Oh, shit. Okay, okay,” you laughed. “Sare! We have a code red. Your sisters about to vom all over the newly cleaned beach.”

Sarah cursed, groaning as she came over. “Seriously?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t the same at her age,” you bickered. “C’mon, let’s get her home.”

Thankfully, Wheezie managed to hold in her puke until the three of you were back home and in the bathroom. She threw up into the toilet, making you cringe as Sarah held her hair back.

“So, what we have learnt?” Sarah asked, sitting down on the edge of the bath tub beside you.

“Never mix vodka with Crystal Light,” Wheezie groaned.

“Very good,” Sarah nodded, as Wheezie threw up yet again.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

“Please don’t tell dad,” Wheezie begged, looking between the both of you.

“I won’t. On one condition,” Sarah replied, making you look over at her in surprise.

Wheezie sighed, looking at her sister in irritation. “What’s that?”

“You cover for us sneaking out with Topper tonight… please,” Sarah said, giving her a hopeful look.

Wheezie hesitated, but after a moment of contemplation she nodded. “Fine.”

“Do you promise?” Sarah asked.

“I promise.” Wheezie held her pinky up, the two of them interlocking their fingers. You smiled softly, having a sister would be so much better than a brother.

Once she’d thrown up a few more times, the two of you got the youngest Cameron into bed and sat with her until she’d passed out. You laughed at the memories of Sarah being the same after her first drink as the both of you wandered down the stairs, you froze as you heard Ward’s annoyed voice.

“I don’t feel like you care,” he stated. Sarah held a finger to her lips as you both crept down the stairs.

“I said I do!” Rafe argued.

“Yeah, you said.”

“What do you want me to say?” You and Sarah snuck beside the door, standing with your backs to the wall.

“I don’t want you to say anything! Take care of business. Where are the backup generators?” You cringed at Ward’s words. Of course Rafe had spunked the money that was meant for the generators. “I gave you money for the backup generators. You said you would take care of it. Did you take care of it? Where are they?”

“They’re on back order,” Rafe mumbled

“Yeah, of course they are.”

“There was a hurricane.”

“I tell you what. You know that Pogue I just fired? Way more reliable than you,” Ward stated.

Telling Rafe that anyone is better than him will send him into a meltdown, but a Pogue? That’s like you’re wishing death upon everyone in a nearby radius.

“Really?” Rafe replied sarcastically.

“Yeah, really. You need to get it together, Rafe, or you can go live on the Cut,” Ward threatened. Rafe laughed. “That funny to you?”

“Wow.”

“You can go live on the damn cut, Rafe. As far as I’m concerned. Now get up and get out of here. I’m sick of lookin’ at you,” Ward ordered. Rafe stood up and began to storm away, but not before Ward could get in the last word. “Make yourself useful somewhere, somehow.”

“Sarah’s not working,” Rafe murmured. You turned to your best friend and nearly laughed at the look of annoyance on her face.

“This isn’t about Sarah, Rafe. You’re almost 20. You don’t just get to sit back and have everything handed to you,” Ward argued.

“Yes, Sir,” Rafe grumbled, an edge to his tone.

“It does not seem like you understand me,” Ward said, voice stating to raise yet again.

“I’ll take care of those generators, okay?”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Rafe walked inside, not giving you and Sarah enough time to even try and pretend that you weren’t listening. At least you had the decency to look apologetic. “Told you. Shouldn’t have bought that motorcycle with the generator money,” Sarah taunted.

“Hm,” he muttered, turning away and continuing to leave.

“Dude,” you sighed, shaking your head at her as you started to follow him out. “Where are you going?”

“To make some money,” he muttered, putting on his helmet; at least he wasn’t a complete idiot.

“By doing what? Prostitution?” You asked. His hard exterior broke and a slight smile made it’s way onto his face.

“The ladies wish,” he smirked.

You shook your head in amusement. “So, I see you and your dad aren’t getting along any better since the last time I saw you?”

Four months ago, Rafe had driven to Charleston on a whim. Him and Ward had had some sort of spat and he needed to get away. He wouldn’t tell you what happened, no matter how hard you pried, he left only two days later and you didn’t hear a word from him for another month.

“He’s just stressed,” Rafe shrugged, sitting down on his bike. “No big deal. I’ll get the money.”

“Yeah? How?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

He shook his head, starting up the engine. “That’s non of your concern. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Before you could even reply he was riding off, leaving you with more questions than you started with.

———

Sarah was napping, Ward, Rose and Wheezie went to the club for lunch and Rafe was still out when there was a knock on the front door. You sighed, getting up from where you laid reading a book to open it. Your eyes widened as you made eye contact with the person in front of you; JJ Maybank.

He grinned, although there was confusion all over his face. “Juliet? What’re you doin’ here?”

“I, uh, I’m staying here. What’re you doing here?” You echoed.

JJ held out the grocery bags, wiggling his eyebrows. “The Cameron’s don’t like to go shopping, it seems.”

“Ah, I see,” you murmured, reaching out to take the bags from his hold.

“I got it.” He walked straight past you and into the house, whistling as he took in the interior. “It’s a nice place. Why’re you staying here?”

“Do you have zero manners?” You asked, following after him as he managed to find the kitchen.

He shrugged, smirking at you as he placed the bags on the counter and turned around to lean against it. “You answer mine and I’ll answer yours.”

“I told you already, I come here every summer,” you replied.

“You failed to mention the fact that you stay with the most powerful family on the island,” he laughed. “And no, I don’t have manners.”

“Clearly. People that do don’t tend to hold guns to other peoples heads.” His smile fell at your comment, replaced with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

“He was tryin’ to drown John B,” JJ retaliated.

You nodded your head, hands on your hips. “I didn’t say he didn’t deserve to be a little scared, the gun was just a step too far. Why do you even have that?”

“That’s a long ass story,” he murmured, looking down at his feet. He looked back up a moment later, the confidence back in his eyes. “I mean, I had fun before that. Been havin’ some vivid dreams about that night.”

“You’re disgusting,” you cringed, face scrunching up.

“You’re the one that kissed me,” he smirked. “I didn’t hear you complainin’ then.”

“Whatever. You should go, Rafe will probably be back soon and he’d lose his mind if a Pogue was stood in his kitchen,” you sighed.

JJ smiled, nodding as he stepped forward. “You care about me.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Sure you don’t, Y/N. Sure you don’t,” he nodded, walking past you. “See you around, Juliet!” He beamed, winking at you before walking out the room and back through the house.

It took you five minutes to realise he’d used your real name.

———

You’d thought the most intense party you’d ever been at was Rafe’s birthday party two years ago, his 18th had been huge thanks to Ward; but the problem was that Ward had planned it. There was booze, yes, but not enough for everyone to get absolutely smashed. As you and Sarah walked into the apparent party of the summer you realised you didn’t know a thing.

There were teens everywhere, some making out, some smoking cigarettes indoors, some throwing up on the carpet that costed more than your car. It was insane, and it was only half nine. Kelce was the first to spot the two of you, rushing over with a strained smile on his face.

“Where’s your brother?” He asked, looking right into Sarah’s eyes.

“How should I know?” Sarah snorted. She spotted her boyfriend in the crowd and made her way over to him, abandoning you with Kelce.

“Everything okay?” You questioned, tilting your head at him.

“Rafe’s the only guy that comes to these things with yayo,” Kelce huffed. Your eyes widened; it seemed you were correct about Rafe’s drug habits. The brown haired boy noticed the look of surprise on your face, and he instantly freaked. “Don’t tell Rafe I told you, please. He’ll kill me.”

“Why would he kill you?” You asked, smoothing out your little black dress that Sarah had picked out from her closet.

Kelce shrugged, running a hand over his cheek. “I dunno, he’s got a thing about you knowin’ shit. He gave me and Topper a warning before you arrived to not talk about certain things.”

“Like what?” Your face scrunched up. Did Rafe really care about your opinion on him that much?

“Oh no, I ain’t getting myself in more trouble—” Kelce cut himself off as an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Why would you be in trouble?” Rafe had a thing about showing up at the worst time possible.

“Nah, nothin’. Where you been?” Kelce asked.

“I, uh, c’mere.” He dragged Kelce away from you, whispering in his ear. Kelce nodded before he wandered off, Rafe made his way back over to you. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Well, I am,” you shrugged.

“You look nice,” he complimented, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, listen, I’m gonna be downstairs and I’d rather you didn’t come down there.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” You tilted your head to the side, playing naive.

“That’s where the dodgey people hang out, y’know? I’m just keepin’ an eye, makin’ sure everything’s cool. I think you should just stay with my sister, wherever she is,” Rafe explained, or lied.

She’d disappeared somewhere with Topper, you weren’t going to intervene. “I’m not an idiot, Rafe.”

“I know—”

“Your way of paying for the generators is selling coke? Are you serious?” You hissed at him. His face fell, eyes widening and jaw twitching.

“Who told you that? Was it Kelce? That kid’s been tryin’ to get in your pants all week, I swear he’d say anythin’—” Rafe rambled. Now that you really looked at him, you noticed the way his nose twitched, the size of his pupils.

“You’re on it right now,” you sighed. “If your dad knew about this—”

“As if he’d give a shit. All he’d care about is that non of his clients find out,” Rafe scoffed. “Look, just mind your business, a’ight? Stay up here.”

He began to walk away and you scoffed, glaring after him. “Sue me for giving a shit about you!”

Sarah didn’t show up again. You’d seen her jump off the roof with Topper at one point, but after that you’d lost track. You had a few drinks, at least this party had a variety instead of just beer. You were sat with some girls, vaguely aware of the conversation they were in when Kelce came up beside you.

“Rafe’s pretty pissed at me.” He looked the same as Rafe had, twitchy face and big eyes, you just nodded. “Hey, listen, y’know the other day? Sarah told us about your mom, I’m really sorry ‘bout that. Topper feels bad about what he said.”

“What?” You turned to look at him, eyes widening.

“Yeah… I mean, shit, drownin’ is one thing but suicide? And you had to find her? That’s a lot to deal with,” Kelce rambled on.

You were in utter shock. The way he was speaking to you, it was like he wasn’t describing the most traumatic thing to ever happen to you. Like he wasn’t talking about the day your life ended and the world crumbled around you. He was still speaking, but you couldn’t hear a thing as your eyes stung with tears and you fought yourself from slapping him silly.

“Yeah, thanks,” you interrupted him sharply. “If you see Sarah can you let her know I left. I’m not feeling well.”

“Want me to come with?” He offered. As if.

“Nope.” You turned around and walked away, grabbing an opened bottle of vodka from the shelf as you went.

The drink burnt your throat as you stumbled down the road, tears in your eyes and nausea creeping its way in. Food, you needed food. The first place you saw that still had the lights on was a restaurant you seemed to recognise but couldn’t remember why, The Wreck. You made your way in, almost tumbling over a table leg.

“Twice in one day? Lucky me.” You flinched as JJ’s voice came from beside you. “Technically three times, if you count us seeing each other this morning— are you good?”

You hadn’t even realised you were looking at him, eyes dull and face flushed with the vodka. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry?” He smirked. “Just hungry? Not a little drunk?”

“Maybe a little.” You held your fingers together, a small gap in between.

“Come on, drunkie. We have food.” You didn’t know who he meant by we, but you were quick to find out as his hand found the small of your back and he lead you to a table. “Got company.”

“Hey, Y/N,” John B greeted with a smile.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kiara muttered under her breath.

“She’s hungry,” JJ shrugged, ushering you to sit down next to John B before he slid into the booth beside you.

He pushed the fries towards you and you started to scoff them down, humming in delight. “I’m Pope.” The boy from the beach introduced.

“Hi,” you greeted, giving him a warm smile.

“She doesn’t look like the devil,” Pope joked to Kiara, who elbowed him harshly.

“How’ve you been, Kie?” You were so gone that you honestly forgot you were supposed to hate her. Sarah wasn’t here, and you’re sure she wouldn’t mind you having one conversation.

Kiara blinked in surprise. “Uh, good. Thanks… I heard about your mom.”

You cringed, but the look on your face seemed to tell her to shut her mouth. JJ’s arm rested around your shoulders. “So, where’ve you been tonight?”

“Party. Got bored,” you shrugged.

“You shouldn’t walk around drunk by yourself,” Pope lectured, sounding like an old dad.

You snorted, covering your mouth as if it would block the sound. “Sorry. You’re weird. Not in a bad way, you’re nice.”

“He gets that a lot,” JJ smirked from beside you.

“What’re you guys doing?” You asked.

“Treasure hunt,” JJ replied.

“JJ!” Kiara snapped. He laughed, but not as hard as you.

“A treasure hunt? Are you children?” You teased.

“You’ll be wishin’ you didn’t make fun when we’re rich and famous,” John B shrugged. “You need a ride home?”

“Clearly,” Pope responded.

You were going to agree, but as you opened your mouth the door swung open. Rafe met your eyes and he stormed over, shaking his head as he muttered to himself. “Been lookin’ everywhere for you. Kelce said you went home.”

“Made a pit-stop, what’s it matter to you?” You shrugged, shoving a fry in your mouth.

“I know you’re pissed with me, doesn’t give you an excuse to run off. C’mon, why are you sittin’ with these lot?” Rafe huffed, waiting for you to get out of the booth.

“God. I’m eating,” you argued.

“Maybank, outta the way,” Rafe ordered.

“Doesn’t sound like she wants to go with you, man,” JJ shrugged. His arm was still around your shoulders, and Rafe seemed to take note.

“You’re seriously gonna take advantage of a drunk girl? I didn’t even think you’d stoop that low,” Rafe commented.

JJ shot up, fists balled up. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“Alright, alright,” you yelled, getting up from your seat. “He was giving me food, chill out. Let’s go. Always ruining my damn fun.”

Rafe shot JJ a look as he grabbed your hand, you quickly pulled it away. JJ looked between the two of you, an expression you couldn’t read as you waved to the others.

“See y’all around,” you muttered, already on your way out of the restaurant.

“Wait up!” Rafe exclaimed.

“Piss off!”

You started to walk down the road when Rafe caught up with you, walking in tow. “My bikes here. Just get on.”

“You’re coked up,” you muttered.

“I haven’t done a line in hours, I swear. I wouldn’t put your life in danger,” he promised. “Why were you sittin’ with the Pogues? They’re the ones you should be scared of. Maybank had a gun to Top’s head a few days ago.”

“All they were doing was sharing some fries with me,” you huffed, stopping to look at him. “You aren’t my dad, Rafe. Even he doesn’t get to choose who I talk to.”

“I’m trying to protect you,” Rafe retaliated.

“I take care of myself ten months out of the year. I can do it the extra two,” you responded. “They’re nice people. Who cares if they don’t have as much money as you do?”

“Fine, okay, fine. Let’s drop that. Can we just go home?” He pleaded.

“Fine, whatever.”

You didn’t speak for the ride back, and you ignored him once you got inside. You were planning on just going to sleep, the alcohol was starting to make you tired, but your plans were changed once you stepped into your room and found Sarah laying on your bed.

“Sare?” You questioned, noticing the quiver to her lip.

“Topper wanted to have sex. I couldn’t do it,” she said, a sad smile on her face.

You kicked your shoes off and crawled into bed, arms wrapping around her frame as a sob left her mouth. “Okay. It’s okay.”

Sleep could wait, Sarah couldn’t.