#he is a menace but he has grown on me
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Me, before playing bg3: I don't know if I'm gonna like that Astarion guy, he seems like a pompous prick
Astarion:
Me now:
#he is a menace but he has grown on me#this goes for all the companions too#gale and his âcan i eat your bootsâ đ„ș#shadowheart all like âthank you for saving me from that podâ đ„ș#karlach âi wanna hugâ đ„ș#the list goes on#i'm weak#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate iii#bg3 astarion#balduring the gates 3#bg3 memes
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skk plus kouyou trio has taken over my brain
#thought about how if the sskk plus kyoka trio is a thing that totally implies the existence of a skk plus kouyou trio#theyâd be so funny#kouyou just awkwardly hanging out with these two teenage boys#who unfortunately happen to be the only people who are in a somewhat similar age range than hers#i feel like theyâd truly be such disasters together#chuuya knows nothing about formal life. âi imagine kouyou has never interacted with anyone outside of the mafia circles#dazai is dazai. heâs just a menace in general and im not trusting him to be normal in any kind of social interaction#also. yeah chuuya being angsty after dazai leaves is neat but what about kouyou being left behind by someone sheâs grown close to once agai#how could dazai escape and not her#this all has reminded me that dazai also calls her ane-san#which makes me very emo but is also very funny to me#i just know he adopted that from chuuya in an attempt to annoy kouyou#but idk maybe he had to eventually realize oh no maybe itâs not a joke anymore#anyways. iâm having thoughts lmao
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Oden is winning the bad bitch competition jesus
#so the prophecy was from before oden was killed... so he sacrificed himself for it too...#TURN THAT SONG UPPP!!!!!#WHAT HAPPENED??? also kiku is like 'why am i the only one here serving cunt' and she wojld be right....#luffy got socks and new sandals omg.... and a new sword....#zoro almost killing sanji with enma aldhakdjsksjskqj sanji said put on the armor đ and the sword became homophobic#wanda still has namis clothes on... oh its serious....#otsuru omg.... queen.... and she also knows kinemon is there.. the drama the angst#this episode is just edging.... why do i know that something happened at the end of the episode.... enough.....#talking tag#watching one piece#episide 959#NOT THE SUNNY!!! THE PEOPLE FROM OKOBORE BURNT ALIVE???? NOOOOO#me wondering why oden has such a short skirt and then they hide their wives from him when he enters the city ajdjsksk yeah....#omg oden pantyshot.... i keep getting fed this season.....#why the new ad breaks with luffy ace and sabo omg..... dont....#i love this bit about old people with black hair having blonde hair when they were young...#tsuru stripping kinemon of his clothes akdhakdhak#why is oden such a menace lmao jotaro kinda man..... he changed the course of a river đđ#hes got a harem???? consensual and everything wow... first poly man in wano lmaooo#oden sama you have to stop... your drip too hard.... your swag too different... your bitches too bad... oden sama they will kill you#making oden on top of someones cremation is too much they should kill him for that i agree also wdym he is 18.... this is a grown man#that was fun but wtf is oden.... what kinda creature#episode 960#kinemon and otsuru hug??? damn why are all the men blushing sndjks i wanna say he is cool but i can't... internalized homophobia...#this is so funny they hugged to fight the gay for oden allegations bc why after all that kinemon is on his hands and knees crying about how#he would die for him????? gay as hell#orochi was a servant for yasuie???? damn...#oden receuiting his band of simps....#episode 961
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honestly one of my least favourite things about online spaces centered around cluster b personality disorders is that they almost treat the disorders as an in joke. like its never quite anti recovery rhetoric but a lot of the times it feels like it becomes this thing where something harmful gets spurred on as a personality trait to nurture rather than a symptom to keep an eye on. freaks me the fuck out.
it could be because growing up i was pretty familiar with cluster b spaces and i lost a couple of friendships due to it becoming this whole "i have this disorder now i have to knowingly indulge the more harmful and dangerous symptoms im supposed to be treating to really prove i have this disorder!" thing.
like babes i still believe youre borderline, you dont need to go full tilt maintaining a numbered and ranked list of the people most important to you and assigning a fp role to someone who frankly is not responsible for your stability.
#i lost a friend yeeeeaaaars ago like almost 10 years ago now#who discovered npd and started using it as a justification for treating us like shit and seeing us as lesser#which was so fucking crazy to me as someone whos pretty fucking certain they have npd#bc if anything its made me a hell of a lot more aware of how i treat people around me#because like theres a lot worse things i can be than arrogant and self obsessed. but i dont wanna be arrogant and self obsessed AND cruel#like i fell victim to the borderline personality trait shit as a kid hardcore#and didnt realise i was probably comorbid npd til literally last year so i dodged that#but literally the reason i didnt realise it was probably also npd is because of how people dehumanize people w npd#like most of my exposure to npd in my own life has been absolute fucking menaces#but so has bpd. the people with bpd who have remained part of my life have always been people w bpd who keep an eye on their behaviour#bc no personality disorder makes you evil but not monitoring your symptoms does almost always make you irresponsible#like its very weird seeing people in my life react wildly differently to the discovery or diagnosis#like i just have 0 energy for people who get a diagnosis and just use it to excuse their treatment of others#and this comes from someone who was The borderline menace at age 16#i think realising i probably have npd has made me a lot more aware of my own ego among other things#and ive had enough therapy for bpd to feel comfortable navigating most of the npd stuff rn without an official dx yet#bc id say ive already been trying to curb certain behaviour for years now without realising it could be linked to smth in particular#its just a new explanation. but i dont think its an excuse#i hope that ex friend is dealing with his shit better now. i still think hes a dick but he was a struggling teenager so all i can do is like#hope hes grown up and doing better mentally and has better friends. bc god knows our friend group was pretty unhealthy#txt
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oh to be a mouse hybrid toyed with by a cat hybrid who just wants to see you squirm in every way
Ooh when the Cat Hybridâs owners told him they were getting him a new little friend, you, a Mouse Hybrid were by far the last thing he was expecting.
He wanted another cat to mess with, to play with⊠to mate with. But he couldnât stop himself from noticing your plump round form scurrying about the house or the constant skittish look in your eye as you surveyed your new home. Perhaps you would do.
From that day on he would terrorize you mercilessly. Chasing you around the around the house when your owners were gone, saying he was gonna devour you when he finally got his claws into you. Backing you into corners just to see the delicious terror in your eyes. Plopping his large form right on top of you so that you couldnât escape him even as you scrambled desperately to get away.
It was never ending and as much as you wanted to say you hated it, it felt far too good. The Cat hybrid severely underestimated you, forgetting you too were a hybrid with all the same perks. You could smell his desire in the air every time he chased you. And you had grown addicted to the scent. To feel so wanted and yearned for, especially during the chase, nothing else could compare.
He would only ever mess with you when he felt like it so you figured you might need to give him a little push. Using yourself as bait you use your owners creaky stairs to your advantage. As soon as the first step creaks, the Cat hybridâs head snaps up from where heâs perched. His eyes meet your wide ones for only a moment before youâre bolting down the stairs.
As soon as you hear the pounding of paws behind you, you smirk wickedly knowing your plan had worked. Cute little squeaks leave your mouth as you run throughout the house, narrowly trying to avoid being caught. He shouldâve realized how much you like this. Youâre much faster than him after all.
After rounding the next corner you wait a moment for him to catch up. Seeing a flash of fur and then youâre off. The Cat Hybrid pauses for a moment as he realizes what you had just done. What youâve actually been doing this entire time.
Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he chases you at lightning speed. Heâs catching up to you in no time and by the look of genuine alarm in your eye he knows this wasnât a trick. Instead of his usual antics he pounces on you, sending you both tumbling to the floor.
âYou messinâ with me, little mouse?â He growls in your ear, his body pinning you to the hard wood floor. You donât even bother to squirm, your heart beating out of your chest as you stare up at him.
Before you can even blink heâs shoving his hand down your pants and swiping his fingers through your folds, your slick drenching them with how aroused you are. He chuckles lowly, rumbling purrs vibrating into your chest and straight to your core.
âSo this has been a game to you, huh? A bit of foreplay before I inevitably snap and fuck you dumb.â
You find you canât even answer, panting breaths escaping you as you rock with his hand thatâs slowly rubbing against all the right places. He devilishly smiles and pushes two fingers deep inside you, causing your hips to jolt as you cry out.
âWell, sweetheart, youâve done it. Iâve snapped,â he says with a menacing snarl as he pumps his fingers roughly against your walls, his claws just barely scraping them and setting your nerves on fire.
You try and be as good as you can, staying perfectly still for him as he fucks you with his fingers, but your small reaction only seems to infuriate him further. He picks up pace, licking and nipping at your throat until you too break and your moans echo throughout the empty house. A secret smirk plays on lips.
That is until the Cat Hybrid plays a trick of his own. Pumping his fingers inside you, drawing you closer and closer till youâre just about to fall off that edge when he suddenly stops and withdraws. You whine, squirming now as you begin to beg for more.
âI see through you now, sweet prey. You wonât be winning this one.â
You only start to realize your mistake as he starts fucking you with his cock, the large length stretching you so good. The natural curve hitting the soft spot inside you perfectly. Then he starts doing to you exactly what he did with his fingers. Bringing you up to the edge and then pulling you right back.
Heâs as merciless as he is when terrorizing you and in a way heâs doing just that but in a whole new way that drives you more insane than the chasing ever did. Eventually youâre a sobbing mess, your tears and your arousal forming two separate puddles on the floor with how in need you are right now as he starts up again.
You jump as the sudden sensation of his wet nose nuzzling into your neck, his purrs even louder now. You immediately cling to him, meeting his thrusts and trying to chase your growing orgasm before itâs taken away again.
âDo you think youâve earned the right to cum for me now?â The Cat Hybrid asks and you whine, nodding rapidly.
You feel his grin against your skin before he pulls out and starts slamming his cock deep inside your cunt. His intent clear before he even says a word. But when he does itâs like music to your ears.
âI agree. Cum for me, mate.â
This time as you get closer and closer to the finish, he doesnât stop. Instead, his hands slips down and rubs tight circles into your clit. Your orgasm breaks through almost instantly and you scream as you milk his cock for all itâs worth, sending him right into ecstasy with you.
But the sound of the car door doesnât leave either of you much time to bask in pleasure coursing through you. Luckily the Cat hybrid takes the lead, maneuvering you both as he curls around you, keeping you stuffed full of his cock but hiding any of the evidence. Youâre too weak to do anything but shift into how he molds you. Making it appear as if you two are asleep and cuddling in the hall.
âAw, look at them. Finally getting along,â you hear your owners say who are none the wiser to whatâs really going on.
Cat Hybrid bf rocks his hips, snapping them back inside you quietly and forcing a squeak from your throat. He chuckles under his breath and nuzzles into you, not planning on moving away from you for hours. Wondering how many more orgasms he can rip from your tight pussy.
#dragonsasks#monster fucker#monster smut#monster lust#monster lover#monster fuqqer#monster fudger#monster romance#monster fic#monster imagine#teratophillia#terato#monster bf#monster boyfriend#cat hybrid#werecat#hybrid monster#hybrid creature#werecreature#werebeast#hybrid smut#hybrid fic#hybrid#hybrid x reader#monster x reader#monster x human#monster x y/n#monster x you#monster x fem!reader#monster x female
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To Have a Heart
CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader
Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance ⊠then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down
Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer
Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.
His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. âSir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.â
Max doesnât bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.
Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. âSend him in.â
A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the manâs forehead.
Good.
He should be nervous.
âMr. Henderson.â Max says, his tone clipped. âDo you know why I called you here?â
The man â Henderson â fidgets with his tie. âY-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...â
âThe $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.â Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. âA deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firmâs history.â
Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adamâs apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.
âBecause of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.â Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. âPlease explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?â
âI ⊠I missed it in the final review.â Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. âThe numbers, they all start to blur together after-â
âDo not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.â Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. âBecause of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a âBâ!â
Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. âIâm so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It wonât happen again, I swear-â
âYouâre damn right it wonât happen again.â Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Hendersonâs ashen face. âBecause youâre fired. Effective immediately.â
The words seem to take a moment to register in Hendersonâs mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.
âNo, no, please! You canât fire me!â he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. âI-Iâll work double shifts, triple shifts! Iâll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just donât fire me, Iâm begging you!â
Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch ⊠almost.
âThis conversation is over.â Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. âYou have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.â
âB-But I have three kids!â Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. âA mortgage. Alimony payments! You canât just-â
In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.
âI am Max Verstappen!â He bellows, his face flushed crimson. âI do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.â
The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.
âOne hour.â he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. âGet out of my sight.â
Henderson doesnât need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor â pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.
Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of ⊠not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.
Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Maxâs cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.
The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.
âClara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.â he says, his voice steady once more. âWe need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.â
âRight away, sir.â comes the reply, his assistantâs voice tightly professional.
Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly wonât be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.
There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.
âCome in.â he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better â he respects discretion.
âI have Mr. Evans on line two for you.â she says crisply.
Max gives a succinct nod. âThank you, Clara. That will be all.â
As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.
Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.
***
You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR directorâs office. âCome in.â a flat voice calls out.
Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesnât reach her eyes.
âAh, Y/N. What can I do for you today?â She asks in an overly saccharine tone.
You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. âI ⊠I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.â
Janetâs perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. âI see. And how much time were you hoping to take?â
Your throat tightens as you force out the words. âAt least a month. Maybe more, depending on ⊠on how things progress.â
The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. âIâm afraid that wonât be possible. Weâre in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy â no extended leave during crunch periods unless itâs a valid health emergency.â
You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! âBut it is an emergency! My daughter, sheâs ...â Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. âSheâs very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.â
Janetâs face remains stubbornly impassive. âIâm sorry to hear about your daughterâs illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.â
The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave â itâs standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when youâve been spending every waking moment by your little girlâs hospital bedside?
Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughterâs tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...
Youâre vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if youâre underwater.
How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.
No. Thatâs not how companies like this operate.
They donât care about you or your daughterâs life. All they care about is the bottom line, and youâre just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.
Youâre jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. âWell? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?â
Is there anything else? Oh, thereâs so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.
But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. Thereâs only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.
Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.
The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girlâs sake, you have to try.
So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. âThank you for your time.â you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.
You donât look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a motherâs desperation.
The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughterâs life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, youâre practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.
As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like itâs trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?
No, you canât afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughterâs sake, you have to be brave.
The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like youâre going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor â the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.
You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Maxâs assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.
âIâm sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.â she says, her tone brooking no argument. âIf youâd like to schedule an appointment for next week ...â
âPlease.â you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. âItâs an emergency. I ⊠I need to see him. Just for five minutes.â
Claraâs manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. âI extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if youâll excuse me, I have a million things to-â
âItâs about my sick daughter!â The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.
For a split second, Claraâs expression flickers with something that might be pity. But itâs quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.
âIâm very sorry to hear about your daughterâs illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while heâs-â
âPlease!â You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. âIâm begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, Iâll leave, I promise. But I have to try!â
Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. âSir? Thereâs someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A ⊠personal matter.â
The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.
Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. âThis had better be good. Send them in.â
Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Maxâs corner office. âGood luck.â she murmurs.
You donât need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.
Thereâs no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle ⊠or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.
***
Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Claraâs hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. âSir? Thereâs someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A ⊠personal matter.â
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous âpersonalâ disruptions.
âThis had better be good.â he growls into the intercom. âSend them in.â
With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. Heâs already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a âpersonal matter.â
Then you tentatively step into the room and Maxâs words die in his throat.
Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.
An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Maxâs chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.
âWell?â He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. âYouâre hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.â
The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.
âI ⊠Iâm so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.â you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.
But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. âItâs about my daughter, sir. My little girl ⊠sheâs in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I donât have!â
Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. âPlease, Mr. Verstappen! Sheâs only three years old and Iâm a single mom. Iâm all she has right now! Iâm begging you ⊠please just give me some time to be with her before ⊠before ...â
You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.
Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. Heâs seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But thereâs something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.
Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.
But another part of Max ⊠a part he barely recognizes ⊠feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.
Perhaps itâs the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps itâs the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.
Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.
âI did not realize the full severity of the situation.â he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.
Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him ⊠an ancient ghost of an emotion he canât quite place.
âIâm sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.â Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. âPerhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughterâs condition, instead of being so oblique ...â
He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.
âHere.â he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. âAllow me to make things right.â
Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.
âJanet? Yes, itâs Max Verstappen.â he says crisply when the line picks up. âIâve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.â
He pauses, glancing over at where youâre clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but youâve gone utterly still â hanging on his every word.
âOne of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.â Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. âA matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the ⊠nuances of the circumstances.â
Thereâs a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesnât give her the chance.
âThe decision has been made to grant the employeeâs leave request, effective immediately.â he cuts her off. âThey will be excused for ⊠two months, with full pay and benefits.â
His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you canât quite process what youâre hearing.
Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janetâs flustered response filtering through the receiver. âB-But sir, we have very strict policies about-â
âWhich is precisely why Iâm instructing you to make an exception.â Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. âThis leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?â
Thereâs a meek murmur of assent from Janetâs end. Max canât resist a tight smile of satisfaction.
âGood. Iâll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.â He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.
As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.
Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.
âThank you!â Youâre whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... âThank you, thank you, thank you!â
Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He canât remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. Heâs not accustomed to such ⊠warmth.
But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.
âYou have no idea how much this means, sir. I ⊠I canât thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.â
He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen â merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.
But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.
So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.
But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.
For the first time in years â perhaps his entire adult life â Max feels almost ⊠human.
Itâs a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesnât have to dwell on.
Because in the next breath, youâre sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.
He doesnât have words â or perhaps doesnât want to admit to any words to describe what heâs feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, youâve well and truly upended Max Verstappenâs world.
***
Max remains rooted in place long after youâve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that ⊠emotional encounter.
Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.
The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...
Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Maxâs skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.
He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years â grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same ⊠response within him.
None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Maxâs chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.
Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.
So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.
Perhaps thatâs the core issue â that for once in his life, Maxâs motivations werenât born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.
The realization causes Maxâs steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.
He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been ⊠affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.
Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappenâs carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.
Itâs both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.
Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.
âCome in.â he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.
Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. âYou asked to see me right away, sir?â
âYes.â Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. âI need you to do some ⊠discreet digging for me into a personal matter.â
Claraâs perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesnât comment on his evasive phrasing.
âAnd what exactly am I looking into?â
âThe employee who was just in my office seeking leave.â he explains curtly. âThe one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can â where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.â
Claraâs perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. âYouâre aware I canât exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...â
âIâm fully aware.â Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. âWhich is why youâll have to take a more ⊠unconventional approach. I donât particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.â
His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.
Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. âConsider it done, sir.â
With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.
Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.
What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths heâs going to, all for the sake of some random underlingâs personal crisis ...
A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a foolâs errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.
And yet, he canât seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mindâs eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.
Itâs almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he canât fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to ⊠to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?
The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?
He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.
Heâs in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.
âClara.â he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. âI trust youâve made progress?â
âIndeed.â comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. âThough I should warn you, some of these details are ⊠concerning.â
Something tightens in Maxâs chest, but he quickly tamps it down. âJust lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.â
âVery well.â Clara acquiesces. âSo the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-â
âLet me stop you right there.â Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. âWhatâs the official diagnosis then?â
âGrade IV glioblastoma.â Clara replies flatly. âOne of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.â
A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV ⊠practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.
âAnd her prospects?â He finally prompts gruffly. âWhatâs the ⊠prognosis for her case?â
Clara doesnât answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.
âFrom what my contact at Lennox Hill said ⊠if weâre talking full disclosure?â Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. âTheyâve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.â
The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Maxâs neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.
Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their childâs death sentence with any measure of composure?
An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Maxâs throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isnât the time for such indulgences.
âThank you, Clara.â he manages in a rough baritone. âThat will be all for now.â
He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.
Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.
Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.
Thatâs unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.
No child should have to suffer like that ⊠and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.
And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.
An idea begins to blossom in his mind â one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he canât quite explain.
Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought heâd use outside of donor galas.
âRoland? Max Verstappen here.â he says gruffly when the line picks up. âI need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Ketteringâs pediatric oncology department ...â
Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.
âDr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.â Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. âTo cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a ⊠sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.â
Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter â the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.
âSo in your expert opinion.â Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. âWhat would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?â
Thereâs a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. âBased on what youâve told me ⊠Iâm afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.â
Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a foolâs hope.
âHowever.â Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. âWe do currently have an ⊠experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.â
Something akin to hope flutters in Maxâs chest. âIâm listening.â
âWell, to put it simply, weâve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.â the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.
âBy modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of ⊠controlled payload, if you will.â
Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. âSome kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?â
âPrecisely.â Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. âOnly weâve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, weâve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.â
He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Maxâs head. Not that it matters â his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulsonâs voice.
âOf course, this is all still highly experimental. Weâve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.â the doctor cautions. âAnd we have no idea if the viral vector weâve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.â
Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. âI appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But letâs cut right to the heart of the matter.â
He draws in a fortifying breath. âIf you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these ⊠gene therapy regimens of yours ⊠would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?â
Thereâs a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, âIf she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions ⊠and we get a bit of luck on our side ...â Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. âThen Iâd say we would have a fighting chance, yes.â
Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.
A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.
After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.
âSay no more, doctor. Whatever it costs â money, time, logistics â none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, Iâll take care of the bill.â He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.
Because in this moment, it doesnât feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child â ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?
It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.
***
You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitorâs chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.
She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how youâd regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.
Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.
One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.
The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.
Because this morning, the doctors came to âdiscuss options.â As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.
âWeâve run every available scan and lab test.â Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. âIâm so very sorry, but the tumor isnât responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...â
You hadnât let him finish, couldnât let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could âcomfortablyâ slip away.
The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earthâs crust. Youâd screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.
In the end, theyâd sedated your daughter fully so you could âcalm downâ and âprocess things rationally.â You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.
So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if youâll ever truly feel anything else ever again.
Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughterâs bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before ⊠before ...
A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.
The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.
You arenât sure how much time stretches in that manner â minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.
So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.
A stranger stands in the doorway â a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.
You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.
âPlease, donât be alarmed.â he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. âI know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting youâd want an uninvited visitor.â
Now that heâs closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. Thereâs no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.
âMy name is Spencer Paulson.â the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. âIâm actually a doctor, Ms ...â
âY/N.â you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. âY/N L/N. And this is ⊠this is my daughter, Olivia.â
Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.
âWell, Ms. Y/L/N.â the man â Dr. Paulson â says, tone measured. âI realize Iâm intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.â
His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughterâs limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.
âThen if you donât mind my asking.â you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. âWhy are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Oliviaâs bedside unannounced?â
He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.
âI was recently contacted by ⊠an interested third party about your daughterâs case.â Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. âI was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis â glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?â
You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The manâs crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.
Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. âRight, well, Iâm actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.â
The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.
But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.
âIâll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.â he says, holding up a forestalling hand. âMy team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, weâve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol â a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Oliviaâs brain tumor.â
You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and âcontrolled payloadsâ being essentially the extent of modern medicine.
â... And while the trial is still in its early stages, weâve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.â Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. âWhich is why weâre reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.â
He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But youâre frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.
After all, youâve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you canât afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.
But another part of your wearied brain â the part thatâs grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness â recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.
So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.
âHow ...â
Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. âIâm sorry?â
You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. âHow much would ⊠would a treatment like this cost?â
For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulsonâs aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.
âUnfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy ⊠the baseline costs do run relatively high.â he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. âIf approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, weâre looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.â
The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four ⊠million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesnât seem real.
You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.
But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.
âHowever, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some ⊠special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughterâs case.â he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. âYou see, thereâs an anonymous benefactor whoâs agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a ⊠philanthropic basis, letâs call it.â
The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what heâs saying through the roaring static in your ears.
âI ⊠I donât understand.â you manage to stammer out. âSomeone wants to ⊠pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-â
âHey now, none of that.â Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. âThe why doesnât matter right now â only that itâs been arranged at no cost to you or your family.â
He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.
âI know this is ⊠well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else youâre already dealing with.â Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. âAnd please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think itâs enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?â
Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.
After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girlâs life slowly ebb away before your very eyes ⊠there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything wonât end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.
And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs â only this time, theyâre threaded with the catharsis of relief.
Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Oliviaâs bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though youâre being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.
Through the storm of your breakdown, youâre dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.
âWeâll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?â
You canât even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulsonâs murmur.
âThereâs a fighting chance now. Thatâs all any of us can really ask for ...â
***
Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Ketteringâs pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.
456 ⊠458⊠ah, there â 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.
Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside â your voice, he recognizes with a start. âCome in!â
Maxâs brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes thatâs only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.
Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. Youâre seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitorâs chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans â by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.
Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.
Olivia.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up â and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. âM-Mr. Verstappen?â You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. âI ⊠I didnât realize you were-â
Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.
âItâs quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.â he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. âI admit I hadnât warned you about my visit in advance.â
He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isnât entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.
And now that heâs here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely ⊠unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didnât even begin to equip him for handling.
But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. âWhoâre you?â She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Maxâs usually implacable defenses.
Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Oliviaâs inquisitive gaze.
âYou can just call me Max.â he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didnât even realize he was capable of. âItâs a pleasure to finally meet you.â
It occurs to him then that heâs been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand â an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a monthâs rent for most families. He had ordered them from the cityâs most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.
This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Maxâs stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Oliviaâs large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.
Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.
âThese are, ah, for your mother.â he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. âA small token of ⊠of appreciation, one might say.â
He isnât quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition â perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.
âThank you, Mr. Versta-â You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. âEr, Max. Theyâre absolutely lovely.â
You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.
Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.
And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity heâs accustomed to projecting. Not when Oliviaâs sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.
Your daughter still hasnât looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. Itâs ⊠disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.
âI, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.â he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.
Heâs not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still canât understand.
But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.
âOhmygosh, thank you!â The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.
On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Oliviaâs waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Maxâs very soul.
He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, heâs forced to admit.
Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughterâs cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize youâve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.
âI trust the medical team has kept you informed of Oliviaâs progress so far.â he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. âI donât have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what Iâve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?â
You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. âY-Yes, you could definitely say that.â
Something sparks behind your gaze then â some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. âIn fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that theyâre actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-â
You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.
Then, almost in a whisper, âMax ⊠are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?â
The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max canât find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.
For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Maxâs jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.
But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bearâs paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Maxâs formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.
So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, âYes.â
He doesnât have time to brace himself before youâre suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.
The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He canât remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact â perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.
But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.
âThank you.â youâre whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. âThank you, thank you, thank you ...â
With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.
Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesnât pull away, doesnât extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.
Instead, in a move even he canât fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.
âItâs ⊠quite alright.â he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. âNo thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughterâs full and complete recovery ⊠at whatever cost required.â
He isnât sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him â he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.
Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.
âI ⊠I donât know how Iâll ever repay you for this.â you murmur throatily. âFor giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.â
Tenderness isnât something that often breaks through Max Verstappenâs shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life heâs allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.
But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he canât quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.
âThe only form of repayment Iâll require.â he says finally, âis your permission to take you to dinner.â
He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.
âDinner? But ⊠I havenât left Olivia in weeks.â
At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if heâs regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. âOf course I donât expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together ⊠here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.â
Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like ⊠excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.
âI ⊠yes, of course.â you murmur, sounding almost bashful. âWe would be honored.â
Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.
âVery good then,â is all he finds himself able to say in response. âI shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.â
With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. Youâre already back in your chair at Oliviaâs bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughterâs hair.
And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.
A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.
Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.
Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.
Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...
Denial doesnât appear to be an option anymore.
***
Two Years Later
The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Maxâs gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.
A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.
âWhat are you up to over there, kleine muis?â He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.
Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. âIâm having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.â she explains, brandishing the dolls. âWould you like to join us, Maxie?â
Max chuckles softly. âThank you for the invitation, but Iâm afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.â
âOkay.â Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.
You had dropped Olivia off at Maxâs office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.
He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.
After a while, Olivia looks up again. âMaxie, can I ask you something?â
âOf course, lieverd. What is it?â
Olivia fidgets with one of the dollâs dresses. âToday at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.â
Maxâs heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. âDid you have fun with that activity?â
Olivia nods enthusiastically. âUh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.â
The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.
Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, âBut then Timmy said that youâre not really my daddy since we donât have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?â
Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.
Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.
âOlivia.â he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. âEven though we donât share the same name, and I didnât ...â He pauses, swallowing hard. âI didnât have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.â
Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. âSo, I can call you Daddy?â
The simple question unlocks something deep within Maxâs core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesnât fight.
âYes, kleine muis.â he whispers, his voice wavering. âI would be honored if you called me Daddy.â
Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Maxâs neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Oliviaâs tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.
They stay like that for long minutes, Maxâs shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Oliviaâs hair as he buries his face against her.
At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. âI love you, Daddy.â she says simply, the words reverberating through Maxâs very soul.
He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. âAnd I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.â
Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. âOh! I almost forgot!â She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.
Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men ⊠yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.
âHere it is!â Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. âFor you, Daddy.â
With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures â stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.
âItâs beautiful.â he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. âThank you.â
Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.
Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Oliviaâs artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.
Because Max is many things â a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.
But most importantly, he is a father.
And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Oliviaâs daddy.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#max verstappen#mv1#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#max verstappen x female reader#max verstappen x y/n#red bull racing#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen drabble
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your little brother, my little secret
yn and joy share every secret, until yn returns from university to find joy's little brother jake has become irresistibly hot. maybe keeping just one secret from your best friend won't hurt⊠right?
PAIRING : best friends little brother!jake x reader
GENRE : smut & angst. jake's (shy) a sub for majority of it. dirty talk, masturbation, degrading + humiliation, & y/n is a menace.
WC : 14k
mdni
youâve been counting down the days until summer for what feels like forever. youâre returning to your hometown for the entire two months you have until university starts again in september.Â
youâve been driving for miles now, just having to go to a university two hours away from your small hometown. but the summer air is thick and humid, and it blows throughout the car as all the windows are down.Â
your best friend, joy, sits beside you. youâve known her for just as long as she has moved into your small town when you both were ten. since then, youâve shared everything together; every laugh, every tear⊠every secret. her family feels like your own, summers spent in their backyard, evenings filled with board games and cards. some nights in high school even included sneaking out to a party and drinking until you thought youâd throw up.Â
last summer was different. you were abroad doing an internship for university. and you didnât get a chance to stay long during christmas break. so, itâs been a while since youâve actually stayed in your hometown with all its familiarities.Â
âjake will be home when we get there,â joy says, loud enough to be heard over the wind and faint music.Â
âoh right, howâs he liking university?âÂ
jake is joyâs little brother. heâs always been shy, introverted, prefers to stay home and play video games instead of going out like you and joy. you remember him as a cute kid, all wide eyed and shy smiles. you donât remember him having much friends, heâd rather be alone in his room. itâs hard for you to imagine him navigating the crowded university, but you suppose heâs all grown up now. itâs been so long since youâve seen him, and the thought of how much he changed lingers in your mind.Â
âhe likes it,â joy says, her long black hair blowing out the window, âheâs excited for summer like we are.âÂ
you nodded in response, thinking maybe jake would go out with you guys now instead of playing video games in his room all summer.Â
âwe gotta go to hyunjinâs this week!â joy declares, her eyes lighting with anticipation, âyou know heâs throwing a big party this week. and then, thereâs that new bar that opened downtown. we have to check it out!âÂ
you agree with joy. her energy is infectious despite her brash (sometimes too brash) exterior. joy has always been more straightforward and perhaps blunt than you are. when sometimes you can be a people pleaser and a pushover, joy is there to say the words you wish you could say.Â
âi canât wait,â you reply, âitâs been too long since weâve had a proper night out.âÂ
joy shoots you a mischievous grin, her confidence unwavering, âoh trust me, yn. this summer, weâre going all out.âÂ
you roll your eyes at your pretty best friend, pulling into her familyâs driveway swiftly.Â
you and joy step through the front door of the house, a place that is more familiar and comforting than your own. the place smells like a home cooked meal and you are instantly greeted with joyâs parentsâ smiles. joyâs mother envelops you in a hug, her warmth and kindness instantly easing any fatigue from the long drive.Â
"oh, yn, joy, it's so good to see you both!" joy's mother exclaims, her smile radiant. "dinner will be ready shortly. you must be exhausted after the drive. please, sit down in the living room and relax."
joy's father joins in, his jovial voice filling the room. "how was the trip? traffic wasn't too bad, i hope?" her parents' genuine concern and hospitality are a stark contrast to your own parents.Â
"it was fine, dad," joy replies, her tone affectionate yet tinged with a hint of impatience. "we're just glad to be home for the summer."
you smile over your shoulder at her parents as she drags you to the living room. it looks the same as you remember it; comfy fabric couch, family photos on the walls, lit candles around the room that mix with the smell of dinner.Â
joy props her feet up on the coffee table as she starts to scroll her phone. a nonchalant smile plays on her lips, âcanât believe weâre back here.â she says with a sigh.
before you can respond, a sudden noise draws your attention towards the backdoor. two figures emerge, their arms swaying as they laugh and push each other.Â
âhey guys,â joy's casual greeting halts their antics momentarily, but it's the sight of you on the couch that freezes one of the boys in his tracks. he stands there, awkward and unsure.
the other boy remains cool and confident as he greets joy and walks over to you both on the couch. he stands in front of you, sticking his hand out in front of your face, âiâm heeseung.âÂ
you look up at him as he stands, his features are chiseled. his eyes are a deep shade of brown. his smile is almost cocky, but disarming as he flashes it effortlessly. thereâs an aura of assurance about him, that he knows heâs good looking and heâs confident about it.Â
your hand meets his, âiâm y/n.â your eyes flicker back to the boy who remains rooted to the spot, his expression unreadable as he almost quiets away into the wall.Â
âare you gonna come hug your sister, jake?â joy squeaks from beside you, she octaves her voice higher to be annoying on purpose.Â
itâs then that you realize who is standing there in the cornerâ you almost didnât recognize him.Â
the shy, nerdy kid you once knew is now standing beforeâ transformed in a way that catches you off guard. where once stood a lanky teenager, now stands a man that is toned and tanned. his hair is longer and tousled in a way that accentuates his features. heâs taller and broader.Â
as you take in his appearance, you canât help but be struck by how insanely hot he has become.Â
he shifts nervously, perhaps sensing your gaze. his eyes turn to joy, âno way in hell am i hugging you.âÂ
joy's mother breezes into the room with a warm smile, "oh jake, give your sister a hug."
joy springs up instantly, tackling jake in a bear hug that's both affectionate and overly enthusiastic. jake groans, awkwardly patting joy's back as everyone chuckles. heeseung, settles down next to you, a confident smirk playing on his lips, his eyes holding a hint of nothing other than flirtatious.Â
"right, yn," joy's mother continues, her tone gentle yet teasing, "heeseung here has been keeping jake entertained since you left."
heeseung chimes in, his voice dripping with sarcasm and humor. "yeah, we're inseparable now," he says with a grin.
you laugh, unable to resist teasing. "oh really? i remember jake having no friends at all."
joy joins in, her laughter ringing through the room. "seriously, all he did was stay in his room playing video games."
"be nice, girls," she says playfully. "joy, come help me with dinner. set up a place for heeseung, too."
heeseung stands up with a mock bow. "don't worry, i'll set up my own place."
joy groans at having to help, leaving you and jake alone in the living room, complaining about why she has to help but jake doesnât.Â
jake settles into the chair directly across you, but his body language shows heâs tense and restless and it suggests that heâd rather be anywhere else. he fidgets slightly, fingers rolling over each other in his lap, his eyes darting around the room and avoiding you.Â
âso, joy told me that youâve been liking university,â you speak, trying to ease him and the awkwardness.Â
jakeâs cheeks colour faintly, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, âuh yeah, itâs fine.â he mumbles, avoiding your gaze.Â
you lean back casually, âmeet any hot college girls?âÂ
jakeâs eyes widen as he shifts uncomfortably, a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty flickering in his eyes. itâs endearing; how he still seems like the shy, introverted boy youâve always known, now trapped in a hot guyâs body.Â
ân-no, not really,â he stutters out. he canât seem to meet your eyes when he speaks, his words stumbling over each other in a rush. itâs clear he finds you intimidating in a way, and you wonder what the reason is. maybe youâll have to play with him a bit to figure it out.Â
âreally?â you tilt your head, your eyes not leaving him as he struggles to eye you, âi wouldâve thought you had girls climbing all over you.âÂ
jakeâs face redden more but he answers you, âno, thatâs what happens to heeseueng.â he nods his head towards the kitchen.Â
âhmm,â you sit back in the couch. you arenât surprised that a boy like heeseung would attract a lot of women. heâs confident, outgoing and obviously attractive, but youâre surprised at jakeâs answer.Â
before you can question him more, joy pops her head in the living room, âcome eat guys.âÂ
jake and you stand up and head to the dining table to eat. you think to yourself that this will be a fun summer as you glance around the room. heeseung eyes your bare legs as you sit beside him and start to eat. jake sits on the other side of the table, trying to not get caught staring at you as his parents ask your best friend questions about the school year.
you're sitting on the couch, tapping your foot impatiently, waiting for joy to finish her chores so you can head out and buy a dress for hyunjin's party this week. she's taking forever, folding laundry meticulously in the living room while you're itching to go.Â
âjoy hurry up, i wanna go!â you groan out to her, bored of scrolling on your phone as you wait for her.Â
she rolls her eyes at you, âitâs not my fault that iâm an adult and have to do family chores, y/n.âÂ
âi know that! but you could do them faster.âÂ
she shoots you a look when you groan again, a playful smirk on her face. "fine, then help me," she says, handing you a basket overflowing with clothes. "bring this up to jake's room, it's all his disgusting clothes."
with a resigned sigh, you stand up and grab the heavy basket, muttering under your breath about how slow she is.Â
you knock softly on jake's door, holding the basket of clothes joy asked you to deliver. after a moment, his voice replies, "come in." you push the door open slowly, finding jake sitting up on his bed, his feet on the ground facing you.Â
"oh, hey yn," he says, his voice a little nervous and shocked once he sees you, his hand flying to hair to calm it.Â
ey," you reply with a warm smile, stepping into his room. "joy wanted me to bring these to you. clean clothes," you explain, holding out the basket.
oh, thanks," jake mumbles, âyou can just leave it on the floor there.âÂ
"no problem," you say casually, noticing how he avoids meeting your gaze.Â
you step into jake's room, to place the basket down. you take the time to look around the once familiar room. itâs no longer childish, and clearly belongs to an adult.Â
you glance at jake as you scan his room. he's sitting on his bed, looking slightly disheveled in grey sweatpants and a baggy sweater, his tousled hair indicating he's just woken up, so you ask him, âwere you sleeping?âÂ
he nods sheepishly, âyeah i was out late with heeseung last night,â he admits, playing with the sleeves of his hoodie.Â
you sit down beside him on the bed, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. the new information about his late-night outing intrigues you, prompting a teasing remark. "really? the jake sim goes out late? i can't believe it," you say with a playful smile.
he chuckles nervously, looking away from you. the awkwardness between you is palpable, despite the years of knowing each other.Â
you can't help but notice how shy he still seems around you, his eyes avoiding yours as he tries to compose himself.
"are you this shy around everyone, jakey?" you ask bluntly, the nickname perks his interest.Â
he glances at you, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "uh, I don't know, I guess," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.
âhmm,â you sit back on your hands on his bed, looking so casual next to his tense demeanor. you decide to keep pushing, wanting to see how far heâll let you tease him. because you do love teasing men. itâs something that you find funâ more exciting than any foreplay or sex. joy always questions you about it. she doesnât understand why you find it more thrilling to leave a man wanting more and then doing nothing about it. she likes to get her men swiftly and straightforwardlyâ like everything else in her life. but how is life fun without any games? âso what did you and heeseung get up to last night? anything⊠exciting happen?â your eyes hold his, challenging and enticing him all at once.Â
jakeâs adams apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, his eyes widening slightly at your bold question. âw-we just hung out, went to a bar and lost track of time.âÂ
âmmm, i see,â you let your gaze travel over him, taking in the cute way his bottom lip juts out. âso you were up late last night then? do you know what i do when iâm up late at night?â you lean towards him now. he stares at your face for a second, gulping when he realizes how close you are on his bed.Â
âuh, what?âÂ
ânaughty things.â you shrug nonchalantly. his eyes widen at your boldness and he shifts again, unable to hide his growing arousal. âdid you think about naughty things last night, jakey?âÂ
ân-no,â he stammers, shaking his head, but the flush on his cheeks gives him away.Â
you tsk at him, âjakey, you can tell me. i wonât judge. in fact, i might even like hearing those naughty thoughts of yours.âÂ
jakeâs breath quickens as your pinky finger starts to brush against his thigh. âi⊠i donât know,â he whispers, his voice hoarse from arousal and sleep.Â
âgo on,â you urge, your lips curving into a wicked smile, âyou can tell me. do you think about me late at night?âÂ
a sound of shock escapes his throat, and he shifts, trying to ignore the growing hardness in his jeans, âmaybe.â he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.Â
thatâs it. youâve got your inâ heâs let you start a little game with him that could potentially make both of you feel good.Â
âtell me,â you encourage him, your fingers now stroking his thigh up and down. âwhat about me do you think of?âÂ
his eyes squeeze shut, âjust⊠you.âÂ
you laugh softly at his shyness, but you are so delighted by his response, âi want to hear more from you jake. what do you think about when youâre touching yourself?â
jakeâs eyes fly open, a mixture of emotions swirling in their brown depths. desire wars with embarrassment, âiâŠi think about your body,â he confesses, his voice gaining some strength. âyour soft skin, your- your curves. i imagine kissing you.â
you smile at how sweet he is, âthatâs such a turn on, jakey.â he looks taken aback at your confession. âtell me what else youâd do to me if you could.âÂ
he gulps roughly, âi- iâd, make you cum.âÂ
you tilt your head, intrigued, âhow?âÂ
âwith my mouth.âÂ
you bite your lip at the thought of jake in between your legs, sucking and licking your core, getting you wet, preparing you for his cock. you wonder if heâd make you cry out from how good it would feel. youâre sure he would.Â
but then you remember that this is a game.Â
âhmm,â you shake your head at him, âyou think that youâd make me cum?â you pretend to scan his body up and down, your hand getting dangerously close to his crotch. âweâd have to see about that.â you glance down at where your hand is meeting his body and are pleased to see his bulge, hard and pressing against his sweatpants.
before you can tease him further, his bedroom door swings further open, causing your hand to move briskly away from him. joy leans on the doorframe, her expression a mix of annoyance and impatience.Â
ây/n you were rushing me, and now iâm waiting for you,â she groans, crossing her arms. âletâs go!âÂ
you stand up, giving jake a final teasing smile, âsee you later, jakey.â you head towards the door, closing it after you, leaving him with some privacy to take care of the problem in his pants that you had created.
on the weekend, you got ready for hyunjinâs party at joyâs house. you just got out of the shower, your hair soaked and your skin damp and moisturized.Â
you wrap the soft, white towel around your body, shaking your hair to get left over water out of it once more before you leave the bathroom to go to joyâs room.Â
you step out of the bathroom, as you walk passed jakeâs bedroom, his door swings up. his eyes glued to his phone as he steps out of his room. he glances up just as you pass by, and you catch the moment his eyes widen in surprise. his gaze lingers on you, a mix of arousal and embarrassment. like heâs unsure of what to do.Â
you donât say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you as you continue walking. thereâs a slight flush on his cheeks and his posture stiffens. you smirk to yourself, enjoying the effect you have on him. enjoying the game you can play with him. it feels good to know you can fluster him so easily.Â
you walk into joyâs bedroom, hearing her complain about her makeup looking awful already. you turn, giving jake one last glance before you close her door. his eyes quickly dart away, but the memory of his flustered expression stays with you.Â
âgod my eyeliner looks horrendous,â you hear joy say into her mirror, you turn so your back is facing her and you start to get dressed in the dress you bought the other.Â
âit looks good, what're you talking about?âÂ
joy groans in response as you slip on the dress. you start to do your own makeup and hair, listening to the faint music in joyâs room.Â
âdo you think heeseung is cute?â joy asks suddenly.Â
your face contorts to confusion, âi mean, i guess.âÂ
âi think so,âÂ
you whip around to look at your friend, âew what? heâs your brother's friend.âÂ
joy shrugs, âso?âÂ
you turn away from her, instead focusing on putting on mascara, âso, you would let one of your friends get with your brother?âÂ
joy gags, âgod, no. plus who the hell would want jake anyways? heâs gross.âÂ
you force a laugh to come out of your mouth, âhaha, yeahâŠâ you cringe at yourself.Â
itâs silent for a moment and you think joy realizes that youâre acting weird at the mention of her brother.Â
âugh!â joy grunts loudly, making you jump and look at her, âi look awful, iâm gonna wash it all off and start again.â
âwhat? but we have to leave soon.âÂ
âiâll be quick.âÂ
joy dashes out to the bathroom, leaving you to finish up in silence. leaving you to think more about what happened between you and jake so far and how it could affect your friendship with joy. you tell each other everything, but this⊠maybe you should keep to yourself, at least for a bit.Â
when joy decides she looks good (she looks the exact same before she washed it off and restarted), you both head downstairs to leave. your heels click on the steps as you walk down. as you reach the bottom, you see heeseung jake in the hallway, also preparing to head out.Â
you let your eyes scan jake, his jeans and loose button up shirt fit him nicely. and his long hair is somewhat styled out of his face. leaving him with a âi didnât tryâ look.Â
"you guys are going to hyunjin's?" joy asks, her tone casual but curious.
"yeah, we are. i didn't know you guys are, too," heeseung replies, a hint of surprise in his voice.
joy smirks at him, "yeah, we'll see you guys there, oh! i almost forgot my phone." she turns on her heel and heads back upstairs, leaving you alone with the boys.
heeseung's eyes scan you flirtatiously, and he smirks, "you look so good, y/n."
you play along, enjoying the banter, "thanks heeseung, you do too."
heeseung bites his lip, his gaze lingering on you. "maybe you'll save me a dance at the party."
you're momentarily taken aback by his forwardness but quickly recover, used to men like him. "maybe. but you'll have to get in line."
heeseung laughs at your joke, "i will."
joy comes back down, phone in hand. you glance at jake, who has been silent the entire time, his eyes flickering between you and the floor. you wave goodbye to the boys, feeling jake's gaze on you as you leave.
you and joy are driving to hyunjin's party. joy is singing along to the radio, excited for the night ahead. you glance at her and smile, but your mind is elsewhere. you've always played games with men, testing to see if they would submit to you or try to dominate you. it's a defense mechanism, something you've developed over the years to protect yourself.
your parents' rocky marriage and your past relationships have left you scarred. every time you let your guard down, you ended up hurt. so now, you stay in control, never letting anyone get too close. it's easier that way. safer.
you glance at joy again, grateful for her friendship. she's the only one who knows a bit about your past. the one person who knows all of your secrets.Â
you and joy step into hyunjin's party, itâs as busy as you remember hyunjinâs parties to be. the music is loud, and the chatter of all the guests is even louder.Â
you scan the room, spotting hyunjin across the way. a grin spreads across your face as you make your way over, joy trailing behind you.
"hyunjin!" you call out, and he turns, his face lighting up with recognition.
"yn! it's been ages!" he pulls you into a tight hug, and you laugh, hugging him back. you tell him how youâre so excited to be back in town for the summer and that youâre sure to be back at one of his parties again.Â
you move through the room, greeting old hometown friends. familiar faces bring back memories, and you find yourself laughing and sharing stories about your time abroad and life in the big city. the warmth of the alcohol courses through your veins, making you feel lighter, more at ease while in such a big crowd.Â
halfway through the night, the buzz from the drinks makes everything feel a bit more vibrant. the room spins slightly, but in a fun, exhilarating way. it's then that you spot jake and heeseung. they donât blend into the crowd, and your eyes are drawn to them. theyâre too tall and handsome to be at this party.Â
heeseung approaches you first, a lopsided grin on his face. "hey, y/n! having fun?" he slurs slightly, his breath smelling of alcohol.
you laugh, finding his drunken self amusing. "yeah, a blast! how about you?"
heeseung nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "totally. i'm gonna get another drink, though. see you in a bit!" he winks and stumbles away, leaving you alone with jake.
jake stands there, drink in hand, looking slightly more composed but still nervous. he meets your eyes, and for once, doesn't immediately look away.
"hey, jake," you say, taking a step closer. "enjoying the party?"
he nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "yeah, it's fine.â
you laugh softly as he glances around the crowd, obviously not use to being around so many people yet, âyeah itâs a lot. but itâs good to see you out for once. you never wanted to go out with us in high school.âÂ
he takes a sip of his drink, gaining a bit more confidence. "it's good to see you too, yn. you look... really nice tonight."
you smile, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "thanks, jake. you look good too."
then jake speaks, but the music and people talking and yelling is too loud for you to hear. and you really want to hear everything he has to say.Â
âletâs go somewhere quieter, itâs loud down here, right?â you yell so he can hear you. he nods and doesnât say anything.Â
you turn around and head upstairs, he follows along behind you. you feel his curiosity build. at the top of the stairs, you spot the bathroom and an idea forms in your mind.Â
âactually, i need to go to the bathroom,â you laugh, placing a hand on his chest. âwait here, i wonât be long.âÂ
his eyes widen, but he nods, biting his lip.Â
you enter the bathroom, but before you close the door you speak to him again, âactually, i have a favour to askâ could you unzip me? the zippers at the back and i canât reach.â you gesture behind you.Â
his adamâs apple bobs as he swallows and nods, following you into the bathroom and closing the door behind you both. you make sure to lock the door.Â
you turn so your back is facing him, the zipper on display for him, âjust unzip it, please.â
jake hesitates but reaches up, grabbing the zipper and slowly pulls it down, your bare back on display for him. you smile at him once he pulls away and you turn around to face him completely.Â
âjakey,â you tease the nickname, âhave you thought about me since our conversation in your bedroom?â
jake gulps but nods, his eyes trying to meet yours, trying to look confident, ây-yes.âÂ
you smile sweetly at him, âwhat have you thought about?â you take a step back and then jump onto the bathroom counter, crossing your legs. jake eyes your bare legs, the way your dress bunched up at your waist to reveal more.Â
âuh, just that i could make you cum, with my mouth.âÂ
you smile at him, though heâs too busy looking between your legs, your chest and the bathroom wall. âhm,â you pretend to think, âhow about we start with you showing me how you can make yourself cum?â jakeâs eyes shoot to yours at your suggestion, finally looking at your face since youâve stepped foot in the bathroom. âi mean, only if you want. but iâd kill to see how you jerk off to the thought of me.âÂ
you hear jake swallow roughly, âokay.âÂ
you canât help the devilish smile spread on your face at his one word, âtake your cock out.âÂ
jake tries to hide his shock, barely believing that this is happening, as he starts to unbutton his jeans and shove them and his boxers down his leg. his semi hard cock springs up, heâs obviously aroused just from unzipping your dress halfway. heâs so easy to get flustered that it turns you onâ you know this will be fun.Â
âshow me how desperate you are.âÂ
jakeâs mouth goes dry at your words as they send a thrill through his body. he reaches down and wraps his hand around his throbbing cock, giving it a few tentative strokes to make it completely hard and needy.Â
âthatâs it, dirty boy,â you coo, encouraging him, âspit on it. show me exactly how you touch yourself.âÂ
jake moves so his hand is under his plump lips, and then lets a dribble of saliva pool down onto his palm. he brings his hand back to his hard cock and starts to jerk his cock now. it glides more smoothly now, and jake feels the urge to buck into his hand.Â
âdo you think about me all the time when your little dick gets hard, jakey?âÂ
jakeâs cheeks burn, but he canât deny your words, âyesâŠâ he whispers hoarsely into the bathroom.Â
âspeak louder, jakeyâ i wanna be able to hear you.âÂ
âyes, i think about you.âÂ
you chuckle, itâs only just the beginning but you seem to have him wrapped around your finger.
âand what am i doing? when you think of me?âÂ
âyou touching me, sucking me.â jake manages to croak out, his voice thick with arousal.Â
as jake starts stroking himself faster, his breath comes in short gasps. you watch him with hooded eyes, a cruel smile playing on your lips, âyouâll only ever be able to think about me touching you,â you purr to him from your perched spot on the counter, âi only touch real men, men who can last and fill me up. and youâŠâ you shake your head, looking straight at his hard cock, âyouâll never be able to satisfy me.âÂ
jake whimpres, his hips bucking involuntarily, âi want to please you.âÂ
you laugh coldly, âplease me? you? with that tiny dick? you wonât fill me up. and the way youâre jerking off right now, you wonât last long enough to even try.âÂ
your taunts spur him on, his hand moving faster and faster. he bites his lip to stifle a moan, wanting to prove you wrong in this little game, but the more he tries to hold back, the closer he gets to the edge.Â
âsee, you wonât even last with just your hand, how would you be able to last in my pussy?âÂ
âi- i would try.â jake whimpers out, his eye is threatening to close. his hand starts to slow, wanting to last longer for you.Â
you hum at the action, âgood boy.â you dig your hand into your thigh, trying to control your own arousal, trying to pretend like you arenât turned on at all. ânow think that itâs me touching you. that itâs my hands stroking your hard cock up and down, getting you close to the edge.âÂ
you can tell jake starts to think exactly what you tell him, you stand from your position on the counter, you let your face nuzzle in between his neck, your warm breath sends shivers down his spine. âthatâs it, pretend itâs me and my spit all over your cock.â jake whimpers out at your words so you continue, âyouâre mine to play with, right?âÂ
ây-yes,â jake nods up and down, his thumb brushing over his sensitive slit before he continues to jerk his cock.Â
you canât say itâ due to this character in this game youâre playing with himâ but he looks so hot. the way heâs pathetically thrusting into his own palm, covering in his own spit and precum. his lip is tucked in between his teeth, his styled hair has fallen into his eyes. his whimpers and moans as he gets closer to his climax.Â
âcum for me now, jakey. let it go like a good boy.â you whisper to him, âthis is the only way youâll ever get offâ by jerking off so pathetically while i degrade you.âÂ
your words push him over the edge. jake cries out, a curse followed by your name. his body tensing as he spills his release, coating his hand and thighs with his cum. you step away from him, trying to ignore the way your pussy is clenching around nothing at the sight. because this is definitely a sight to see.Â
âwhat a mess youâve made,â you tsk at him, pretending to be disgusted by him, âbut i think you need to prove that you can do betterâ hold out longer. because then maybe, youâd someday get to feel my pussy around that pathetic cock of yours.â
your words make him whimper out. the combination of humiliation, degradation and his intense orgasm leaves jake reeling. he leans against the wall of the bathroom, trying to catch his breath as heâs covered in his own cum and saliva.Â
he watches you reach behind you and zip up your dress easily, quickly fixing your hair and makeup in the mirror before you smile at him one last time.Â
ânow clean up your mess and get yourself together, jakey. we donât want anyone knowing what happened here, do we?âÂ
with that, you unlock the door and stride out of the bathroom, leaving jake alone to process what just happened. your heart is still racing and your body feels dissatisfied and yearning for more. but you know that jake has awakened something deep within youâ and you canât wait to play with him again.
you walk into the kitchen the next morning, the light almost blinding after last night's party. the smell of coffee and bacon fills the air, but it does little to ease the pounding in your head. you see jake, joy, and heeseung already sitting at the table, all looking as rough as you feel.
"well, don't you all look lovely," joy's mother says with a chuckle, examining the four of you all hungover and tired.Â
as you sit down at the table in front of jake you try to muster a smile and say, "hi, jake," but he doesn't acknowledge you. he stares down at his plate, pushing his food around with a fork. the cold shoulder stings more than you'd like to admit, and you can feel a tightness in your chest.
you focus on your breakfast, determined not to let the hurt show. the last thing you want is for joy or heeseung to pick up on the tension. you take a sip of coffee, hoping it will jolt you back to life, but it only makes your stomach churn.
heeseung groans dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "hyunjin's parties never disappoint, huh?"
joy laughs, though it sounds more like a wince. "yeah, remind me to never drink that much again."
under the table, you poke jake with your foot to get him to look at you, he briefly does, but his warm eyes are now cold and glaring before he looks down at his plate again.Â
you nod along, forcing yourself to join in the conversation. "definitely a night to remember... or forget."
jake stays silent, not looking at you again. you glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to understand what went wrong. heeseung and joy are too wrapped up in their own misery to notice the silent exchange between you and jake.Â
you keep your head down, focusing on your food instead.Â
after breakfast, you sit back in your chair, hoping the food will settle your uneasy stomach. heeseung stretches and yawns. "how about a movie? something low volume to help with these headaches."
everyone nods in agreement, except for jake. he stands up, his plate still half full. "i'm going back to bed," he mumbles, avoiding your gaze.
you watch him walk away, a mix of frustration and hurt bubbling inside you. "i'll be right back," you tell joy and heeseung. "need to use the bathroom."
you hurry upstairs, your heart pounding. you catch jake just as he's about to slip into his room. without thinking, you reach out and grab his upper arm, forcing him to turn around and face you. his eyes are still cold, distant.
"jake," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "what's going on? why are you ignoring me?"
he looks away, his jaw tight. "i'm not ignoring you. just tired."
"no, you're not," you insist, stepping closer, not wanting anyone to hear. "you've been avoiding me since last night. do you regret what we did?"
jake finally meets your gaze, you can see the conflict in his eyes. once he sees your concerned ones, his cold expression starts to melt and blends into the usual, shy and embarrassed one.Â
âtalk to me, jake.âÂ
he sighs, giving in to easily to you like always, âitâs just⊠you left so quick. i didnât even get to say goodbye.âÂ
instantly you realize why heâs upsetâ your actions flashing in your head from the night before. you bite your lip in frustration at yourself, suddenly you were the one to be embarrassed. you understood how upsetting it can be for the other person to just leave so quick with no aftercare or reassurance. you want to blame the alcohol for your actions the night before, but thatâs no excuse. you shouldâve stayed for a few minutes.Â
âyouâre right, jake.â you state, his eyes meeting yours in surprise, âi shouldâve stayed longer. iâm sorryâ that wasnât right of me. we shouldâve talked more about what we are doing and how we feel about it. you know nothing i said during it was true right? like⊠about your dick and stuff. itâs all just for fun.âÂ
jake nods, unsure of what to say but is agreeing with you, so you continue. though, you canât tell if he truly understands that you donât mean the words you say during your time together.Â
âbesides staying longer, checking in on each other, is there anything else you would want? are you okay with what we are doing? with what happened last night?âÂ
jake gulps but stands up straight, looking at you, determined, âyes, i'm okay with what we are doingâmore than okay.â his confession makes you smile, âbut, i want to touch you, make you feel good, not just me.â
you bite your lip and think about it, âokay, we can do thatâ just give me time okay?âÂ
you usually donât let the people you are hooking up with touch you or see you naked until you are 100% comfortable with the person. when you trust the person. but youâve known jake for majority of your life⊠why would this be any different with him. you could trust him⊠right?Â
âyeah, sure. all the time, just for you.âÂ
you meet his eyes at his words. heâs always so sweet to you, it makes you feel more guilty for the night before.Â
âokay jakey, iâll see you later.â
âsee you later, y/n.âÂ
jake steps into his room and closes the door with a final wave. leaving you with your pounding headache and nausea. you sigh and head back downstairs to rest on the couch with joy and heeseung. youâll worry about your situation with jake later when you can think straight.
joy bursts into her bedroom with a squeal, her energy contagious. "oh my god, and i forgot to tell you what happened at hyunjin's party the other day."
you lift your head from the bed, curiosity piqued. "oh god, what?"
joy plops down beside you, eyes wide with excitement. "jeno and i kissed."
you sit up, mirroring her excitement. "what? no way! how did that happen?"
she grins, her cheeks flushing. "we were both pretty drunk, and we ended up talking in the kitchen. one thing led to another, and... yeah."
"oh my god, joy, that's huge!" you exclaim, leaning in closer. "how was it? did he kiss you first? did you like it?"
joy nods, her eyes sparkling. "yeah, he kissed me first. and it was... amazing. but now things are kinda weird between us."
"weird how?" you ask, your mind racing with possibilities.
"he's been acting all distant and awkward," she says with a sigh. "i don't know what to do."
you squeeze her hand reassuringly. "maybe he just needs time to process it. you should talk to him."
she nods, her smile returning. "yeah, you're right. i'll talk to him."
you both fall back onto the bed, giggling. joy turns to you, her expression softening. "ugh, i can't believe i forgot to tell you that. we tell each other everything. i forget you can't read my mind sometimes. i'm so glad we are best friends."
she pulls you into a tight hug, and you hug her back just as tightly. "no secrets between us, ever," joy says firmly.
"right... of course," you reply, but your mind drifts to jake.
you hug joy a little closer, feeling the weight of your own secret.
the heat is unbearable by the end of july, and you're grateful for the relief of joy's family's pool. you and joy have been lounging in the cool water all day, floating lazily and enjoying the rare stillness. the sun beats down, relentless, but the water makes it bearable.
jake and heeseung come out, both in their bathing suits. you can't help but check out jake's body. his muscles are more defined, his skin tanned. he catches your gaze and blushes, looking away quickly. it makes you smile. even after cumming in front of you, heâs still so shy.Â
the day drags on, the sun slowly sinking in the sky, casting long shadows over the backyard. heeseung eventually heads home, throwing a casual wave your way. joy decides to go inside, âi need to wash this chlorine out of my hair or else itâll feel disgusting.â you nod, watching her leave, and suddenly you and jake are alone.
the silence between you holds tension. you float closer to him, your movements slow and deliberate. he seems nervous, his eyes darting everywhere but at you. you find it endearing, his shyness, his awkwardness. he canât look at you in a bathing suit, how could he look at you naked?
"it's nice out here," you say softly, breaking the silence.
he nods, glancing at you briefly. "yeah, it is."
you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he's holding himself so tightly. you move closer, your fingers brushing against his under the water. he tenses, but doesn't pull away.
"you've changed a lot, jakey," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.
he finally looks at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "so have you."
you tilt your head to the side, intrigued, âhow so?âÂ
he hesitates, his gaze flickering away before returning to meet yours. "you're more... confident. and, uh, you seem happier."
you try not to frown as his words bring you back to when you were in highschool. your parents were going through a divorce, your idiot highschool boyfriend cheated on you and you werenât doing well in school. the only thing you really had was joy and her family that welcomed you in so warmly. you guess you forgot that jake had seen you at such a dark time.Â
"yeah, those were tough times," you admit softly, your fingers trailing absently through the water. "but things got better."
he nods, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "i'm glad they did. you deserve to be happy."
"thanks, jake. that means a lot."
he shifts closer, his movements tentative and careful. "i always wanted to say something back then, but i didn't know how."
you raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "say what?"
"that you weren't alone," he says quietly. "that i was there for you, even if you didn't see it."
the vulnerability in his voice makes your heart ache. you reach out, your fingers brushing against his arm. "thatâs sweet of you, jakey."
he looks at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.Â
âyou said, you wanted to make me feel good too, right jakey?â you ask, your voice practically purring.Â
jake gulps at the sudden change in atmosphere. the sun is dipping down in the sky, youâre in a bathing suit that brings out the colour of your eyes, and now youâre talking about him making you feel good. he feels like heâs in heaven.Â
ây-yeah, if you want.â he replies shakily.Â
you smile at his sweetness once again, âthen go on and touch me.â you command, âprove to me that those fingers of yours are good for something.âÂ
jake hesitates, knowing that his pleasure is entirely dependent on yours now. but slowly, he reaches out and places his hands on your hipsâ the first time heâs ever touched you. âif your fingers canât make me feel good, then what hope does your cock have?âÂ
you watch jakeâs face, enjoying the desperation and determination in his eyes.
slowly, jakeâs hand goes under the way, tracing the hem of your bathing suit bottoms. you have to bite your lip to hold back your gasp. his fingers trace over the cloth of your swimsuit, until they hover over where your clit is.Â
jake begins to rub in slow circles, gently at first, then with more pressure as you struggle to hold back a soft moan.Â
âhm,â you pretend to scold him, âdo you even know how to touch a woman, or have you been too busy jerking off all by yourself?âÂ
âi, i know how to pleasure a womanâ i know how to pleasure you, i can pleasure you.â jake is determined as his fingers continue to rub your clit faster. you briefly close your eyes, the water around your core turns you on more.Â
âyou should, because imagine how embarrassing it would be for heeseung to come out here and see me having to fake my moans because of you.âÂ
jakeâs movements slow for a moment and you realize that youâve found another way to play with him. a sly smirk spreads across your face, âdidnât realize that anyone could walk out her and find you with your fingers against my pussy?âÂ
ân-no,â jake whimpers out, his eyes darting from your face to the backdoor.Â
you laugh at his worry, ârelax,â you tell him seriously, âthey canât see what we are doing under the waterâ itâs too dark.âÂ
he nods, and picks up the pace of his fingers against your clit.Â
you let out a moan, âthatâs it, youâre doing better than i thought, jakey.â you glance down at where his hand is curving against your body.Â
because truthfully, he was making you feel good. he was alternating between small circles and moving your clit side to side. the friction from your bathing suit rubbing against your clit made you squirm in the water.Â
you reach up, deciding to reward jake, and slowly pull the straps of your bathing suit top down, letting the fabric fall away to reveal your breasts. jakeâs gaze flicks to them, and your breath quickens. heâs looking at your breasts like they are the most beautiful thing in the world.Â
âyou want to suck on these, donât you?â you ask, running your fingers over your nipples, now hard from the cool water and his gaze. âbeg me, and maybe iâll let you.âÂ
without missing a beat, âplease, y/n, let me pleasure you. i want to taste you so bad.âÂ
you smirk, satisfied with his answer, âgood enough, letâs see what your mouth can do.âÂ
you guide his head towards you, and he takes a nipple into your mouth, sucking gently at first, then with more fervour as you moan quietly. your hands tangle in his long hair, holding him close to you.Â
ât-thatâs it, thatâs good.â your voice betrays you as you speak. you canât forget whoâs in control here.Â
jakeâs tongue flicks and teases, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. you pull his closer, his fingers on your clit donât stop. you start to grind your hips against his hand, your breathing becoming ragged as jake brings you closer to the edge.Â
"oh, fuck, i'm getting close," you whisper, my voice hoarse with desire. âi want to cum all over those pathetic little fingers of yours."
jakeâs tongue works faster, knowing that your orgasm is close and with a final grind of your hips, you cum. your body shakes with pleasure as you let your head rest in jakeâs neck to muffle your moans. he holds you firmly against himself, letting you ride out your orgasm.Â
finally, you pull away from him, panting and your eyes mix with satisfaction, âgood boy,â you whisper, running your fingers through your hair, getting it out of your face.Â
jake fights the urge to kiss you, knowing that it would be wrong (itâs all you want). so instead he asks, âare you okay?âÂ
you want to laugh but youâre too worn out from your orgasm, âyeah i am, iâm just hungry.âÂ
itâs jakeâs turn to laugh, âyou want to get out and get some dinner.â he offers you his hand to help pull you out of the pool.Â
you take his hand, letting him help you out, âyeah, iâm starving.âÂ
you both climb out of the pool, the cool evening air hitting your damp skin. he hands you a towel, and you wrap it around yourself, shivering slightly.
as you head towards the house, you glance back at him. "you coming?"
he nods, following you inside. thereâs a look in his eye that sends a shiver down your sprint. itâs a mix of infatuation and adoration and it scares you. heâs your best friend's little brother. what you two have going on is only a game, meant to be for fun.Â
but then why do you have this fluttering feeling in your chest everytime you see him?
"i can't believe you're leaving me here," you complain, sprawled across joy's bed as she packs to leave for the cottage with her family.
joy rolls her eyes, stuffing clothes into her bag. "it's only for three days."
"yeah, but that feels like a month to me."
joy laughs, shaking her head. "when we get back, we'll continue our summer of fun. we only have a month left."
you groan, letting your head fall back against the pillows. "don't remind me."
you watch as joy zips up her bag, her movements brisk and efficient. she glances at you, a fond smile tugging at her lips. you know she's excited about the trip, but the thought of being without her for three whole days feels unbearable. you wonder what youâll do without her⊠and jake.
"i should go home," you say, pushing yourself up from the bed. "it's getting late."
joy turns to you, pulling you into a tight hug. "text me if you need anything."
"of course," you reply, hugging her back just as tightly.
you pull away and head for the door, it's only three days, but it feels like an eternity. but, maybe itâll give you some time to think about whatâs happening between you and jake.Â
you wake up to your phone buzzing on your nightstand. you groggily reach for it and squint at the screen, reading joy's message.
 joy : [yn, jake isn't feeling good at all so we are leaving him home alone for the weekend. would you mind checking up on him sometimes?? thank you so much ily]
you sigh and rub your eyes before typing back,
you : [yeah sure, have fun this weekend]
lying back down, you think about how awful it is for jake to not be feeling well during the summer. you hope he's okay, and a pang of concern hits you as you imagine him alone in the house.
later in the day, you decide to bring him some soup for dinner, knowing he probably wonât cook for himself.Â
so when the sun starts to set again, you walk up to the familiar path on the door to joyâs house and knock softly, hoping jake is awake and feeling better. when thereâs no answer you point, and take out your set of keys, unlocking the door with the spare key that had given you years ago.Â
you walk inside the house, itâs eerily quiet without the usual chatter and noises of people being home. heading upstairs, you stop in front of jakeâs bedroom door, which is closed. you knock softly, âjake? itâs y/n.â
hereâs a pause before you hear his muffled voice, âjust go home, y/n.â
youâre taken aback. âi have soup for you.â
ânot hungry,â he mumbles.
you sigh, pushing the door open anyway. his room is dark, the curtains drawn tightly shut. you see him lying in his bed, blankets pulled up to his chin. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face. âjake, are you okay?â you start, reaching out to feel his forehead. âlet me take your temperature. oh my god you must be really sickâ have you taken any medicine?âÂ
he shrugs you off aggressively, sitting up abruptly. âiâm not sick!â he snaps.
youâre taken aback and confused. âbut, joy said you arenât feeling wellâŠâ
âwell, i lied, okay? so you can leave. iâm fine,â jake says, his voice laced with frustration, but his eyes canât stay on yours for long.Â
you sit on jake's bed, refusing to leave when heâs like this, "why did you lie to them, jake? what's wrong?"
he sighs, covering his face with his hands. "i just needed to be alone for a while."
"what's happened, jake?"
"nothing happened, y/n."
silence falls between you, the room feeling heavy with unspoken words. you watch him, his shoulders tense, his face hidden. you both sit there, processing the weight of the moment.
finally, you break the silence. "is it about me? us?"
jake looks up at you, his eyes filled with something that tells you youâre right.Â
"well, what is it? i'm here now, let's talk."
jake sighs but sits up straight, trying his best to look at you. "it's just, i don't understand what this is. i mean, why me?"
"what do you mean why you?"
"because there's so many other better guys that you could get, l-like heeseung."
you tilt your head, confused. "why would i like heeseung?"
"because he's like a real man, one that i'm not. one that could please you a-and fill you up." his words echo the ones you speak when you fool around with each other, and your heart aches knowing that heâs been taking your words to heart. that heâs locked himself away in his bedroom for the weekend because of you.Â
you smile and explain yourself, "jake, i don't like guys like heeseung. my university is filled with guys like heeseung. my attraction is to guys like you, kind, sweet ones that have no idea they're hot. if i liked heeseung, i would be with him and not you, right?"
he shrugs, "i guess."
"i think you're insanely hot, jake, you know that, right?"
jake looks at you finally, shocked. "you think i'm hot?"
you giggle, "of course, that's why i'm doing this thing with you. whyâd you think i was doing this with you if you didn't think i was attracted to you?"
he shrugs, "because i'm like the only one around really in this small town."
"jake, i am attracted to you, and only you."
jake smiles, "i'm attracted to you too, y/nâ you know i think you're beautiful."
it's your turn to blush now but you sigh, âthe things i say to you when we fool around arenât true. it only makes this, foreplay thing, fun, right?â you feel the need to explain yourself, âyou like what we do together, right?â and jake nods immediately and it makes you want to giggle, but instead you reach your hand out, your thumb rubbing against his warm cheek. itâs cute how he instantly melts into your touch. he looks so pretty against your hand.Â
you canât help but lean in close to him, leaving only inches between both of your faces from connecting, âyou know, jake,â you whisper to him, âif you want something, all you have to do is ask.â you see confusion cross his eyes as he takes in your words, âjust ask, and if i say no, then we can do something else, no harm done, right?â jake nods slowly as he analyses the meaning of your words, âjust ask.âÂ
jake swallows roughly, fighting his inner urge to look away from youâ but he keeps his eyes on yours when he speak, âcan i kiss you?âÂ
you smile at his simple request. how could you think heâd ask something dirty of you (though you wouldâve said yes to anything to him), when the jake you know has always been so sweet.Â
you donât answer him but instead lean in so your lips meet his. theyâre soft and warm. and the kiss is sweet and romantic. your heart begins to palpitate, and it scares you. you've never felt like this when you've kissed someone before. the sensation is new, and thrilling and slightly overwhelming.Â
you pull away first, your breath slightly unsteady. you look at jake, whose eyes take a while to flutter open again, clearly so entranced by your kiss. his gaze is filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief, as if he's trying to process the reality of what just happened.
âi told you, just ask.â you smile at him, your voice as sweet as him.Â
jake gulps, and you can tell he wants to speak again, and you wait until he organizes in his head about how he wants to say it. he looks at you again, his eyes looking directly into yours, âcan i eat you out? i want to. i want to know what you taste like.âÂ
your eyes widen at his request, a shiver runs through your body. the side of him that youâve been craving to see, a glimpse of the confident, assertive man that you know he is when youâre not around. heâs finally taking control, being dominant, and you donât stop him.Â
without further prompting, jake moves toward, getting on his knees on his floor as you sit on his bed. he kneels between your legs, his hands gently pushing your thighs apart. his hands run up your thighs, âwanna make you feel good, y/n.â jake says to you, his voice unwavering.Â
âthen do it,â you tell him.Â
his fingers hook inside your shorts, pulling them down in one swift movement, leaving your core bare before him. you feel exposed to him as he lets his eyes scan your pussy. he lets out a groan once youâre bare before him.Â
his tongue darts out, teasingly light as it flicks against your inner thigh. you inhale sharply at the sensation, goosebumps erupting across your skin. he takes his time, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of your legs, inching ever closer to your center. heâs teasing is so experienced.Â
finally, his mouth reaches your core, and he wastes no time in tasting you. his tongue delves into your folds, lapping at your juices greedily. moans escape your lips as his talented tongue teases your clit, circling and flicking it with just the right amount of pressure.
"fuck, you taste so sweet," he murmurs between licks, his breath hot against your soaked lips. "i could eat you out forever."
your hands tangle in his hair, guiding him closer, encouraging him to continue, âwould you like that, jakey? being in between my legs forever?â you tease him, wanting to see how far he would push back into the whole dominant thing. you pant, arching your back as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he pulls and tugs at the sensitive bud. it makes you cry out.Â
âfuck yes, could be here all the time,â jake mutters out against your now soaked pussy. âdo you like my mouth on you, y/n? like the way my tongue fucks you?âÂ
you feel a wave of arousal wash through you and head straight to your core at his words. youâve never seen this side of him before. and youâre already enjoying it so much.Â
"yes...feels so good," you manage to utter, âi love your mouth on my pussy so much. i had no idea you were this good at it.â
jake moans in response, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. he adds a finger, then two, thrusting them into your tight hole as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. you buck your hips, riding his face as waves of pleasure build within you.
"oh fuck, I'm getting close," you warn him, your body trembling on the edge. "don't stop, jake! please!" the use of his full name makes him eat you out faster and harder.Â
He grunts in response, holding you firmly in place as he eats you furiously. and then, with one final swirl of his tongue and a hard suck on your clit, you explode around his mouth. your thighs tightening around his head. "hh god, jake!" you scream, your pussy clenching and pulsing as you ride out a powerful orgasm.
jake laps at your juices, reveling in the taste of your release. he continues to lick and kiss your sensitive flesh as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through your body.
"that was...incredible," you breathe, before he leans up and kisses you, without even needing to askâ it turns you on more. you can taste yourself on his lips, a wicked reminder of the pleasure he just gave you.
âiâm glad you liked it, baby,â his pet name for you makes your legs squirm, âbut i really want to know what your mouth feels like wrapped around my cock.âÂ
you smirk up at him, loving this side of him. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that is rougher and sloppier than the other ones.Â
you pull away first, a thin string of saliva connecting your mouths before it snaps. his breath comes in sharp gasps and you know he's eager for more. with a slow, deliberate movement, you reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open before tugging down the zipper. his hips help you ease his pants and boxers over them, freeing his hard cock.
"fuck, yes," jake breathes, his eyes fixed on your face as you take him in your hands. his length is impressive, thick and veiny, the head slick with pre-cum. you give it a teasing squeeze, enjoying the way he bucks slightly into your grip.
"you like this, baby?" you coo, stroking him slowly, teasingly. "you like the idea of my mouth on you?" without waiting for an answer, you lean forward and swipe your tongue across the tip, tasting the small drop that beads there. "mmm, delicious," you hum, taking him deeper into your mouth, sucking gently.
jake's hands thread into your hair, guiding but not forcing. "fuck, baby, that feels so good. I've fantasized about this for so long. your pretty mouth wrapped around me, sucking me dry." His voice is hoarse with desire, his hips twitching as he tries to suppress the urge to thrust into your hot, wet mouth.
you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, your lips gliding over sensitive flesh. One hand cups his heavy balls, massaging gently, your thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind them. "You like that, Jake? Want more?" You hum against him, vibing your question straight to his groin.
he whimpers, his grip tightening in your hair. "yes, yes, don't stop. feels too good to stop." he bucks his hips, fucking your face gently, moaning as your tongue teases and flicks. "you're so good at this, baby. knew you'd be amazing." his words are punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as your tongue swirls and dances.
âhm, youâre such a desperate boy.âÂ
jake scoffs as he looks down at you, suddenly roughly grabbing your hair for you to look at him, âopen your mouth wider, iâm gonna fuck your mouth.â he understands the game you want to play, understands that you want to see how dominant he can get. he knows you want to be forced into submission.Â
you have to hold back your whimper at his words as they make your pussy clamp around nothing.Â
you do as he says, opening your mouth wider for him to slide his entire cock inside of your mouth, reaching the back of your throat.Â
âfuck,â a guttural sound leaves his mouth once you enclose your lips around his cock, your throat enwrapping his cock. he tangles a hand into your hair, slowly guiding his cock back out of you. âi wanna hear you gag on me, baby.âÂ
you moan around his cock, his words adding to the fire thatâs lit in your abdomen.Â
jakeâs hips move gently at first, sliding in and out of your mouth, the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat every time. âthatâs it baby,â he encourages, his voice harsh as he looks down at you, âtake it nice and deep. thatâs what i want.â
As his rhythm increases, you sense his building orgasm, and you hum, the vibration making his eyes roll back. his once quiet bedroom was filled with his grunts and curses and the wet sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of your mouth.Â
you tap on his thigh and he releases your hair, letting your body lax on the bed and letting you catch your breath. you pull away, a stand of saliva connects your lips to his cock.Â
âwant you to cum in my pussy, jakey.âÂ
instantly, you can feel the atmosphere in jakeâs room change. he returns to his awkward, shy self and he canât look at you anymore. you partly wonder if he doesnât want to have sex with you.Â
âi mean, we donât have to have sex if you donât wan-â you start to give him an out.Â
â- i want to!â jake cuts you off with a rush, and he immediately looks embarrassed, âi mean, iâd like to, if you want to.âÂ
you smile at him, âare you sure?âÂ
âyes, itâs justâŠâ jake trails off again, having to gain the courage to say, âiâm a virgin.âÂ
your jaw unconsciously drops. youâre surprised to hear his confession. you thought he was experienced given how attractive he is. but his admission only makes him more desirable to you.Â
"don't worry, jake. we can take it slow," you assure him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "i really want this, and I want you."
he nods, his eyes nervous but full of desire. you can sense his eagerness, and it makes your pussy throb with anticipation. slowly, you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it off of your head, leaving yourself completely bare to his eyes.Â
jakeâs eyes widen as he takes in your body. you watch the brown orbs circle your entire core, watching as they move up and down your curves. it makes you giggle.Â
âare you gonna get undressed too, jakey? or just me?âÂ
ân-no, i will,â jake stutters and takes off his own shirt. it reveals his abs that youâve so desperately wanted to touch and lick the other week in the pool. so now that youâre alone, and youâve given up some of your vulnerability to him, you reach out and trace the hardlines of his abs. his skin is warm and his chest is practically panting from being so turned on.Â
âyouâre really so beautiful, jakey.âÂ
you hear him gulp as he watches you touch him. it turns you on so much to see how quickly he can go from being in control, to being wrapped around your finger again. heâs so versatile that it makes your pussy throb with all the ideas you can do with him.Â
youâre watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows, his eyes following your every movement. you push him down onto his bed so his head is on his pillow. you straddle his thighs, feeling the hardness of his dick pressed against your stomach. his hands rest tentatively on his sides, as if he's not sure whether to touch you or not. you take his hands in yours and place them firmly on your body, encouraging him to hold you.
"i want you to feel every inch of me," you whisper, grinding your hips against him. his dick slides against your clit, making you gasp at the pleasure shooting through your body.
"you feel so good," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with need.
you smile, feeling powerful and desired. you lean down, pressing your breasts against his chest as you capture his lips in a passionate kiss. his hands move eagerly over your body now, exploring your curves. you moan into his mouth, your tongue dancing with his.
breaking the kiss, you sit up straight, taking his hands and placing them on your breasts. "touch me, jakey," you encourage him, guiding his fingers to pinch and roll your sensitive nipples. "that's it⊠fuck. you know how sensitive my nipples are.âÂ
jakeâs eyes are fixed on your breasts as he watches his fingers play with your nipples, making them harden even more. you arch your back, offering yourself to him, and his breath quickens as he takes in the sight.
"i want you inside me," you whisper, positioning yourself above his throbbing cock. you hover just above him, rubbing your swollen clit against the tip of his dick, making him groan and buck his hips instinctively.
"not yet," you tease, denying him entry. "i want to feel you fill me up first."
he nods, biting his lip as he tries to control his urge to thrust into you. you smile at his eagerness, loving how responsive he is to your slightest touch and instruction.
slowly, you lower yourself onto his shaft, engulfing his thick length inside your tight, wet pussy. you moan loudly as you sink down, feeling him stretch you deliciously. "oh fuck, jake... you feel bigger than i imagined," you pant, throwing your head back in pleasure. jake groans out as he fills you up. the way his name rolls off your tongue makes his cock twitch inside of you.Â
jakee watches, mesmerized, as your body rises and falls, his dick sliding in and out of your slick core. "you look so beautiful riding me," he breathes, his hands gripping your hips as if he wants to pull you even closer.
you quicken your pace, riding him with abandon. your breasts bounce with each thrust, your nipples rubbing against his chest. "does my tight pussy feel good around your cock, jakey?" you ask, grinding your hips in circles.
"so good... so fucking good," he grunts, his eyes rolling back slightly as he loses himself in the sensations. "i've fantasized about this... about you..."
hearing his admission sends a thrill through your body. you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you pound your pussy onto his cock, driving him deeper with each thrust. "you like my pussy, don't you?"
"fuck yes... it's so wet and hot... feels like heaven," he moans, his fingers digging into your hips as if he wants to leave marks. he gulps and you can tell heâs thinking about saying something, your hips enticing him to say it, âyou like my cock? the way it stretches you? fills you? i bet, ugh, you can feel how hard it is inside of you.âÂ
âmhm,â you whimper out to him, loving this side of him, loving when it comes out and makes your pussy squeeze around his cock tighter.Â
you sit up straight, your hands reaching behind to grip his thighs as you bounce on his lap. "tell me if you're close, jake. i want you to cum inside me."
he nods vigorously, his eyes locked on where your bodies are joined. "i'm close... so close..." he observes how wet your inner thighs are as you bounce up and down on him.Â
You increase your speed, your pussy juices coating his shaft as you slide up and down so quickly, âcum for me jake, fill my pussy with your hot cum.âÂ
jake grunts out, moaning your name, he arches his back, his body tensing as he releases his load deep inside of you. you feel his cock twitching with each spurt, sending ripples of pleasure through your own body. "that's it, baby... fill me up," you encourage him, continuing to ride him through his orgasm. your own orgasm following his. the twitching of his cock releasing his sperm makes your pussy clamp down, your body shakes and your hands grip onto his chest harder as the orgasm washes through you.Â
finally, he collapses back against the bed, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. you sit atop him, feeling his cum leaking out of your well-fucked pussy. you lean down, kissing him softly. "that was incredible," you murmured against his lips.Â
he smiles, a mix of satisfaction and awe on his face. "you have no idea how long i've wanted that..."
you trail kisses along his jawline, a sense of power coursing through you. "i think i do,"
you slowly get off of jake and lay beside him, your chest starting to slow itâs movement as you catch your breath. youâre suddenly aware of the cooling sweat on your skin and the sticky mess between your thighs. the post-nut haze starts to lift as you register the reality of what just happened. you scan the room for your clothes, hoping to dress quickly and slip away. but jake is quicker than you.Â
jake stands up and goes to the bathroom, wetting a cloth and coming back to your position in bed. he sits beside you, and looks you in the eye for permission to clean you. you nod silently, and let him open your legs. he gently wipes the saliva and cum off of you. the feeling is intense as he takes care of you.Â
he presses a soft kiss onto your knee cap and you feel like your heart is gonna explode in your chest from sheer panic. this is all too vulnerable, all too intimate to what you are used to.Â
when jake goes back to the bathroom to clean himself, you hurry and dress again. you beeline straight to the front door of the houseâ not looking at any family pictures on the wall, not being able to bear to see your best friend's face right now.Â
padding softly towards the door, you stop to look back one last time. it was just sex, you tell yourself. and yet, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted between you and Jake.Â
just as you begin to pull the door open, you hear his voice call out, soft but insistent, âwait y/n!â your heart leaps into your throat and you turn, seeing jake standing there, fully clothed now. âi have to tell you something.âÂ
your heart feels like a lump in your throat as you swallow roughly, âwhat is it?âÂ
he takes a deep breath, his expression vulnerable. "i like you, y/n. i've always liked you since we were kids. i've just never said anything because i've been too shy andâ and insecure. you deserve someone better than me."
your heart aches at his words. "jake, no. you're the best person i know. you don't deserve someone as awful as me." it breaks your heart to see him so insecure, especially around you. you've noticed how he is different when you aren't there, how he's more outgoing and confident.
he shakes his head, his eyes filled with earnestness. "no, y/n, that's not true. you're amazing, and i wish you could see that. i've always been afraid to tell you how i feel because i didn't think i was good enough for you."
"but jake, you are good enough. you're more than good enough." you squeeze his hand, trying to convey just how much you mean it. "i've been hurt before. that's why i don't get into relationships. i'm scared to be vulnerable, to let someone in."
"i understand," he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "but iâll be here for you, whenever you need. i want to be with you.â
you swallow, "but what about joy?"
he hesitates, then says, "i know it could be complicated, but we can figure it out together."
you nod, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. "i like you too, jake. more than i realized. but i'm scared."Â
jake smiles softly at you and wraps his arms around you. you let yourself melt into his arms, taking in his scent and warmth. you feel safe for the first time in your life. feeling safe and being held is all youâve ever wanted. you didnât want to be the one in control all of the time. jake allows your walls to be downâ allows you to be vulnerable and safe at the same time.
"i'm scared too," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "but i think we can make this work if we try."
you smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "i hope so."
you leave his room, your heart lighter but an anxiety settling upon you. you hope no one gets hurt in this. youâve been hurt too many times and you would hate to see the ones you care most about being hurt.Â
 as you walk down the stairs, you can't help but feel a sense of relief. maybe, just maybe, you could be happy.
you and jake have been seeing each other for a few weeks now, careful to keep things secret. it's not that you don't want anyone to know, but you're not sure how joy will react. she's your best friend, and jake is her little brother. the dynamic is complicated, to say the least.Â
one evening, joy is hosting a small get-together at her place. a few friends from high school, some new ones from college, and, of course, jake and you. you and jake have gotten good at sneaking glances, sharing secret smiles, and brushing against each other in passing without anyone noticing.
but tonight, something feels different. the tension between you and jake is palpable, and you catch joy watching you both a few times with a curious look in her eyes. you try to play it cool, but it's hard when all you want is to be close to him.
at some point, jake and you meet in the hallway, away from everyoneâs prying eyes. jake takes this opportunity to slip a hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. you smile at him, your heart fluttering at the simple touch. everything he seemed to do made your heart ache more for him.Â
"what's going on here?"
the voice makes you rip your hands away from each other. but when you turn and see your best friend, so visibly angry and confused, you know itâs too late.Â
you and jake freeze, exchanging a quick, nervous glance. you clear your throat, trying to come up with an explanation, but nothing comes to mind.
"uh, nothing," you stammer, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.
joy narrows her eyes at you, then at jake. "nothing, huh? because it sure looked like something."
jake sighs, realizing there's no point in hiding it anymore. "joy, we need to talk."
joy raises an eyebrow. "yeah, i think we do." she crosses her arms over his chest, her eyes glaring at you both of you.Â
jake takes a deep breath and looks at his sister, "joy, y/n and i have been seeing each other," he says, his voice steady but nervous.
joy's eyes widen even more. "what? since when?"
"a few weeks now," you admit, feeling the need to finally be honest.
joy looks between the two of you, her expression a mix of surprise, anger and confusion. "why didn't you tell me?"
"because we didn't know how you'd react," jake explains. "you're my sister, and y/n is your best friend. we didn't want to make things weird."
joy stands in her place, her gaze flickering between the two of you, âi can't even look at you right now, y/n. i have to go."
panic surges through you as joy turns to leave. "joy, no please, we can talk about this." you reach out and grab her wrist, desperation in your voice.
she snatches her wrist away, glaring at you. "talk about what? that youâve been lying to me for weeks? i thought we told each other everything, y/n. this is too much."
without another word, joy storms off, heading back to her room and leaving her party and guests behind. the music and laughter feel distant and hollow as you stand there, guilt and regret washing over you.
you glance at jake, his expression mirroring your own feelings of hurt and regret. you both know the pain you've caused joy. the pain youâve caused the only person who has stood by you your entire life.Â
but jake grabs your hand again, comforting you. you know that you canât leave this relationship with jake behind. you need to find a way for you to be truly happy with both siblings in your life.
the next day, you find yourself knocking on joyâs bedroom door. the air still heavy with unresolved tension as she opens the door to see you. she groans and walks towards her bed, leaving the door open for you to enter.Â
you sit across from joy on her bed, her expression softening as she takes a deep breath.
"i'm sorry for walking away like that," she begins, her voice quiet but sincere. "i've had some time to think, and i realize now that i wasn't upset about you and jake dating. i was upset because you kept it a secret from me. our whole friendship relies on knowing everything about each other."
you nod, feeling the weight of her words. "i'm sorry too, joy. i've been a bad friend. i didn't want to hurt you, but i didn't even know my own feelings towards jake. everything happened so fast, and i was scared."
joy reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "i understand. i just felt left out and betrayed, but i get it now. we all make mistakes,â she nods understandingly.Â
"i promise i won't keep anything from you again," you say, your voice filled with determination. "you're my best friend, and i don't want to lose that."
joy smiles, a genuine warmth returning to her eyes. "i forgive you, y/n. letâs move past this, okay?â she opens her arms up, letting you wrap your own arms around her. the hug is tight and loving, like usual.Â
as you both pull away, you notice jake standing at the door, a sheepish look on his face.
"i overheard your conversation," he admits, stepping into the room. "i'm really sorry too, joy. i never wanted to come between you two or cause any problems."
joy looks at her brother, then back at you, and smiles. "it's all good, jake. just promise me you'll take care of each other and be honest with me from now on."
"we promise," you both say in unison, causing joy to laugh.
"well, at least we will be sister-in-laws someday," she jokes, making you all laugh.
the thought of marriage might be far too soon, but as you stand there with your best friend and jake, the idea doesn't seem so far-fetched. the three of you hug on her bed.Â
you know that maybe someday your best friend would become your sister-in-law, and her little brother would become your husband. for now, you're happy, and that's all that matters.
@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.
PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)
stay safe everyone :)
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a meeting with the in-laws
anon: high school gf's parents coming back after they've kicked her out once the baby's born and demanding to see their âbaby" and it's a whole scene
It had been three days since the newest Cameron had arrived into the world, the small baby boy kicking and screaming like a true warrior. A coked-up Rafe swore he had never seen anything so perfect as when he saw his own little boy clutched tightly within his motherâs arms, his sweet red cheeks chubby and full of life. It had taken some convincing but soon Rafe had his son against his bare chest as he softly stroked at the wisps of hair atop his head. He sat by his sleeping girlfriendâs side, quietly cooing to his son. There in that room lay his whole world, and it was then and there that Rafe made a promise to himself: no-one would hurt either of them for as long as he lived.
Rafe found his first opponents rather quickly. The small family returned to Tannyhill on the third day and began to settle back into the house, bringing their son up to the nursery they had spent hours painting. Rafe had wanted to hire someone to paint the images on the wall but had begrudgingly agreed to help his girlfriend paint them herself when she began tearing up in front of him. They had decided on a space themed nursery after Sarah suggested it. As they settled the sleeping boy in his cot, a loud knock echoed across the property. The new parents ignored it, only to hear mumbled voices from the foyer grow louder and louder. It was with a start that Rafe looked up, his bicep being clutched tightly.
âMy parentsâŠtheyâre here!â she whispered anxiously, her eyes widening as she looked up at him for help, âthey told me that I was dead to them Rafe!â
Rafe looked at his sweet girl, taking her into his arms as she began to tremble, hands running soothingly over her back. âHey, itâs ok. Itâs gonna be ok, alright? Youâve got me here and I-Iâm not gonna let them treat you like shit, ok,â he muttered. Rafe watched her pull away from him slowly, giving him a small nod as she wiped away the tears that had managed to spill over. He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head and whispered encouragingly âyou can do this, baby.â
As they made their way down the stairs, it was clear that the Cameronâs did not take kindly to the familiar family standing in their living room. Rafe and Sarah were the two most obvious in their distaste, each wearing matching grimaces and glares. They both watched as her mother immediately ran to hug her daughter,
âOh sweetie, there you are! My baby all grown up with her own baby - oh Iâm so proud of you.â
Rafe watched as his girlfriend stood stiffly in her arms, a distraught expression crossing her face at the words. He couldnât help but grit his teeth - he had watched as she cried for weeks after her parents kicked her out, her heart broken as they refused to answer her calls. Theyâd removed her existence from their lives for nine months and now here they were, claiming to love her again? No, that wouldnât do, Rafe thought.
âAre you, though?â Rafe bit out. He grinned as all eyes turned sharply to him.
âOf course we are, our daughter has given us a strong and healthy grandchild. Why wouldnât we be?â Her father asked, his tone filled with a certain menacing quality that both Rafe and Ward picked up on. The former ignored his fatherâs warning glance as he continued to speak.
âWhat about when you kicked her out, pregnant and alone with no money? Hmm, yeah I thought youâd remember that,â he spat, watching a flicker of shame cross the older womanâs face.
âRafe thatâs en-â
âNo, come on Dad, you saw what they did to her, to my son. They didnât give a shit until he was born, isnât that right?â
All in the room stood in silence as the tension became so thick it could swallow them whole. It was only the audacity of her father that shattered the silence, âwe want to see him.â
Fuck no, Rafe thought. He watched as his girlfriend scampered to his side, her eyes looking up at him pleading. Theyâd spoken often about her parents and had come to an agreement to keep them away from their family, not trusting their intentions should they come back. Almost imperceptibly, Rafe nodded towards her, a firm squeeze to her hip confirming he understood what she wanted.
âNo.â
âW-what did you say to me, boy?â
âI said no. Youâre not coming near my son, or my girl, now get the fuck off my property, alright?â
Ward looked between his son and the other grandfather, sighing deeply before coming towards his old friend. He spoke lowly, the rest of the room unaware of their words. It was only when both men turned back to the face their children did they speak.
âYou must be very overwhelmed with all those hormones right now, sweetheart. You arenât in your right mind,â Rafe heard her father say, fists clenching at the audacity he had, âwe will come and see you next week. Maybe you could be alone next time.â
The Cameronâs wordlessly watched as Ward escorted her family to their cars. They turned back to see Rafe comforting his girlfriend, her head buried into his chest as she sobbed. Rafe stood there as his blood rushed through his body, his heart pumping rapidly in his chest. This was his first experience being a parent - of feeling a sense of unwavering protectiveness come over him. He knew then that his promise to himself in that hospital chair would never be broken, for he would do everything in his power to keep his family safe. No one would ever hurt them, and as he slowly walked his sweet crying girl back to the nursery, he knew he would kill to keep them safe.
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OT 13 : edging vs overstimulation â nsfw
Seungcheol : overstimulation. honestly, i feel as if heâs the type of person to use it as a punishment. yaâll would probably go through like a hundred different positions and heâll make you cum with every single one before he can switch to the next. would hit you with that faux sympathy and imitate a pouty face when he slows down to check on you. when you say youâre okay, heâll slam back into you again. wonât stop until you use your safe word, but will take a break if you really need it. needs to see your mascara running, desperate doe eyes, and fucked out expression the entire time.
Jeonghan : edging. oh baby, good luck with this one. A MENACE. would probably do it for hours until youâre crying and a babbling mess. he lowkey gets off on how pathetic and dumb you get for him. likes being begged, so he might gaslight you into thinking you donât want it as much as you say you do which will make you even more desperate. the type to use anything from his tongue, to his dick, to toys â youâve grown to hate vibrators overtime. also another one who would fake being sympathetic and imitate your sad face. he would probably play dumb like âwhat baby? why are you crying?â heâs a meanie overall, and will do it just for fun but heâll make you feel good so donât you worry your pretty little head.
Joshua : edging. heâs honestly such a sweet and caring person, but heâs also friends with jeonghan and apart of the 95â line so what do you expect. some days he would choose to be nice, but other days he would decide to be a tease. honestly, not that bad though. he would only do it for a little while before deciding youâve had enough. lowkey likes it when you cry. he has the biggest hands in seventeen so he utilizes them a lot, especially when it comes to you. enjoys the way you clench around them whenever he stops. he definitely takes time to examine your face which a teasing smile and ask you âwhatâs wrong,â even though he knows heâs being an ass.
Jun : edging. tbh, does it just to laugh and be a little shit. will be fingering you, pull away really quickly and look back up at you with a smile on his face. will probably be like âha, you thought,â or âgotcha.â letâs out the cutest giggle whenever he does it that sometimes itâs difficult for you to be mad at him. does it a few times before you smack him on his shoulder and threaten him with no pussy for a week. will definitely let you cum after that.
Hoshi : overstimulation. HOSHI IS A MUNCH AND NO ONE CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. would probably choose to live between your thighs if you let him tbh. def eats pussy like heâs a starved man and itâs his last meal heâll ever have. probably enjoys it more than you do. you can push him away all you want, but heâll come right back (will literally beg you if thatâs what it takes, he loves pussy). main dancer and his stamina is insane, so he doesnât mean to overstimulate you really, he can just go for hours. you would definitely have to take breaks in between rounds with this one.
Wonwoo : edging. finds it amusing. might tie you up, just to keep you still whenever he decides to go to town on your pussy. heâll shoot you a little smirk from time to time which will end up pissing you off because he def knows heâs being an asshole. prefers to edge you with his cock, he likes the way your pussy flutters around it whenever he stops. also, his favorite time to do it is whenever heâs gaming. heâll have you sit on his cock and have you do all the work while he plays a video game. itâs only when your whines start getting louder and movements start to get fast when heâll place a firm hand on your hip and hold you in place. loves when you look at him all teary eyed, but still promises heâll make you feel good after. no one said how long his game was gonna last though so good luck.
Woozi : wild card. depends on what HE feels like. you have no say. you just shut your mouth and look pretty for him. if heâs stressed heâll edge you, but if he needs a mental break or something, heâll overstimulate you. will definitely happen in his studio the most, just cause thatâs where most of his stress leads back to â writing and producing. enjoys cockwarming while he works, but if youâre being stubborn and moving too much, heâll decide to fuck and overstimulate you. will be like âi thought this is what you wanted baby? couldnât stay still cause you wanted my cock so bad hm?â
Dokyeom : overstimulation. heâs just happy to please overall. also another one that doesnât mean to overstimulate you. he just wants to make you feel good and when you try and push him away, he just might look at you with puppy dog eyes. also loves when you sit on his face, he feels like he can be as messy as he wants. asks why youâre crying, but not in a mocking type of way, he just genuinely doesnât know that it feels too good that itâs getting hard to hold yourself up. itâs a good thing heâs strong.
Mingyu : overstimulation. i feel like he has an oral fixation and cures it by eating you out tbh. this big and beefy man specifically loves it when you sit on his face. if you hover over him for a second too long, heâs pulling you down and holding you in place. obviously heâs ridiculously strong so when you try and pull away, he doesnât let you. will gaslight you into thinking you can take one more, even if itâs the hundredth time and youâll agree just because it feels too good to say no. will cage you in with his arms and fucks you so good you wouldnât be able to utter an audible sentence. likes when yours eyes get all dazed and it looks as if thereâs not a thought in your head. heâll be on a mission to make you squirt.
Minghao : edging. says that you need to practice patience ???? might use it as a learning experience for you ???? might make you want to kill him after ???? lmao. i feel as if heâs more likely to deny your orgasm completely than to edge you. like he would edge for a bit, but overall wouldnât let you cum. he says itâs to learn to be more patient, but really he just enjoys how desperate and whiny you get after. will definitely fuck you nice and good when yâall get in bed for the night. might tease you by edging you once, but when tears start to brim your eyes, heâll let up. just, be a good girl for him and donât piss him off.
Seungkwan : edging. honestly, heâs sweet with it. will check in on you often and make sure youâre doing okay. seungkwanâs favorite way of edging you is by literally having you grind on his thigh. he enjoys how easy it is to get you off and likes to see his skin coated with your slick. also, he def knows his quads are strong af so why would you not wanna ride his thigh? will mutter words of encouragement and praise, even when he stops your movements. knows that him shaking his leg really helps so heâll stop moving altogether when he feels like youâre getting close. a sucker for your tears so he might give in if you play your cards right.
Vernon : honestly, whatever you want. goes with the flow and the mood. vernon is the type of guy who might let you take the lead. if you wanted to dom for the night then okay. if you wanted to fuck in a bathroom then okay. if you wanted to be edged or overstimulated then he will help you. wonât do it as a punishment, but itâs also not something that he thinks of. you might have to bring it up or give him hints before he can act on it. you might also have to control it so like when you think youâre gonna cum you might have to push him away, or if you want to be overstimulated, just take the lead and hold him close.
Dino : overstimulation. another main dancer right here. he has a lot of energy in him. you would want it as much as heâs happy to give it though. yâall are definitely the type of couple to fuck like two bitches in heat. he would be on a mission to either see how many surfaces yâall could fuck on or how many rounds heâs capable of going which will therefore lead to you getting overstimulated. honestly, doesnât mean to overstimulate you he just gets a little excited. will apologize after and be so soft with you though so itâs okay.
#seventeen smut#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#svt smut#svt x reader#seventeen angst#seventeen reactions#svt reactions#svt imagines#jeonghan x reader#seungkwan x reader#seungcheol x reader#joshua x reader#hoshi x reader#soonyoung x reader#jun x reader#junhui x reader#jihoon x reader#woozi x reader#wonwoo x reader#seokmin x reader#dokyeom x reader#minghao x reader#mingyu x reader#vernon x reader#dino x reader#chan x reader#svtswhorehouse#mingyu smut#scoups x reader
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Your work has been a great source of joy and relief to me (at last after a day of shitty circumstance i get to thrive in my free time with your witing) and i just want to thank you for that...đđđ
But i do also wanna request a jealous reader to james or remus, I'm genuinely curious as to how they'll handle that and what will they do to satiate reader
Thank you, sweetheart! Love you <3
James Potter x fem!reader ⥠2.1k words
James looks especially sightly today, his brown skin gleaming in the sun and hair stuck slick to his forehead. Heâs shirtless, which is always a treat, muscled abdomen sometimes distorted beneath the pool water and sometimes slipping above, inadvertently teasing, and his shoulders look especially strapping with Lilyâs pale thighs seated atop them.Â
You really like Lily. Youâre quite disappointed in yourself, actually, for the hot flash of malice that goes through you when she burrows her manicured fingers in your boyfriendâs hair, laughing about losing her balance. James moves his grip from her knees up to her thighs, promising heâs got her. Something foul and warmish curdles in your gut.Â
On the other side of the pool, Sirius and Remus advance like a totem pole with two wildly different faces, one menacing and the other reluctant. Theyâd asked if you wanted to play chicken, but getting pushed and shoved by Sirius isnât your idea of a good time. You figured youâd be more content here, sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet kicking idly in the cool water, but now you can see how it does sort of look like a couples activity, Sirius atop Remusâ shoulders and Lily on Jamesâ. Itâs no secret that James had pined after Lily for years. It was back in their school days, before you met him, but itâs been brought up a few times in a teasing way thatâs made it clear to you that everyone knew how he felt about her. You wonder if Lily ever thinks about it. If sheâs assured, consciously or not, that she could have him back at any time of her choosing. Itâs not something you love to dwell upon.Â
The pairs are fairly evenly matched. Sirius fights dirty, splashing water up at Lily and trying to unhook one of her knees from around Jamesâ shoulder, but Remus canât be bothered to participate and looks like heâd be just as happy to be pushed over and call it done. Lily, meanwhile, isnât as creative a fighter and is only shoving at Siriusâ shoulders, but James provides a strong base. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her legs, calling up encouragements and occasionally freeing a hand to pinch upwards at Siriusâ side. Sirius shrieks and swears at this, claiming that itâs against the rules. Eventually, Remus gets tired of supporting his boyfriendâs weight and feigns a fall back into the water. Sirius squawks as he goes down, and Lily and James cheer and high-five before he helps her dismount with far more grace.Â
You clap and smile like a good girlfriend. James beams as he swims over to you. Sometimes looking at Jamesâ smile at full capacity is a bit like looking at the sun, and you feel like you need some special glasses to gaze directly at it. This is one of those times.Â
He takes your calf in his big hand and leans his cool cheek on your warm knee and makes you feel like the most special girl in the world, and you canât stop thinking that Lily probably knows this exact feeling.Â
You make extra sure to be nice to Lily on your way out later that evening, guilty and vexed with yourself for the way youâve been thinking about her. James waves a friendly goodbye to the group as you both step outside.Â
Instantly, his arm is around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. James was prepared for the nighttime chill, pulling a sweatshirt out of his bag as soon as the sun set, whereas youâre in a tank top and shorts that have grown damp from your swimsuit. You lean into him gratefully.Â
âDid you have a good time today?â he asks.
âMhm.âÂ
âYeah?â He tilts his head a bit, looking down at your face. âYou seemed a bit off.âÂ
You shrug. You should have expected James would notice. âI guess I just wished Iâd participated more.âÂ
He makes a contemplative humming sound. âYou donât mean that you think people didnât want you to participate, right? They love you, angel, you know that.âÂ
âNo, IâŠâ You want to say I know, but youâre worried youâll sound conceited. You never usually second-guess yourself like this around James. You sort of hate it. âI just didnât realize that if I said no to playing chicken, Lily was going to be your partner instead.âÂ
Heâs quiet for a second. Something in your gut twists uneasily.Â
âI thought you liked Lily.âÂ
âI do.âÂ
âAre you jealous?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
You answer without thinking, because whatever you might be feeling right now, you are not a jealous person. You wonât be that kind of girlfriend. The breeze picks up, and goosebumps prickle down your arms, making you shiver.
âAre you cold?â James asks.Â
You know heâs going to want to give you his sweatshirt, and you really canât be taking things from him right now. âIâm alright.âÂ
âYou know youâve got nothing to worry about with Lily,â he tells you, thumb brushing softly over the skin of your bare shoulder. It should be reassuring, but suddenly youâre thinking about how this same hand looked so comfortable wrapped around Lilyâs thigh. You step out from under his arm, crossing your arms as casually as you can against the chill.Â
âIâm not worried,â you reply.Â
James looks perplexed, and also a little dubious. The thought of him not believing you, even if you are lying, fills you with a burning indignation.Â
âI just donât see why you had to be touching her so much,â you say. âYou couldâve looked a bit less eager.âÂ
He actually laughs at that, but the look on your face stops him quickly. âSorry, but did you really think I looked eager?â he asks, a little smile still teasing the corners of his lips like youâre a child he has to talk down from a fit. âThatâs just part of the game, sweetheart.âÂ
The way he says it, sweetheart, suddenly feels less affectionate and more like a placation. Condescending. Heat builds behind your eyes, and you realize with horror that you feel like you might actually cry. Youâve never felt so distant from James. Not even when youâd first started dating.Â
You pick up your pace, staying ahead to keep him from seeing your face. âYou didnât have to touch her legs so much,â you huff.Â
âI was keeping her from falling off!â he laughs, incredulous.Â
You roll your eyes. James lengthens his stride to catch up to you.Â
âSo let me get this straight,â he says. He sounds more serious than before, which you thought youâd wanted but now youâre not so sure. Your heart trembles. âYou wanted me to throw the whole game to just avoid touching my friendâs legs?âÂ
âShe wasnât always your friend,â you remind him.Â
âYes, she was.â
You donât know how to respond to that. From a factual standpoint, heâs not wrong, but you know that Lily was more than that in Jamesâ head for quite some time. He canât boil it down to something so simple.Â
The silence stretches out between you, ice-thin and just as cold. Then you shiver again, and James sets a hand on your shoulder. Itâs only there for a second before he retracts it, as if unsure what heâs allowed. Your heart throbs.Â
âYou are cold,â he says, and his tone is doting teetering on the brink of accusatory. He grabs the hem of his sweatshirt. âHere, haveââ
âI donât want your sweatshirt,â you say sharply.Â
James pauses. âWhy not?âÂ
âI just donât.âÂ
âSweetheart, youâre cold.âÂ
âSo what?â You cross your arms harder, trying to hide your trembling under the guise of general agitation. âThatâs not what weâre talking about.âÂ
âWhat are we talking about?â he asks you. âHow I let Lily sit on my shoulders as part of a game and now Iâll surely leave you for her?âÂ
Even as a joke, it stings. âWould you?â
âOf course not!â His hands spread out in front of him, helpless. âWhat do you want me to do? Should I just never be friends with another girl again?âÂ
âNo, itâs notâitâs not that.â Your eyes burn. Youâre frustrated with him for intentionally missing the point, and frustrated with yourself for needing his reassurance in the first place. âI just want to know that youâd pick me over her.âÂ
âI have!â
âYou didnât pick, James.â Your breathing is starting to sound ragged. The words taste acidic in your mouth. âShe picked for you.âÂ
âAngel, that was ages ago.â James softens his voice, likely hearing the tears in yours. âI donât see her that way anymore. She was right, we wouldnât have worked together.âÂ
âBut how can you know that?â Your voice breaks just as a harsh shiver goes through you, and you wrap your arms more tightly around yourself.Â
âAlright, thatâs enough.â You donât have to turn around to hear that James has stopped walking behind you, his footsteps halting. Reluctantly, you slow in response but donât turn around, waiting to see what heâs doing. âCome here.â When you donât move, his voice hardens into a tone you donât hear often. âCome here.âÂ
You turn around, more curious than anything, and James has taken his sweatshirt off. He tugs it over your head before you can say anything.Â
âJames!â you protest, squirming, but his hold is strong. He manages to wrestle one of your arms into a sleeve before he seems to decide thatâs good enough and leaves you be.Â
âQuit being so stubborn,â he says, still in that same tone. You stop trying to get the sweatshirt off, hands dropping to your sides. James has never been so stern with you before. You donât quite know how to react. âYouâre freezing, and your hairâs still wet. Thereâs no sense in suffering through it just because you want to have a row.âÂ
âI donât want to,â you tell him, but your words sound petulant even to your own ears.Â
âThen listen.â He takes your jaw in hand, setting his eyes on yours. âI do not want to be in a relationship with Lily. I thought I did once, but I donât anymore.â He waits a second, making sure this sinks in, before his voice softens. âIâm going to be friends with girls. Thatâs justâŠthatâs the way Iâve always been. But Iâm with you because Iâm happiest with you, and this isnât going to work if you donât trust me.âÂ
You nod, suddenly flooded with self loathing. A tear skids down your face when you blink. âIâm sorry. Itâs not aboutâŠI do trust you, I promise. I donât know whatâs wrong with me today.âÂ
âHoney,â James murmurs. The tear lands on his index finger, and his face pinches like it stings. âListen, if I saw some guy with his hands all over you, Iâdââ
âIn a bathing suit,â you add tearfully.Â
âWith his hands all over you in a bathing suit,â he amends, âIâd probably be upset too. But youâve got to tell me these things, you know? If youâd brought it up at the time, I couldâve told you I donât feel that way about Lily and maybe you wouldâve had a better afternoon.âÂ
âI didnât want to be the jealous girlfriend,â you admit. âI really do like Lily, I didnât mean to accuse either of you of anything.âÂ
âI thinkâŠI think some amount of jealousy has to be normal,â James says, brows bunched pensively even as his finger strokes at your cheek. âWeâre each otherâs, you know? Itâs just letting it get in your head thatâs the problem. If youâre thinking Iâd pursue someone else while Iâm with you, that doesnât reflect very well on me.âÂ
You shake your head, leaning away from Jamesâ hand to wipe your nose. âI donât really. I know youâd beâyouâd at least be nice about it. Youâd tell me.âÂ
Pain etches itself into the indent between your boyfriendâs brows. He takes your face between both hands now, looking into your eyes determinedly. âI love you,â he says, bending to press a firm kiss between your brows. âUnderstand?âÂ
You wrap your arms around his middle, pushing past his face to tuck your head under his chin. âI love you too.â Your voice is ardent if a bit wobbly, tears that feel more like a reaction to a past fright than anything else still moving sluggishly down your face. âIâm sorry.âÂ
âItâs forgiven, sweetheart.â Jamesâ big palm comes to rest between your shaking shoulder blades, scrubbing up and down firmly. âLetâs get home, yeah?â
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter x self insert#james potter fanfiction#james potter fanfic#james potter fic#james potter angst#james potter hurt/comfort#james potter imagine#james potter scenario#james potter blurb#james potter drabble#james potter oneshot#james potter one shot#marauders#the marauders#marauders era#marauders fandom#marauders fanfiction#hp marauders#marauders x reader
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hello !! i hope ur doing amazing and i wanted to say how much i rlly enjoy reading ur work like its always amazing and just MWAH chefâs kiss fr fr !!
do you think you can do a short writing for either aemond or aegon and how they betray their mother and grandsire for the reader <3 ! sorry if itâs not detailed this is my first time requesting đđ
oh and if u canât i completely understand bookie !!
Broken by War
- Summary: When his mother and grandsire declare you a threat to be rid off, Aemond betrays his family for you.
- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen
- Note: The reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra and is bonded with Vermithor.
- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)
- Next Part: 2
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff
The pressure in the small council chamber was stifling, every member seated at the long, dark table focused on the map sprawled before them. A heavy silence blanketed the room as Dowager Queen Alicentâs voice echoed through the stone walls, calm but insistent.
"We must strike at Rookâs Rest," she said, her eyes glinting with determination. "Vermithor is a threat that grows with each passing day. We cannot allow her to roam free."
Otto Hightower, standing at her side, nodded in agreement. "Rhaenyra has grown too bold. Your niece wields too much power with that dragon. Vermithor must be neutralized, Aemond. Only Vhagar has the strength to bring the beast down, and only you have the will to do what must be done."
Aemond sat at the far end of the table, silent until now, his one violet eye fixated on the map. His jaw clenched as the voices of his mother and grandfather droned on, discussing tactics to trap her. You. The only person he had loved, the one who haunted his dreams and memories of youth.Â
The very mention of your name, though unsaid, sent a ripple of heat through his chest. His gaze shifted from the map to Alicent, then to Otto, as they spoke of you and Vermithor as mere obstaclesâjust another enemy to be destroyed.Â
But you were not a mere enemy. You were his niece, the daughter of Rhaenyra, and the girl who had once shared moments of innocent laughter with him. Before the war, before the bloodshed, before the divide of loyalties had driven them to opposite sides of this cursed Dance. How could they expect him to harm you?
A sharp crack split the air. The sound of his fists slamming against the table reverberated through the chamber, startling everyone into silence. Alicent and Otto turned, eyes wide, as Aemond rose from his seat, his face a mask of anger and resolve.
âI will not harm her.â His voice was low, dangerous, shaking with barely contained fury. âI will not harm my niece.â
âAemond,â Alicent said softly, her brow furrowing as she reached out a hand as if to calm him. âShe is a threat. You must understandââ
âNo,â Aemond snapped, cutting her off. His gaze burned as he turned on them. âYou expect me to kill her? To kill the one person I have loved since we were children? Vermithor is no more a threat than Vhagar is. And Y/Nâshe is not the enemy you make her out to be.â
Ottoâs face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something dark in his eyes. âShe rides a dragon that is an old menace. Rhaenyra and her supporters will stop at nothing to see the end of this war, even if it means your death. You know this, Aemond. Only you can put an end to this before she burns the realm to ash.â
Aemondâs gaze flicked back to the map, the cold stone beneath his hands, and then to the faces of those who had shaped his life, who had molded him into a weapon. But not for this. Not against you. His chest heaved with barely contained emotion as the weight of everything pressed down on himâhis duty, his family, his love for you.
Slowly, he shook his head, his voice low but firm. âNo. I will not do it.â
âAemond,â Alicentâs voice sharpened, desperation edging into it. âWhere are you going?â
Aemond had already turned, his long coat sweeping the floor as he strode toward the door, each step heavy with purpose. He didnât look back as he answered, the words cutting through the air like a blade. âI am going to Dragonstone. I will kneel before Y/N and Rhaenyra. I will beg for their forgiveness. For everything. For Lucerys.â
There was a stunned silence in the room as the weight of his words settled. Ottoâs voice cut through the quiet, sharp as steel. âThey will kill you the moment you set foot on Dragonstone, Aemond.â
Aemond paused at the door, his hand on the cold iron handle, and turned to face them. His eye gleamed with a fierceness that made Alicent flinch. âThen let them. I would rather die at her hand than live knowing I betrayed her.â
He left without another word, his footsteps echoing through the stone corridors, each one bringing him closer to you and the fate he had chosen. The weight of his familyâs expectations, of the crownâs demands, fell away with each step. In its place, only one thing remainedâhis love for you and the need to right the wrongs that had torn them apart.
As he mounted Vhagar, he knew there was no turning back. His path was set, and for once, it was a path he chose for himself.
#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#hotd#hotd x y/n#hotd x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#hotd aemond
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Simple Math / Part Six
Simple Math masterlist
Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.
âShhh now, yeâre alright.â
Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. Heâs not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. âWhat is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?â He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If itâs not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simonâs last entry: 23:20 â 50 ML.Â
That was only an hour ago.Â
He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. Sheâs so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him.Â
âWhat is it, sweet bairn? Whatâs got ye all upset?â He touches his lips to softest skin heâs ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. âPlease dinnae cry. I-âÂ
âYou okay?â Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses.Â
âWeâre fine. Yeâre supposed to be sleepinâ.âÂ
âHeard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.â Simonâs trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise.Â
Itâs not fair. Heâs so good at it. Heâs a natural. And Johnny⊠Johnny feels like heâs failing his own kid, when sheâs not even a month old yet.Â
âI dinnae need-âÂ
âHey.â Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. âI know you donât, love. Youâre doing a great job. Itâs not your fault sheâs having a rough go.â He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simonâs chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist.Â
âShe hates me.â Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnnyâs temple in short, succinct kisses.Â
âShe doesnât. Sheâs brand new. She canât hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.â He strokes her cheek. âLetâs bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?â Johnny sighs.Â
âAlright.âÂ
âWhatâre you doing after this?â
âGoing to bed?â What else would you be doing?
âIâm thinking about going to Jackieâs for a drink⊠wanna come?â Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.
âJackieâs, huh?â You chew on your lip. You shouldnât. You really, really shouldnât. But⊠Jackieâs is a dive. Itâs dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... itâs a hospital haunt.Â
âItâs my birthday.â She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. âIâm not⊠itâs not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.â You take a deep breath. âPlease?â She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.
âOkay. One. And then I gotta go.â
âYes!â She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.
Nothing like a seven am beer.Â
Jackieâs is a distinct place. Itâs one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so youâve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. Itâs dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. Itâs an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you werenât⊠who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didnât mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.
âCoulda been a surgeon.â Youâd tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriendâs face.
âIf you were a surgeon, sugar, whoâd be at home waitinâ for me after work?â Heâd push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. âYou donât need to be surgeon. You donât even need to work. You have me.âÂ
You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat⊠but you were wrong.
You were so, so wrong.
âSo, heard thereâs a spot opening up on days.â Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. âYouâve got the seniority⊠you givinâ it any thought?â The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.
âOld Speck please. And no, I like nights.â She raises an eyebrow.
âDidnât know Americans liked Old Speck.â
âWe have it in the states. I didnât live under a rock.â You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. âVodka on the rocks?â
âIâm a straight to the point kind of girl.â She explains. âSo, no days?â
âNo days. You?â
âI might. Night shift is kicking my ass.â She complains. âDonât even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.â
âYou need like, at least six months to fully adjust.â You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.
âSix months?!â Youâre about to launch into your spiel about how itâs not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.
>Make it home from work alright?Â
>Itâs Johnny, by the way :)Â
The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnnyâs number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterdayâŠÂ Simonâs. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.
âYou okay?â Nia asks, and you nod.
âYeah, fine justâŠuh-â She peeks over your arm, and giggles.
âIs that your patient? Two sixty-eight?â
âWhat?â
âYour patient. The military hottie. The one thatâs always lookinâ at your bum.â Your face burns, and she tsks. âAh, donât be embarrassed. Heâs smokinâ. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.â Youâre surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. âArenât they⊠I mean⊠isnât the scary mask guy his partner?â Heâs not scary, you scowl inwardly. Heâs just⊠protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.
âYouâre doing great, sweetheart.âÂ
âIf you ever need anything, Johnny and I⊠weâre here.âÂ
Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. âYes⊠they⊠theyâre together. Itâs just been hard on them, so I think thereâs a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, itâs not unusual.â She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.
âTheyâre quite fit. Wouldnât mind if they formed an attachment to me.â She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. âGonna text him back?â
âNia.â You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.
âOh, come on, just a bit of fun. I donât mean anything by it.â
âItâs not appropriate.â You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.
âYouâre such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.â You do remember- Marshallâs sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.
Your beer goes sour in your stomach.
âI gotta get home.â You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. âHappy Birthday.â You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but youâre already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.
You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Niaâs at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.
By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, itâs nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.
Itâs fine. You can tell you got home okay, thatâs not crossing any lines.Â
>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!
A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.
>Get some rest. Â
The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.
Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where youâre scrolling through Johnnyâs chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.
Heâs fine, heâs better than fine, heâs⊠too healthy for the ICU.
Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.
He wonât be your patient anymore.Â
He wonât⊠be your patient anymore.Â
The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.
This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery.Â
So, youâll miss them, thatâs okay. Thereâs a little bit attachment, thatâs alright.Â
This is the best case scenario. Youâre making a mess of things. Youâre getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake.Â
Theyâre getting confused, because youâre the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, theyâll forget all about you.Â
Youâre risking too much. Youâre risking their safety, their childâs safety, your own.Â
Itâs for the best.Â
You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.
Focus on your job. Your patient. Youâre a professional.Â
Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. Itâs a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. Thatâs⊠odd. Worse, thereâs a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, heâs a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will.Â
âHey, you on your own tonight?â You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.
âAye.â Heâs sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny.Â
âHow are you feeling?â You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer.Â
ââm alright.â You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great⊠so whatâs going on?Â
âJust alright?â His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like heâs going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.
A tear tracks down his cheek. âJohnny?â You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, youâre here. âHey, hey. Itâs okay. Whatâs going on?â The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.
âItâs⊠itâs nothinâ bun. Iâm jusâ⊠Iâm havinâ a bad day.â
âWant to talk about it? I hear Iâm a pretty good listener.â You encourage, and his face twists.
âNo, I- Ach. Aye, alright.â He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. âItâs⊠beinâ in here. I want to be wiâ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, Iâm home⊠but âm not really home, and I-â His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. âIâm blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. Iâm missinâ out on everything.â Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face.Â
âYouâre not blown to bits, just a little banged up.â You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You donât even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. âHey, look at me.â His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. âYouâre making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You wonât even be in the ICU much longer, and then once youâre downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it wonât be too much longer until youâre back home with them.â He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.
âYe think so?â
âYouâre the toughest patient Iâve ever had, and Iâve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but youâre doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, youâll be at home on your own couch, bossinâ Simon around all day instead of me.â He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.
âShouldnae be cryinâ in front of ye.â
âYou can cry in front of me any time you want. Thatâs what Iâm here for. Besides, itâs not the first time.â You tease and he rolls his eyes.
âDoesnae count. I was high.â
âUh huh. Sure.â The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. âYou didnât eat?â
âDidnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.â Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now...Â
âYou hungry? I havenât eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?â He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. âAlright. Let me run down to the cafĂ©, yeah?â
âWhatâs that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-â
âOkay!â you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like heâs wounded. âIâll be right back.â You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time? Â
You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until youâre placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnnyâs lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simonâs recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well.Â
"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have taâ do. Simonâs gonâ be so bloody jealous.â He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.
âJohnny, we⊠this⊠I- this isnât a date!â you squeak.
âWhy not?â He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?
âYou⊠you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?â He doesnât say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you canât interpret. âWhat? Why are you looking at me like that?â
âWhat did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?â
âWhat? He⊠I donât remember.â Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number?Â
Of course, he knows, he started that group text.Â
Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-
âDidnae he tell ye, weâre here for ye?â
âY-yeah.â
âWe, bunny? We.â
âI donât⊠I donât understand.â He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?
âWe like ye. Like I said, we think yeâre really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.â
âWh-what?â Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, heâll get it. Heâs smart. âNo⊠no, Johnny itâs just⊠itâs this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, itâs normal. You d-donât like me, I promise. Thereâs nothing even to like.â He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simonâs stare feels like heâs reading your mind, then Johnnyâs is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. Youâre paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.
âWhy would ye say that? That thereâs nothinâ about ye to like? Nothinâ could be farther from the truth.â
âI donât⊠thereâs not. Itâs⊠Iâm your nurse, Johnny. Thatâs all.â Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly youâre sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. âJohnny.â His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.
âShhh, hey. Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.â You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.
"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You canât let this happen. âIâve gotta check on some other patients, okay? Iâll swing back your way in a bit.â You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.
âAlright, pretty girl. Iâll see ye later, then.â He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.
Fuck. Youâre so fucked.Â
Simon and Johnnyâs house is finally silent. Â
Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.
Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way sheâll close her eyes is if sheâs being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest.Â
Heâs a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he canât help it. Neither of them can. Sheâs their baby.
So, he doesnât blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.
His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.
>Sheâs jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasnât gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.
>Â She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?
>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnnyâs lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.
>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why canât you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry thatâs creeping up the back of his neck.Â
Disagreements arenât for text messages. Theyâve learned that the hard way.Â
>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. Sheâs skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.
Simon, Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level⊠are you sure sheâs a nurse? Iâve attached everything I could find, but itâs pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from years ago in the states. Itâs not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says itâs probably the latter, which is why she doesnât exist prior to. Youâll notice on the vaccine record, she marked âunhousedâ, and I couldnât find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name. I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. Iâll keep digging. -K.L.Â
Thereâs an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simonâs skull. Itâs a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.
Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from?Â
#peaches writes#simple math#ghoap x reader#ghost x soap x reader#john soap mactavish#simon riley#simon riley x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#ghost x reader x soap#soap x reader#ghost x reader#soap x reader x ghost
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PERFECT MATCH PART 2
PAIR. : poly!marauders x female slytherin reader
SUM. : despite being from Slytherin, as a fellow prankster, you give the marauders a helping hand
LENGTH : 1.2k
PART 1 | NAVI.
NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED
Peter had blown their cover, and now the boys were running from Slughorn, who had caught them red-handed, switching the necessary ingredients for the next potion class. They should have known that Peter wasnât the best choice for a lookout, considering he was the first to get caught and promptly given detention with Filch. As they were running away, however, their camaraderie lingered when Peter called out to them, hoping they wouldnât be caught.Â
The remaining three marauders make a valiant effort to run away as fast as possible. Remus stays a good few metres ahead of James and Sirius, his hidden athleticism sparking in only the most dire straits. Despite the potential threat of detention, the three grin widely through the chase; Sirius has the gall to laugh at the sheer amount of fun heâs experiencing. The freedom to break the rules and run freely from the consequences â only light penalisation in his eyes â was invigorating. None of them believe they would ever willingly stop their practical jokes, even Remus, no matter how much he denies it.
Racing through the halls with their youth pumping through their veins, Remus, James and Sirius make it so that Slughorn is considerably far behind them before slowing down. Between laboured breaths, they try to sort out their next move but quickly run out of time. Slughorn was quickly approaching according to their map and they resorted to hiding in a darkened hallway they donât normally walk down. Consumed by the rush, they had managed to make it down to the dungeons just as you stepped out of the hallway they had barely hidden in.
They werenât very good hiders but it was amusing so you kept your lips sealed despite your mischievous nature urging you to press them with questions. Your answer came swiftly in the form of Professor Slughorn, out of breath and keeling over with sweat drenching his brows.Â
So thatâs whatâs happening~Â
Immediately understanding the situation, you step out of the hallway to face your gasping head of house and restrain a devious giggle at the sight of the maraudersâ widened eyes. Theyâve seen you, see them hiding. Theyâre also familiar with your artfully scheming ways likened to their marauder groupâs mischief; the fact that youâre a Slytherin, however, doesnât bode well. FuckâŠwere you gonna out them?Â
You donât need any prompting, already directing the professor before heâs managed to catch his breath, âOh Professor~ by the way, if youâd really like to knowâŠâ Slughorn eyes you after finally catching his breath. Through the fog of his exhausted mind, he finds himself eagerly awaiting your direction, almost having forgotten why he was in his current state in the first place, âthey went that way,â you point to the right, the opposite direction of the three tricksters. James, Remus and Sirius release a collective breath of relief but remain eager to see how the interaction may unfold further.Â
âWho did?â Slughorn asks, trying to navigate the smog of fatigue clogging up his brain.Â
âThe marauders,â
âThey did?â your potions professor brightens at the revelation. You guess heâs finally rediscovered his initial intentions. But woe is me~ can he trust you so easily?Â
âThey did what?â you tilt your head innocently, casually continuing the conversation as if you hadnât just thrown him for a loop with that curveball of a question.Â
âWent that way?â he points right, perplexed at your sudden change. It seems Professor Slughorn was still foggy in the head from his sapped stamina and the boys had to bite their lips from bursting out laughing â youâre a menace.Â
âWho did?â you ask, pulling the most innocuous expression the boys have ever seen a Slytherin muster. Have you grown more beautiful since their last interaction? They canât help but keep staring at your sweet face and pretty, pouty lipsâŠ
âThe marauders!â Slughorn insists but you continue your oblivious stance.Â
âWhat marauder?â
âBut didnât you just say?-- Oh never mind,â Slughorn gives up the chase and turns with a dull swish of his robes. For now, heâs satisfied that he, at least, managed to get Pettigrew. As soon as Slughorn was far enough away, you turn back to the crouching marauders and give them a wink, signalling that the coast was clear.Â
âMy fair lady!â Sirius dramatically bows down and kisses your knuckles, âHow may I ever repay your kind gesture?â
âHmmmâŠâ you seem to seriously contemplate his playful words for a moment, though Sirius doesnât mind, heâs more than eager to pay you back for saving his hide. âLetâs seeâŠâ You press your hand flat against his chest and slowly move down. The sultry overtones of your gesture make Siriusâ heart pound as he, Remus and James stare wide-eyed and gaping at your soft hands fondling their close friendâs chest. Suddenly your hand becomes a blur as you pull back his robe and steal a licorice wand from his inner breast pocket. âThisâll do~â you chirp innocently and begin to nibble on your newly acquired snack. âI can always count on you to be generous, Siri,â your wink sends a dangerous heat crawling up Siriusâ neck and exploding across his pale cheeks. This has never happened to him with a girl before! Heâs supposed to make you flustered!Â
Turning to Remus, you make a gesture with your hand as if to say âpay upâ. However, when the tall brunette merely stares at you in wonder with a small, amused quirk on his lips, you raise a brow, âI know youâre loaded, Lupin. Gimme the goods,â and just like that, you also have Remus turning bright pink. How can you be so nonchalant and not realise the embarrassingly sexual innuendos underpinning your words?! Remus surrenders a peppermint toad.Â
James was the last one of the three you turn to as you pocket Remusâ liberal offer. âYou donât have to ask me, for anything,â James chuckles and easily provides you with a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees. With a victorious smile, like a cute little squirrel whoâs happy with her hoard, you pocket Jamesâ addition and lean forward to brush a kiss along his sharp jaw.Â
âI knew I could count on you, Potter,âÂ
James was floored. Sirius had to lean against the wall and Remus was limp against the large window sill. All three stare with a mix of surging admiration and boyish wonder as you walk away with a skip in your step. Youâre so happy, you even begin to hum a soft little tune to yourself.Â
â...wait⊠how come only James gets a kiss?â Remus asks, bringing Sirius back from his dazed state. James merely smirks in triumph â heâll remember the softness of your pretty lips against his skin forever~
âDearest!â Sirius calls, already jogging after you. âI think youâve forgotten something!âÂ
âYeah,â Remus adds with a cheeky grin, leisurely making his way over with James at his side, drawling in his Welsh accent, âgives us a cusan,âÂ
âWhatâs that?â youâve stopped, curious as to what he may mean. From his tall height, Remus leans forward, bending at his hips and whispers in your ear.Â
âThatâs a kiss, sweetheart,â he steals one anyway at the base of your ear, where your neck and jaw meet. The high sensitivity of the area makes you squeal in surprise, only to be kissed by Sirius too, who aims innocently for your cheek.Â
NAVI.
A/N : because of @urmomw4ntsme 's recent ask of wanting to see a Slytherin reader, it got me thinking about this request that i wrote last year for my 1k milestone. I couldnât sleep until i finished writing this so it may not have the best grammar so please excuse me for that. this was also inspired by this interaction between Alice and the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.
#james potter x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader#poly marauders x reader#marauders x reader#poly marauders#marauders era#slytherin reader#marauders era fanfiction
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Duck on a String III
Jessie Fleming x Child!Reader
Summary: The team meet your duck
Mama lets you bring your red wagon to training today because you don't want Sir Quackers to be alone at home.
He's got a big cage to keep him safe with lots of blankets and water and food for him and you get to pull him along in your wagon.
You knighted him last night while you and Mama were playing kings and queens so now he's Sir Quackers instead of just Quackers and you love him very much.
Jessie doesn't want your duck being left alone in the house either. He's proven to be a bit of a menace by himself if the chewed-up boxes of cereal are anything to go by.
No.
He's much safer in his cage while he's still too small for the harness and leash Jessie's ordered for when he's older.
"Mama," You say," Will the others like Sir Quackers?"
You seem completely enamoured with him and, despite the fact that the duck seems to think he rules the house, Jessie loves him too.
"They'll love him," She assures you, fondly pushing your hair out of your face as you both approach the doors," Make sure you tell Magda just how thankful you are about her getting Quackers for you."
"Sir Quackers, Mama," You remind her," We knighted him."
"Oh, you're right. Sir Quackers. Sorry, duckie."
"That's okay! He's still getting used to his name too!"
Your proud entrance gets a bit hampered by the fact that your wagon gets caught at a strange angle so Jessie has to help you get it through the doorway.
By that point, the whole room has fallen silent and Magda has grown incredibly pale as you approach her.
"Thank you for my duck, Uncle Magda!"
Pernille scoffs next to her, muttering sarcastically," A dead egg, huh, Magda?"
"Er...You're the welcome," Magda manages to get out after a long bout of silence.
"His name is Sir Quackers!" You tell her, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her through the small crowd that has surrounded your wagon," Because ducks say quack and Mama and me knighted him. So he's Sir Quackers and not just Quackers."
"A duck, huh?" Erin snickers and Jessie buries her face in her hands, Niamh rubbing her shoulders.
"She was very excited."
"Do you know how to take care of the duck?"
"The vet sent us home with an information pack. Duckie's insiting we read it as her bedtime story every night."
"That's sweet," Niamh offers up," It shows she's taking this seriously."
"She keeps trying to sneak out of bed to play with him. I've had to move the duck into my room to make sure I catch her."
Erin can't stop snickering and soon Sam and Guro are laughing too.
"Is it that bad?" Niamh asks and Jessie has to begrudgingly shake her head.
She watches as you hold Magda hostage by your side, very excitedly waffling on about how cool Sir Quackers is and how he's your bestest friend in the world.
Magda looks unbelievably nervous, eyes wide as Pernille stares daggers at her. She ducks her head down to focus on you again, hoping that by showing interest, she can avoid whatever lecture Pernille's already planning in her head.
"Do you want to hold him?" You ask and Magda freeze, throat suddenly going dry.
"W-What?"
"Do you want to hold Sir Quackers?"
"Erm..."
"Are you scared, uncle Magda? That's okay! I'll hold him and you can stroke him!"
You show no fear as you pick Sir Quackers up and offer him to Magda to pet.
"I'm sorry about her," Pernille says, watching from a distance as she slides next to Jessie," She assured me it was dead."
"It's fine," Jessie assures her," I think it's nice Duckie has a friend now."
"Magda will willingly babysit them both."
"I can't ask that."
"You don't need to ask," Pernille says," It's what's going to happen. Magda can supervise duck play."
They both turn in sync to see Magda really awkwardly stroking Sir Quackers as he tries to eat her finger.
"Mama!" You say, looking at Jessie proudly," He is giving uncle Magda kisses!"
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SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER
prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader
character(s): priest (anton), you
warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised
note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.
It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.
Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.
Anton. Itâs the name of the priest you need to find.
The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.
Youâre a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didnât commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burningâyou will do everything to prevent that.
To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical featuresâand the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beautyâbut Anton doesnât have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasnât gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straightâand those only add to Anton's appeal.
He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isnât just evilâheâs downright a menace.
"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil."Â He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.
You can only swallow. âYes, Father Anton.â
Thereâs one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it âcleansingâ, apparently.
âThey donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,â you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. âIs that notâŠa little extreme?â
âExtreme? Why, no, not at all.â
âYou burn people alive.â
âThat is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hangingâit would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them awayâŠin hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.â
Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you.Â
Of course, this partial treatment doesnât go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: itâs concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isnât. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.
But one thing is clear.Â
To survive, you need to get into his good graces.
You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.
Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still canât explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.
Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhoodâensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so muchâŠworshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.
Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of Godâs grace?
You canât deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cryâŠand he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.
Anton is no priest.Â
And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,
You have to. You have to fight AntonâŠyou have toâŠ
Anton leans forward. You two are a hairâs breadth away.
God. Is God real? Is the devil realâhas he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.
You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priestâs neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.
âYou are so perfect,â Anton murmurs, âso, so divine. So perfectâŠâ
You donât get why he says this. Heâs been telling you this for ages: itâs the reason why youâve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.
And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?
You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking wayâ
âI want to kiss you.â
Your heart drops. ââŠIf I say no, you wouldnât listen.â
A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against AntonâsâŠyeah, that was possible.
You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yoursâitâs a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.
The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinnedâeating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himselfâthat in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black.Â
It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kissâŠ
Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.
He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.
You are shaking like a newborn lamb.
He presses another kiss on your forehead.
[ before, Antonâs pov ]
The world was dirty.
It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hellâto cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving fatherâAnton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish personâŠ
The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a giftâa symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless.Â
Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was itâbut oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.
Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.
People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as Godâthey see me as a deity above them all.
And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthlessâmade of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.
âFather Anton!â
âFather Anton, would you please help me?â
âBring me to the path of salvation!
He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the worldâŠ
Yes, that was his purpose.
It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could seeâit was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.
Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his motherâs name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit ofâŠremorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didnât do.
But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to himâher shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.
Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?
Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.
To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.
There were timesâmany, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void.Â
The oracle.
The oracle.
When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?
The oracleâhis lifeline since he was youngâwas the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.
A savior.
There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldnât it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcomingâa gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh.Â
The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadnât existed.Â
âHorrible! Horrible! Youâre fucking horrible!â Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.
âWhy wonât you even flinch, you monster?â
Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over themâit was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.
The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to himâit was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish peopleâ
Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.
âDear God,â You had said the first time he saw you. âI confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presenceâŠâ
Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.
Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.
âYou have to be sincere. You canât just read off the mural.â Anton sighed.
You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.
âForgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.â You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at youâthis was the person he had been waiting for his whole lifeâfervently, impatiently, silently.Â
âYou donât seem to be used to this,â Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church todayâhe was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.
âIâm afraid itâs been long since my last confession.â
Anton couldnât help but smile. You were lying.Â
âThatâs alright,â He said calmly, âyou have come now. Is there something in particular thatâs troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?â
âIâŠâ
Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingersâŠyou were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.
An adorable fool.
âYouâŠ?â He prompted. âYou must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.â
I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.
âI cannot even recall it.â You admitted.
You cannot recall it because it is not true.
âWhat do people come here for, Father Anton?â
Many things.
âThe ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.â
Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not evenâ
There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasnât even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.
âYou tell me, Y/n.â
âMurderâŠ?â
Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didnât you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.
âMostly, itâs their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.â
âBut thatâsâŠthatâs killing isnât it?â
So pure. So untainted, so innocent.Â
The oracle. The person from the oracle.Â
âBut that doesnât matter,â Anton said softly, âyou show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.â
Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.
remember to reblog and like! comments are always appreciated
#male reader#yandere x reader#male reader insert#yandere x male reader#yandere male#priest oc#priest#yandere priest#priest x male reader#eroswrites
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your little brother, my little secret | teaser
FULL RELEASE : READ HERE
yn and joy share every secret, until yn returns from university to find joy's little brother jake has become irresistibly hot. maybe keeping just one secret from your best friend won't hurt⊠right?
PAIRING : best friends little brother!jake x reader
GENRE : smut & angst. jake's (shy) a sub for majority of it. dirty talk, masturbation, degrading + humiliation, & y/n is a menace.
WC : 14k
TAGLIST : ????? (if ur on my perm taglist u dont need to comment) <3
mdni
youâve been counting down the days until summer for what feels like forever. youâre returning to your hometown for the entire two months you have until university starts again in september.Â
youâve been driving for miles now, just having to go to a university two hours away from your small hometown. but the summer air is thick and humid, and it blows throughout the car as all the windows are down.Â
your best friend, joy, sits beside you. youâve known her for just as long as she has moved into your small town when you both were ten. since then, youâve shared everything together; every laugh, every tear⊠every secret. her family feels like your own, summers spent in their backyard, evenings filled with board games and cards. some nights in high school even included sneaking out to a party and drinking until you thought youâd throw up.Â
last summer was different. you were abroad doing an internship for university. and you didnât get a chance to stay long during christmas break. so, itâs been a while since youâve actually stayed in your hometown with all its familiarities.Â
âjake will be home when we get there,â joy says, loud enough to be heard over the wind and faint music.Â
âoh right, howâs he liking university?âÂ
jake is joyâs little brother. heâs always been shy, introverted, prefers to stay home and play video games instead of going out like you and joy. you remember him as a cute kid, all wide eyed and shy smiles. you donât remember him having much friends, heâd rather be alone in his room. itâs hard for you to imagine him navigating the crowded university, but you suppose heâs all grown up now. itâs been so long since youâve seen him, and the thought of how much he changed lingers in your mind.Â
âhe likes it,â joy says, her long black hair blowing out the window, âheâs excited for summer like we are.âÂ
you nodded in response, thinking maybe jake would go out with you guys now instead of playing video games in his room all summer.Â
âwe gotta go to hyunjinâs this week!â joy declares, her eyes lighting with anticipation, âyou know heâs throwing a big party this week. and then, thereâs that new bar that opened downtown. we have to check it out!âÂ
you agree with joy. her energy is infectious despite her brash (sometimes too brash) exterior. joy has always been more straightforward and perhaps blunt than you are. when sometimes you can be a people pleaser and a pushover, joy is there to say the words you wish you could say.Â
âi canât wait,â you reply, âitâs been too long since weâve had a proper night out.âÂ
joy shoots you a mischievous grin, her confidence unwavering, âoh trust me, yn. this summer, weâre going all out.âÂ
you roll your eyes at your pretty best friend, pulling into her familyâs driveway swiftly.Â
you and joy step through the front door of the house, a place that is more familiar and comforting than your own. the place smells like a home cooked meal and you are instantly greeted with joyâs parentsâ smiles. joyâs mother envelops you in a hug, her warmth and kindness instantly easing any fatigue from the long drive.Â
"oh, yn, joy, it's so good to see you both!" joy's mother exclaims, her smile radiant. "dinner will be ready shortly. you must be exhausted after the drive. please, sit down in the living room and relax."
joy's father joins in, his jovial voice filling the room. "how was the trip? traffic wasn't too bad, i hope?" her parents' genuine concern and hospitality are a stark contrast to your own parents.Â
"it was fine, dad," joy replies, her tone affectionate yet tinged with a hint of impatience. "we're just glad to be home for the summer."
you smile over your shoulder at her parents as she drags you to the living room. it looks the same as you remember it; comfy fabric couch, family photos on the walls, lit candles around the room that mix with the smell of dinner.Â
joy props her feet up on the coffee table as she starts to scroll her phone. a nonchalant smile plays on her lips, âcanât believe weâre back here.â she says with a sigh.
before you can respond, a sudden noise draws your attention towards the backdoor. two figures emerge, their arms swaying as they laugh and push each other.Â
âhey guys,â joy's casual greeting halts their antics momentarily, but it's the sight of you on the couch that freezes one of the boys in his tracks. he stands there, awkward and unsure.
the other boy remains cool and confident as he greets joy and walks over to you both on the couch. he stands in front of you, sticking his hand out in front of your face, âiâm heeseung.âÂ
you look up at him as he stands, his features are chiseled. his eyes are a deep shade of brown. his smile is almost cocky, but disarming as he flashes it effortlessly. thereâs an aura of assurance about him, that he knows heâs good looking and heâs confident about it.Â
your hand meets his, âiâm y/n.â your eyes flicker back to the boy who remains rooted to the spot, his expression unreadable as he almost quiets away into the wall.Â
âare you gonna come hug your sister, jake?â joy squeaks from beside you, she octaves her voice higher to be annoying on purpose.Â
itâs then that you realize who is standing there in the cornerâ you almost didnât recognize him.Â
the shy, nerdy kid you once knew is now standing beforeâ transformed in a way that catches you off guard. where once stood a lanky teenager, now stands a man that is toned and tanned. his hair is longer and tousled in a way that accentuates his features. heâs taller and broader.Â
as you take in his appearance, you canât help but be struck by how insanely hot he has become.Â
he shifts nervously, perhaps sensing your gaze. his eyes turn to joy, âno way in hell am i hugging you.âÂ
joy's mother breezes into the room with a warm smile, "oh jake, give your sister a hug."
joy springs up instantly, tackling jake in a bear hug that's both affectionate and overly enthusiastic. jake groans, awkwardly patting joy's back as everyone chuckles. heeseung, settles down next to you, a confident smirk playing on his lips, his eyes holding a hint of nothing other than flirtatious.Â
"right, yn," joy's mother continues, her tone gentle yet teasing, "heeseung here has been keeping jake entertained since you left."
heeseung chimes in, his voice dripping with sarcasm and humor. "yeah, we're inseparable now," he says with a grin.
you laugh, unable to resist teasing. "oh really? i remember jake having no friends at all."
joy joins in, her laughter ringing through the room. "seriously, all he did was stay in his room playing video games."
"be nice, girls," she says playfully. "joy, come help me with dinner. set up a place for heeseung, too."
heeseung stands up with a mock bow. "don't worry, i'll set up my own place."
joy groans at having to help, leaving you and jake alone in the living room, complaining about why she has to help but jake doesnât.Â
jake settles into the chair directly across you, but his body language shows heâs tense and restless and it suggests that heâd rather be anywhere else. he fidgets slightly, fingers rolling over each other in his lap, his eyes darting around the room and avoiding you.
@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.
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