#how the fuck am i supposed to go on like this. he FUCKING TOLD HIM TO NEVER CHANGE AND FOR HIM TO ALWAYS BE HIM.

[your-turn-to-role]

okay so i haven't watched the episode and honestly i don't think i'm going to, there's a lot i've heard about what's happened with vm that i really don't know how i feel about yet

but it's been a long time since the cast were playing c1, huh

like i don't blame them if they've forgotten or moved on from the themes of it, it was a decade ago and sometimes this stuff changes

but as far as the characters go, like. yeah, loving people and losing them was keyleth's worst fear, and they all knew that from the start

vax let the choice to be in a relationship be hers because he didn't want to push her into something that would inevitably be traumatic for her

(and he even apologised when he died because "i've confirmed your worst fears and then some")

but loving vax was the start of her overcoming that! he's always had a huge heart despite the losses he's been through and he wears it on his sleeve. his entire philosophy is best summed up by his quote to vex in 72, when she's beating around the bush about admitting she likes percy, "what the fuck do we have in this world except moments with each other? that's all we've got. [...] you know what's awkward? a life not lived."

when the rest of vm tries to turn inwards and isolate themselves as protection vax drags them back together again because he knows the best remedy for a broken heart isn't to shut yourself off but to love even stronger in spite of it. and keyleth agreeing to be with him was proof some of that got through to her

and then there was kerrek, who saw that she was afraid of every step she took, because she knew she would live to see the consequences, she plotted out everything she did under the assumption she might come to regret it centuries from now. and he told her she had the soul of a gardener, and that was a good thing for a leader to have. but sometimes as a fighter, you need the soul of a blacksmith, who knows that when a project goes wrong you melt it down and try again. and he gave her a ring, as a reminder that even for a gardener, some seeds only flourish after they've been burned

and to the most important episode in keyleth's entire arc, her twisted mirror sprigg. sprigg terrified her because where everyone else looked at him and saw a kooky old man, she saw, in crystal clarity, her future. a retired adventurer who'd shirked his duty out of spite, who lived in utter isolation, all his friends dead so long ago he didn't even remember their names.

but (ignoring for now all the other potential consequences of that particular choice by bells hells) they helped him find himself again. they helped him find meaning in service to ioun, and in ioun's library, where nothing is ever forgotten. and once he was given a reason to remember, he realised none of their names had ever left him. a friendship that meaningful cannot be erased by time, and if you lose it, you can always find it again

she had all the coping mechanisms and support a narrative could provide. and while "how am i supposed to get over you if you keep sending ravens to me?" "i am imperfect, as are the gods" lives forever in my mind, i wonder how the vax of c1 would feel, seeing this

The thing that kills me about Keyleth getting Vax back is how anti character development it is for her.

Her horror at how her increased lifespan will inevitably result in her outliving people she loves is something introduced in campaign one, and losing Vax is the very first taste of that inevitability. Campaign three shows us Keyleth as a woman who has spent thirty years refusing to move on and develop a healthy relationship with grief, still terrified by the prospect of outliving those she loves. And then she gets her dead boyfriend back, and he's immortal now, so she'll never lose him again.

It's pathetic! It's sad! It's kicking the can down the road! What's she gonna do when Percy dies? Grog? Every friend she has besides her immortal dead bf? Is her social circle just gonna close up further and further till it's just her and Vax for a thousand years, because Keyleth never learned how to mourn people she loves while also forming new meaningful relationships, and was in fact rewarded by the narrative for refusing to do so?

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Hold On Too Tight

Warning: This is going to be a very dark side of things, including smut, codependency, deferred addiction, jealousy and emotional issues. MDNI, 18+

You loved Marshall with everything you had. You’d been through his worst and stayed, just like you promised. You’d seen him high, you’d seen him angry, you’d seen him fall apart and pull himself back together. But now, years into his sobriety, you were seeing a different side of him—one that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

Because Marshall had always been protective, but lately, it had turned into something else.

The constant check-ins, the way he needed to know where you and the kids were every second of the day. If you didn’t answer a text fast enough, he’d call. If you were late coming home, he’d be pacing by the door, jaw tight, hands in his pockets, eyes dark with worry.

At first, you brushed it off. After everything he’d been through, maybe this was just his way of staying in control. But tonight, when you’d come home twenty minutes later than you said you would—stuck in traffic, nothing serious—he’d lost it.

"Where the hell were you?" His voice was sharp the second you walked through the door, his body tense like a live wire.

"I told you, I got caught up—"

"You should’ve called," he snapped. His eyes flickered past you to the kids, who were already heading upstairs. He lowered his voice, but the intensity was still there. "I didn’t know where you were. Anything could’ve happened, Y/N."

Your chest tightened. "Marshall, nothing happened. You’re acting like I disappeared—"

"You were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago!"

You exhaled sharply, setting your bag down on the counter. "You have to stop this."

His expression flickered, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before he masked it with frustration. "Stop what?"

"This. The constant calls, the worrying, the way you freak out if I don’t answer my phone the second you text. I love you, but I feel like I can’t breathe."

His jaw clenched, and he turned away, running a hand down his face.

"I just—I need to know you’re safe," he muttered, voice rough.

"I am safe," you insisted, stepping closer. "And so are the kids. But, Marshall, this isn’t normal. You’re holding on so tight it’s suffocating."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Then he exhaled shakily, shoulders slumping.

"I just…" He swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. "I can’t lose you."

His words hit you like a gut punch. You reached out, resting a hand on his arm. "Marshall, you’re not going to lose me."

His head dropped, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "That’s what I thought about Proof."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I thought he’d always be there," he admitted, his voice breaking. "We were supposed to grow old together, still talk shit when we were sixty. And then one day, he was just gone. Just like that."

Your heart clenched. You knew how deeply Proof’s death had cut him, but he rarely talked about it—not like this.

"I was so fucked up back then," he continued, shaking his head. "I buried it. Drowned it in pills, in alcohol, in music. I didn’t deal with it. And now, after all these years, it’s like… I’m finally feeling it. And it scares the hell out of me."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes.

"Baby," you whispered, stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him. He didn’t hesitate, burying his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky against your skin.

"I know I’ve been too much," he murmured. "I just—every time you leave, there’s this voice in my head that says maybe you won’t come back."

You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. His blue eyes were glassy, full of pain.

"I will always come back to you," you promised. "But you have to let me live, Marshall. Let us live."

He nodded slowly, exhaling as he leaned into your touch. "I’ll try."

"That’s all I ask."

You kissed him softly, and when he pulled you back into his arms, it felt different—less desperate, more grounded. Like he was finally ready to loosen his grip, just enough to let love in without fear of losing it.

---

Marshall had never been good at dealing with emotions—especially the raw, unfiltered kind that made his chest tight and his mind restless. Vulnerability had never come easy to him, and now that he had finally let himself break in front of you, something inside him felt exposed.

Normally, when he felt like this—like he was unraveling—he’d reach for a bottle, a pill, something to quiet the noise. But not anymore. That wasn’t an option.

So instead, he reached for you.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you, gripping your waist, pulling you against him. His mouth crashed against yours, desperate, urgent, like he needed to feel something that wasn’t fear or grief.

"Marshall—" you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, his hands sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.

"Need you," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, pleading. "Need to feel you."

You could feel the tension radiating from his body, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they moved over you. He wasn’t just craving sex—he was seeking refuge, something solid to hold onto when everything else felt like it might slip away.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t hesitate. If he needed you, you’d be there.

You let him take control, let him push you back toward the bed, his breath heavy against your skin. His hands were everywhere at once—gripping your hips, sliding up under your shirt, pulling it over your head before his lips found your neck.

"You’re mine," he muttered, almost to himself, like he needed to say it out loud. "Only mine."

"Always," you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair. "I’m not going anywhere."

That was all it took. His restraint snapped, and suddenly, clothes were being stripped away in a haze of heat and desperation. He was all over you—kissing, biting, worshipping every inch of your skin like he was trying to memorize it.

By the time he finally sank into you, a shuddering breath left his lips, his forehead pressing against yours. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you close, like letting go wasn’t an option.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "You feel so good."

You ran your hands down his back, grounding him, reminding him that you were here, that he wasn’t alone.

"I’ve got you," you murmured, wrapping your legs around him. "Let go, baby."

And he did.

He moved with raw intensity, pouring everything he couldn’t say into every thrust, every kiss, every desperate grip of your body. You took it all—his pain, his need, his love—meeting him stroke for stroke, giving him the solace he craved.

When he finally came undone, his body trembled against yours, his breath ragged, his heartbeat erratic. You held him close, running your fingers through his damp hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

For a while, he just lay there, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

"You okay?" you finally whispered.

He nodded against your skin, exhaling slowly. "Yeah… I just—" He swallowed hard. "Thank you."

You cupped his face, making him look at you. "You don’t have to thank me for loving you."

His eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw something other than fear in them.

Maybe he was still healing. Maybe the ghosts of his past would always linger. But as long as he had you, he’d never have to face them alone.

---

The room was quiet except for the sound of Marshall’s breathing—still a little uneven as he lay half on top of you, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. The weight of him was grounding, his body warm against yours.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, your nails scratching gently at his scalp. He hummed in response, shifting slightly to press his face into the crook of your neck.

"You okay?" you murmured.

He didn’t answer right away. His arms tightened around you, holding you a little closer, like he was still coming down from the emotional high of everything that had just happened.

"Yeah," he finally said, voice hoarse. "I think so."

You kissed the top of his head. "You sure?"

A slow exhale left his lips. "I just… I hate that my head does this shit." His voice was quiet, almost embarrassed. "I was fine, then suddenly, I wasn’t. And instead of dealing with it, I needed to lose myself in you."

Your hands slid down his back, rubbing slow circles. "Marshall, that’s not a bad thing. You didn’t run. You didn’t shut down. You reached for me instead of something else."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, but I can’t keep putting all my shit on you like that. It’s not fair."

You tilted his chin up so he had no choice but to look at you. His blue eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there, too—fear, doubt, maybe even guilt.

"You’re not putting anything on me," you said firmly. "We’re in this together. You don’t have to handle everything alone, and you sure as hell don’t have to feel bad for needing me."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I just… I don’t want to be a burden."

"You’re not," you whispered, kissing him softly. "You’ve spent so long carrying the weight of everything by yourself. Let me help."

He exhaled shakily, nodding against your touch. "I’m trying," he admitted.

"I know," you said gently. "And I’m proud of you."

Something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t used to hearing that. His fingers curled against your waist, holding on like you were the only solid thing in his world.

After a moment, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so you were lying against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his fingers brushing lazily up and down your spine.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his skin. "Someone’s gotta be."

His chest shook with a soft laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was real, and you held onto that.

Neither of you spoke for a while. The weight of the night settled around you, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating—it was something else entirely. Something safe.

Marshall let out a long breath, like he was finally allowing himself to relax. "Stay here?"

"Always," you promised.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—he believed you.

---

You noticed it almost immediately.

The way Marshall started gravitating toward you more—physically, emotionally, in every possible way. It was subtle at first. A hand on your thigh when he was feeling restless. A deep, lingering kiss when stress was gnawing at him. The way he’d pull you into his lap when he seemed lost in his thoughts.

But then it became constant.

Anytime something triggered him, anytime he got overwhelmed, he found you. His need for you was insatiable—not just sexually, but in every sense. You were his anchor, the thing he clung to when the urge to numb himself became too strong.

And tonight was no different.

You were in the kitchen, cleaning up after putting the kids to bed, when you felt him before you saw him. His presence was a weight, heavy with tension, the air shifting as he came up behind you.

"Hey," you murmured, placing a dish in the sink before turning around.

His blue eyes were dark, stormy, filled with something hungry. His hands landed on your waist, gripping just a little too tight.

"Bad night?" you guessed softly.

He nodded, exhaling harshly. "Yeah."

You studied him, taking in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed like he was trying to hold himself together. You knew that look—knew exactly what it meant.

"What do you need?" you whispered.

"You," he rasped, pressing you against the counter, his hands sliding up your sides. "Always you."

His lips crashed against yours, and you barely had time to react before he was lifting you onto the counter, stepping between your legs, molding himself against you like he needed to consume you.

It was always like this now—desperate, intense, as if you were the only thing keeping him from spiraling.

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms ghosting over your bare skin, and you shivered.

"Marshall—" you started, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, stealing your breath.

"Please," he murmured against your lips. "Need to feel you."

You knew what this was—knew that this was how he coped now. Any time he would’ve reached for a bottle, a pill, a vice, he reached for you instead.

And you let him.

Because if he needed you, you’d be there.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer. "I’ve got you," you whispered, just like you always did.

And as he pressed his forehead against yours, as he lost himself in you the way he used to lose himself in substances, you realized something.

You were his addiction now.

And you weren’t sure if that was a good thing—or something that would break you both in the end.

---

It took longer to see your own descent into the madness.

It started slowly.

At first, you didn’t notice. You thought it was just normal, just love. The way you reached for Marshall when you felt overwhelmed, the way your body sought his when the weight of the day sat too heavy on your chest.

But then it became constant.

You found yourself craving him in ways that had nothing to do with sex—though that, too, had become its own form of solace. It was his touch, his presence, the way his hands on your body could silence the world, the way his lips against your skin could make everything else disappear.

You didn’t just want him anymore. You needed him.

And that scared you.

Because it was the same way he needed you. The same way he used to need his vices.

The realization hit you one evening as you sat curled up on the couch, staring at your phone, anxiety twisting in your stomach. It had been a long day—the kids were acting up, work had been stressful, and now, Marshall was late coming home from the studio.

Your fingers hovered over his name, already ready to call him.

You could feel it—that restless, gnawing feeling in your chest. The same feeling he got when you were late, when he couldn’t find you.

And suddenly, you understood.

You weren’t just leaning on him anymore. You were clinging.

The door opened before you could spiral any further, and your head snapped up. Marshall stepped inside, dropping his keys onto the counter, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted, but the second he saw your face, his expression softened.

"Hey, baby," he murmured. "You okay?"

You weren’t.

But instead of answering, you got up and walked straight into his arms.

His body stiffened for half a second before he melted into you, wrapping you up, pressing his face into your hair.

"Rough day?" he asked, his voice low, knowing.

You nodded against his chest.

He let out a deep breath, holding you tighter. "I got you," he murmured.

And God, did you believe him.

That’s what scared you the most.

Because you weren’t sure where he ended and you began anymore.

And maybe… maybe neither was he.

---

Marshall sat at the dining table, scrolling through his phone, absently picking at the breakfast you’d made. You barely noticed at first—you were too busy helping your daughter pack her school bag, making sure everything was in order before rushing out the door.

"Mommy, did you know Daddy’s leaving tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, stuffing a notebook into her backpack.

Your body went rigid.

Marshall’s head snapped up, eyes immediately locking onto yours.

"What?"

Your daughter, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, zipped her bag and looked up at you with big, curious eyes. "Yeah! He said he’s going to LA for a whole week."

A whole week.

You turned to Marshall, your pulse kicking up. "You didn’t tell me you were leaving tomorrow."

He looked guilty, like he hadn’t meant for you to find out this way. "I—" He ran a hand down his face, exhaling. "I was gonna tell you today. I swear. I just… I didn’t wanna stress you out."

You stared at him, your chest tightening.

A week.

The room felt smaller. Tighter. The thought of him being gone that long made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile for your daughter’s sake. "Okay, baby, go get your shoes on."

She nodded, skipping toward the front door. The second she was out of earshot, you turned back to Marshall.

"A week, Marshall?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was heavy.

He sighed, pushing his plate away. "I know. I know it’s a long time. But it’s business, baby. I can’t not go."

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your breathing steady. "I just… I wasn’t ready for this."

He pushed his chair back, standing, immediately closing the space between you. "I wasn’t, either," he admitted, resting his hands on your waist. "I’ve been dreading it."

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. "What are we supposed to do for a week?"

His jaw tightened. "We get through it. One day at a time."

You searched his face, seeing the same fear reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t just worried about leaving—you could feel it. He was scared of what would happen without you.

"You gonna be okay?" you whispered.

His hands tightened on you. "I should be asking you that."

The truth was, neither of you had an answer.

And that was the scariest part.

---

The house felt too quiet without him.

It had only been a day since Marshall left for LA, but the absence of him was suffocating. You tried to distract yourself—kept busy with the kids, cleaned rooms that didn’t need cleaning, scrolled mindlessly on your phone. But nothing helped.

Because every time you turned around, you expected him to be there.

You could still feel him—his presence woven into the walls, his scent lingering in the sheets. But it wasn’t enough.

And you weren’t the only one struggling.

Your phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Marshall: What are you doing?

You sighed, curling deeper into bed, phone in hand.

You: Trying to sleep. You?

Marshall: Trying to not lose my fucking mind.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.

You: It’s only been a day.

Marshall: I know.

A pause.

Then another text.

Marshall: I don’t know how to do this without you.

Your chest ached.

Because you felt the same way.

You: You don’t have to do anything, baby. Just breathe.

His reply came instantly.

Marshall: That’s the problem. Breathing is harder when you’re not here.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wiped at them, frustrated, because damn it, you shouldn’t feel like this over one week. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

But it was.

Because you weren’t just missing him—you were withdrawing from him.

And the worst part?

You didn’t know how to stop.

---

By the third day, you were unraveling.

You barely slept, barely ate. Every time you closed your eyes, you imagined Marshall lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his steady breathing grounding you. But when you reached for him in the dark, all you found was empty sheets.

You hated this.

Hated how much you needed him.

It wasn’t just loneliness—it was physical. Like your body didn’t know how to function without him. Like every nerve ending in your skin was wired to his touch, and without it, you were short-circuiting.

And Marshall?

He was spiraling, too.

Your phone barely left your hand because every time you set it down, it buzzed.

Marshall: Baby, call me.

Marshall: I don’t care what time it is, I need to hear you.

Marshall: I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.

Marshall: Please, baby. Just pick up.

It was 2 a.m. when you finally caved, pressing the call button.

The second he picked up, you heard it—the unsteady breathing, the barely concealed panic.

"Baby," you whispered.

"Fuck, I thought you were asleep." His voice was rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

"Couldn’t sleep," you admitted. "You?"

He let out a shaky breath. "Nah. I keep thinking about you. About how I used to be fine doing shit like this, but now…" He trailed off. "Now I don’t know how to be without you."

Your chest tightened. "Me neither."

Silence stretched between you, heavy, charged. You could picture him—pacing in his hotel room, running a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to jump on a plane and come home.

"I don’t like this," he muttered.

"Neither do I."

"I keep thinking… what if something happens? What if you need me and I’m not there?"

"I do need you," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

That was all it took.

"You want me to come home?" he asked, dead serious. "I will. Right now."

Your heart clenched. "Marshall, you can’t."

"The fuck I can’t," he shot back. "I don’t care about this trip. If you say the word, I’m on the next flight."

Tears welled in your eyes because you wanted to say it. Wanted to beg him to come back because the ache in your chest was too much.

But you couldn’t.

"You have to stay," you whispered. "You need to do this."

He cursed under his breath. "I don’t give a fuck about this, you are what I need."

His voice cracked at the end, and that was when you knew—he wasn’t just struggling. He was breaking.

"Marshall," you breathed, gripping the phone like it was the only thing tethering you to him. "Just breathe, baby. I’m right here."

His breathing was ragged, uneven. "Talk to me."

You closed your eyes, letting the sound of his voice settle you. "Remember the last time you left for a trip? How you told me I was the first person you wanted to see when you got home?"

"Yeah," he rasped.

"I’ll be waiting, just like last time. Just like always."

His breathing slowed.

For the next hour, you stayed on the phone, whispering to each other in the dark, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you both from falling apart.

Because maybe it was.

---

By the fifth day, you weren’t sure if you could take much more.

You were barely functioning—going through the motions for the kids, pretending everything was fine when, really, you felt like you were coming apart at the seams. Every hour dragged by, the silence of the house pressing in on you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Marshall wasn’t doing any better.

His texts had become more frantic, his voice more strained every time you spoke. You could hear it in him—the barely-contained panic, the exhaustion, the way he struggled to keep his shit together just long enough to make it through whatever bullshit meeting he was stuck in.

And tonight, he finally cracked.

Your phone rang just past midnight, and the second you answered, you knew something was wrong.

His breathing was erratic, uneven.

"Marshall?" you asked, sitting up in bed.

"I can’t fucking do this," he rasped. His voice was raw, wrecked. "I can’t—baby, I need you."

Your stomach twisted. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don’t fucking know," he admitted, voice shaking. "I just—I feel like I’m crawling out of my fucking skin. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t breathe without you."

His confession knocked the air from your lungs.

Because you knew that feeling.

You felt it every second he was gone.

"Baby," you whispered, gripping the phone tighter. "Just talk to me, okay? I’m here."

"I’m fucking losing it," he choked out. "I feel like—like I need something to take the edge off, but it’s not even about that anymore. It’s you. You’re my fucking fix, and I—" His breath hitched. "I don’t know what to do without you."

Tears burned your eyes. "Marshall…"

"I almost left," he admitted. "I almost fucking walked out of the meeting today, booked the next flight home. I don’t care about this deal, about the money, about any of it. All I care about is you."

Your heart clenched.

Because you wanted that. God, you wanted it so bad it hurt.

But you also knew if you let him come back early, if you let this spiral control both of you, it wouldn’t stop.

He had to get through this.

And so did you.

"Baby, listen to me," you said, voice trembling. "You’re gonna get through this. We are. Just two more days, okay? That’s it. And then you’ll be home, and I’ll be in your arms, just like always."

He let out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a sob. "I don’t know how to do this without you."

"You don’t have to," you promised. "I’m right here."

Silence.

Then, finally, his breathing evened out, his body slowly coming down from the panic.

"I love you," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

"I love you too, baby," you whispered. "Now try to sleep, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up."

He didn’t respond, but you knew he was still listening.

And so, you stayed on the line, listening to his breathing, grounding yourself in the sound of him.

Because even with thousands of miles between you, he was still the only thing keeping you whole.

---

The next morning, you woke up with your phone still clutched in your hand, the call with Marshall long disconnected. You blinked against the harsh light streaming through the window, heart sinking as the reality of another day without him settled in.

Two more days.

You could do two more days.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But as the day dragged on, the emptiness gnawed at you. You weren’t fine—not even close. You felt jittery, like something was missing, like you were constantly reaching for something that wasn’t there.

And then there was him.

His texts came constantly, short bursts of need that made your chest ache.

Marshall: I hate this.

Marshall: I don’t even remember why I agreed to this trip.

Marshall: Baby, just tell me to come home. I will. Right now.

You: Two more days.

Marshall: That’s too fucking long.

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

That night, after putting the kids to bed, you curled up in your shared bed, pulling his pillow close, inhaling his lingering scent. It was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing making you feel like he wasn’t completely gone.

Your phone rang, and you answered before the first ring even finished.

"Hey," you breathed.

"You in bed?" His voice was low, tired, but desperate for something—anything—to hold on to.

"Yeah," you whispered. "You?"

"Not yet. Can’t stop thinking." A pause. "Can’t stop missing you."

You swallowed hard. "Me too."

The silence between you was thick, charged with everything you both wanted to say but couldn’t.

"I need to touch you," he confessed suddenly, voice rough with longing. "Need to feel you, baby."

Your breath hitched, heat crawling up your spine.

"Marshall—"

"I know," he murmured. "I just—I don’t know how to do this, baby. I don’t know how to be this far from you and not lose my fucking mind."

Tears burned your eyes. "I don’t either."

Another pause.

"I don’t want to go another night without you," he admitted. "I don’t give a fuck if I have to be up at five. Just… stay on the phone with me. Please."

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "Okay."

So you stayed, whispering to each other in the dark, breathing in sync, pretending the distance between you didn’t exist.

Two more days.

You just had to survive two more days.

---

The last night without him felt like the longest one yet.

You barely made it through the day. Everything felt dull, colorless, like the world wasn’t quite right without him in it. The kids were your only distraction, but even they noticed the way you kept glancing at your phone, waiting for it to light up with his name.

And when it finally did, you answered before the first ring even finished.

"You okay?" His voice was low, strained, like he’d been holding his breath all day.

You swallowed hard. "I don’t know."

He sighed, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. "Me neither."

Neither of you spoke for a moment, just listening to each other breathe. It was the only thing keeping you both grounded, the only thing keeping the panic at bay.

"You know what’s fucked up?" he muttered finally.

"What?"

"I’ve been counting the hours. The minutes. Just waiting for this shit to be over so I can get on that fucking plane."

Your chest tightened. "Me too."

Another silence. Then—

"I don’t wanna sleep without you again." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent a shiver down your spine. "I don’t even wanna close my fucking eyes if you’re not here when I open them."

Tears burned your eyes. "Just one more night."

"That’s one too many."

You pressed your face into his pillow, inhaling deeply, willing it to be enough. But it wasn’t. It never was.

"Baby," he murmured, voice thick. "Can you just… talk to me? Keep me with you, even if it’s just for a little while?"

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "Okay."

So you talked. About everything and nothing. About the little things—the way the kids had argued over what movie to watch, the way the house felt too big without him. He told you about the meetings, the way he kept zoning out because all he could think about was you.

And when the exhaustion finally started to pull at you both, you whispered, "I love you."

"I love you more," he murmured. "I’ll be home soon, baby. Just hold on."

You fell asleep with the phone still pressed to your ear, his quiet breathing the only thing tethering you to sanity.

Tomorrow, he’d be home.

You just had to make it until then.

---

You woke up with a sense of relief so deep it felt like you could finally breathe again. Today was the day.

Marshall was coming home.

You spent the morning moving on autopilot, trying to keep yourself busy, trying not to count the hours until his plane landed. The kids were excited, asking over and over how much longer until Daddy was home.

And then your phone buzzed.

Marshall: Baby… don’t freak out.

Your stomach dropped.

You: What happened?

It took him a minute to respond, which only made the panic creep in faster.

Marshall: My flight’s delayed. Some bullshit about weather. I don’t know how long yet.

You stared at the screen, hands shaking.

No. No, this wasn’t happening. Not when you were this close to seeing him again.

You called him instantly, pacing the kitchen as he picked up.

"Hey," he said, voice tight with frustration.

"How long?" you demanded.

"I don’t know. Could be a few hours. Could be—fuck, I don’t even wanna say it—overnight."

Your chest tightened. "Marshall…"

"I know," he said, voice thick with irritation and something deeper—something close to panic. "Baby, I swear to God, the second they clear this flight, I’m on it. I don’t give a fuck what time it is when I get there."

You sank into a chair, gripping the phone like it was the only thing keeping you steady. You had been barely holding it together as it was. You needed him home.

"I can’t do another night without you," you whispered, voice shaking.

His breath hitched. "Don’t say that."

"It’s the truth."

"I know," he admitted. "But you can. And you will. Just like I will. Because we don’t have a fucking choice."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "I don’t care about choices. I just want you here."

"You think I don’t?" His voice was rough, raw. "You think I’m not losing my fucking mind over this?"

Neither of you spoke for a moment, both too close to the edge.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. "Baby… I need you to breathe, okay? For me."

You forced yourself to take a shaky breath. "I don’t know how to do this."

"Yeah, you do. You’ve been doing it. We both have." A pause. "It’s just a few more hours. Maybe a night. But either way, I am coming home to you."

You nodded, wiping your eyes. "Promise?"

"Swear on my fucking life."

You exhaled slowly, gripping onto that. Onto him.

"Okay," you whispered. "I’ll wait."

"That’s my girl," he murmured. "Now stay on the phone with me. Just for a little while."

So you did.

Because it was the only thing keeping you both sane.

---

The moment Marshall stepped through the front door, everything in you screamed to run to him. To throw yourself into his arms, to press your face into his neck, to feel him, breathe him, let his touch remind you that he was finally, finally home.

But the kids got to him first.

“DADDY!”

They swarmed him, tiny bodies colliding against his legs, their excited voices overlapping. Marshall barely had time to drop his bag before he was kneeling down, pulling them in, wrapping them up in the same arms you had been aching for.

You stood back, watching, your hands clenched at your sides.

He met your eyes over their heads, and for a split second, you saw it—the same desperation, the same need, the same barely-contained urge to close the space between you.

But not yet.

“Missed you guys,” he murmured, voice thick, pressing kisses to their foreheads. “You take care of your mom while I was gone?”

They both nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! But she missed you so much.”

Marshall’s gaze snapped to you again, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was casual, but you knew him. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

Your face burned. “They’re exaggerating.”

“No, we’re not!” your daughter insisted. “She kept looking at her phone all day! And she barely even watched movies with us.”

Marshall smirked at that, like he was tucking that information away for later.

You crossed your arms. “Are you guys done exposing me, or—?”

They giggled, already dragging him toward the couch, talking a mile a minute about everything he had missed. He let them, letting them climb onto him, his hands and attention fully on them.

And you sat on the other side of the room, watching.

Waiting.

Holding it together.

It was agonizing.

Every part of you was screaming to touch him. To sink into his warmth, to breathe him in, to let him pull you under the way only he could. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

So you smiled, you laughed at their stories, you played the part of the normal, functioning wife and mother.

But under it all, you were burning.

And so was he.

Because every time you caught his gaze, his fingers flexed, like he was holding himself back from reaching for you. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. He was listening to the kids, responding at the right times, but his eyes—his mind—were somewhere else.

On you.

Hours stretched on like that—forced restraint, barely-contained tension.

And then, finally, finally, it was bedtime.

The kids clung to him, protesting, wanting just one more story, one more hug, one more minute. And he gave them all of it, because of course he did.

But then they were asleep.

And the second their bedroom doors clicked shut, everything snapped.

Marshall turned to you, chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with something desperate.

“Come here,” he rasped.

And before he could even finish the words, you were already in his arms.

The second you were in his arms, everything else disappeared.

Marshall’s hands were on you everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you against him, like he couldn’t get you close enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you pressed to him to believe this was real.

His breath was ragged against your ear. “I fucking need you.”

You barely had time to let out a shaky breath before his lips were on yours, hot and desperate, swallowing down every bit of longing, every second of the past week spent apart.

Your fingers tangled in his hoodie, pulling, yanking, needing more, needing him.

“I swear to God,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough, wrecked, “I almost lost my fucking mind without you.”

“You did,” you whispered, nails digging into his shoulders.

He huffed a breathless laugh, but his grip on you only tightened. “And you?”

Your forehead pressed to his, breaths mingling. “I don’t think I’ve breathed since you left.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. “Then let me fix that.”

And then he was picking you up, carrying you to the bedroom, his body covering yours before the door even fully shut.

For the rest of the night, he made up for every second you spent apart.

And when you finally collapsed against his chest, tangled in his arms, his lips brushed your forehead, whispering against your skin—

“Never again.”

And you believed him.

[homelanderbutbig]

Proper Incentive To Be A Hero (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2341 words. Hurt/comfort, and some angst. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You are tasked by the Vought board with disciplining Homelander… he doesn't take it well. Inspired by a conversation with @sehtoast.

Although your official position at Vought is as Homelander's personal assistant, your role has become much more akin to his manager. You handle his day-to-day scheduling, book his appearances, help him prepare his speeches, and attend meetings on his behalf with board members. He trusts you to fulfill these duties for him, because you don't just go off with your own ideas; you listen to him. If there is something he doesn't like, you work with him until you're both satisfied. You operate as a team, something he never got to have with Madelyn. She made the decisions, and he had to follow them lest he upset her.

One day, you are called to the 82nd floor for an important meeting with the board. To be honest you were a little surprised for them to request you specifically and not Homelander, but once the meeting started you quickly understood why.

Homelander has always had an issue with collateral damage during his 'superhero missions'. Due to his size and strength you suppose it can't be helped, he's bound to topple a building or two to save people's lives. However, Vought is stuck footing the bill to fix everything he's destroyed, and to pay off any civilians he injured by accident.

First and foremost, he is costing them a lot of money with his carelessness that could be spent elsewhere. The board is emphatic that you ensure he curbs his destructive tendencies, seeing as you are the sole reason he's become easier to work with these last few months.

And truth be told, they really don't understand the half of it. Upon your gentle guidance, Homelander religiously tries to be on his best behaviour at the Tower and keep his anger under control, because you make sure to reward him with plenty of hugs, kisses, and cuddles. The things that he was never allowed to have, the love he's always wanted. You don't string him along with the feigning prospect of attention. You want him to know how much you appreciate his efforts, and he reciprocates by being an incredibly good boy, solely for you.

Later in the evening, you ask him to meet you in your office to discuss something 'important'. You have not yet told him what happened with the board, needing time to work out how to broach this touchy subject with him. He is not one to take criticism about himself lightly, especially when it's coming from the higher-ups at Vought. You just hope that your office is a hospitable environment to have this deliberation, with it being filled with photographs and mementos of your love for each other.

Like clockwork, Homelander enters your office at just the precise time you requested.

"Well, here I am," he smiles, shutting the door before strolling in front of your desk with his hands on his hips. His smile falters slightly when he sees your serious expression, which he can't say he's ever seen from you. "…What?"

"I had a meeting with the board members this afternoon," you begin.

"…Yeah? And what did they want?" he asks, his brows furrowing in anticipation of the board's latest demands.

"They wanted me to help you… get better at your saves. So you… don't… um… destroy so much," you respond, struggling to get your sentence out through your rising nerves.

He stares at you vacantly, blinking rapidly in disbelief at what he is hearing. After a moment of silence he scoffs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before he starts wandering aimlessly around the room.

"So… what, I'm a fucking toddler?" he frowns, the jovial mood he entered with now replaced by pure contempt. He's clearly irritated by the mere suggestion that he isn't doing his job perfectly. "I need you to babysit me because I can't be trusted to do shit on my own without being supervised?"

"I don't think that's what they want hun," you calmly attempt to rationalize, but you can see by how his eyes are twitching that this is going to be an uphill battle.

"This is what I was born to do, be a hero! Dedicate my entire fucking existence to Vought! And now what, I'm too much for them?!" he shouts, though you're unsure if it's directed at you or at the board.

"Sweetheart, I think-" you say, trying to get a word in, but your efforts are in vain as he begins walking towards you. Although you usually aren't bothered by his over-the-top bravado, the anger currently radiating off him is enough to make you feel uneasy. You're taking steps back as he stomps closer into your personal space, until you're back is against the wall. With nowhere else to escape, leaving yourself at his mercy.

"Is my best not good enough for you, is that it? Is that why you're siding with them?" he sneers, the unbridled derision dripping from his voice. Towering his expansive frame over you, you're forced to crane your neck straight up to even see his aggravated visage. "We're supposed to be a team! You and me against the world! A-and yet, what? One meeting and they convince you to keep me on a fucking leash? Are you too dumb to see they're just using you like a fucking pawn to control me?!"

"Hey!! That's not fair!" you retort, trying to push past the insults to delve into the obvious deflections of his guilt. "I'm not siding with you or the board. I'm just trying to do my job, just like you are! Can at least you answer me one thing?" you question him sternly, waiting a moment to see if he'll interrupt you again. When he remains silent, you seize the opportunity. "Why do you go out of your way to hurt the people you're supposed to save?"

That was enough to crack through his hardened exterior, you can observe it in the way his expression goes blank for a moment. His jaw tenses as he swallows back his rising anxiety, practically staring straight through you as he become lost in his thoughts. His brain is attempting to process a witty response, one to deviate the conversation back in his favour so you can admit that you're the wrong one. And yet, the way you look at him, so defiant in the face of an eight foot tall supe who could rip your head off with a flick of his index finger…

He can't handle it anymore.

"You know I can't control my height!!" he finally yells at you, throwing his arms out in exasperation.

The walls he's been trying so hard to maintain crumbling down, allowing all of his pent-up feelings to spill out with no signs of stopping now that it's started.

"I go out on these saves, and you know what I see? Every fucking time, these people, these fucking ungrateful mudpeople…" he rants, voice cracking as his once stable composure very quickly vanishes to reveal his vulnerabilities. "I risk my life to yank them out of a burning building, you'd think they'd be appreciative?? No!! They're scared, they're always scared!! They take one look at me and they don't think I can tell they all think I'm a monster?? How am I supposed to react to that? They think I can't hear what they're saying amongst themselves?? Gee, I'm grateful Homelander saved my life, but why couldn't Vought send a normal hero instead?? Why shouldn't I be mad! W-why shouldn't I break their legs so they learn how much their words fucking hurt!!"

By the end of his tirade, he looks like he's just about to burst through the walls and enact his revenge on the unsuspecting city below. His breaths are haggard, his whole body quivering heavily from the flood of emotions now laid bare for you to gawk at. His fists are tightly furled by his sides and tremoring uncontrollably, and if you were anyone else they'd be wrapped around your throat right now.

A sensible person would have run away from this outburst. Witnessing Homelander lose complete control of himself, only a fool would stick around to see the consequences.

However, you can see something in his body language that someone who didn't know him well would miss. That fracture in his otherwise immaculate armour, which normally shields his weaknesses from the world, is allowing you access to that part of him he's worked his entire life to keep a secret. His inner self, the boy whose childhood was nothing more than abuse and torture, you've pressured him to speak for the first time in a long time. Although his rage would appear to be from pure sadism to an outsider, he's revealed to you why he can't help but hurt those he's meant to protect. All he's ever wanted is to be loved, to receive what he's never been allowed to experience. And when people see him as nothing more than a monster…

He can't help but inflict his trauma back.

Sighing resolutely, you slowly saunter over to your office's oversized couch. The tears he's fighting back are all the evidence you require; while he won't say it out loud, he's admitted defeat. All he wants now is for you to forgive him.

"Sit down," you insist, your hand patting the middle cushion. He hesitates to even flinch, standing still like a deer caught in headlights. However, the way you eye him so intently is enough for him to understand you aren't giving him any chances to say no.

Homelander might have been in charge of this conversation before, but now it's your turn.

Like a scolded dog, he follows your orders and makes his way to the couch, sitting down with fists by his sides. He's waiting for you to do what everyone has always done when he disobeys: punish him by taking away the few things he holds dear. You might not be Vogelbaum or Madelyn, but tonight was the first time he exploded in rage at you, in a way that would warrant admonishment.

Regardless of his expectations, you don't intend to express any frustration.

Instead you climb up onto his lap, kneeling down on his thighs so your face is directly in front of his. Gazing into his eyes, it's apparent that his inner child now in control. He looks so petrified, so small; his breathing shallow in anticipation of the pain he's grown accustomed to. It's almost enough to make you forget he's so tall that you are literally sitting on top of his legs just to reach his head.

"You aren't a monster baby," you console him, resting your forehead against his while you cup his cheeks with both of your hands. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that. I know how hard you try."

Your compassionate words are enough to begin to soothe the scorches inflicted on his ego. Homelander stops fighting his tears as he exhales deeply, his breaths finally becoming more steady. He leans ever so slightly into your touch, resting his hands against your back to keep you from falling down from his weight. The way he's totally enveloping you in his hold, it's as if you're the only thing anchoring him to reality and he needs to be as close to you as possible.

"Let's make a deal, okay?" you eventually declare, pulling back to see his face. "Every day we'll check in. When you go out on a mission, and you do your very best not to kill someone or break anything… we'll do something special together." You can see the wheels turning in his brain as he ponders this proposal. "We can bake some cookies, cuddle on the couch, watch one of your movies, have a warm bath together… anything you want," you explain further. "You can choose your reward."

"Even… e-even milk?" he whispers shyly, his eyes unable to hide his internal turmoil, the mixture of yearning and apprehension.

It's always been something he's had to struggle with deep down, the desire for what he missed during his childhood. He never had a loving family, a mother or father, nor had he ever been bottlefed as a baby. He's always been confused by how strongly he craves it, the simple and human impulses.

Sometimes the two of you share a bottle of milk together. And sometimes you indulge him by feeding him the bottle. Those times it's hard to miss how dilated his pupils become once the bottle reaches his lips, how deadweight he feels leaning into your shoulder as he gives into his basic instincts.

"Yes, I can feed you milk too," you reassure him, kissing his forehead before leaning in to wrap your arms around his wide shoulders for an embrace. This earns you a heavy sigh from him in return as he sinks into your touch, resting back against the couch and letting any remaining stress fade away. Your fingers running daintily through his hair is enough to have him purring contently into your small stature, his voice rumbling through you in a way you know only you can achieve.

Homelander supposes, now he finally has proper incentive to be a better hero. Fame and fortune were never enough to motivate him not to leave a path of death and destruction during his missions. Madelyn would placate him with the prospect of albeit hollow affection for following her orders, but it was rarely ever doled out. Always dangled in front of his face, yet always out of reach.

You're different. You would never lie to him or judge him, especially with the way you actually attend to his need to be loved. No matter what happens, you're always there to pull him in for a hug, to tell him everything will be alright, and that you're always there by his side.

He'll do better for you. He wants you to be proud of him, he wants you to be happy that he's trying to do good just for you.

…And the milk.

[pinkpalaceblogs]

How sbsf!chris and bsf!LS met blurb! (?)

Warning! Mentions of underage drinking (dont do this!), cursing, sharing a bed for the first time. Lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: i made up a fake school name bc im to lazy to look one up.

November 23rd, 2020 (we are just gonna pretend covid wasn’t a thing)

“Aren’t you supposed to be the older mature one?” You say as you half ass carry your sister out of the long awaited over hyped party thrown by one of the lacrosse boys. “God you fucking reek of cheap vodka” you add letting out a sigh.

“Y/n…. Did… did i ever tell you how much i looooove you!” She exclaims throwing her arms around your shoulders. “Yes many times but your drunk and I need to sneak you in before mom and dad realize im gone too and we both end up grounded.” Turning your sister to her side as you drape one of her arms over your shoulders and wrap ur arm around her waist.

Your struggling to even walk with how drunk she is. She finally takes you both down. “Goddamn lys, your too fucking drunk. You cant even walk straight. You cant go home like this.” You let out a huff brushing your hair out your face. Sitting in the ground contemplating life at this point. Your stuck you dont know what to do.

“Yo lys?! You good?” You hear a guy call out. Looking up you see him. Christopher Sturniolo. Sure you know of him. You know he’s friends with your sister, and some of the girls in your school have hooked up with him, you’ve just never met him in person or spoke to him. That also maybe because you don’t even go to the same school as your sister. You wanted a better education and talked your parents into letting you go to a private school.

Chris leans down and helps her up. It takes your sister a minute but once she realizes its him she lets out an excited squeal wrapping her arms around his neck “CHRIS! Where have you been?! Ive been looking for you all night… oh my god were you with one of your slu- okay kid your talking to much” he cuts her off. He looks over at you raising an eyebrow.

“And who are you?” He asks looking you up and down. “Y/n… Lys’ sister.” You answer bluntly. He looks at you like you have 3 heads. “OH YEA! Chris i forgot to mention it. Like ever but this is my sister y/n! Shes in a private school so shes like never home but shes home for thanksgiving break! And i missed her so much. You little shit why did you leave me here?!” She reaches out to you now crying stumbling causing you both to fall again.

“Fuck!” You yell out as she lands on top of you heads clashing together. “Lys get off of me dude. Cmon get up. You cant go home like this. Fuck am I gonna have to sneak you into grans?” You push her off of you standing up again. This time Chris helping you stand her up straight. “She can stay at my place. She usually does when shes like this. My parents dont mind. They always help make up an excuse when it comes to your mom and dad. You can stay too if you’d like.” He says draping lys’ arm over his shoulder looking at you.

“I dont know… shes like messy drunk… i wouldnt want anything to happen.” You say looking up at him. “Hey shes been to my house worse. She broke my moms favorite vase once. Its okay. You guys can sleep in my bed ill crash with one of my brothers.” He says as he looks around finally he spots a boy that looks just like him? Twin maybe?

“Yo Matt we gotta go. Project get Lys inside before she runs off is a go. I’ll start the car get Nick.” Matt sighs walking over looking at Lys “you really need to lighten up on the alcohol kid.” He says brushing her hair out of her face. “Nick went home already. Something about having to finish his project for the yearbook.” Matt finally looks your way “who’s this? Chris your not bringing a random girl back to- Nah bro its Lys little sister apparently” Chris cuts Matt off.

“Maaaatttttt I missed youuuuuu” Lys says giving the boy a peck on the lips your eyes widen Lys looks at you “y/n… remember the guy that i told you about that ive known for a very long time and thought he was cute and sexy and hot and i wanted to date him. Its Matt. Hes my boyfriend now. Been for like a year now!” She beams over at you grinning ear to ear.

“Ohhhh so your Matt, she talks about you A LOT. Didnt know you were brothers with him.” You say pointing at Chris “let alone twins” you add. They both snicker “Twins? Nah were triplets kid. The other one just went home early.” Chris laughs. Triplets?! “Hate to burst yalls convo but i reallllyyy have to pee and i wanna sleep in matts bed y/n can sleep with Chris!”Lys exclaims.

“Uhm no its okay. Ill just sleep on the couch. Im gonna follow behind you guys in my car.” You say pointing back at your 2018 Chevy Malibu. “No our mom would light us on fire if we let you sleep on the couch. Did you drink? How much? Chris can drive you.” Matt speaks up. “Ive had like 3 seltzers. I should be fine.” You say pulling your keys out of your bag. Chris snatching them out of your hand. “Yea im not letting my best friends little sister drink and drive. C’mon plus its better than driving alone” he shoots you a small grin.

The car ride was silent. The faint sound of pyramids by Frank Ocean playing in the background. “So what private school do you go too?” Chris speaks up breaking the silence. “Oh uhm i go to St. Marias all girls school.” You say as you dig in your bag looking for your phone. “Ahhh thats pretty far. Like a 2 maybe 3 hour drive from here?” He says “wouldn’t you know” you mumble back.

“What did you say?” He says looking over at you “I mean for it to be as far as it is from Somerville you sure do got a rep there.” You say. This time taking your seatbelt off and turning the light on in the car searching for your phone. “So youve heard about me?” He asks. Still looking for your phone you lean into the back over the middle console not really paying attention on how chris gots a full view of your ass.

He takes in a sharp breath looking back towards the road. “I mean its really not that hard to hear about you when all the girls on campus FOUND IT!” You cut yourself off in excitement turning back around and putting your seatbelt back on. “But yea all the girls in campus talk about you.” He lets a little hum. “What do they say?” He asks.

“I mean im sure you know, that your you know good at stuff.” You say scrolling through your phone. “What kinda stuff.” Hes nudging the answer out of you. You know he is. Your not dumb. “Im not answering that. Im sure you have context clues. Unless you’re some brainless jock of a senior.” You say shaking your head looking towards him. He lets out a little laugh.

You guys finally make it home and see that Matt and Lys have already beat you guys there. Heading inside tiptoeing up the stairs you walk into Chris’ room. He grabs a pair of plaid pants and a white tee and hands them to you. “You can change in here ill step out.” He says. “Thanks” you mumble back. After getting dressed you tell him he can come back in.

He grabs a pillow and a blanket off the back of his gaming chair throwing them on the floor. You assumed its for you so you kneel down. “What are you doing?” He says “going to sleep?” You question. “Nah you can sleep on the bed. Ill sleep on the floor.” He says “oh okay” you say getting up and climbing into the bed.

After about 30 mins of hearing Chris huff and puff and stir around on the ground you finally sit up. “Chris. Just sleep in the bed. I dont mind. Its yours anyways” you say. “Are you sure. I dont wanna make you uncomfortable” he says. “Yea just stay on one side ill stay on the other.” You say as you lay back down and turn facing the wall. He crawls in behind you. “Goodnight y/n” he says. “Yea goodnight Chris” you say closing your eyes. Drifting to sleep.

BOW!

I feel like this was very long idk. But update wooooooo.

🏷️: @grace-sturnz , @matts-girlfriend , @courta13 , @r0set0y , @chriss-slutt

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

this week is making me wish I could spontaneously human combust with no lasting consequences

[feuxx]

just watched dotd (5x12 and 5x13) for the first time and i'm utterly broken. staring into the emptiness with tears streaming down my face

[dailyautophagy]

I can’t imagine being so young I need an audience to feel real

[girlivealwaysbean]

spending my whole life trying and trying and trying and trying to be good enough for people who don't give a fuck about me

[vampmilf]

barely an hour at work and already on the brink of another breakdown i need to quit this fucking job and/or perhaps kill myself

[rubiesintherough]

.

[orcelito]

so in dnd we found this uh. Divination fountain thing. an elfy thing. our resident elf went diving, & when i lost my grip on him i went in after

so the elf (our wizard) was at this grave and Fully thought he was this different dude. and that this was his dead wife's grave. and so when Fang went after him, he just... saw said dead wife. speaking in elvish, openly weeping as he held Fang like a dead lover, while Fang saw None of this and was just SO confused. trying to coax him back out of the weird vision.

it worked! we got him out. but it left Fang with a few impressions. A: he really does not have romantic feelings for this guy, so it was just Hopeless Confusion rather than fluster at it all. but also B: he'd been held like a Lover for the first time in his life, and it gave him an ache he didnt know how to name.

as we were making camp, he was thinking about it. ended up talking with the paladin, aka his actual crush (that he STILL doesnt realize is a crush). he tried to make sense of it, but still couldnt. and then turned the conversation onto her, asking how she's doing with everything. it's been a lot of killing and a lot of violence, and she voiced uncertainty with it all. feeling like she's just one of the criminals she'd sworn to stop when she first became a knight. and earlier, she mentioned feeling like we were monsters when we killed a captive after getting information from them.

and fang listened to this. then shared his point of view. this being a thing of survival, rather than just for the joy of killing. mentioned how sometimes you have to do things you find unpleasant in order to survive, but so long as they're doing good in the end, it'll be okay.

he wasn't sure if he'd really gotten through to her. he wanted to make Sure he did. so spurred on by that strange ache he'd felt (& still didnt understand), he reached for that intimacy. held her face between his hands to look directly in her eyes as he reiterated his point. killing for survival doesnt make them Monsters, so long as they're trying to do good in the world. trying to convince her of this as much as he's trying to convince himself.

she quietly accepts his words, contemplative at it all. he nods, then pulls his hands from her face (his fingers trembling just as mine were when I mimicked the motion). there was a small blush on her face.

and they continued their watch. one step closer to Fang finally realizing how he feels.

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

[dear-ao3]

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[puppmeo]

Have you ever been assumed to be romantically attracted to someone and even just the thought of that makes you want to throw up . Anybody

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[ireverie]

see a cheerleader, breed a cheerleader

pairing ↠ """nerd!"""jake x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, dubcon, oral (m receiving), male face sitting, face fucking, unprotected sex, blackmail, choking, hitting, virgin!reader

summary ↠ ever since forever, you have always gotten your way with people by whatever means necessary. a wink and a smile is all it takes to make a boy drop to your feet and worship you. no one told you to think that jake sim would be any different. as it turns out, actions do have consequences.

wc ↠ 14.9k

a/n ↠ jeno version of this fic posted on my nct blog revehae. yea, mine. i am her she is me. THERE WILL BE NO SEQUEL. feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

▸ short, sweet, sometimes sticky

it was supposed to be like everybody else.

short, sweet, maybe sticky if you considered that one time you’d shaken that sunoo boy’s sweat-coated hands and watched the pale of his face burn the same fierce rose as the lens he saw you through. 

you’d laughed lightheartedly to spare him the embarrassment, telling him that everybody got a little sweaty every now and then, especially you. after all, cheerleading was more than skipping around and twirling. and at those words, you’d watched his eyes haze with the image of you damp with sweat, drenched head to toe.

hook, line, and sinker.

far too easy, exactly how you liked them. smart, easy, and utterly unable to resist you.

no one told you to expect something different from jake sim. and why would you? he knew all the right answers, had some of the best marks, and practically lived in the library. he perfectly fit the bill of your standard victim.

which was why you had no qualms about approaching him in the library while he was typing away at his laptop, occasionally sipping from some kind of coffee.

as if he could sense he was in imminent danger and needed to evacuate immediately, jake turned around before you could even make it completely to the table and saw you advancing on him with a pretty, practiced smile. “hi,” you greeted, waving at him. falling, your hands gripped the rear of the chair beside him. “is someone sitting here?”

jake raised a brow at you, but shook his head. “no, no one’s sitting there.”

“perfect,” you replied, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. you turned so that you were facing him. “jake, right?”

jake nodded slowly, wondering where this was going. he got plenty girls, sure, but none ever approached him in the library. “that’s me,” he said, curious. “do i know you?”

“well, probably not,” you replied, giggling as if something was funny. “but, you know… i’m a cheerleader.”

jake hummed. “are you now?”

you bobbed your head expectantly. “yeah, and i’ve heard about how smart you are. i’m impressed, to be honest. i mean, every time i’m in the library, i see you sitting here. i could never spend so much time here. you must have a lot of resolve to do something like that.”

“you think so?” jake asked, pretending to be flattered just to see where you were leading him. 

“i do. like, really do,” you replied, brushing your fingers against his forearm. “i just have so many other,” better, “things to do, you know. with cheer, i’m either practicing or resting so that i’ll have energy for practice. it’s really hard on me, you know?”

jake stifled a chuckle and glanced back at his laptop screen. “you poor thing.”

your brows stitched. he wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to you. it was almost like he was uninterested. “and that’s why i was wondering if you could help me. i mean, you’re such a genius. you could probably do it in half the time it would take me,” you continued, lowering your hand onto his denim-clad thigh, and becoming surprised by how sturdy it felt.

jake spared a fleeting glance at your hand on his left thigh before his eyes flitted to your face, watching you wink at him and throw him a smile. “let me get this straight,” he started, slowly caressing the back of your hand with his thumb as it sat on his thigh. “you want me to… do your work for you?”

“hey, your hard work wouldn’t go unrewarded,” you insisted, ignoring the unexpected motions of his thumb. “you’d have my attention. i mean, like i said, i don’t have a lot of time to give away. but i’m willing to spend some of it on you.”

jake snickered, unable to help himself anymore. “are you this patronizing to everyone you meet?” he asked.

your eyes flickered. “p-patronizing?”

jake smiled, patting your hand before setting it on your own thigh. “sorry, was that a big word for you? you know, when you think you’re too good for something, but you don’t want to say it, so you play sweet and act like you’re helping me, when really, it’s the other way around.”

switching on a dime, you narrowed your eyes at him. for such a pretty boy, he had quite the attitude. “i know what patronizing means. and right now, i think you’re the one being patronizing.”

“am i?” jake asked, feigning obliviousness. “how’s it taste, cheerleader? doesn’t feel good, does it?”

your face was set in a scowl. sometimes it hurt you to play nice with people, and now was one of those times. “are you gonna help me or not?” you snapped.

“there it is,” jake sang, chuckling to himself. he put his hand on your thigh now, squeezing the flesh gently. for now. “there’s the real you.”

you swallowed, glaring over at him with a hint of defiance despite the disgusting, foreign feeling rotting in your chest. it had never gone like this before. every situation predating this one had been somewhat predictable, to the point where you’d come to expect certain reactions. this was not that.

“i’ll help you,” jake said after a pause.

you forced a smile. “great, so…”

jake interjected, “on one condition.”

smile faltering, you trailed off, processing his words. now he was making some kind of deal with you? who in the hell did this man think he was?

“on one condition?” you echoed, as if you’d somehow misheard him. your brows scrunched in suspicion. “what condition?”

jake grinned, the look on his face sly as hell and a stark contrast from the disgruntled glower on yours. “give me something in return,” was all he said, the tightening hold on your thigh giving away more than his words had.

you gawked, as if you were offended, and quickly swat at his hand. “i’m not having sex with you, you pervert!”

“sure, you’re not,” jake answered with a chuckle, eyes twinkling with amusement. everything about you was alluring to him for mostly all the reasons unintended. “but you said i’d have your attention. i guess you think it’s not often a poor, busy nerd like myself gets anyone’s attention, yeah? but nerds get tired too, don’t they? they need to de-stress…”

“that’s not my problem,” you spat. 

“you getting an F isn’t my problem, either,” jake retorted, shrugging his shoulders. “so what it’s gonna be, cheerleader?”

something about this situation isn’t right to you. maybe it’s the lack of power you currently wielded over him, despite the fact that you had gotten used to having your way with academically competent boys like himself. if he weren’t taller than you and stronger than you, you’d resort to other, more familiar methods.

but jake had changed the entire trajectory of this interaction for the worse, and now you had to determine whether or not it was beneath you to let him treat you as if you were some kind of object. you sulkily mulled it over, arms folded, trying to think of a way to maintain some semblance of power. “fine,” you finally replied, relenting. “but i’m not doing anything that requires me taking my clothes off.”

“you never seen a good porno, cheerleader?” jake asked, a stupid, taunting smile blemishing his lips. “that cute little uniform of yours is the whole appeal to some people.”

“my name is…,” you huffed irritably, tired of being referred to by your title. 

“frankly, cheerleader, i don’t care what your name is,” jake told you with brutal honesty. “you’re the one that introduced yourself as a cheerleader, like that’s your whole personality or something. thinking it would make me fold. you can’t be stupid and demanding.”

you gaped, affronted by the sheer audacity of him to even utter those words to you, like you were some dumb bimbo. “i’m not stupid! i’m just too busy.”

“right. too busy,” jake echoed, obviously none too convinced. “sorry for assuming.”

with a roll of your eyes, you stood up from the table chair, feeling utterly disrespected. “yeah, you should be,” you said, despite knowing his apology was completely inauthentic. “where’s your phone?”

jake arched a brow and glanced over to his phone, sitting face down against the table on the other side of him. before he could even respond, you reached over him to grab it and pointed it at his face, unlocking it as if you’d done it a million times before.

then, you started typing away, all the while jake watched you with an amused expression on his face. he had to admit, you were surely something. and though he found you entertaining, he couldn’t shake the thought that you desperately needed someone to put you in your place.

“reach me here,” you said after a moment, handing him his phone back. the screen was on his messages, a fresh contact with you.  “pleasure doing business with you.”

with that, you walked away. 

jake shook his head, scoffing. who the hell did you think you were?

over the next few days or so, you met with jake to better construct exactly what your expectations were pertaining to your work. or at least, those were the words he’d used. most of those limited encounters had ended with his hands sealing around your breasts.

you let it slide, deciding that a little over-the-clothes stuff was relatively harmless. after all, this was the busiest you’d been all year long, and you were far too exhausted when you got home to be burdened with stupid assignments and pesky discussion posts. the next two months, if not the next two weeks, were going to kill you if you didn’t have someone to carry at least half the workload on your behalf.

it was okay. jake’s inability to keep his hands to himself was fine. it wasn’t like anybody was going to know, or that this arrangement would last long enough for them to find out. you would get to keep your dignity and your grades, without saving one at the expense of the other.

short, sweet, and sticky, remember? maybe the latter was simply manifesting in the way jake’s hands were stuck to you. not that anything about him was sweet.

more like sacrifice.

▸ gilded age

“guess who just made the list of this week’s top ten trending sluts,” jennie said as she walked up beside you and roseanne.

roseanne perked up that, though she couldn’t help but mischievously quip, “you?”

jennie narrowed her eyes. “hoe, as if,” she spat. “i know how to keep my legs closed.”

you snickered. “god, what happened now?”

“a sex tape got leaked. hyeri, and apparently sunghoon.”

your nose scrunched, as if disgusted. “always knew she was a slut. i mean, you should have been there to see the way she acted around the jocks in high school. her eyes were practically screaming, ‘pick me, choose me, fuck me,’” you mocked.

roseanne burst into giggles, downing the rest of what was left in her red cup. “i don’t think that’s how that goes,” she chimed. “but sunghoon? is she crazy? i hope they didn’t do it raw. i heard rumors that he’s got the clap.” 

“he sure clapped something, alright,” jennie retorted, much to your amusement. “it was definitely raw. hope it was worth the itch. you guys wanna see?”

“absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head vigorously. “i bet her parents would love to see it, though. on second thought, send me it.”

roseanne gawked. “are you serious?”

you bobbed your head, grinning deviously. “yeah. you guys have no idea what that bitch was like in high school. i tried teaching her a lesson, but she just never learned. it’s like the bitch is addicted to pain or something.”

jennie shook her head, pretending to disapprove, though she was intrigued to see how far you would your obvious loathing. “just sent it.”

your phone vibrated in your hand a few seconds later. you opened your instagram burner account, scrolling through your main’s following to find hyeri’s mother’s page, and dropped the video in her inbox. your sly giggle alerted your friends to your success and you dropped your phone in your pocket, satisfied.

“oh, you’re sick,” jennie insulted playfully, nudging your arm. “i wonder if she’ll say anything.”

you shrugged your shoulders, feigning nonchalance as if you weren’t excited to see how her mother would respond. “don’t know, but i’m more curious about if she’ll talk to hyeri about it. i’d love to be a fly on the myung’s wall when that happens.”

roseanne tapped your shoulder. “hey, don’t look now, but that jake guy is staring you.”

your head whirled around, spotting jake in his own corner of the party, indeed watching your every move as if he wanted to consume you and was waiting for the perfect moment to attack. which, if he was, would not be surprising. 

roseanne sighed in annoyance. “i literally just said don’t look now.”

you turned back to face them, shaking your head. “don’t worry about that creep,” you replied, brushing it off. “he’s just begging to get in my pants. didn’t even know he went to parties.”

for whatever reason, jennie laughed. something about what you said tickled her, apparently. “um, yeah. that’s jake for you, alright. he’s either partying with his friends or grinding in the library, no in between. perfectly balanced lifestyle, i have to admit it.”

your brows furrowed. that was news to you. and probably an important piece of information that you’d conveniently missed when narrowing down your targets. maybe you should have asked around about him more. you just didn’t think that someone who studied as hard as he did could also be the life of the party.

what was he doing here, anyway? shouldn’t he have been off doing your homework? useless fucking nerdy-not.

“do you guys know each other or something?” roseanne pressed, noticing the strange tension in the air despite the fact that you and jake were feet apart. which was honestly admirable. “do you think you could get him to put me on with jungwon?”

jennie’s laughter rang out again, only this time, it was much louder, and much more mocking. “please. jungwon isn’t gonna touch any of us after how she broke his heart. you’d have better luck with jaehyun,” she sneered.

roseanne glared, a snarl on her face. “fuck jaehyun.”

“yeah, i bet you want to. i bet you’re still dreaming of that big, thick, meaty dick you wouldn’t shut up about, like, two months ago.”

“a lot can change in two months.”

“oh, it sure can,” jennie replied, humming. “it sure can.”

▸ takes two to tango

jake: come over

you: no

jake: that wasn’t a request 

you: no where in our agreement does it say you get to boss me around

jake: not even for an A?

you: that’s what your grabby hands are for

jake: i don’t have to do this, you know. i can let you be a grown up and fiend for yourself like the rest of us

you: i’m otw, chill. jesus

the knock of your fist against jake’s door was incessant, more than likely enough to exasperate his neighbors, given that it was particularly late at night and a good number of them had to have been sleeping.

jake threw the door open with a scowl, obviously irritated. “you are so fucking annoying,” he hissed, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you. 

“ow!” you cried out, snatching your arm away. “stop that, i’m sore.”

jake shook his head, his discontent frown disappearing in favor of an entertained, idiotic smile. “sore, huh? from doing what?”

you rolled your eyes. “if it isn’t obvious, i’m a cheerleader,” you reminded, gesturing down to your uniform. “meaning, i cheer.”

ignoring your snarky attitude, jake glanced you up in down, taking in the sight of you in that tight, short cheer uniform that clung to you rather snugly. sweat still beaded at your damp legs and likely gathered between your breasts and down your back, as jake was imagining. “yeah, you cheer. you won’t let me forget,” he said, amused.

“well, i’m busy,” you said, crossing your arms.

busy, my fucking ass, jake thought to himself. “yeah, you won’t let me forget that, either. and yet, i saw you giggling with your friends at a party two weeks ago, looking completely fine. your poor, exhausted legs seemed to be working perfectly.”

“what, so i can’t have hobbies now?”

“sure, you can,” jake replied, shrugging his shoulders. “i just have to ask, do you ever do anything productive with your time?”

“of course, i do,” you hissed, before quickly deflecting, “but we both know that’s not why you made me come all the way over here. so, what do you want?”

“your attention,” jake said without missing a beat. his hands plopped against your bare shoulders and began wandering down your arms, rubbing them back and forth. “i’m in desperate need of a cheerleader’s sweet, precious attention.”

the disgruntled grimace on your face was the most effort you made to express your discomfort, not that he was looking there anyway. to him, at the moment, the sight of your body was much more appetizing. you watched with a repugnant burn simmering in your gaze as his eyes met your long, slender legs.

without warning, jake grabbed you by your waist and hoisted you into the air, making you cry out in surprise. arms dangling around his neck, you held on for dear life, not an inch of your body feeling safe in his arms. you had been hauled further away from the ground by your cheermates, but this was different; no one wanted to fail, meaning no one would drop you. you had no reason to assume that jake would handle you delicately.

but his burly arms, however, were not lost on you. though you hadn’t yet seen them in full power, your interactions mostly taking form of him forcing your back flush against the chiseled muscle of his chest as he kneaded yours, you could only imagine what the hands that groped you were capable of. 

in a matter of seconds, you landed on your back against his sheets, another shrill screech escaping your throat. “jake, what the hell?” you exclaimed. 

“i’m not getting on my knees for you,” jake said, the slyest of smiles tugging at his lips. “not unless it’s to fuck you. and you’re just too good to give it up, aren’t you?”

for him, definitely. and you would have said so, but your lips parted in a gasp, surprised and startled. something wet pushed along your sore legs, which were abruptly yanked to pillars far above your head so that they’d be more conveniently within reach of jake’s tongue as he licked long, hot lines at them.

your eyes were rooted on him, fixed in a shape unlike their natural narrowed, black blaze and it would instead be more apt likening them to the fear and fret of a deer in crossed paths. wide, waiting, almost innocent. too used to circumstance to understand its fabric and too unfamiliar to chance to understand its fate.

unsatisfied, jake bent your knee and pushed your leg further as he stood over the edge of his bed, and, in turn, over you, a grip on your ankles that you could feel in your bones. “jake, that hurts,” you whined. 

jake didn’t understand why you were bitching. “but you’re a cheerleader,” he echoed. “aren’t you flexible?”

you writhed uncomfortably as he continued shamelessly, tongue even daring to twist against the bone underneath the bend of your knee, a sensation that itched more than you expected. his lips sealed around your skin, sucking and nibbling.

needless to say, it was unlike anything you had experienced before. “stop, that’s weird!”

“stop complaining,” jake groaned, pushing your leg even harder. “it’s like all you ever do is complain about how hard your life is.”

your eyes stung now not only with loathing, but the threat of hot tears. it was stupid; it sounded dramatic, but you felt it was warranted when he was the one actively making your life harder. “you’re a fucking weirdo,” you snapped. 

jake heard it. the slight tremble in your voice despite the courage you’d been feigning. that was the sole reason he even bothered to look up at your face, the tears in them stealing his attention away in a heartbeat. he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed, or maybe even both. “god, now you’re crying,” he pointed out. “i haven’t even done anything to you. do you need me to give you a reason to cry?”

you shook your head. all you needed was to go home and recharge. you were beginning to doubt whether or not he was worth the trouble he carried with him in exchange for a grade that would keep your parents off your back, especially if he was going to make pulling stunts like this a regular habit. 

the last thing you expected jake to do was tug the bottom of your top past the shadow of your breasts, slackening the taut grip on your ankles in favor of your wrists as if he knew you would dare resist him, and burying his face between your chest. you exhaled shakily, mortified by the hot, wet feel of his tongue licking a stripe between your breasts, gathering leftover sweat on its tip.

and you did thrash. but you were getting a taste of that power now; a power that wasn’t your own, a power that you couldn’t reap. a power that grabbed you with its calloused fist with a might so strong you couldn’t move. and it was for the first time that you felt utterly weak. there had to be a word for something as unfathomable as that, but it was so foreign to you that you couldn’t think of it.

to make matters worse, jake was taking his time, sucking bruises onto the skin of your chest in between his licking, as if he wanted to ensure there was no spot left untouched, no drop of sweat left behind. your face strained with discomfort, wanting more than anything to get away from him and this awful feeling rotting inside of your heart.

maybe your cries for mercy were heard, because no sooner had you hoped for an end than it came. “you can go now,” jake said, pulling away. he pulled your shirt back down and smoothed out any wrinkles, which was almost kind of him.

even though you were more than eager to be rid of him, you lay there, dumbfounded. it was one thing to be violated, and it was another to be dismissed, but to happen in rapid succession of each other quickly bred some ugly emotion that was only festering.

jake had expected you to scurry out of his bed, and out of his apartment, so the fact that you were still there bemused him. “what, do you want more?” he teased. 

you shook your head, sitting up a little too quickly. your head started to feel lightheaded. you barked, “that isn’t what i agreed to!”

jake had the audacity to laugh. like you had told a joke of some kind. “isn’t it? your clothes are still technically on. that was what you agreed to. remember?”

you dropped to your feet, pushing past him. “you’re disgusting,” was all you said, making a beeline for the door.

“takes two to tango, baby,” jake called after you, simpering.

you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. there was an unpleasant stir in your gut - not as easily distinguishable as the loathing - unlike anything you had ever felt and you desperately wanted it to go away, to rid of yourself of anything that even remotely resembled jake sim.

 ▸ chess, not checkers

deep, low grunts smacked against the walls and bounced back with almost the same amount of vigor of jake’s quick, unrelenting hips, the sound nearly as hard and heavy as he was. the only thing rivaling the tightness of the hole he was using was the wince of his closed eyes and the grip of his strong hands.

jake didn’t want to see. it would be too blatantly obvious that she wasn’t you, and that it wasn’t your blemished hips he was holding. though she sounded nothing like you. he knew that you would have been so much whinier, and despite finding them painfully obnoxious, he found himself longing to hear all your worthless, melodramatic complaints.

instead, he heard soft moans mingling with his own labored sounds as his hips moved with a mind of their own, imagining it was you underneath him where you truly belonged.

the image stained the back of his eyelids, burned behind them every time he closed his eyes; the shortness of your pleated skirt scrunched around your hips, weak legs on his broad shoulders with nicks and bruises scattered here and there, arms swinging aimlessly.

and if he got tired of hearing you, he could simply press his palm squarely against your mouth, muting the sound of your incessant fussing. if he really wanted to put you in your place, he could clasp his hands around your throat and clamp down onto your windpipe till all that escaped you was a pitiful, featherlight squeak.

jake could tell no one had ever properly put you in your place before, no one had ever stood up to you and reminded you of your level. you were in desperate need of a humbling and didn’t even know it yourself. no one better than jake for the role, he figured. a little cheerleader parading around in a uniform to feel different from everybody else she met didn’t scare him whatsoever.

the only thing saving you was essentially the fact that you were undeniably pretty and not necessarily to blame for the school’s superficial culture, which elevated girls like you in terms of status despite it having no real meaning or manifestations outside of campus, and put you on top when you were within the bubble.

but outside the bubble, away from the boys who thought of you as this beautiful, unattainable poison and the girls who enabled you with a faux sense of togetherness, you had no real identity, no real power, and no real worth.

and yet, maybe jake was contributing to the problem. maybe he had inadvertently become one of the people elevating you. because choking in the heat of the moment, he uttered your name, forgetting who he was with and where he was.

hands shoved at him, hard. at least, hard enough for him to be jolted out of his reverie, finally gazing into the eyes that seethed because of him. “did you just call me that evil witch’s name?” seoa barked.

jake winced. that was a fair reaction, all things considered. he wouldn’t have wanted to have been called your name out of everyone’s, either. he rubbed his nape. “well…”

“unbelievable,” seoa replied, scoffing. she got out of the bed and hurriedly began picking her clothes up from the floor, redressing herself.

jake exhaled a breath, mostly annoyed that his orgasm had been ruined, but still feeling a hint of sympathy. “seoa, wait,” he said, touching her shoulder.

seoa recoiled, pulling away. jake had never seen anyone be so ready to put on their pants after being with him, not even with a hell of a schedule after. “never touch me again,” she spat, walking out with her shoes in tow. “fuck you.”

jake ran a hand through his hair, watching her leave, and murmured under his breath, “god dammit.”

a few days later, while they were attending a festival, jay marched over to jake, draping an arm over his shoulder, and asked, “wanna tell me why seoa blocked all of us and she’s been glaring at me and mark since she got here?”

jake snickered, shaking his head in slight disbelief. he was over it by now, he figured she would be too. “i let a certain cheerleader’s name slip while i was balls deep inside her,” he confessed. which he wasn’t necessarily proud of, considering the only reason he even knew your name was because you’d saved your own contact on his phone.

jay’s brows furrowed, glancing around as if he was trying to spot you in the crowd like a heat-seeking missle. “who?”

rolling his eyes, jake grabbed the back of jay’s head with one hand and turned it in your general direction, hoping it would help. and jake knew it had when jay’s confusion melted into disgust. 

“oh, that bitch?” he asked, nose wrinkled.

jake chuckled, releasing his friend’s head. “she’s a bitch, but she’s pretty.”

jay couldn’t argue with that fact even if he’d wanted to. “yeah, i’ll give her that. cute in the face. she’s fake as hell, though. played jungwon like a fiddle. he did six months worth of her homework because she promised they’d get together.”

that was news to jake. he knew you were cruel, having had stories from sunoo and the like, but he never knew of your history with jungwon. if it could be called that. “did they fuck?” he couldn’t help but ask.

jay shook his head, taking a sip from the bottle in his hand before he answered, “he said she always turned him down. told him she was waiting for ‘the perfect moment.’”

now that was funny as hell. jake had only known you for a few weeks and yet even he quickly pieced together that you weren’t the romantic type. “well, that’s fucked up,” he said, happily accepting yet another reason to dislike you. “but he’s dumb as fuck if he did her homework for six months without getting a crumb of pussy in return.”

jay made a face, nodding. “yeah,” he exhaled, giving the impression that he’d wanted to defend jungwon. “but man, what possessed you to say her name while fucking the seoa? i need a good excuse. you just blew my shot with her.”

jake shrugged. “don’t have one. she approached me maybe three weeks ago asking me to do her homework, and i agreed.”

jay gawked. that didn’t sound like jake. like at all. “man, what? is she paying you?”

“oh, dividends,” jake quipped.

“oh, and in what? pussy?”

“nope.”

jay looked horrified. he was so damn dramatic. “then, why the hell are you doing her bidding? that doesn’t sound like you.”

it didn’t, not immediately, but jake had his reasons. “entertainment purposes,” he replied curtly.

jay shook his head, taking another swig of his drink. certainly, he was drinking, not smoking. “you’re becoming her pawn for entertainment purposes? unbelievable, bro.”

“chess, not checkers, jay.” jake smirked, putting a hand on jay’s shoulder. “you’ll see.”

▸ things good guys do 

“you’re lucky i was already out,” jake told you when you let him into your apartment. “it’s the middle of the night for fuck’s sake. what do you want?”

“oh, please,” you spat, damn near rolling your eyes. your arms were folded. “you get to call me over at the ungodly hour, but when i do it, it’s a problem?”

jake exhaled through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he bothered to come here when he had no obligation to do your bidding, as jay had put it. but something told him that he wouldn’t have any regrets. “yeah, it is. now, what do you want?”

you were silent for a few moments, somewhat ashamed of the request you would ultimately make. you sighed, surrendering. “i need help with calculus,” you finally said.

jake’s shoulders drooped, eyes shrinking in a contemptuous disbelief. “seriously?”

“seriously,” you repeated, sitting down on your couch as your laptop screen glared back at you from the coffee table.

jake groaned, “i seriously don’t know how you even got into this school. can’t you do anything by yourself?”

you gawked, affronted. he made you sound like some incompetent, immature dickhead. “contrary to a weirdly popular belief, i’m actually really smart,” you insisted, having the transcripts to prove it. “but my professor sucks and i need an eighty-nine on my final to keep my A. and it’s not like you can walk in and take it for me because it’s proctored.”

jake shook his head and reminded, “you know this little agreement we have doesn’t include me tutoring you, right?”

“it didn’t include you assaulting me, either,” you retorted.

“you think that was assault?” jake asked, scoffing. he dropped beside you on your couch, the proximity instinctively making you suck in a breath. “if i wasn’t a good guy, i’d show you assault.”

scooting over to ensure maximum distance between your bodies, you argued, “good guys don’t call themselves good guys.”

“good guys have self-control,” jake replied matter-of-factly, resisting a chuckle. he didn’t make a move to touch you, but he noticed how tense you looked now that he was sitting beside you. “i’ll tutor you, but we’ll have to up the terms of our agreement.”

you swallowed sharply, throat bobbing. you had a feeling you weren’t going to enjoy these new terms. “what do you want?”

“a blowjob.”

“that’s disgusting,” you spat without a second thought, features contorting with repugnance.

jake quipped, “and so is your inability to do your school work without using and depending on every intelligent boy you meet, but hey, i’m sure you can’t help that.”

you sighed, exasperated, and cradled your face in your hands. was this seriously what your life had come to? giving a boy a blowjob in exchange for a pretty transcript?

jake grinned, appreciating the sight of you in distress. it was a sign, a good sign, and he intended to bring it out of you more and more, bleeding you absolutely dry. lowering a hand onto your thigh, he urged, “come on, bruise those little knees for me. don’t you bruise ‘em for cheer?”

“that’s not the same!” you whined. 

“of course, it’s not,” jake said, squeezing your thigh as his shoulders trembled with laughter. “cheer isn’t helping you graduate with flying colors.”

you desperately wanted him to be wrong, you were begging for him to be wrong, but you both knew that if he was, he wouldn’t have been here with you at the moment. not now, not three weeks ago, not ever. so you sucked it up, slamming down your laptop lid, and grumbled, “fine.”

maybe he didn’t come here for nothing, after all. grateful he’d trusted his gut, jake stood up and clutched your arm to pull you along with him. “come on, let’s go to your room. i like my blowjobs a little messy and i’m sure you don’t want to mess up your nice carpet.”

you snatched your arm away from him, hating his insistence on touching you for every little reason whenever he possibly could, even if it was insignificant. your mouth was taut as you begrudgingly headed for your bedroom.

it was obvious that you were sour. walking behind you, jake couldn’t help but chime, “glad to see that you can at least walk by yourself!”

you bristled in annoyance, wishing you could just get rid of him, but you knew it wouldn’t be wise to discard him so quickly. at least for now, he still held some kind of value.

jake walked in behind you, looking particularly radiant, and you hated that you knew why. hell, you hated the reason itself. “get on your knees,” he commanded.

normally, you would complain about him giving you orders as if you were his lap dog or something, but you just wanted to get this over with. you were already so over this entire week. you slowly dropped to your knees, trying to ignore how demeaning it felt. 

“good girl,” jake praised at your compliance. “now, look up at me with those pretty eyes and ask me to help you with calc. ask me nicely.”

you met his eyes, noticing the expectant glimmer in his gaze that you so badly wanted to knock off. but you weren’t dumb enough to incite violence against a grown man that walked around with his bulging muscles on display for all the world to see, and you didn’t doubt that he would hit you back. “jake, please help me with calculus,” you pleaded, choosing your battles.

jake hummed, satisfied. “you sound so pretty and sweet when you ask nicely, instead of demanding things. didn’t know you were capable of that,” he told you, running his fingers through your hair. “take it out. get me hard.”

your hands moved to his sweatpants, tugging at them enough to bring them down just shy of his knees, and doing the same with his underwear. he wasn’t hard yet, but that would be an easy fix; witnessing your state of pure anguish, watching you speak and move as if you were totally dejected, always excited him.

not to mention that the sight of you on your knees for him, the more he took it in, was arousing him even more than he thought it would. he had pictured it in his mind before, you serving him, pleasuring him, existing solely for him, but nothing could compare to the sight he beheld now.

at least, nothing other than you actually doing something rather than sitting there like an idiot. he liked taking control, but he figured you would take matters into your own hands, literally, when he gave the order. “do you need me to tell you what to do or something?” he asked, huffing irritably. “put your tongue on it. tease the head.”

your face and ears burned in ways they rarely did, but you nodded wordlessly and did as told, bracing your hands on his thighs and reluctantly pressing your tongue onto his tip, looking anywhere but his eyes as the muscle swirled around.

that amused jake to no end. at least for now, he would let it slide, not feeling the need to maintain eye contact with you at the moment. if he needed to, he would simply just grab a nice, thick fistful of your hair and yank it back to jolt your head up at him. he could still see your pretty, bare face, hair arranged messily at the top of your head with a few needless strands jutting out here and there.

he liked that. of course, he would have been more than enthusiastic to have you suck him off if you’d been all dolled up, making you ruin your makeup and undo at least an hour of careful, clean work, but he also just took pleasure in seeing this natural, undone part of you. he wanted to see you for what you really were.

it didn’t take long for him to get hard. with all his thoughts revolving around you and the feel of your tongue on the head of his dick, that was a no-brainer. “good, now put it in your mouth. take as much as you can and not an inch less,” jake instructed.

widening your mouth, you accepted his stout, heavy cock into your mouth, lips forming a tight suction around the head and steadily advancing down his shaft. bit by bit, inch by nightmarishly thick inch. you had made it maybe halfway down his shaft when you quickly discovered your limit.

jake was surprisingly content, despite the fact that you definitely still had a few more inches to go. “there you go,” he said, giving your head a soft pat of approval. “suck. go slow. and don’t you dare let me feel any teeth.” 

your heart was thumping out of something you could only understand as fear, even though jake hadn’t done anything to warrant it yet. inhaling through your nose, you tried to level your breathing, taking your time to draw in his cock lest you made a mistake. the hint of warning in jake’s voice, in spite of the calmness, was clear.

jake, on the other hand, was reaching elysian heights. faint grunts of, “fuck,” escaped his pink lips, large hands at his sides reflexively tensing into tightly clenched fists in need of something to grab, hips just barely stuttering. your mouth was hot and wet, with the added benefit of your torturous tongue pressed against his size.

there was a pinch of desperacy in your actions that overcame the resistance; a desperacy not necessarily to please him, but to appease him. accidents were the last thing you could afford and eliciting his frustration was the last thing you wanted.

“lick,” jake said, chest undulating. “up and down.”

with a hum, you started drawing long, wet lines back and forth on his veiny shaft, almost as if you were tracing the bold veins with your tongue. jake’s reaction was instantaneous, deep groans the only thing you could hear other than the wet sound of your mouth on his cock, sucking and licking. 

jake’s eyes fluttered closed. “fuck. yeah, like that.”

you pressed your tongue against the underside of his dick, lingering in each spot for a moment before you continued, mostly because he seemed to like it when you did. which was your north star in an empty, dead night, because you had not a clue what the hell you were doing and you were afraid of making it obvious somehow.

if jake could tell, he didn’t make it known. he was in a world of his own, all too happily reaping the pleasure from your mouth as if it was a dream come true for him. “kiss my balls. lick it.”

you stifled the sigh you were half tempted to let loose, pulling off his cock with a wet sound and a string of saliva connecting from the sticky tip to your glossy lips. moving your head, you took a moment to steel yourself before peppering tiny, soft kisses along his balls, down to his scrotum.

it wasn’t the most dignifying thing you had ever done, it may have even been the least, but your aching, sore jaw appreciated the break from sucking. you dragged your tongue over his testicles, tasting nothing but rubbery flesh. you were too busy avoiding his eyes to notice, but his face was tensing with pleasure, lips parting in low murmurs.

compared to when you first started, jake was drastically harder now, massive, monstrous cock nearly bursting at the veins with precum leaking out from the thick tip. had your goal been to take all of him entirely, the sheer size of him would have immediately overwhelmed you.

“switch to your hand and go back to sucking me off,” jake said, firm yet quiet. it sounded like he was trying to restrain himself, barely holding it together.

at least you were a fast learner. teasing the head of his cock, you gave it a few slow, tentative licks before you began to take him into your mouth again, all the while gently fondling his balls with your fingers. jake groaned, arching into your touch. he couldn’t help himself.

you could taste the vicious amount of precum staining your tongue and you didn’t know how to describe it, other than slightly tart. the flavor blended with that of your own saliva, lingering on the roof of your mouth and the warm flesh underneath the flap of your tongue, mild as could be.

at least it wasn’t downright awful. you had heard stories before, not that you’d ever known what to make of them, or even pictured yourself being inside of them. if a month ago, someone had told you that you’d be on your knees for a man - for anyone - you would have said they were delusional.

jake’s patience had worn thin and when you least expected it, he hauled you into the air, making you cry out in surprise just as you had the first time he’d lifted you into his buff, meaty arms. he tossed you onto the bed, just shy of the headboard, and suddenly straddled your chest. you gasped out a breath.

“open up,” jake said, cock positioned right in front of your mouth.

not that he gave you the time to obey him, because he pressed himself against your slightly parted lips and forced them wider, entering your mouth on his own. your face strained, perfectly threaded brows tugging down into a discontented arch.

when you tried to pull away, jake grabbed the sides of your face and pushed you onto his shaft with trembling hands, making you take him and leaving no room for escape, not until he decided he was done with you. there was only one concern present in his mind and that was getting himself off.

tears stung your eyes, that same implacable feeling you had when he’d dragged his tongue over the expanse of your soft, shaved legs and bare, sweaty chest finding you again in the most of unwanted company. jake scoffed, spitefully tugging at your hair. “you know what’s funny? you’re such a fucking crybaby. you can’t take even half of what you give to others.”

chin flush against his scrotum and your nose not even an inch away from his bush, you almost gagged. the slurping sounds were humiliating, loud, wet squelching with every other big gulp making you want to shrink. however, jake loved it, obsessing over the idea of making a mess out of you. the sound went straight to his dick.

jake held your face in that low position, deeper than you’d ever taken him so far. “i’m really not that bad of a guy, you know,” jake said, sounding like he truly believed it. you could have scoffed, if not for obvious reasons. “you just bring it out of me. i’m really just treating you like how you treat everybody else.”

he made you sound like something straight out of hell and you couldn’t help but think it was an unfair justification for something that felt too close to punishment. he obviously thought he knew you better than he did and it made you aggravated. that, or he somehow thought he was better than you.

there was a fleeting second of relief when jake unmounted your chest and let you breathe, only to be crushed again when he dragged you by your wrists to the edge of your mattress, leaving you in the deep end. your eyes struggled to grasp with the flipped image of him nearing you, cock back down your throat before you could even blink.

though his hips thankfully had been moving at a calmer, steady pace before, despite forcing himself deeper than you could handle, he began to thrust more urgently into your mouth with the new change, embedding himself even further into your throat than you knew was possible. 

you cried harder, hating every second of it. the salty, bitter tang of your tears mingled with the tainted taste of spit and sharp bite of precum that had come to stain your chin and cupid’s bow. the vigor of his movements was overwhelming, overpowering.

“that’s it, cheerleader. cry harder,” jake taunted, tracing his thumb over your face to swipe at the trail of tears. all the while his hips were moving faster, harder.

it felt like such a mockery, him doing that. a feigned act of sympathy while perpetuating the torment that was reducing you to tears as a selfish means of achieving pleasure of his own. 

then, his hands wandered down to your breasts, slipping inside your night shirt and mauling your chest. running his hands in a circle, his thumb brushed the erect, colored nipples and he clasped his hands around your chest, squeezing your breasts. “fuck, i’m close,” he grunted, grip tightening, pace hastening, force increasing. 

with how close he was, your nose was squarely against his the flesh of his balls, effectively cutting off your exhale. your heart thudded, racing and pounding. tensing with panic, your hands frantically moved, striking at his navel and thighs. even your legs were in alarm, unstill towards the other end of the bed. 

jake groaned, smacking your cheek. another slap followed the sizzle, straight against your chest. “calm the fuck down,” he hissed, raising his arm in preparation to hit you again. “i’ll let you breathe as soon as i come, so you better not get in the way, if you know what’s good for you.”

even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stay calm. your body physically couldn’t handle it, responding the only way it knew how, trying to protect you. somebody had to. you closed your eyes, face warm with tears and panic, and you tried to brace your hands on the sheets, anything to comfort and stabilize yourself.

it got to a point where jake couldn’t hold back anymore and he climaxed with a prolonged, guttural groan, hips still brutally smacking into your mouth as he painted your tongue and the back of your throat with his cum. he went as far as to grab your head again, forcing himself onto you as deep as he could go, and demanding, “swallow it.”

like hell you would. you pushed him away, coughing and choking as soon as you did, drops of cum pooling from your mouth and some of it flying here and there in the midst of your coughing fit.

irritated, jake pressed his tongue against the roof his mouth. “you’re so fucking useless,” he groaned, grabbing his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and quickly turning on the camera. “look at you. sitting here choking on my cum. you want it again, don’t you?”

you sat up, nearly tumbling over the edge of your bed from the intense convulsing, and turned to face the other way as you hunched over, tightly clasping your sheets. “fuck off, you got what you wanted!” you rasped.

jake laughed. you sounded so gravelly. “you’re right. i did,” he replied, putting back on his pants and pocketing his phone. “so, tutoring. i’ll see you tomorrow. nighty night, cheerleader.”

he gave you a pat on the head and turned, heading straight for the door.

▸ hard feelings

something about today was different than usual. 

when you woke up, you had felt a shift in the air, but you’d chalked it up to being nervous about the final you had in three hours.

but when you finally went to go take it, however, you quickly realized that the unsettling feeling you had was not simply pre-exam jitters. it was something much more sinister than that. with the status you held on campus, you were used to being watched and gawked at, but this was different.

it felt like everybody and their mother was looking at you.

you were confused. you had been the subject of this much attention before, but only once; it was a couple years back when someone had spread a dirty, foul rumor about you. there was a social media page for your school called top ten, mostly used to shame women for their sexual exploits, but some men made their way on it too. that was how you heard about sunghoon’s clap rumor.

long story short, a rumor about you had originated there and it had taken you weeks to clear your name. but by that time, there was already another slut of the week. you were lucky to have your situation not only be false and debunked, but word of mouth. only the most unlucky of people, like hyeri, got images or videos of themselves posted.

and you were a community favorite. you would understand if you were new, but you had built a reputation around here. why would anybody believe floating rumors about you now?

but the abundance of stares didn’t end there. even in the cafe, you had caught someone watching you a little too hard to be a casual leer of admiration. and you were determined to find out why.

fortunately, you were able to find jennie and roseanne walking and talking in the courtyard, and you called out their names to stop them.

jennie turned first, and you watched her smile drop in real time. she glanced around, frantic, as if she was worried about someone watching her too.

roseanne smiled thinly, halfheartedly lifting her hand to wave. “hey,” she greeted quietly, matching jennie’s nerves.

they knew something you didn’t and it was glaringly obvious. “what’s going on?” you asked. “everyone’s looking at me and i know i’m not going crazy yet.”

jennie and roseanne glanced between each other, as if they both had bad news but neither of them wanted to be the one to tell you. after a few seconds, jennie groaned and said, “you might want to check top ten.”

your brows furrowed. you, on top ten? again? god, people could be so infuriating. “ugh, what rumor did they spread about me this time?”

jennie winced, which only made you more anxious. “it’s not just a rumor,” she whispered. “…it’s a video.”

“video?” you echoed in disbelief. that didn’t make sense. you hadn’t been with anyone except… except jake. you tensed with anger.

roseanne opened her phone to show you the video that had been posted. it was an anonymous submission that claimed to be a recording of you. unfortunately, it was you, bits of your chest exposed from jake reaching into your shirt and drops of cum landing there as you fought for breath. your face wasn’t visible, but there were some other distinguishing signs, like your hair and skin and sheets.

your heart thudded and your shoulders went cold, but your eyes were scalding. you were well aware that jake didn’t like you, you didn’t exactly love him either, but you never thought he would stoop low enough to hurt you like this.

“i’m sorry,” roseanne apologized, dropping her phone in her purse when you were done. the video was only a few seconds long, but the damage was forever. “but don’t worry. it’s not like it’s top three worthy. everyone will move on next week.”

jennie nodded in agreement and briefly patted your back. “yeah. we’ll hang out again when this all blows over, i promise.”

then, they walked away. leaving you reeling with ache and betrayal. your friends didn’t want to be seen with you anymore. you were an embarrassment.

you swallowed the bitter feeling scorching up your throat and tapped your pockets for your phone, knowing there was one person you needed to see. 

you: you and i need to talk. right now.

jake: about what?

you: don’t play dumb, i know you sent that video in!

jake: maybe u should have swallowed

you: you know what, i don’t need you. i never have. and i don’t want your help anymore. just leave me alone

jake: [one attachment]

jake: you sure about that? because i’m sure there’s plenty of people that would love to see the version with your face in it

you gawked, hiding your phone screen against your chest while glancing around to make sure no one could see.

adjusting your brightness, you unlocked your phone again and texted him back hurriedly.

you: why are you doing this?! i’ve never done anything to you

jake: this is bigger than just you and me

jake: now if you don’t want everyone to see that pretty face, come put those lips around me again and we can work something out

and that was how it started. though you hadn’t had the upper hand in weeks, this was the moment you completely lost it. what was once an arrangement for him to help you in exchange for your attention became a hole of misery that you couldn’t dig yourself out of.

one blowjob became two, and two became three until you started to immediately recognize what it meant when you saw his name appear on your screen, knowing what it was before he even asked. not that he ever technically asked. it was always a command, a claim to your body wherever and whenever he wanted.

if you tried to be strong, if you tried to break free of him, he always threatened to make sure that recordings of you on your knees for him went up for all the world to see and no one would ever think of you the same way again. he was more than willing to taint the pretty, perfect image of yourself that you presented to the world.

you felt stuck, trapped. isolated with nowhere to go, no way out. you tried to conjure up a way to escape this situation, but you couldn’t think of anything feasible. if you wanted to protect what was left of your social life and dignity, if you wanted to go outside without being ashamed, your only option was to be compliant.

no matter how many late nights and sore throats you had to go through.

you were in the middle of dozing off, your head leaning off to the side, when the sound of your phone ringing suddenly jolted you awake. you were tempted to ignore it until you saw the contact and begrudgingly pressed the phone to your ear. “hello?” you grumbled.

“i’ve been texting you,” jake said, sounding miffed.

you sighed, glancing over at the clock on your nightstand. “it’s literally two in the morning,” you complained. “i just got home from cheer practice and i’m trying to study for my last final. i haven’t even showered yet.”

“aw, poor thing,” jake crooned, pretending to care. “come over.”

you heartless, selfish bastard, you snapped in your head. of course, you were in no place to say that out loud, so you settled for a calm, “okay,” and hung up.

stifling a yawn, you grabbed your keys and lazily stepped into a nearby pair of shoes, stretching your arms above your head before willing yourself to get up from your desk chair. then, you accidentally scraped your leg against the bottom drawer of your desk, which you’d accidentally left open. 

“ow!” you cried out, bending down a little. “god, why does this world hate me? what did i do wrong?”

it was a wonder you managed to make it to jake’s apartment without getting into a wreck, although at this point, you wouldn’t care if you had as long as it killed you. or put you into an indefinite coma.

on the other hand, jake seemed strangely enthusiastic to see you and looked full of life and energy. “there you are, cheerleader,” he said, pulling you in to hug you from behind. he led you over to his couch, much like he always did. 

you covered your mouth with your elbow as you yawned. “can we get this over with? i’m sleepy.”

jake chuckled. “i don’t want you to suck me off. not right now.”

your brows furrowed, wondering if you had heard him right. if not for that, then why were the hell were you here?

“i’m sad,” jake said, not even attempting to keep the smug smile off his face. “i need you to cheer me up.”

you blinked at him like he was stupid. “cheer… you up?”

jake nodded his head, glancing you over with a grin. you looked like hell. partly because you were so obviously exhausted, but he knew he’d been having an effect on you too. “yeah, cheer me up. you’re a cheerleader,” he reminded, sounding proud of himself. “i want you to do your routine for me.”

you gawked in disbelief and whined, “i’m not even in my uniform.”

“so?” jake asked. “those bones might be tired, but they still work. matter of fact, take everything off.”

you were quick to exclaim, “what the hell? jake, can i please just do it later? everything hurts.”

“take everything off,” jake repeated, his voice more stern this time. “and move your ass.”

defeated, you reluctantly began to peel off your clothes, ignoring the way jake shamelessly ogled you for the sake of your own comfort and tugging your shirt from above your head. you couldn’t even look at him as you abashedly stepped out of your shorts and panties.

what was even more mortifying was having to perform every stupid little routine for him with your entire body on display and your chest bouncing with every motion. putting on the sweet, forced smile and calling out the chants you’d memorized, all the while ignoring how your bones ached.

when you were done, he made you sit in his lap so he could touch you as he pleased, paying no mind to the way you squirmed uncomfortably.

you cried enough tears to occupy a sixth ocean the next day. you weren’t exactly sure why. you just remembered miraculously waking up in your bed, sitting up and staring into empty space, and the water crashing down after a few minutes. it took you even longer to notice you were sobbing.

after a couple of meaningless hours, you got the random urge to call your moan, yearning to hear her voice. “mommy?” you said when she picked up.

“she calls,” your mother chirped, pleasantly surprised. “hi, baby. i was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten about little ole’ me. you know, you never come see me anymore.”

you forced yourself to laugh, trying to strip your voice of the agony so that she wouldn’t notice. “i know. i’m sorry,” you apologized quietly. “i’ll come see you soon.”

“you better,” your mother snapped playfully, no real malice in her voice. “now, what’d you call me for? and don’t say just to check up on me, because that’s a damn lie.”

“i miss you,” you confessed. 

“a lie don’t care who tell it.”

“ma,” you groaned, knowing she was just messing around. “i swear i do.”

“mm-hm,” your mother hummed. you could already picture her in your head, eyeing you with suspicion, arms folded over her chest. “let me guess why you really called. you’re having boy trouble.”

your eyes flickered in surprise. how did she know? you doubted it was exactly what she was thinking, but she was close enough. “yeah, something like that.”

there was no doubt that your mother sounded excited. you had always seem thoroughly uninterested in boys and dating, and while she was thankful when you were a teenager, it was a little worrying now. “it’s about time,” she said, clasping her hands together. “tell me all about it.”

you sighed, wondering how you could tell her about jake without making her fret. she had gotten all pumped, you didn’t want to tear her down and ruin everything. “well, there’s this guy i met almost two months ago. at first, i didn’t feel anything for him. he was just another boy, you know. someone i could keep around for a good time, not a long one.”

your mother hummed again. you could hear metal pans clacking against her counter and assumed she was cooking. she always did that. 

taking a deep breath, you continued, “but everything changed. he’s different from every other guy i’ve dealt with. he doesn’t just do what i say because i say so. and as the weeks passed, he’s started listening to me less and less than he already was.”

your mother chuckled. “and you didn’t like that, huh? got your mother’s stubborn heart and indomitable spirit.”

in truth, you didn’t think you had half of your mother’s strength, but you would never tell her that. as far as she knew, everything was going perfectly in the life you’d created here on campus. and it probably was the last time you’d spoken to her. “yeah,” you replied, wishing that were true. “i don’t like it. he makes me feel something i’ve never felt before.”

“he makes you feel powerless,” your mother told you. “he’s got you feeling weak because he’s the first man you’ve ever met willing to stand up to you. trust me, i was surprised the first time too. that’s how you got here.”

“ma,” you groaned with a wince.

she laughed. the sound made you happy, something you hadn’t been so certain you were capable of feeling anymore. “i’m just keeping it real.”

you thought about her words. she may have been way off in her perception of what this relationship between you and jake really was, but she wasn’t wrong about how he made you feel. weak, powerless. suddenly, this consuming feeling you’d been having for weeks finally had a name, and yet that made it even harder to come to terms with.

because you didn’t want to be powerless. you wanted to be in charge, in control. you hated when things didn’t go your way, and more importantly, you hated when there was nothing you could do about it. it was supposed to be you wielding power over people’s head, not being crushed beneath the weight of tyranny.

and it was then you fully realized the scope of your feelings; you absolutely hated jake sim.

  ▸ cheerleader? breed her! 

standing there in a skimpy dress, face done and your feet clamped in heels that made you four inches taller, you didn’t feel like yourself.

you thought that you would. in truth, you hadn’t feel like yourself in months. today marked a little over two months since you made the mistake of beginning that agreement with jake and you regretted it more than anything. he had completely ruined you, your life, and everything that made you feel whole.

there were pieces of yourself that you would never get back, thanks to him. it was true that everyone had forgotten about the ordeal regarding the recording of you, but not without cost. it was a price you were still paying everyday; even when you weren’t on your knees or otherwise commiting demeaning acts for the sake of jake’s entertainment, you were hurting and mourning yourself.

you were starting to wonder if it was worth it. obviously, you liked being respected amongst your fellow students, but you were no longer certain if their respect was worth the price of your sanity. it was hard for you to even have basic interactions without giving away how incredibly lonely and isolated you felt, how trapped and doomed you were. helpless and powerless.

jake came up behind you, startling you. he was like a wolf and you were a little lamb masquerading as a wolf. “there you are, baby,” he said, snaking his hands around your waist. he seemed to love doing that. “did you know our anniversary was a few days ago?”

you scoffed. the two-month anniversary of the worst decision of your life to date. there was nothing you would’ve give to undo it. doing your homework yourself would have spared you so much unnecessary pain. “stop doing that,” you whined, scanning the party. “someone will see.”

jake chuckled, clearly not giving a damn. “unlike someone, i don’t really care what people think about me.”

you wished you didn’t care. there would always be a part of you that cared, that was so afraid of what people could say about her that she would do anything to tailor her image perfectly. matter of fact, it was all you had cared about in high school, and every year after that was spent maintaining the brand.

jake’s hand went from your waist to your ass, making you tense in his grasp. “you know, i think i deserve some kind of compensation for putting up with you for two months.”

you deserved that too. freedom. being unshackled from his cruel, unrelenting orders was the one thing you wanted most and the one thing he refused to give you. “don’t you have your compensation almost every day?” you asked irritably.

“that’s not nearly enough,” jake insisted, squeezing your ass.

god, how greedy could someone be? it was like he wanted to bleed you dry until there was nothing left.

“you know what i want?” jake asked huskily, leaning into your ear. “i wanna fuck you.”

your eyes widened a little. you had hoped this day would never come, even though you weren’t oblivious to the fact that jake had steadily gotten bolder in his interactions with you, the things he made you do for his satisfaction becoming entirely more erotic. 

grabbing your arm, jake started to lead you away. “come on, let’s go.”

you rooted in place, nearly stumbling. you didn’t want to go anywhere with him, especially if it meant putting up with his insatiable urges. “jake, i don’t want to,” you said, trying to push at him.

jake scoffed, wondering when you would realize that he didn’t care what you wanted and you had no way of winning. “if you want to make a scene in front of all these lovely people, be my guest,” he hissed in your ear.

panicked, you glanced around the crowd in search of someone that could save you. it was like everybody was looking at you until you actually needed them to. 

then, you locked eyes with jungwon. matter of fact, it seemed like he’d been looking at you much before you’d even glanced in his general direction. he saw you, saw the way jake was holding you roughly, saw the obvious stiffness on your face, saw the pleading look in your eyes; but ultimately, jungwon saw the image of you letting him down after bleeding him dry for half a year, and he turned away.

your shoulders slumped in defeat.

jake started dragging you toward the stairs, pushing past a bunch of drunk people dancing on each other. your heart was thumping, and your whole body was rigid with nerves as you tried to think of a way out of this even though you knew there was no option without consequences.

just your luck, the bathroom jake hauled you too was empty. he pushed you in and locked the door, pressing you against the counter. you gasped and glanced at your reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing yourself. “jake, please,” you whispered, trying to plead with him. “please, don’t do this.”

jake didn’t seem moved by your begging, but he did, however, appear amused. “why are you acting so sensitive about this after all we’ve done together? it’s like you’ve never gotten fucked or something.”

you swallowed, not saying a word. 

the silence was very loud, very telling. jake arched a brow, a realization dawning on him. “you really have never been fucked,” he said, surprised. “damn, i should have figured that out when you were acting like you never sucked dick before.”

your face flushed with heat. it wasn’t like you were necessarily embarrassed about it, not until now. you had always taken it as something to pride yourself on, being fuckable but untouchable. “you say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, glancing down at the sink to avoid eye contact.

jake chuckled. it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he had been convinced that you were completely pretending to be a goody two-shoes. to know there was at least one percent of you that was still pure amazed him. he lifted the skirt of your dress with his hand and brought it between your legs, asking, “what, you just never find anyone worthy enough for your perfect, sacred pussy?”

you gasped out when he touched you there. his fingers circled your clothed cunt, thumb digging into your inner thigh. feeling scandalized, you grumbled, “maybe i’m just not interested.”

jake shook his head, astonished by the amount of attitude you still had after all these months and determined to break it out of you. “and maybe i just don’t care if you’re interested or not.”

it went without saying that jake always made you feel like some kind of object, but this was next level. “this is dehumanizing!” you exclaimed. 

hearing you, of all people, talk about dehumanizing made for an interesting conversation. big, calloused hand pressing harder into you, he asked tauntingly, “doesn’t feel good, does it?”

your glossy, painted lips were parted, unable to breathe through your nose. your eyes burned with the threat of tears and it was becoming second nature for them to shed whenever jake was nearby. “i don’t understand,” you whimpered, trying to free yourself, but to no avail. “why are you doing this to me? what have i ever done to deserve this?”

jake could feel you struggling, trying to push him off you, but all it did was move your hips against his rapidly hardening cock. he groaned, grabbing hold of your ass and pushing you further back against him. “fuck, just like that,” he growled. “haven’t i told you this already? this is bigger than you and me.”

it wasn’t lost on you that jake obviously had heard stories about you from other people, stories of happenings you probably couldn’t deny, but it had nothing to do with him. “look, if you’re doing all this to get back at me because i hurt one of your friends or something, i’m sorry, i really am. but i can’t do this anymore, jake. i want to stop, please. please let me go on with my life.”

“what a privileged response,” jake hissed without concealing his vitriol. at the same time, he kept palming you over your panties, noticing them beginning to cling to your cunt, and tore your underwear to the side to insert a pair of fingers inside. “what about all those girls whose lives you ruined? i’m sure they wanted you to stop. and you didn’t until they were too humiliated to show their faces around here again and you had no choice.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. he knew about the girls? “jake, i haven’t done that since freshman year,” you told him, desperately trying to reason with him.

two loud, harsh smacks echoed in the tiny, crowded space of the bathroom, followed by a gasp consequently. your pussy stung, your head jerking around to look at jake. “do you really think that matters?” he asked, grabbing your hair to turn you back around just as quickly, as if you didn’t deserve to look at him. “you think that matters when the pain you’ve done to them is permanent? they don’t forget. and they damn sure don’t forgive you.”

you tensed, hating the way your walls were gripping and gushing around his fingers. “so what? you think you’re god or something? is this you punishing me for my sins? you’re not exactly what i would call a saint, either.”

“me and you, we’re not the same,” jake remarked, a nip to his tone as if you needed the reminder of how much he disliked you. “you only pick on people that you think are below you somehow. people you think won’t fight back.”

“i know i’m not a good person,” you admitted in between gasps, thighs straining as his fingers pumped into your pussy harder, faster, reaching places you’d never touched on your own. “ i know i don’t deserve to be happy. maybe i don’t even deserve to be treated with respect, but please leave me this one thing. spare me just this once.”

jake laughed cruelly, pulling his fingers out of your drenched hole and smearing your juices all over your folds and thighs. his finger unintentionally swiped over your sensitive clit, making your legs quiver and your stomach tighten, sucking in itself.

“damn, baby. you really know how to hurt my feelings,” jake said, voice dripping with sarcasm. he withdrew his fingers, bringing them into his mouth for a taste. “you don’t want me to fuck you that bad?”

your heart was spiking with dread, thumping belligerently in your chest, your ears, and between your legs. no one had ever made you feel so vanquished.

“take my dick out,” jake said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “hurry up.”

you sighed anguishedly, turning around to undo his pants and slip his aching dick out of its confinements. for months, jake had been suppressing the urge to fuck you, wanting to wait for the moment where it would be most pivotal.

getting a hold of your throat, jake roughly yanked you flush against him the second you whirled back around to face the tiny bathroom counter, making you stand tall against his chest. his voice was almost as rough as the hands that held you. “put it in.”

you gawked, shaking your head.

his fingers tightened dangerously around your windpipe, making your damp eyes widen and your jaw slack against his whitening knuckles, maybe half a wheeze making its way out your throat before he warned, “if i have to fucking tell you again, i’m gonna crush every bone in your goddamn neck.”

with no other option, you meekly reached behind you to grasp him in your quivering hand, aimlessly steering him to your hole and sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as the tip brushed past your dripping folds. jake released a shaky breath, slapping your hand away and rutting his hips into you from behind, sheathing himself inside in one go.

he slackened his unforgiving grip on your throat, shoving you back against the counter none too gently, but you still felt like you couldn’t breathe when he entered you, a mangled whimper echoing out. your fingers desperately braced the edges of the counter for purchase as you tried to will yourself to inhale, but it was like you were choking.

jake had a death grip on your thighs, forcibly pushing them apart a little more as he coated himself with the creamy, hot wetness of your unwanted arousal. “mm, hard to believe you don’t secretly want me when you’re sucking me in like this, baby,” he said, proud.

you shook your head in denial, face flushing with a heat that spread to your ears and neck. it didn’t help that there were beads of salty, hot tears pouring down your face and reducing your vision to one big, hazy blur. you didn’t want him, not even a little bit. but you couldn’t control the way your body was responding.

the lewd, wet smack of his cock thrusting deeply into your tight cunt rang out so loudly that you wanted nothing more than to hide into oblivion and never be seen again, mortified. it made things seem so much different than they were. his long, thick cock was stretching you beyond the cusp your limits and making you gape.

“i’m so nice to you,” jake said, tipping his head back. you could see his chest rising and falling through his clothes, his body taut with pleasure and excitement. “i’ve been holding back for so long, trying not to fuck you. won’t keep me out this pussy now. i’m gonna fuck you till your legs give out. have you at practice limping.”

your knees, wobbly as they already were, began knocking into the cabinets at the bottom of the sink. you winced your eyes closed as your fingers curled around the edge of the counter roughly enough to change the color around your knuckles, hoping to think of something, anything, to take you out of the moment.

but it was too hard. you couldn’t ignore the throb of your gushing walls as they kneaded his cock, making him grunt in your ear as he leaned over your backside. you couldn’t ignore the faint sting of his nails stabbing your hips and his heavy palm slapping repeatedly against your ass. and you definitely couldn’t ignore the dirtiness staining you from head to toe.

sure, it felt good, his body rocking against yours steadily, but it didn’t feel right. many nights you had pictured what losing your virginity would be like, both the way that it was supposed to look and the way that you were more inclined to, but this was neither; it was heartless, it was punishing, and it was brutal.

jake grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look into the mirror, yanking your head up. “there it is,” he spat, words sounding painfully familiar. “there’s the real you.”

your hair was messy from him tugging it every which way, treating you like a doll to mishandle. your makeup was ruined from your sobbing, the path of your tears harsh against everything else. your eyes were red and your right lash looked like it was barely holding on, the effect of rubbing at your face.

jake watched you take in the destroyed sight of yourself, practically hearing the critical thoughts hopping in your mind. “this is what you really are. this is what you’re sucking my dick to keep hidden from the world. is it worth it, baby? or do you just like the way i taste on your tongue?”

no, it wasn’t worth it. you were beginning to understand that now. he was taking too much from you, too much of your peace and too much of your sanity. maybe it would be better to be judged and lonely but free than to be loved by people whose opinion of you could change on a dime anyway at the expense of your soul. 

your pride had been buried a long time ago, brutally murdered in her sleep. “jake, please stop. i’m uncomfortable,” you complained, tearing your eyes away from your reflection in shame.

jake smacked your ass again, making you cry out sharply. “you just love being the victim when it’s convenient for you, huh?”

“i’m sorry!” you whimpered. “i don’t know what you want me to do. what do you want? just tell me.”

jake snickered, running his hands over your hips and waist to knead the flesh. then, he brushed your hair out of your face, nibbling at the skin behind your ear before growling, “you know what i want, cheerleader? i want to assassinate all there is that you love about yourself and leave everything else untouched, so that you understand not why everybody hates you, but why nobody loves you.”

those words hit you straight in the gut. for the first time, you had no retort, no comeback. 

hips beginning to move faster, jake continued, “the boys don’t love you, they just want to fuck you. they would kill to be as deep inside you as i am. the girls sure as hell don’t love you. they either want to be you, or they resent you for beating their asses. and don’t get me started on those girls you call friends.”

“jake, stop,” you whispered, an agony vicious enough to rip through flesh tearing you straight in half. 

but jake didn’t listen. he wasn’t done, not until he made his point. “don’t think i didn’t notice how lonely you were for the whole week everybody was talking shit about you. they didn’t want to touch you with a six foot pole, did they? they don’t want to be seen with you unless it gives them a good rep.”

there was a pang in your chest. you didn’t want to admit it, but that cut deep. you had heard people say mean things about you before, it was to expected when you were an emblem of popularity on campus, but few things had reached you where it hurt.

jake stroked your messy cheek, almost with affection. “but it’s okay. because you want to know something, baby? it was hard for me to admit it to myself, but you truly fascinate me. i can’t get you out of my head sometimes. you piss me off every time without fail, but i keep coming back to you. i like you, baby. if no one else does. you grew on me.”

you weren’t sure if that was supposed to make you feel better, but it didn’t. if anything, you only felt more heartbroken and wounded not only by his words, but by your inability to counter them. it truly dawned on you, right then, just how alone you were.

jake threw his head back, grunting. his hips were moving with a mind of their own, eager to finish. “fuck, i’m gonna come.”

your eyes went wide in panic, remembering that he had gone in bareback. 

“jake, don’t…”

before you could even finish your statement, jake clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling your protests into his pale palm. “you know what guys at my school used to say about cheerleaders?” he asked, obviously not expecting a response. “‘see a cheerleader, breed a cheerleader.’ ‘cheerleader? breed her.’”

you thrashed, but it was pointless. those thick, burly biceps of jake’s were one of the first things you noticed about him and they weren’t just for display. he held you in place as he quickened his pace again, his thrusts unrelenting.

with a couple more quick yet shockingly rhythmic thrusts, jake emptied his load deep, deep inside you. he moaned, moving his hands from your mouth to your hips to keep himself steady as he reeled from the pleasure of a mind-numbing orgasm. “goddamn,” he cursed, panting for breath.

you stifled a small noise as you felt his warmth flooding into you, unsure how to feel at this point. 

to your surprise, jake started fucking you again, never once daring to pull out as if he was determined to fuck every drop of his sticky cum as deep inside you as it could reach. his stringy, thick load gathered on his dick and inside your pussy, leaking down your thighs as he kept going.

you gasped out, moans involuntarily leaving you as you were stuffed full of him over and over. you didn’t mean to, but it was impossible to control.

then, jake stuck a hand between your legs and rolled his thumb over your clit, which didn’t help. you cried out, tensing. “jake, stop! it’s sensitive.”

“that’s the point, dummy,” jake replied, stimulating your clit with his hand while simultaneously pumping himself into you from behind.

your core tightened, heat wafting over you as your chest heaved wildly. “what are you doing?” you stammered. 

jake smiled, watching in the mirror how your face tensed with a blend of confusion and ecstasy that you couldn’t rein. “you really think i’m an asshole, huh? i’m trying to make you come. relax and let me.”

you shook your head. you didn’t want to come, not for him, and most definitely not on his cock for him to feel every unintentional shudder of your pussy as it gushed and pulsed with hot, sweet release; that would be embarrassing.

that made jake chuckle. “no? you don’t wanna come for me, baby?” he asked, furrowing his brows playfully as he tilted your face back up to the mirror with a push of your jaw. “come on, let go. you keep saying i’m not a good guy, but you shoot me down when i try to be nice.”

you moaned again, against your own reason and better judgment. “please,” you rasped with half a breath.

“please, what?” jake asked, rubbing you with just a pinch more force. “do you even know?”

god, you hated him; you absolutely despised him. but damn, if it didn’t feel good to have someone touch you after you’d spent so long avoiding sex like it was something to be ashamed of.

and this? this was definitely something you were ashamed of.

and yet the most shameful moment, perhaps, was when you finally couldn’t resist the pleasure of his big, long fingers twirling around your sensitive nub and his brutal hips smacking into you with a vengeance, clamping around him as you orgasmed with a loud cry and the heat shot through every corner of your body.

“shit,” jake hissed, the feel of you finishing around him draining the cum from his balls for a second time.

your jaw slacked, overwhelmed by how you felt completely and utterly stuffed, ropes of his cum filling you to the hilt. jake thrusted into you a little more, sending a flare through your back and shoulders, until he stilled for good. you could hear him panting behind you.

after a moment or two, jake pulled out. hand between your thighs, he gathered some of his stringy release on his finger and brought it up to your lips. “open up. don’t make me say it again.”

you opened your mouth wide enough for him to insert two of his cum-coated fingers inside. then, you sucked at them and swallowed it down, knowing those would be the next words to leave his mouth. 

jake raised a brow, pleasantly surprised. he took his time to withdraw his fingers, enjoying the sensation of you licking them clean. “see, i knew you loved eating my cum.”

your face burned, but you didn’t have the energy to deny it. not after that. it felt like there was a gaping hole in your chest, a void that would never be filled. 

“you’re learning,” jake commented, humming in satisfaction. “good girl. you know, maybe one day we can get along. don’t you think?”

“yeah,” you murmured weakly. at this point, you would just go along with whatever he said. and maybe that was why he figured you could experience some peace together now.

keeping your dress bunched up, jake grabbed some tissues from his left and started to wipe at you. “let’s get you cleaned up before we leave, cheerleader. don’t want the entire student body to see you like this, right?”

you whipped your head around, eyes widening in surprise. leaving to go where? certainly you weren’t going home with him after tonight. 

“did you think i was kidding?” jake asked with a sly smile, slipping your panties backing in place and giving your shoulder a fleeting kiss. “i told you, i’m gonna fuck you till your legs give out.”