#just letting you guys know since i know a lot of my followers followed me for dmc stuff

[azzibueckers5]

i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song) (ao3 link)

azzi realizes (with some gentle prodding) midway through her rookie wnba season that maybe she and paige were more than best friends and she just didn't know it. except they haven't really talked in more than a year. cue a mini crashout and some major life re-evaluation. and a lot of wine. (wc: ~5k)

AN: um hi hello! this is my first ever published fic so please be kind 🙏🏻i'll try and shorten the manifesto authors note i have in ao3, but basically this is just meant to be a silly little story! i don't think this is canon in any way i just really like angsty gays being stupid, so. this would theoretically be during azzi’s rookie season (so summer 2026) and operates under a reality in which p+a are very much not together and were never messing around, so make some mental edits to the pazzi timeline if you so please. i hope you enjoy this little labor of love ❤︎

chapter 1: in which azzi discovers the dangers of combining wine, well-meaning but invasive questions from friends, and the call feature on her iphone

it starts, as many things do, with dinner and one too many glasses of wine for azzi. she and a few teammates had decided to have a girls' night- a real girls' night, as aaliyah had called it, meaning dinner at a nice, secluded cocktail bar downtown during their few days off. they were grown ups now, or at least pretending to be, and what better way to celebrate getting through half of the season than by getting wine drunk and munching on slightly overpriced hors d'oeuvres. 

they’re mostly through their food at this point, which is to say, pleasantly tipsy, maybe even teetering on the edge of drunk, and azzi leans back into the booth with a contented sigh, lazily sipping on the remaining wine in her glass. 

kiki and georgia are discussing kiki’s new boyfriend, and azzi is only half paying attention, finding the buzz in her system making it difficult to really enjoy hearing the phrase “ i’m just so in love with him ” for the third time in the last five minutes. 

georgia is amused though, and azzi lets her handle it, up until georgia turns to her and asks, “what about you, fudd? got anything going on over there? any new suitors?” 

azzi rolls her eyes, sighing. “no ma’am. answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked it.”

it should bother her, really, how little action she gets, how uninterested in casual dating she’s been. but she’s content, for the most part, with her friends and her family and the occasional one night stand. sometimes it feels like her friends are more invested in her dating life than she is.

“come onnnn, when’s the last time you dated someone,” kiki pipes up, and azzi thinks here we go again.  

“bro i don’t know. the whole dating and boys thing isn’t for me, okay,” she whines, and even though that’s the truth, dating has never been something azzi cared about, the words feel a little sour on her tongue. 

she glances at aaliyah, who’s looking at her curiously. 

“what?” she asks, at her imploring gaze. the wine is making her bolder, more inclined to be blunt about her disinterest in boys, and she thought aaliyah kind of understood that about her, anyways.

aaliyah opens her mouth, as if to say something, and then closes it, and azzi feels herself flush a little bit, though she doesn’t really know why. aaliyah is looking at her like she can’t quite figure something out, and it unnerves her. 

azzi squirms, and repeats “no really, what? now you have to tell me.” its followed by a chorus of agreement from the other two girls, and aaliyah sighs. 

“how many times have you been in love? we got kiki over here yappin’ about her second guy of the year and yet i’ve never heard you interested in a guy for more than a week.” she says it like she’s trying to clue azzi in on something, yet all she can focus on is the first part of the question. and she’s embarrassed . 

she flushes, and tries to ignore the anxiety that her biggest insecurity raises to the surface, steeling herself for her answer. her limited dating experience has never been embarrassing, because she’d always been a busy athlete and could brush it off as something she never had time for. but being 23 and never having been in love was secretly something that kept her up at night. 

the wine makes her bold, though, so she lifts her head and mumbles out a quick “i’ve never- i’ve never been in love.” 

the table is silent for a brief second, her words sinking in, but instead of shock or judgement gazing back at her, azzi is met with confusion and almost amusement . 

kiki is the first one to speak up. “well we know that's not true.” her tone is playful, as if azzi is kidding.

azzi stares at her blankly. “what d’you mean?” she laughs a little at their disbelieving looks, and then adds, “don’t rub it in. it's not exactly something i’m proud of.”

still, she’s met with unnerving eyes. finally, aaliyah blurts out “i mean. we know you and paige…” she trails off without finishing, but the damage is done.

“what the fuck are you guys on about?” she immediately says in response, half laughing, trying to lessen the tension. she ignores the way the unexpected mention of paige cuts at her heart. they haven’t spoken in, god, probably two or three months at this point, and the reminder twists something ugly in her chest as she waits for what promises to be a weird joke that falls flat. 

all three faces peering back at her seem entirely humorless though, and azzi starts to get the idea that she’s missing some sort of crucial piece of information. “i wasn’t in love with paige,” she gets out, ignoring the way her voice catches on the name.

aaliyah’s face softens. “we don’t have to talk about it of you don’t want to but… you don’t have to hide that from us, azzi.” 

she splutters in response. “you guys don’t actually think that-” but the look on their faces belays that, in fact, all three of them somehow think that azzi was in love with paige.

 “guys. come on. that was just some weird internet theory. paige and i were just best friends.” she’s defensive now, because what the fuck is going on. 

her pulse is buzzing under her skin, no longer from just the wine, and she suddenly feels like the restaurant around them is really quiet, and everyone is listening in on this conversation. the ac must not be working properly either, because she’s sweating, legs sticking to the leather of the seat below her. 

georgia, graciously, breaks the silence, but the relief is short lived when azzi hears the nonsense that comes out of her mouth. 

“azzi, come on, i wasn’t even with you guys at uconn and i know you were more than friends. you don’t gotta pretend in front of us.”

and then kiki is chiming in with “i mean everybody kinda knew it…” and azzi feels like god is playing some kind of twisted prank on her. 

she turns back to aaliyah, hoping she can defend azzi, except her face looks a little horrified. like she’s realizing that in fact azzi wasn’t aware that everyone thought they were more than friends. she looks for support anyways, knowing that aaliyah had seen them at uconn, had understood that they were just intensely codependent and not dating, for the love of god. 

“c’mon, tell them we were just friends,” she pleads to the older girl, expecting back up on at least this. 

“azzi…” she trails off, and azzi can only gape at all of them. “i mean, you guys were attached at the hip. you had sleepovers like 4 times a week…” she trails off, and azzi realizes three things in quick succession. 

one, aaliyah thought her and paige had been actually, truly dating, or hooking up, or something. two, this means that probably multiple other people on the team also thought they were something. and three, if kiki and georgia also thought that… somehow azzi had missed the memo that not only did random fans on the internet think they’d been in love, but that everyone had. she feels like she’s going to throw up. 

“you guys are wrong. we were just best friends,” she says, with as much conviction as she can muster, and it is the truth, even though her audience is making it feel like a lie. they had been just best friends, truly, except . 

except the one night azzi can’t remember , after the championship, when she’d woken up in paige’s hotel room with a blinding hangover and spotty memory. that in itself hadn’t been weird, but the mark on her collarbone had been new, and the way paige wouldn’t meet her eyes had been different, and, and. azzi shuts down the thoughts of that horrible morning and ensuing weeks.

she blinks back into the restaurant to look at her teammates, and she sees the dawning realization on their faces that she’s telling the truth, or most of it anyway, and they all look, well, a little shell-shocked.  

she asks for clarification, even though she knows the answer already, “i mean did everyone- did everyone think we were-” she can’t even finish the sentence, and doesn’t need to. She gets three nods immediately, and the playful mood that had existed at their table only minutes before has evaporated into the low lights above them. 

and they’re all wrong, they all have to be wrong, because azzi isn’t even really into girls, and hadn’t been in love with paige, because she would have known. surely she would have known, or at least someone would have mentioned it to her. this feels like a bad dream that she can’t wake up from, because now she can’t stop thinking about paige, and how much she misses her laugh, and the curl of their fingers together, and how they haven’t gone this long without speaking since, well, ever. 

she forcefully shuts down thoughts of the blonde, because she’d been so good at blocking out how much she missed her, and this conversation is just messing with her wine-addled mind. she had not been in love with paige. she just hadn’t been, couldn’t have been. 

“you guys are wrong,” she says, extremely convincingly. because it's true, obviously. and the looks she receives in response are disbelieving, but they seem to understand that this isn’t something azzi wants to get into right now. 

“okay. if you say so,” kiki replies gently, words laced with pity, and azzi hates everything.

she nods, trying to ignore the fact that she kind of feels like crying, and manages to get out an “i do” without her voice cracking. 

aaliyah gives her a long, searching look, before deciding to drop it. mercifully, she begins asking georgia about the date she went on a couple nights before, and the attention shifts. 

for the short rest of the dinner though, azzi is lost in a subtle, wine-induced panic. the girls leave her alone to her thoughts for the most part, seemingly understanding that she doesn’t have much to add, and she sighs in relief when the bill gets paid and the ubers begin to be called. 

outside, the muggy dc air hits her face and does nothing to cool the heat that's been simmering in her veins. as they disperse in front of the restaurant to go their separate ways, aaliyah hesitates for a second before climbing in the car that's awaiting her. “if you ever want to talk about it… you know i’m here right?”

azzi doesn’t have to ask what she means. she nods, and pastes on the most convincing smile she can muster. “i’m fine, really, lili. there's nothing to talk about.”

at her disbelieving look, azzi rolls her eyes. “really. i mean it.” she pauses, and then allows a meek “but i’ll let you know if i change my mind.” 

aaliyah hums, and reaches out to squeeze her hand, before finally climbing into her car. “if you say so, fudd. g’night. love you. i'll see you at practice.”

“'night. love you too,” she responds, and shuts the door gently, before looking up and searching for her own uber. 

the drive home is spent staring out the window trying not to cry. and it doesn’t make sense, she wasn’t in love with paige, but for some reason, out of all the times she’d ever been accused of dating paige, this one has rattled her the most. 

she’d always thought that the rumors had been kind of funny, in a ridiculous, distant way, and though they’d stopped joking about them as they’d gotten more intense in the later parts of their friendship, azzi had always thought that paige kind of thought they were amusing too. 

except, now that she really thinks about it, she’d stopped joking about the speculation because it used to make paige fidgety. and azzi had always thought it had just been because the rumors were so rampant, that it was awkward because they were so wrong, but now this stupid dinner and the stupid wine is making her not so sure. 

but no. she knows she wasn’t in love with paige. because. because she would have known. 

her mind feels like it's going at a million miles a minute, flashes of paige’s smile and the way her head would always come to rest on azzi’s shoulder, and how safe she’d always felt next to paige, and-

her impending anxiety attack is put on pause when the car gets to her building, and as she thanks the driver and heads up into the elevators, she tries to reassure herself that it's just the wine, and the surprise information that it hadn’t just been strangers thinking they were together, but friends, close friends , too. 

and it's already late, but when she is finally engulfed by the silence of her apartment, azzi does the only thing that she thinks will bring her any sense of clarity and drags her phone out of her purse.  

katie picks up on the second ring (she ignores the part of her that’s first instinct is still to call paige when anything is wrong because god fucking damn it ), and azzi feels moderately better at her mom’s familiar “hello” on the other side of the line.

“hi,” is the only thing she can come up with in response, and she mentally curses her vocal cords for breaking on the singular word. so much for not revealing to her mother that she’s upset. 

“azzi honey, are you okay?” comes the response, gentle with concern. and she is, she is okay except she kind of feels like the rug has been ripped out from under her, and she just needs her mom to tell her that everyone else is crazy. 

“i’m fine, i’m okay,” she releases, but that feels like a lie so she continues. “can i- can i ask you a question? and you can’t. you can’t laugh or think it's stupid or whatever.”

katie hums in confusion on the other side of the line, and azzi just needs to say it before she loses the confidence of the wine sliding through her system.

“did you ever- did you ever think i was in love with paige?”

from the strangled sound on the other side of the phone, it's clearly not what she expected azzi to ask. 

“azzi. sweetheart. did you- were you not?” and that. that gets her to finally shed the tears that have been brewing since dinner. 

her panicked “no!” sounds a lot less convincing than she intends it to be, and she doesn’t- she doesn’t understand what the fuck going on. 

katie’s voice is gentle when she continues, understanding the fragility of the moment (and azzi’s sanity ) and she states quietly, “i mean. i always thought the two of you were a little bit in love with each other. less so when you were younger, but. azzi . i mean, you guys lived out of eachothers pockets for years. i always kind of thought you guys were more than friends.” her words are soft, like she knows azzi can’t handle anything else, but they still pierce her heart like knives against a target.

and what the fuck ever. 

she’s really crying now, though she’s trying to keep it quiet and preserve the barest amount of pride she has left. it's just. everything everyone is saying isn’t making any sense because it's impossible to be in love with someone without knowing it. 

and yet, here azzi is, on the phone with her mother and maybe possibly coming to the realization that maybe she and paige weren’t exactly the most platonic of friends and it's at least a year too late. and then that last thought hits her square in the chest: the fact that she and paige haven’t been alone in the same room together in over a year, haven’t called in maybe longer, that it very well might be too late, and then her tears aren’t so silent anymore. 

she lets out a sob over the phone and her mom’s voice sounds worried when she says “oh, azzi. we thought you guys broke up last year. you never wanted to talk about what happened and we just assumed you were dating in secret and something happened. you’re telling me you weren’t- you never…”

she cuts her mom off with another “no!” and this really might be the worst thing that’s ever happened, because her mom thought they were dating. and then, because she needs to know for sure she asks again, voice thick with tears “so you think. you think that i was in love with paige?” 

there’s silence on the other side of the phone for a second, as katie processes how to respond. and then her mom must hate her or something because all she says in response is “honey, only you can answer that question. but i think that if you’re asking me, then you already know.” 

and, well, she’s right. and isn’t that just fucking awesome.

after hanging up on her mother and swearing up and down that she’ll call tomorrow when she’s more calm and coherent and not losing her fucking mind , azzi takes a long, still slightly tipsy shower. 

she thinks of paige six different times in the span of twenty minutes and contemplates slamming her head against the tile walls. 

it’s as if aaliyah had uncovered this part of azzi’s brain that had been locked away, unbeknownst to her, and now that it was released it was determined to wreak as much havoc as possible. 

she knows she won’t be able to sleep right away, the buzz of adrenaline, alcohol, and unexplored feelings too potent to let her rest, so she does probably the dumbest thing she can think of and grabs a bottle of wine and the blanket that paige bought her when she was 17 and plants herself on the couch. she figures she deserves the pinot something-or-other that someone had gifted her when she’d had her little housewarming party in the spring. 

and then she’s reminded of said party, and the last minute invite she’d sent to paige as a peace offering, as a plea for normalcy. the older girl had been in the area, azzi knows because drew had mentioned it to her brothers, and she hadn’t exactly expected paige to show up and be normal, relaxed and funny paige, azzi’s paige, but she also hadn’t expected the text saying she couldn’t come with a half hearted excuse. 

that had been the nail in the coffin for azzi, the sign that she should stop trying. because as much as the unanswered texts and awkward interactions after uconn visits and stilted hugs after team trips to watch the wings had hurt, the realisation that paige had decided not to be there for azzi on a night that was supposed to be a celebration of her accomplishments had made her understand how wide the gap between them had really grown. paige had never chosen not to be there for azzi. 

and now she’s beginning to understand that it had been heartbreak, in its truest form, that had settled into her bones that day, not merely disappointment. she’d cried in the bathroom at her own party, briefly, when she’d realized that paige wasn’t coming, and. 

and so many things about their relationship are starting to make sense. 

the way they’d told each other everything except anything to do with love interests or hookups because it was an unspoken rule between them that the other didn’t want to know. the way azzi had been completely comfortable with nudity in front of teammates except around paige, always turning around when the blonde was changing and vice versa. the way they didn’t gone more than a couple hours without communicating unless one of them was asleep for like. eight years. the way paige had slotted so seamlessly into her life that she’d felt like family, except the word sister had never seemed like an appropriate word for what they were to each other.

and then. and then azzi is suddenly angry. angry at herself for not figuring this out sooner. angry at her friends for never informing her that she was in love with her best friend. and most importantly, she was fucking furious at paige. because the more she thinks back at their relationship, and the good and the bad, the more she realizes that paige had to have known. she’s struck with the thought that paige had probably been in love with her too, but instead of comfort, all azzi can feel is the grief of losing her before they were ever even something more, and the fury at paige for letting them fall apart . 

because it had been paige that had stopped responding to text messages. paige who had subtly put a stop to any and all physical contact that azzi had tried to instigate. and it had been paige who had started and ended their dizzying, agonizing conversation about the championship night. 

azzi knows she’d fucked up by refusing to aknowledge the fact that they had definitely kissed, definitely more than kissed that night. except it had been hazy. she couldn’t remember the details of how they’d gotten from the after party in the hotel to paige's room. she couldn’t remember what they’d said or done or even what the time frame of that night had looked like. she only remembered blurry snapshots of paige’s mouth against hers, and the feeling of her hands tangling in the blonde’s hair, and the proof, stark against her chest, that paige's mouth had moved lower and meant it.

and then azzi hadn’t acknowledged it the next morning, because what on earth do you say when you’re pretty sure you made out with your best friend of eight years but you can’t actually remember. and paige had been in a horrible mood, and they’d fought, like they never did, about something entirely unrelated, and azzi had been blindsided, like she was missing something throughout the entire argument. 

and now. azzi is starting to understand that it hadn’t been that paige didn’t care when she’d put distance between them, flitting off to the league and leaving calls and texts unanswered, but that she’d cared too much. 

still, this doesn’t make azzi feel better, and she’s pissed. because how very dare paige fuck off without telling azzi that they’d been in love, and leave her to think that paige hadn’t needed her. 

she must be drunker than she thought she was, because suddenly her anger boils over and she’s doing probably the stupidest thing she possibly could, which is picking up her phone and dialing the number still pinned at the top of her contacts list. 

its late now, like beyond a reasonable time to be calling anyone, let alone your ex best friend who you don’t speak to anymore, but somewhere in azzi’s hazy mind she knows that paige is an hour behind and that she always picks up the phone for azzi. 

it rings four times, and each one causes her heartbeat to pick up even faster, and azzi doesn’t know what would be worse, paige answering or paige not. (she does know. it's not the former)

and then the line clicks midway through the fifth ring and paige says “azzi?” and azzi hears her voice for the first time in months, since they played each other in may and could barely look at eachother, and all the fight and anger that was simmering in her blood seems to disappear at how broken her name sounds coming from paige’s lips. 

she can only muster up a strangled “hi” into the phone, really eloquent, azzi, great job , and she realizes when she says it that she’s crying again because she sounds like she’s crying , and isn’t that just perfect. 

immediately, azzi can sense the shift in paige’s energy over the phone as her voice rings out in a worried “azzi? are you okay?” and azzi has forgotten entirely why she called in the first place or what to say.

“no, yeah, m’fine,” she answers, but she know she doesn’t sound convincing, and wow, okay, this pinot something-or-other must be like, at least 15% because azzi then blurts out a pitiful “m’just drunk and i miss you.”

paige exhales sharply into the phone, the ensuing silence deafening, and azzi feels humiliation curl in her gut, regretting everything between the day she was born and now that has led her to this moment. 

but then paige says, weakly, her voice slightly muffled over the distance, “i miss you too, az. so much.” 

she expects to feel relief at the words, the knowledge that paige misses her too, probably just as much, but it’s only a reminder to azzi of how badly they’ve fucked everything up. 

and then she suddenly remembers that they have an away game in dallas, in only a week or so, and she really needs to get a grip but instead she hears herself speaking again, before she can process the words. “when i’m in dallas next week, can we maybe-”

she’s cut off by a woman’s voice in the background, on the other end of the phone, asking, “paige? are you still staying over?” 

azzi feels like she’s been thrown off the side of a mountain. 

or rather she wishes she was thrown off the side of a mountain because that probably feels better than the absolute devastation currently coursing out from her heart and into her bloodstream and clogging her lungs. 

she makes a choked off sound in the back of her throat, just as paige stammers out an uneven “can you give me a second?” her voice sounds distant, because it's not meant for azzi, and for the second time in the span of a minute, azzi regrets being born at all. 

she hears movement through the phoneline, imagining paige moving through this unknown woman’s house, and fuck, why hadn’t she considered this? that paige had moved on? here azzi was, finally figuring out her shit, and calling paige in the middle of the night like some desperate ex-something and paige might have had a whole girlfriend. 

azzi feels bile rise in her throat. 

somehow, she musters up the courage to croak out “no paige, it's okay. you go. i’m sorry for calling so la-”

“no, no, azzi, it’s fine, it's never too late for you,” and. well. that might just be the fucking joke of the century.  

“no, really paige, it's okay. i need to sleep too.”

there’s resigned silence between them for a second, and azzi thinks paige is going to simply hang up, and then the older girl whispers “were you gonna ask to hang out? in- in dallas?”

azzi’s “yes” is embarrassingly quick to tumble from her lips. 

paige lets out a quiet laugh, and it's brief and small, and really probably more of an amused exhale through her nose than anything else, but she laughs, and azzi feels the twisted fluttering of hope bloom in her chest, despite herself.

“okay. text me tomorrow, then. if you really want to do something.” there's a challenge in paige’s words, like she doesn’t think azzi will, and that stings, a little, but she tries not to let it. 

“i will. i promise.” a pause, and then when the other girl says nothing, “g’night paige,” she whispers, and she means that promise. she knows she’s drunk, and she guesses there might have been a similar exchange all those horrible months ago, hence paige’s quiet mistrust, but she knows in her bones that she’ll remember this tomorrow, that she’ll want to see paige.

“goodnight, azzi. sweet dreams.” and then, the dial tone. 

in the silence of the room, masochistically, azzi realizes that that’s the first time they’ve hung up the phone without saying i love you since they were fifteen. the irony is not lost on her. 

she falls asleep that night curled up into a ball, cheeks wet and the blanket paige got her still tucked around her feet.

AN: ummm thank you for reading! and please tell me how you liked if you so please! i am a people pleaser to my core so it might make me write faster. there should only be one more part and i'm about halfway done writing it! i hope this inspires you freaks to post stuff on ao3 bc it is NEEDED. xoxoxoxo

[geminiwritten]

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

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

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

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

word count: 10937

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

Another awkward stretch of silence. 

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

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

“See you Friday, then.” 

“See you Friday.” 

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

What the fuck did you just do? 

- 

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “That easy?” 

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer is always civilized.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choke on air. “Excuse me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, how are you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?” 

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

“I highly fucking doubt it.” 

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

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

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

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

“I know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it almost wrecks you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the plan, anyway. 

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

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

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought. 

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

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

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

You feel it everywhere. 

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

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck are you doing? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t ask you to come in.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching. 

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

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

BZZZZZZZZZZZT. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dreams? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake…” 

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

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

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

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

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

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

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest. 

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

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

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

“Fuck it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

You wake up warm. Too warm. 

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

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

And then... you remember everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not when I’m this right.” 

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

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Define right.” 

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

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

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

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

You smirk. “Jealous?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock. 

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

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

END.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

naming rights

madney/bucktommy, post 8x15, 1k ao3 link TBA, i got this out in an hour or so and need it to sit for a day before i edit

inspired by all the naming-kids-after-the-dead posting (and this post by @beanarie in particular, for one specific line). as someone named after a dead grandparent myself i think some of y’all are overestimating how heavily it weighs on the soul, but i acknowledge that this shit hits different in fiction.

.

The odd mood doesn’t really register for Buck at first. And even then, once he notices the tension in Maddie’s shoulders, how Chimney’s a beat late to cracking a joke Buck doesn’t get, he credits the mood to Tommy’s presence. This is, after all, the first time he’s brought Tommy to the Buckley-Han household since they agreed to start again, to take this seriously. It annoys him a little, but it’s not like he doesn’t get it. Maddie and Chimney saw him at his lowest, missing Tommy. If they want to hold a bit of a grudge, that’s their business.

And then Chimney blurts out, “Buck, if you want dibs, just say the word.”

Buck blinks, looking down at the plate of cheddar herb biscuits he’s been hovering over. There are five left. It’s not exactly a dibs-worthy scenario. “What?”

Maddie sets a hand on Chimney’s shoulder, letting out a strained little laugh at the defeated look on his face. “We were… talking about names, last week,” she says, “and it occurred to us that there might be a name you would like to… reserve. For future use.”

It hits like a punch to the solar plexus, heart-stopping, the way reminders of Bobby always do. Buck makes himself breathe slow and even, and then the implications of the offer are a follow-up punch to the gut. He gasps, helpless. “Wha—Chim, he died for y—” Chimney winces, and Buck wants to smack himself. Stupid, thoughtless—like he needs that reminder! “W-what I mean is, I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m asking if you want me to anyway.” Chim shrugs, a sad little smile on his face. “Not to brag, but I’ve lost a lot of loved ones in my time, Buck. Plenty of people I could memorialize in a name.” He leans into Maddie’s side, looking fondly at her. “Then again, Jee-Yun’s already named for my mom. Maybe it’s time we honor someone Maddie lost.”

It takes Buck a second. Daniel. Oh, jeez.

For a moment, he thinks about it.

But just for a moment.

Buck shakes his head. “Mom and Dad—”

“—can deal with it,” Maddie insists.

Buck smiles—he’d love to see her say that to their faces—but doubles down. “Do you really want to risk it, though? Another kid they can’t help but treat differently?” He sure doesn’t want to have to see that. Even though they’d be able to tell his nephew why Grandma wants to run away and cry when she says his name, he knows from experience how little difference having an explanation makes.

Maddie winces, and he knows she gets it.

“No,” Buck says, firmer now, “if you guys want to name your kid after Bobby, you should do it. You have my blessing, or whatever.”

The tension drops out of the room so abruptly Buck feels stupid for failing to notice it sooner. Maddie smiles, relieved, and Chimney says a solemn, quiet word of thanks, and he feels like such a heel for considering any other answer for even a second.

“Besides,” Buck jokes, fiddling with a biscuit, “it’s not like I even—I-I mean, who knows if I’ll… if I’ll ever.” He stops, the unfairness of it all strangling his voice, making his heart stall out in his chest.

Because even if he does, someday. Whoever, however, it doesn’t matter—a name is the most substantial thing he can give them of Bobby. And that’s nothing, it’s just a word, a pair of sounds. Two syllables. Compared to everything he should be able to give—!

Tommy gently extracting the crushed biscuit from Buck’s hand snaps him back to reality. “Hey,” he says, just as gently, wrapping his hands around Buck’s.

“Hey. Sorry about—” Buck cuts himself off at the familiar look this gets him. He sighs. “I have nothing to apologize for, I know.”

“Good,” Tommy says. He glances between Maddie and Chimney, stricken, and Buck, surprised by his grief yet again. “Not that anyone asked, but my two cents? I don’t see why anyone needs to declare dibs here.” He squeezes Buck’s hand, a move Buck has come to recognize as a sign of an incoming anecdote that means more to Tommy than he’ll let on.

Buck gives Tommy his full attention.

Tommy averts his eyes.

“Like, my cousin’s wife? Her family is huge, but you can tell which is the firstborn kid in each household because they all have basically the same name. Marianne, Marion, Marvin (middle name Andrew), Marybeth (middle name Ann)… all after their shared grandma, who died twenty years before any of them were born.” Tommy shrugs. “Sure, it gets a little confusing when they’re all in the same place and you’re trying to get one’s attention, but… I don’t know, I think it’s kind of beautiful? That woman was so loved, you can see her impact on a whole generation.”

He meets Buck’s eyes at last, and it’s almost unbearable how earnest Tommy looks as he asks, “Why shouldn’t Bobby get as many namesakes as he has people who love him?”

Buck blinks. Looks at Maddie and Chimney, who barely share half a glance before they’re nodding at him.

Buck smiles, kisses Tommy, wipes tears from the corners of both their eyes with his free hand, and turns back to Maddie and Chimney. “So what were you thinking, Robert Daniel?”

Maddie shakes her head. “I thought about it, but I don’t want Jee-Yun feeling like the odd one out. So I went looking, and there are a couple Korean names that start with Bo…”

As she goes on, listing names and their pros and cons, her husband watching with hearts in his eyes, Buck leans closer to Tommy. “So what name are you considering, then?” he murmurs. “You have something already picked out that goes nicely with Robert?”

Buck doesn’t take his eyes off Maddie, doesn’t let go of either of Tommy’s hands. They’re taking this seriously, now, or at least that’s what they said. If Tommy meant it, if he means it, he can answer this question without flinching.

All the same, Buck’s readied himself for a neutral-at-best reaction.

He’s entirely unprepared for Tommy to immediately respond, “Nah. It’s kinda old-fashioned, but I’ve always liked the name Roberta.” And he hums, a little off-key, the first line of a song that Buck’s heard a dozen times or more, in the background of quiet, comfortable dinners at Tommy’s place.

Buck grins, his heart starting to race.

[charl0ttan]

hi charlotte im a trans guy thing but i wanted to say. ever since i started following you ive been feeling happier than ever about being trans... i always felt bad or guilty that womanhood was something i 'abandoned' or couldn't conform myself into, but seeing you and other girls being so full of love and life and happiness being women helped me feel a lot better about it? like whoa its not for me but seeing you girls flourish being what i couldn't makes my heart feel good. ty for helping me really truly understand womanhood is beautiful and joyful and not just the pain and awkwardness i felt. sorry this is weird and doesn't make sense but i wanted to let you know. from one trans deer to another 🦌🏳️‍⚧️🦌

AW yay thats so lovely actually:) thank u💜🦌

[fmnxpl]

All mine

Pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

Warnings: none its fluff:P maybe a lil angst at the begining

Summary: You seem to be spending an awful lot of time with your other friends recently, so as a result Xavier has started to feel a little…left behind. You make amends.

A/N: i have way too many new fics lined up guyssss and all the guys will get atleast one fic because i just cannot for the life of me decide who my fav is…so all it is!:)) The next fic will prob be a Caleb Fic

!English is not my native Language!

You didn’t really mean to do it.

You and Xavier had so many plans these past few weeks that just never manifested.


At first, it was Monday—you two had planned to visit that new cat café down the road you’d been gushing about for absolute weeks. But then Zayne called you with an emergency: a wanderer had injured another child and wouldn’t talk to anyone else. You texted Xavier on your way to the hospital, letting him know you wouldn’t make it, followed by a cat sticker that apologized. You postponed it to Wednesday. But that day, Rafayel called you, claiming he was “injured” and also “dying,” so you rushed off to him while Xavier was waiting just outside your apartment door. Again, you apologized and postponed it.

Friday, Saturday, then the following Monday. If it wasn’t one of the boys, your work would call you in, and your heart broke for Xavier even more. Never once did he complain or say anything, but you noticed the way his smile became more tight-lipped each time, and how his eyes had gone bored, as if already accounting for the fact that the two of you simply weren’t going.

So after returning home from a rough mission, you immediately turned your phone off—after alerting the other boys not to disturb you under any circumstances. You quickly went through your closet to find something more fitting than your blood-covered work uniform, then closed your apartment door behind you and rushed upstairs to Xavier’s.

In front of his door, your hands had gone clammy, and you didn’t even know why. How long had it been since it was just you and Xavier? God, you missed him so much.
You knocked softly before saying, “It’s me, Xav. Can you let me in?”

The door yanked open in thirty seconds flat.

You didn’t even let him open his mouth before throwing your arms around his neck and planting a sweet, solemn kiss just below his jaw—where you know he’s ticklish.
His hands flew immediately to your waist as he stumbled backwards with you, closing the apartment door behind him.

“I missed you so much, Xav. I’m so sorry for postponing our plans.” You raised your head from his neck to look at him.

He’d grown a soft shade of pink across his cheek before lowering his head too, nuzzling into your hair.

“It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy and—”

You cut him off by placing your hand on his lips, shaking your head vigorously.

“No. You do not get to go sweet boyfriend on me. Xav, you’re allowed to be mad. I know you missed me too.” Your hand went to cradle his face mid-sentence, and you stroked his cheek.

His hand flew to your wrist, pushing into your palm before planting a kiss there.
“Can we stay in today? I’m not really feeling up to going out,” he muttered into your hand and between kisses.

You let out a huge grin, whispering against his lips, “Of course. Whatever you want.”

As you walked into his apartment, he made his way to the kitchen to finish what he’d been cooking before you’d interrupted him. Looking around, you noticed his place was a bit more… messy than it usually was.

“Xav? Why is your apartment so messy?”

No answer. You assumed he couldn’t hear you from the kitchen.

You moved to the couch and sat down in the corner, leaning against the armrest with your legs tucked beneath your chin. Your eyes darted around the apartment before Xavier finally returned and sat down—what seems like an entire ocean away from you. Or at least, that’s how it felt. You furrowed your brows, looking between him and the empty space beside you. Xavier always sat close. Even if it was just a leg brushing yours. The gap between you two now feel less like distance and more like hesitation.

“Xav?” you muttered.

“Yeah?” His eyes focused on yours, then scanned your face like he was mapping out every feature. There's a flicker of something in his eyes, something raw and a little desperate.

“Why are you so far away? Can you—”

You didn’t get to finish before he moved hastily and threw himself between your legs, burying his face in your neck, one of his large hands cradling the back of your head.

“Xavier?” You heard a small whimper as your hand threaded through his hair, trying to pull him back. He refused to move.

“I missed you. So much,” he mumbled, and you felt your heart shatter into tiny pieces. Xavier was usually far more composed than this (sometimes), but you could tell he’d been sitting on these feelings for some time. “I’m so sorry. I’ll call in sick for work and tell everyone I can’t be contacted. I’ll stay with you the whole week. We’ll do whatever you want.”

Your last sentence was followed by a trail of kisses from his eyelid down to the side of his neck, giving a little extra attention to that small mole of his.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Your eyes darted between his before you raised your hand to smooth the tension from his furrowed brows, then let it drift to his lips, brushing over his bottom one. You let out a soft sigh, leaning in to kiss him.

His hand slid down to your waist, slipping under your (his) shirt. As your lips parted, he helped you take it off, placing kisses down to your lower stomach, where he looked up at you.

“I missed you.”

[ineedseveretherapy]

Truth or Dare

TW: mentions of suicide

Donnie walked into the living room to find Leo reading a Jupiter Jim comic on the couch. Donnie stared at his twin, he'd been really worried about him ever since the invasion, although he only showed it through the occasional jumpscare checkup and late-night stalking. Donnie walked over and sat down on the couch and out of the corner of his eye he saw Leo's head perk up from his comic.

"Heyyy Dontron! Need something?"

"No..."

Donnie looked down and started fidgeting with his fingers as Leo shrugged and went back to reading.

"Uhm- actually yes, there is something..."

Leo looked up once again from his comic with a puzzled look on his face.

"Uhh okay...? Shoot."

"I wanna play a game!"

Leo sat up feeling even more confused,

"A game...? Did Mikey put you up to some sibling bonding activity or something?"

Donnie glared at his brother, this was hard enough for him as it is, he didn't need to make it worse.

"No. I'm just bored and,"

He paused and took a breath.

"Can't I just play a game with my brother without a entire interrogation?"

Leo couldn't tell if he was conducting some experiment or if he was being genuine, but it was a chance to hang out with Donnie, which he hasn't done a lot of since the invasion, so he wasn't complaining.

"Alright, what game do you wanna play?"

"Truth or Dare."

"Wow, you sure thought about this haven't you? Alright, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Did Mikey put you up to this or are you actually telling the truth and you actually wanna spend time with me~?"

"No Mikey did not put me up to this, I do want to spend time with you Nardo. Truth or Dare?"

"Hmm... Dare."

"um... I dare you to... uh..."

"Do you need a minute?"

"I'm thinking!"

"Ok~"

"I dare you to eat mustard on an ice cube."

"EW WHAT!?"

"Do it."

"Ugh fine."

Leo grabbed one of his Katannas that was laying against the couch and made a portal to the kitchen, a moment later he came out with an ice cube with some mustard on it. In one quick motion he bites down and swallows it sending a shiver down his spine. He sat down again glaring at Donnie and the petty smirk on his face.

"Truth or dare, jerk."

"Truth."

"Your in the mood for a conversation, you normally pick dare. Hmm... Why do you keep following me in the middle of the night?"

"Whaaaaaaattt? I-I'm not following- ugh fine. I don't know... Raph and Mikey aren't up, so I thought it's my shift to watch over you?"

Leo rolled his eyes,

"Oh great, you guys are taking shifts now..."

"Yeah, we are. Truth or dare."

"Truth."

"Why do you insist that we stop taking care of you? We're all just worried Leo."

"Because I can take care of myself, I held my own with the krang mech didn't I!?"

"YOU GOT THE SHIT BEAT OUT YOU LEO!"

"CAN WE JUST STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS!? TRUTH OR DARE!"

"DARE! AND NO!"

"I DARE YOU TO GET OFF MY ASS!"

"OH WELL TOO FUCKING BAD NARDO, SHOULD'VE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU CAME BACK FROM THE PRISON DIMENSION WITH A SHATTERED SPINE! TRUTH OR DARE!"

Leo hesitated, he wasn't dumb, he could see the general direction of where this was going, and both options seemed to get pretty bad results.

"Look, let's just talk about this later, please?"

Leo almost sounded like he was begging, which made Donnie withdrawal the yelling, he nodded, he wasn't being serious, he just needed to wait until Leo said-

"Truth."

Donnie spoke so fast he almost cut Leo off,

"Why did you throw yourself into the Prison dimension?"

There was a beat of silence and Leo's eyes widened, whether in surprise or in fear he couldn't tell.

"Donnie-"

"You said truth, now tell me the truth."

"Donnie, can we not do this ri-"

"No. Answer the question."

Donnie's face was stone cold, he wasn't backing down from this. Leo put a hand over his face and chuckled to himself which just confused Donnie.

"God... I'm so fucking stupid you know that? And y'know for a second, I actually thought you wanted to spend time with me! But of course not, you just came to interrogate me. Fine... You wanna know why I did it Donnie!? Because you CLEARLY forgot! I THREW MYSELF INTO THAT FUCKING HELL HOLE TO SAVE YOU- TO SAVE EVERYONE! IT'S THE SAME THING I'VE TOLD EVERYBODY DONNIE! THE REASONS HAVEN'T CHANGED!"

Leo paused once he realized he was yelling, he took a deep breath and leaned back.

"I'm sorry for yelling Don, it's just- you didn't need to lie about wanting to spend time with me, could've just asked, my answer would've been the same but this just seems like overkill."

There a bitterness in Leo's voice that caused Donnie to feel guilty. Leo was right, and it wasn't like he'd been doing a good job of spending time with his brothers lately, he knew he'd been distant. He decided to keep pressing, he could apologize later.

"Your still not telling me everything Leo."

Leo hesitated and he didn't do a good job at hiding it.

"Donnie, I really don't know what your talking-"

"You know I can hear you every night right? In your bedroom?"

Leo froze,

"What...?"

"Those things you mutter to yourself in tears late at night, when you think no one else can hear you? I hear it."

Leo's heart started to race, he could practically hear the pounding in his chest.

"You need to stop it with the spying Don-"

Donnie didn't stop at the pathetic excuse at escaping the conversation.

"I hear you talking about how the invasion was all your fault!"

"Dee."

"About how we'd be better off without you!"

"Don!"

"ABOUT YOU DESERVED TO DIE IN THE PRISON DIMENSION!?"

"Donnie!"

"DO YOU SERIOUSLY BELIEVE THAT!?"

"DONNIE!"

Donnie stopped slightly taken aback by the anger in Leo's voice. He'd never heard it before, at least not directed at him. It took a second before he suddenly realized that he was slightly shaking and so was Leo. The twins stared at each other, unsure of what to do before Leo finally stood up with a grunt. He was going to leave before Donnie finally spoke in a soft tone.

"Do you... believe that...?"

He put a hand over his forehead and let out a big sigh, and sat back down on the couch. He looked up at Donnie, who had an angry expression on his face but Leo saw it for what it really was, fear. He put his legs up almost covering his face and folded his arms, making sure to avoid eye contact with Donnie.

"Maybe... I don't know..."

"How can you not know!?"

Leo flinched as Donnie raised his voice.

"Sorry..."

They sat in silence once again for a couple minutes, Donnie's mind was spiraling, going through all his memories of his brother, noticing signs that he hadn't noticed before.

"Do you... want to kill yourself...? And be honest! I don't want anymore of your bullshit excuses."

Leo sighed, and put his legs down so Donnie could see him.

"I-... I uh... ugh!"

He buried his head in his knees as wrapped his arms around his legs. He turned his head to the side at stared at one of the sewer walls.

"Yes..."

His voice was barely above a whisper but it was enough for Donnie to hear. Donnie started scratching his arm, he didn't know what to do, his mind was racing. Leo looked at Donnie who was practically frozen in place.

"Are you okay...?"

Donnie's head snapped up. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.

"Dumb question... Yeah, i'm fine."

Donnie scooted closer to Leo and took his hand.

"We love you Leo, you know that, right?"

"Yeah I know..."

"But you still think we'd be better off without you?"

Leo squeezed Donnie's hand, which was enough of a response for Donnie. Donnie took a deep breath,

"You know i'm going to need to tell Raph and Mikey about this right?"

"Yeah... I figured... Any chance I can talk you out of it?"

"No."

"Figured..."

They sat in silence for bit as Donnie assessed what to do next.

"Before I go tell the others, there's two more things I want to do."

"What's that?"

Donnie sighed and held up one of his hands.

"First off, I want your katanas."

"What!? I'm not"

"I'm not arguing about this Leo!"

"But why?"

"Because frankly I don't trust you with them at the moment, now give me the katanas."

Leo sighed and grabbed his katanas, that were leaned up against the couch, by their blue hilts and handed them to Donnie. Donnie laid them against his side of the couch and looked back up at Leo.

"Secondly... I want a hug."

Donnie held out his arms and Leo just stared blankly at the request before putting on a grim smirk.

"Donnie, It's okay really. I don't need a hug."

"Were you the one asking for one?"

Leo hugged Donnie, although he was hesitant at first.

"I know you don't like hugs Dee..."

"Well right now I do."

It took him a moment but Leo eventually warmed into the hug, squeezing Donnie tighter. He didn't know why, but for some reason, it caused his eyes to start welling up. Donnie could hear him sniffle and his grip became tighter, he was almost afraid to let go, as if Leo would disappear if he did.

"I don't need a hug he said."

"Shut up."

Leo choked on his tears as he began to break down in Donnie's arms. It was a comfort he never knew he missed until he had it. As scared as he was right now, Leo had oddly never felt safer.

"I forgot how good your hugs were... I missed them..."

"It's a blessing and a curse."

Donnie's squeezed Leo as his he felt a knot in his stomach get even tighter at the sound of his twin's sobs. How long has he felt like this? Was just because of the invasion or was it before that? How had no one noticed? He took a deep breath,

"I love you Leo."

"I know Dee..."

"No. I'm being serious so listen to me Nardo... I. Love. You."

Leo chuckled through his tears.

"I love you too."

"And you ever think that Raph, or Dad, or Mikey, or April, or ME! Would be better- or even happier without you, then I'm gonna kick your ass so hard that your vertebrae will pop out of your mouth like a PEZ dispenser."

Leo laughed at what was supposed to sound like a threat. A couple moments later Donnie finally pulled back and looked at Leo who had the same dim smile as him.

"I'm going to go get Raph and Mikey, okay...?"

Leo's weak smile faded as he looked down and nodded.

"Yeah... okay."

Donnie got up, grabbed the katanas, and started to walk out the door.

"Hey!"

Donnie stopped,

"Yes?"

"Thank you Dee..."

"Sigh... of course Nardo."

Leo watched Donnie leave the room and suddenly everything felt colder. This was a good thing, he'll finally get to open up, that's good right? So why was he so scared? Why did he feel even emptier then he did before? Leo sighed and buried his in knees once more. They were bound to find out sooner or later...

OK! WOW! This fanfic is so random like I just had the idea while scrolling through disaster twins stuff on tumblr. Anyways I hope you guys liked it and... idk should I make a part two surrounding the family meeting? I am curious as to how you guys think Raph and Mikey would react to this information? I'd love to hear it down in the comments!

pt.2

[princelysnape]

a marauders analysis (or why i don't give a shit james potter died)

WARNING: this post does not have the pretension of convincing marauders fans that their faves have shitty personalities. if anything i say comes off as rude or insensitive, it was intended that way. you can stay, or you can kindly fuck off.

i honestly can't believe i have to do this, but here we go. my two cents about the four little pricks.

let's start by acknowledging that the marauders had a clear hierarchy of power and influence within their own group. whether it was ever officially stated or not, we know james potter was their leader and main perpetrator, followed by his lapdog sirius black, the forever-cowardly remus lupin, and the rat.

and it's no coincidence they're arranged this way. potter and black are the pureblood heirs of two of the richest and most powerful families in the harry potter universe. their surnames enter the room before they do, every time. meanwhile, lupin and pettigrew are nobodies, merely their shadows.

keeping that in mind, it's easy to see how they turned out the way they did. there's an arrogance and entitlement that can only come from money and the certainty that you're untouchable. dealing with them meant dealing with their families. which means that, despite their many pranks, continuous bullying, an episode of sexual assault, and infamously, an assassination attempt, they were never expelled.

imagine being lupin or pettigrew throughout all this. they're definitely not innocent—but if they ever tried to cut ties, who's to say potter and black wouldn't have turned on them? no, it was safer to have their protection. and in lupin's case, their secrecy. not very brave or honorable of them, though.

so first point: they were privileged, rich assholes.

they were also cruel and downright abusive to anything they considered "other." And I do mean severus, yes, but also evans (constantly harassed by potter for most of her school years), kreacher (whom sirius always treated like shit due to his servitude and his death eater brother), slytherin house as a whole (though probably targeted half-bloods and muggleborns more, since attacking a pureblood meant fucking with their family), and the unnamed victims referenced in the books.

always good to remember that potter and black grew up being spoon-fed blood purity rhetoric and anti-muggle sentiment, ideas that define wizarding society. even the "progressive" characters say shit sometimes. so it's not a stretch to say they redirected their hate toward more palatable victims to keep their moral high ground intact.

and whether their victims "deserved" it or not, it's disturbing how much glee they took in humiliating people. the other two less so (as far as we know), but they were complicit. black literally used lupin's condition to try to get another student killed—proof he didn't give a single shit about consequences, or about exposing his so-called friend to imprisonment or death.

so second point: they were prejudiced, sadistic, and always covered up for each other's fucked-up behavior.

which brings me to the third point: they had pack mentality. you know that one male friend group where one guy is clearly satan in a varsity jacket and the rest just nod along? or worse, follow his lead? the kind of group that makes you cross the street frantically avoiding eye contact? that's the marauders.

if harry potter wasn't written for a younger audience, i'm convinced at least one of them would have a rape allegation. but their friends would vouch for them, and the victim would be dismissed.

some might argue they "changed" or "grew up," but that's just not true. potter pretended to change for evans, but he was still bullying severus behind her back. black never pretended in the first place, and neither did lupin or pettigrew. then potter died, black went to azkaban, lupin disappeared into the ether, and pettigrew lived as a literal rat for twelve years. not a lot of room for personal growth, if you ask me.

so yeah, arguments like "he asked dumbledore to save lily, but not her husband and kid!" or "it’s his fault harry doesn't have a father!!!" don't really move me. good riddance. getting betrayed by his rat friend was exactly what he deserved—no more, no less. It's a shame a kid got caught in the crossfire, but honestly, how would harry have turned out if he were raised by potter? probably insufferable.

that's it. a word of wisdom from your prince.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter 93

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

I'm here!

It's been a long day of travel and registration and all that jazz that comes with conference things. I am very glad to have some time to slow down and read a chapter with some almond, rose, and amaranth tea tonight.

With that, Let's get into chapter 93!

Ugh! Mu Qing and his vulnerabilities! Xie Lian is just trying to help! p36

LOOL These two explaining the romanticism of the red string Hualian wear to Xie Lian. p38

The visual of Hua Cheng being the ghost version of mary poppins. Just umbrella flying them out of danger. p40

Ruoye baby!! Scared of the webs :( p41

Exactly Mu Qing! Why wouldn't they smash the faces instead of hide them- it's almost like they are deeply in love with them. p43

Mu Qing, once again the voice of reason- how is Hua Cheng so sure about the 'random' direction they're traveling in? p45

Oh! The pearl! ofc Xie lian forgot about it though. pp47-48

everyone is so alarmed by the statues like Hua Cheng was being sketchy about it. The reality is he was embarrassed low key since Xie Lian was the only person then god who gave a shit about him and he did promise him 10 000 temples p51

oh no, my feelings!!! I can't with Hua Cheng's murals. His portraits with himself being ugly and disfigured- sweetie :((( p54

oh gosh, my heart. Mu Qing and Feng Xin please, there is no nefarious plot here. p57

As a side note, fuck these guys for taking away Xie Lian's right to choose how to handle the supposed situation they're in right now. What right do they have to just do what they want without talking to him about things. p60

oh fuck! Mu Qing did kick Hua Cheng out of the army back then! p65

omg this miscommunication with the command spell- too much! p70

Noooo! He's just trying to heal Xie Lian and they think he's a freak. :(((( p71

Holy fuck. MXTX jump scared me so hard with these fake character deaths. I was so scared! I just closed the book for a solid minute!!!! p75

WHITE NO FACE!!!! p75

omg this guy is stronger than Hua Cheng! p76

Jeeze Hualian! This is NOT the time or place for confessions!! p78

If sidestepping a conversation was an Olympic sport, these two would take gold. p88

Hualian is asking the question; why is white no face at the mountain, I am asking the question; why is white no face so attached to Xie Lian! p89

I am crying!!! If Hua Cheng's ashes are in the jewelry Xie Lian is wearing this conversation is too fucking much! Hua Cheng!!! You sap!!!! p91

Xie Lian to Hua Cheng: "Once we're out of Mount Tonglu, there's a lot I want to tell you" YOU BETTER BOTH GET OUT THEN! p93

OMG SO MUCH.

Everyone is having a different conversation this chapter LOL and then we get the drama of White No Face added back to the pot. It ends with EVEN MORE mystery with Lang Ying!!!! (who I am assuming is white no face and not actually the sweet babe).

[karespocketboyfriends]

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚜

Caleb X Faye (OC)

Warnings -> Alcohol consumption, collage kids getting drunk

An original fan-fiction for Love and Deepspace. I appreciate reblogs but reposting to Tumblr or any other site is not okay with me.

𝓞𝓵𝓭 𝓓𝓪𝔂𝓼

————

It's the middle of the night when Caleb's cellphone rings, disturbing the silence of his bedroom and his sleep. It's been a couple of months since the last time he was able to visit home, since he's gotten to relax in this bed instead of the one in his dorm in Skyhaven. Though his mattress, pillows and blankets are familiar, without the warmth he craved at his side, they felt foreign.

Turning onto his side, Caleb reaches for his phone on the nightstand and squints at the bright screen. The identity of the caller shocks the drowsiness out of his system, mind and body on high alert as he sits up.

"Pips?" He answers immediately, trying to keep his cool even though worry is already eating away at his insides. "What's the matter? Did you have a nightmare?"

That's assuming she even fell asleep in the first place. Her insomnia plagues her just as badly now as it did in their childhood.

"No." Faye giggles. "I just- I was thinking about you, so I wanted to call you. Is it a crime to want to talk to my sexy fighter pilot?"

Absolutely not, but her voice sounds off. Slurred. Not only that, but music and loud voices are booming in the background.

She is not at the study session sleepover she claimed to be going to.

Caleb's exhale is so deep, his nostrils flare. Flinging the blanket off his body, he climbs out of bed and moves to his dresser. "Are you at a house party?"

"No." Faye's answer comes way too fast, and it's followed by a hiccup. "Okay, mayyyyybe. It wasn't the original plan, I sweaaaar."

Yeah, she's drunk, and it takes a lot to get Faye drunk. Her alcohol tolerance is better than most of the men he attends Aerospace Academy with.

Cursing under his breath, Caleb pulls open the top drawer and grabs a shirt, pulling it over his head with one hand. "Where are you? Are you alone? I'm coming to get you."

"I don't know where my friends went. They just... poof. Vanished."

As quietly as he can, Caleb grabs his keys and wallet and heads downstairs. Gran is fast sleep in her own bedroom, blissfully unaware of what the girl she's looked after has gotten herself into. He'd like to keep it that way. "Send me your location."

"Okay- Oh, sorry. I just bumped into somebody."

Locking the front door behind him, Caleb puts his girlfriend on speaker so he can order a taxi. "Stay on the phone with me, baby. Where are you right now?"

"In the living room watching people take shots. It's really hot in here, though. Too many bodies. Oh, shit, my battery is almost-"

The line disconnects, much to Caleb's dismay. At least she was able to send the address before her phone died.

Hopefully she can avoid trouble until he gets there.

Caleb can pick out the party house before the driver even pulls up to to it. All the lights in the massive three story home are turned on, a flood of collage guys and girls drinking and acting a fool standing on the lawn. Cars line both sides of the street, some empty, some not.

In a rush, Caleb pays the driver and jumps out of the backseat. He doesn't pay the drunken crowd any mind as he storms up to the house, everything about his expression and posture demanding people stay out of his way. If he wasn't so focused on his current mission, and wasn't so deeply in love with the woman he came for, maybe he would notice the several sets of eyes checking him out.

Faye would certainly be ready to throw hands if she caught them.

It's chaos the second he opens the front door. There are so many people crammed into the living room that he could barely breathe, let alone move freely. Caleb, blessed with height, takes a quick survey but fails to find a head of purple hair. So he makes his way through the crowd until he reaches the kitchen.

He still doesn't find Faye, but he does find one familiar face that he wishes wasn't so familiar.

Approaching the figure from behind, Caleb reaches out and grasps his shoulder. The young man, about the same age as him, jumps and whirls around, fists raised and ready to strike.

David's eyes are unfocused as he blinks, and after a minute, drops his hands to his sides. "Shit, dude! Don't sneak up on a hunter in training like that."

"Where's Faye?" Caleb asks, crossing his arms while levelling him with a glare.

It's not like Caleb and Faye were lucky enough to have every class together in high school, and in one of those classes he wasn't a part of, she made a friend of David. Of course, they were never as close as he and Faye were, but now they're both attending the same hunters collage while he's studying away up in Skyhaven. Naturally, they've grown closer because of it.

"I don't know." David says with a shrug. "Last I saw, she was dancing with Viv and the other girls."

Caleb's glare gets colder. "She called me because she can't find them anymore. If you knew she was here, why didn't you keep a closer eye on her?"

He runs a hand over his head and pulls on the roots of his short, light brown hair. "Because she seemed fine?"

"Forget it. If you see her, don't leave her alone."

Caleb stalks away and begins searching the rest of the house. She's not in the garage, or any of the bathrooms or bedrooms. Either she's moving around the house and he keeps missing her, or she's left the house entirely. Caleb isn't sure which one makes him more nervous.

After clearing the final room on the third floor, Caleb is ready to start pulling his hair out. He turns and heads back down the hall, ready to search the entire place again, when movement in the backyard below catches his attention. He steps up to the floor-to-ceiling window for a better look, and sure enough, there's a figure sitting on the swing set. It's too dark to see their face clearly, but even if it's just her silhouette, Caleb knows his lady.

He rushes down the stairs and goes straight for the back door. "Faye!"

The woman on the swing set looks up, a wide smile pulling at her lips as she jumps to her feet. She throws her arms in the air. "Caleb!"

Letting out a sigh of relief, Caleb gently grabs her arms and looks her over. "Are you hurt?"

She giggles and shakes her head, reaching up to boop his nose. "I'm not hurt, silly. I'm drunk."

"I can see that." He shrugs out of his jacket and wraps it around her shoulders. "What are you doing here? You said you were studying and sleeping over at a friend's house."

Faye's carefree smile drops. "You're mad at me?"

Caleb shakes his head. "Come on. We're going home."

Wiggling out of his hold, Faye takes a step back. It makes his chest hurt, and the look in her eyes doesn't help. "I don't want to. You're mad."

"Pip-squeak," He sighs, giving her space even though his body screams at him to hold her. To tuck her safely against him. "I'm not mad, I'm just worried. You called me in the middle of the night because you're drunk and lost your friends. I just want to make sure you're safe."

When she doesn't say anything, he takes a small step towards her. Faye remains still, doesn't back away when he slowly closes the distance and cups her cheeks in his hands.

Leaning down, Caleb presses a kiss to her forehead. "Let's go home and snuggle, yeah?"

"Snuggle? I love snuggles." Faye asks, her energy revived at the use of that single word. She'd never be so openly excited about it if she were sober. Not that she doesn't like physical affection, it's just that Faye is naturally a feisty person who rarely shows this cute, playful side.

"I know you do, so let's go snuggle under some blankets, yeah?"

It doesn't take much convincing to get her into the next taxi. The ride home is uneventful, and despite having to remind her to stay quiet as to not wake Gran, Caleb manages to get her safely into his room.

"So, how did you end up at a house party?" Caleb asks casually as he helps her into her pajamas. He's crouched before where she sits on his bed.

"It was David's idea." She says, watching as he does up the buttons of her oversized shirt. One of his shirts that he left behind before going to Skyhaven. "That house is the party house. So and so's parents are never home."

Caleb's eyes narrow at the mention of David. "So and so? Who lives there?"

Faye shrugs her slender shoulders. "I don't know."

"Pip-squeak, you shouldn't be going to strangers' homes. It could be dangerous."

Groaning, she flops back against his bed and stares at the ceiling. "Calebbbbb! You promised me snuggles, not a lecture!"

He quickly shushes her and tucks her in. "Okay, okay, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

Turning off the light, he settles down on his side of the bed and pulls Faye's back against his chest. She wraps both her arms around his, bringing the back of his hand to her cheek so she can nuzzle it. "Caleb?"

He hums in response.

"Are you still mad?"

Lifting his head, he presses a kiss to her cheek. "I was worried, but you're safe now. I'll never let anything hurt you. Not ever."

"But are you mad?"

Shaking his head, he can't help but smile. "How could I ever be mad at you?"

She'll already be mad at herself in the morning when the hangover kicks in, no need to at to it.

[cheeriochat]

Im getting into metal gear.

[yourmythicalbest]

best rhett and link vocals in no specific order, according to me, a classically trained opera singer who still cares too much about rhett and link

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[eyeheartboobiez]

nicknames that bruce + the batboys would call you

warnings: sexual themes in jason’s part, fem!reader a/n: just sumn slight. enjoy😁

⁎⁺˳ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 ミ

❀ bruce grew up wealthy so he would definitely call you something more on the classy side

❀ things like darling, angel, dear, my love, etc.

❀ he also has a habit of referring to you as “my wife” (because he’s possessive asf)

❀ “sorry guys, i really can’t stay for another drink. i’ve got to get back to my wife.”

❀ “you said these shoes were dior? oh, im sure my wife would love these.”

❀ on the flip side, he also really likes referring to himself as your husband (one might say he does it for the ego boost)

❀ like whenever you too are meeting someone for the first time, he'll introduce you first and then only introduce himself as "your husband"

❀ because why should someone care about him, a mega rich billionaire, when his lovely and radiant wife is standing right next to him?

⁎⁺˳ 𝒹𝒾𝒸𝓀 ミ

❀ dick would definitely be the type to call you something super lovey-dovey and over the top

❀ sugarplum, honey bunches, buttercup, (and if he really wants to get on your nerves,) shnookums

❀ he knows it’s lame, but he genuinely doesn’t care

❀ since his love language is acts of service, you tend to hear a lot of "let me get that for ya, honeybun"

❀ or something like “hey sugarplum! im on my way home from work, you want me to pick up anything?”

❀ or even "don't worry about dinner honeylove, lemme take care of things tonight."

❀ regardless of how annoying it is, you can't help but love his teasing nicknames for you

❀ like you two are that annoying couple that everyone loves can't stand seeing at the function (i know valentine's day hatesss to see yall coming)

❀ off topic but if the two of you had a kid together, i imagine him nicknaming your daughter ‘love bug’ (AWWW)

⁎⁺˳ 𝒿𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 ミ

❀ despite his thick exterior, jason’s a lover boy at heart

❀ he’d call you stuff like babe, doll, sweetheart, hon, y’know all that cheesy stuff

❀ most importantly though, this boy lovesss to call you mama

❀ like for example, he usually likes to greet you with a casual "hey mama, you doin okay?" followed by a quick peck on the check

❀ or if you're being goofy trying to get him to feel better, he'll probably say something like "c'mon mama, cut it out" as a smile inevitably blossoms on his face

❀ alongside this, he also has a weird kink thing for calling himself papa

❀ either “thatsss it sweetheart, come to papa” or “let papa bear handle it, ‘kay? you just sit down there and look pretty f’me.”

❀ you have absolutely no idea where he got it from because jason swears up and down that he's never done it until he got in a relationship with you

⁎⁺˳ 𝓉𝒾𝓂 ミ

❀ while tim is such a sweetheart, so his pet names for you would most definitely reflect that

❀ sweets, pretty, baby love, cutie; simple stuff like that

❀ also, let’s not forget that this boy is a certified LEWSER, so that also shows within you guys’ relationship

❀ he sometimes calls you pookie (he’s chronically online…)

❀ he'd probably be up texting you at 2am (because why wouldn’t be be up at that time) and is like “hey pooks u wanna check out this new italian place i found? i saw that they serve a few of ur faves”

❀ he also has a nasty habit of referring to you as dude or bro

❀ you'll often get random tiktoks from him throughout the day like "bro look this is totally us" or "me & u fr🥹"

❀ sure it's corny but the sentiment is sweet so you don't really mind

❀ a lot of people think the relationship you both have may be a bit odd, but neither of you care (and that's all that matters <3)

[simpforboys]

Frat!Rafe teaching his sweet tutor how to kiss before her date…

warnings: kissing, suggestive(?)

"Hold on - you're telling me you've never kissed anyone?"

You nervously shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip.

You've been tutoring Rafe in statistics for about three weeks now. It's been going okay, mostly him flirting with you and you shyly laughing, thinking he's just messing around.

But now that you told the popular frat boy you have a date tonight with some Braden Langford, Rafe is curious to know what else you have or haven't done.

He's laying on your twin xl bed, making himself comfortable in your dorm room. You sit across from him in a crisscross, stats textbook on your lap with papers and a graphing calculator next to your thigh.

"Are you making fun of me?" You mumbled anxiously, starting to pick at your fingernails.

Rafe was the first boy to ever be in your room, technically the only person you've ever had in your room since you lived in a single and didn't really have other friends.

"No, baby. 'M jus' surprised," he murmured in disbelief.

It's quiet for a moment before he speaks up, something off in his alluring blue eyes. "Ya said you're goin' on a date t'night?"

You nod, doe-y eyes meeting his.

"He might try t'kiss ya, y'know," Rafe warns, trying to hide the jealousy building in his chest at the thought of his girl tutor going out with another guy.

You remain silent for a moment, blinking at the tall boy on your small bed. But then before your brain could process it, you were blurting out the request.

"Teach me?"

He looks at you for a moment, completely stunned, but also a small smirk curled onto his lips. You quickly tried to backtrack.

"I jus' mean that you kiss girls a lot and you have sex all the time and I don't know anybody else and --"

"Baby, shhh," he cuts off your rambling, the smirk now bigger.

"I'll teach ya how t'kiss, sweet girl. But y'gotta listen t'everythin' I say, mkay?"

You nod, face hot as he grabs the textbook off of your lap. You were already nervous enough as it is about going on your first date, now Rafe Cameron is going to teach you how to kiss?

"’M gonna put my hands ‘ere, kay?” He tells you softly, big hands moving to hold your hips.

“Eyes. Want those pretty eyes on me, pretty girl.” He commands firmly yet gently, not wanting to startle you.

Your eyes flicker down to his, heart pounding in your chest. Butterflies filled your tummy as you stared at him, subconsciously licking your lips.

He lets out a small hum, leaning in slightly to brush his lips against yours. “Lemme take the lead, yeah? Jus’ follow me.”

He gently presses his lips to yours. You instinctively flinch at the new contact, but eventually your eyes flutter shut as you melt against Rafe.

His hands grip your hips a bit better, helping you onto his lap. He moved his lips with yours, fitting together perfectly as he swiped his tongue over your bottom one.

You gasped into his mouth, causing him to slip his tongue in and slide it perfectly against yours. Your own hands move off of your lap, but stay in the air, not knowing what to do.

He takes your hands and guides them onto his shoulders, pulling back so you can both pant together.

“Good girl, baby… doin’ s’good.” He murmurs breathily, before capturing your swollen lips with his again.

As the kisses went on, you continued to melt against him, your body burning from his addictive nature.

Your hands slid down his chest, fingertips gently squeezing in to feel his pecs as you sat perfectly on his lap and made out with your tutee.

Eventually, though, you had to pull away because your lungs were burning with the need for air.

His eyes flutter open against yours again, staring at each other as he rests his forehead against your own.

“Y’okay?” He asks softly.

You nod, breathless and mind a little fuzzy that your first kiss was that good, the type of good that’s only seen in those romance movies.

“Good.”

[hyuckiefluff]

playing with fire

pairing: mark!haechan x fem. reader genre: college au, smut, rivals to fwbs wc: 12k+ summary: mark and haechan can't stand each other's guts, but they want the same girl... and maybe she wants them both, too. content warnings: unprotected sex, threesome, oral (f+m receiving), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, sex tape, jealousy, marking, hand job, fingering, multiple orgasms (like a lot!!), double penetration, a little bit of mahae action (couldn’t help myself), orgasm denial, aftercare. a/n: all i’m gonna say is that this was completely self-indulgent. i just haven't been the same since 82+ pressin came out and this is the result. i don’t think i’ve ever written so much smut for a single fic before omg. it's rlly a lot i apologize in advance. ps: stream 82+ pressin, 1999 and the aoty aka the firstfruit.

all your life, people let you get away with things. maybe it was your soft face, your sweet smile, or the way you tilted your head when you lied. they thought you were innocent.

but anyone who actually knew you, knew better.

you were full of fire, tucked neatly into a deceptively small frame. and by fire, you meant you were horny. always had been. sex wasn’t your entire personality, you just liked it—frequently and with whoever could keep up. so when two gorgeous boys started fighting over you, you didn’t think twice. even if those boys hated each other’s guts.

you were just stepping into the cafeteria when a low whistle caught your attention. you glanced over your shoulder and saw haechan strolling in.

you rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at the corners. 

“can’t stay away from me, huh?” you said when he finally caught up, his arm sliding over your shoulders easily.

“you know i can’t, pretty” he murmured, voice close enough to your ear to make you shiver. “you coming over tonight?”

you fold your arms across your chest, purposefully pressing your cleavage together. his eyes dropped right on cue. you knew he loved this shirt. or rather... he loved your tits in this shirt.

“i was there last night, hae. i can’t play favorites, it makes the other boys in my roster jealous,” you said sweetly, brushing a kiss to his cheek and stepping ahead.

“there’s no roster,” he said with a cocky grin, catching up easily. “i know that.”

“oh, don’t be so sure.” you waved at someone in the distance. haechan’s head turned just in time to catch mark lee smiling at you from across the room.

his face soured immediately. “mark lee? really?” he scoffed. “you can do better than that idiot.”

you looked at him, catching the slight twitch in his jaw. you smirked. their little rivalry was so amusing to you.

“remind me again why you hate him so much?” you ask as you drop into your seat. haechan slid in beside you, tugging your chair closer without effort.

“because he’s a manipulative dickhead who pretends to be some righteous good guy,” he muttered, fingers playing with the strap of your tank top.

“so... like half your friends?” you arched a brow. 

“why are we even talking about him? let’s talk about us” he groaned, leaning in to kiss you but you dodged, making his lips brush your neck instead.

“since when is there an us?” you laughed, pushing him off half-heartedly.

“since you let me fuck you against every surface in my dorm,” he said smugly.

“don’t think that makes you special,” you replied, patting his chest.

your hand lingered there a second longer, reminding you how toned he actually was. easy to forget with that sweet face and mouthy attitude.

“i’m definitely your favorite though,” haechan grinned, leaning in again and this time, you let him kiss you. his mouth moving slowly but greedily against yours.

across the room, mark was stabbing his lunch violently. his plastic knife bent halfway through his sandwich.

“okay, you’re scaring me,” jaemin said, side-eyeing him. “who’re you trying to murder with your eyes?”

“no one,” mark muttered, dragging his eyes away.

jaemin followed his gaze and snorted. “ohhh, is that your girl?”

“she’s not my girl,” mark grunted. “we’ve just been… talking.”

“yeah? well, looks like that’s all you’re gonna be doing,” chenle chuckled next to him, biting into his sandwich.

“fuck off” mark said, chucking a crumpled napkin at chenle’s face.

“i’m pretty sure she was with jay last semester,” jaemin added, watching mark’s reaction with barely concealed amusement.

“and wonbin,” chenle said through a mouthful of food.

mark’s jaw ticked. “what exactly are you guys trying to say?”

“relax,” chenle raised both hands, smirking. “we’re just saying she’s clearly not into exclusivity.”

“whatever,” mark muttered, pushing his chair back. “like i said, we’re just talking.”

“uh-huh, sure” jaemin said with a knowing grin. “play with fire if you want… just don’t act surprised when you get burned.”

┈─★

mark couldn’t stop thinking about what the guys had said. it wasn’t even like he wanted anything serious with you. but still, the way you clung to haechan, only to turn around and flirt with him like your eyes hadn’t just been heart-shaped for the biggest dumbass on earth… yeah, it was starting to piss him off.

he was stewing in that frustration, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary on the way to the store, when he spotted your car on the side of the road.

he pulled up behind you without thinking.

your face lit up the second you saw him. you were sweaty and flushed from the heat, but still so damn pretty it made something sharp twist in his chest.

“mark!” you said his name with so much relief he had to glance away, suddenly shy.

“hey,” he said, climbing out of the car. “need help?”

“please… i don’t know what happened. it just died on me” you pouted, arms crossed under your chest. “i barely made it off the road."

mark blinked, trying not to focus on your lips—the same lips that had kissed all over his neck last week at that party.

“okay, let’s take a look,” he muttered, walking over to the hood you’d already popped open.

he leaned over the car and tried to focus, to remember what he even knew about engines. he wasn’t a mechanic, but he knew enough not to look stupid in front of you.

you stood beside him, your shoulder kept brushing against his arm every time you leaned in to “check” what he was doing.

“you think it’s serious?” you asked, biting your lip .

mark glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “hard to tell. your battery might’ve just died.”

“ugh, great,” you groaned dramatically, flopping against the side of the car. “this day already sucked.”

“you’re lucky i was driving by,” he said, wiping his palms on his shorts. “you could’ve been stuck here for a while.”

you smiled at him sweetly, reaching for his hair and playing with it. “thank you for rescuing me, my knight in shining armor.”

mark froze for half a second.

“don’t do that,” he said quietly, eyes still focused under the hood.

“do what?” your voice was all fake innocence, and when he finally looked at you properly, you were leaning back just enough for your shirt to ride up and show the barest strip of your waist.

“you know what” he muttered.

you tilted your head, teasing. “we’re just talking, mark.”

he exhaled sharply. “yeah, well... i’ve had enough of that.”

you blinked at him, not catching the double entendre fast enough. before you could say anything, he stepped closer. not touching you but close enough that his chest brushed yours.

“you keep looking at me like that, saying things like that and then you go and let haechan put his tongue down your throat in front of everyone,” he said, voice low and raspy. “and don’t say it doesn’t mean anything.”

you stared at him, heat curling in your stomach.

“i wasn't gonna say that”

mark gave you a dry laugh, shaking his head. “then stop playing with me.”

you smiled, slow and wicked. “maybe i want both of you.”

mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips as he licked his own, and for a moment, you thought he might actually kiss you right then and there—hot, frustrated, angry.

instead, he took a step back.

“your battery’s dead,” he said, eyes still burning. “i’ll get mine and jump it.”

and just like that, he walked back to his car, leaving you breathless and grinning like a devil in the sun.

he popped the hood of his car and grabbed the jumper cables, avoiding your eyes the whole time. you watched him work with brows furrowed, arms flexing every time he connected something or reached for a clamp. he was mad.

and you loved it.

“okay, try turning it on now,” he called out, stepping aside.

you slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine coughed before finally coming back to life.

“yay!” you grinned, hopping out. “mark, you’re a lifesaver.”

“don’t mention it,” he said, closing your hood.

you stepped out and leaned against the car again. “what would i do without you?”

he walked over slowly, wiping his hands on his shorts. “probably flash your pouty lips at some other poor guy and get him to do it for you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you calling me manipulative?”

“if the shoe fits.”

you took a step toward him. “you didn’t seem to mind when i was kissing you last week.”

“didn’t say i minded,” he said, voice low again. “but i’m not interested in being one of your toys.”

“aw,” you pouted the way you knew he couldn't resist. “but you play so well.”

mark’s mouth twitched.

“get in your car,” he said instead, walking away again.

“got tired of me already?” you called after him, teasing.

“no. i’m telling you to leave before i do something i’ll regret.”

you didn’t move. “like what?”

mark stopped and sighed, you giggled to yourself thinking you’d successfully managed to frustrate him. but then suddenly he turned back and stopped right in front of you, so close that your back was nearly pressed against the car.

“like remind you exactly what you’d be missing if you pick haechan,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips.

you swallowed a smirk. this was so much more interesting than you thought it’d be.

you tried to lean into him, but he immediately backed up.

“drive safe,” he said, heading to his own car without looking back.

you stood there, heart racing, staring after him and thinking how you’d get both of them alone in a room without them trying to rip each other’s throats.

┈─★

you figured if you were ever going to bring up your little fantasy to life, mark needed to be wrapped around your finger first. haechan would be easy to convince—he was practically already halfway there. one breathy moan from you and he’d be on his knees.

mark, on the other hand… he needed more work. not because he wasn’t into you, but because he had that whole gentleman with a moral compass thing going on. sweet. respectful. frustratingly hard to seduce without making it feel like you were the one being played.

in other words, you had to lock in.

so instead of texting or sliding into his dms like usual, you started showing up where you knew he’d be. but this turned out to be more difficult since the guy was literally everywhere and nowhere at once. you found out from a mutual friend that he worked two jobs, volunteered for three different campus orgs, was part of the baseball team and somehow still managed to keep a spotless GPA.

you went to every place he frequented, including the music store where he part-timed at, but he wasn’t there, “you just missed him” the other workers said.

you almost gave up for the day until something caught your eye past the chainlink fence by the baseball field. someone was pitching solo.

and there he was, mark lee in all his sweaty glory.

“hey there, slugger,” you called out, leaning your arms on the fence as he straightened up and turned around, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. it lifted just enough to show the cut of his abs.

he blinked at you in confusion for a second before recognition hit and his mouth tugged into a crooked little smile. “yo… what are you doing here?”

“you looked lonely,” you said, pushing the gate open and walking toward him, “mind if i keep you company?”

he shifted, catching the ball in his glove, clearly trying to be nonchalant but his eyes didn’t lie—they dragged over you like he hadn’t seen a girl in weeks. you were wearing a tank top you knew made your tits look phenomenal, and you were sure he noticed.

“sure,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “i’m just messing around, anyway.”

“well, i like messing around,” you replied, tone smooth as honey, letting the double meaning land. 

mark chuckled nervously. he was flustered, a cute little blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. you were definitely getting to him.

“you want a turn?” he asked, gesturing to the bat.

you raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “are we still talking baseball?”

his lips twitched. “depends… what are you talking about?”

you reached for the bat, letting your hand graze his fingers. “guess you’ll have to find out.”

“you ever even held one of these before?”

you took it, pretending to examine it seriously. “i mean, i’ve seen a league of their own like… twice.”

mark laughed, the sound bright and easy. “that’s a start.”

he showed you how to stand and the proper way to hold the bat, stepping in behind you with a respectful distance—no unnecessary touching or cheap moves. you could feel his warmth at your back, his voice in your ear as he adjusted your grip.

“okay, just swing through when the ball comes in. don’t overthink it.”

“easy for you to say, coach.” you glanced over your shoulder and caught his eyes on yours.

for a second, neither of you moved. you realized how pretty his eyes were from this close, they were round and bright looking at you.

then he stepped back and toward the pitching mound with a sheepish little smile. 

“alright, give it a shot.”

your first swing was absolutely tragic.

mark laughed again, clapping once. “okay, that was adorable but we should review the basics.”

the next twenty minutes passed like that—him showing you how to swing properly, you pretending to take it seriously just to mess with him. you both ended up out of breath from laughing more than anything else. and by the end of it, you were glowing in the sun, hair a mess, tank top slightly clinging to your skin.

“okay, okay,” you finally said, wiping sweat from your brow, “i need a break.”

mark nodded, picking up the scattered balls. “dugout’s over there. i’ll grab us some water.”

you ducked into the dugout, the shade instantly soothing your sun-warmed skin. your legs were a little shaky from all the running around, but your heart wasn’t only thudding because of the exercise. you watched mark jog over to the cooler, shirt sticking to his back, his hair damp and curling at the edges. he looked so good it was unfair.

he came back with two bottles of water and handed you one, settling beside you on the bench. his thigh brushed against yours briefly before he shifted away to give you some space.

“not bad out there,” he said, twisting open his bottle. “your form’s a little weak, but you’ve got potential.”

“mm, and here i was trying to impress you,” you said, sipping. “guess i’ll have to try harder.”

he huffed a soft laugh and glanced sideways at you. “you’re doing fine, just… need a little discipline.”

“are you volunteering for the job?” you tilted your head.

mark stayed silent for a second. he was watching the field now, fingers drumming lightly on the bottle in his hand. “i know what you're doing”

you raised a brow. “oh yeah?”

“you don’t need someone messing around with your head. or your body. you deserve more than some dumb fling.”

you leaned back on your hands, letting your knees fall slightly open, enough to test him. “you ever think maybe i don’t want more?”

his jaw tensed. he didn’t look at you right away, he was trying really hard to keep his eyes anywhere but your legs. “you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you said simply. “you think i don’t know what i want?”

he finally looked at you and the way his eyes moved over your face—it wasn’t lust. it was frustration. like he wanted to do something but had spent his whole life learning to hold back.

you leaned in, your voice softer now. “you keep talking like i’m some sweet girl who needs protecting, mark. but i don’t want that from you.”

he swallowed hard. “what do you want, then?”

you smiled, slow and a little dangerous. “i want you to stop pretending like you don’t want this too.”

he blinked, then he exhaled and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do.

“this is a bad idea,” he murmured.

“maybe,” you said, leaning just a little closer. “but i promise it’ll feel good”

mark didn’t answer but his eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there. he looked like he was working through every possible reason to pull away, but none were winning.

“you should probably leave,” he said after a beat, voice rough. “before i forget how to be a good guy.”

you leaned in so your leg was now on top of his. “i’m not asking you to be a good guy, mark.”

he closed his eyes and shook his head. “don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“because if i touch you like i want to,” his eyes opened again, darker now. “i won’t be able to stop.”

“good,” you said, voice low. “i don’t want you to.”

he turned toward you, one hand gripping the bench behind you.

“you’re not making this easy,” he said.

“i know, but you can trust me”

his gaze flicked to your lips again. then your neck. then back to your eyes.

“you’re serious?”

you nodded, slow. “you think i’d be here if i wasn’t?”

mark let out a breath through his nose. “fuck.”

you watched his knuckles flex on the bench, how he was clearly using every ounce of willpower to stay still. his shoulders were angled toward you now. his jaw was tight, eyes darting like he was thinking ten steps ahead and still getting stuck on you.

you reached out, brushing your fingers over his forearm. “if you’re gonna kiss me, just do it already.”

he didn’t move right away but when he did, it was careful. one hand slid behind your neck, thumb brushing just under your ear as he leaned in. his lips touched yours softly.

but you didn’t want soft.

you pushed in, lips parting just enough to deepen the kiss, and that was when his restraint cracked. his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the bench. he kissed you harder this time, all that tension finally bleeding through.

you smiled against his mouth, whispering, “see? doesn’t that feel better than being good?”

his answer was a low groan against your lips, his hand slid up, fingertips grazing the bare skin where your top had ridden up. he paused there, like he was waiting for you to stop him.

you didn’t.

instead, you moved into him, straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. his breath hitched the moment your hips settled against his, and that tiny reaction was all the confirmation you needed. he wanted this as much as you did. even if part of him was still trying to talk himself out of it.

“touch me more,” you said, tilting your head to nip at his jaw. 

his hands finally slid under your shirt, splaying across your back, pulling you flush against him. your body molded to his like it had always belonged there, and his lips found yours again.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned low in his throat. his hips bucked up before he could stop himself, and your breath caught when you felt how hard he already was under you.

his hands moved lower over your ass, gripping tight as he shifted you against him again. it was getting hotter in the dugout, clothes sticking to skin, breaths growing uneven. your lips were swollen, your thighs shaking just slightly from the tension. he kissed down your neck, tongue brushing a spot that made your spine arch.

“fuck,” he whispered, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “you drive me crazy.”

you rolled your hips again and mark’s head dropped back with a groan. his hands moved higher under your shirt, fingers brushing the band of your bra before hesitating.

you tugged your shirt up a little more for him, eyes locked on his. “you don’t have to ask.”

his gaze flicked up to yours and then he pulled your shirt off in one smooth motion, his mouth going straight to your collarbone, trailing heat down your neck. one of his hands cradled the back of your head while the other held your waist steady as you started grinding down against him again, both of you breathing harder now.

his fingers found the clasp of your bra behind you, fumbling only once before it came loose. the second it did, his mouth was on you, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your chest as your hips rolled harder.

you dipped your head, kissed the top of his ear, and whispered, “mark.”

it came out breathy, almost reverent. the sound of his name from your lips snapped whatever restraint he had left. his hands gripped your thighs, and in one quick movement, he stood—lifting you effortlessly as you clung to him, legs tightening around his waist.

your back hit the dugout wall with a soft thud, and he was on you again. teeth grazing your neck now, nipping and licking and kissing like he wanted to mark every inch of your skin.

you gasped, hips rolling against the hard press of him through his jeans. he hissed through his teeth, grinding back.

“mark, more please.” you moaned, eyes locked on his.

he growled something filthy and wrecked and then his hands were tugging at your waistband, fingers slipping beneath to palm the curve of your ass again, rougher this time. you arched into him, head tipping back as he pressed hot kisses along your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.

your shorts ended up somewhere on the floor along with your shirt. and mark—sweet, tortured, trying-to-be-good mark—was rutting against you like he’d lost his damn mind.

“tell me what you want,” he said into your skin, breath hot and shaky.

you leaned in, lips at his ear. “everything.”

he groaned like the word punched him in the gut. his hand teased over the edge of your panties, fingers just barely brushing where you were soaked for him. he inhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, and you could feel his restraint fracturing all over again. 

“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “we shouldn't be doing this here.”

he barely registered the sound of your breathless laugh before you dropped to your knees, eyes locked on his as your hands slid up his thighs. he looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“let me give you what you need,” you murmured, undoing the button on his jeans with practiced ease. 

“fuck,” mark breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers brushed over him through the fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it looked like it hurt. you smiled seeing his reaction as you traced the outline of his cock.

he looked like he wanted to say something—some last-minute plea for control—but then you tugged his boxers down and wrapped your hand around him.

his knees nearly buckled.

you leaned in, lips brushing the flushed tip, tongue teasing just enough to make him choke on a groan. he gripped the edge of the dugout bench behind him to keep himself from falling over.

“shit—fuck, baby, please—” his voice cracked as you took him in deeper, mouth hot and wet and so fucking perfect. his hand found your hair, fingers trembling as he tried to resist the urge to thrust into your mouth.

you wanted him to lose it. wanted him unhinged.

you bobbed your head slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your tongue, your lips, the way your throat clenched around him. when you moaned, his hips jerked and he cried out.

“jesus, i’m not—fuck, i’m not gonna last.”

you pulled off with a slick pop. “it’s okay, cum for me markie.”

before you could take him backs into your mouth again, he hauled you up, lips crashing into yours roughly. his hands found your ass again, lifting you onto the bench like you weighed nothing. your panties were gone in seconds and then he was pressed against you, panting against your mouth.

“you’re sure?” he whispered, voice shredded

you stared into his eyes, wrapped your legs around his waist, and said, “mark. fuck me already.”

not a second after, he was slamming into you with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust. the air was knocked from your lungs, nails scraping down his back as your bodies locked together in the filthiest kind of synchronicity.

his rhythm was brutal from the start, hips crashing into yours like he’d waited years for this. like every time he'd looked at you, every time he’d jerked off with your name on his lips, had been leading to this exact moment.

“you feel so fucking good,” he panted against your neck. “i can’t—I’m gonna—fuck, you’re perfect.”

you were both sweating, panting, lost in each other. the dugout echoed with obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and your moans mixing with his broken groans.

“i’m close,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked. “tell me where you want it. please, baby—tell me.”

your fingers gripped his jaw, lips brushing his. “inside. fill me up.”

he moaned your name—screamed it, even—as he came, body shaking, strong arms locked around you. he held you through every wave, and didn’t stop fucking you until you came seconds after.

when it was over, when your bodies were spent and trembling, he collapsed against you, breathing hard, mouth still pressed to your neck.

“that was fucking amazing,” he whispered, laughing breathlessly.

you kissed the side of his head and smiled, knowing that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

┈─★

the rest of your week was spent with mark, who– slowly and against his better judgment– was developing a full-blown addiction to you.

but you couldn’t neglect the other half of your fantasy.

which is why you were now outside haechan’s dorm. he’d been ignoring your messages for days, which wasnt like him at all. and you were almost sure it had to do with how often you'd been with mark lately. 

you walked in without knocking and found him in front of his pc, hand stuffed into his sweats, fist working himself slow to some filthy porn on the screen.

he didn’t even notice you walking in at first due to his headphones. but he must've felt you behind him because he jolted, yanked his hand out, and scrambled to close the tab like you hadn’t already seen everything.

he spun around in his chair, cheeks flaming, trying to hide the clear tent in his pants.

“ever heard of knocking?” his voice came out annoyed but strained.

you crossed your arms, amused. “is this what you’ve been ignoring me for? gooning in your room all day?”

he didn’t answer, just looked anywhere but at you.

you stepped in closer and looped your arms around his neck.

“don’t be mad,” you whispered, brushing your lips close to his ear. “i came here because i missed you.”

“really?” he finally muttered, still not looking at you. “what happened to your new boy toy?”

“don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said with a little smile. “mark’s not the first guy i’ve been with since our arrangement. i thought you were fine with that.”

he scoffed. “yeah, well… the other guys weren’t fucking idiots.” his eyes finally flicked to yours, dark and sharp. “plus, i doubt he makes you feel as good as i do.”

“then do something about it,” you whispered, dragging your nails along the nape of his neck. “remind me why i started fucking you in the first place.”

his hands were on you in a flash.

he grabbed your waist and hauled you onto his lap. the second you straddled him, he bit your bottom lip before kissing you deep.

“you want a reminder?” he growled “fine, but you’re gonna take what i give you”

you ground down against him and felt how hard he still was. this wasn’t some casual rebound fuck to him—this was territory. there was rage and lust and twisted affection in every move he made.

his fingers tugged your shirt up, mouth trailing fire along your neck, teeth scraping and marking.

“bet he doesn’t know how to touch you like this,” he murmured, slipping a hand under your waistband and cupping your already wet pussy. “bet he doesn’t even know what you like.”

“he’s learning,” you teased, smirking just to provoke him.

he scoffed and shoved your panties aside, pushing two fingers into you at once, hard enough to make your hips jerk.

“not like this,” he whispered darkly. “he can’t make you this wet with just his fingers, can he?”

you gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he curled his fingers deeper.

“god, you’re such a little slut for attention,” he chuckled “running to him just because he’s nice? is that what you want? a nice little boy?”

you could barely breathe now, body rocking into his hand with every word.

“you don’t want nice,” he hissed. “you want me. you want the one who knows how to break you and put you back together with a single fuck.”

your moan came out broken and sharp, your hips grinding down faster now. he was watching you fall apart, biting his lip like it was the only thing keeping him from slamming you down on the floor and reminding the entire dorm who you belonged to.

“say it,” he demanded. “say i’m the one you want. say his name doesn’t mean shit to you when you’re dripping for me like this.”

“you are,” you choked out. “you’re the only one i want, hae.”

he shoved his chair back with a grunt, stood with you still wrapped around him, and carried you to the bed. dropping you onto the mattress with a promise in his eyes, already yanking his sweats down.

“gonna fuck you so hard you forget what his voice even sounds like,” he muttered.

and from the look in his eyes—you knew he meant it.

he crawled over you, and with a quick peck to your lips, he slid his cock into you. you were so familiar with his size after so many fucks that it didn't take long for you to adjust and for him to start moving.

he switched your positions quickly, knowing how much you liked riding him. his mouth was on your chest, spit-slick and possessive, and his hips snapped up in a brutal rhythm from below you. he’d been talking the entire time— filthy words laced with jealousy and obsession.

“so fucking wet for me,” he groaned into your skin. “he could never get you like this.”

you moaned louder at that, clenching around him.

haechan reached over without breaking his rhythm, grabbing your phone from the desk behind him. you barely noticed at first, lost in the sensation of him buried so deep inside you, but then you heard the soft ding.

he pointed the camera down, letting it capture the view between your thighs, where you were split open and soaked, riding his cock like your life depended on it.

“what are you doing?” you gasped, half-laughing, half-panting.

“just making something for your little boyfriend,” haechan said with a smirk, his voice syrup-thick and mean. “he probably wants to know what you’ve been up to.”

he angled the camera to get your face, your tits, your hips grinding down as he fucked up into you. his hand slid up your stomach, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make your pulse jump under his thumb.

“look at the camera, baby,” he purred. “let’s show mark how you really beg.”

you bit your lip but obeyed, dragging your gaze to the lens. your expression was wrecked—eyes glassy, mouth open, cheeks flushed.

“that’s it,” he growled, snapping his hips up even harder. “show him who you belong to.”

the hand not holding the phone slid down your spine, grabbed your ass, and slammed you down onto him with a force that made the bed frame groan.

“you hear that, mark?” haechan muttered into the mic, his voice suddenly colder. “this is what your little good girl sounds like when someone actually knows how to use her.”

you whimpered shamelessly, as his cock dragged right against that spot inside you that made your vision spark white.

“she’s squeezing me like she’s never been fucked before,” haechan kept going, still holding the phone. “you ever get her like this, huh? you ever make her cum just from your cock and a few mean words?”

 he thrust into you hard and deep, so deep you cried out, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders.

“oh, that’s so much better,” he grunted, pulling back and slamming in again. “bet he doesn’t hit that spot, hm? bet he doesn’t know how deep you like it.”

you moaned loudly, the sound echoing against the dorm walls. he held the phone steady with one hand and gripped your jaw with the other, turning your face to the lens.

“tell him who makes you cum.”

you gasped. “haechan—fuck—you, you do—”

he grinned like the devil.

“good girl.”

the sound of skin slapping, the way your body arched into every thrust, the sweet, broken whines he pulled out of you—it was all being captured. and he made sure of it. shifting the angle, filming your tits bouncing, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your lips mouthing please, more without even realizing it.

“gonna send this to him,” he muttered darkly, “maybe i’ll wait ‘til he’s all alone at night, thinking about you and then—bam.” he snapped his hips harder, making you gasp. “he’ll see you stuffed full of my cock.”

you clenched around him and he hissed.

“yeah, you like that. you love being filmed, dirty little thing.”

you were shaking now, pleasure boiling up in your gut as he kept fucking into you with brutal precision. all while recording you. all while imagining mark’s face when he saw you like this.

your thighs were already trembling from how many times you’d rolled your hips over him, the coil in your lower stomach drawn so tight you could scream.

haechan’s hands gripped your waist, keeping you just barely in rhythm as you rode him, the slow drag of his cock inside you leaving you teetering at the edge. your hands braced against his chest, fingernails digging into his sweaty skin. you were so close you could taste it.

“that’s it,” he murmured, voice gone low and raspy. “fuck yourself on me. let mark see how desperate you get.”

“haechan—fuck, please—i’m gonna cum—”

suddenly, his hands snapped up to your hips and stopped you. his cock still twitching inside you but he wasn't moving anymore.

“no, you’re not,” he said, eyes dark. “not yet.”

your head fell forward, lips parted in disbelief. “what?”

he leaned in closer, lips brushing your throat. “you wanna cum?” he asked, and you nodded, hips instinctively trying to grind down again.

he didn’t let you.

“then beg for it. look into the camera and beg for me.”

you shuddered. his voice wasn’t teasing anymore. it was burning hot with jealousy and the need to have control over you.

“tell mark you’re not allowed to come unless i say so. tell him you’re mine.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving, and then turned your head to the camera. your voice shook as you whispered, “please… please let me come. i need it. i can’t take it, hae, i—”

his hand slid up your back, grabbing your hair and tugging gently so your neck arched. he bit along your jaw, voice low and sharp against your ear.

“say it like you mean it. say it loud. i want him to hear what a needy little slut you turn into when you don’t get what you want.”

you swallowed, lips trembling. “please…please, hae, i’ll do anything…just let me come—”

“nah,” he muttered, tightening his grip and slamming up into you once. once. just enough to make you cry out and chase the friction, but not enough to give you what you needed.

“you don’t get to cum until i say so. and i’m not saying shit until you look into that camera and tell mark whose cock you fucking love.”

your body was on fire, everything inside you begging for release, but you obeyed. because your orgasm lived in his hands now.

“it’s yours,” you gasped, eyes flicking to the lens. “it’s always been yours. not his. he can’t fuck me like you do.” you lied.

“mmm, now that’s the energy,” he grinned, hand trailing down between your legs to barely graze your clit. “feel that? you want it, don’t you?”

“yes, yes, please—i need it—”

“you’ll take every fucking inch, keep grinding that soaked little pussy on me slow, and i’ll think about letting you come.”

you did as he said. he made you ride him in slow, teasing circles. every drag was torturous, your body screaming for a release you weren’t allowed to have. tears prickled in your lashes, your mouth open in a string of whispered begs.

“look how perfect you are when you’re desperate,” he murmured, finally rubbing slow circles over your clit. “this is what he needs to see. you fucking breaking apart on my cock.”

you whimpered something incoherent, your entire body trembling when he finally granted it.

“cum for me, baby. show him what he’ll never fucking have.”

you shattered instantly, mouth open in a silent scream, grinding down on him with a rhythm you couldn’t even control anymore. and he filmed all of it. the high-pitched moans, the tears, the way you collapsed against his chest completely undone. and when his orgasm hit soon after, he captured his cum dripping out of your used cunt. 

when your breathing slowed and your thighs stopped shaking, he clicked off the recording and kissed your temple.

“that should keep him up at night.”

┈─★

the next time you saw mark, it was at a party hosted by one of the student organizations. haechan was there too, for your pleasure, and you knew tonight was going to be the night you finally brought your twisted fantasy to life.

the plan was simple. get both of them to your apartment. 

and it was all going well until haechan yanked you into the bathroom, and before you could even think, you were on your knees, taking him in your mouth.

by the time you left the bathroom, your makeup was a mess. the lipstick smeared across your face was a dead giveaway of what youd been doing. haechan went off to get a drink, and you quietly retreated to the living room, sitting in front of a mirror to fix your face.

mark was talking to his friends across the room, but his eyes never left you. he hadn’t spoken to you in a week after receiving the video. he was pissed, sure, but it wasn’t as though he was surprised. he knew you had some kind of relationship with haechan. but to film it and send it to him? that shit crossed a line.

what bothered him most was that he couldn’t bring himself to delete the video. every night, he ended up jerking off to it, his mind filled with the image of you begging for that jerk’s cock.

he noticed haechan walk by, nodding to a few people along the way. when their eyes met, he smirked and started walking toward him.

mark’s lip curled into a scowl as the younger boy stopped in front of him, leaning casually against the wall.

“what’s up, lee?” haechan’s voice was light, almost too fucking smug. he slapped mark’s back with exaggerated force. jaemin and chenle exchanged glances and walked off when they caught the tension.

“did you get my video?” haechan asked, his eyes still glinting behind his cup, the stupid little grin never fading.

“i did,” mark replied coldly. his voice was almost a growl, thick with disgust. “what kind of man records a lady during sex?”

haechan chuckled. “if you watched the video, you’d know she was very much into it.”

mark’s jaw clenched “whatever. you don’t fucking deserve her,” he spat, his words dripping with venom.

“and you do?” haechan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “please, she’s not into the whole gentleman act.”

mark’s smirk was all teeth now “then why does she keep coming back to me?”

haechan’s eyes narrowed, but the grin never left his face. “her lip gloss is still all over my cock, so i’d say there’s really no competition here…”

mark’s hand shot out, slapping the drink from haechan’s grip. he grabbed the younger boy by the collar, yanking him in close. everyone around them hushed and someone muttered oh shit.

that’s when you stood up and pushed your way through the crowd. when you reached them, you shoved them apart with a force that surprised even you.

“what do you two think you’re doing?”

your voice cut through the room like a whip—sharp enough to make a few of the partygoers flinch. mark’s fist was still clenched in haechan’s shirt, and haechan didn’t look even the slightest bit bothered. in fact, the smug bastard looked like he was thriving in the chaos, like he’d been waiting for this moment all goddamn week.

mark let go first, reluctantly, his eyes still locked on haechan’s. “he started it,” he muttered like a sulking schoolboy who’d just been caught throwing punches behind the gym.

“bullshit,” haechan scoffed, brushing off where mark had touched him. “he’s just mad he’s not the one you were sucking off ten minutes ago.”

you grabbed mark’s wrist before he could swing. “enough.” you looked at both of them. “you’re both acting like idiots. are we seriously doing this now? at a party?”

“he's talking about you like you’re some kind of trophy.” mark growled.

haechan scoffed. “oh, please” 

you could feel the eyes of half the party watching the drama with beers in hand. you tilted your head, walking up between them.

“you two are being childish.”

mark’s eyes dipped down to your lips, shiny from the fresh coat of gloss. a hint of it still smeared down your chin as a confirmation of everything haechan just said. he hated that no matter how pissed he was, he still wanted to grab you, shove you against the wall, and remind you how good he could make you feel.

“so, how about you stop wasting time on this pathetic pissing contest…” you continued, circling behind them slowly, “and come dance with me.”

you walked straight toward the dance floor, the bass vibrating through your heels and into your spine. you didn’t even turn to see if they were behind you. you already knew they were.

you stepped into the crowd, backlit by strobes, and then turned around slowly, one hand held out toward mark. his brows knit together at first, unsure. then he stepped in, hand sliding into yours.

your other hand reached for haechan, and that cocky smile curled across his lips before he grabbed your waist instead, pulling himself flush against your side.

“what’s this, baby?” haechan murmured against your ear.

you just smiled and rolled your hips into him at the rhythm of the music.

mark stood closer now, his chest brushing yours with every beat. his hands hovered like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch, until you guided one to your hip.

you tipped your head up and kissed him first. your fingers fisted in his shirt as your lips dragged across his—tongue sliding against his until he forgot why he was mad in the first place.

but then you pulled away and turned, grabbing haechan by the jaw and kissing him too. open-mouthed. filthy. 

you felt mark tense behind you. you could almost hear his breath hitch as he watched.

but you didn’t stop.

your hand reached behind you, pulling mark closer until he was pressed against your back. your lips were still on haechan’s when your other arm looped around mark’s neck, forcing them both into your orbit.

in the chaos, in the rhythm and push and pull of bodies, your head tilted just enough to make room, and their mouths brushed.

they didn’t even realize at first. your body was between them, but it was hard to see whose hands were where, whose breath was in whose lungs. they were kissing each other before they even registered it. and when they did?

there was a second of stunned silence between them, and they both froze.

“fuck,” haechan muttered.

mark stared at him like something short-circuited behind his eyes. and then he kissed him again, rougher this time. 

you looked at them with a victorious smile on your lips.

when they pulled away, lips swollen and chests heaving, you saw the look on both their faces—equal parts frustration and lust. and you knew… this was the moment you had been waiting for.

you didn’t even wait for the song to end.

your hand shot out, fingers latching onto the front of mark’s jacket, then you grabbed haechan’s wrist and tugged them both forward.

“we’re leaving,” you said, voice low but commanding.

mark looked like he wanted to argue but you didn’t give him the chance.

you turned on your heel and walked out.

and like the two moths they were, they followed the flame.

┈─★

your apartment door slammed shut behind them, the tension snapping into something feral the second the lock clicked.

“you—” mark started, but you cut him off with a kiss. filthy, fast, and impatient. his hands went straight to your waist, pressing you back against the wall as his mouth opened under yours. he tasted like alcohol and haechan.

the later boy soon stepped behind you.

his hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin, and his mouth was right by your ear. “so you really want both of us, huh?” he whispered, “you’re that fucking greedy.”

you reached back blindly, curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled away from mark.

“i want to figure out who deserves me more.”

haechan shoved mark backward—not hard, but enough to reclaim space. and mark let it happen for a second, jaw tight, watching as haechan spun you to face him and kissed you deep, tongue fucking into your mouth.

but then mark was there again. his hands on your hips, his chest flush with your back, and this time, he kissed haechan.

really kissed him. it wasn’t an accident or in heat-of-the-moment.

mark leaned around you, lips capturing haechan’s mid-moan, his fingers curling into your waistband as their mouths crashed. it was clumsy at first and then it turned hungry.

the three of you moved together, a mess of hands and mouths and breathless gasps. clothing peeled away between kisses, bodies pressing against each other with no room left for shame. by the time you hit the couch, you were half-naked and drenched in anticipation.

you shoved mark down first, straddling his lap, grinding against him as haechan knelt beside you.

“who gets to fuck you first?” haechan asked, his voice hoarse and teasing.

you smiled, biting your lip as you looked down at mark.

mark's breath hitched beneath you, his eyes flicked up and then down to where your soaked panties were rubbing against the thick outline of his cock through his jeans.

"fuck," he muttered, head tipping back against the couch as you rolled your hips again, just to watch him squirm.

haechan had one hand running up your thigh, the other palming the bulge in mark’s jeans with a wicked little grin. his own erection poking through his boxers

"you're both hard already," you whispered, your voice sweet and venomous. you leaned forward, brushing your lips against mark's ear. "and i haven’t even gotten naked yet."

"then fucking do it," mark growled.

"ask nicer," you cooed.

haechan laughed, low and breathy.  then he kissed your inner thigh, right above where the fabric was sticking to your soaked cunt, and said, "i’ll ask for him—take it off, baby."

you stood up and pulled your shirt over your head. no bra. both of their eyes dropped to your chest in an almost comical way. you hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down. by the time you were naked, both boys looked like they were seconds from breaking.

you dropped to your knees between them and unzipped mark’s jeans first, pulling his cock free and stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist the way you knew made his eyes roll back. he groaned, head falling forward to watch you. 

then, without warning, you leaned sideways and took haechan into your mouth instead.

mark cursed under his breath. haechan let out a deep, shaky breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair. you sucked him slow, wet, deep, letting the mess coat your lips as you kept stroking mark at the same time.

“you’re unreal,” haechan gasped, hips twitching. “fucking slut.”

you pulled off with a filthy pop, a string of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. "you like watching, mark?" you asked, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes as you jerked them both off side by side. "you like seeing how good i take his cock?"

mark's nostrils flared. then his hand was in your hair too, tugging you toward him, and you let him push into your mouth—let him fuck into your throat until you gagged, until your eyes watered, until his cock was slick with spit.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice ragged. 

haechan reached over and grabbed mark’s jaw, turning his face toward him to kiss him.

their mouths crashed messily. they kissed like they hated each other for how much they wanted this.

you sat back, breathless, watching their lips collide with yours on both their cocks, and you moaned—because this was it. this was your fantasy.

they broke apart with a gasp, and you grinned.

"let’s go to my room," you said.

but you barely made it down the hall before haechan spun you around and pressed you to the wall, his mouth crashing into yours. he kissed like he wanted to bruise you. hands groping, lips biting, tongue deep and fast and hungry.

mark’s hand was already sliding up under your thigh, lifting your leg so he could step in behind you. his breath ghosted over your neck, and his voice was a low growl against your skin.

“you like letting him touch you like that?” he asked, pressing his hips into your ass so you could feel exactly what he meant. “you gonna let me fuck you after he’s had his way with you?”

you moaned, letting your head fall back onto mark’s shoulder as haechan’s hand slid down your front and cupped your pussy, two fingers slipping through the mess between your legs.

“she’s soaked,” haechan smirked. “god, you’re such a filthy little thing.”

“fucking ours,” mark said, and even haechan didn’t argue with that.

they walked you to the bed like wolves with prey between their teeth. when you climbed onto the mattress, you didn’t even get time to settle because mark grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and spreading you wide.

haechan knelt in front of you, his cock already leaking. “open that pretty mouth again, baby.”

you did. obedient, dripping, desperate.

mark’s fingers slid into you from behind as haechan pushed into your mouth. your moan vibrated around his cock, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting deeper. mark’s pace picked up, his fingers curling just right—fucking you open, getting you ready.

"you’re gonna take us both,” mark said, and it wasn’t a question.

he lined up behind you just as haechan pulled back, breath ragged, stroking himself as he watched your ass push back toward mark instinctively. mark slid in slowly, inch by inch until you were full.

"fuck—" mark’s voice cracked. "you feel s’good."

haechan grabbed your chin to tilt your face up. “look at me while he fucks you,” he said, voice thick with lust. “wanna see your face when you cum all over his cock”

mark started thrusting harder, faster. your hands clawed at the sheets, moans falling from your lips in broken little gasps as your body rocked between them. haechan was watching every twitch of your face mesmerized.

and then he kissed you again, teeth dragging your lower lip before he shoved his cock back into your mouth.

it was obscene.

mark pounding into you, cock hitting the deepest spot inside your gummy walls, while you choked around haechan’s cock, spit dripping down your chin and onto the sheets. both of them moaning and touching you like they didn’t care if they left bruises so long as you kept begging for more.

“fuck—” haechan’s voice cracked, hips twitching as your mouth kept taking him, sloppy and hungry. “gonna cum on your tongue, baby. don’t even think about stopping. take it. take it.”

behind you, mark’s breath was a rough growl against your ear, his grip digging harshly into your hips as he drove into you desperately.

“you feel this?” he hissed, voice shaking. “tight little cunt, soaked and squeezing the fuck out of me. you like being used like this, don’t you?”

 you moaned so hard it came out as a choke around haechan’s cock, spit and precum leaking from the corners of your mouth.

your orgasm ripped through you like a scream you couldn’t voice, your thighs shaking, core clenching so hard around mark he nearly lost it.

“fuckfuckfuck—” he groaned, ramming into you until his hips stuttered and he came deep inside you, cursing through gritted teeth as you milked every drop from him.

haechan didn’t stop. even after mark collapsed forward against your back, he kept thrusting into your mouth, hips slapping your cheeks as he muttered incoherently, “fucking angel like this… ruined slut… fuck—”

your eyes rolled back, drool spilling past your lips as he came with a loud moan. his cum flooded your mouth so fast you gagged on it. he didn’t even pull out right away but just held your head there, watching your throat work as you tried to swallow around the mess.

mark looked down, chest still heaving. “jesus,” he muttered, watching the cum drip off your chin, pooling under you. “she looks fucking destroyed.”

your body collapsed face-down across the sheets, arms trembling, legs still spread and twitching. your skin burned from the heat of them, from their hands, their mouths. and still—they weren’t done.

mark sat up slowly, eyes locked on the cum leaking down your thighs. he reached down without a word, dragged two fingers through it, and spread it back up into you.

“don’t waste it,” he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. “not after you begged for it.”

haechan was still in front of you, watching the whole thing with a lazy grin. he leaned in, wiped the mess from your chin with his thumb, and smeared it back across your lips. “open.”

you did.

he shoved his thumb in, and you sucked weakly.

“god, look at you,” he whispered, thumb still in your mouth. “so fucking pretty like this. dumb and dripping with our cum.”

mark pushed in two fingers next, fucking it deeper into the mess between your thighs. “she’s still clenching,” he said. “greedy even now.”

you whimpered into haechan’s hand, your thighs shaking again. the overstimulation was biting at the edges of your spine like static.

“she can take another,” haechan said. “can’t you, sweetheart?”

you didn’t reply fast enough so mark grabbed your jaw and turned your head. “you want us to stop?”

you blinked, dazed.

“…no.”

“then say it.”

“don’t stop,” you whispered. “please…”

haechan was behind you before you could think, spreading your ass with both hands like he was admiring a ruined piece of art. he bent down, spit pooling from his mouth and landing right on your hole before he dragged two fingers through the mess of mark’s cum still leaking out of you.

“look at this,” he muttered, spreading you wider, thumb rubbing slow circles. “she’s dripping with you, mark. you gonna let me fuck her like that?”

mark didn’t answer. he just sat back with his legs spread, cock half-hard and twitching back to life as he watched you squirm. 

“she said not to stop,” mark said finally, voice like gravel and heat. “so don’t.”

haechan lined himself up and slid in slowly until you were choking on your own moan, fingers clawing the sheets again. your body was trembling from the overstimulation but he didn’t care. not even a little. he gripped your hips and started fucking you in hard, rough strokes that made the whole bed creak.

“every sound you make is fucking delicious,” he grunted. “i'm gonna hear you when i jack off for a week straight.”

you cried out, and mark moved toward your head, grabbing your chin and lifting it.

“open your mouth,” he said. 

you did and he spit into it. it hit your tongue, thick and warm, and he didn’t even wait for you to swallow before he slid his cock between your lips.

“don’t you dare stop sucking.”

your throat was sore from taking haechan earlier and your pussy was raw from how hard you’d already been fucked—but none of that mattered. not when they were both moaning. not when mark was muttering how pretty you looked drooling around his cock. not when haechan was rutting into you like he had something to prove.

“she’s not even thinking anymore,” haechan gasped. “just moaning and crying for us—fuck, she’s perfect.”

you didn’t realize your second orgasm was coming until it hit you harder and meaner than the previous one, tearing through your overstimulated nerves until your body convulsed and your throat released a garbled cry around mark’s cock.

mark came first this time, groaning as he pulled out just in time to jerk himself off all over your face until his cum painted your cheeks, your lips, your tongue.

“look at you,” he breathed. “fuck.”

haechan came right after, buried to the hilt inside you, hips stuttering as he flooded you again. his cum mixing with mark’s cum.

you were twitching against mark’s thighs, completely fucked out.

but they didn’t even leave you alone then.

mark pulled you up so you were fully on top of his chest, and ran a thumb over your ruined lips while his other hand slid between your thighs again, fingers stroking the mess they’d made.

“you’re not done,” he whispered.

haechan leaned in from behind, kissing your neck, biting your shoulder. “we’re gonna clean you up from the inside.”

your limbs trembled, your thighs were soaked, your throat ached but your moans still came out soft and needy, like begging had become your first language.

mark’s hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping back inside you with zero mercy. your pussy twitched around him, hypersensitive, every motion making your whole body flinch—but fuck if it didn’t feel good. 

“you’re gonna cum again,” he said, more command than promise. “and again. and again. until we say you’re done.”

haechan moved on top of you, curling around you like a possessive snake.

“you hear that, baby?” he whispered “you wanted both of us… this is what that means.”

his hand snuck between your thighs, meeting mark’s fingers. two sets of fingers working inside you, scissoring, curling, fucking you through the wreckage of your last orgasm and dragging you right into the next.

you were crying now, quiet tears streaming down your cheeks as your body betrayed how good it felt. your hips rocking against their hands, head thrown against mark’s shoulder.

“good fucking girl,” mark breathed, watching your face with that reverent hunger. “look at her, haechan. she’s crying and still begging for more.”

“she’s ours,” haechan said simply, dragging his tongue along your neck, tasting the salt of your tears. “no one else gets her like this.”

and then—as if coordinated—they both moved faster.

your moans cracked into a sob, and you grabbed for mark’s arms as you came again. hard. your body shaking against his, your vision going white around the edges.

“one more,” mark muttered, watching your pussy clench and flutter around his fingers. “you can give us one more, can’t you?”

“she can,” haechan said, now sucking a bruise into your shoulder. “she’s such a good little toy.”

you couldn’t even speak. just gasps, sobs, a whimper of please—though none of you were really sure if it meant please stop or please keep going.

“we’ll stop when you can’t remember your name,” mark whispered, fingers still deep inside you.

he pulled his fingers out of you with one last deep curl, just to watch the way your hips jerked from the sudden loss.

haechan crawled down, hand on your thighs, pressing you into the mattress as he dropped to his stomach in front of your core

"be still," he licked his lips and then his tongue was on you.

licking up everything—all of it—his spit mixing with their cum, slow and messy, like he was trying to taste every second of what they'd done to you. he groaned against your cunt, burying his face between your legs as you sobbed, so overstimulated you couldn’t decide whether you were moaning or crying.

mark brushed your hair out of your face with a hand that was far too gentle for how he’d just destroyed you. he leaned down, kissed your tear-slick cheek, and whispered, “you’re doing so good, baby. letting us use you like this.”

his voice dropped lower, mouth brushing your ear now. “you’re ours. you know that, right? nothing left for anyone else. ”

you nodded. your throat too raw, and lips too bruised to speak.

“she’s clenching again,” haechan called from between your thighs, laughing, breath hot against you. “she’s about to fucking cum on my tongue.”

and fuck—you did.

your whole body jolted violently, and mark had to kiss you to keep you from screaming out. you cried into his mouth, so wet, so wrecked, and still grinding back against haechan’s mouth.

“fuck,” haechan groaned, pulling back just enough to kiss the inside of your thigh. “you taste like a dream.”

“i need to fuck you again” mark said, shifting back behind you. “slow this time. deep. so you remember my cock after tonight.”

haechan didn’t argue.

he just moved, lips dragging up your thighs  as mark pulled your hips back up.

he slid into you again and you whimpered.

"breathe, baby," he whispered. "you're okay. i've got you."

haechan curled up in front of you, kissing your mouth now, slow and messy. his hand found your throat and he squeezed softly.

you looked up at him, saw his gaze flicker over your shoulder to where mark was moving behind you. and fuck if that look wasn’t hungry.

"you two gonna keep pretending this isn’t about more than me?" you whispered, voice raw but daring. “you’ve been dying to touch each other. do it.”

mark froze, cock still buried deep. haechan didn’t blink.

you rolled your hips enough to make mark gasp—and then you turned your head and said it again.

“touch him.”

haechan’s hand slid down slowly, fingers ghosting over your thigh first… then lower… until he reached between your legs and brushed mark’s cock where it was buried inside you.

"fuck," mark grunted, voice cracking slightly.

haechan smirked, leaned over your shoulder and whispered in mark’s ears, “do you like it, lee?”

he curled his fingers around mark’s cock, still moving in and out of you, and started stroking him.  touching you and him in the same stroke. mark groaned into your skin, grip on your hips tightening.

“don’t stop,” mark gasped, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. “fuck—don’t stop.”

you moaned too, completely overwhelmed now watching the two of them break for each other.

"who knew you were this needy?" haechan taunted.

"shut up" mark groaned, hips faltering.

haechan leaned forward again, brushing his lips against mark’s jaw.

“shut me up,” he said, soft and dangerous.

mark hesitated for a second and then their mouths crashed together.

it was brutal and desperate. they kissed over your back like they were fighting for dominance, like they were starving for it.

mark kept fucking into you as they kissed, pace getting rougher now, hips snapping with every gasp. haechan kept stroking you both, his fingers moving between your clit and mark’s cock, never giving either of you a break.

haechan broke the kiss first, panting, lips swollen. “she’s gonna come again,” he muttered, fingers rubbing harder. “fuck, she’s squeezing you so tight.”

“i’m close, too” mark groaned “i’m gonna—”

you came first, clenching around both haechan’s hand and mark’s cock. your whole body spasming as the orgasm slammed through you.

mark came soon after with a gasp, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you again. he only pulled out 

haechan didn’t stop touching you. didn’t stop kissing mark. until he’d wrung every drop out of both of you.

it was quiet for a moment.

both boys still half-tangled with you, one on either side. haechan’s mouth trailed down your body, licking over bruises he’d left earlier, until he settled between your thighs again. he kissed your inner thigh, then the other, lips dragging against sensitive skin, breathing in the scent of your ruined cunt like it was perfume.

“she’s still fucking soaked,” he muttered. “how are you still this wet?”

“because she knows what’s coming,” mark said, taking your hand and guiding it to his mouth. he kissed your fingers. then your wrist. then up your arm, slow and careful.

then he sat up and lifted your upper body into his lap, turning you around and cradling you against his chest as haechan started licking long, slow strokes up your pussy again.

your legs trembled, your hands dug into mark’s thighs. you weren’t just being eaten out, you were being devoured.

“you’re gonna take us both this time,” mark grunted into your ear. “not one at a time. both.”

haechan looked up, eyes gleaming.

“ever been filled in both holes, baby?”

your breath hitched. you couldn’t speak but your body said yes.

mark shifted behind you again, this time lining himself up lower. haechan moved between your legs, stroking himself slow, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds.

“you ready?” haechan asked, breath hot against your mouth.

you nodded.

and then they were both pushing in at the same time.

one in your pussy, one in your ass.

and fuck—you lost your mind.

your mouth dropped open in a scream you didn’t even hear. you were full in the truest, filthiest sense of the word.

they groaned in unison, both of them stilling once they were fully buried inside you.

“holy fuck,” mark gasped. “she’s so tight like this—”

“don’t move yet,” haechan hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “fuck. she’s milking us.”

but you did move. you rolled your hips, whimpering, desperate for more friction. and then they started thrusting.

together.

deep, slow, alternating, syncing like they were choreographing the destruction of your sanity.

your body jolted between them with every stroke. you were moaning, begging, babbling things you couldn’t understand. their hands were all over you—mark’s on your breasts, haechan’s on your throat, their mouths kissing every inch of you they could reach.

“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” mark growled. “us… fucking you together.”

“she was made to take us like this.” haechan breathed, watching your eyes roll back. 

you didn’t just come this time. you broke. sobbing and clenching down on both of them as your orgasm hit like a bus. they didn’t even stop, they fucked you through it, fucked you through the twitching and the tears and the oversensitive spasms until you were just a mess of yesyesyes and pleasepleaseplease.

they came together. mark first, biting your shoulder, thrusts deep and hard. then haechan, with a strangled moan, spilling inside you with one final snap of his hips.

you didn’t know how long you were out—could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. the world felt muted. like your body had been peeled open and left raw in the best way. your limbs wouldn’t move right. your skin was still tingling. your chest rising slowly like every breath was relearned.

mark was the first to move. he didn’t speak, just rolled you onto your side gently, cradling your body lgently. he reached for the sheets, wiped between your thighs with careful strokes, even as your legs twitched and your whole body flinched at the contact.

“you alive?” mark asked softly.

you hummed. barely.

“good,” haechan said. “because imagine explaining this to the paramedics.” he kissed your shoulder, tongue dragging over the sweat there.

you laughed—more like a broken giggle—and they both chuckled too.

mark leaned in, brushed your hair back from your face. “you okay?”

you nodded, and when you whispered “yeah,” he kissed your temple.

“you need water, or—?”

“i need to feel you again,” you said.

he blinked, then smiled fondly.

haechan slid a hand up your stomach, resting between your breasts. “she’s addicted,” he whispered, and you could feel the grin in his voice. “she’s not even cleaned up and she’s already asking for more.”

you turned your head slightly. “so stop teasing me and touch me.”

mark’s fingers were already trailing back down your side. “not to fuck you again,” he said, “not yet.”

he looked at you softly, but serious. “we’re gonna clean you up.”

haechan slipped out of bed and disappeared for a second, then came back with a warm cloth. mark took it, and the two of them cleaned your body. wiping gently between your legs, kissing the insides of your knees. haechans tongue licked along your hip just because he wanted to.

“look at this mess,” he murmured, dragging the cloth through the mixture of their cum and yours. “we fucked you so good. you’re still dripping.”

you whimpered.

mark kissed your thigh. “we’ll fill you up again,” he promised. “after you rest. after we take care of you.”

“and when you wake up,” haechan added, crawling up beside you, “you’re getting marked again, so no one even thinks about touching you.”

┈─★

the first thing you felt the next morning was heat. not the kind that fades when the blankets shift. no, this was body heat. the weight of someone’s thigh tangled with yours. the press of a chest at your back. the warm exhale of breath across your neck.

your eyes blinked open slowly.

and both of them were still in your bed.

mark was behind you, arm slung over your waist, breath warm against your shoulder. haechan was in the front, legs tangled with yours and one hand resting against the underside of your breast like he’d fallen asleep mid-grope.

mark stirred first, pressing a slow kiss to the back of your shoulder. “morning,” he mumbled, voice deep and sleep-rough.

you hummed. “you stayed.”

“of course,” he said like it was obvious.

haechan groaned, stretching. his hand slid higher and squeezed your tit without even opening his eyes. “if i’d left, i would’ve had to jerk off in the dorm thinking about this,” he muttered. “no thanks.”

you laughed softly, body curling between them. “are you always this charming in the morning?”

mark chuckled. “only when we wake up next to a gorgeous girl.”

“mm,” haechan hummed, finally opening his eyes. “speaking of…”

he pushed the blanket back and looked you over like he was unwrapping a gift.

“what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what.

mark leaned up on one elbow, gaze sweeping from your face to the marks on your neck, down to the faint bruises on your hips. his hand brushed them lightly, almost in awe.

“we did a number on you,” he murmured.

“yeah,” you said, voice light. “you gonna apologize?”

they both smirked.

“no,” haechan said, already moving to kiss down your chest. “we’re gonna do it again.”