#no call back and its friday its been over a week

[skunkes]

[yieldtotemptation]

ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.  

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.  

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck.  Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

[rambling-at-midnight]

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[rafeandonlyrafe]

deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.” 

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.” 

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

--

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?” 

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

--

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod. 

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut. 

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

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[marvelwitchergilmore]

Let Me Prove It

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> After months of grieving for Logan, he proves to you he's not going anywhere.

Disclaimer: Descriptions of death, blood, reader goes through grief of losing Logan. Angst, sadness, some fluff. There is a happy ending. Illusions to smut towards the end. Not Proof Read.

You could remember the day you fell in love with Logan Howlett. 

It had been a rainy afternoon. Nothing grand had happened that day. The kids had been in classes all day, most exams were happening all week but by Friday, they’d all be over for the semester. There was stew, heating up on the stove, and you had been reading your book. 

At least, you’d been trying to. 

Often, your mind would wander off on its own and only half way through your train of thought would you realise you had boarded the wrong train and it was already moving. And just like a flash of a meadow, snapping past one of the compartment windows, you discovered you had feelings for Logan. 

And watching him walk through the backdoor only a moment later, confirmed your thoughts. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Your train came to a halt and you snapped up, focusing on reality. “What?”

Logan grumbled. “Nothing. Dinner ready?”

“Almost. Storm’s looking for you, by the way. She wants to know if you can cover her class next week. She’s got a doctor's appointment and no one’s available.”

Logan still had his back turned as he looked in the cupboard for something. “Sure. What class?”

“History. What are you looking for?”

Logan didn’t fully answer you. He just mumbled a noise before pulling a small box out from the back and closing the door. Turning around he opened it up, took a cookie out before offering it to you. 

“She got a lesson plan?”

Looking down at your book, you dog-eared the page. Sometimes, you’d use a bookmark but considering most of them would disappear without a trace and leave you fending for yourself to find your page again, hours after you’d read it, you gave up on them. 

“Yeah, she’s already left it in your room.”

“Of course she has.” Logan took another bite of his cookie and rounded the kitchen island. 

Your gaze followed him. Mostly out of curiosity. You and Logan were friends. Not best friends. But good friends. Well…

Good enough friends. 

Could you really be in love with him?

Reaching up into the top cupboard, he brought down the set of bowls and took half from the top. 

“You take the rest.”

And for the next ten minutes, you both laid out the table in time for dinner. 

Then you watched as he helped some of the younger kids with their hot meals. Despite all of his grumbling and his small protests when it came to calling him the best baby-sitter. 

Logan was good with kids. 

Yep. 

You were in love with Logan. 

And just like how you could remember the day you fell in love with Logan, you could also remember the day he died. 

It had torn you to pieces. 

It still did. 

It had been on a mission. You’d all faced worse before. And yet, somehow, nobody was prepared for what was about to happen. Everything blew up. Quite literally. You had been helping some of the kids to safety with Storm and Scott. Scott had left half way through, running to find Jean and help her. Storm had given him cover, as well as the kids. 

And once you knew the kids were in safe hands on the jet, you ran back. 

Only, when you got to the top of the hill, having skidded to a halt only to catch yourself on a rotting tree, you looked down to see for the first time, the image that would be forever imprinted in your mind. 

Logan and Jean were at the bottom. Scott had made it just in time to hold his girlfriend back when Logan took the brunt of the attack. It sent him flying and when he fell to the floor, your gut twisted. 

Usually, he’d get up. 

But something was off. 

He wasn’t getting up. Not as quickly, anyway. 

And when he did, an attack came sooner than anyone else had expected. 

Straight through his stomach and a second through his side, Logan was impaled to the tree before being torn from it, sent flying forward with the tentacle branches before being pulled off and sent flying to the ground. 

You remembered screaming his name along with the others before running forward. Storm had made it there before you, but you were the first on your knees beside him, trying to check for any healing that was starting. 

It wasn’t. 

You heard the muffled voices of the rest of the team in your ears, fighting against your own heartbeat as you looked down at Logan. He was bleeding out and fast. 

The bodies beside you disappeared and followed after the attacker and soon everything became…

Silent. 

The ringing in your ears had stopped, your ears had gotten used to your own heartbeat, and you tried your best to focus on Logan. 

His eyes were closed. Begging him through your own tears for him to open his, you took his hand. Feeling for his pulse, it was weak. And getting weaker. 

“Logan…please. Please don’t do this.”

Then your hearing focused on his heartbeat. Each beat took longer to come after the other until finally, with one weak squeeze of goodbye to your hand, Logan died. 

The hours that followed after that became a blur. 

The man you loved but had never told had died in front of you. You had heard his heartbeat stop. You had felt his last goodbye. He never got any last words. Just one last touch. 

And every night that followed after that, you re-lived it. Over and over and over again. Each night, the same. Logan. The branches. The blood. The pulse. The heartbeat. The touch. The silence. 

Sometimes you’d wake just as he touched your hand, the ghost of a feeling left on your palm as you woke. 

The others never bothered to ask. At least, not after the first time you had told them. The Professor had gathered you all in his office after everything had happened. And all you could think of was that Logan’s body was lay, lifeless, underneath the school. 

He had asked you what had happened and, with your arms folded and your eyes on the ground, you answered him. 

“He wasn’t healing. There wasn’t anything I could do. He died,” you explained before looking up at the Professor and giving him Logan’s time of death. “May I go now? I want to make sure the kids are okay.”

The Professor excused you and you left as quickly as you could, the door slamming a little louder than you had meant. 

And for the next two months, you…kept yourself busy. 

People talked about Logan, they were determined to keep his memory alive. But they didn’t have to go to bed at night, just for his memory to die again. Each morning, you seemed to wake up earlier than usual. And with the feeling of Logan’s hand against yours, you busied yourself as best as you could. 

Grading papers, alphabetising the library, cleaning every possible surface including the ceilings, constantly doing the laundry. Weeding out the garden, planting some new flower beds. Fixing the creaky wooden board in the hallway, painting the doors and wooden boards between the windows. Trimming the bushes, scrubbing the pots (even the old ones that weren’t in use anymore). 

You did anything and everything you could. Mostly to keep your mind busy but party because you hoped, if you tired yourself out enough, you might have caught a break. Made it one night through without re-living Logan’s death. 

But all of that changed one afternoon when you were called to the Professor’s study. 

Where you came face to face with…

Logan. 

Everyone was confused. 

Apart from the Professor. 

And throughout the meeting you remained quiet. Obviously, everyone was angry at the fact the Professor had kept such a big secret. 

“We didn’t know if it would work and we didn’t want anyone to have to re-live their grief.” The Professor explained. “It was a shot in the dark.”

“How is this even possible?” Storm asked as she sat down. 

“It seems Logan’s healing abilities were simply weakened. He needed help to heal. Medical help that not I, nor I’m afraid even you, Jean, could give him. There is a doctor I know, based in Alberta. She helped boost Logan’s healing factor and made sure that whatever had weakened him was no longer in his system.”

There was a little more explaining to do, but you could feel yourself drifting from the conversation. You just kept looking at Logan as he stood by the window and the Professor’s desk. 

He had his back turned when you had walked inside, the others all looking confused and annoyed, having to wait for you before they got their explanation. 

He had died. 

You had seen him die. 

You had felt him die. 

And yet, there he stood. His hands in his pockets, looking around the room, breathing and living as if nothing had even happened. 

Not long after all the explanations, everyone got to voice their opinion and you came last. Everyone looked at you, including Logan. 

And all you wanted to do was run.

To him or away from him, you couldn’t quite tell. 

So, with a breath, you forced a half smile and nodded. “It’s good to have you back. Professor, may I go? I’ve got a class that’s about to start.”

“Of…of course. I would have thought-”

Reaching for the door, you looked back. “See you round, Logan.”

Just before you closed the door, you heard Storm announce her way to Logan to give him a hug. But even the Professor couldn’t concentrate on that because he couldn’t help but notice there was something different about you. 

Of course, he’d noticed you’d been keeping yourself busy. Missing out on family dinners, eating yours when you found the time later on in the evening, cleaning up the classrooms after hours, doing a little touch ups here and there with a smaller paint can and paintbrush. 

Little did he know, you had just been filling in the spots you had missed the day before. 

But he had figured you had been like the others. Itching to hug Logan. Being glad he was alive and breathing. 

Instead…

You had barely said two words and had left as soon as you could. 

“Are you okay?” Storm asked you later that night when you were cooking dinner. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Storm lifted herself onto a stool opposite you. “I don’t know. You just didn’t seem…excited about Logan being back.”

“Of course I’m excited he’s back.”

“Then would it kill you to show it?” Storm asked, half jokingly. “Here, let me help.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay, I’m almost done.”

Storm moved her hands away from your chopping board slowly. “Okay. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You smiled. “Ororo, I’m fine. Scouts honour. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

You shrugged, forcing your mind back to reality. “Nothing. It’s just been a long day, s’all.”

Later that evening, you found yourself alone in your classroom. The others were down the hall having dinner but you had found yourself something to do. You could have gone down but whether out of habit of the last two months or fear, you didn’t wish to join them. 

Your appetite had already been worse for wear over the last couple of weeks. If you were sat at the table, across from Logan, you wouldn’t have been able to even think about eating. 

So, taking another bite of your sandwich, you turned back to your essays. 

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Logan looked around the table. You were missing. 

“Whose turn was it to cook tonight?” Logan asked. 

“Y/n’s.” Jean told him. “She’s been making most of the meals lately. Guess she just got the cooking bug.”

“But she’s not here.”

Jean shrugged it off. “She’ll probably get some later.”

“Where is she?” He asked as he went to stand. But Jean stopped him. 

“Oh, no. Stay. Come on, Everyone needs to catch up.”

“Catch up on what?” Logan asked. “I’ve been in a hospital in Alberta for two months.”

“Please, just…stay. Besides, Y/n’ll appear when she wants. She’s probably busy.”

And after a little bit more convincing, Logan stayed. You’d left so abruptly that morning, he questioned if you even wanted to see him at all. 

It continued like that for a week. 

At first, Logan tried to convince himself you weren’t avoiding him. But as the week went on and he began to see less of you inside his routine, he knew you had to be. 

And then he began to notice things. 

Everything seemed cleaner than when he had left. And brighter. Fresher, even. The doors had been given a paint job. Despite it being dry, he could still smell the aroma of fresh paint in the air. The halls were less creaky when he walked down them. The cupboards were tidier. He could find his cookies with ease now. 

And despite the fact he didn’t read all that much, he knew the library had changed. Even the books that no-one ever touched. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen near them. And one of his personal favourites – a book he tended to read around winter, where the cover was falling off and the pages were falling apart – had been binded to look like new.

So, taking action into his own hands, he went to look for you. 

And it wasn’t long before he found you. 

You had escaped him when he saw you planting fresh flowers in the garden, and you had escaped him when you had brought in the groceries having used Storm as a distraction for you to slip out of the kitchen once everything was away. 

But he had found you in the library. 

Once again, you hadn’t come to dinner, making up an excuse that you needed to work. And Logan knew for a fact you hadn’t left to come and get your dinner yet so, he brought it to you. 

“Thought you might be hungry.”

You looked up but Logan had already heard the change in your pulse. 

“Oh…thanks. You can just leave it there.”

And he did. 

“You’ve got to eat at some point.”

“I will,” you looked back up at him. “Soon. I promise.”

This was the longest conversation you’d both had since he got back. So, he took a seat across from you. 

“What are you working on?”

“Work.”

Logan smiled. “Funny.”

Then the silence washed over you both. But he didn’t want it to stick. “Y/n?”

You hummed a response. 

“Can you look at me?”

Your heartbeat seemed to jump and you took in a discrete breath. Finally seeing your face, Logan smiled. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve not been avoiding you.” You looked back at your work. 

“Yes, you have.”

“What makes you say that?”

Logan gave you a list. “The constant work, the avoidance of dinners, the silent treatment. Did I do something?”

You shook your head. “You haven’t done anything, Logan.”

“Then can you look at me when you tell me that so I might believe you.”

Finally, you looked at him. 

“Tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

Logan asked again. “What’s going on?”

You laughed, nervously. “Nothing’s going on. Logan, I’m fine.”

“Are you? Because you’ve been avoiding me since I got back and- what? What is it?”

You laughed again, except this time you didn’t know how you’d describe it. 

“‘Got back’ you repeated his words. “You say that as if you left for a vacation. You died, Logan. Or did you forget that?”

“No. Y/n. What’s going on?”

You shook your head and packed away your things as quickly as you could. “Forget I said anything. Thanks for dinner.”

“You didn’t even eat-” Logan watched you walk away from him again. 

He’d rather have you fight him than avoid him, so he pressed on. 

“Talk to me.” Logan followed after you. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s late, Logan. Go to bed.”

“Only when you do.”

“What?” You asked. 

“Your bedroom, it’s upstairs, down the hall from mine. In the opposite direction. The only thing this way is your classroom.”

“I’ve got to finish grading.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

You shrugged. “What teacher doesn’t get enough sleep?”

“Something is going on. Something has been going on. For a while. Please,” Logan begged. “Just tell me what it is.”

You stopped in your tracks. “Do you really want to know what it is?”

“Yes.” Logan nodded, stopping in front of you. 

“Okay then, I’ll tell you.”

And you did. 

“I watched you die, Logan. I heard your heart stop. I watched as blood pooled out of your body with no way for me to stop it. Even after three scalding hot showers, I still had your bloodstains on my skin, under my nails and on my clothes. Every night when I close my eyes, I re-live it. Everything. Every tiny detail. And the silence afterwards…it’s deafening. Sometimes I wake up, still feeling the pressure you put into my hand. Sometimes it’s still there hours after I wake up. I had spent every single day keeping myself busy, finding extra work for myself, just to make sure that I don’t start daydreaming about the waking nightmare I had to watch you go through. I had spent the last two months going over and over in my head what I would say to you if I ever saw you again. But I could never bring myself to do it, because I had watched you die. I had felt you die. So, please. Forgive me if I’m not jumping with joy because I can miraculously forget what happened, like everyone else.”

Logan let your words wash over him. No one had told him. He had a sneaking suspicion they hadn’t because even they didn’t know. Maybe they never asked. Maybe they just hadn’t noticed. 

Gaining back your breath, you went to turn away. 

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Closing your classroom door behind you, you silently locked it and pressed your back against it feeling your entire body start to shake. Slowly, your legs went from underneath you and you lowered yourself to the ground by sliding down the door. You tried your best to squeeze your tears back into your eyes with the heels of your hands, but nothing could stop them. 

Not now. 

Not when you had just admitted the truth to the one man you never thought you would see again. 

Three times Logan turned back to your classroom door, ready to walk inside. But he didn’t know what he would say. 

So he waited. 

Back in his room, he waited to hear the door to your room close. 

And after two hours, he finally did. 

And before he knew it, his feet were carrying him towards your door. Only, he stood there for ten minutes, unsure of what to do with himself. 

At some point, he finally knocked. 

Turning off the tap by the sink, you hung up your flannel onto the radiator bar and dried off your face when you heard the soft knock at your door. 

There was only one person who could have been up so late. 

He knocked again after a minute or two. 

And you opened up the door. 

Whatever Logan had just semi-prepared in his mind, slipped away. He was going to say something. But looking at you, standing in front of him…all words failed him. 

And the longer he stood in front of you, the louder the reminder came to you that he wasn’t dead. He was alive. He could be shot with twelve live rounds and the bullets would pop right back out of his skin. His claws would flare out and he’d be Wolverine. They’d retract and his skin would heal instantly. There would be no evidence that anything had ever happened. 

Then six words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them. Before even your brain could register the thought. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Logan felt his chest crack and his heart impale with pain. 

Pushing the door open a little wider, his arms engulfed you in an embrace that would forever be imprinted on your soul. Your own arms wrapped around him, trying to remember the feel of him both physically and spiritually in case the day ever came where you truly would never see him again. 

That if this was going to be your only memory of him, you could never, ever forget it. 

Lifting you up in his embrace for a moment, Logan walked further inside your room, kicking the door shut with his foot. Even if no one else was awake, he didn’t want to risk anyone walking by. Clearly, no-one else knew what you had been living through in your nightmares. And he didn’t want anyone else to share this moment between himself and you.

“You spared me the pain of being alone.” Logan whispered into your hair. “I was less scared because you were there.”

“I couldn’t have left you.” 

Your tears were back to rolling down your cheeks. “I’m sorry about everything you had to go through.”

Logan softly kissed away your tears, wiping the others away. 

You took in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Logan shook his head. “You saved me. You stayed with me.”

“But-”

With both your eyes closed, and Logan’s, you felt his forehead touch yours as his hands cradled your cheeks. “I’m real, Y/n. I’m alive.”

You felt Logan take your hand and press it to his chest, over his heart. His heartbeat was mostly steady, if a little quick. Spreading your fingers across his chest, you felt it rise and fall with his breathing. 

“I’m alive,” he kept repeating. “I’m alive.”

Logan’s breath was drawing closer to yours. “Logan…”

“Let me prove it to you.”

And you let him.

Capturing your breath in a kiss, Logan remained soft at first. He didn’t want to scare you. He didn’t want you to jump and run away from him like you had done only a few hours before in the library. 

But then you kissed back. 

So he moved his hands through your hair and over your body until you were pressed against him as close as you possibly could be. 

Your own hands pulled him in closer by his neck whilst the hand he’d placed over his heart remained fixed in its position. 

Logan was proving to every sense in your body he was real. That he was alive. Almost counteracting the memory that had been drawn from a waking nightmare. 

And as he lifted you up, your back soon pressing against the wall, you and Logan knew he would be spending the rest of the night doing exactly what he told you he wanted to do. 

Prove it to you. 

As morning rolled around, you felt a warm body next to you, tangled not only in you but also your sheets. 

Logan. 

His arms practically caged around you, you recalled every single detail from the night before. Your argument in the hallways, the classroom, the knock at the door, the hug, the kiss, the proof. 

And then, you felt yourself, for the first time in months, give a real smile. 

Lowering your head, you buried yourself in between Logan’s chest and your bedsheets, feeling his arms tense at your movement, holding you in the bed without a way of escape. 

And as your body reacted to his touch you realised something. 

For the first time since his death, you hadn’t had a nightmare. You hadn’t seen his death play on repeat inside your head. And the touch you were feeling wasn’t in your hand but rather all across your body. 

Parts were aching with a soreness you never quite knew was possible and later when you would look in the mirror, you would find fingertip bruises by your hips, love bites leading down your hip bone and on your inner thigh. Smaller ones were also dotted around your collar and neck, but a rather prominent one was yet to be left by the crook of your neck from behind where Logan’s lips would find themselves before you got into a fresh shower, Logan joining almost immediately. 

But until then, you’d revel in the feeling of Logan’s constant heartbeat against your hand, and for a moment your lips as you kissed his skin. Before he woke up and proved to you time and time again how real he was and how much the memory that had plagued you for two months was something that, although wasn’t easy to forget about, could become something of a distant memory. 

And for the rest of your lives, he would make sure to do exactly that.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 31 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Everything starts to get very real once you're able to feel the baby move. It's time to share the news of your second pregnancy with family and friends, but it's hard to feel elated when Bradley starts showing attention to one of his pilots after work hours.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, oral sex, pregnancy topics, mentions abortion, lactation kink, jealousy, drinking

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

If you weren't pregnant and exhausted, Bradley would have been concerned by how quiet you were. You seemed to need a nap as soon as you got home from work, and then you wanted to go to bed right after Rose went down in her crib each evening. When he got home quite late on Friday after working on some transfer paperwork for several hours, he was surprised to find that you seemed a little more upbeat than usual.

"Hey, Roo."

You were wearing a pair of his gym shorts while you made dinner. The house smelled delicious, and his stomach started growling as soon as he walked inside. He picked Rose up from her playmat, taking her into the kitchen as he smothered her in kisses before transferring them to you.

"You feeling okay? How's Nugget Part Deux?"

"We're exhausted. Rose is the only one with energy right now."

He supposed that was better than you telling him you couldn't stop throwing up. So far, baby number two seemed to be giving you less grief when it came to eating. "We can nap all weekend," he promised. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good," you told him with a shrug. "How was your day?"

He glanced out the back door at the enormous jungle gym, eyeing it up as an option for him and Rose to play after dinner. "Just busy. Everyone keeps me on my toes all day long. These pilots are really talented."

You seemed to wrinkle your nose at his words, staring at the food cooking on the stove as you muttered, "I'll bet they are."

Rose seemed keen on the idea of the backyard, so he kissed her soft cheek. "Yeah, I can barely keep up with them in the air, but don't tell them that. I've got my head on a swivel the whole time. Indigo and Rex nearly took me out today, and I had to go into a dive. And starting on Monday, I'm going to give myself some extra office hours to stay on top of my paperwork."

Instead of responding about his day, you started to dish out the food onto two plates with your back turned to him. "After we eat, I need to call my parents before it's too late. They're putting their house on the market next week, and I think I'm just going to tell them I'm pregnant and get it over with. I've put it off long enough."

Bradley's brow creased. "They'll be excited though. Right? I mean, maybe not as excited as me, but still excited."

You shrugged again, and he thought he might lose his mind if you kept doing it. "Aren't you at least a little worried there could be some sort of complications from having them so close together?"

A sardonic laugh almost burst from his lips. "Baby Girl, I worry about you and Rosie and the new baby constantly. Okay? Nonstop. But we can't go back now. You're already almost in the second trimester. Hey," he said, swallowing hard as you finally turned and looked at him. He held Rose just a little tighter as he whispered, "We're married. We're happy, right? You're not actually thinking about ending your pregnancy, are you?"

"No," you replied quickly, shaking your head. Bradley desperately wanted to know if there was some way he could make this easier for you, because he didn't want you to resent what was happening. But you just started crying as you shrugged again. "I just feel like our timing is terrible. And I know I have to start telling people, because I'm already showing a little bit, but I'm just so frustrated, Bradley."

He never dreamed the two of you would go from trying for months to get pregnant with Rose to being frustrated about a second pregnancy, but here you were. "I realize you've got to do most of the work right now, but when I tell you that I want another baby and that I'm excited about this, I mean it."

"I know!" you whispered quickly. "I know." You swiped at your tears before wrapping your arms around him and Rose.

"Is something else bothering you?" he murmured when your cheek came to rest on his bicep. He couldn't imagine what else could be the matter, but he needed to make sure. 

You were silent for a few beats before whispering, "I'm fine. Let's facetime my parents."

For how excited your mom was to move to California, she didn't seem to notice that your eyes looked like you'd been crying. She kept talking about selling their furniture and packing everything up. She mentioned how much she wanted to see Rose in person as she fussed over her on the video call. Just as she was starting to discuss their new house in Coronado that would make them his neighbors, Bradley heard you blurt out, "I'm pregnant."

Your parents both looked stunned on the other end of the call. "You're pregnant," your mom said, eyes drifting back to Rose in Bradley's arms. "Already?"

Now both parents were staring at Bradley as he said, "Yeah... due in April."

"April Fool's Day," you said softly.

Your parents broke out into twin grins. "I'm assuming this was a surprise to the two of you?" your dad asked. When you nodded silently, he added, "A happy surprise at least! Congratulations. You're about to have your hands very full."

"It's a good thing we're moving!" your mom practically shrieked. "Two under two! Two babies! What if you have twins?"

"We're not," Bradley replied. Then he froze. "It's not twins. Right, Sweetheart?" Now he was a little scared as you turned to look at him and laugh.

"There was just one heartbeat, Roo. Just one."

His shoulders sagged in relief. "I mean, the more the merrier, but that would be a lot."

He let Rose nap against his chest while he rubbed circles against your lower back, and soon enough, your parents were ending the call with the promise that they would be in Coronado for Christmas. "We'll either be living there by then or we'll fly out for the holiday if our house here hasn't sold yet."

Everything sounded good to Bradley, and five minutes after the call ended, you fell asleep on him, too.

----------------------------

When you fell asleep on Cam's shoulder at brunch on Sunday, you figured it was time to tell him and Maria what was going on.

"I'm pregnant. Again."

Maria jumped out of her seat to cram into the opposite of the booth, sandwiching you between her and Cam. "Damn, girl! You've wasted no time!"

"Lieutenant Commander Mustache is working with some high fucking quality goods, huh?" Cam marveled, shaking his head slowly in reverence. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," you whispered, voice harsh and near tears. You had no control over your emotions. This was just like when you were pregnant with Rose, but with less vomiting and more fatigue. Everything made you upset enough that you wanted to cry or angry enough that you wanted to kick down a door. Including your husband.

You answered Cam and Maria's questions as you thought about that woman you'd seen around base with Bradley a few times. They were never alone, always part of a larger group, but you didn't like how she looked at him. And you didn't want to mention it to him, because you knew how ridiculous it was going to sound.

"Hey, I'm really tired," you eventually told your friends. "Do this again in two weeks?" You wanted to go home and nap while Bradley still had Rose out for a walk along the beach. You just wanted to be alone.

"Of course," Maria promised. "I'll text Bob to come pick me up, but you two can go on ahead."

"I'll wait with you," Cam told her, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You made your way out and went home, leaning against the front door in relief when you found the house completely empty. Even Tramp and his yellow leash were gone. You ran to bed, curled up under the covers, and cradled your hand against your belly. It was impossible to tell if you had a baby bump, or if you were still chubby from last time. 

Your thumb ran along the top of your leggings as you started to cry. You needed to pull yourself together. Did you cry this much with Rose? Did everything make you feel like you looked disgusting? Eventually you dozed for about an hour before the sound of the front door closing jolted you awake. Rose started screaming, probably hungry after being out for so long. You rolled out of bed, avoiding your reflection in the mirror at all costs, and went to meet them in the kitchen.

Bradley was trying to bounce Rose to keep her quiet, but you yanked your shirt off and reached for her. "Sorry," he muttered as your daughter latched on to eat as soon as she was touching you. "I tried."

"It's okay." 

You fed one baby while you considered that her younger sibling was growing inside you, and for once, you couldn't figure out if you wanted to laugh or cry. 

While she ate, Bradley looked at his phone and groaned. "Nat wants us to go to the Hard Deck tonight."

The idea of going out and pretending that you were drinking alcohol was too much to handle. Even if you could find someone to watch Rose, it didn't sound like a fun time.

"You go," you told him.

He glanced up and said, "I don't want to go without you."

A smile graced your lips as you told him, "Just go for one drink with your best friend. I'll drop you off and pick you up. You can tell her I'm pregnant if you want to."

"Really?" he asked, perking up like Tramp did when presented with a treat.

"Yeah. I told Maria and Cam earlier. I actually fell asleep on his shoulder in the booth, and when I woke up, they were both gaping at me. I figured I needed to say something."

Bradley snorted. "What did they have to say about Bradshaw Baby number two?"

"Cam is under the impression that you are working with some high quality equipment."

He burst into laughter. "I mean..."

You rolled your eyes as Rose switched to your other side. It was easy to feel better about things when it was just the three of you at home. You looked at your husband as he ate an apple in four bites and convinced yourself he would never do anything to hurt you. Then he drank half a beer and belched while he adjusted his junk, and you thought perhaps nobody else would want to deal with him anyway.

"I'll text Nat back. Then I'll pull the weeds around the playset while I decide what I'm doing about the bar."

You let Rose take a nap, but now that you'd also had one, you felt a little restless. Even after you did a few chores, including looking at items for a second baby nursery online, you wanted to get out of the house again. When Bradley came inside, stripping his sweaty shirt over his head, he said, "One drink. Don't leave me there too long, okay?"

"Is Jake going, too? Maybe I'll see if Cat and Jer are home and want visitors."

"That's a great idea," he replied, taking your hand when he walked past. When he gave you a little tug, you didn't move. "You coming?" he asked, clearly puzzled. 

"Where?"

"What do you mean where?" he scoffed, tugging again. "To take a shower with me while Rose naps. Where else?"

It was hard to think about anything when your husband was on his knees in front of you, steamy water swirling around his tattooed bicep while his hands pinned you to the tile wall. But it was especially hard to focus on anything other than the feel of his mouth on your body. The scrape of his mustache. The pull of his lips. Soft and demanding and needy.

"Roo," you gasped, lungs full of the humid air, sucking in deep breaths as he looked up at you.

"God, Baby Girl," he rasped, thumb teasing your dainty rooster tattoo. "I'm so spoiled. Your tits look so pretty, and your belly will be big again soon."

You let your fingers drag through his wet curls, pushing them back from his forehead while he kissed the spot where you felt so tender as the baby grew.

"Roo!" you gasped, your hands both flying to your belly. "The baby! I can feel the baby moving!"

"Shit, really?"

His eyes were wide, alert with anticipation as you moved his palm to the spot where you could feel squirming. He eased himself closer on his knees, the shower hitting both of you with warm spray while he let you guide him. You felt it again, just another squirm as you pressed his palm harder to your belly.

"Right there," you whispered, and he closed his eyes. Your heart beat in your ears, an undeniably excited rhythm.

"I can't wait to feel it, too," he murmured, his cheek coming to rest against his hand. "You couldn't feel Rose this early."

"No," you agreed, watching your husband fall even more in love with the unborn baby. "Maybe another week or two and they'll be big enough for you to feel it." You played with his hair, letting him stay put until the water started to get cold.

-------------------------------

"I'll pick you up in a little while," you informed Bradley when you pulled into the parking lot at the Hard Deck. "Jake is already here, so I'll take Rose to hang out with Cat and Jer for a bit."

"Sounds good." He kissed you before unbuckling and leaning into the backseat to kiss his daughter. He was still shocked and in a mild daze over the baby moving during the shower. He wanted to feel those kicks against his palm, and now he'd be all over you in the upcoming weeks, looking for his chance. 

"Have fun," you called before pulling away in your Bronco, but going to the bar to hang out without you was not his idea of a great night. He decided he'd just wait and see how the evening progressed before making a decision about telling Nat about the pregnancy. He smiled as he wondered how long it would be until you had to start wearing the maternity tent to work again.

"There you are!" shouted Nat when he walked past the bar, waving to Penny. "We're about to play pairs. You're with Hangman. Rack 'em, Rooster."

Bradley sighed and took the pool cue as she thrust it into his hand. "Can't I get a beer first?"

She turned and shouted, "Hey, Coyote! Get Rooster one!"

Javy saluted him from the bar as Bradley nodded and settled in to start the game. He and Jake wouldn't even have to try too hard to beat Nat and Reuben, but as he got into the groove of things, he realized he was having a pretty good time.

"You want another?" Jake asked him, and soon one beer turned into three. Bradley ended up buying the fourth round for his friends when Mickey arrived. He had enough in his system to not give a shit when Jake started ribbing on him for his new position at work.

"The way your students all jump to attention when they see you has got to be the funniest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life," he drawled, and Bradley nudged his foot, making him miss his shot.

"I'm still in shock that Cat agreed to marry you," Bradley replied before taking a sip of beer.

Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised Angel let you get her pregnant. Shocked the baby didn't come out with a mustache."

Nat was cackling while Bradley snorted. "She's pregnant again." The words slipped out, but they felt too fucking good on his tongue, just like your body had in the shower.

"What?!"

He was instantly surrounded by his friends while Nat wrapped him up in a hug. "Are you serious? Another one so soon?" she asked with a suspicious looking smirk.

"Yeah," he replied, letting her squeeze him until he thought she might displace a rib. "Apparently I'm working with some high quality equipment."

"Ew!" Nat shrieked, letting go of him while Jake shook his hand. 

"Poor Angel," he drawled. "She'll have another little Bradshaw on the loose soon."

"Whiskey shots on me," Reuben said, slapping Bradley hard on the back.

"Thanks, man," he replied while conversation about the baby settled to a normal volume. He drank his shot of whiskey, and that's when he realized he was actually kind of drunk.

The game of pool wore on, but nobody seemed to be keeping track of who won. So he kept going until his phone vibrated in his jeans pocket.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: I'm almost there. Rose fell asleep.

"I have to run," Bradley announced, dropping his cue into Jake's hand. 

"You're so fucking whipped," Jake drawled. "Get out of here and knock your wife up again.... oh, wait."

Bradley gave him and everyone else double middle fingers behind his back as he walked toward the exit. He was tired and warm and buzzed, and he wanted to curl up next to you in bed and kiss the back of your neck. And maybe you'd let him look at your gorgeous tits. Maybe if he was really good, you'd let him taste you. The evening air hit his body, igniting so much need in him.

"Oh, sorry," he grunted, nearly plowing over someone in his rush to get to the parking lot.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," came a now familiar voice. Blue eyes flashed up at him along with a smile that kept growing.

Indigo was dressed in street clothes, but he tried not to take notice as he nodded. "I knew you'd find The Hard Deck without my help."

She laughed, bright and clear as he tried to step past her. "Don't tell me you're leaving for the night."

A little pout found her lips, and Bradley nodded. "Yeah. It's getting late for a Sunday."

"Come on," she whined, the back of her hand brushing his as he made his way around her. "Let me buy you one drink."

His mind was still gooey with thoughts of taking you to bed as he shook his head. "Thanks, but I really need to go. Enjoy your night."

Then Nat burst through the door, movements slowing when she met his eyes. "You left your phone on the pool table." She tossed it to him, coordination pretty good for how much she'd had to drink. She started backing up toward the door as she said, "You better go home with your pregnant wife!"

Bradley smiled at his friend, but he could feel Indigo's eyes on him as he stepped off the deck toward the parking lot. And there you were, standing in the first aisle with your back against the red Bronco. Your lips were set in a firm line, and Bradley was about to make it his personal mission to kiss away that expression.

------------------------------

That younger woman was here with him. You'd seen her around base plenty of times lately, but now she was here. At the Hard Deck. At your favorite bar in your neighborhood. She was with your husband at the bar. They were already standing there together when you drove up and parked.

"Who is that woman?" you snapped at Bradley who was clearly drunk. His hands were all over your waist and hips as soon as he reached you.

"Hey, Sweetheart." His voice was deep and sexy, and you wanted nothing more than to melt into him, but she was still staring you down.

"Who. Is. She?" you hissed, your eyes starting to burn with unshed tears as you stared back. Bradley was kissing your neck now as the woman finally turned and went inside the bar. You already knew who she was. You were sure of it. You'd heard him use her call sign countless times, but you wanted him to say it now. "Bradley!"

"Huh?" he grunted, meeting your eyes.

"Who is that woman you were just with?"

"Natasha?" he asked, and you wanted to scream.

"The other woman, Bradley."

"Oh. That's Indigo."

Your heart sank as soon as he confirmed it for you, but he didn't seem to notice or care that you suddenly felt like your skin was on fire. That woman who was still so fresh out of flight school was already a top pilot, and she was beautiful, and she wanted your husband.

"Baby Girl," he moaned next to your ear. "Let's go home. Maybe we can get in bed and snuggle while I try to feel the baby move? Or you could let me finish what we started in the shower? I'm already so wound up."

You opened the passenger side door for him, slamming it shut as soon as he was inside. You glared at the entrance to the Hard Deck before heading around the Bronco to drive him home.

-----------------------------

Either way, it still looks bad, Bradley. We are riding along with all of BG's emotions, and it's a lot to handle. Thanks for reading. More coming soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 32

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[luvrodite]

ᯓ★ ONE. OCTOBER 1 | FUCK OR DIE

GOT ME CALLING OUT FOR HELP (S-O-S) [3.8k]

in retrospect, it was only a matter of time before you got hit. you should consider yourself lucky — there are worse fates than being fucked like your life depends on it (it’s gotham. of course it does) or: you get hit and jason deals with the fallout

content warnings. f!reader, dubious consent due to intoxication, chemical aphrodisiac, established relationship, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, begging, unprotected sex, creampie, prevention of pulling out.

ⓘ minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked!

<< kinktober masterlist | week 2 >>

It goes like this:

On a monday evening, Pamela fucking Isley decides to take her quarrel with Gotham's newest weapons company – God, could they fucking give it a break? B had only busted the last one a few weeks ago before they'd brought the city down on everyone – to new heights.

Jason's sitting in traffic with a bag of groceries slung around the handle of his bike when he gets the call. He's eager to beat you home, ready to make you dinner and heavily intent on wining and dining you after a long weekend of missing each other.

His fingers tap against his thighs impatiently, impatience sitting beneath his skin like an itch. Spikes of activity during the week had meant his plans for Friday night – dinner and a deserved night off – had been pushed to the backburner. He'd returned home in the early stillness of dawn, unable to get more than a couple of hours with you before your phone had rung, a friend's emergency pulling you out of bed with an apologetic grimace and a promise to reschedule your date night.

The headset in his ear notifies him of an incoming call, the syllables of your name dulled by the clinical, robotic voice of his phone's intelligence system. His mouth curves up into a smile beneath his helmet.

"Hi, baby," he answers immediately. "I'm on my way home, you need anything? I just left the store but I can go back–"

You cut him off in a tight voice. Later, he'll be ashamed that the first thing that comes to mind is, not another fucking postponement. Now, his brows furrow at your tone, stomach dipping uncertainly when it becomes clear that this is something more serious.

Your voice wobbles, high-pitched and tearful. At the same time, the dash on his bike begins to flash in rapid succession, the paging system he'd installed for the bats to communicate with him glaring back at him, blood red.

ORACLE: CHEMICAL LEAK DOWNTOWN. BATS + R.ROBIN EN ROUTE. ALL UNITS STANDBY.

His dread plummets and for a moment his throat closes over. You're speaking to him but he struggles to make it out through the ringing in his ears.

"Jason, I'm – I'm home but I don't – I don't know what to do."

He bites back a curse and tries to swallow the lump in his throat, grappling for words of comfort.

"It's okay," he soothes, straining to keep his voice level. "Listen, sweetheart, can you go lock the door for me? I'm – shit – I'll be home soon, alright? It'll be okay. We'll fix it."

He doesn't give himself time to linger on the call after you confirm you've locked it, barking out a command to dial Oracle that his system fails to pick up twice, only registering after he steadies himself.

She picks up on the third ring. It irritates him how unfazed she sounds when he explains the situation to her. He hears the click of her keyboard in the background, the hum of her monitors. Each passing second as she patches through to Nightwing is agony and the slow crawl of traffic does little to help.

His leg has begun to jostle the bike with the weight of its shaking when she returns to their call.

"You're not going to like this," she says and he feels the bile rising in his throat.

"What." He grits it out through his teeth, unable to manage much more than that. He hears Oracle sigh.

"Looks like an aphrodisiac," she says clinically. "Her plan was to get them caught compromised enough to lose credit publicly."

"Oracle." She hears his growl for what it is – Tell me whether or not it's over.

"It's non-lethal," she affirms and he sighs harshly. The tightness in his chest loosens ever so slightly as she talks. "Ivy let it off near city hall because most of the shareholders were scheduled to hold a meeting – that's where your girl works, right? Alf's working on an antidote but she should be relatively fine until it's ready. Just – keep an eye on her."

Tim joins the line then and Jason startles at the sound of his voice in his ear.

"I don't know what the fuck she wanted to achieve," the boy grumbles. He's a little out of breath and in any other situation, Jason would have something to say about that. Tonight, he's not in the mood for jokes.

"Red," he barks out. The kid makes a distracted noise, and he can hear the sounds of a scuffle on the other end. "You tell Ivy if anything happens to my girl, I'll make sure she's next."

He doesn't wait to hear what's sure to be a non-committal answer at best, kicking off and veering between the lined up vehicles. There's an outroar from the drivers around him, laying on their car horns. Someone pokes their head out of their window to scream at him.

He hears none of it, the blood rushing in his ears keeping him single-minded.

This string that twines him to you isn't new. It wears signs of age, shows the years in the way his fingers reach for yours in the early moments of his day, the turn of your eyes to his in any room. He's seen a few summers with you at his side but the fear –

Blood, coagulating, the cold brush of death, splintered wood beneath nails and a haunting smile

– the fear never stagnates.

A bitter, resigned shard of him breathes out as he speeds through the streets. A veritable sword over his crown, this almost seems expected. Loathing colours the skyline and he, the fool, to think he could hold this one, precious, beloved thing unscathed.

He forgoes the groceries in his haste, leaving the bags in his haste to throw himself up the stairs and out of the parking garage. Pulse thundering in his ears, sweat coating his palms, he scrabbles with the key to your shared apartment.

The door flies open and a hand is grabbing him by the front of his shirt before he can slot it through the lock.

You, wild-eyed and frantic, pull him inside with a bitten off sob.

"Shh, shh, I'm here, come here."

He kicks the door shut, reaching behind him to flip the locks with one hand. The other curls you protectively to his chest, fingers splaying over your back. The sight of you calms him considerably and he chokes out a stuttered breath, the lump in his throat dissolving to give way for a flood of relief.

You're burning in his arms, the thin undershirt you've got on soaked through with sweat, face glowing with perspiration. Eyebrows knitted, you cling to him tighter and he finds himself making noises of comfort.

"Jason, I –"

"Shh. I know, honey, I know," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes are tearful, salt spilling over lashes and rolling down your cheeks. "Come on, let's get you to lie down."

"No," you whine, pitching miserably as he shuffles the both of you towards your bedroom, face creasing with every movement. "Hurts."

"I know," he whispers, hating the way his voice cracks. His eyes burn painfully. "'ll get you a towel, alright?"

You're deposited on the bed and he makes a turn for the bathroom, wetting a cloth. When he enters the bedroom again you've pushed yourself up, kneeling on the bed. You've shed the pants you'd worn earlier, left now in only and undershirt and your underwear. His name falls from your lips pitifully and he steps forward, lips turning down into a commiserating frown.

You shy away from the cloth when he presses it against your forehead, letting out a hiss as it makes contact with your burning skin. He brings a hand to the nape of your neck and you seem to like that much better, sighing under his touch. Jason takes advantage of this to keep you in place, mopping the sweat off your face and neck, trying his best not to give into your dissatisfied squirming.

"I know, I'm an asshole," he mutters, when you cry out his name, displeasure making itself clear on your face. "Get better so you can yell at me for it, alright?"

"Don't wanna – yell at you," you mumble, wetting your lips as they part.

He clocks the dilation of your pupils a little too late and shakes his head adamantly, trying to draw back but you've got a hold of his shirt, pulling him forward. He catches himself with a hand agains the headboard, a knee pressing into the mattress beneath him.

You stare up at him, mouth turning down into a pained grimace.

"C'mon honey," he mutters, pleading, feeling his face flood with warmth. "Don't do this to me. Be good, you'll be alright, okay? Any minute they're gonna call and tell me Alf's got an antidote ready – shit, maybe we should just drive you there now -"

"No," you sob, face crumpling under the weight of your tears again, pushing up on your knees to fling your arms around his shoulders. The effort of the movement makes you stutter out a gasp and he's forced to band an arm around your waist to steady the both of you.

Your tears wet the skin of his neck, your body pressed flush against his. He becomes aware, regrettably, of the skin beneath his fingers, your undershirt having ridden up to expose the softness of your lower back.

"Please," you hiccup into his shoulder. "Please, Jason – Please."

He'll have to ask Oracle later if second-hand exposure to the toxin is supposed to have an effect on him. At the touch of your chest to his, he feels himself warm all over, mouth drying when you begin to keen, arching up into his touch in an effort to get him to do something.

"Fuck," he curses. "Fuck. Alright, just – come here."

He kicks his shoes off, the sneakers clattering against the floor, and crawls onto the bed properly. Sat up against the headboard, he meets your baleful gaze with a raised brow and reaches for you.

Jason shakes his head when you go to straddle his lap, maneuvering you against his chest until your back rests against it. You let out a whimper, displeased, but he shakes his head.

"This is all you're getting, alright? Just – it'll tide you over until they call."

He spreads your legs until they hang over his own, your thighs bracketing his and leaving you open. His blood thunders in his ears, hand trembling as he reaches it up to your mouth, fingers prodding at the soft plush of your lips.

Your tongue laves at his digits, a muffled moan trapped in the recesses of your throat. One of your hands curls around his wrist, the other perching against his thigh, nails curling against the fabric of his jeans. He can feel you shift against him, hips canting ever so slightly over his own.

Awful, wretched, lecherous, he stiffens under the movement, jeans tightening. His free hand wraps around you hip with the intent of pinning you in place and stopping you. Somehow, he finds himself guiding you back and forth instead.

You tip your head back against his shoulder, baring the soft line of your throat as you drool around his fingers. He can feel the wetness pooling around his knuckles, the softness of your ass against him, separated only by a few layers. If he cranes his neck, he'll probably find your panties sticky with your need. The thought alone makes his eyes flutter.

The room is blanketed in muffled whimpers, the whispers of rustling sheets and his shaky breaths. You've quietened down some since he'd gotten his fingers in your mouth, but the heat seems to have returned with a vengeance when you begin to fuss in his lap again. Your fingers dig into his thigh and you whine, tugging at his wrist in an effort to push his hand where you need it most.

He hushes you with a squeeze to your hip and tips your face to meet his. Bleary eyed, silvery tracks smattered across your cheeks, you're struggling to hold on. He lowers his mouth to yours, a chaste kiss that deepens when you part your lips to lick into his mouth.

"Jason, come on."

"No, don't take it off," he whispers when your hands make to tug your underwear off. You whine and he hushes you again, "Shh, I'm going to take care of you, be patient for me, alright?"

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and watches you shudder at the first swipe. Similarly affected, he feels himself twitch when his fingers make contact with the soft slickness of your flesh, gliding against silken folds.

"Oh," you sigh, sagging slightly into him.

"There you go." He presses a kiss to your sweaty temple, trying to pretend this is just another night together and he's being a loving boyfriend, that you're not delirious with want just because of the toxin running through your bloodstream. "That's my girl."

He presses gentle circles against you, closing his eyes and ghosting his mouth over the curve of your shoulder. The smell of sex is thick in the air, that heady musk and sweat that he could drown in. Your breaths come in pants now as he works you open gently, thumb rolling over your centre.

"Just like that," he rumbles, straining to keep his head on straight. It's difficult, when you arch against him, his name spilling from your lips in adoration coloured mewls. Your arm raises, curling behind you to embrace his neck.

It doesn't take you very long to come, pent up and sensitive – he discovers this when his hand grazes over your chest to stroke your face and you keen so loud he fears he'll come in his pants at the sound, your mouth, bitten raw, dropping open as you moan. A few strokes against your centre and you come apart in his arms, hard. The tremors wrack your body long after the fact, your core pulsing around his fingers.

He, ever the fool, expects this to sate your hunger.

Whatever Ivy's put in her newest concoction is potent. You gather your breath quick enough and it becomes apparent that just the one isn't nearly enough. He's pushed back against the headboard, stunned into silence as you clamber onto his thigh, pawing at him like you can't get close enough.

You struggle with the fabric of his shirt before giving up and any questions he has sputter off into silence when you begin to rock back and forth on him. The denim of his jeans is unforgiving against the thin, sodden material of your underwear, providing a harsh friction that you lose yourself to. He watches, his heart racing, you taking your pleasure for yourself.

It isn't as though you've never done this in front of him – he remembers, blurry, the aftermath of a dinner date that had seen you riding his thigh on the couch, still in your dress.

But this… This feels different.

There's an urgency to this, a franticness running beneath your skin that pushes your hips down harder, more unforgiving. Your face screws up, salt misting your cheeks and neck.

For a moment, Jason almost feels as though he's the one that's been hit. You take on a blurry quality, smudged around the edges like wet paint, wanton, hazy. A gauzy film over his eyes, he blinks, and blinks.

When you come once more, it shatters and he's aware of the stain that's bled into the dark denim on his thigh, a stickiness that's smeared between your thighs. Your panties are ruined and he gulps when he drags his gaze up from between your legs to your face.

Quiet, hungry, you're already staring at him. Your chest heaves with exertion but you remain still otherwise, lips parting in invitation, eyes half-lidded.

"Baby–"

"You said you'd take care of me," you intone beseeching, voice affecting a trembling, delicate quality.

Fuck.

He's never been good at denying you much. Already, he feels the urge to take you into his arms and promise to make it better, but he forces his hand to stay, curling his fingers in the bedsheets.

You crawl forward, until your lips are ghosting over his, eyes swallowing his field of vision until all he can see are the stars in your irises. He feels the

"Jason, please, it still hurts," you whimper quietly, a wounded noise that carves him from the inside out, guilt and shame poisoning his every nerve. He's at war with himself, wanting to ease your pain – he feels responsible for it, in a way – and hesitating similarly. Is this right? Is it okay?

Before he can come up with an answer, you press your mouth to his.

The last of his inhibitions crumbles completely under the plush of your mouth.

He rolls the both of you over, relishing in the gasp you let out, the sight of you splayed against the mattress. He's quick to divest himself of his clothes, tugging his shirt off recklessly, not minding the sound of ripping fabric he vaguely registers hearing. The jeans go next, and his underwear in one, flung to some corner of the bedroom.

Your spit slick mouth curves up into a delighted, drunken smile when he crawls over you, body eclipsing yours with every intent of ravishing you.

Jason holds himself up with one hand, the other reaching to the bedside table and rummaging in the drawer for the box he keeps there. Only, he comes up short and dread dawns over him in a cold wave when he remembers –

He'd used the last of the condoms a few nights ago. It hadn't mattered in the last couple of days, the weekend too busy for the both of you to do much else but curl up next to each other, too exhausted to consider working up a sweat.

"Fuck," he whispers, shaking. "Fuck, baby, there aren't, um…"

Your eyes fill with tears at the unfinished sentence, a hiccuped sob stuttering out of your chest.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he tries to soothe you, a hand smoothing down your face. "I'll just – I'll run to the store, I'll be back before you know it."

"No, please, just–" Watery eyed and upset, you tug him closer as though fearing he'll take off. "I don't care, I don't, I just – I need you, Jason. Please."

He stares at you, heart thundering in his ears. "Fuck you without –"

"Need you now," you whimper, lips tugging down pitifully into a pout that cuts through his chest.

It isn't as though this is his first time fucking you raw –

Tipsy laughter, hushed whispers of it's fine, just once, we'll get the morning after pill.

– but still. This is different, another ballpark entirely.

You stare up at him, desperation in every crease and curve of your face, pleading with him. Too far gone to care, you beg him.

"I'll, um," he rasps out, throat dry, "I'll pull out."

You make some sort of noise that sounds like a vague affirmation, tugging him closer hastily. Poor, pretty girl. His chest aches at the sight of you, needy, looking to him to fix it.

"I'll fix it," he finds himself muttering, lining himself up with your entrance. You've similarly taken to murmuring under your breath, hands carding through his hair, devotion in your every touch.

"Need you so bad, please, please, baby."

The slick that smears against his head, the soft warmth of you, nearly makes his eyes roll back into his head. A drawn out whimper spills from your lips at the press of his hips, the first inches of him pushing into your tight heat.

You sink into the mattress as he notches himself further inside, mouth opening. You paint an obscene picture, your lips bitten raw, naked chest arched. He lowers his head to mouth at your nipples, teeth teasing at the sensitive points. You're warm, so warm beneath him – around him.

He's given only a moment to breathe before you push your hips up, impatient. Fucking yourself against him, your fingers dig into the muscle of his back for leverage, tucking him close enough to you that he brushes against your neck and tastes the salt on your skin.

Jason sets a harried pace, bucking forward against you. You begin to cry out again, every resounding slap of his skin against yours drawing out a moan that curls tight around him and presses down on his stomach. You exchange panted breaths between open mouthed kisses, tongues and teeth clashing messily, muffled pleas that beg for more, more, more.

Filthy, debauched, it doesn't take very long for you to approach your peak. Jason, lost in the wetness of your cunt, feels his own building and knows this is a dangerous game he's playing, toeing the line of recklessness.

"Close," he pants, feeling the tell-tale fluttering of you around him, your orgasm imminent. If he can just hold out until he's gotten you there –

Your legs wrap around him, hold so tight he's not able to do much more than rock against you in desperate, quick rolls of his hips.

"Inside," you warble. Your hands come to cradle his head, coaxing him down to kiss you, licking up into his mouth sweetly, teeth catching on his bottom lip. "Mmh, please, baby? Please? I – Jason – want it so bad, need you inside."

"Oh fuck," he gasps, voice hitching, breath stuttering. His face creases, overcome, and you grin, dazed, drunken, pulling him into another sloppy kiss. What's he to do?

You scream into his mouth at the same time that Jason comes. His vision whitens at the sensation of your pulsing heat, the unforgiving tightening that demands his orgasm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips, burying himself to the hilt and surrendering to your claim.

Warm and wet around him, the evidence of his debauchery coats the inside of your thighs and clings to the base of him. He's light-headed, a little winded, and it takes him a moment to gather his sensibilities. When he looks down, he finds you a boneless puddle beneath him, eyelids fluttering tiredly.

He should pull out. He knows he ought to – but he's broken so many rules, what's another? Jason gathers you in his arms and rolls over gently, tucking you against his chest, a hand skimming up and down the length of your spine comfortingly.

"Fuck," he whispers out into the air, and you murmur atop him. He glances down, meeting your bleary eyes. "Y'just had to go and get caught in that crossfire, huh?"

"N'my fault," you grumble, pressing your face back into his chest.

"Gonna give me a heart attack," he grumbles, dropping a kiss to your crown. Then, with a look over at the bedside table, he jostles you a bit. "Hey. Don't fall asleep. We still have to get you the antidote."

"Wake me when 's ready," is your answer, tone somehow managing a prissiness unexpected of someone who'd just been fucked to within an inch of their life, and he drops his head back into the pillows, incredulous.

This girl would be the death of him.

first kinktober 2024 fic let's go!! i genuinely didn't think i was going to be able to commit to kinktober this year (i'm still nervous about whether i'll be able to) because finals are literally just around the corner and i'm stressing. but hopefully you enjoyed the first installment to this year's kinktober and the coming ones don't disappoint, either!

[daisymbin]

so? what's it gonna be, princess? - choi seungcheol

warnings: none!!

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: best friend to lovers (as always... zzzzz)

wc: 1.8k

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

‘’cheollie, i think i will be running a little late. it started pouring out of nowhere and i don't have my umbrella with me,’’ seungcheol could practically hear the pout coming from you through the phone, ‘’please help me tell the boys im sorry and that i'll be there as soon as i can.’’ today was yet another friday evening where the boys had planned a group dinner to catch up with everyone which happens once every 2 weeks. 

‘’you're pouting arent you?’’ your best friend teased you through the phone. ‘’no im not..’’ you lie, but unbeknownst to you, seungcheol is sitting in his car; parked just outside your company's lobby waiting for you. he smiles as he watches you furrow your eyebrows and look up at the sky; watching the pouring rain, and he sees your pout growing more evident. ‘’don't you regret turning me down this morning when i offered to drive you after work?’’ he chuckles to himself as he continues to tease you; he fumbles reaching for an umbrella in the backseat, ready to walk towards you. 

‘’maybe a little…but my office is in the complete opposite direction.. i didn’t want to trouble you.’’ you tried justifying. ‘’its been 13 years now that we've been friends, how many times do i have to tell you that you're never a bother or trouble to me? you know i love helping you out and doing things with you. even if its just driving with you by my side.’’ you felt your stomach do a little flip at your best friend's words and you try to shake the feeling away. seungcheol watches as you brace yourself, getting ready to run in the rain to cross the road, most likely to get to the bus stop. ‘’WAIT, STAY THERE!’’ he shouts through the phone and you all but halt your movements all together. ‘’huh? what do you mean?’’ you asked as confusion took over you. ‘’hello?’’ you prod again when he doesnt say anything back. ‘’cheol??’’ this time you remove your phone from your ear to look at the screen, had the call been disconnected?

‘’princess!’’ your head whipped around at the sound of that. you could recognise his voice anywhere and yet, you didnt exactly believe it. what is he doing here? why would he be here? you watch as seungcheol run out of his car holding an umbrella over his head, ‘’what are you doing here? i thought i told you not to come? i could have made it to dinner on my own..’’ you say as you started to feel bad. ‘’in this heavy rain? its gonna take you forever!’’ he chuckles lightly as he reaches his arm out to put over your shoulder, getting you under the umbrella with him. ‘’yeah but still.. its so inconvenient for you.’’ seungcheol watches as your pout slowly returns. all he can think about is how cute and pretty you look, and how soft your lips would feel against his. 

‘’nothing is ever inconvenient when it comes to you. did you forget why my nickname for you is princess in the first place? did you forget the promise i made you when we were kids? i said i'll always treat you like the princess you are, didnt i?’’ he asked as he tugged you closer to him and start walking back to his car. ‘’cheol, of course i remember, but no one ever really holds onto promises they made when they were kids. it was just all fun and games!’’ you laugh as you hit his chest lightly with your fist playfully. seungcheol catches your hand and held it in his for a second before letting go. ‘’i didn't think it was just for fun and games…i meant what i said back then & i still do.’’ his face turned serious before it was quickly replaced by his boyish shy smile that you love so much. he reached down to open the door to the passenger seat, ushering you to get in. 

you watch as he closed the door to the passenger seat and quickly ran over to the driver's seat. ‘’what was that about?’’ you asked as soon as seungcheol settled in this seat. it doesnt go unnoticed by you that half of his body is wet; drenched in rain, clearly from shielding you with the umbrella better and not himself. you heart aches at that a little. ‘’what was what?’’ he questioned back, looking at you with confusion swimming in his brown orbs. you took in a deep breath and let out an audible sigh, ‘’you mean what you said back then and you still do?’’ you laughed before continuing playfully, ‘’aww, does that mean that my cheolie is still in love with me after all these years?’’ you teased jokingly as you think back to when you were both 21, your best friend had drunkenly confessed to you in a game of truth or dare with chan, minghao, soonyoung and joshua that you were in fact his first love when you were both younger. what he failed to mention however is that he was still in love with you at that time. 

‘’cheol, im just joking. dont look at me like that.’’ you say as you shift your eyes towards the road; finding his burning gaze too hard to keep in contact with. ‘’don't look at you like what?’’ his voice came out a lot softer and huskier than he'd like. not that seungcheol was trying anything, but his throat suddenly felt so so dry. was he about to have this conversation with you? ‘’i don't know, you just look so serious. i was just kidding. come on, start the car, or we'll be late.’’ you unintentionally whined, hoping that he will let it go and drop the subject. but seungcheol caught on to your nervousness, he always does. you have your tells when you're nervous and seungcheol knows all of them like the back of his hand. he knows you oh so well. 

feeling a sudden surge of confidence from the fact that he made you nervous, inevitably, your best friend turned cocky. ‘’so what if i am?’’ he asked as he leaned his face against his fist that his biceps were resting on the steering wheel. ‘’what?’’ you asked as you furrowed your eyebrows at him. seungcheol could see the slight irritation dancing in your eyes. he knows you think he's fucking with you again like he always does, except what you didn't know was all his playful flirting? yeah he meant those. but you? you could play along with his playful flirting but joking about feelings and being in love? that crosses the line for you. not funny. at all. 

‘’i said, so what if i am? so what if i am still in love with you after all these years?’’ truthfully, seungcheol felt confident and cocky, but that was before he actually said those words out loud. now? his heart was thumping so hard he thought it might jump right out of his chest, but of course, he didnt show it, he tried his hardest not to at least; always keeping that small but nervous smile on his face. ‘’if this is another one of your stupid jokes, stop it. its not funny. you know i hate when people joke about feelings.’’ your irritation had grown tenfold by now. ‘’start the car cheol, we'll be late.’’ 

‘’but we're already late,’’ he says as he debates in his mind if he should hold your hand. ‘’and besides, don't you think i know you well enough by now to know what not to joke about?’’ he watches as your eyes soften and reaches for your hand. you look down at where you are both linked: your hands, and silence takes over you. ‘’so, should we walk into dinner holding hands and let the boys plan our wedding or are you going to reject me and let this car ride be the most awkward we've ever been around each other?’’ seungcheol all but nervously asks, jokingly of course.

‘’is this really how you ask someone out? that's so corny and cringey. no wonder you've been single all these years!” seungcheol lets out a breath of relief when he hears your sweet laugh and sees a smile finally break out on your face. ‘’is the reason i'm single all these years really because of how corny and cringey i am or is it because of how in love i am with you that i stayed by your side and took care of you the best i knew how to at whatever age it was, that i always looked out for you no matter where we were, be it at a party, in class, in school, at a dinner functions, anything. that i tried my best to never let you feel alone and to know that i always believe in you no matter what negative things that pretty little head of yours tells you when you go to bed at night? and look at you now? look how far you've come.’’

seungcheol held your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of your hand. you felt tears lightly prickle your eyes and you blinked them away, ‘’thank you, cheol..for always being there for me even when i didn’t know i needed you.’’ he now held your hand up to his cheek, still intertwining your fingers. ‘’like today?’’ he asked with a shy smile. ‘’like today..’’ you smiled back. ‘’so what's it gonna be princess? are we picking out a wedding destination or are we sitting in awkward silence?’’ he teased. ‘’why can't you be normal and just ask me to be your girlfriend like everybody else?’’ you ask as you tried tugging your hand away from him but he didn’t let up, it only made his grip on you tighter. ‘’where's the fun in that? and besides, you answering my question will tell me if i have a girlfriend or not.’’ seungcheol already knows your answer to his question, but he still had to ask, he just wanted to hear you say it so bad. 

‘’hmm..,’’ you looked away from him and pretended to think for a second, ‘’you know The Maldives has always been my dream destination for travelling…a wedding there would be pretty don't you think?’’ you turn back to look at your boyfriend with a faux face of being in thought. seungcheol didnt know he could smile so big but in that moment he did, ‘’i think anywhere in the world would make for a pretty wedding destination as long as you're the bride, princess.’’ seungcheol finally lets go of your hand, but only to now cup your face in between his 2 hands.  he kissed you once on your forehead, ‘’you know i love you right?’’ he asked as he looked into your eyes, his usual playful and mischievous brown orbs are now replaced with love, adoration and sincerity. you smile as you answer, ‘’you know i love you too, right?’’ and that was all it took for seungcheol to finally kiss you on the lips. ‘’i think i love you more.’’ he just always has to win, doesn't he?

[dollarbils]

but baby, i | b.e.

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. your ex girlfriend, billie, can’t resist calling you a week after you’d broken up.

warnings. angst, fluff, suggestive

masterlist

‘if you go, i’m going too’

a sigh of relief was heard on the other end of the phone when you’d pressed the green button, spilling out a hesitant ‘hello’ as you held the phone up to your ear. There was no response however, lighting up a flame of irritation in you.

“Who is this?” was the next thing that fell from your lips, laced with hostility.

“baby,” it was quiet, soft and inviting. Emotions from the previous couple months all encompassed into the term of endearment.

“billie?” your voice softened at the realisation of who it was.

“deleted my number already have you?” she teased, but it didn’t make you smile, not in this moment.

“billie, what happened? are you okay?” the questions tumbled out in an attempt to comprehend the reason for her call. it had been a week since you’d broken up, and hearing her voice felt like you’d been taken back to last Friday.

“yeah no, nothing happened, i’m fine. i just..” she trailed off, gathering the courage to speak, or the bravery to do the right thing, and hang up. but she was weak, and so were you.

“yeah?” it was a plea for her to continue. a beg for her to speak the words you couldn’t.

“i miss you baby.” your eyes drifted shut, a flush rising to your cheeks.

“billie, this isn’t a good idea.” it was the truth neither of you wanted to hear.

“i don’t care.” she whined, desperation clear in her words.

“billie don’t say that.” she let out a sigh of frustration at your words.

“i know you missed me too, this week has been the shittiest week you could imagine.” and suddenly you found yourself drifting into your usual conversation, like you would’ve a week ago.

“i’m sorry bils, how can i help?” it was a stupid question and you’d realised soon enough. all of this would eventually lead you back to her.

“you know how.” it was a confession in itself, revealing what she hoped to get from this call.

“tell me. whatever you need, i’ll do it.” you couldn’t reject her, not now, not ever. she had been everything for you, and she still was.

“come over, please.” her request was simple but it meant so much.

“are you sure?” her answer would decide your future, because it was clear what would happen if you complied with her wish.

“i need you.” those three words were deadly, they represented so many things all at once. they could be interpreted as multiple meanings.

“fuck,” it was a sigh of submission, giving in to her. and everything you’d previously given up. “i’ll be there in ten.”

‘cause it was always you’

the silence that followed the knock on her door, was deafening. leaving too much space for you to fall into the pit of doubt, that was still very much prominent. when the door finally opened, she stood in front of you, her perfect eyes attaching themselves to yours. then she smiled, engulfing you in a gentle hug, holding you as if you might break.

“billie.” it pulled her out of her state of daydreaming, grounding her with the realisation that this didn’t mean the beginning of a new chapter.

“i’m so sorry.” the apology was long overdue, but when she closed the door behind you, inviting you back in, none of that mattered.

“i know, but i need your promise, that we’ll be okay this time. i can’t go through breaking up with you again. i won’t survive it this time.” your throat closed up, signalling you to stop talking before your feelings spill out of your eyes, in front of her.

“of course angel, i understand. i’ll give you whatever you need.” she held your face in her hands, confirming her words at the slight rub of her thumb, over your cheeks.

“i need your devotion, your love.”

“but baby, i..” she paused for a second, pondering on wether her next words were ones she’d later regret. but she soon brushed the doubt away, releasing herself from its constraints, confessing her truth. “i’ll love you ‘til the day that i die.”

when she brought her lips to yours they were warm, inviting. they connected and moulded together as your bodies inched closer.

‘and if i’m turning blue, please don’t save me’

the heat from her breath, warming the patches of skin tainted by her tongue, as she ran it across your naked body. her lips attached to yours nipples, and then your clit. devoting herself to your pleasure. expressing her love for your body.

‘nothing left to lose, without my baby.’

and when your mind lost itself in her affection, focusing on her tongue buried deep inside you hole, you felt connected. birds of a feather destined to reach for each other in times of difficulty. destined to end up in each others’ embrace in times of despair.

‘we should stick together.’

[keyaho]

.summary.: what's a little conversation among friends? nami and terry have some Play Time.

Kinks (in order they appear): oral m receiving, facefucking, terry is a chatty dom, fingering, oral f receiving,  anal play (plug insertion), slight degradation, spanking, cum play, nami experiences sub space (cnc) Wordcount: 8k+ graphics: @firefly-graphics / @cafekitsune note: this is broken into two parts @zillasvilla watched me all weekend work on this and was like "Break it apart"

Terry had given Nami a week to reset. He would send her a text or call every now and then, but she hadn’t seen him in a week. She counted down the days until Friday and now that it was here she was anticipating so much. He had promised so much and all she had to do was behave. He was going to be spending the weekend at her place which mean it was a weekend of Play Time. A reward for getting through the long week of school, work, and her personal life. 

Nami had spent the whole weekend prepping her apartment for Terry. She switched her sheets to black so they looked like the ones in his guest room that she used. There were some light yellow accents. Water was stocked in the fridge along with enough snacks to get them through whatever he had planned. She didn’t want to have to leave the bedroom for anything. 

Currently, she was dashing around; sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, moping, and the apartment smelled like an apple orchid. The light fruity scent came from multiple candles. He was supposed to come at eight and they’d have breakfast and she’d hope to jump right into being jumped on. 

Satisfied with the cleaning she did, Nami dashed to her bedroom and turned on her shower. She had everything to do once she was in; shave, exfoliate, cleanse, moisturize! She wanted this weekend to go as smooth as she was trying to make her skin. She had coco butter and a light scented body oil waiting on the counter. 

Her thoughts drifted to Terry and their situation. Someone as perfect as Terry had to have some flaw about him and though she was enjoying herself, she had her guard up. Being here for his pleasure was all good and she was a willing participant, but her need for the closeness of a partner was rearing its ugly head. She wanted more of a connection that wasn’t just his hands on her body. She’d have to talk to him about it. 

Nami finished in the shower and patted herself dry. She lathered her body in lotion and oil, creating a sweet vanilla scent that would linger as the day passed. She removed the rollers from her hair, the blow-out keeping it’s shape and curls. She found it much easier to have her hair down. He could wrap it around his hand better and the feeling of his fist against the back of her head made her cunt quiver. Playtimes were meant to be fun and light, no real lesson or teaching moment. It was about her pleasure. But she wanted him to manhandle her, without it being tied to punishment. She loved the build up. 

Terry hadn’t told her what to wear, but she knew what to not put on. Reaching into her closet, she pulled out a pair of white soffee shorts and a yellow crop top. Just as she was coming out of her room, her doorbell went off. Nami slid over to the door and yanked it open. 

“Hi,’ she greeted while leaning against the door frame. 

Terry looked down at her and her outfit, humming in satisfaction, then pulled her to him as he stepped inside the apartment. He dropped his bag beside the door and kicked off his shoes while holding her still with his hands on her face and his lips on hers. He guided her towards her couch and made her sit. 

“It’s been a long week,’ he whispered, ‘Daddy just needs you to suck his dick first,’ he pushed down the waistband of his sweats and she watched his dick pop up and smack against his stomach. “Hands on your knees and keep them there.” 

He grabbed the back of her head and guided her mouth towards his leaking tip. 

“Relax.” He reminded her. 

Guiding his tip past her lips she relaxed her jaw and stuck out her tongue. Nami’s eyes clenched as he pushed further into her mouth. She breathed rapidly through her nose, managing to keep herself calm enough for him to slide down her throat. Her nose brushed his pelvis as he held her there. Her nails dug into her knees, leaving half crescent shapes.

“Good girl,’ he cooed, ‘I’ve been edging myself all week for you.” 

Terry pulled his hips back and pushed them forward, using her mouth to get off. 

“I’ve been thinking about you stuffed full of my dick.” 

Nami looked up at him as the tip of his dick poked down her throat. Drool slid over her chin and over the front of her top. His stance widened as he moved her head up and down faster. Her spit covered his balls and she wanted to reach out to grab them. 

“I’m going to hold myself off,’ he pulled her mouth off his dick and watched the spit and drool fall out of her mouth in a thick string connecting to his dick. “Suck the tip,’ he ordered. 

She leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of his dick, sucking as he asked. Her cheeks hollowed out each time and he hissed, stroking the rest of his length with a tight fist. 

“Head back,’ he grunted roughly, tugging on her curls, ‘mouth open.” 

She stuck her tongue out for good measure and Terry watched her brown eyes look up at him in anticipation. His hand twisted up and down his dick. Above her, Terry jacked off against her lips. She listened to him bite back his moans. She felt emboldened by her position in front of him. Her tongue darted out and lapped at his tip again, smearing his pre-cum like frosting on a cake. 

“That’s not being good,’ he gritted his teeth together and she giggled, repeating the action, much to his satisfaction. “Shit.” 

Yanking her head backward, Terry leered over her as he choked his dick with his hand. His cum flew out in thick ropes of cum, hot and sticky on her mouth and tongue. He tasted a little salty, but it seemed like he had just come from working out. The thought of sucking his dick right after a workout was a kink she didn’t realize she wanted to act out. Terry pushed his dick into her mouth and she sucked him clean, the mess on her face cooling as her head bobbed up and down. He pushed her back into the couch and admired his work of art on her face. 

Twenty minutes later, Nami was cleaned up and sitting at the kitchen island. Terry cooked breakfast; eggs, sausage, and grits. While eating he sat next to her with one of his hands between her legs. He wasn’t touching her pussy, yet, but his hand was close enough she could feel a little heat. 

“You know it’s Play Time but let me give you a few ground rules. You get to cum as much as you want to but there are still boundaries.” 

He grabbed her thigh. “No touching me or yourself unless you have permission.” 

“You already know how to address me.” he paused. “And you understand when that changes.” 

He told her it would be easy to tell who she was dealing with when they were together. Sir would have told her to drop to her knees at the door. He would have bent her over the arm of the couch and fucked her mouth. Daddy was nicer, sweeter, the man in front of her right now, and that she was excited about it. Then there was Terry. He told her it wasn’t a person she wanted to meet during any of their time together. He made himself sound like a caged animal locked away to keep the public safe. Terry was unforgiving. A disciplinarian to the highest degree. Sir was a cake walk compared to Terry, but Nami was never going to find that out. Her behavior would have to be egregious. 

“Daddy,’ she says, eyes on her plate as she shoves her fork into her eggs. 

“Let me know if it gets to be too much.” 

Terry turned in his chair and pulled her chair closer to him. The hand between her legs moved and she felt two of his fingers snake themselves into her pussy. He wiggled them deep and watched her head loll backwards. Her mouth parted and she struggled to keep still and let him touch her how he wanted to. 

Standing up, Terry moved behind her. He kept his hand between her legs, stroking her pussy with two fingers. His other hand snaked under her shirt, cupping her breast before tugging and pulling on her taut nipple. His lips found her neck, the three feelings overwhelming her body like a flood. 

“I want to make you feel good.” He moved to the other nipple, tugging cowards on it. “Does it feel good when I touch you like this?” 

His fingers stroked up to her clit, painting it in her slick before he plunged them back into her hole. His thumb pressed on her clit, pushing the throbbing bundle of nerves until she shook on the stool. 

“Talk to me Nami,’ he says, ‘tell me to play with your pussy.” 

The hand that was playing with her nipples wrapped around her throat. Leaning back against his chest, Terry held her still with his upper body while his fingers strummed her pussy like a guitar. 

“I like when you touch me like this,’ she panted. Her chest rose and fell in time with her beating heart. “Your fingers feel so good, Daddy.” 

“Do they?” He asked. Terry pulled them out and put them into her mouth.

She sucked slowly on his fingers as he pulled her from the stool. He walked her to the dining table and laid her across it. He pulled up a chair and pushed her legs to her chest as he sat down. Served up for his tasting, Terry did just that.

Terry excused himself to the bathroom. Nami cleaned up from breakfast, dumping the cold food and putting the coffee into the fridge to use later. She slipped on her shorts and wiped down the dining table. She brought out throw blankets and tossed them on the couch. She convinced him to watch a movie with her. As she spread out her favorite blanket there was a hard knock on her door. 

She wasn’t expecting anyone so when she opened the door and saw Mona and her dom standing there she was surprised. 

“What are you doing here,’ Nami asked.  

“I haven’t heard from you since we went out. Busy?” Mona’s tone was both cautious and blunt. She kept looking at her dom, who was standing by the foyer. He didn’t look happy at all. 

“School, you know it’s my last semester.” Nami replied. “Is everything okay?” 

Mona didn’t just stop by. At least not without calling ahead first. 

“Did he get tired of you yet?” Her Dom jokes. He leers at Nami, seeing exactly why Terry was hooked on her. 

“You know no one is going to want you in the community now? I mean, I told you what Terry did to submissives.” Mona says, ‘so, why did he leave? What stupid mistake did you make?” 

Nami shook her head. “No, no, no, he’s still my dominant.” 

The same dominant that was in her bathroom and probably listening to this very conversation. 

“He’s not here, so it doesn’t matter,’ her dom says annoyed. “Let me tell you something bitch,’ he growls, turning his sudden fury on Nami. “Don’t you ever get another man to try to tell me what to do. I ain’t some little bitch to fuck with.” 

Shirtless, Nami saw Terry step out of the room, a scowl on his face. It was very clear he heard everything that was said. 

“Mona, you brought him here to tell me that,’ Nami says as she takes a step backwards. 

“She does what I tell her and if you don’t get your dog to mind his business handling an overstepping submissive will be my business.” 

“A business you’re failing.” Terry said. 

Four sets of eyes turned to him in shock. Mona’s eyes raked over Terry’s bare chest and the way his sweats hung low on his hips. Terry couldn’t remember their names and didn’t care either, but he wasn’t going to let them speak to Nami like that. 

“You brought your dominant to your friend’s place,’ Terry says as he assesses the situation before him. “You brought another man to the house of your friend, who is a woman. To be yelled at and threatened.” 

“We-’

”I just want to get the story straight.” 

He walked over to Mona, the same way her dominant had walked up on Nami. Except, Mona was enjoying the attention. He could see it in her eyes; this is what she wanted. Her tight lip expression might fool the other man in the room, but he knew all he had to do was speak and Mona would drop to her knees. 

“Tell her you’re jealous,’ Terry says. “Tell Nami, you’re jealous of her.” 

“I’m not…no! Nami, I’m not-’

In a sweet voice, Terry folded his arms over his chest. “Tell. Her.” He looked at Nami and motioned her to move towards him. Just within reach, he had her stop. “I like submissives who listen. Your defiance is a turn off. That’s why I’ve never looked your way. I love me a brat,’ he says, looking at Nami with a smirk, ‘but you are a petulant brat. The worst kind.” 

Mona’s mouth dropped open and her eyes darted between the two men in the room. Only one of them had control and she looked over her shoulder at Nami. Terry snapped his fingers in her face. 

“Look at me when you say it,’ he says, ‘and mean it. Or you’ll stand here and say it until I tell you to stop.” 

Her chance with Terry was long gone at this point. She knew that the moment he pulled her from the bar in the club. 

“I’m jealous of Nami.” 

“Why?” Terry asked. “Tell her why you’re jealous.” 

Mona looked at her dominant and Terry laughed. 

“I don’t know why you’re looking at him. He’s a switch at best, he’s not going to do anything for you.” 

Nami’s Play Time was being interrupted and he could see was getting frustrated with the situation. As much as he wanted to draw this out, and he should, he didn’t want to completely ruin Nami’s day. He had a lot planned for her. 

Terry stared at Mona causing her to fidget and eventually look up at him. 

“I’m jealous of Nami because you picked her to be your submissive.” Terry leaned in, his voice low. He only wanted Mona to hear what he was about to tell her.

“I should make you tell her exactly how you really feel about her.” 

Nami could sense that when they were getting dressed for the party. Her line of questioning had made her feel undesirable and to know Terry picked up on it as well didn’t make her feel as crazy as she thought she was. 

“You’re lucky Nami is here.” Terry turned to the other man in the room and approached him. “Handling an overstepping submissive? I know you weren’t talking about Nami.” 

“Nah,” he says, ‘Mona wanted to come see her friend.”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” Nami says. “Leave please.” 

“You heard her,’ Terry says, though his eyes dare the man in front of her to move. 

Mona turned around and gave Nami an apologetic look. “Call him off,’ she says, gesturing towards the stand off between the men. 

Nami’s euphoric state of bliss was being compromised. This disruption was toying with her Play Time and she didn’t want Terry to be too annoyed to play with her. Nami felt hot in the face but it wasn’t from anger. She was getting upset and frustrated. Terry stood there, stoic and squared off, his stance defensive. 

“Nami please,’ Mona says. 

“Why should she do anything for you?” Terry taunted. He says, turning his head to glance at Mona and Nami behind him. 

“The way you called me about her, you don’t get to speak to Mona that way.” 

“Oh, wheres the bass you had with my girl,’ Terry grinned, ‘all that bravado is gone now that I’m in the room huh.” 

“No one is scared of you,’ he replied, brows knitting together as his jaw tensed. 

“I don’t want you to be,’ Terry replied. “I want you to be uncomfortable. I want you to not be weak. Defend your submissive,’ he taunted, ‘you don’t want me to talk to her?” He whispered. “Tell me.” 

The tension in the room was high. Nami took a step towards Terry, hoping to diffuse the situation and get them out. 

“Just go, Mona,’ Nami says. 

Walking towards her bedroom she put space between her and the chaos swirling around her kitchen. She sat on the edge of her bed, legs folded as she dropped her head into her hands. Her friendship with Mona had been great. She never once did she think Mona had ill feelings towards her. Hearing her be jealous, and mean, over her relationship with Terry was hard. She wanted to share all her experiences with Terry with her. Finally diving into BDSM led to the break down of a friendship, if it ever was there. 

“Hey,’ Nami looked up, face wet. 

“Yes, Sir?” She says. 

“Lie back.” 

She did as she was told and they both moved on from what happened in the kitchen. She didn’t want to talk about it anyway and further mess up her morning. Terry moved to stand by the head of her bed. Her cuffs were slung over his shoulder and something silver was resting in his palm.  

“Shorts off, bend your legs and keep them open for me.” 

Nami did as told and also removed her top, Terry laughed at her haste and kissed her forehead. He cuffed her hands before kissing them. 

“Keep them up,’ he says. 

Crawling into the bed, Terry kissed his way up her leg, sucking the soft skin into his mouth as he watched her chest rise and fall. She anticipated things and her body responded to it. She knew his mouth was about to touch her pussy, so she anticipated it. Her body warmed and she started to leak slick from her lower lips. His warm breath heightened that feeling and she almost kicked him in the face when his lips landed on her knee. 

“Relax,’ he says, ‘you will need to relax for what I’m about to do.” 

He took her clit in his mouth, sucking slowly, while his fingers stroked around her wet hole. Terry pushed them in slowly, curling his fingers upwards as his tongue flattened against her clit. She was lost in the sensation of his mouth and fingers that when something cold, wet, and hard pressed against her asshole, she jumped. Terry pulled away from her pussy, licking his lips as he eyed the messed between her legs. 

“Sir?” 

“It’s a plug.” 

“A plug? For what?” 

“I think you know what it’s for. You asked for it.” 

Nami breathed out and Terry’s head went back down between her legs. She focused on the way he devoured her pussy, licked and sucked until she was trembling again. She felt his hands moved, but not the anal plug. Instead, Terry licked his way down from her pussy to her ass then back up. 

His devotion to eating pussy was unmatched and she never had a guy who enjoyed it for his personal pleasure and not just hers. He was doing it because he wanted to and it was for his own desires. There was a pool of her slickness on the bed between her legs, around his mouth, and coating the inside of her thighs. She got so messy.

As Nami began to wiggle and squirm to keep from riding his face, Terry used one hand to spread her left ass cheek. The anal plug rubbed against her puckered hole while his tongue licked back into her weeping sex. Both his tongue and the plug surged froward at the same time. 

“Oh fuck,’ she cursed. 

Terry smacked her outer thigh. “Watch that mouth.” 

He pushed it to the hilt, making sure it was snug. The stretch was different and it made her clit throb. She clenched around it, only pulling it further in before it would relax as she unclenched. She felt full. The bulbous head of the plug stretched her deliciously. 

“Oh that’s pretty.” 

Netflix was on but Nami wasn’t sure what was playing any more. She straddled Terry’s lap, his hands on her thighs, smoothing around to her ass while another scratched up her naked back. The only thing she wore was the anal plug, firmly nestled in her ass, and her cuffs. The yellow material really looked like bracelets when they weren’t hooked together and to the bed. She held her own arms behind her back as they kissed. Her hips and his doing a motion against each other. She’d rocked side to side and he would jerk his hips up and down. The friction of his dick pressing against her led to more anticipation of what was to come. 

Naked, Nami was exposed to him. Her body on display as she pulled away from his mouth to breathe. 

“Let’s go to bed,’ he says, ‘I’m ready to fuck you.” 

It was noon, the sun w as high in the sky as Terry tossed Nami on the bed. She bounced and moved towards the pillows, her hands in front of her. Terry dropped his sweats. She had seen his dick numerous times but there was something about this time that was different. She watched as he touched himself, his hand stroking upwards towards his tip when he grimaced from the touch. Sensitive, she logged that for later. He always ended their night in her mouth and if she got the chance she’d make sure to play with the sensitive tip. 

He had another bottle in his hands before he squeezed a clear gel into his palm. 

“Fucking your throat is one thing,’ he says, dropping a knee to the bed as he palmed his dick again. “Fucking you is another and I want to make sure I slide right in.”

This had been the moment Nami was waiting for. She knew he was going to fuck her, but, she wasn’t prepared for just how good he was going to fuck her. 

“Sir, I don't,’ she whined, her body so intensified with emotions of pain and pleasure she could barely form words. She didn’t know if she wanted Terry to stop fucking her or keep going, but the inbetween felt too good to care. Her legs had long fallen to the bed, open and pliant in his hands. His hips snapped between hers slamming his balls against her ass as his dick finally split her open. As he finally fucked her like the dominant he was, uncaring, crazed, feral. Using her pussy in ways that made her more gushy than a Gusher candy. 

“Mhn,’ he called, “Tell me what you need, baby.” 

“Ah!,’ she keened. 

His hips snapped upwards, then rutted against her, applying pressure to her clit. 

“Talk to me so I know you’re okay. Tell Daddy what’s wrong,’ he cooed, bending over to kiss her drooling lips. He looked into her eyes, watching as she forced them straight but couldn’t help but cross them when he hit that spongy spot deep in her cunt. 

“You’re so sweet for letting Daddy fuck you like this,’ he praised, ‘letting him use you while you can barely think straight. Shit feel good, hm?” He looked down where their bodies were joined. The mess between her legs was hypnotizing. She was so wet and creaming so much. “Giving Daddy such good pussy tonight.” 

“I’m good,’ she repeated, as if she was asking him a question, not believing she was. 

“Yes,’ he hissed, licking a long swipe up her neck before sucking a red spot into the side of it. Nami arched her chest into his, find some strength to wrap her legs around his waist, crying out at the way he began to wine his hips. “You gonna let Daddy play in his pussy, right?”

Her hands were tied above her head this time and she pulled on her restraints as she felt his fingers slid into her mouth for her to suck on.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ she hummed over and over. “Play in my sweet pussy Daddy,’ she mumbled, the words coming out between her moans.

“I know you are,’ he hummed a familiar beat, ‘gimmie that sweet,’ he flexed, his dick jumped, she cried out, ‘that nasty,’ he leaned down, going from two feet to one foot on the bed beside her open hips, ‘that gushy stuff.” 

The sounds she made were wet and sticky; sloshing almost and it just kept spilling out of her this way. The position sent him deeper, stuffing her nice and full with all nine and a half inches. 

Her lower body wiggled, trying to fight the pressure building as he stilled his body. Terry used her mouth like a toy, sucking her tongue into his, biting her lips, drawing a little of pain from the pleasure she was feeling between her legs. The stretch burned, but fuck, he made it feel so good. He hoisted her legs up so they fell over his arms. Fully seated in her pussy, he rubbed against her. 

“You look so good taking my dick,’ he praises.

Nami ached to touch him. It was the one thing she had been working to earn since their first night, but he always bound her hands away from him. Avoided her finger like the plague. He knew her body so intimately her pussy clenched around his dick at the thought. Terry’s hands dropped to her waist in a bruising hold. 

“That’s it, cum on my dick,’ he said, finally finding a rhythm she could rock her hips to. 

Nami squirmed beneath him as he he fucked her into the bed. She was already running like a faucet, but when Terry pushed her legs towards her her head she gushed, a cord snapping as she came, squirting on him as he chased his high. Fuck he was so big. She thought, trying to catch her breath as her body tensed and jerked beneath him. 

The wet sound of their skin slapping as Terry dug her out as he chased his high. His ball clenched tight as he held her throat and hip to keep her still. Him wearing his pussy out was the only thing on his mind, making her so tired she purred for his mouth to make it feel better. Terry could see how fucked out she was, her body coming down from her orgasm. He dropped his weight to her body, pushing them both up the bed and rutting against her as he placed her legs on his shoulders and leaned down. Still deep in that shit, Terry made sure she could feel him, poking that g-spot over and over. All she could do is scream out for him, cry, and beg him to not stop, and that he felt so good. Her sweet voice was slurred, each work leaving her lips like she was drunk off his dick. 

Nami felt like she was in a tunnel. Terry’s voice was muffled to her, the intense feeling her body was experiencing had filled her head with so much pleasure she couldn’t think straight. It hurt to think about anything other than how he was making her body feel. 

“Why you fucking me like this, ma’ he asks, hissing from how tight her pussy gripped him. “Why you sucking me in so deep, baby.” 

Nami cried, too overwhelmed to respond with anything else. Her body, down to her tippy toes, was numb. She was barely holding onto reality. 

“Ain’t no other nigga gon’ fuck you like this.” 

She heard him speaking but it was more to himself, stroking his big ass ego the way his big ass dick was stroking her tight walls. 

Terry looked at her, tears running from her eyes, her body shaking as she took his hard thrusts. He turned his head, kissing her both of her ankles he swiveled his hips side to side and she quivered. 

“You want to nut again don’t you.” He grit his teeth together, the squishy sounds permeating the air the same way the smell of their sex did. “Hold that shit in,’ he snapped, ‘let me play in my pussy a lil’ longer.” 

He could feel her about to cum and knew she wasn’t going to be able to hold it in. Her body had betrayed her twice already and those orgasms damn near made him bust. Terry yanked his dick out and dropped her legs to the bed. Nami whimpered and tried to reach for him, forgetting her hands were tied to the bed post. Splayed out, Terry bent down between her legs, his tongue replacing his dick. He slurped her clit into his mouth, flattened his tongue and dragged it up and down, coating his face in her slick.

“Oh Daddy,’ she drawled out. She planted one foot on the bed and arched towards his mouth. 

His hand slapped against her ass, twice. “Pretty ass pussy,’ he mumbled, fisting his dick to stroke as he lapped at her drenched lips. “Why you so fucking wet hm? I can drown in this shit.” Terry released her clit with a soft popping sound and grabbed her legs again. His thrust back in jerked her upwards on the bed. He bottomed out and watched her grab the rope of her restraints. 

“Tell me what you need,’ he said, slowing his thrusts so enjoy the way she sighed in content. He had abused this pussy for at least an hour, taking what he needed from her. 

“Let me touch you,’ she whined, ‘please.” 

Touch. Fuck. He knew the moment her hands touched him he would lose it. He always did. There was something about his girl, his sub, clinging to him for dear life, raking nails down his back like he knew she wanted to do. 

“Please, please, please…’ she begged, a fresh set of tears springing from her eyes as she cried. His pace quickened. 

She never asked before and he could see the longing in her eyes when they were together or in a scene. Touch was his kink. The closeness drove him crazy. Whether it was on his shoulder or back, his dick was bricked, painfully so. 

He shook the thought away and continued to fuck her into the bed. Her pussy gripped his dick right and he groaned. 

“Daddy just had to give this pussy something to do.” He grunted. He saw Nani’s arms and body slowly begin to relax. “That’s it,’ he coached.

Nami began to cry. The sensation she was feeling was out of body. She felt so high and weightless but at the same time grounded and heavy from his thrusts. She didn’t cry from pain but the pleasure just needed another way out. She unclenched her fists as he rocked his hips into hers. His dick curved slightly to the left and stretched her just as good. Terry’s dick was big. 

“It’s okay baby,’ he cooed. 

Nami whines and whimpered. Her thigh began to shake from her resolve snapping. She felt too exposed. The room light suddenly blinded her as he took off the scarf. Blurry she blinked out her tears as she turned her head to the side and went to bite down on her arm when Terry grabbed her face. 

“Just feel it,’ he slowed his strokes and grinned as she sobbed. His tongue darted out and he licked her tears before sucking her lips into a kiss. 

“Let Daddy take care of you, hm?” He wrapped his hand around her throat and held her to the bed. He looked into her eyes. They were glossy and she had a dazed expression on her face though she was fighting it. 

“But….Daddy,’ she protested, her hips trying to get his to move again. 

“Be a good girl,’ he says as he thrusts once more.

He resumed fucking Nami, filling her inch by inch with his dick. He held her hips and gave her slow but forceful thrusts. Her pussy choked his dick.

“Shit I’m going to fuck this pussy open.” He popped Nami on the thighs and she looked at him with doey brown eyes. “You're sitting on this dick all weekend.” 

“Oh!” She whimpered, her pussy making wet sounds as his words make her gush a little. 

Terry noticed and smirked. “You like when I talk to you like that, hm?” 

He leans over her, his forehead pressing against hers as he watches his dick slide in an out of her cunt. There was a mess between their legs. A sticky, slippery, wet, mess. He sunk himself deep each thrust, caging her body between him and the bed so she didn’t slide across the sheets. Terry rubbed his hands down her thigh and then hooked it behind her knee before pushing it to the bed. 

“Open up,’ he growled, eyes rolling backwards as she clenched around him. “Fuck, open that pussy up.” 

Nami tugged on her restraints until they shook the headboard. Her body was slipping from her control and all she could do was let it happen. He had a tight grip on her leg, holding her still as he pummeled her into the mattress. The sheets were askew and pillows were somewhere on the floor. His sweat dripped onto her body, the cold droplets adding to the sensations her body was experiencing. Her clit throbbed for release, but it went ignored, and pulsed. Her toes were curling and her back was arching up off the bed, seeking out more contact from her dominate. 

“I got you baby,’ he groaned. His own body shuddered. “Let me fuck this pussy like it deserves to be.” 

Nami made the mistake of looking at Terry. He was staring right at her. His eyes had darkened. His brows were knitted together and when his tongue darted out to lick his thick lips, Nami whined. She could feel his hands on her body; slapping her thigh, 

“Soggy ass pussy,’ he spoke, his thumb reached between their bodies and rubbed her neglected clit. “I wish you could see how sloppy this shit looks,’ he laughed. “Fuck, Nami.” 

Terry was stroking something deep inside of her. He reached places no one had prior. He fucked her towards another orgasm, but this one felt uncontrolled. She scrunched her nose, thumbs pressing into the link on her cuffs, and he hips fell back to the bed. New sounds of pleasure fell from her lips. High pitched squeals as he snapped his hips over and over between her legs. Stuffing her with his fat dick to the point she could feel the recoil in her thighs.  Speaking of, her thighs fell to the bed, fully opening herself to Terry and his hands. 

“That’s it baby,’ he praised, ‘give Daddy his pussy.” 

He used his hands to rub her sides, massaging her into relaxing. She stopped tugging on her cuffs and her arms slackened. Nami’s breath shuddered with each thrust between her legs, her pussy was stuffed full and she felt like she was feeling him in her stomach. The depths he reached mad her lift her hips for more. 

“Be Daddy’s little doll,’ he whispered.

“Doll?” Her voice trembled and her bottom lip quivered. “I…..doll?” 

She could barely form words, eyes crossed now that he could finally see them. As tight as her pussy was around his dick, that wasn’t the only thing turning him on. Her lack of speech made his ego puff up just a little. He warned her of his plans to fuck her and now that he was inside of her he didn’t want to leave. He enjoyed the other physical and mental effects of sex just as much as the actual act of sex. 

“Yeah,’ he replied, his voice even as he stroked himself with her cunt. 

Each slide back in Nami could feel the thick tip of his dick slide against her spot. Every. Time. he hit it directly and she saw stars. Her vision became a little spotty from the overwhelming pleasure he was giving her. 

“My little ragdoll.” 

Terry’s hands moved up her chest, tugging down on her nipples after rolling them between his fingers. He admired the bruises on her hips from his hands. The dark spots a reminded for her long after he was done. Respectfully he was going to make sure she had as many orgasms as he body could give. Disrespectfully? He was going to dig her pussy out and dick her down. He just needed her to-

“Daddy,’ she weeped, ‘I feel-’

“Let go for me,’ he coaches, kissing her quickly to ground her for a moment. Aware of her body, Terry wrapped a hand around her throat and applied just enough pressure she could focus on him. “Let it happen okay?” He says. “You’re slipping into sub space.” He noted, more to himself than her. “Let me take you there, Nami.” 

His voice sounded like whispers to her. She hadn’t realized her eyes were closed until she opened them and he was watching her face. His expression was soft and a stark contrast to the roughness of his dick fucking her. She couldn’t hear her moans any more and her body started to float. Her thighs rose on their own, needing a little friction but it was pushed back to the bed. 

A fucking faucet.

Dripping so fucking much.

Wet. Ass. Pussy! 

His stamina was insane and Nami’s body was his outlet. That same body betrayed her. She felt like she was in a dream state. In a trance. She thought she was tugging on her restraints, but Terry had already unhooked it and her arms were laying above her head. She knew to keep them there but with the euphoric feeling course through her body she had no strength to move them anyway. 

She felt like mush in hands. Pliant, Terry grabbed her neck again. 

“Feels good,’ he asked. He knew getting her to talk in this state would be hard, he could see the pleasure in her eyes with how slack her mouth was. 

Nami’s mouth dropped open and a trail of drool followed. She could see Terry but wasn’t really seeing him. She could feel him deep and each thrust drove her to the brink. 

“Good,’ she choked out, ‘so big,’ she cried. 

“I know baby,’ he hissed. 

“Give it up, Nami.” He pushed her into the bed with a hand around her neck. “Submit, to Daddy.” 

She couldn’t reach to hold him and the grip on the sheets wasn’t enough to keep Nami from jerking upwards as her climax sacked into her body. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as the arch in her back brought her body upwards so suddenly she gasped; unable to speak anything other than Daddy. She was a river of slick and emotions, her body levitating and grounded at the same time. The feeling was out of body and it was like she was watching herself get fucked. Terry pulled out long enough to roll her to her hands and knees. There was no hesitation as he slid right back into her velvety walls. He held her hips still as he pounded into her from behind. She could feel his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust and as her arms stretched above her head she wanted to reach back and cup his sack in her hands, feel how heavy he was, and stroke him that way towards pleasure. 

“Push back on it,’ he ordered, grabbing a hand full of her hair to yank her head back. “Show me you want it, doll.” 

Mindlessly, Nami pushed her hips back, letting his dick stretch her in the new position. Terry’s breathing began to change. His breaths were shorter, staggered, and he was trying to control them, but couldn’t. He snatched out of her cunt and pulled her to her feet. Weak, Nami fell into him and he popped her on the thighs. 

Terry spun her around and forced her to bend over at the waist. At the perfect height, Nami touched her toes then wrapped her hands around her ankles. His feet kicked her legs apart right before he lined his dick up and slid back in. He moved her back and forth. There was a lack of balance but her trust in his strength to hold her up, kept her from worrying. She could feel her slick sliding down her legs. 

“Fuck,’ Terry shouted. He moved her to the bed and laid her on her stomach at the edge. His hips slammed into her ass, his dick searching for that gummy spot that made her squirt earlier.  

His eyes dropped to the anal plug he fitted into her earlier. He reached down and tapped it, causing it to move up and down. Nami’s hand swung back the new sensation jolting her body forward. Terry grabbed her wrist and folded her arm across her back. 

“You want me in there,’ he taunted, using his other hand to twist the plug. “You want me to fuck this ass too huh?” He kissed between her shoulder blades as his hand pulled the plug halfway out and pushed it back in. “Yeah, you are,’ he cooed. “You’re going to give Daddy all your holes mmhm,’ he joked, smacking her ass as he fucked her. 

This was his show. Terry felt on top, on cloud nine, and euphoric. The high seeping into his body was making him a bit feral. His grip on Nami tightened, his sack seizing up as Nami soaked his dick again. He was on the precipice of an orgasm when his eyes clenched shut. He bit down on his lip, nearly drawing blood, as he thrust became shallow and staggered. His rhythm was thrown off as Nami turned her head after lifting up on her arms to glance back at him. Her eyes were closed in pleasure and her mouth was swollen and parted. She looked fucked out while in sub space. She made soft cooing sounds instead of moans, egging him on. 

“Fuck,’ he cursed, realized it was his favorite of the night, ‘it’s coming, shit I’m gonna cum.” He wasn’t wearing a condom and he hadn’t discussed with Nami where he should shoot his load. He wanted to fill her with it and watch it ooze out. So he was going to.

“Daddy’s gonna nut in this pussy,’ he pulled her backwards, grunting as ropes of hot cum painted her cervix and slippery walls. 

Terry held her still white he emptied his sack, smacking her ass in time to the spurts leaving his tip. Stilling, he let her spasm around his dick, squeezing him deeper as she shook. Terry brought her hips up and pushed her shoulders into the bed. Inch by inch, Terry pulled out. When his tip was left he pushed back in once and Nami’s pussy gushed. Over sensitive, she was spent. Her pussy was spent. Clarity was setting and she inhaled suddenly, dropping to the bed as Terry pulled all the way out. He rolled her over and leaned over her. His lips slanted over hers and she sighed into his mouth. 

“You did so good.” He praises her with kisses. Soft and sweet while her soul found its way back into her body. “See what being good for me gets you?” He reached between her legs and plunged two fingers into her pussy, churning them around while using his load as lubricant. “I told you I was going to teach this pussy what to do.” 

He added his thumb and stroked her clit. He was playing with her now, toying with her over sensitive body. He was slowly bringing her down from that intense pleasure. Safely guiding her down so she didn’t hit the sub drop too hard. 

“Talk to me, beautiful,’ he whispers. “What do you need from me?” 

Nami licked her dry lips, panting as she tried to catch her breath. Speaking felt difficult and she cried suddenly from not being able to form words. She felt good. Everything about what she just experienced was perfect. She just couldn’t form the words to tell him that. Terry pulled his fingers out and smacked her pussy a few times. 

“Water,’ she croaked, finding her voice amid her moaning, ‘please.”

Terry kissed her cheek. “There’s my girl,’ he noted, seeing the clarity returning in her eyes. She was looking at him now, not through him earlier. Fully present in her body, she tried to sit up. Terry pushed her gently back to the bed and helped her crawl towards the top. He grabbed the pillows from the floor and made a cocoon for her to curl up in. His cum leaked out her hole, smeared across her thigh as she moved. Wiping a hand down his face, he shook his head. He snatched up his sweats and strode towards her bathroom. 

He ran her bath first and then slipped into her kitchen. He left the door open so the AC could kick on and cool the room. He grabbed a few waters and some fruit for her to snack on. Coming to the side of the bed, he opened one of the water bottles and pulled Nami to sit up. The cold water cools Nami as soon as it hit her tongue. Terry pulled the bottle away as she choked. 

“Slow,’ he murmured. “Take it easy.” 

She ate strawberries from his hands in between kisses. 

“You were well worth the wait,’ he pulls her face in with a hand on her chin. “How do you feel?” 

“Overwhelmed,’ she sighed, the word falling out of her lips blissfully. Though the haze of pleasure was gone, she was still feel the effects of submitting to Terry. High on his attention, she leaned into him, seeking out his mouth for another kiss. 

Terry entertained her, pulling her to his lap, but keeping her hands in one of his behind her back. Nami wiggled against his hand. 

“Let me touch you, Sir,’ she begged, her lips going from his jaw, to behind his ear, then his neck. She worked her hips against his bulge, aftercare becoming a fleeting thought as Nami worked herself back up. 

“How about you go get in the bath? Let me clean you up and order lunch.” 

Terry stood up, Nami in his arms as he carried her to the bathroom. He supported her with one hand, the other keeping her wrists locked. Placing her on her feet, he brought her hands above her head and helped her into the bath. Nami grimaced as a cool sticky substance rolled down her leg. 

“You’re still leaking out of me,’ she lowered herself into the tub. 

“As I should be.” He kissed the top of her head and opened the cabinet under the sink. She had multiple scents and soaps and he settled on a lavender body wash and pine scented lotion. 

Terry bathed her and carried her back to her bed. He remade it while she soaked in the warm water. Drying her off, he motioned for her to lie down. Back against the pillows he knelt on the bed at her feet and began working lotion into her skin. His thumbs pressed into the arches of her foot, drawing out soft groans. Her calves were next, and Terry took his time there, sucking on her toes. He massaged her body, sucking on her skin in random places. He tugged on a shirt and she noticed it wasn’t yellow, but the black one he came over in. 

Yanking back the sheets, he tucked Nami into them. The bedside lamp turning off as he pulled the little string. 

“I’m not tired,’ she yawned, stretching her limbs. 

“Nap. I’ll have lunch when you wake up.” 

She didn’t remember falling asleep or hear when her bedroom door opened up. Now, something was pulling her awake. Terry, kneeling beside the bed, had pulled her to the edge of it and opened her legs, exposing her sore cunt to his greedy mouth. Each swipe of his tongue wetted his lips. His tongue flicked across her clit before it slipped into her hole, fucking her how his dick had earlier. 

“I got a little hungry,’ he admitted. “I knew this pussy would still be swollen so I came to kiss it better.” 

Nami raised up on her arms to watch his tongue work between her legs. He kept her legs open with his heavy hands. His tongue split her lips apart so he could suck her clit into his mouth. Terry tongued her pussy until she was rocking her hips against his face. The anal plug bumped against his chin and he pulled back to glance at it. 

Pulling away from her, Terry stood up and pulled Nami to her feet. She was able to walk now and followed behind him to the kitchen. Next to the glass of water was another bowl of fruit and a plate of salmon and rice. 

“Do you remember submitting to me?” He asked after a few minutes of silence. 

“A little. It was a lot going on,’ she admitted, ‘it just felt good. My body just gave out.” She chewed on the end of her fork. “Being used like that felt really good.” 

“It’s called sub space. Where your body just feels intensely good yes and you can't put it into words?” 

Nami nodded. 

“Being able to fuck you senseless like that,’ he whistled. “Nami, I’m ready to be back in that pussy. Finish eating so we can play again.” 

┏━°❀•°:🎀 Taglist 🎀:°•❀°━┓

@nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @harmshake @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @eilujion @heytaewrites @browngirldominion @insidefeelingofanadult @blackerthings @gwenda-fav @brandithecrystalgem @ranikyani

@captainwithoutmakingitlove @dremmmm @kindofaintrovert @thegreatlibraryofalex @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @kuromiish @virgomess @bbyxgall @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @dundienominated

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Part two on 11.24.24

I apologize for the errors. As I re-read I will clean it up. I've been staring at this part for two weeks.

[psychickiss]

smile!

— saiki kusuo x reader (gn, 2nd pov)

— summary: Helping out Saiki has its perks—example, he smiles for a picture with you on what would look like a date to outsiders.

— notes: this was an old fic i posted from june! edited it a little and finally remembered to reup here :-)

— things: hmmmm i guess the reader's relationship with saiki is kind of romantic? but the overall dialogue and stuff is platonic :-)

— masterlist | request form

When Saiki couldn’t go to Toritsuka for help, he’d approach you.

You weren’t explicitly aware of his powers, but you’ve had your suspicions. Though, it was something you never brought up in conversation with Saiki.

Whenever you do help Saiki out, you assure him that he isn’t in debt to you. This results in Saiki going out of his way to silently pay you back. He knows your words are true, but he wasn’t okay with a good deed going unrewarded.

Additionally, you were okay with doing just about anything. Help him stay away from the sports festival? Sure, you hated it too. Join the Occult club so there’s a not-so-annoying familiar face? Why not? The club seemed like it wouldn’t be too much work.

Talk to a guy from another class for Saiki? Okay.

You weren’t the best at starting a conversation, and neither was Satou Hiroshi. Why Saiki wants to know his interests, you didn’t bother asking. It wasn’t your business.

Opening a conversation with Satou wasn’t hard at all—you figured you could just lie on the spot. “Hi, Satou. Truth be told, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. I want to make friends from every section, and I thought I’d talk to you.”

Satou looks up at you, surprised. “Me? But, I’m not as interesting as the other guys here... Like Toritsuka–”

You abruptly shake your head. “I’ve interacted enough with him. I’m good. But, you... You just have a calming presence, you know? Puts people at ease.”

Saiki, from afar, listens in on your conversation. You had suggested to be on call with him as you made conversation with Satou.

Listening in on your conversation with Satou was something Saiki could do without the help of technology, but you didn’t know that, so Saiki agreed. This made you one of the really few people in Saiki’s phone contacts.

You pull an empty chair near Satou and sit on it. “So, tell me, what do you like? Any favorite bands, drinks, stuff like that?”

Satou happily answers you. “One OK Rock! I love their songs! Ah, I drink a lot of peach tea, too.”

You smile at Satou. “Oh, that’s nice. Do you have any hobbies?”

“I like to read.”

You nod. Average hobby. I like to read too. Everyone likes reading to a certain degree. You then ask him, “Oh? What kind of stuff do you read?”

Satou hums. “Well, I read all kinds of books. I like to pick up a copy of Weekly Jump on Fridays; kind of a reward for getting through the week.”

“That’s so interesting...! Would you want to walk home with me later? That way, we could talk more.” You put your hand in your pocket, checking to see if your phone was still there. You proceed to stand up from the chair and put it back in its place.

Satou awkwardly laughs in response. “I’m sorry, but I have a few errands to do after school, I wouldn’t want to drag you around with me. Maybe some other time.”

You laugh back. “It’s alright. There’s no need for you to apologize! I’ll be on my way now. Good luck with class, Satou.”

“Thank you, you too.” Satou waves before walking away.

You take out your phone and hold it close to your ear. “So? Is that all?”

Saiki hums. “Yes. Thank you.”

“How are you going to get this week’s Jump? We aren’t allowed to leave schoolgrounds until classes are over.”

Saiki answers you, “I have my ways.”

You furrow your brows. “Alright... Why do you want to hang out with him, anyway? No offense, but he’s kind of... bland.”

“That’s exactly why I want to talk to him. Also, we can stop the call. I can see you walking towards me.”

You sigh and end the call, continuing your conversation with Saiki face-to-face. “Alright... And you’re sure he’ll talk to you?”

Saiki shrugs.

You reply flatly, “That’s reassuring. I’ll be at Café Mami if things go well, or not. The usual booth. I’ll just text you.”

I could use clairvoyance to find you, but that works.

...

You enter Café Mami, alone for the time being, and look for an empty booth. You spot one and head straight to it, setting your bag down. You text Saiki.

You:

Do you want coffee jelly?

Saiki:

👍🏼

You:

How’s it going with Satou?

Saiki:

I’m waiting for him by the gate. I have a copy of this week’s Jump with me, and I bought peach tea from the cafeteria.

You:

Okay. This means you’ll be going to Café Mami though, right?

Saiki:

I’m just going for the coffee jelly.

You smile at his message before closing your phone. Keep telling yourself that, Saiki.

The manager approaches you and takes your order; you order something for yourself, and two cups of coffee jelly for Saiki. One for him to eat here, and...

“The other coffee jelly is to-go, thank you.”

You open your phone again and search up the band Satou mentiond, One OK Rock. You rummage your bag for your earphones, but to your dismay, you couldn’t find it.

You quietly sigh to yourself. I guess... I’ll listen with my phone really close to my ear. God, I hope no one hears.

You choose a song and pleasantly listen to it. This actually isn’t so bad. Might add this to my playlist– the song stops. You check the notification.

Saiki:

Hello. I am on my way there.

You:

Take care. ♡

You see Saiki enter Café Mami, and your eyes dart towards the earphones he’s wearing. You point at it. “Those are mine! Where did you get those?”

Saiki sits down as he answers you, “Your bag.”

“You didn’t ask...!”

The manager approaches you two. “Here’s your order. The coffee jelly to-go will be served shortly.”

Saiki looks at you, confused about that last sentence.

“Ah, I ordered a second one for you to enjoy at home.”

Saiki’s eyes sparkle at your words.

You bring your order closer to you. “So, how did things go with Satou?”

Saiki slumps his shoulders and dejectedly hands you back your earphones. “I’ll be taking both coffee jellies to-go, thanks.”

Your voice was riddled with panic, “Huh–?! No, don’t go! Is it that bad?”

“He didn’t talk to me.”

You laugh. “That’s it? Did you even try to talk to him? You’re not the most chatty person I know.”

Saiki nods. “I had everything he liked; Weekly Jump, peach tea, and I was listening to One OK Rock. I even smiled at him.”

You hold back your laughter, you didn’t want Saiki to feel worse than he already did. “Maybe... Maybe he didn’t talk to you because he knew you stole my earphones.”

Irritated, Saiki replies, “That is totally unrelated”

You shrug. “Yeah.” You decide to tease him, “Maybe your smile was weird. Off-putting. I mean, you don’t smile a lot.”

Saiki shakes his head. “My smile wasn’t weird.”

“I’ll have to see for myself.”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

Saiki doesn’t reply to your comment, opting to finally eat the coffee jelly in front of him.

“Here’s the coffee jelly to-go. Your order’s complete. Thank you!”

You smile at the waiter and gently push the paper bag with the coffee jelly inside towards Saiki.

Hm... Maybe if he smiled at Satou like that, then they’d be hanging out like this. Ah, then I wouldn’t be able to see Saiki so happy. Perhaps I’ll be selfish, just this once.

Saiki thought to himself as he ate the coffee jelly. For someone who’s had their suspicions about my powers, you sure think rather shamelessly. You’ve done a lot for me, so I’ll let you have this.

Saiki finishes his coffee jelly. “Take out your phone.”

You do as told, although clueless to Saiki’s intentions. “Okay...?”

“I’ll show you the smile I gave to Satou.”

You move over in your seat so Saiki could sit beside you. He takes the hint and walks over to you.

You two smile and you snap a picture, the smile on your face still there as you examine it. Saiki returns to his seat.

You two were smiling, but you were the only one looking at the camera. You look up from your phone, then at Saiki. “Why were you looking at me?”

He’d then respond, “I wasn’t ready.” You looked happy.

[saintzweig]

nsfw patrick zweig x camgirl!reader

–based on this blurb PART TWO HERE

– wrote this with 5 hours of sleep, not proofread because i'm lazy so i apologize in advance for the mistakes or if its shitty :3 wasn't actually going to write this but i couldn't stop thinking about it sooo

it was 3pm on a thursday, you were sat in your history class bored out of your mind. it was your last class of the week and it had only half an hour left but with the way your professor was droning on and on about god knows what, you couldn't wait to get out of here fast enough. 

you had a live scheduled in two hours, as well. you needed enough time to rest and freshen up before you turn your camera on. you did live cams anonymously on some sketchy website just to get by, a cam girl if you will. you grew up in a strict religious household so you've never thought you'd end up doing this but desperate times call for desperate measures, it was an easy way out of your financial problems. plus, if you were careful enough no one would have to find out. its not like you were going to do this forever, only until you graduate and find a job with a decent pay. by then, your account will be deleted and forgotten about, as if it never existed in the first place. 

your mindless scribbling was interrupted when your professor called your name. "l/n, zweig"

your head snapped up to the front and then to patrick zweig who sat two rows infront of you. 

"your presentation will be a week from now, your topic will be on the reconstruction. i expect you'll do a thorough research." 

you quickly wrote down the details as your professor dismissed the class, students rushing to get out of the room while you stayed behind to gather your things. before you knew it, patrick stood infront of you. his backpack slinging over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets. 

you didn't know patrick zweig, you knew of him. a great, cocky tennis player who was supposed to go pro after juniors but his friends, art and tashi, convinced him to accept his standford offer. so he'll have something to fall back on if things don't go to plan. 

you've heard people talk about him, how he's reckless in his plays yet he keeps winning. how he doesn't do anything in class yet he keeps passing. you had to stop yourself from sighing in front of him, is he going to make you do everything? 

"y/n, right?" you've never heard him talk before, atleast not anywhere near you so you were surprised that his voice sounded ... attractive. you took this time to actually look at him, he wore a plain white shirt and denim jeans, which isn't much but he made it look so good. his face was slightly scruffy, his nose statuesque and his pink lips was pulled into a slight smirk. you had no idea why his appearance made your heart beat faster than normal. 

the two of you discussed when to meet, deciding to do the work in your dorm every other day during his free time. so now, on friday evening, you were sat on your desk working on the outline for your project as you wait for him to arrive. 

not long after, there was a knock on your door and patrick entered in his tennis attire, carrying his equipment. "a single room?" he asked with his eyebrow raised, taking in the sight of your room. the white walls adorned with tapestry and posters, your bed covered in a pink bedding and your desk was cluttered with your study materials. 

"i got lucky" you sat on your chair as he settled on your bed, laying on his back in exhaustion. there was something familiar about your room, he just couldn't put his finger on it. has he been here before? did the two of you hook up and he had just forgotten about it? or maybe it's because most dorms look the same, it's probably just similar to tashi's. he put the thought on the back of his mind as you started to discuss your project with him. 

it went surprisingly well the first day, although patrick was stubborn, he knew he couldn't just skip on this project because he'll end up having to do it alone so he decided doing it with you now was the better option. the next day, he got too comfortable that he's so easily distracted. you started bribing him with his own pack of cigarettes, taking it from his hands and putting it under your thigh as the two of you sat across from each other on your bed. 

it was a little difficult to work with him, considering he's not so good at studying but it was fun, you had fun with him. he made jokes that you tried to keep a straight face on but end up laughing so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. he keeps trying to flirt with you too, which just ends up with you scowling at him and slapping his arm. 

and as soon as he left, you turned your camera on and positioned yourself on your bed. normally, you would only strip and massage your body, never going as far as playing with yourself in front of your viewers. but this time, you couldn't stop thinking about patrick. how big his hands were compared to you, you imagined it wrapped around your wrist, or holding your waist, or choking you. the thought making you squeeze your thighs together. you made soft noises as your massaged your breasts, imagining what it would feel like to feel his hands cupping you. you felt yourself get wet as you pressed your fingers against the fabric of your panties.

tonight's live felt a bit more sensual, it was almost difficult to stop yourself from getting carried away but you needed to be careful. so after an hour, you turned the camera off and placed your laptop under your bed. as soon as you lay back, your hand found its way inside your white, lacy panties. you shiver as the pad of your pointer finger brushed against your sensitive clit, feeling the slick against your skin as your press against your cunt. 

you spent the next hour touching yourself to the thought of patrick using your body, feeling his lips against your skin, lapping up the juices leaking out of you. the sounds you were making were too pornographic that you had to place your hand over your mouth. your fingers covered in your juices as you desperately fucked yourself. it felt like a pretty sight to see that you almost regretted turning your camera off. 

you wanted someone to see you, you wanted him to see what he was doing to you. 

the next time he came over, he had just come straight from tennis practice. his skin was slightly moist with sweat and he wore shorts that rode up his legs when he sat on your bed. you couldn't focus on anything but his thighs. 

“you feeling alright? you're looking kinda red, zoning out too” you blushed, feeling like he just caught you red handed. 

you nod, “yeah, it's just a little hot” 

he smirked, telling you to take your shirt off if it's that hot, he wouldn't mind it at all. you rolled your eyes at his suggestion, turning your attention back to your laptop. you were tempted to do it, it took you everything in your body not to. even with your choice of work, you still had a little bit of self respect and discipline left. 

that night, you ended up touching yourself on camera for the first time. making yourself cum infront of your viewers while they had no idea you were thinking of patrick, again. having your lips on his skin, straddling his lap and feeling his bulge press against your clothed cunt, his hands on your breasts as you bounce on his cock. you made the highest amount of money you've ever made since you've started. but you made sure to tell them it was a one time thing. 

the next evening, was the day before your presentation. patrick was on his way over so the two of you can practice and prepare yourself for tomorrow. 

you bumped into him on your way to the communal bathroom, telling him to go right ahead. 

patrick entered your room, dropping his equipment by the door as usual. instead of laying in your bed like he always does, he sat on your chair. leaning back with his arms crossed as he observed the trinkets on your desk and the photos pinned on the corkboard. 

a few minutes later, you walked in and sat on your bed, facing him. he turned around in your chair to ask you something about the photos but the sight of you on your bed left him dumbfounded. the realization of why your room looks familiar finally came to him, the only reason it took him so long was because the only way he's ever seen it was through the camera, facing the exact direction he's looking at right now. 

you were the anonymous cam girl he had been jerking off to after your sessions, you were the girl he had just sent a hundred dollars to the night before. 

[dr3amfyr-e]

crybaby - j.v. ( w. 5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. again. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ childhood-friends-to-lovers. someone said idiots in love, and yes! modern au. everyone lives au. liberal usage of the em-dash. foul language. pushing the rhaenicent agenda. an incredible amount of yearning and pining. mention of reader's hair. mentions of anxiety. reader has a breakdown in semi-public. subplot where reader is sick. reader is so down bad its crazy. targ-tower cameo! aemond bitter af and for no reason. wrote a bit of dialogue that is so foul but i only realized it after i typed it and its not being taken out. luke is so little brother coded. i directly quote a serial romance novel thats so cringe. part one here. ⎯ ୧

can be read stand-alone, but theres a lot of context in part one !! thank u all for being patient :3

“It's called Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature.”

Looking up from your twelve-page study guide, you meet Jace’s bright gaze where he sits at the foot of your bed, “That sounds… complicated.”

He shrugs, long fingers brushing up through his thick curls, “I need to take it, it's cross-listed for literature and political science so I’ll get credit for both. I think it’ll be interesting, plus if you take it too…” He leans a little closer, grinning in your face. 

“Send it to me,” You reply, highlighting a section in the packet about climate change and its impact on migratory birds in pretty pink ink.

You promise to look it up, to get back to him later, but it's hollow and you know it. He's already given you that pretty smile, flashed his dimples and stared down at you with his dark eyes — your grave has been dug. You will take  Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature and read pages of boring political theory because Jace asked and Jace has you wrapped around his finger.

He shifts on the mattress, lying down on his front and scooting decidedly closer to you. His laptop is open in front of him, eyes trained on the screen through his glasses, perusing the course catalogue for the spring semester. 

“Isn’t it a bit late to pick classes?” You ask, stretching your legs out in front of you, “It's December, next semester is in, like, four weeks.” 

Jace is a perfectionist, a pre-planning freak who has three calendars: a planner that he carries everywhere, a big desk calendar at his apartment for easy access while studying, and his digital calendar. Its colour coded — he has a browser extension that allows him to make events on his Google Calendar any colour. So, it's very unlike Jace, who does his schoolwork the night it's assigned, to pick classes two months after registration opened. 

“I just like to look,” He replies, “This class is Wednesday and Friday, from ten to eleven o’clock. Does that work for you?” 

You nod, because it will work. You’ll rearrange your schedule if need be. It's pathetic, really, how easily he gets you to do things.

It's quiet for a while, Jace scrolling on his computer while you fill in your study packet. 

“When is your last final?” He asks. 

“Next Friday.”

“So you’re leaving Friday?”

“No, my train ticket is for Saturday.”

“Damn, I’m leaving Tuesday,” A lull, “When do you come back.”

“The Sunday before classes start. You?”

“That Friday.”

The conversation continues like that, mindless and short but so very comfortable. It's often like that anymore, with little eye contact and no real attention paid to each other besides the brief words — and, not in the way that feels awkward or tense, but in the way that old married couples chat over morning coffee and the paper. Maybe it's the lifetime of friendship that does it, or that you spend more nights in his apartment than your dorm.

You see each other twice more before the holiday. 

The Monday that exams start you meet at the coffee shop that became yours in the first two weeks of school. The middle table by the bay window is where you always sit, and the barista has Jace’s order memorised — because he gets the same drink every time you come, a caramel macchiato. 

He groans into his hands, ignoring both his coffee and his half of the cheese danish that you’d split, “I feel like I did poorly.”

He’d suffered through days upon days of studying for the political science exam that had plagued him all semester, to be taken today at noon. It was a three-hour exam, mostly multiple choice with two essay questions. You’d been with him through the worst of the studying: in total, forty-seven pages of research papers and scholarly articles printed at the library, and six books varying from fifty to five-hundred pages. He had filled up a plethora of pages in his notebook, and at least three in a word document. There was no study guide, just a list of broad topics. He was facing the consequences of taking a 300-level class in his first semester. 

“Jace, darling,” You reply, reaching out to press a reassuring hand to his arm, “You studied for that test more than I think anyone in the history of this school has studied for anything ever. If you didn’t do well, that's a reflection of the professor, not you.”

He doesn’t seem to want much to do with that rationale, sliding his hands down to rest his chin in them. He's pouting, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks at you through his lashes, “What if I failed?”

“Then… I don’t know,” You reach up to pull one of his hands down to the table, twining your fingers, “Then you failed, and that sucks. But you’re sporting a solid one-hundred in the class now, you could get a fifty on that exam and still end with…” Quick mental math. If the exam is weighted at twenty percent, then, “- a ninety percent.”

“An A-minus,” He whines. 

“Jace,” You chastise sweetly. 

He huffs, his pouty stare turning into a glare with no heat behind it. He wants to whine and mope about exams. What harm does it truly do?

You push his half of the danish towards him, “It's over now. You studied hard, you did your best. There's nothing you can do right now to change your grade. You can’t control it, so there is no point in trying to.”

Jace likes control, he likes to be in control. A psychological idiosyncrasy plaguing many eldest children and children of divorce. The quintessential therapist's advice about what you can control and what you can’t control had been revolutionary for him during one of his bi-weekly appointments — the whole family had them, Rhaenyra and Alicent were big proponents. 

Regurgitating that to him, no matter how much it makes you feel like you’re giving unsolicited advice, always works wonders to ground him when he's disproportionately anxious over something out of his control.

He deposits you at your dorm with a kiss on the cheek that evening.

On the Friday you leave school, Jace drives you to the train station. He packs your bags into the backseat of his hoity-toity hybrid Porsche Panamera and lets you play with his radio all the way there.

You’re an hour early to the station — Jace is early everywhere. He sets his paper copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings on his lap in the little lobby, slipping his finger into the book where it is dogeared. Yet, he makes no effort to read, his attention solely on you. 

“A month is ages to be apart,” He says, voice soft and thoughtful.

You scoot a little closer, elbows knocking, “It won’t be so bad. We can talk.”

His watch glimmers in the overhead light of the train station when one of his hands settles safely on your knee. Small white face, silver hands and framing, thin black band — it's Gucci, something his mother wore in the nineties. His fingers trace the edge of your skirt, and in the silence begin to smooth down your kneecap to your shin. 

“You must be cold,” He murmurs, thumbing the material of your nylons. 

“I’m alright.”

Your train is called before he can shed his coat and drape it over your lap, as he so desperately wishes to do. 

He hugs you, tightly, before you board. He's so warm, his black jumper is soft against your cheek, and you can smell his cologne where your nose lands in the crook of his neck — patchouli and something earthy and fresh, Brutus Oroto Parisi. 

“God, I’ll miss you.”

One morning, a week into the holiday, a letter shows up. It’s written in the black pen he’s so fond of, and you admire his neat penmanship as you read the detailed account of his holiday celebration. You smell the expensive cologne he wears and recognize Helaena’s handmade stationery. He gives you a sheepish smile over a FaceTime call when you bring it up. 

When you see him on campus again in January, not much has changed. You're both in your respective majors, he lives in the nicest building on campus, and he hates your roommate. She’s taken to referring to him as your boyfriend; you correct her the first two times and then give up. 

Classes are harder with the emotional slump attached to winter. You talk to Jace often, but don’t see much of each other outside of class. And then you get sick. 

Banging. Loud banging. It wakes you up from your fever-and-Doxylamine induced sleep. Per college dorms, your first assumption is that it's your loud-ass fucking neighbor! Again! Having bunk-bed-breaking sex like she does every Thursday night with her ugly ass boyfriend who radiates such a strong odor of weed and computer science that you can get a noseful of him a meter down the hall. Doxylamine tends to make people agitated.

Before you can weakly pound on the cinderblock wall, there's a muffled call of your name. It comes from the hallway, and it's followed by another bang — which you begin to realize is knocking. 

Crawling out of bed, you blearily pad to the door. You don’t have to peer through the peephole to see who it is. The voice is soft, low, and endearingly posh. Clearly, it’s- 

“Jace?” You grumble when you open the door, mind foggy from the cold medicine.

It's early January in London, and the beige cashmere jumper he wears isn’t warm enough — it's a woman’s cut, but it fits him like Loro Piana himself measured the fabric to Jace’s body. The cold weather is visible in the flush of his face, the snowflakes that linger in his hair.

“I’ve been calling you for hours, darling,” He speaks gently, voice heavy with concern. 

You blink at him, not responding with anything more than a little, oh.

His hand finds your upper arm, leaning closer to hone your attention, “You look awful,” He guides the both of you back into your dorm room, “Are you unwell?” 

You nod, “My roommate brought it back from holiday break.”

Jace huffs sharply, mumbling something to himself, no doubt about your roommate. He walks you back towards your bed, gently pushing you to sit.

“Have you been to the clinic?” He asks, one hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Twice.”

His hand slides up, finers gracing your temple to push some stray hair behind your ear, and then landing upon your brow bone, “You’re burning up.”

It's quiet for a few moments, hands retracing back down to cradle your face as he inspects you. He's focused, calculating and planning in his head — it's an energy you’ve seen him embody countless times, assessing the scraped knees, bruised foreheads, and aching tummies of his younger siblings. 

“What time is it?” You ask, after watching him bustle about your room for about thirty minutes. He's such a mother hen: making tea, procuring medication you didn’t know you had, wetting flannels, adjusting your blankets.

“Ten,” He replies, settling into your twin-size bed next to you and pressing a mug of piping hot tea into your waiting hands, “It's peppermint. I wish you kept chamomile, or really anything herbal.”

You disregard his latter comment, resting your head on his shoulder. Soft. As an eighteen-hundred pound jumper should be, “You came here in the dead of night? In the snow?”

He slides his legs under the blankets, sinking down into your pile of pillows and stuffed animals and pulling you closer, “I took the bus part of the way. Plus-” His hand drags across your shoulders, “I needed to see you. You missed class today, and I haven’t heard from you since Monday. I had nearly driven myself to the brink of madness with worry.”

You groan, turning your head to bump your forehead into the jut of his shoulder, “I hadn’t thought about class,” Bump, bump, bump goes your head, “Did I miss anything important?”

He hums, looking down at you, “We had to turn in a paragraph detailing our preliminary ideas for that big Arthashastra comparison essay. Doctor Dunlavey loved your connections to the political system in The Silmarillion.”

What? You lift your head to look up at him, “I didn’t do the assignment.” You had been too sick to think about school-work.

“Well,” He shrugs, lightly enough that it doesn’t disturb you, “Who's to say? He doesn’t have your handwriting memorized, he has hundreds of students.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, “Thank you, Jace.”

He sleeps in your bed that night, insisting that you’re sick enough that someone needs to keep an eye on you. Dressed in a loose pair of your pajamas, he curls around you in the tiny bed. His body spills warmth through both of your sleepwear, and maybe it's the fever or the cold cinderblock of your dorm but there is no physical proximity that quantifies as close enough to him. 

He's gone by the time you wake up, late into the morning. Naught of him but a text.

i had to go to class and i didn’t want to wake you up, sorry

be back later x 

And true to his word, he arrives that evening with a travel mug of lavender chamomile tea and the cough medicine he makes Luke take when he’s sick. It’s so bad that you nearly choke at the taste, but he leaves the bottle and you’re better by the end of the week. 

You’re both more diligent in seeing each other going forwards.

Your phone rings one day in mid-February — a silly picture of Jace in a bright red hat, one of Helaena’s, pops up on your screen, followed by the affectionate nickname he’s saved as in your phone. 

You even get a chance to say hello, his voice immediately bursting through the speaker, “Do you have plans for the third weekend of February?” 

You think through your mental calendar, “I don’t believe so, nothing that takes priority over you at least. Why do you ask?”

You can hear him fiddling with something on the other line, the clicking of a pen echoing from his bedroom to your ear. Every year his family hosts a gala, raising an ungodly amount of money for their charitable cause by selling high-priced tickets. And everyone comes, because the Targaryens are the royalty of the one percent. 

“Come?” He asks, “Please, I think you’ll enjoy it. Plus, it’ll be like a little holiday for us.”

And again — you’re wrapped so tightly around Jace’s finger that you don’t even think before saying yes. You don’t think through many things regarding this, which lands you in a guest bedroom in Rhaenyra and Alicent’s massive London estate.

In truth, it's not a guest bedroom, but rather Daeron’s old room. It is decorated with posters of classical musicians and string instrument charts; vinyls line his bookshelf, alphabetized and all orchestral. Daeron stays with Alicent’s brother in Paris during the academic year, attending a private secondary school with a music-based curriculum. He had been practically a prodigy at the violin. 

The room is sandwiched between Luke and Aemond, directly across the hall from Jace. There are a number of guest rooms in the house, but they’re all the next floor up and Jace had insisted that you stay across the hall from him. It does feel a bit odd to change into your pretty black dress while staring down a battalion of Daeron’s music awards and a very large framed photo of Otto Hightower. 

“I don’t mean to be judgemental, but who keeps a photo like this of their grandfather in their bedroom?” You ask, adjusting the straps of the dress, “I would understand if he was dead, but Otto is… not.”

Jace laughs from where he lounges on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. After nearly two decades of friendship, there's little that hasn’t been seen and very lax boundaries. He had watched you change innumerable times before, but today his eyes are decidedly diverted onto his phone. 

“Good?” You ask, turning from the mirror, and giving him a spin. 

Jace stares, uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes are trained on you, scanning the dress, mouth closed and brows drawn so slightly you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well. He's a bit rigid where he’s propped up on the bed, clearly contemplating. 

After an unnerving amount of time, really only five seconds, he speaks, “You look nice.”

It's… odd. Measured and closed off, a complex thought that you don’t have the context from his internal monologue to understand. Did he not like it? Or was he stunned into silence by your sheer, Goddess-like beauty?

“We match,” You offer meekly, gesturing between your dress and his black suit jacket and slacks. A lame comparison. Nearly everyone at these events wore black.

But he smiles nonetheless, a genuine smile that shows off his pretty dimples, “We do.” 

Jacaerys drives to the event, and you’re squished in the too-small backseat of his car, between Lucerys and Aemond. Aegon is in the passenger seat, talking incessantly, and Jace wishes he would shut up so he can think about the silky material of your dress in peace. 

It's a precarious set-up, truly. Jace drives a four-door, but it isn’t meant for six adolescents in formal attire. Aemond is stiff as a rod next to you, pointedly staring out the window and only interacting to bite back at anything Aegon says. Occasionally his bony elbow will bump your side or his knee will knock into yours, and he’ll pull away as if you’re red hot, shooting you a glanced glare. 

The radio is its own battle. Upon entering the car it had connected automatically to Jace’s phone, playing a few seconds of the theory podcast he had been listening to and earning a collective groan. Luke was quick to sync his phone instead, the Ramones brash drums blaring from the speakers. Aegon changed it to chav rap. It ensued like that for the whole car ride — punk rock to rap, volume up and down and up and down. 

The ballroom is glorious. All high domed ceilings and white crown moulding and gold leaf details. There’s a massive chandelier in the centre of the room that drips with perfect crystals. An astonishing world it was that Jacaerys grew up in. Overwhelming 

“Are you alright?” Jace murmurs, hooking his arm into yours as your shoes click against the marble floor. He can sense your unease, feel it in the way your forearm tenses at any particularly fast movement or loud aristocratic laugh. 

“Fine,” You assure, shooting him a smile.

Of course, Jace doesn’t buy it. Your pretty smile doesn’t reach your eyes, it's tighter than normal. He knows things like that — he’ll never admit it, but every one of your microexpressions are programmed into his brain. 

Arm-in-arm the pair of you reach a semi-circle near the bar. Rhaenyra, Corlys, Luke, and Helaena. The boring financial drivel meets your ears from several paces away, and it's mind-numbing up close. 

‘I don’t think you can quantify the inherent need for biodegradable fuel in those metrics.’ 

‘Well, I would argue that you can. In such a high output industry you have to calculate the necessity for every pence.’ 

You nod along, putting up a convincing facade of business intellect while Jace adds in expertly to the dull conversation. Helaena, to Rhaenyra’s left, is about as interested as you.

It's only when Otto breaks into the group, and the conversation shifts from the most cost effective biofuel to is shipping on a mass scale a pertinent trade in post-Brexit England that you’re pulled away. Though not by Jace, who has become more engrossed in the conversation than he is in you, but by Luke. 

“You seemed to be drowning,” He smiles up at you, offering his arm. 

You take it gladly, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Don’t worry, I was drowning too.”

Activity on the balcony is scant; one lady sits in a metal chair sipping a glass of champagne, an elderly man stands at the far end of the railing peering at the London cityscape down below. Luke leans his elbows against the rail, propping his head up in one hand. 

“How's college?” He asks, looking up at you.

You hum, leaning down to mimic his posture, “Oh, it's fine. It's a lot of work,” There's a lull in the conversation as the two of you bask in the lack of hustle and bustle, “Have you started thinking about college yet?”

He shrugs noncommittal, picking at the nails of his free hand. He's very quiet for a while, and you allow him that because every life decision feels massive and dire at fifteen. When he does speak, his voice is soft, “Grandfather said that he wanted me to inherit his business after my dad, but now mum is talking about me being her successor.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Jace doesn’t want to inherit.”

“I know.”

“He wants to be a lawyer, like Alicent. And I don’t blame him, but that puts a lot of pressure on me. Because now it's like I have mum and grandpa expecting me to be great, and I stand in their conversations and I don’t understand half of what they’re saying-”

“Luke,” You softly interject in his rushed rant, running a careful hand down his arm, “No one expects you to be perfect. You’re still a child, you’ve not even taken your A-Levels yet.

He nods solemnly.

“I know that it feels like the weight of your family legacy rests on your shoulders, but if you also defer inheritance it will be just fine. You have, what — like, ten siblings?” He gives a little laugh at your reasoning, “Plus, Laena and Baela, and Rhaena who could take over after your father.”

Luke nods, “I suppose you’re right,” He elbows you gently in the ribs, “You’re pretty wise, you know?”

It's your turn to laugh, nudging him back, “So, what do you want to do after school?”

He traces mindless little stars into the railing, “I’d really like to study music. Some of my friends and I have been playing together, and we’re talking about starting a band.”

“That's really cool, Luke!” You beam.

He smiles sheepishly, “I mean, it's nothing grand yet. We haven’t decided a name, and we’re a bit at odds about a genre.”

“Well,” You smile, “When you lot play, let me know. I’ll be in the front row!”

The calm quiet is broken when the door to the balcony opens, “Luke, darling. Mummy needs you.”

You both turn to see Alicent peering out of the doorway, body still inside the ballroom. Her arm slips around your waist in an endearingly maternal way as the three of you make your way back towards Rhaenyra.

“How are you, lovely?” She asks, rubbing between your shoulder blades. Her pear and saffron perfume, Guidance Amouage, floods your olfactory senses.

“Well!” You reply, leaning into her warm touch, “This is all so wonderful. I’m very glad Jace invited me.”

She smiles back, “Me too.”

Being a guest of the host by extension, you’re required to stay for the duration. So, you watch people dissipate as your energy dwindles. By the end of the night, nearly eleven, your upright position relies heavily on the support of Jace’s arm around your waist as he chats with his grandmother, Rhaenys. Politics, environmentalism, blah blah, drivel, drivel. You might do more to participate if the five hours of nonstop interaction and three glasses of champagne weren’t pulling your body towards the ground, but you settle for little engaged nods. 

The car is less crowded on the way back — much to everyone's chagrin, Aegon called an Uber halfway through the gala. You’re allowed the front seat, and spend most of the ride dozing off to the tune of The Velvet Underground & Nico, 1967.

You sleep in Jace’s bed that night, despite your own quarters being directly across the hall.

When Jacaerys realises he’s in love with you, you’re crying in the library stairwell. 

“I’m fucked,” You sob into your hands, shoulders shaking with the force of your misery. 

You had been studying together, preparing for the rest of your midterms when a notification came through your school email with an updated exam grade. 

Sheer terror, cold unyielding panic that starts just below your throat and twists its way down your spine and back into your lower intestine. The grade was a forty-two, which brought your total grade down to a fifty-eight. 

In the least melodramatic way possible you’d shut your laptop and told Jace you were going to the bathroom. But the bathroom was at the back of the room, and you had gone to the hallway — plus, he just knew better.

Gentle footsteps, you see his Sambas first and hear the crack of his knees as he sits next to you on the stair step. 

“You’re not fucked,” He murmurs back, his voice low and soft. One arm comes around your stooped shoulders, the soft fabric of his cardigan brushing the back of your neck, “It's only midterms, angel. This is nothing that you can’t reverse.”

The first thought in your head is easy for perpetual straight-A student Jacaerys to say, the next thought is much more self-pitying. You don't voice either, head falling to your knees.

You aren’t allowed to stay like that for long, firm hands come to your arms and pull you up. From there, they run slowly up and down — from your scapula to your bicep, over and over. And his chest blooms with warmth when you respond well, calming down. He runs his thumb over the soft skin underneath your eyes — first the left eye, and then the right — brushing away tears. 

Jace’s typical form of comfort plays on his lifelong role as eldest sibling; it's usually coddling, while he mothers you and tries to problem solve. This is not that. It's something deeper, more genuinely concerned. He isn’t trying to solve your ailment, he just wants to make you feel better. 

“It's just a grade,” He soothes, “It's just an exam, a midterm. This makes up maybe ten percent of your overall grade, and I know that you do well on everything else,” His head is cocked, looking at you so sweetly, “I bet it only looks this bad because it's mid-semester, your score will go up in a few weeks.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the last stray tears fall. 

“You’re alright,” He whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, “Hm?”

Jace is alone that night, Montblanc pen held in perfect writing posture as he journals — an exercise recommended by his mother. The highlights include:

It was gutting. I just wanted to make it better & I didn’t know how. 

Inappropriate time to kiss her face, I couldn’t think of anything else.

I’m usually so good at comfort and reassurance, I don’t know what's wrong with me. 

Fuck, I’m hopeless. 

Things feel different to me now. Not in a particularly bad sense, just different. Maybe it's the transition from childhood friendship to adult friendship. 

I read that god awful serial romance novel last holiday because grandma left it sitting out – A Wallflower Christmas by Lisa Kelypas. And I remember this passage like ‘I want you under me. I know you deserve more respect than that.’

I found it, “I want you under me. On your back. / I’m sorry. You deserve more respect than that. But I can’t stop thinking of it. Your arms and legs around me. Your mouth, open for my kisses. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs wouldn't be enough. / I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you’ve ever said to me. / If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place. I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.”

I’ve been thinking of that passage, like it's playing aloud in my head. What does that mean? 

I don’t particularly feel that for her. 

I get some of it, like ‘I want to talk with you forever, I remember every word you say.’ Anything else though, the romantic bits, I don’t. 

Though, the kissing her face was new. It was compulsive almost, like I had to do it. 

Need to call mum. 

“Is it fair to you?” Rhaenyra asks through the phone. It's late, past the time she puts the little kids to bed, but she's never not answered a phone call from one of her children. 

Jace sighs, worrying one of the buttons on his cardigan, “What if it ruins everything?” He asks, “What if I tell her, and she never speaks to me again and then I lose my best friend?”

“But is that fair, Jace?” She reasons, “To go about a lifetime of friendship keeping this massive secret from her? It won’t go away, my love. It will fester and fester and eat at you for as long as you know her.”

He doesn’t have a good reply to that.

“Jacaerys, I spent twenty years pining after my best friend — so long that I had time to marry, have three children, and divorce. I spent years and years suffocating in regret, because I missed my chance to tell her and build a life. I got another chance, which is very rare, and it was no less scary that time. But, I knew that if I didn’t go for it then I would never have the opportunity to live the life I had spent my entire adolescence dreaming of,” Rhaenyra sighs, “My sweet boy, don’t let this slip away because you’re afraid.” 

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, he thinks. 

When you accompany him home for summer break, hand in hand, it's with a new depth to your relationship. ‘Tis better to have loved.

tags<3 @one-big-fangirl

check out my event ! ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

[elix8r]

Monkey Bars (sjy) Part 2

PART ONE

PAIRING: jake sim x fem!reader

GENRES: smut, angst (so much in this part), college au, frat au, enemies to lovers, exes to lovers

WARNINGS (for this part): profanity, underage drinking, violence, depression, so much slut shaming, kind of toxic relationship?, lots of crying and emotions, mentions of sex tape, unprotected sex, fingering, soft sex, victim blaming

SUMMARY: Jake Sim was like the epitome of the perfect fourth-grade boyfriend. He had it all – being a year older automatically put him on the cool list (which in turn also boosted your popularity), genuinely kind, and very cute. But then, the earth-shattering truth that he was a two-timing cheater hit you like a ton of bricks. You caught him red-handed, holding another girl's hand and it devastated you beyond measure. So of course, in your nine-year-old mind, there was only one deserving punishment – a forceful push off the monkey bars during recess, resulting in a broken arm. 

And so, the battle lines were drawn. You and Jake became sworn enemies, a feud that carried on even into college. You saw him as a total fuckboy who always knew how to get under your skin, while he saw you as a snobby bitch who thought she was better than everyone else. But fate, in its twisted sense of humor, had other plans. Out of a class brimming with a hundred other possibilities, it was Jake who ended up being your assigned partner. 

Clearly, the world had favorites and you weren’t on that list.

WORD COUNT: 18.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i know it’s been almost a year since the first part came out and so much has happened since then but seriously thank you to everyone who waited patiently for this it really means so much to me that this story was loved as much as it was and i hope this last part doesn’t disappoint! seriously love you guys so much and enjoy! 🫶

THE FRAT DIARIES MASTERLIST

GLOSSARY

You didn’t really know how the rest of the weekend went. In fact, you weren’t even sure what day of the week it was, but honestly, that was the least of your worries. Since Friday, you had been holed up in your room, refusing to leave your bed. After running out of the bar, it was as if you lost all your memory. You had a hard time recollecting everything when you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and swollen eyes.

According to Wonyoung, when she and Lily followed you out, you were in a state of absolute hysteria, hunched over on the streets, and dry heaving. Niki and Jungwon had stayed behind, and while you were trying to get away, Jungwon had apparently threw a punch, resulting in both of them getting kicked out. But neither of them cared. They came out of the bar seething with anger, not only with how the three boys treated you but also with the realization of what one of their own brothers had done to you. It was as if your body shut down, and Niki ultimately had to carry you back to your dorm. Since then, you haven't left the comfort of your bed.

Throughout the weekend, Wonyoung made sure you were left alone and took charge of your phone, shielding you from any more heartbreaking news. She couldn't bring herself to disclose the truth to you, knowing that what you had assumed was indeed true, and the reality was even more devastating than she had feared. A video was circulating, spreading like wildfire, and it seemed that a large portion of the school had already gotten ahold of it.

Your best friend had also held back in revealing that she had marched over to Epsilon Nu after tucking you in on Friday night and ended up getting AES banned from the EpNu house for the rest of the semester. None of your sisters seemed to care though as they were quick to stand in solidarity with you and wanted no association with their former brother fraternity. In fact, Yeji (AES’ President) had called an emergency meeting the next morning, which you were obviously absent from, to address the severity of this situation and how no one was to engage with the fraternity for the remainder of the semester. Once again, none of your sorority sisters seemed to protest as they all praised Wonyoung for the actions she had taken.

Wonyoung was never one for violence, but upon discovering what Jake had done to you, her sister, best friend, and soulmate, she felt an overwhelming need for him to face the consequences. Jungwon, of course, did his best to reason with her, urging her not to make any rash decisions, but Niki stood firmly in support of Wonyoung's impending actions.

Jake had just put the final touches on your shared project before submitting it when his door was forcefully thrown open. Jay, startled from his slumber on the other side of the room, was bewildered but still groggy. Jake, however, recognized the situation the moment he saw Wonyoung's face twisted in absolute fury. He was too slow to react as she delivered a resounding slap across his cheek, setting off a chain of chaos. Jay was now fully awakened as Jungwon tried to restrain Wonyoung, and Niki stood in the doorway, glaring at Jake. Despite Jungwon's efforts, Wonyoung effortlessly broke free from his grasp and landed a solid punch on Jake’s face, causing him to be met with a searingly painful sensation. The commotion attracted the attention of several of his fraternity brothers, who rushed over to assess the situation. The sight that greeted them was far from what they had anticipated.

Jay and Jungwon struggled to hold back Wonyoung, who had turned feral, screaming and attempting to break free in order to continue her assault on the boy now bleeding on the floor. Jake made no attempt to fight back or escape; he simply absorbed the blows, unable to meet anyone's gaze as guilt washed over him. He knew that once the truth about his actions became known to everyone, he would be left with nothing.

It took the combined effort of about five boys to finally restrain Wonyoung, but by then, the entire house had caught wind of the incident through her passionate outbursts. The piercing looks Jake received from his fraternity brothers only intensified his overwhelming sense of shame. He was immediately summoned into Heeseung's room for an impromptu meeting to address the situation.

"What the actual fuck, Jake!" Heeseung's disbelief was eclipsed by his anger. While Jake had always been one of the more unruly members of the fraternity, this crossed a line that even Heeseung couldn't fathom.

Jake pressed a towel to his still-bleeding nose, remaining silent with his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ so you’re just not going to say anything?” Heeseung scoffed at Jake’s lack of response as he paced around his room. Then, the door opened revealing Taehyun who was in charge of risk management. He entered in silence as he eyed Jake before turning to Heeseung. 

“Soobin thinks you should call Yeji. Wonyoung’s having to be guarded by like five people. She’s crazy like she just yanked Sunghoon by his hair and threw him across the room like he was nothing, it was actually insane. The guys are kind of scared, what do you want me to do?” Taehyun’s normally big eyes were even wider as he informed EpNu’s president of their current situation. 

Heeseung, obviously stressed, exhaled really loudly and combed through his hair. “I’ll handle her and I’m calling Yeji right now. Can you take care of him? I’ll send Yeonjun up to help.” He shot Jake one last look before leaving. 

After Heeseung departed, the room fell into an eerie silence. In contrast to Heeseung's exasperation, Taehyun remained ominously quiet as he took a seat at Heeseung's desk. His unwavering stare fixed on Jake, and as mentioned earlier, Taehyun had a menacing aura when angered, which sent waves of terror through Jake.

"Is it true? What Wonyoung is accusing you of?" Taehyun's voice was cold, devoid of any sympathy for the bleeding boy.

Jake finally mustered the courage to meet Taehyun's gaze. Every fiber of his being urged him to avert his eyes, yet this time he decided to speak up. "Kind of."

Taehyun scoffed, unsatisfied with his response. "What the fuck does that mean? It's a yes or no question."

As Jake opened his mouth to reply, the door burst open, revealing a tall figure. Unlike Taehyun's icy glare, Yeonjun exuded an entirely different energy. He appeared visibly angered. "Did you fucking do it?"

"He says he 'kind of' did it, whatever that means," Taehyun informed the older male, rolling his eyes in Jake's direction.

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes, casting his gaze downward at Jake, both literally and figuratively, as he stood towering over him while Jake remained seated on the bed. "Alright, then what does that mean?"

Jake felt as though he was trapped in an interrogation room, suffocating under the weight of their scrutinizing stares. "I didn't intentionally share the videos. Some of the guys got hold of them and sent them in a groupchat to everyone during practice."

"So it's not your fault that they were leaked, then?" Yeonjun probed further, his confusion evident as he questioned why Jake bore a guilty expression.

Jake let out a heavy sigh before finally confessing, "Yeah, it's not entirely my fault when the videos first leaked, but I didn't do enough to shut it down. I don't know what came over me, but they kept pushing me to show more, and then Jeongin said some things that angered me, so I ended up giving them what they wanted. I thought they would drop it after that, but instead, they started treating me like some sort of god or something, and my ego got the better of me, so I let it continue. Even at that moment, I knew it was messed up, but for some reason, I couldn't stop myself. I just never expected them to confront her about it."

As Taehyun and Yeonjun absorbed Jake's explanation, their demeanors shifted dramatically. Taehyun stood up, seething with anger as Jake finished speaking. "You didn't think they would go after her and harass her about it? Are you seriously that fucking naive? They literally witnessed her most intimate moments, so of course, they targeted her! Unlike us, girls are constantly slut-shamed even for being even the slightest sexual!"

Taehyun practically screamed at Jake, unable to comprehend how he could have been so oblivious to the consequences his actions would have on you. Taehyun struggled to restrain himself from physically attacking Jake, his rage barely contained.

"Jesus, Jake. Taehyun is right. What the fuck were you thinking? Did you ever stop to consider Y/N? Fuck, man. Now you're going to face the repercussions of all this because you’ve really crossed the line this time." As the words of his friends echoed in his mind, Jake couldn't help but long for a chance to turn back time and undo everything.

3 days ago…

When Jake handed his unlocked phone to Eric and Jeongin so they could add their orders to the team's food delivery, he hadn't considered that they would have full access to his phone. He should have sensed trouble when he noticed them laughing loudly in the corner of the locker room. But it wasn't until he heard the sound of text notifications coming from nearby phones that he frowned, realizing the messages were from their group chat.

Reactions varied among the team. Some huddled together, laughing, while others stared at him with varying degrees of confusion, disgust, and amusement. It wasn't until Jisung approached him, asking if he had intended to send the video, that Jake's confusion deepened. Then he heard a familiar sound emanating from a nearby phone, and it dawned on him what had happened. Jake immediately stormed toward them, ready to unleash his anger for invading his privacy and sharing his private videos. But before he could even open his mouth, Jeongin beat him to the punch.

"Jesus, Jake. She doesn't even look like she's enjoying it. I mean look at you. Like this is kind of embarrassing. Clearly having a high body count means nothing by the way you’re fucking."

Jeongin and Jake had never had a good relationship, stemming from an incident during Jake's freshman year when he unknowingly slept with Jeongin's (now ex) girlfriend. Since then, Jeongin had harbored animosity toward Jake, and Jake wasn't about to let him win this time. Without thinking, he did the only thing he believed could counter Jeongin's words.

In an escalating frenzy, Jake's teammates gathered around him as he sat on one of the benches, pulling up a more recent video of the two of you having sex. The explicit video played, filling the locker room with the sound of your loud moans as you sported a fucked out expression while Jake wrapped his free hand tightly around your neck. It became evident, through the videos Jake displayed, that Jeongin had been mistaken. However, Jake hadn't considered the consequences of defending his ego. In his attempt to assert himself, he inadvertently exposed you to a vulnerable position. The initial high he experienced over the following days gradually faded as he came to terms with the gravity of his actions. Furthermore, he had forgotten about the widespread distribution of the videos. Before he could even begin to address his mistakes, it seemed that everything had already spiraled out of control.

While Jungwon had been the first to intervene between Jake and Wonyoung, it wasn't out of concern for Jake's well-being. He was actually holding Wonyoung back to prevent her from getting into trouble. He couldn't care less about Jake right now after all that had happened tonight, and he was relieved that Jake wasn't his big as this situation could have been even more devastating. Instead, he was stuck with the fool on the other side of the room, pathetically nursing his head (Jungwon was sure Sunghoon was actually crying), while Jay inspected it to ensure that Wonyoung hadn't actually scalped him. Still, he would prefer Sunghoon any day over Jake—poor Niki.

However, Jungwon had to admit that his girlfriend was quite terrifying when she was angry. His gaze drifted over to the head-shaped hole in the living room wall, a result of Sunghoon's head being smashed into it by Wonyoung. She had also kicked poor innocent Huening Kai in the stomach during her attempts to break free, and Sunoo appeared disheveled and exhausted from his own encounter with her that he narrowly escaped unscathed. Since then, Wonyoung had calmed down significantly, but everyone remained on guard as if she were a rabid dog that could unpredictably go wild again.

When Heeseung finally entered the living room after informing Yeji of the incident at the house, he took in the scene before him. It almost resembled a battlefield, with everyone tending to their wounds. In any other situation, he might have found it somewhat amusing, but right now, he had too much on his plate to find humor in it.

"Hey Wonyoung, Jungwon, and Niki, can we talk? The rest of you can go back to sleep. I'll speak with you guys in the morning," he addressed the three individuals who were present at the bar. Each of them displayed a range of emotions, with Wonyoung's anger being the most apparent on her face.

Jungwon and Niki nodded in agreement, while Wonyoung seemed unwilling to move from her spot on the couch. With some coaxing from her boyfriend, however, she reluctantly got up and followed them.

The four of them entered the kitchen for more privacy, and Heeseung let out a sigh before delivering the news. "I just spoke with Yeji, and unfortunately, due to the violence you showed towards multiple brothers tonight, AES will be banned from the house until the end of the semester. I’m sorry and I want to let you know that this isn’t at all what I wanted cause I know the reasons behind your actions, but I can’t go against the rules. We'll have time to discuss what will happen next during the break."

Wonyoung couldn't care less about the news. In fact, she was relieved that none of her sisters would have to come into contact with Jake.

"I need to talk to you three about what happened at the bar. I'll be having a more detailed conversation with Jake, but I want to know the full extent of what occurred," Heeseung's voice was stern, and it was perhaps the most serious Jungwon and Niki had ever seen their president.

"It was just three assholes who approached us while we were out and started harassing Y/N. She had no idea what they were talking about, and they assumed Jake had already shown us videos. He obviously hadn’t though so we were confused, but they were so fucking disrespectful towards her," Niki recounted, his brows furrowed and a look of disgust on his face as he recalled the degrading treatment his friend had endured.

This was exactly what Heeseung had feared, as he didn't know if any of the Epsilon Nu boys were involved in the incident. "I'll have to conduct a thorough investigation with Taehyun and Yeonjun over the next week to ensure that no one else was involved. Niki, I know you're Jake's little, and he may not have mentioned this to you, but it doesn't mean he hasn't discussed it with Jay, Sunghoon, or any of the other guys."

Wonyoung's face twisted in anger at Heeseung's words. The mere possibility that some of the EpNu boys could have been involved only fueled her diminishing fury. "Heeseung, I swear, if you find out that Jake had been showing those videos to the boys, I won't give a shit about your stupid fucking ban. I will kill them," she declared, her threat laced with genuine conviction. Wonyoung meant every word. Too many of her loved ones were connected to the boys of EpNu, and if she discovered any of them had prior knowledge of Jake's actions, she would unleash her wrath upon them without hesitation.

Heeseung understood the gravity of Wonyoung's words, knowing full well what she was capable of especially after tonight. He simply nodded silently. "It's getting late, Wonyoung. You should go back to your dorm," he sighed, rubbing his head in exasperation before he addressed her once again, this time expressing his remorse. "And I'm sorry about what Jake did to Y/N. I can't even begin to imagine what she's going through. I understand why you did what you did tonight. I'm not supposed to praise you for punching Jake, and I truly am not, but I want you to know that he will face the consequences he deserves."

His words hung heavily in the air as the three of them absorbed their weight, comprehending its significance and the gravity of Jake's actions. Wonyoung locked eyes with Heeseung, scrutinizing them to ensure he wasn't lying. Satisfied with what she saw, she gave him a firm nod and finally made her way out of the house, with Jungwon following closely behind.

By the following morning, before the sun had even risen, news of the incident had spread among your sorority sisters like wildfire. Their anger surpassed any imaginable limit, prompting many of them to march down to the EpNu house, demanding to confront Jake. Unfortunately, their attempts were in vain, leaving them to seek alternative means of seeking justice for their sister.

Winter, true to her earlier threat, didn't back down. Unable to physically harm Jake, she devised a different plan to inflict pain. With the assistance of Giselle, the sorority's Vice President of Public Relations, they composed an exposé letter, which was then published on AES' public Instagram account, boasting a substantial following of 10k. The letter called out Jake by his full name and provided enough details, carefully avoiding disclosing your identity as the victim, to shed light on his actions. Its publication sparked a significant reaction within the HybeU community, with all the sisters reposting the letter. This, in turn, flooded Jake's and EpNu's social media accounts with a deluge of hate comments, reaching such an overwhelming level that they had to disable their comments section a letter of their own in response. 

Monday arrived, and it came as no surprise that both you and Jake were absent from campus. Your friends managed to coax you out of bed for some breakfast, but the weight of the situation hit you hard as you tearfully picked at your pancakes. Despite the comforting hugs from your friends, the overwhelming sense of shame and regret still consumed you.

Lying on Winter's bed at the AES house, with Wonyoung across from you on her own big's bed, you felt a sense of solace in their presence. It was a natural occurrence for the four of you to hang out like this, given that your bigs were also best friends.

Winter broke the silence with a question, "Have you considered actually taking legal action?"

Honestly, amidst the chaos of dealing with the invasion of your privacy and its fallout, the idea of seeking retribution against Jake hadn't crossed your mind. While you were aware of the intense public scrutiny and the ostracization Jake was facing due to the public outing by your sorority and friends, you had barely had a moment to think about anything beyond handling the aftermath.

"No, not really," you replied, your brows furrowing in thought. "I mean, is there even anything I could report him to the police for?"

"You should, there's bound to be something they could charge him with. Like, at the very least for invasion of privacy, right?" Wonyoung's eyes widened with seriousness as she sat up from her bed, interjecting into the conversation.

Wonyoung’s big nodded in agreement with her little, "Yeah, there's definitely legal grounds for action. This whole situation is fucked up, and there's no way he should get off this easily."

You let out a sigh, feeling a headache starting to form at the mere thought of the complex legalities involved. "It's just so complicated. Plus, haven't we heard enough stories of things like this happening to girls, and even when they speak up, the police don't do anything? It's like I'd have to go through all this with no guarantee of justice at the end."

"There's no fucking way Jake's getting away with this. I mean, sure, everyone's hating on him right now, but give it time. After the break, they'll move on, and he'll be back to his normal life like he didn't just violate you. Meanwhile, you're gonna be forever stuck knowing those assholes have videos of you in your most vulnerable state. It's just not right," Winter vented, frustration evident in her tone. The idea of Jake seemingly escaping consequences fueled an indescribable anger within everyone present.

“Does the school know?” Winter’s roommate asked.

You shrugged in response, "I'm not sure, maybe? AES' post blew up, so it might've caught the attention of the administrators. But if they know anything, they haven't said anything about it."

"Okay, well then let's make sure they know. They'll be obligated to take action if you file an official complaint. We have proof and everything, so if they don't do something, the backlash will be insane," Wonyoung declared, already in action as she reached for her computer to draft the email.

"Wait, wait, wait. I'm not so sure about this," you interjected, your mind suddenly conflicted.

"What do you mean?" Winter chimed in, puzzled by your hesitation.

"I..." You hesitated, struggling to articulate the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "What if he gets like expelled?"

Wonyoung's big wore a baffled expression. "What do you mean 'if he gets expelled'? That's what he deserves! He probably deserves that and more."

The girls nodded in agreement, but your emotions were in turmoil, and you couldn't pinpoint why you weren't fully on board with delivering the harshest punishment to Jake. It felt utterly stupid; you knew you deserved justice for everythin he put you through, yet you couldn't shake the discomfort of potentially derailing his entire future.

"I don't know, I need time to think about this. I appreciate it, but give me some time," you said, offering them a tight smile that betrayed your inner turmoil. With that, you gathered your things and headed for the door. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

The rest of the day unfolded in the library, where you desperately tried to catch up on missed classes and prepare for looming finals. Yet, your grades felt like the least of your worries as your mind continuously circled back to the revenge plan your friends had suggested. The desire for retribution burned within you, but something held you back. 

Frustrated and overwhelmed, you sighed heavily and rested your head on the table, closing your eyes in an attempt to alleviate the pounding headache. However, as you lay there, you couldn't ignore the faint whispering emanating from behind the bookshelves nearby.

"That's her, right?" The hushed voices reached your ears, stirring a sense of unease within you.

"Yeah, it's definitely her. I've seen her at one of those EpNu parties, always with her little clique. That sorority thinks they're hot shit, but turns out they're just dirty sluts. I mean apparently she’s been run through by most of that frat," one voice remarked, failing miserably at keeping their tone down.

Your heart sank as you realized they were talking about you, and the other voice chimed in just as indiscreetly, "I'm not surprised. I heard even before her sex tape got leaked that she had a foursome with Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay. So, it’s probably true."

A heavy lump formed in your throat as you struggled to contain the surge of emotions welling up inside you. Clenching your jaw to stifle the rising anger, you continued to lie there, desperate to hear more of their conversation. It fucking hurt, but you wanted to know what people were saying about you.

"What a fucking whore. Isn't she embarrassed? I remember crying when I didn't get asked back to AES during rush, but now I'm so glad, 'cause they're probably all like her. So much for being a ‘top house’," the voices continued, each word feeling like a dagger to your heart. 

"Yeah, I’m gonna take not getting into AES as a blessing in disguise. It seems like they only go after sluts, super fucking classy. I'd be mortified if I were her parents. Did you see her trying to play the victim card? Apparently Jake's getting all the blame, but that's bullshit because she clearly played a part in making those videos," the girl's disdain dripped from her words.

"Ugh, yeah, I kind of feel sorry for him. Everyone's been treating him like shit and icing him out, but what about her? That video was disgusting; the stuff they were doing were insane, and she looked so proud of it. It's gross," the other girl chimed in, their voices laced with mockery as they burst into giggles.

Unable to bear another moment of their cruel gossip, you abruptly gathered your belongings, stuffing them into your bag, and stormed out of the library, your emotions raw and turmoil consuming your thoughts.

Was this how people saw you now? You didn't even know them, yet they felt entitled to make all sorts of assumptions about you. The weight of their cruel assumptions pressed down on you, leaving you reeling with a mix of anger and hurt. As you waited for the bus, you clenched your fists, willing yourself to hold back the tears threatening to spill. You were beyond pissed off, and any lingering hesitation about going after Jake's academic career evaporated in an instant.

The moment you stepped into your dorm, you wasted no time in grabbing your laptop, your fingers flying across the keyboard as you poured your emotions into a lengthy email to the administration.

Jake was going to fucking pay—no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Jake emerged from a private meeting with Heeseung and Yeonjun, feeling a profound sense of dissapointment and carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders. The repercussions of his actions had cast Epsilon Nu under intense scrutiny for the past few days, particularly due to the widespread awareness created by your sorority's Instagram post. The executive members of Epsilon Nu were in a frenzy, working tirelessly to address and rectify the fallout caused by Jake's behavior. It was abundantly clear to everyone involved that distancing the fraternity from Jake, at least for the time being, was not only necessary but also non-negotiable.

Fortunately for Jake, his membership as an Epsilon Nu brother hadn't been terminated, although he knew that many of the boys would probably have preferred that outcome. Heeseung explained that since the incident wasn't directly linked to the fraternity, they didn't have grounds to kick him out, but he had been placed on probation instead.

Despite the leniency shown, being an Epsilon Nu had been a source of pride for Jake so with the official announcement of his probation until the end of the school year, he felt a profound sense of loss and disorientation. The consequences he faced were still significant, as he was stripped of his participation in any EpNu coordinated events and denied the opportunity to reside at the house for the remainder of the year. Additionally, he was prohibited from wearing or engaging in anything that associated him with the fraternity during his probationary period. Still Yeonjun made sure to emphasize how lucky he was to not be kicked out and how they would allow him to live in the house until the semester ended due to it only being a couple weeks away.

He had of course anticipated some form of punishment from his fraternity, but what he hadn't expected was an email from the Dean’s Office sitting in his inbox. As he opened it and read its contents, his heart sank and what felt like panic started to creep up. He was summoned to meet with the Dean the following day to discuss his actions and the disciplinary measures the school intended to take. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he contemplated the impending consequences of his actions. 

While he wasn’t the exact person who had sent out the videos, there still was proof that it came from his phone. Plus, he was a willing participant in showing more content to his teammates and overall did nothing to shut any of it down. So of course, the next morning as he was sat in front of the Dean, he was sweating nervously with anxiety coursing through him at a rapid pace. 

The Dean wore a stern expression and barely acknowledged Jake's entrance, engrossed in the paperwork before him. A heavy silence hung in the room until the Dean let out a loud sigh, removed his glasses, and finally locked eyes with Jake.

"Mr. Sim, we are here today due to a troubling letter I received from one of your classmates, containing serious accusations against you. Upon an investigation by the university, it has come to light that you not only played a significant role in this incident but that it has gained significant public attention. In fact, even President Bang is now aware of the situation," the Dean stated, causing Jake's anxiety to intensify. The thought of the President knowing about his actions made him feel sick.

Without offering respite, the Dean continued, "This puts the university in an extremely difficult position, as it highlights our failure to protect our students. Consequently, certain actions need to be taken regarding your standing here. After thorough deliberation, the council and I have decided to place you on probation. This means you can continue attending classes but will be suspended from all other activities. I have already been made aware of your current status from your fraternity and must inform you that you will also be suspended from the soccer team until the next season. Your probation period will extend until the next academic year. Any further policy violations may result in suspension or even expulsion. Additionally, this disciplinary action will be recorded on your academic record, which may impact your future pursuits. While you have the right to appeal this decision, Mr. Sim, I must emphasize that the evidence against you is substantial, casting doubt on the success of your appeal."

Being a student at Hybe University had been Jake's lifelong dream, and now he found himself in a position that he never could have imagined himself in. The consequences he faced far exceeded anything he had ever imagined. He had risked everything for the mere approval of his teammates (ones that he honestly didn’t even care that much about), and the realization left him feeling utterly devastated.

"I should also mention that we have received additional information from one of your teammates who was present at the incident, providing details about other individuals involved. They too will face consequences for their actions. Know that we are taking this matter extremely seriously. By winter break, your parents alongside Y/N’s will be sent a letter fully disclosing everything that I discussed with you today to ensure that they are made aware of your status along with everything else. That will be all, and I expect to see you again at the end of your probation period." The Dean seemed unwilling to entertain any further discussion, promptly escorting Jake out after delivering the news.

Feeling numb and overwhelmed, Jake struggled to comprehend the gravity of his situation as he made his way back to the house. It was a profound realization that not only was he in disfavor with the school, but he had also lost his position as a soccer player. A series of poor choices had completely upended his life. While he understood that he would still be able to attend classes and, once his probation period ended, could potentially return to his fraternity and the soccer team, he couldn't shake the feeling that things would never be the same. The possibility of holding a leadership position within Epsilon Nu now seemed out of reach, and the dream of becoming team captain had evaporated. 

Amidst all the turmoil, Jake was also dealing with the dread of having to return back to the EpNu house. However, he had no other options; it was the only place he could go. What was once a sanctuary now felt like a confining prison he was compelled to enter.

Since Friday night, Jake had been met with glares and stony silence. He was only spoken to when necessary, and his presence seemed an unwelcomed one. Some of the guys didn't hesitate to voice their opinions and disgust towards him, while others acted as if he didn't exist at all. He wasn't sure which was worse. It hurt, but he knew he had brought it upon himself. He had no right to expect sympathy from his brothers after what he had done.

Jay had resorted to crashing in different rooms, avoiding any proximity with Jake while Sunghoon (who had been concussed during Wonyoung's attack) was outright ignoring him. Even Niki, who used to stick by his side everywhere, was distancing himself and seeking solace in the company of other fraternity members. Jake couldn't blame them; he knew a simple apology wouldn't solve anything this time. The Epsilon Nu boys were rightfully bitter and upset. They now had to face the wrath of the rest of the student body for their association with Jake, and they knew rebuilding their reputation would be an uphill battle.

Despite the circumstances, the EpNu boys stood by your side. While they knew Jake's actions weren't their responsibility, they continued to show their remorse through various gestures. When you returned back to your dorm, you were greeted with an abundance of flowers and baskets filled with your favorite treats, all signed by Epsilon Nu. Yeji had mentioned that the flowers had also been sent to the house as well. Some of Jake's closest friends, such as Niki, Sunghoon, Jay, and even Heeseung, even personally approached you to express their apologies and accompanied you to your classes to make sure you weren’t being harassed by anyone. However, while you appreciated their efforts, you knew that nothing could erase the pain you still felt.

"Jesus, this morning I even woke up to Jay screaming because Taehyun apparently stepped on him while trying to go to the bathroom! I mean, what did he expect from sleeping on the floor?" Beomgyu ranted about the changed dynamics within the EpNu house since Jake's probation was revealed. Jay had been avoiding Jake by crashing in either Beomgyu and Taehyun's room or Sunghoon's every night.

With finals week approaching, you finally decided to take up Beomgyu's offer to study together. It was quite different from your study sessions with Jake, where you would mostly study in silence and occasionally seek help from each other. Instead, you and Beomgyu seemed to prioritize chatting with your textbooks mostly on the back burner. Since the whole STD incident, you had actually become quite good friends with Beomgyu. He was kind and funny not to mention quite easy on the eyes so his presence in your life was a welcomed change. He was also one of the first to reach out to you, expressing his disgust at what Jake had done and trying to cheer you up. 

"Poor Jay, at this point, wouldn't it be best to just kick Jake out of the house? I mean, he won't even be living there when January rolls around." You were fully aware of Jake's status with his fraternity and the school, and while you should technically be happy with his punishment, the anticipated joy never surfaced. Instead, you were still engulfed in feelings of betrayal and hurt.

"That's exactly what I'm saying! None of us want him around, and the whole vibe in the house is fucked up now. I mean he’s probably going to fail all his classes cause he doesn't even seem to be attending any so he might as well just move back home." Beomgyu's eyes sparked with frustration as he voiced his concerns. Although he had already been on shaky terms with Jake, even after his apology, Beomgyu now believed that their relationship had an extremely slim chance of returning to how it was at the beginning of the year.

"Ugh, I'm so sorry, Beomgyu. It's terrible that all of you guys have to deal with this." You genuinely empathized with the boys. While you had been the main victim in Jake's actions, there was no denying that everyone around him had also been affected.

As soon as Beomgyu heard your words, he quickly shook his head in disagreement. "Y/N, I told you it's not your fault! Seriously, stop blaming yourself for this." You knew he was right, but despite that, tears welled up in your eyes, and you realized that the guilt you felt wouldn't disappear anytime soon.

In the bustling atmosphere of the cafe, you sniffled and looked down at your lap, hoping to stop the tears. However, Beomgyu reached out and gently took your hand in his, causing you to look back up at him. "I know you've been saying that you're doing a bit better now, but I can't imagine it being that easy. This isn't something you can just get over in an instant. You've known him your whole life, and I know your relationship was rough. But that doesn't mean the pain will be any less."

A tear escaped as it streamed down your face while you absorbed his words. He was right—things weren't okay, and the journey to healing would be long and challenging. But you had no choice but to move forward.

"I know you're closer to Wonyoung and Winter, and you have the support of your other sisters, but I genuinely mean it when I say that I'm here for you. Plus, it seems like your skills in physics are even worse than I thought, so I'm sure you'll need my help." True to Beomgyu's nature, he effortlessly made you burst into laughter amidst your tears. You knew this was his way of trying to cheer you up and it was working.

"Thank you, seriously." You expressed your gratitude sincerely, sharing a smile with him. His words, even if only a little, warmed your heart.

The rest of your study session went as before, with both of you laughing and attempting to get some work done. The joyful mood continued even as Beomgyu walked you back to your dorm after deciding to call it a day. However, the moment you reached the steps of your dorm, the atmosphere quickly changed.

From a distance, you could see a figure sitting at the bottom of the stairs leading to the entrance. As you approached, your anxiety grew, and you realized who it was.

"Oh, fuck no." Beomgyu seemed equally unamused by the unexpected encounter. Jake looked up as he heard footsteps approaching.

Immediately, Beomgyu stepped in front of you, attempting to shield you from Jake. Though partially blocked, you caught a glimpse of him. While you couldn't recall exactly how he looked the last time you saw him, you knew for sure that he didn't look nearly as bad as he did now. You almost couldn’t recognize him as his usual smirk and playful glimmer in his eyes were now no longer able to be found and instead replaced with sunken features that made him look as if he hadn’t slept for days. 

"Hey, guys..." Jake didn't know what else to say. He hadn't expected to see Beomgyu with you, and he instantly knew that talking to you seemed even more impossible.

He took a step forward but was quickly stopped as Beomgyu pushed him back with his free hand while still holding you protectively behind him. "What the actual fuck do you think you're doing here?"

Even from behind, you could sense Beomgyu's anger vibrating in his voice. You, too, felt shaken, but for different reasons. Panic was creeping in, now familiar friends of yours since you were sure they seemed to be visiting you more frequently since the discovery of the leaked videos.

"Y/N..." Jake's voice called out your name, and you felt nauseous.

"No, seriously, dude, what the fuck are you doing here? Are you that fucking stupid? Do you think it's okay to just show up here and what? Ambush her into talking to you? Haven't you already done enough?" Beomgyu yelled angrily at Jake. 

"Please, just let me talk to her." Jake's voice softened in contrast to Beomgyu's, and he sounded almost desperate. He knew coming here might not have been the wisest decision, but he didn't know what else to do.

By now, you were nearly dissociating from reality, trying to control your breathing, but it felt futile. You realized you would have to face him at some point, but you didn't expect it to be so soon. You felt blindsided and unprepared.

"Jesus Christ, Jake, leave her alone! She doesn't want to talk to you, and the least you can do is respect her wishes." Beomgyu felt on the brink of losing control, restraining himself from confronting Jake physically. Seeing him at the EpNu house was one thing but seeing him here seemed to have ignited something in Beomgyu. 

"Fuck, Y/N, please. I'm sorry, please." Jake was on the verge of tears, desperately trying to convey his words to you while Beomgyu continued to push him away. Couldn’t he understand? You couldn't bear it any longer.

"Go away, please." Your voice was soft and broken as tears streamed down your face. You just wished for anything to happen, anything to help you escape this nightmare of a reality you were experiencing.

Your voice sounded weak, almost shattered, as Jake heard you softly crying. It felt as though his heart was breaking under the weight of a thousand pounds, and he wished he could vanish. At that moment, Jake realized he had committed the most heinous act, not only against anyone but against the girl he loved.

Fortunately, before the situation could escalate further, your RA, Renjun, intervened after hearing the commotion from inside the dorm lobby. Upon seeing Jake, he threatened to call campus security, prompting Jake to dejectedly retreat back to the house with one last glance in your direction.

In a state of panic, you were quickly ushered into your room, where Wonyoung sprang into action, doing her best to tend to you. Without the chance to bid Beomgyu goodbye or express gratitude to Renjun, who was currently contacting campus security to request increased dorm security, you collapsed onto your bed, completely drained from the overwhelming emotions coursing through your body.

Jake seemed to have complied with your wishes since that night, as you hadn't heard a single peep from him for the next couple of weeks until school ended. He even skipped the mandatory Relationship 101 class, but honestly, you couldn't care less about whether he passed or not. You were just relieved that your project was completed before everything unraveled. In truth, you were excited that the semester had finally ended and you could escape this toxic environment and go back home. It was disheartening to witness the campus you once adored being tarnished by Jake's actions, which had caused you immense anxiety. This break was much needed.

However, amidst the chaos of managing school, rebuilding your reputation, and working through the emotional aftermath of the incident, you had completely forgotten about how your parents would react when you returned home. It was naive of you to assume they wouldn't find out about what had happened given the scale of the situation. Now, here you were, confronted by your family's intense outrage, more specifically your father’s.

"To think that we raised our daughters alongside that bastard disgusts me! How many times have we welcomed the Sims into our home? I can't understand how you're staying so calm about this. He violated our baby! I can't handle this; I'm going over there right now to make sure he knows he will not get away with this and we will be pressing charges!" Currently, your entire family was trying to restrain your father from actually committing murder on an unsuspecting Jake, who lived just a few blocks away.

"Dad, no! Oh my god, stop!" You shouted at him, joining your sisters and mother in their desperate attempts to prevent him from leaving the house. This level of anger was uncharacteristic of your usually even-tempered father, but you understood why he was so furious. After all, Jake had harmed his precious daughter, not to mention the youngest.

"Dad, please, let's think this through first!" Your eldest sister, Jennie, usually level-headed, firmly pleaded. While everyone in your family had every right to be angry, resorting to violence wouldn't solve anything—it would only escalate the situation.

"Honey, listen to the girls, please. The school has already informed us about the actions they're taking against him. He won't get away with it. I'm furious too, I mean he’s the son of one of my best friends, but acting out won't help Y/N. Let's take a moment to calm down before we discuss this further," your mother, though seething with anger, managed to handle the situation better than your father.

"But that's not enough! I mean I can’t even imagine the extent of humiliation the boy put our daughter through!" Flames still flickered in your father's eyes as he yelled out, but his body came to a halt, no longer headed for the front door.

"Mom's right, Dad. Having your photo splashed all over the news because you ended up murdering Jake won't help Y/N at all," Rosé’s words seemed to finally resonate with your father, causing him to turn back towards the living room. He let out a deep sigh of frustration before taking a moment to collect himself. Clearly, he was still angry, but he knew that his rash actions would do nothing but more harm to your already delicate situation. 

You could see right through your father; it was evident how utterly heartbroken he was beneath all the rage. He couldn't help but direct some of his anger towards himself for not being able to protect his baby girl. With gentle steps, you approached your father, who was hunched over on the couch. You knew that no words could alleviate his suffering, so you simply embraced him in a tight hug, offering a silent gesture of comfort and support.

Thanks to Jake, it felt like he had even managed to rob you of your winter break, the one thing you had hoped would provide a sense of normalcy. Since the first day back, your family had been making an effort to avoid bringing up anything that would make you uncomfortable while still trying to maintain the holiday spirit you were all too familiar with, but something felt off. Despite your parents' repeated emphasis that none of this was your fault, you couldn't help but still feel an overwhelming sense of shame, especially now that they were aware of the relationship you had with Jake and the extent of what you had allowed him to do to you. It was already embarrassing enough that your parents knew about your sex life, but to have them informed by the school about the sex tapes you had made with their best friend's child added a whole new level of humiliation. 

As expected, the usual Christmas dinner between your family and Jake's family wasn't happening this year. It was clear that the incident had strained the relationship your mother had with his, causing a noticeable rift between them. While Jake's family had expressed sincere apologies for their son's actions, you knew that rebuilding the close bond they once had would be a difficult task for everyone involved. 

However, what truly caused you the most internal struggle was the conflicting feelings you seemed to have toward Jake. Yes, you were still undeniably angry and upset with him, but a small part of you kept nagging at the back of your mind, making you think about him. The image of his absolutely worn-down look during your last encounter haunted you. It was a side of Jake you had never seen before – so broken and vulnerable, and it bothered you. Was he genuinely feeling guilt for everything he caused you to go through, or was it just a facade to deal with the consequences of his actions? You berated yourself for even having these thoughts, but they were hard to ignore. 

Despite not considering each other friends, the progress made in your relationship during the semester had surprised you. The glimpses of a different side to Jake had almost made you proud of the changes the two of you were seemingly making. So, to witness everything crumble away was painful. It seemed as though, against your better judgment, you had developed some level of care for Jake, and amid all the pain you were going through, you couldn't help but wonder about him. 

The internal turmoil left you questioning your own sanity. How could you find any compassion for someone who had caused you so much harm? It was a maddening contradiction that seemed to defy all logic.

The only time you felt fully comfortable confronting these thoughts was during your daily walks with your dog to the park near your house. Unlike everyone else in your life, Lady (your absolute sweetie pie 5-year-old cocker spaniel) not only held no judgment in her eyes and was the best listener, but she also knew the best way to comfort your conflicted heart: cuddles.

"I know you're probably sick of hearing me saying this, but it's just so hard for me to really understand what's going on." You let out a huge sigh that caused Lady to look back at you with eyes that conveyed concern. But before you could continue your rant, Lady seemed to be taken by something as her head whipped around, and she barked loudly.

A fluffy ball of fur could be seen barreling through the playground, and you started to recognize what was heading your way. It seemed as though Lady was quite aware too, as before you could even register what was happening, you found yourself being dragged across the playground where you were currently swinging, all thanks to your dog. You were all too familiar with the Sim's family dog, Layla, who seemed to have spotted you earlier and escaped from her owner. You hadn't seen her in a while, but she seemed extremely elated to be in your presence, immediately rolling on her back, hinting at you to rub her belly. Lady, too, was overjoyed to see her friend, barking and jumping around in excitement.

"Fuck, Layla, come back! Jesus, you can't just—" You heard his voice before you saw him, and Jake seemed much too preoccupied with getting his dog back to realize who Layla was running towards. His wide eyes and frozen state at your presence were a huge contrast to how he was back at your dorm when you last saw him.

"Shit, Y/N…" He muttered out before failing to find the rest of his words. His face flushed red, seemingly utterly confused about how to approach the situation. Clearly, neither of your dogs seemed to sense the distress coming off from their owners as they happily played with each other.

Unlike before, the feeling of panic and overwhelming anxiety seemed to be less present, replaced by a profound sense of confusion. Yes, initial anger surged within you upon seeing him, but there was also a part of you that wanted to take him in, to understand him. Dressed in a dark hoodie and sweatpants, he appeared disheveled, as if he had just rolled out of bed. The darkness that clouded his face persisted despite the sunny weather, and it was evident that he hadn't made much progress since before.

"I'm so sorry about Layla. She just darted out of nowhere. I guess she spotted you with Lady and got excited." As he mentioned her name, Lady finally seemed to recognize his presence,  instantly wagging her tail and nudging his leg, seeking affection. "Um, seriously, I'm so sorry about her. I-I'll just go."

However, before you could fully comprehend your own actions, you found yourself shaking your head. "Wait!" His eyes widened in surprise.

"Jake, hold on. Can we talk?" You weren't sure where this sudden urge came from, but you knew that earlier you weren't ready to face Jake. Now, however, you felt more prepared. You needed this. It was the least he owed you.

He appeared taken aback by your request, but after a moment of hesitation, he nodded. "Yeah, of course."

Your assumptions about his situation seemed to be accurate, as he was clearly not doing well. His parents were on the verge of kicking him out, unable to comprehend that their son was behind all of this, and his relationship with his brother was strained, with minimal communication between them. Moreover, he had failed almost all of his classes, save for one, and it appeared that his former friends had distanced themselves from him, not wanting to be associated with him. While a few of his teammates were still willing to hang out with him, he personally didn't want to be involved with them, knowing they were also complicit in what had happened. It was evident that his once highly regarded status and reputation were now completely shattered. 

His depression had reached an all-time low, and the idea of taking a break from school and not having to return back in a couple of weeks was incredibly tempting. After all, what was the point of resuming when he already had to take extra time to graduate due to his failing grades? However, he knew deep down that this decision wouldn't help repair his already strained relationship with his parents. Despite all this, as he spent his days moping around in bed, only one thing consumed his thoughts—you.

It was ironic how the person he had always seemed to despise was now dominating his mind but for entirely different reasons. Although it might be difficult to believe this sudden shift in his feelings towards you, Jake had come to a profound realization that his previous hatred had merely served as a facade for his true emotions. It had taken a long time for him to become aware of them, but now he was somehow enlightened. Jake wasn't entirely certain if what he felt could be called love or if it was perhaps a form of obsession, but one thing he was certain of was that the feelings he harbored for you were genuine. He found himself missing your smile, the scent of your perfume, and even the snarky quips you directed his way. 

Now, he understood why the saying "you never know what you have until it's gone" was so widely accepted, especially as he sat next to you on the swings. Every aspect of you captivated him, and he made a conscious effort to absorb every bit of you, unsure if this might be the last time he would have the opportunity to see you. You were utterly beautiful, and the mere thought of not being able to call you his brought tears to his eyes.

"I know my apology means very little to you, and it won't undo any of the damage I've caused, but I need to say it—I'm sorry." His words were sincere, and while he had been right that they wouldn’t erase the pain or fix anything, you had still been yearning to hear them directly from him.

You let out a sigh. "I just need to understand why. It’s no secret that we’ve never really been fond of each other, but I thought we were making progress. Have you really been hating me that much all this time?" Despite the joyful sounds of your dogs playing happily nearby, the atmosphere between you and Jake couldn't have been more different.

This question about his true feelings towards you had been haunting you at the core. If someone else had been responsible for the hurt you experienced, it would still be painful, but it somehow hurt more deeply when you realized it was Jake behind it all. You had known him your entire life, grown up together, and despite the ups and downs of your relationship, you took a chance trusting him with your most vulnerable self. For him to exploit that trust in such a cruel way felt like an unbearable betrayal.

"To be honest, I'm still grappling with that myself. As much as I want to deny it, the truth is that my stupid pride was at play when Jeongin was egging me on. At that moment, I prioritized my own ego and how I would appear in front of a group of guys I couldn't care less about. Y/N, I don't hate you. I don't think I ever truly did and in fact, I think it’s actually always been the opposite. I'm sorry." His confession made you frown, unable to immediately process what he was saying.

"Wait, what? Jake, you've spent most of our lives convincing me that you hated me. You can't just tell me now that you never actually hated me. I reciprocated those feelings because I believed it was mutual. If that wasn't the truth, then why did you torment me all this time?" The idea that Jake had never truly hated you should have brought some relief, but instead, it only added to your frustration.

"Damn it, I don't know. Deep down, I always knew I was in the wrong when we were kids and I cheated on you. I deserved that push off the monkey bars. But my pride got in the way, and it was easier for me to blame you than to admit my own faults. So, I continued messing with you, making you believe I hated you, rather than facing the truth. And now I realize how much I've lost. You were my best friend until that point, and I loved you. Losing you because of my foolish mistake was difficult to accept. And now, it seems we're in a similar situation. We were doing so well and I was starting to really fucking like you until I went and fucked it up again." Tears welled up in his eyes as he finally revealed the underlying reasons behind his actions.

He was sincere, and his guilt was evident, but you couldn't shake off the feeling of being upset. Growing up, girls were often told that if a boy picked on them, it was because they liked them, but that notion never sat well with you. Harassing someone you liked wasn't a display of love, and Jake's admission that he had perpetuated such a toxic stereotype only added to your disappointment. He could have chosen a different approach to express his true feelings, but instead, he resorted to hate, making you feel sorry for your younger self. While you were willing to participate in getting back at him, it was a result of your genuine upset and negative emotions towards his actions. If he had simply revealed that he was sorry and missed being friends with you, you would have readily welcomed him back into your life.

"Jake..." Your voice trailed off, struggling to find the right words as a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. "I don't think I can talk to you right now. I just need some time." Swiftly, you turned away from him and headed towards where Lady and Layla were joyfully playing. However, before you could get far, you heard his pleas and felt his hands grasp your wrist.

Jake desperately clutched on to your wrist, abandoning any pretense of holding back his tears as he begged. "Please, Y/N. I don't expect you to forgive me, because you don't owe me anything, especially cause of everything I’ve done to you but..."

You waited for him to finish his sentence, but his thoughts seemed jumbled and incomplete, prompting a sigh from you. "But what, Jake? I need time to process all of this. You've dropped a bombshell on me on top of everything you already put me through, and I can't easily understand or accept everything."

"You can take all the time you need, I beg you," he pleaded, cradling your hand and looking at you with desperation in his eyes. "I’ll do anything. I just can't bear to lose you again."

"Well, maybe you should have considered that before then."

The winter break inched by painfully slow, leaving nothing memorable in its wake since your unexpected encounter with Jake at the park. Days melded into each other until school sneaked back into session, disrupting the monotony.

Jake continued spending the rest of his break under his covers, in a depressive state. While he honestly should be more worried about his future at HybeU as his GPA had plummeted and he was looking to take an extra year to graduate, but the only thing he could think about was you. Every waking moment he spent mulling over you and your tears and the way your eyes gazed at him in betrayal. You, who he’d spent most of his life convincing himself that he hated when he knew that wasn’t true. It was his fault that he lost you when you were younger and now again when given the golden opportunity to win you back, he fucked it up again. 

The decision of whether to return for the second semester hung over Jake until the day before school started when he reluctantly opted to go back in hopes of avoiding driving a further wedge between him and his parents. But now, regret gnawed at him for not taking time off, leaving him wallowing in a sea of misery.

The first week of classes turned out to be far worse than he had anticipated. His motivation dwindled, and the simple act of attending felt like a burdensome chore. No one acknowledged him, a stark contrast to the earlier days of the school year when greetings were abundant from those he passed. Even the professors seemed to have caught wind of it, their expressions carrying a tinge of disappointment. The constant scrutiny and sudden isolation became overwhelming, especially now that he resided alone, separated from the familiarity of the EpNu house he had grown accustomed to.

He caught sight of Sunghoon and Jay at the library the other day, messing around just like they always used to, making the librarian frown with their loud banter and laughter. Instantly, a wave of overwhelming upset crashed over him, compelling him to turn around and head straight back home. It felt like everyone else had moved on, leaving him adrift.

The only ones who seemed to make an effort were a few guys from the soccer team facing similar consequences. But he found himself pushing away their attempts to connect, stewing in a mix of anger and resentment. While he knew his actions were at fault, part of him blamed them for provoking him into hurting you. 

Meanwhile, your night on the other hand was taking a completely different turn from Jake's scene, with you slamming down your sixth shot and pulling a face at the vodka's harshness, quickly chasing it with cranberry juice.

“Shit! That’s so gross ugh,” you grimaced as you chased the vodka with the cranberry juice you held in your other hand. 

"Ugh, vodka’s always the worst," Ningning grimaced, grabbing your drink and downing it herself to mask the taste.

It was formal season, and this year, Epsilon Nu had gone all out, choosing New Orleans for the grand celebration. You were surrounded by many of your sisters (EpNu had patched things up with AES to a certain extent, especially after Jake’s suspension and once it became clear that none of the boys were involved in anything), all glammed up to the max. The city was alive, music blasting from the bar, adding to the thrilling chaos of the night—an ideal distraction.

"Fuck, Ningning, seriously, that dress was made for you! Jay better be all over you later at the hotel," you slurred, planting a tipsy kiss on her cheek.

She blushed, about to reply when someone crashed into you, their perfume giving away their identity.

"Wonyoung, seriously, stop it!" Jungwon's voice frantically followed, trying to separate her from you.

Well past midnight, it was evident that everyone was thoroughly intoxicated. But honestly, who could blame you? You were surrounded by some of your closest friends in a city known for its entertainment, far removed from Jake's world on campus. It felt like the first time in forever that genuine laughter filled the air, finally allowing you to escape thoughts of him.

"Been searching all over for you! Ugh Y/N, you can’t just leave me like that!" Jungwon struggled to peel his girlfriend away from you, but you didn’t mind her clinging.

"Ningning and I have been right here the whole time! You clearly didn't look hard enough," you giggled, feeling the warmth from one too many drinks.

Your feet were throbbing in the stilettos you had on, and your body felt damp from the sweat of dancing and the drink you accidentally spilled earlier (thank goodness for the black dress). You knew your makeup was probably smudged, no longer as flawless as it had been for those pre-party photos. Your ears were practically ringing from the deafening noise of the bar and you were already dreading the miserable bus ride back home tomorrow, but honestly, in this high you were feeling right now, you couldn't care less.

“Where’s Beomgyu hyung?” Jungwon asked which made you realize that you’d lost your date. 

The party beads around your neck jingled softly as you whipped your head around, scanning the crowded space. Failing to spot him, a slight pout formed on your lips. "I don't know, I think I lost him. I'm gonna go find him," you declared, pushing yourself away from Wonyoung and heading away from the bar before protests from your friends could be heard.

Finding him in this crowd, especially in your tipsy state amid similarly dressed people, turned out to be quite the challenge. But then, as you glanced towards a dimly lit corner off to the side, your eyes widened in realization. There he was—Beomgyu, engaged in conversation with Sunghoon, Jay, and Yeonjun, oblivious to your presence. As you approached them, amid the bar's clamor, you could pick up on snippets of their conversation.

"He looked absolutely miserable, like I almost didn't recognize him," Sunghoon's voice pierced through the noise.

You frowned as you inched closer to them, careful not to reveal yourself yet eager to hear more of their conversation.

"Yeah, I've heard a few people mentioning how he hardly shows up to class anymore, and I don't even know if he has any friends left. Wouldn't surprise me if he didn't," Yeonjun remarked nonchalantly, taking a sip from his cup which you were sure was filled with some kind of alcohol.

"Well fuck him. He brought this all on himself and deserves it, and now he's probably just wallowing in self-pity," Beomgyu's disdain dripped from his words as he rolled his eyes. To him, Jake was nothing but a sorry excuse for a human being, and he couldn't help but feel angry that he had once considered him a brother.

"Yeah, he deserves everything he's getting, but you guys don't get it. He looked awful," Jay interjected, acknowledging Beomgyu's sentiments while also sharing his own observations from his and Sunghoon’s encounter with Jake at the library.

Sunghoon nodded in agreement, his expression troubled. "We're not trying to excuse his actions, but you should've seen him. It was beyond concerning, like he hadn't slept or eaten in weeks. He used to be our best friend, so yeah, we're fucking furious with him, but we can't help but feel a little worried."

"No, I can't believe this," Beomgyu shook his head in disbelief at Jay and Sunghoon's concern for Jake. "I don't know if you guys realize, but he ruined Y/N. She went through hell, and even though she might seem okay now, it's all an act. The things people are still saying about her are fucking insane. Winter and I practically had to drag her onto the bus to get here because we felt like we needed to do something to lift her spirits."

Yeonjun scoffed in annoyance, joining the conversation. "Yeah, you guys need to realize that while Jake may be struggling, it's nothing compared to what Y/N went through. Don't fucking bring this up again, at least not until we're back on campus."

And with that, Beomgyu stormed off, followed by Yeonjun while Sunghoon and Jay exchanged weary sighs, shaking their heads in resignation. The effects of alcohol seemed to evaporate from your system as their conversation sank in, leaving you painfully sober.

You should have been rejoicing in Jake's suffering, but instead, a sickening taste lingered in your mouth, refusing to dissipate throughout the rest of the night. Even as you returned to your hotel room, the intensity of your thoughts about Jake seemed to amplify. While Beomgyu softly snored beside you, you laid still on the bed, unable to escape the swirling whirlwind of emotions the thought of him had stirred within you.

This feeling didn’t seem to leave you as the bus ride back to school was filled with laughter and chatter, but even then, Jake continued to haunt the recesses of your mind. You felt guilty for allowing yourself to harbor such conflicted thoughts about him. How could you feel sympathy for the man who had shattered you in the worst possible way? Yet, shamefully, his presence persisted in your thoughts, a constant reminder of the turmoil he had inflicted upon you. 

"What's up with you?" Wonyoung's voice pierced through your thoughts, jolting you back to reality.

You quickly shook your head, trying to brush off her concern. "Nothing, what do you mean?"

But Wonyoung wasn't buying it. "Stop lying. I know you better than anyone, and I can tell something's been bothering you ever since formal. So, what's going on?"

You hesitated, debating whether to confide in her. Wonyoung was your best friend, but you feared her reaction to your shameful empathy towards Jake. She wouldn't understand. "Seriously, I'm fine. Don't worry about it," you insisted, hoping to brush off the conversation.

Her frown deepened, and you knew she wouldn't let it go. "Y/N, I'm serious. What's going on? I promise I won't judge; just talk to me."

With a heavy sigh, you relented, knowing her stubborn nature wouldn’t leave you alone till you told her. "Okay, fine. But you have to swear not to get mad or make me feel worse about it, because I already feel terrible," you requested, seeking her assurance. She nodded, prompting you to continue.

"During formal, I overheard a couple of the EpNu boys talking about Jake. They saw him at the library, and apparently, he looked really rough," you began, sensing Wonyoung's urge to interject but you gave her a warning look to let you finish. "Like, he apparently looked so bad that they barely recognized him, and he seemed like he hadn't slept or eaten in weeks. He already looked bad enough the last time I saw him, so I can’t even imagine what he probably looks like right now. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I'm worried, and I can't stop thinking about it, especially considering all the stuff he said when we ran into each other at the playground. I really-"

Wonyoung's reaction cut you off abruptly. "Wait, what do you mean you saw him at the playground? You didn't mention this! When was this? Are you okay?"

You cursed inwardly, realizing you hadn't shared this with anyone and hadn't really planned on doing so. "Shit, I forgot to tell you. I'm sorry," you apologized, offering her a sincere look before continuing, "We just ran into each other at one of the nearby parks during the break while walking our dogs. He wanted to talk, so I listened. He started apologizing, and then he started revealing things, like how he never actually hated me when we were younger and actually liked me. It was overwhelming, so I walked away, and I haven't seen him since."

Wonyoung's mouth hung open in shock. "And you forgot to mention this? Oh my fucking God, this is insane. He's actually fucking crazy, isn't he? Does he think confessing to you after what he did is going to fix anything? You're not buying into this, are you?"

"No, of course not," you asserted, your voice wavering with emotion. "Well, actually, he did seem genuine about being sorry and liking me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to forgive him. I swear I'm not. But the thing is, I can't stop thinking about him. Wonyoung, I don't think you understand. I fucking hate myself right now because all I can think about is him. I hate him so much for what he did to me, but why am I feeling this way?" Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally let out the pent-up emotions, laying bare your inner turmoil to her.

"Oh, honey," Wonyoung's face softened as she rose from her seat and approached you, enveloping you in a comforting hug as you sobbed into her embrace. "You're right, I have no idea what you're going through, and I fucking hate Jake so much for hurting my best friend in the worst way possible. But I also can't ignore the fact that you just admitted how you can't stop thinking about him."

There was a brief pause before she sighed and gently broke the hug, facing you with a serious expression. "Y/N, do you maybe like Jake?"

Her question caught you completely off guard, and a baffled look crossed your face as you almost jerked in surprise. "What?"

You started to shake your head, but she quickly interjected before you could even deny. "Y/N, just listen. I know this might sound insane, but have you considered that maybe you're experiencing this immense guilt and can't stop thinking about him because you have feelings for him?"

The moment Wonyoung uttered those words, panic surged through you like a tidal wave, causing your breathing to quicken as you vehemently shook your head in denial. There was no way.

"No, what the actual fuck, Wonyoung," you choked out, tears welling up in your eyes as you rose from your seat, needing to put distance between yourself and her. "Why would you even suggest that?"

Wonyoung could see you on the verge of hyperventilating, and she reached out to try to calm you down. "Hey, hey, Y/N, come on, sit down, please," she urged gently. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to upset you. I just think that you're going through so much right now, and from what you just told me, you're conflicted and in a really difficult place. We don't choose who we love, and I think it's weighing heavily on you right now, maybe that's what happened with Jake. He's put you through so much, not just this year, but practically your whole life, and maybe coming to terms with that despite everything, you still fell for him, is creating this guilt within you. It's not your fault, and for fuck's sake, Jake would be the last person I would choose for you to love, because he will never deserve someone like you. But I'm not in charge of that, and I'm so sorry."

In that moment, you broke down completely, your sobs wracking your body as you clung to your friend, desperate for some semblance of solace. Deep down, you knew she was right. You'd been grappling with these feelings for Jake for longer than you cared to admit, and the realization terrified you. You despised yourself for loving him.

"Wonyoung... What do I do?" you whimpered softly, your voice tinged with fear.

"I don't know, Y/N," Wonyoung replied gently, her own voice filled with empathy. "But I promise you're not alone. We'll get through this together."

You hadn't set foot in any of the downtown bars since that night when you learned about what Jake had done after being harassed by those guys. The thought of returning made you uncomfortable, yet on this Saturday night, with seemingly everyone in your friend group going out, you decided to push yourself to socialize, to reclaim some sense of normalcy in the chaos of your year. However, it quickly became evident that your judgment wasn’t the soundest; you were already feeling miserable, and it wasn't even midnight.

You had arrived with Winter and Ningning, meeting their boyfriends at the bar. But as the night wore on, you lost track of them. Winter was beyond drunk, likely off somewhere making out with Felix, while Ningning and Jay were lost in their own world on the dance floor. Unlike their blissfully intoxicated selves, you felt painfully sober. You longed for Wonyoung's presence; she was away for the weekend with Jungwon visiting his parents, and you regretted accepting the invitation to go out. 

Sighing, unable to immerse yourself in the same mood as your friends, you downed the shot of tequila in front of you before gathering your stuff and making your way to the exit. You made sure to send Winter a text, explaining that you weren't feeling well and were heading home, urging her to enjoy herself and not to worry. Just as you were about to summon an Uber though, an unfamiliar voice called out your name, halting you in your tracks.

At first, the voice seemed like a distant echo, easily dismissed amidst the clamor of the bar. But when it persisted, calling your name again, you couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Hey, Y/N!"

Turning abruptly, you were met with a face that you really didn’t ever want to see. He was obviously in a very intoxicated state; his words slurred, and his movements unsteady as he stumbled toward you.

"Hey, where're you going so fast? Have somewhere to be?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face as if you were close friends.

"Fuck off Jeongin." You curtly spat at him as you attempted to walk away.

He scoffed, his laughter tinged with bitterness. "Jesus Christ, Y/N, is that all you got to say to me after getting me fucking suspended?"

His words sent a chill down your spine, and you whipped your head around to address him. "I don’t know what you’re talking about because I didn’t do anything to get you suspended, but seriously, leave me alone," you angrily told him. As you attempted to walk away once more, you felt his hand reach out and harshly grab your wrist.

"Where the fuck do you think you’re going?" His tone turned menacing, the overpowering scent of alcohol made you grimace. "Aren’t you cute trying to act like you have no idea what you’ve done?"

His grip tightened on your wrist, sending waves of pain shooting through your arm as you struggled to break free. Panic surged within you as you realized he wasn't going to let you leave. "Let go of me! I have no idea what you're talking about. If anything, you’re the one who did this to me!"

"Listen here you bitch, because of your stupid little act of trying to paint yourself as some poor little victim, my fucking future is ruined. So this little act of you trying to act like you have no idea what I’m talking about isn’t going to cut it. You’re going to fucking pay, it’s the least you deserve,” he snarled, his grip on your wrist tightening as he dragged you out of the bar. You fought back, but his anger seemed to fuel his strength.

“You’re fucking hurting me! Seriously let me go you asshole!” you pleaded, your voice trembling with fear as you struck his arm.

“If you don’t shut the fuck—”

“Let her go, Jeongin.” The interruption came from a familiar voice, causing both you and Jeongin to turn toward the source.

Despite it only being about three months that had passed since you last saw him, Jake looked almost unrecognizable. His hair was longer and a bit unkempt, and he wore plain sweats and a hoodie. Yet, there was no mistaking him.

“Fuck off, Jake. Mind your own fucking business,” Jeongin spat, his disdain evident in his tone.

“You made it my fucking business once you dragged her into whatever you’re doing. So fucking let go of her,” Jake asserted, his voice laced with fury as he approached.

“What? You still fucking pussy whipped for her, huh?” Jeongin harshly threw your wrist away, turning to face Jake. “From what I know, aren’t you also in the same position as I am because of this bitch?”

“Don’t fucking call her that, and the only reason you’re in this position is because you put yourself there. So leave her out of this and go home, you’re drunk. It’s pathetic,” Jake shot back, his anger palpable.

“You’re in no place to be calling anyone pathetic. I mean, look at yourself. Newsflash, she’s a fucking whore! Jake, it’s honestly embarrassing to watch you throw yourself for what? A girl who obviously doesn’t give a shit about you. In fact, I did you a favor, she deserved this. I mean, she’s been so passed around she’s literally like a—” Before Jeongin could finish his drunken rant, he was knocked out cold. Jake's fist met his face in a swift, furious blow.

“Jake!” You gasped in shock, watching as Jeongin crumpled to the dirty street.

“He fucking deserved it,” Jake snarled, his rage barely contained. But before he could do further damage, you reached for his arm.

“Hey, he’s already out, just let it go,” you urged, tugging Jake away as you tried to diffuse his anger.

He turned to you, and in that moment, it was as if his anger melted away, replaced by concern as he took you in. You looked stunning, your eyes filled with worry for him, and Jake couldn't help but once again be struck by the realization of what he had lost.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His voice was gentle as he reached for your wrist, handling you delicately as if you were made of glass.

You furrowed your brows, concern evident in your features. “I’m fine, seriously. But Jake, you hit him really hard. Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”

Only then did Jake become aware of the ache in his knuckles, the pain radiating through his hand. He winced slightly as you reached to inspect his injured hand.

“You need to get that checked,” you insisted, but Jake shook his head stubbornly.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just ice it and it’ll be fine,” he assured, but you rolled your eyes at his attempt to brush it off.

“Ok fine, let’s go then,” you relented, letting out a sigh and crossing your arms.

Jake gave you a confused look before shaking his head. “I’m fine, Y/N, just go home. It’s late.”

“Jake, I’ll leave once you’re done icing your hand, so let’s go,” you insisted firmly. Knowing you wouldn't budge easily, he relented

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, fine. Let’s go,” he let out another sigh, closing his eyes briefly before nodding and the two of you walked away from the bar, turning left after walking a bit into what seemed to be the entrance of one of the student apartments located downtown.

Quietly, you followed him to the elevator, the tension palpable between you. After a while, Jake broke the silence. “Why were you out alone anyway?”

“Oh, I wasn’t alone. Well, I didn’t come alone, but everyone got really drunk and went off on their own, and I just wasn’t feeling it, so I was trying to go home when Jeongin ambushed me,” you explained, picking at your fingers nervously.

“Wait, so they just ditched you? Who’d you go out with? That’s not safe at all and in fact really dangerous—”

“No, they didn’t ditch me. They were dancing and all, and like I said, I just wanted to go home, so I left. You know damn well Winter and Ningning would never ditch me,” you clarified, rolling your eyes. Thankfully, the elevator dinged, cutting off any further discussion on the matter.

“So, how’s living alone?” you asked, eager to change the topic as you followed him down the hall to his apartment.

He let out a disgruntled grunt. “As lonely as you can expect it to be.” Fishing for his keys in his pocket, he winced a little at the pain his knuckle was giving him. Maybe you were right; it was starting to hurt like a bitch.

“Yeah, I guess going from living with a bunch of guys to being by yourself can be a huge adjustment,” you nodded in agreement. 

Despite the awkwardness in the air, you found yourself surprised at how calm you were feeling in Jake's presence. Given the strain in your relationship over the past few months, you had anticipated the reunion to be much more uncomfortable, especially seeing how the last encounter went, but it wasn't as bad as you had imagined. In fact, you felt lucky that he had run into you and Jeongin; if he hadn't been there, you weren't sure how you would have gotten out of that situation.

“Well, here it is,” Jake said, opening the door to his apartment and gesturing for you to enter. It was a clean studio, cleaner than you had expected, though it seemed he had only the bare essentials.

“Oh, it’s actually really nice,” you remarked, taking in the space as you set your purse down on the island.

Jake chuckled softly as he reached for the fridge to grab some ice for his hand. “What, you weren’t expecting it to be?”

“Oh no, it’s just... I don’t know,” you trailed off, unsure of what you had expected Jake's living space to be like. You hadn't really thought much about his living arrangements; your mind had been preoccupied with other matters, particularly your feelings toward him.

“I just overheard a couple of the EpNu boys talking about how they saw you and you weren’t in the best shape, so I didn’t really expect your apartment to be in the best shape as well,” you truthfully told him. Jake didn’t respond for a couple of seconds, just taking in what you said as he iced his hand.

“Sunghoon and Jay?” he asked, and you nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know... I guess they’re right. I haven’t really been doing the best, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be living like a slob. It’s already depressing enough.” Jake couldn’t meet your gaze. Both of you knew why he had reached this point, and he didn’t want to see any disgust reflected in your eyes towards him.

“Jake, can we talk, for real this time? I know we saw each other during the break, but I think that was just way too soon, and we were both just dealing with so much emotion to fully hold a coherent conversation,” you sighed, finally broaching the subject you had been avoiding. But you knew there would be no better opportunity than now to talk with him. You needed to, at least for yourself.

He nodded before answering, “Uhm, yeah, of course, but if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to. I can just drive you back home.”

“No, I want to. I think I need to, and it’s the least I deserve,” you insisted. He nodded again, leading you to the couch.

Jake nervously bit his lip before sighing, facing you squarely. “Y/N, I just want to start by saying I’m sorry. I know you’re probably tired of hearing it, but I really mean it. I've had a lot of time to myself to reflect on everything, and I know that simply saying sorry will never be enough to make up for what I’ve done to you.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “I just can’t even begin to imagine what I put you through, and I’m just so fucking sorry for that. Hearing the awful things people have been saying about you, knowing it’s because of me, it’s just... it's horrible and so upsetting. You don’t deserve any of this. I know we haven’t always gotten along but you have always been a constant in my life and these past few months without you have made me realize the full extent of the pain I caused you. I ended up hurting the person I fell in love with in the worst way imaginable.”

Jake's confession to you brought tears to your eyes as your lips quivered. To hear those words from him ached your heart. It took you a moment to look up at him and regain your breath before you could respond.

“Jake, I know you didn’t send those videos out in the first place, but you were being so fucking stupid, and that ended up costing everything. You’re right, you don’t know what I’ve been through these past few months, because it’s been hell. But I’ve also been suffering not just because of the humiliation from classmates or just knowing that there’s a sex tape of us out there for everyone to see, but it has been so hard coming to terms with the fact that amidst all this, I had also somehow fallen for you. You ruined something that could’ve been so good, and that fucking hurts.”

"I miss you so much, Y/N, so fucking much it hurts. I'm sorry." A tear made its way down Jake’s face, and you couldn’t help but reach out for his hand because you couldn’t help but feel the same way.

“Jake, I don’t know what to do,” you softly said while looking at your intertwined hands.

Jake breathed heavily, “I don’t know either, but Y/N, I’m not expecting you to forgive me. I’ll be spending the rest of my life working for that, but I don’t know if I can go on living like this. I feel so empty without you, like I’m hollow inside and it aches like-”

You just couldn’t listen to him any longer. It hurt too much to see him like this. It hurt you too much to be away from him and so you did the only thing you could think to do. You kissed him.

Jake was obviously taken aback as he stood frozen on the couch, unable to reciprocate or even process what you had done. But your lips eased him as he slowly started to move against them. It was like he was riding a bike again, with muscle memory kicking in. The two of you got closer as your bodies touched one another, deepening the kiss. His hands made their way around your face, cupping them softly as if he was handling delicate porcelain, and you reached for his neck, pulling him closer as you wanted to feel more of him. You had missed this beyond words. You had missed him beyond anything.

As the kiss started to get more heated, you felt Jake slowly pull away, leaving you confused. “Wait, wait, Y/N, shouldn’t we think about this?”

He was right. You should, as every cell in your body was screaming at you about how big of a mistake this was. But right now, you couldn’t give a damn. “Can we just talk about this after? Please, I just need you right now. It’s been so long.”

Jake looked sincerely into your eyes, making sure you were sure of your decision before he gave a small nod and reached for you again.

Your lips moved against one another as if they’d been starved for each other and you quickly moved your body on top of his, straddling him as your mouth opened, letting more of him in. Quiet moans could be heard as you slowly moved your hips down on him while his hands made their way down to cup your ass. 

His lips detached from yours but before you could complain, they reattached themselves to your neck, nipping at your soft spot as you softly moaned. You had been wearing only a thin black slip dress so you could feel the hairs on your body all rise as chills went down your spine. 

As his lips moved their way down your neck, you palmed at his hoodie, “Take it off.”

He obliged with no hesitation and in one swift motion, his bare torso laid before you. Fuck, you had missed him. He looked as gorgeous as ever despite everything and you couldn’t help but rake your eyes over him, taking him all in. 

His patience got to him though as he yanked you down, bringing your lips together again. His fingers played with the bottom of your dress and before you knew it, that too was getting yanked off.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered. You had forgone wearing a bra and so you were only left in a small black thong. You looked like a little present perfectly wrapped for him. 

You gave him a soft smile before reaching for him. You started to kiss your way down his neck to his chest, eliciting another groan from him, but before you could go further, he pulled you up. You shot him a quick look of confusion but he dismissed it. “Next time, I just need you right now.”

Jake got up from the couch, helping you up as well before guiding you backward a couple of steps to his bed. You laid back as you watched him take the rest of his clothing off. Your mouth was watering and to be honest, you hadn’t slept with anyone in a while and you hadn’t realized how badly you had been craving this until now.

He quickly made his way back to you and the two of you attached your lips once more, moving against each other as if you had been starved. One of his hands made its way down to your breast, softly kneading it, as the other hand went further down before reaching under your thong. 

His finger softly glossed over your entrance as you gasped, aching for more. You were wet, beyond soaking and it made Jake harder than ever. He gently played with your pussy before slowly entering a finger. 

You were just as warm as ever as your soft gummy walls sucked him in and your soft mewls were enough to instigate him to start moving his finger slowly. You tightly pulled at his hair as you continued panting into his mouth.

“Babe, you’re soaking,” he smirked a little before kissing you again. His finger was now steadily moving inside you as he teased another.

“Please, Jake please,” you moaned, seeking more of him.

He gave in to your pleas as he added a second finger, stretching you further. You already felt incredibly tight and Jake felt like he was losing his mind. He couldn’t bear to go further without fully being inside you so he pulled his fingers out before yanking your thong down and spreading your legs open.

“Jesus, you’re so beautiful. The absolute prettiest.” Jake praised you before taking his cock and lining it with your entrance. Feeling his tip alone was too much of a tease for you and you whined. 

“Just put it in, please.” He gave in to your plea as he plunged inside of you. 

Your eyes instantly rolled to the back of your head as your mouth opened wide. You felt like you were about to burst with how full he was making you feel. 

“You’re so fucking tight, shit,” Jake clenched his jaw, taking in how you felt around him. You were made for him and he couldn’t wait any longer. 

His thrusts were hard and powerful, making sure you felt him everywhere. Your soft pants turned to loud moans as you couldn’t hold them back any longer. He felt too good, plunging deep inside you, hitting against your cervix. Your toes curled and your hands reached for his shoulders to hold on to as he pummeled himself in and out of you.

“Jake, fuck! It’s too good,” you cried out. Tears were forming in your eyes from the pleasure. 

Sweat dripped down his back as Jake continued to thrust into you. He could feel himself getting closer every time you clenched around him and he reached down to capture your lips in his once more. 

Sounds of skin slapping against each other while lewd noises of tongues moving against each other filled Jake’s small apartment as the air around the two of you grew thicker. You knew you were getting close as you could feel the familiar coil below your belly on the verge of snapping.

“Fuck, Jake, I’m almost there, keep going,” you urged him as you maintained eye contact with him. His eyes were raging with fire as your words had him thrusting into you harder. 

Then the splintering feeling came crashing down on you as you clenched around him tightly. It was too good as the world around you spun while all the noise cut out. You let out a whimper as your toes curled tightly and back arched while you finished. 

The sight of you cumming was beyond heavenly and Jake chased quickly after his release. You were limp against him, softly mewling at the overstimulation as he continued to hammer into you before finally cumming inside of you. His deep groan in your ear had you clenching around him one last time as you felt him slump over you. 

The two of you panted loudly, trying to catch your breath as you stayed in your embrace. Your mind had been thoroughly blown, and this moment solidified just how much you had missed Jake. You never wanted to leave his embrace; it was where your raging mind and racing heart seemed to find stillness. Despite everything that had happened, you still yearned for this, and for the first time in a couple of months, you felt some semblance of clarity.

Your eyes fluttered open, and at first, you were confused as you took in your surroundings. But the events of last night quickly came back to you as you spotted Jake’s now bruised knuckles, his arm wrapped around you.

Tightly closing your eyes, you sighed, knowing that sleeping with Jake had just further complicated an already complicated situation. But no matter how much you tried to paint it as a mistake, you really couldn’t. You simply couldn’t change the fact that you had missed him deeply despite everything.

Feeling too hot under the comforter and the body heat emanating from Jake, you decided to quietly get up, gently moving his arm off of you to avoid waking him up. You searched around for your clothes but quickly realized that you had only worn your dress and there was no way you were getting back into that right now. So, you opted for Jake’s hoodie that was discarded on the floor last night.

You heard rustling from the bed, and when you turned around, you saw that Jake was half awake as he rose up from the bed. His hair was disheveled, and he rubbed his eyes before they laid themselves on you. He seemed surprised that you were still there.

“I thought you’d have been gone by now,” he murmured as he too searched around for his clothes.

You shrugged. “Running away from this would make it even worse.” It was true; what the two of you had done last night definitely wasn’t smart or ideal, but it had happened, and the two of you needed to deal with it.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jake nodded, then asked, “You’re not regretting it?”

You shook your head. “Honestly, no. But Jake, I hope you realize that this doesn’t mean I forgive you for everything.”

“No, I know, I wouldn’t expect you to. But I hope you also realize that what I said yesterday is all true.” He walked towards you, taking both your hands in his as he peered into your eyes. “I love you, Y/N, and I’m not just saying that to get you to forgive me. I mean it.”

You looked deep into his eyes, searching for any signs of deceit, but found none. All you could do was nod. “Okay.”

“So what does this mean for us?” Jake’s question lingered in your mind. What did it mean? It was already established that the two of you loved each other, but you also couldn’t just overlook what he had done.

“I’m not sure, Jake,” you sighed. “I think we need to start over.”

Jake nodded. “Okay, and what does that mean?”

“I think you and I both know that we can’t date each other right now. That relationship would be fucked up the second we do. I think we need some time to maybe rebuild our relationship on a blank slate.” You scanned Jake’s face, hoping to gauge how he was feeling about your suggestion.

“Okay, a blank slate, that works for me.” This was more than he had expected you to give him, and it meant there was hope for the two of you. It was all he could ask for.

“Jake, you need to get your act together with school, your friends, and your parents. I don’t want you fucking up everything because of this one mistake. Yeah, it was a huge one, but what’s done is done and it can’t derail your entire life. And once you feel like you’re back on the right track, then maybe we can start over again.” You peered at him deeply, and he sighed. He knew you were right. His life had been so fucked up for the past few months, and he knew he had to straighten it out before even thinking about pursuing anything with you.

“I will, I promise. Thank you, Y/N, and I know I’ll be working for what I did to you for the rest of my life and that I’m nowhere close to being deserving of your forgiveness or even this. So I promise I’ll make it up to you and get my life back together. I love you.” Jake nodded as he cupped your face in his hands before giving you a kiss on your forehead.

You hugged him, and the two of you stayed in that embrace for a bit until you pulled back. “Wonyoung’s never going to forgive you for this, you know that? But I’ll be willing to work on her if you just show me that you’re genuine about this and working on yourself.”

And from the moment Jake dropped you back at your dorm, he did just as he promised you. For the first time in a while, he found himself eagerly making his way down to the library to get some work done for his classes, and while he knew it was a long shot, he texted Sunghoon and Jay. They were his best friends, and they also hadn’t deserved the betrayal Jake had put them through; they deserved a real apology. Jake was determined to change.

Slowly but steadily, it seemed to be working. Every now and then, you’d see him in the hall or at the library, and you would exchange waves or smiles. Each time, he looked like he was doing much better. You had also heard through the grapevine that he had been trying his best to mend each of the relationships he had with the EpNu brothers. Of course, not everyone had been as receptive or even willing, but everyone knew that he was atleast making an effort.

Long before you knew it, the year was ending, and while the back half of your semester didn’t bring you much excitement, you actually preferred it that way. After all that had happened, you didn’t need any more drama in your life. And honestly, you couldn’t complain. You still had your best friend by your side, along with a couple of other friends you had made along the way, whom you knew you would have for the rest of your life. Plus, you ended the year with pretty good grades, considering everything that had happened. The gossip and hate you initially received had pretty much died down, and honestly, you believed this was the best outcome that could have happened.

"I think we did alright, don’t you agree Lady?" Your sweetheart of a dog barked excitedly, as if she was agreeing with what you had said. But before you could say anything further, Lady's attention was taken as you saw a familiar ball of fur make her way towards the swingset where you and Lady were. Lady seemed to disregard you the second she spotted her friend and started excitedly chasing after Layla.

You watched the two of them playing with each other, a smile growing on your face. A few seconds later, you felt a presence on the swings next to you. You knew exactly who it was before you even turned to face him.

“Hey,” he said softly, offering you a smile as he extended his hand for a handshake. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet you.”

A smile as bright as the sun spread across your face as you shook his hand. “Hey Jake, I’m Y/N. It’s great to meet you.”

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