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vunblr · 3 days ago

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Tangled (#7)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Eventual teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 6.8k

Previous Chapter

A few days later, she ventured back to the rocky beach. No yarn this time. No hooks or half-finished projects to keep her hands busy. Just a hope and a little cloth bag swinging from her fingers.

She wasn’t sure if he’d be there. Maybe it was foolish to assume he would. Still, she went at the same hour she used to, settling on her usual perch with her coat pulled tight against the biting wind, scanning the dark water. Listening. Waiting.

But the cove remained silent.

Eventually, she stood and approached the cave’s entrance, calling his name. Her voice echoed in the air and came back empty.

Too cold to stay longer, she placed the red satchel just beyond the reach of the tide -some strawberries and an apple inside- and cast one last glance toward the waves before heading back. Her breath misted in the air as she walked, disappointed.

----

He surfaced just after dusk. The swim back had taken longer than he meant, he’d been cautious, doubling back, scanning the seafloor for any glint of metal or other trail left behind. Paranoia, maybe. But the wrong eyes had once found him too easily. He couldn’t afford that again.

He breached near the cave, glancing around. The water was quiet.

But then, something.

A flick of red caught his eye near the rocks.

Slipping closer, body low and cautious, his gaze narrowed at the small cloth bag tucked safely out of the tide’s reach. It looked soft. A human object.

He drew near and the wind shifted, and her scent hit him like a blow. He closed his hand around the bag and held it to his chest for a moment.

She had come.

And he hadn’t been here.

Inside, he found strawberries. An apple. Simple things, but they felt more personal than any grand gesture.

He looked out toward the cliff, where the shape of her cottage would be lost in the gray distance.

She had come.

And he had stayed away too long.

----

The next day, she made her way back to the rocky beach, with a cloth mat tucked under one arm, and a small thermos in her bag just in case she decided to stay a while. The weather had turned kinder, no harsh wind, and the sun timidly peeking through the clouds.

She settled into her usual spot, brushing sand and tiny pebbles off the rock before setting the mat and sitting cross-legged, scanning the shoreline with cautious hope.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Less than five minutes had passed when she saw movement in the water. Between two moss-darkened rocks, he appeared. Gliding, carefully, with his upper half rising above the water like the sea was reluctant to let him go.

She smiled, lifting her hand in greeting. She could’ve sworn -just for a second- he smiled back. A flicker, there and gone.

He didn’t come any closer than the waterline, where the shallows lapped gently against the lower half of his body. Only his human half remained exposed, gleaming wet under the muted sun.

“You’re not joining me today?” she asked, tilting her head.

Behind him, a tendril coiled upward, curling once before swaying side to side, almost like a cat’s tail twitching at the end of its patience.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, almost casually. Almost.

She opened her mouth, about to joke, but something in his expression stopped her. The way he looked at her wasn't teasing. It was... careful. As though he was bracing for the answer.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, softer now.

He didn’t answer at first. His gaze dropped, shifting his shoulders slightly like the water was colder than it really was.

“What’s with you?” she pressed, “Why are you all shy now?”

A pause, then a quiet, vulnerable murmur: “Maybe after seeing me like you… you forgot what I am.”

She frowned, and her teasing vanished like mist. “Oh. Bucky.” She leaned forward slightly. “Trust me. I could never forget what you are. That’s the version of you I met. The one I got used to watching from the rocks. The real you. Why would it be different now?”

“Because I want to touch you.”

“You’ve touched me before,” she said, carefully.

His jaw flexed. “Not how I want to.”

She arched an eyebrow, hiding a flicker of thrill. “And… how do you want to touch me?”

His expression didn’t change much, but something simmered beneath it, something old and raw and sincere. “As my kin do,” he said. “I stayed at your house as a human. I did things with you, helped, sat, and shared food. But… some things felt incomplete. I want to be familiar with you but… in my way.”

He glanced away, as if ashamed. “When I left, we hugged. I liked it. But it felt incomplete. I felt like something was missing. I want to be familiar with you, like I would be with someone of my own kind. But I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” she asked gently.

His tendrils stirred behind him again, slower now, uncertain.

“I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I recognize you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Recognize me?”

“My tendrils, when they sense you, your skin, your scent… the chemical taste of you in the air…” he paused. “It’s not just information. It’s a connection, and maybe I can get carried away trying to gasp all of it. I don’t know if that might scare you,”

“Would that familiarization entail something painful?” she asked gently.

His head jerked up. “No! never hurt.”

She didn’t move for a beat, her heart tripping in her chest. His uneasiness wasn’t from rejection or shame, it was fear of overwhelming instinct.

“It wouldn’t scare me,” she said, finally. “Not if it’s you.”

He stood still for a beat, with his chest rising and falling a little faster than usual, then seemed to gather himself, and finally began to come forward, slow and deliberate, like approaching a sacred place. His lower body emerged bit by bit from the water: slick black and blue limbs unfurled under him, glistening under the pale sun as he made his way up the damp sand toward her.

She waited, sitting cross-legged on the mat, looking at him calmly. When he was only a few feet away, she offered the gentlest greeting.

"Hi," she said, warmly.

He bit his lip, tensing his jaw for a split second before he lowered himself beside her. The movement was oddly elegant: tentacles settling around them both in wide, curling spirals. They stayed still at first, but the tips twitched, swaying ever so slightly, betraying the nerves he was trying to bury.

She watched them with open curiosity, then her gaze met his. His posture was still hesitant like he was holding himself back from bolting into the sea again.

"How does this work?" she asked softly, and there was no fear in her voice, just fascination. “The sensing. I want to understand.”

He swallowed. “I just… touch your skin and… feel you,” he said. “What you’re made of, what you feel like. You leave traces… your temperature, taste, all of it. It… lingers.”

A pause.

“Want me to touch you first?” she offered.

His breath caught briefly. His eyes dropped to her hand, then back again to her face. Finally, he gave the smallest nod.

Maybe that was better. Safer.

She reached out with care. Her fingers hovered for a breath before they made contact with the thick curve of one of his limbs. It was smooth and cold, the texture almost like satin soaked in seawater. Her hand glided slowly across the surface.

“So soft,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

He inhaled sharply. Not startled, but reactive. Like that small contact had sent something cascading through him he didn’t expect.

Encouraged, she let her hand trail lower, beneath the limb, until her palm met the underside, where two rows of suction cups twitched in anticipation.

“You said you sense with these?” she asked, meeting his gaze, searching for any sign she should stop.

He gave a short, curt nod. His whole body seemed tense with restraint now, like he was bracing against something internal.

She pressed her palm gently against the cups.

There was no immediate suction, just the delicate shifting of the muscle beneath, a subtle, almost shy pull against her skin. As if it were testing her shape.

And then two of the cups latched, gently, and released.

His breath caught audibly.

She didn’t move away.

"That tickled," she said with a soft laugh, watching the way the soft suckers twitched along the underside of his tentacle. Her voice broke the silence between them, but not the tension.

Encouraged by her reaction, he repeated the motion. The cluster of suction cups pulsed and flexed with deliberate care, touching her palm again, this time with full contact.

That brief, simple action was enough.

Her scent flooded him, clean skin, faint traces of citrus from her soap, or maybe the fruit she’d eaten that morning. Her warmth bled into his touch through the delicate skin of his limb. Her taste came next, something his kind would know as identity.

He shuddered.

The tentacle glided slowly, reverently, up her forearm under her sleeve, each cup engaging in turn, gripping lightly, then releasing. Some suctioned harder than others, tugging at her flesh in faint pulses like he could drag more information from each small patch of skin. Soft and strong, rhythmic and controlled… until it wasn’t.

He was too immersed, too hungry for input.

Her breath hitched and then came the sharp little yelp. “Hey!”

She startled, trying to pull her arm back, and the spell shattered.

He released her immediately, tucking the tentacle close to his body instinctively as it had bitten her. Which, in a way, it had.

She stared at her arm with wide eyes. A trail of faint marks dotted her forearm, already beginning to fade, but visible against the chill-raised skin.

“Well,” she said after a pause, half-laughing as she rubbed the marks with her free hand, “that felt like you were giving me a hickey.” She looked up at him with raised brows, clearly expecting a reaction. “There are better spots for those,” she added playfully.

The joke passed right through him. He didn’t respond.

Because he was horrified.

He stared at her arm with wide eyes. Her skin was marked. Marked. He knew human bodies didn’t change color as he did. If they did… it meant they were hurt. That they bruised, that they bled. His gut twisted.

“I-” he started, “I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said, sensing the shift in him. Her smile dimmed, not out of fear, but because she could see how fast he’d retreated inward. “It’s okay, Bucky. I’ve had worse from kitchen cabinets and sneaky coffee tables. See? There is nothing, it went away.”

But he barely seemed to hear. He was pulling away, not physically, but mentally, and emotionally, curling into guilt like a wave withdrawing from the shore.

He hadn’t meant to be rough. He’d wanted, wanted her scent, to feel her, wanted to understand her in his way, as his kind did. And he’d gotten carried away.

Her hand reached out, gently circling his wrist, trying to calm him.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he did.

“I’m okay. I promise.” Her voice softened. “Want to try again?”

She offered it like a gift, unafraid. But he didn’t reach for it. Didn’t reach for her. If anything, his body tensed in subtle retreat. Like he was already halfway back into the sea.

Her shoulders fell with a sigh.

So she reached out instead.

Her hand found his, cool and damp, curling her fingers gently around his palm. She gave it a squeeze.

“Hey,” she said, searching his gaze. “What happened to the grumpy sea cat that didn’t give a damn?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m not- What is a cat?”

That startled a laugh from her. “Nevermind.”

She waited a moment before lifting their joined hands a little. “Do I feel nervous to you? Afraid?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Then touch me again.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, parting his lips as if to argue, but the words never came.

“Another time,” he said at last.

“Bucky-”

“You don’t understand. I could get... lost in it.”

She tilted her head. “And what if I want to be found in it with you?”

That made his eyes snap to hers, startled.

You don’t have to be afraid for me. If anything happens, I’ll tell you to stop. But I trust you. And I know you want to do it again.”

“I do,” he admitted, almost in a whisper.

“Then do it,” she mumbled.

Still holding her hand, he shifted, and one tendril -thicker, darker near the base- slid across the sand and up beneath the hem of her sweater, gliding along the curve of her waist.

She gasped softly. “Oh. Okay. Someone feels adventurous.” A shiver trailed up her back. “And cold.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and his jaw slackened just slightly as the suckers latched onto her skin in a pattern that wasn’t random. There was intent behind each touch, drawn out, searching, collecting her. The tendril flexed and curled, dragging back and forth against her skin in a slow rhythm, and the motion made her breath stutter.

He tilted his head, parting his lips, brushing his tongue against the edge of a canine, like the sensation pulled something physical from him as it tasted like more than just her.

She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even think of pretending to be unaffected. Not when his face looked like that, concentrated, absorbed, straining for control even as his body acted with instinct.

Her thoughts weren’t where they should’ve been. Not for an innocent reunion. Not in the open. But the heat spreading in her cheeks -and lower- didn’t care much for propriety.

“S–so?” she managed to squeak, slightly higher than she intended.

He opened his eyes, slow and heavy-lidded, and there was something wild behind them now. Something ancient and hungry and confused by its own longing.

His voice came out husky. “You taste… beautiful.”

She blinked, and her heart fluttered hard in her chest. “That’s… not something I’ve ever been told before,” she said, trying for lightness, but her voice trembled a little.

The tendril still rested around her waist, unmoving now, its suckers gently released, one by one, leaving behind only the faintest impressions on her skin. His hand was still in hers, large and cool, his fingers twitching slightly like he wasn’t sure whether to hold tighter or let go.

He seemed to catch himself then -like surfacing from a deep place- and slowly, with visible effort, pulled the limb back and curled it against his side.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, dropping his gaze again.

“You didn’t. It was... quite the experience"

His hand stayed in hers a moment longer, before slipping away slowly.

She adjusted her sweater with a small tug but didn’t move farther. Her eyes were still on him, curious and calm. Not flinching, or pulling away.

That didn’t help.

Or maybe it did, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure about was the low, aching thrum beneath his skin. A want that went beyond just touch. It crawled deeper, into instinct and memory, into everything he hadn’t let himself want for too long.

He swallowed hard, flickering his gaze down to her collar, her throat, the delicate rise and fall of her breath. His fingers twitched in his lap. The appendages at his back shifted and flexed in the sand as he tried to center himself, some curling, some spreading in frustration.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

He looked up at her. Her voice cut clean through the haze of want. He nodded, a little too quickly.

“I just…” He looked away, jaw tight. “I’m still feeling.”

She tilted her head, tucking her knees under her. “Do you always feel this much when you do that?”

He exhaled slowly. “No. With you...” His voice dropped even lower. “It’s like… everything I take in makes me want to take more.”

A breeze moved between them, cool and sharp against his damp skin.

She didn’t lean away.

“I guess I should take it as a compliment,” she said after a beat, smiling faintly. “But you don’t have to hold back so hard. I won’t break.”

“I don’t want to ruin what’s… gentle between us.”

She blinked, taken aback for a second. That sentence… something in the way he said it made her heart pinch.

“Well,” she murmured, “I don’t think you could.”

That made something inside him still.

One of his tentacles crept forward, slowly, cautious as a breath. It hovered just short of her knee, unsure. Testing. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But after a beat, he slowly lowered it again, laying the appendage on the sand beside her instead.

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice a little rough.

“About?”

He gave a small shrug, eyes drifting away again.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I can do that.”

So she did. About nothing at first. About how the tide had reached higher than usual last week. About the gull she saw stealing someone’s sandwich and flying off victoriously toward the cliffs. And then, with a little smile curving her lips, she added, “I had fun when you visited.”

“Fun?” His brow furrowed.

She laughed under her breath. “It was gratificating.”

He looked a little sheepish. “I misbehaved. You got angry.”

Right. That.

“I know you didn’t do that on purpose. You told me,” She said gently. “It was kind of fun, showing you bits of my life. And, I got to cut someone’s hair for the first time. That’s not something I expected.”

He scrunched his nose and lifted a hand to tug lightly on one of his damp strands, inspecting the ends. “Your hair doesn’t grow?”

She stifled a laugh. “Pfft, no, it does. But some people cut and style hair for you, as a job.”

He blinked, clearly processing that. “We don’t… not like that. We just cut it with knives. Or sharp stones. Or shells.”

“I figured,” she said with a playful squint. “Now that you mention knives…”

His shoulders went stiff. A flicker of tension ran through his body, echoed in the subtle twitch of his closest tentacle.

“Do your kin use tools?” she asked gently, careful not to let her curiosity sound like an interrogation. “I mean, clearly you do weapons, since-”

She pointed, just lightly, to the faint scar that still cut across his side.

His eyes followed her hand, then dropped away, the memory darkening his face for a moment.

“But I mean… other things. Normal things.”

He curled his fingers in the sand beside him, considering.

“We make things when needed,” he said finally. “Blades, spears. We shape coral into bowls, carve driftwood, and sometimes string things with seaweed threads. But we don’t keep much. The ocean takes back anything not used.”

She nodded slowly, picturing it. “So, survival tools. Things with purpose.”

“Yes.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Not even something pretty? Just for the sake of it?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Sometimes the shells are shaped… nicely. We pass those to small ones. Or wear them on cords. But if it has no use, it is lost eventually.”

“So… not jewelry,” she said, tilting her head.

“There are some who wear what’s found on sunken ships,” he admitted. “Shiny metal. Stones. They wrap them around their necks or arms.”

“I take it you don’t?”

He gave a faint shake of his head. “Things like that bring attention.”

Her eyes slid pointedly to his left arm. “You have a tattoo, though.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Every adult male has one.”

Her brows lifted. “Like a rite of passage?”

“Something like that.” He shifted slightly, tracing a small groove in the sand with one clawed finger. “The ones who have ink marks are the ones who can mate.”

Oh.

“And you got it with age?”

He shook his head. “You bring proof of your strength. Something you hunted. A jest. You offer it to the witch, who marks the skin in proportion to what you did.”

Her brows lifted slightly, drifting her gaze again to the intricate ink covering his entire arm and curling over the round of his shoulder. “So… the bigger the mark, the bigger the feat?”

He inclined his head in a slow nod.

“So, is yours… the expected size?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

There was the briefest pause, then he tilted his head, and something unmistakably smug passed through his expression.

“They usually don’t pass the elbow,” he said, with a low voice edged with pride.

Her mouth parted slightly, then curved into a wry smile. “Well… I guess that makes you quite the catch.”

He blinked, then frowned faintly. “I’m not a-“

“It’s an expression,” she laughed softly. “A compliment.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Then… thank you.”

Her gaze traced the ink over the dark whorls etched into the skin, part tribal, part something older, curling like tide patterns. Without thinking, she reached out and let her fingers hover just above it.

“Can I…?” she asked, already brushing the tips of her fingers lightly across the design.

His breath caught -just a fraction- but he didn’t move away.

Her touch was gentle, and slow, tracing the raised edges of the tattoo. The texture surprised her. Not just a visual pattern, but something tactile, layered.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

His eyes had gone half-lidded, but they never left her hand. His muscles clenched slightly under her fingers, not from discomfort, no. From restraint.

She followed a looping curve toward his shoulder, not knowing the path of her touch mimicked an old gesture, a courting touch, one that in his world meant intention. Interest. Trust. Desire, too.

“You’re… breathing differently,” she noticed aloud.

“You’re touching a mating mark,” he said quietly.

Her hand froze, mid-stroke.

“Oh.”

But he didn’t pull away. And she didn’t either.

“I didn’t mean- I just thought it just was-” she faltered.

“I know,” he said. “You didn’t know. Again.”

The moment stretched.

“Again?” she asked, already starting to withdraw.

“You… already gave your neck. And now your hand.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, that sounds like I’m proposing to you and I don’t even know what it means.”

He looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smile. “It means something. But it’s not binding. Not unless… you keep doing it.”

She lowered her hand, resting it against her knee, with her heart thudding.

“I’ll try not to accidentally seduce you again, then.”

That earned her a real smile, small, but there.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

She was still watching him out of the corner of her eye, unsure whether to laugh off his comment or run with it under her arm. But before she could say anything, he shifted, and his tentacle’s tips curled slowly against the sand like he was working something out in his head.

Then, softly “What do your kind do, when they want to bond?”

She turned fully toward him, blinking. “Bond? You mean like… relationships?”

He nodded. “Yes. That.”

She hummed, thoughtful. “It depends. Some people date, which is like… trying to figure out if you want to be with someone you met. Some stay friends and slowly become something more. Some just… fall in love and decide they want to stay together.”

“Fall,” he echoed. “You fall into it?”

She smiled at his puzzled frown. “It’s just a saying. It means you don’t always see it coming. One day, you look at someone and you know, oh. It’s them.”

He was quiet for a moment, still furrowing his brows.

“Is there… a mark? A ritual?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Sometimes. For us, it depends on the culture. A lot of people marry, which is kind of like a formal bond. There’s usually a ceremony, vows, rings, witnesses. You stand up in front of people and promise to stay together.”

He frowned slightly. “So others must see it happen?”

“Usually, yeah. Not always. Some do it alone or just sign a paper. But the idea’s the same, it’s a public choice. A promise.”

“A performance,” he murmured, half to himself.

She smiled faintly. “Sometimes. But it means something. At least, when it’s done for love.”

He nodded slowly. “So no mark on the body. No blood drawn. Just… rings?”

She lifted her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Sometimes. On this one.”

His tentacles shifted in the sand again, subtle, like ripples beneath still water.

“And if someone touches you where the ring should go?” he asked.

She gave a soft laugh, more breath than sound. “Then they might be flirting.”

That pulled a look from him, eyes slightly narrowed, confused, and intrigued. “Still, it’s not the place of the ring, per se. It’s the way someone touches you that’s considered flirting.”

He huffed softly, not quite a laugh. “So many rules,” he murmured, flicking his gaze back to her hand as it moved.

She shrugged, with a little smile tugging at her mouth. “We’re more complicated than your people.”

He watched her for a long second, and the corner of his brow twitched, but he said nothing.

The silence stretched between them, loaded.

“Did you eat the fruit?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the quiet.

He gave a short nod. “Yes.”

“Slowly, or you just-”

“It didn’t make me feel bad after,” he cut in quickly, defensively, as if bracing for disapproval.

She suppressed a grin. “I wasn’t judging.”

He blinked, then looked away, as if embarrassed by the outburst.

A moment passed.

Then he looked back at her. Something was searching in his gaze, something almost... resolved. He straightened a little. “Have your bag. I’ll go get it.”

She waved a hand, casually. “It’s not necessary. You can give it to me another time.”

But he was already turning purposefully, without another word, and sliding back toward the water.

She watched him go, shaking her head. Alone again, she let out a slow breath, glanced around, and then lifted her sweater, peeking at the spot where his tendril had touched her. Her skin was unmarked.

When he returned, his hair was damp, clinging to the sides of his face, and water dripped in lazy trails down his naked chest. He held her bag twisted in both hands, wringing it out with care before offering it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching out. But the moment her fingers curled around the strap, she felt it, the weight inside.

Curious, she began to open it, but his hand darted out. He caught her wrist, gently, closing his cool fingers around her flesh with enough pressure to pause her.

“Later,” he said, his voice a little lower now.

Her brows rose. “Uh…”

His gaze skittered away, as if unsure how to explain. “Open it at your house.”

She watched him for a beat, her smile slowly spreading. “Oh? Like a surprise?”

He nodded once, stiff, like admitting that made him vulnerable.

“Well, thank you,” she said, shifting the bag into her lap. “You didn’t have to give me anything.”

“You bought me clothes,” he said, flicking his eyes to hers and then down again. “And crunchy fish.”

She laughed softly. “It wasn’t necessary to reciprocate, Bucky. But… thank you again.” She leaned forward slightly. “I’ll look at it at home.”

He saw her shiver, her shoulders giving a subtle twitch beneath her coat. A small frown formed on his brow.

“Go home,” he said quietly.

She quirked a brow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

He shook his head once, firm. “You’re cold.”

“I can stay a little longer,” she said, brushing off his concern with a wave of her hand.

He shifted, and the ends of his tentacles curled slightly against the rocks as if unsettled. “You’ll get sick again,” he muttered. “You’re… weak.”

“Hey!” She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “That was harsh. I’m not going to get sick from a little chill. I get sick like any human, just my symptoms are just a little worse, that’s all.”

He looked away, clearly regretting his choice of words. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant.” Her tone softened. “Just… work on phrasing.”

He gave a slow nod. Then, quieter: “Tomorrow. You can come earlier when the sun’s higher.”

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes with mock suspicion. “Tomorrow, huh? Is that an invitation?”

A flush crept over his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze, brushing the rock beside him with the tip of his fingers. “You were going to come anyway,” he murmured, trying to deflect.

----

She stayed by the rocks longer than she should have, with her hands tucked into her sleeves and her breath visible in the cooling air. But eventually, the wind picked up. The light dimmed. And she still had things to take care of.

So she said goodbye with a soft smile and slung the cloth bag over her shoulder as she headed back up the path.

By the time she reached home, she shrugged out of her coat and carried the satchel straight to the table. Then, she untied the knot and opened it, expecting… she didn’t know what.

But not this.

Four large pearls, luminous and warm-toned, sat nestled together in the folds of the fabric. Their soft peach hue glowed even under the dim kitchen light, catching hints of pink and gold as they shifted.

They looked like they belonged to a museum. Or an auction house. But there they were, sitting in the bag she’d used for groceries and fruit as if he’d gathered them like wildflowers and thought she might like them.

She reached out, running the tip of her finger along one pearl. It was cool and impossibly smooth. Each one was unique in shape, imperfect in a way that made them more beautiful.

But that wasn’t all.

Beside them, nestled with just as much care, were two conch shells. They were smaller, polished by time and sea, their curved surfaces were silky smooth and speckled with tiny brown dots. She ran a thumb along the edge of one, marveling at its texture, and the delicate spiral.

The pearls were priceless, true treasures from the ocean’s depth, the kind collectors paid fortunes to acquire. And yet… he’d placed the conches right alongside them like equals, no less important, no less offered. And somehow, that made the whole gesture feel even more intimate.

She let out a slow breath, touched in a way she couldn’t quite explain. To him, these weren’t just beautiful objects. They were tokens. Offerings. Chosen and given with care.

And she’d felt the weight of them in her hands.

With a small smile, she closed the bag again and held it to her chest, and then, tucked the pearls and one of the conch shells beneath a loose wooden plank in the kitchen floor, the one Arthur had once called his “secret savings place,” back when the house was his.

She left the other shell on a table next to the window. She already had plans for it.

Still moved by his gift, she poured herself a generous mug of milk coffee, the kind she made when she needed comfort and focus, and sat down with her half-finished projects. There was a lot to do, but her hands refused to cooperate.

Her gaze kept drifting to the conch on the table.

And from there, it was a short trip back to the beach.

To the way his tendril had wrapped around her waist, snugly and deliberately. To the way his suckers had pulsed against her skin, curious, careful, sensing her like no one ever had. To the look on his face, with his parted lips and eyes fluttered shut like he’d been drinking in something sacred.

It should’ve unsettled her. Maybe it had, at first. But the longer she sat thinking about it, the more her skin remembered the touch, and the more honest she had to be with herself.

It had been... enticing.

And she found herself wondering. Wondering how it would feel to have more of him touching her like that. Exploring. Suckling. Moving across her body with the same gentle hunger he’d shown at her waist.

Before she even noticed, her breath had gone shallow, and her panties were damp with heat.

She buried her face in her hands.

Was that normal? -no- Was it even possible to…

She shook her head, trying to will the thoughts away.

Maybe he was just being kind. Maybe it was his way of bonding, the way his people expressed trust. Maybe the gift was just gratitude, for the clothes and the fried fish, as he said.

But still… the way he’d looked at her in the general store. The way his body had blocked hers, how he'd moved between her and everyone else. That hadn’t felt friendly. That had felt-

Something else.

Possessive. Protective.

And that gift itself. Not just pretty tokens. They were rare. Beautiful. And she didn’t think he would’ve given them to just anyone. Her cheeks burned as she leaned back in her chair, pressing her palms against them.

Great. Now she was a weirdo fantasizing about a tentacled man.

Then again... from his side, she was the strange one. The one with “too much missing,” as he’d once put it. Fragile. Loud. And yet he looked at her like she was something worth seeing.

----

He floated low in the deepest pool of his cave, with his arms slack at his sides, and the tentacles splayed and heavy beneath him, curling faintly with each rise and fall of the water. His stomach was full, he’d hunted well earlier, a large fish, but the satisfaction hadn’t lasted.

Because his hunger wasn’t the kind that food could satiate.

Touching her had been a mistake. He’d known it would be. Knew it from the first second her hand brushed his skin, from the moment her voice dipped soft and coaxing with trust. And yet he had reached for her anyway.

Now he was paying for it.

He gritted his teeth and let his head loll against the cave wall, fluttering his eyes shut as he worked himself with rough, efficient strokes below the surface. Just enough pressure to drag the ache out of his body. Just enough friction to keep her scent alive in his mind.

She was still on him.

Her texture, her warmth. Her sweet skin that made his suckers twitch with craving. The ghost of her waist under his limb, the pulse he’d felt just beneath her surface. That delicate sound she made -half laugh, half gasp- when he grazed her with his cups. The noise hadn’t left his ears since.

It shouldn’t be like this. Not with a human.

Never in all his years -before the captivity or after- had he even thought to crave one. He used to mock Steve for it. Mocked the others who dared to chase that kind of soft, forbidden bond with land-walkers. Foolish, he’d thought. Dangerous. Weak.

Now look at him. Hiding in a pool like a feral pup, panting into the dark and rutting into his own palm over a human woman.

His hand moved faster, almost angry.

He hissed low through his teeth as the heat pooled in his gut. She’d be so small under him. So warm. And her softness -stars, her softness- he could maneuver her like nothing, press her down or hold her still while he tasted every inch of her body.

She’d feel everything.

So tight around him, trying to take it.

Body clenching-

The groan that escaped him was low and guttural, muffled by the water as his body seized with release. Muscles clenched, tentacles recoiled, and for a moment he felt as though the world narrowed to that one blinding pulse of pleasure.

Then-

Shame followed, sharp and immediate. He curled tighter, with one arm thrown across his eyes, and his chest rising and falling unevenly.

What the hell was he doing? He looked at the evidence of his actions swirling in the water and scowled, dragging himself to another pool. The tide will take care of it later.

----

Days came and went, carried by tides and wind. He stayed away from the cave mouth longer and sank deeper into the depths after each visit with her. And yet, no matter how far he retreated, she remained. In his thoughts. In his skin. In the taste that memory alone couldn’t erase from his mind.

She still came to the shore. Not every day, but often enough. As the weather cooled, she stopped bringing her yarn and projects, no longer setting up camp near the rocks with her bag and her tools. She simply came to sit, to chat, to exist beside him. She never asked why he didn’t touch her with his limbs again. Spoke gently. Stayed within reach, but never crossed that invisible line he’d drawn.

He kept his distance. Not in presence -he still came to her when he could, especially when the sea turned rough and rains swept over the coast- but in touch. No more curling tentacles. No more suckers on her skin. Only his hands now, brief and careful and human. Safer.

It should have dulled his hunger. But somehow, it made it worse.

In her little home, he learned things he never knew he wanted to know. She showed him movies, flickering light and color and drama on a screen that made his eyes narrow and his questions pile up. She told him stories, short ones, with simple morals or whimsical endings. And then asked about his.

So he told her. The old ones. The dark ones. The ones with blood and hunger and truths too heavy for children.

When he took his human form, he let himself get closer. Sat beside her on the couch, sometimes so close their knees bumped and neither moved. He helped her with little tasks and always, always ended up brushing against her. A shoulder. A back. Fingers grazing as they reached for the same thing.

She never pulled away.

One afternoon, sleepier than he meant to be after eating a questionable amount of food, he let himself sink down beside her on the couch. She was warm and soft and calm in that way that made him forget he didn’t belong in places like this. When she gently offered her lap, patting it, he hesitated only a moment before curling in, resting his head just above her knees.

He breathed her familiar scent deeply and exhaled slowly against her thighs.

Her fingers found his hair, warm and soothing. She threaded them slowly through his locks like she had all the time in the world just to touch him. And he let her. Closed his eyes. Let the tension bleed from his limbs. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for that kind of contact, not just closeness, but care.

It was his undoing.

Because after that day, every time he visited, he found himself looking for reasons to be near her. To help with something, to lean in, to shift close enough that the offer might come again. And it did. Again and again, until there was no need for excuses. No more tentative asks. He would simply wait for her to sit, and then fit himself into the space she made for him, laying his head in her lap, letting the warmth of her body cradle him, and her fingers work through the strands of his hair until everything else faded.

But then spring came.

And his visits thinned.

They met on the beach again, like they had before, with the wide sky above them and the sound of waves between them. But something had shifted. With the change in season came back the distance, the restraint. He didn’t rest his head on her anymore. He didn’t reach for her unless it was necessary. As though winter had never happened.

She wasn’t foolish, she noticed the change immediately. The absence of contact, and the silences that stretched just a little too long. And it hurt. She debated bringing it up, asking outright what had changed. But the fear of making him retreat further kept the words sealed behind her lips.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love @misspendragonsworld @thewriters64 @escapefromrealitylol @hi172826 @wintrsoldrluvr @reddesires @ruexj283 @buckvoidsyy @littlesuniee @kimberly-stocks @pandaxnienke @ladypncl @homiesexuallaj @kulteule @awesompawsum @killerwendigo @princessgriffin1998 @helen-2003 @nynxtea @alagalaska

dividers by @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #merman! Bucky #cecaelia! Bucky #cecaelia #bucky x curvy!reader #Mer! Bucky

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mssishipi · 19 hours ago

Text

taste of indulgence - sjy, pjs

CHAPTER 4 — SHOW ME SPICY

Avoidance was your only way to move forward, but Jay and Jake weren’t about to let you slip away so easily. How could you pretend you didn’t want them when your body told a different story? If you wanted to play stubborn, fine. But brats don’t get to run—they get put in their place. And they were more than ready to show you exactly what spicy really meant.

content tags: everyone is gay or fruity!!! angst! reader is self sabotaging, she made jake cry, jay is angry (and stressed), let's play back to friends by sombr, psych majors who don't know how to communicate, reader assume sunghoon's sexuality, reader cuts her hair short, jay's pov, sunoo is just sunoo.

explicit content (smut): uhm threesome (switch jake, rough mean dom jay, sub reader), dubcon!!! public sex, unprotected sex, humiliation (?), dacryphilia, rough throat fucking, cunillingus, jake tried to be angry but went soft, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration, creampie, anal sex (mxm). MDNI! WC: 21.5K

want a taste?

"I think red nails would look good on me, don't you think?" You flipped your hand over, inspecting your nails with a thoughtful look.

Sunoo barely glanced up from his phone before reaching out to grab your hand, tilting it side to side. "Hmm... Maroon, definitely. With silver designs," he decided with a nod.

"Almond shape?" you asked, watching his expression closely.

Sunoo furrowed his brows, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he considered. "Square could work too... gives that classic, clean look. But yeah, almond is a solid choice. It'll look good when you're, like, casually reaching for things."

"Okay, I should set an appointment with the nail tech Wonyoung keeps talking about," you mused, already pulling out your phone. As you both walked past a full-length mirror in the store, you stopped in your tracks, turning your head slightly to get a better look at yourself.

"Maybe I should cut my hair, no?" You ran your fingers through the strands, tilting your head as if trying to picture it. "Or maybe I should dye it? What color do you suggest?"

Sunoo looked up from his phone, finally giving you his full attention. His mouth was slightly open, eyes squinting as he observed you.

"I tried a new makeup style today," you continued, adjusting your reflection with your fingers. "I don't know if it suits me yet, but if I cut my hair, maybe it would. This length would be good, right?" You pointed just below your ears, mentally mapping out the bob cut you were suddenly considering.

Sunoo blinked, then gasped dramatically. "You're planning to get a bob cut, bitch? Are you fucking serious?!"

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. "What? You don't think it would look good?"

He placed both hands on your shoulders like he was about to shake some sense into you. "Do you have any idea what a bob cut means?"

You laughed, shaking him off. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Short hair on a hot girl?" Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. "That's a crisis cut. A post-breakup cut. A someone just emotionally wrecked me and I need a fresh start cut!"

You rolled your eyes, but your smile faltered slightly. "Maybe I just want a change."

Sunoo wasn't buying it. He crossed his arms, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Yeah, right." He paused before adding, "By the way, Jake keeps texting me, asking when our vacant period is. He says you're not replying to them."

Your steps faltered, but you quickly regained composure. "I already told them I'm busy," you said, forcing a casual shrug. "Our internship is coming up next year, so I have to start networking now. I need professors to recommend me to the best hospitals—ones that actually offer jobs after the internship."

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "That's a solid excuse, I'll give you that. But babe, you're literally ghosting them."

"I'm not ghosting."

"Bitch." Sunoo deadpanned. "You left them on read for two weeks."

"Because I'm not in the mood to fuck them anymore," you said flatly, resuming your pace.

Sunoo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh my god. The coldness. The absolute heartlessness." Then, his voice softened. "Babe, you sound like a total bitch right now, but I know you. And I know there's a reason you cried that night."

You exhaled sharply, staring straight ahead.

"I'm your friend," Sunoo continued, his tone gentler now. "You can tell me if they hurt you. Did they do something? Say something? I mean, yeah, they're my friends too now, but you know I'll always have your back first. So tell me."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "It's not like that. They didn't do anything."

"I just... I don't know, Sunoo." You stopped walking, running a frustrated hand through your hair. "I thought I could handle it. I thought it would be easy to keep things casual. But the longer I stayed, the harder it got. Now, it just fucking hurts."

Sunoo crossed his arms, watching you carefully. "You like them."

"Sunoo—"

"You like them," he repeated, this time with certainty. "Not just one of them. Both of them."

Your throat felt tight. "It doesn't matter."

Sunoo scoffed. "It matters if it's eating you up like this."

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. "I was never supposed to catch feelings."

Sunoo let out a long breath, his expression softening. "You're human, dumbass. Not a fucking robot. It was bound to happen."

"It doesn't change anything." Your fingers clenched at the hem of your uniform. "It's just—fuck. I don't even know where I stand with them. I mean, they're sweet, they treat me so well. Who wouldn't fall for them?" You let out a bitter chuckle. "But that's the thing, isn't it? I don't know if it means anything."

Sunoo tilted his head, watching you carefully. "Have you told them how you feel?"

"What for?" You scoffed. "So I can humiliate myself? So I can hear them say, 'Oh, that's cute, but we never actually saw you that way'?" You let out a hollow laugh. "No, thanks."

Sunoo pursed his lips. "You don't know that's what they'd say."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo. Because even if—if—they felt something, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm still just an extra in their relationship. They've had each other for years. I'm just..." Your voice faltered, and you forced a small smile. "Temporary."

"Babe," Sunoo frowned. "That's a really shitty way to look at it."

"Is it?" You met his eyes, voice quieter now. "Or is it just reality?"

Sunoo sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'm saying, maybe just tell them what you feel. Communicate—"

"No." You cut him off, shaking your head. "It's better to just move forward. Cut them off and be done with it." Your voice wavered, but you quickly steadied yourself. "As I said, even if they did feel something, it wouldn't change anything." You swallowed the lump in your throat, "I'll just consider them a hookup. That's all they were supposed to be anyway."

Sunoo huffed. "Look, babe. You wouldn't be spiraling over them, trying to change your hair, your nails, your entire damn life just to get away from the way they made you feel." He sighed again. "I get it. Feelings suck. But lying to yourself? That's worse."

You exhaled sharply, looking away. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo."

"It does matter." He poked your forehead. "And sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it."

Well, too bad because Sunoo didn't have a choice but to deal with your stubbornness. He had seen you shut down before, had watched you bury your emotions so deep that even you forgot they existed.

Avoidance was the only way. Cutting them off was the only way. If you ever told them the truth, it wouldn't change anything. If they did feel something for you, it still wouldn't matter. Because being together with two guys? It wasn't realistic.

Jake and Jay were perfect together—enough for each other. Their love was already deep, already established, already real.

You were just an afterthought, a temporary distraction, a spice added to their relationship to make things more exciting for a while.

That was why you had to let it go. Because holding on would only break you more.

Avoidance was the only option. But that didn't mean it was easy.

You shared three majors with them, which meant there was no real escape. Every time Jay or Jake tried to talk to you, you scrambled for a half-baked excuse, something—anything—to put distance between you.

And you felt guilty. Because at this point, you weren't just avoiding them, you were leaving Sunoo to deal with the fallout.

Every. Single. Time.

"Sorry, I already made plans to get my nails done," you said, forcing a smile as Jake grabbed your arm after your laboratory class, trying to pull you toward the arcade.

"We can just go with you!" Jake perked up immediately, his eyes practically sparkling at the idea. He turned to Jay, beaming. "Right?!"

Jay, as always, was quieter, but his gaze was on you.

You resisted the urge to sigh. "Uh—actually, I'm going with my other friends."

Beside you, Sunoo tensed, trying not to roll his eyes so hard they got stuck.

"Then Sunoo can go with you guys," you added quickly, shoving the attention onto him.

Sunoo's head snapped toward you so fast, "Excuse me?" His expression was pure betrayal.

Jake blinked, tilting his head. "Wait. Sunoo's not going with you to get your nails done?"

"Nope!" Sunoo answered before you could. "Because I'll be with you guys. Losing all my money on rigged machines. Can't wait!"

He hooked his arms through Jake and Jay's, dragging them away before you could say another word. But not before shooting you a sharp, knowing look.

Avoidance was the only option, but it was hard.

It was almost funny, how desperately you were trying to erase them from your life, only for your own mind to betray you at every turn.

Jay's lips were always dry. Did he ever listen and start using the lip balm you recommended? Or was he still stubborn about it?

Jake had a terrible habit of not drinking enough water, always running on boundless energy until he inevitably crashed. You wondered if Jay kept that in mind—if he reminded him to drink more, if he handed him a bottle without a word, the way you used to.

Not your problem anymore.

"Your nails are so pretty!!!" Wonyoung screeched, grabbing your hand and turning it under the flashing club lights. The silver designs shimmered, catching every flicker of neon.

"Thank you," you muttered, tipping back your drink without hesitation. The alcohol burned down your throat, but you welcomed it. Anything to dull the edges. Sunoo sat beside you, talking how he wants to have sex tonight.

Another drink. Then another. By the time the rest of your friends arrived, your head was already buzzing, you can't even keep up with the conversation anymore. You laughed at the right moments, nodded when necessary, but your mind was elsewhere.

"Can you recommend a good waterproof mascara?" you mumbled, resting your head against Sunghoon's shoulder.

He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed with your state. "I don't know? Maybelline, I guess? Or some Japanese brand—those are good too."

"You're gay," you giggled, voice slightly slurred.

Sunghoon scoffed, shifting slightly so you didn't slide off him. "How the fuck is that gay?"

"You just know things." You poked his chest, eyes drooping.

"It's called having sisters, dumbass," he deadpanned.

You giggled, the alcohol making everything funnier than it should be. "Hehehe, ever since you joined our group, you've had this, like... boy love energy."

"I'm not into boy love," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Oh my god. You're homophobic."

Sunghoon choked on his drink so hard he nearly spit it out. "What?! Where the fuck did you get that from?"

"How are you not into boy love?" You slurred, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Boy love is great. It's wholesome, it's cute, it's—"

Your voice cracked and your lips wobbled, remembering Jay and Jake. Suddenly, your eyes burned.

You sniffled. Sunghoon, who had been mid-rant about how you made no sense, suddenly froze. He stared at you, wide-eyed.

"Hey... are you—are you crying?"

You sniffled, waving a hand dramatically. "I miss them."

Sunghoon blinked. "Miss who?"

"Boy love!" you wailed, smacking the table. "Boy love is so cute! It makes me so jealous! Agh—fuck! How can you not like boy love?! I miss seeing some boy love, but it hurts seeing some boy love!"

"Bro, what the fuck are you talking about?"

You sniffled harder, rubbing your eyes aggressively. "It's so unfair. Why are they so perfect together? Why can't I just be happy watching them be happy?!"

Sunghoon, still utterly baffled, slowly turned his head, scanning the club for someone or anyone to deal with your mess. His gaze landed on Sunoo, who was currently twerking in the middle of the dance floor, hyping himself up with your other friends.

"It's really hard to avoid them," you hiccupped, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. "I miss them."

Sunghoon let out a slow breath. "Uh-huh."

"I'm making the right decision, right?" you asked, eyes wide and desperate, like you were begging him to validate your self-sabotage.

He scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh... yeah?"

"Yes," you repeated, sniffling. "I'm right. They'll stop. They'll forget me. They'll live happily ever after."

Sunghoon nodded again, then you let out a wobbly sigh. "I will also forget about them," you declared, before promptly bursting into tears again.

You wiped your nose aggressively. "I'll just go back to my old self. No more stupid feelings, no more heartbreak, no more—no more them."

He gave you a cautious thumbs-up. "Sounds... healthy."

"I'll just masturbate with my vibrator," you continued, completely ignoring him. "At least my vibrator doesn't make my heart hurt."

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ."

"Women can over-complicate things, and that's because they go deeper—sometimes too deep, admittedly."

Yes. Exactly. To avoid over-complicating things, avoidance was the only solution.

You were just walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when a hand suddenly grabbed yours.

You yelped, eyes widening. "What the—?!"

Before you could even react, you were being pulled, not roughly, but firmly, until you stumbled into an empty mini-theater room. The door clicked shut behind you, and your heart pounded as you whipped around.

"Jake?"

He was standing there, hand still wrapped around your wrist, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. His usual playful energy was nowhere to be found.

The room was too quiet and intimate. The only sound was the distant hum of the campus outside, muffled by thick walls, the kind that trapped secrets and held them hostage. Your pulse was a dull roar in your ears as you stared at him.

God, you missed him. The playful lilt of his voice, the way he always smelled like clean laundry and something unmistakably Jake. You missed the way he touched you—soft, then rough, then soft again. You missed them. Him and Jay.

Your chest tightened, instead you swallowed, immediately trying to pull away. "Jake. Let go."

His fingers twitched against your skin, like he was debating something—like he wanted to hold on a second longer, just in case you changed your mind. But then, finally, he released you, but he didn't step back.

He was still too close.

"You are avoiding us." He said, wounded by frustration. "Why?"

Panic coiled inside you, what the fuck. You weren't ready for this. Your thoughts scrambled, reaching for an excuse, anything—anything—that would make him back off. Think. Think. Think.

But then Jake's face softened, and he exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry if we did something wrong," he said. "Just—please, talk to us. If you don't want to have sex anymore, that's okay. I understand. We understand." He took a step closer, voice cracking slightly. "Just don't shut us out, please."

Fuck. You almost caved. Jake have this eyes that knew exactly how to weaken you, but you spent enough time to hardened yourself. Pulled your walls up so high that even you couldn't see over them.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

You crossed your arms, forcing a blank expression. "I'm busy, Jake. I don't have time to play around with you two anymore."

Jake blinked, hurt was flashed across his face. "P-Play around?, I-Is that what this was to you?"

You scoffed, "What else would it be?"

Jake's expression twisted, like your words had physically knocked the breath out of him. Good. Maybe he'd finally get the hint.

"Look, Jake." You forced yourself to keep your voice steady, swallowing down the lump clawing its way up your throat. "I don't want to be mean, but get a fucking clue. Okay? Yes, I'm avoiding you. You and Jay were fun. The sex was good. But that's all it ever was."

Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His eyes, still locked onto yours. "Just explain to us, why?"

"I don't owe you an explanation in the first place!" you snapped, voice rising despite yourself. You could feel your resolve cracking, your emotions clawing their way to the surface. But you couldn't let them win. You couldn't let him see you break.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"I got tired of it, okay?!"

Jake's breath came out unsteady. "You could've just told us," he said, "I-Instead of... this—instead of just shutting us out like we never meant anything. We're friends, r-right?"

That last word came out, and his voice cracking, and that was what almost broke you.

Because Jake was looking at you like he was desperate to understand, like he needed you to say something—anything that could make this all make sense.

"Friends?" You let out a cold, hollow laugh, tilting your head like he'd just said something stupid. "Jake, we were never friends."

The second the words left your mouth, Jake flinched, his breath stuttering. His entire body stiffened, his shoulders curling inward.

"Don't say that," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You don't mean that."

You clenched your jaw so hard it ached. "I do."

Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at you like he was trying to see through the wall you'd just slammed between you. Like if he looked hard enough, he'd find something—some sign that you were lying.

But he wouldn't. Because you were good at this. You were good at pretending.

"Just tell me why," he tried again, softer this time, more pleading than before. "If you ever cared about us at all, just... tell me why you're doing this."

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, your entire body screamed at you to stop, to take it all back, to fix this.

But you couldn't. You forced out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "God, Jake, you're so clingy." Jake flinched, and you saw the exact moment something in him cracked.

"You took everything way too seriously," you continued. "It was just sex. I don't know what the fuck you thought this was, but it wasn't deep."

"You were convenient," you added, twisting the knife deeper. "That's all. And now? I'm over it."

Jake sucked in a breath, his shoulders stiffening. You noticed the way his lips trembled. And then slowly—he nodded.

Tears streaked his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away. He didn't lash out. He didn't beg. He just looked at you—looked through you—his expression heartbreakingly soft despite everything.

Jake didn't yell. He didn't curse you out, didn't demand answers or call you a liar. Instead, he just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. His eyes were soft—too soft, filled with a quiet kind of devastation that made your stomach churn.

Without another word, he turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and that was it.

Your body sagged the moment he was gone, like the strings holding you together had been severed. You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but the air felt suffocating. Your hands trembled at your sides, your fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out, to pull him back.

Don't break down. Don't be weak. You did what needed to be done.

One minute. Just one minute to get yourself together.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your throat burned from holding back something that wanted to crawl out, guilt, regret, longing, you didn't know. Didn't want to know.

Then, finally, you exhaled. Straightened your back. Set your shoulders and walked out.

The hallway was quiet, but not empty.

Your steps faltered as you saw them—Jake, standing there with his back slightly hunched, his hands gripping the hem of Jay's uniform. His shoulders shook and his breathing uneven.

And Jay stood right in front of him, tense and rigid, watching him with a concern expression. His fists were clenched, but his hands hovered just slightly—like he wanted to touch Jake, to comfort him, but didn't know how.

And when he looked up, his eyes found yours. The softness that was there for Jake was gone.

Jay's gaze was dark, sharp, and cold in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no visible anger, just an overwhelming quiet rage simmering.

Your pulse kicked up, you immediately turned away to avoid his gaze.

Spun on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, forcing your steps to be even, controlled. Ignoring the way your chest ached, the way your throat felt tight, the way your lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air.

You did the right thing.

BACK in high school, Jay never really liked being around too many people. He wasn't exactly antisocial, he could hold a conversation when needed, and he got along fine with classmates.

But having a solid group of friends wasn't his thing. Socializing felt like a chore, something that drained him. It was exhausting trying to keep up with people's expectations, their small talk, their unnecessary drama. So, he kept his distance, floating between different groups without ever fully settling in.

Girls, especially, were a whole different kind of exhausting. He wasn't clueless—he knew most of the guys in his class were obsessed with them, always whispering about who had the best tits, passing around porn links like they were trading cards.

Sure, Jay could admit that women were attractive. Sexy, even. Tits were nice, pussy was great. But in his experience, being around women felt more like a headache than a pleasure.

They were too complex, too hard to figure out. One moment they were sweet, the next they were upset over something he didn't even understand. And somehow, he was always expected to know why. It was frustrating. The high-pitched screeching in the hallways, the emotional rollercoasters, the way they'd take out their bad moods on him for no reason—it was all too much.

So, he stayed detached. Women were beautiful, but from a distance. Up close, they were just another thing he didn't have the patience to deal with.

"Did I just... get rejected?"

Jay barely had a second to process before the words came tumbling out from the stranger standing in front of him. The guy was wearing a soccer jersey, his eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying for a while.

Jay raised an eyebrow, not sure why he was being dragged into this. He didn't even know the guy.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" the stranger asked, pouting up at him like some kicked puppy.

Jay gave him a once-over. The guy was about his height, maybe a little smaller, with messy hair and wide, golden-retriever eyes that only made his pathetic expression worse.

"She said I give the best head," the guy continued, sniffling. "But, continue to say some monologue that it's not me, it's her. What does it even mean?"

Jay sighed, running a hand down his face as he stared at the sky. Out of all the people this guy could've dumped his sob story on, why him? He just wanted to go home, lay in bed, and maybe practice a few guitar solos, not babysit some heartbroken stranger.

And that's how he met Jake.

If Jay was being honest, Jake could be a lot to handle. He was loud, clingy, and had the attention span of a golden retriever, but somehow, they just worked.

They balanced each other out in a way Jay never expected. They didn't argue much, jealousy was never an issue, and even when they weren't in the mood to deal with each other, they just shrugged it off—no drama, no unnecessary fights.

And Jay loved him. So much that he followed him to university, enrolling in the same classes just to be with him.

That was why, when Jake first brought up the idea of a threesome, Jay had been flabbergasted. He wasn't the sharing type. He was possessive by nature, and the thought of someone else touching his Jake made his blood boil. But Jake was patient, communicating his feelings in the only way he knew how: between tangled sheets.

It took months for Jay to even consider it. He didn't know what to think, didn't know if he'd be okay with it. Whether it was another guy or a girl, the thought of it made him wary.

Then, one day, he and Jake went out to his favorite café, and that's when he noticed you.

You weren't looking at him. You were looking at Jake. Staring—too long, too obvious.

Jay's eyebrow twitched. He knew exactly where he had seen you before.

You were the girl at the freshmen welcoming party, kissing random girls like it was nothing, completely lost in the haze of alcohol. He remembered the way you moaned when two girls did body shots off your stomach. You were that drunk—so far gone that, by the end of the night, it was him and Jake who had been instructed to carry you back to your dorm.

And now here you were, staring at his boyfriend.

You like guys too?

He huffed, raising an eyebrow when he caught you looking.

Then there was the train ride during the retreat. Another moment. Another time you stared at Jake when you thought no one was looking.

Jay had noticed.

"Do you think she's into threesomes?" Jake had whispered to him that night, curiosity practically dripping from his voice. He was always like this—open, playful, intrigued by new experiences.

Jay had just sighed, brushing the thought aside. "How would I know?"

He didn't think about it much after that. At least, not until he saw you sneak out of the drinking room at the retreat.

And for some reason, he followed.

He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was suspicion, or maybe it was something else. And that's when he saw you grinding against some guy named Heeseung, lips locked in a messy kiss, your whimpers barely muffled by the night air.

Jay's fists clenched at his sides. He should've turned back. Should've left. But instead, he stood there, watching.

And fuck, he didn't expect his pants to feel this tight.

Jay thought you were beautiful. Not just in the obvious way—yeah, you had the kind of face that turned heads, but it was more than that. You had this energy, this pull, something that made people gravitate toward you like you were a magnet. And Jay had always been the type to keep his distance, to stay in control, but even he wasn't immune to it.

And he knew Jake wasn't either.

Jake was naturally affectionate, clingy even, but with you, it was different. He paid attention in a way Jay had never seen before, like he was cataloging every little thing about you.

"She likes soft textures," Jake mused, scanning the shelves of the convenience store. He grabbed a puff pastry filled with chocolate and strawberry, tossing it into their basket. "She'd like this."

Jay raised a brow, watching as Jake continued down the aisle, muttering to himself.

"I think we should get makeup wipes," Jake said, grabbing a pack without hesitation. "She uses this brand, right?"

Jay exhaled through his nose, amused. "Since when did you memorize her entire skincare routine?"

Jake shrugged, grinning. "Since she started leaving her stuff at our place."

That part was true. At first, it had been little things, a stray hair tie, a forgotten hoodie—but now there was a whole section of their bathroom cabinet stocked with your products. Your shampoo was in their shower. Your chapstick was on the nightstand. Your presence was everywhere, lingering like the scent of your perfume.

It annoyed him, how easily you captured Jake's attention, how effortlessly you slipped into their dynamic like you'd always belonged there. Jay had never been the jealous type, not really, but something about the way Jake gravitated toward you, the way he paid attention to you in ways that felt too careful made something uneasy settle in his chest.

But over time, Jay realized it wasn't just Jake.

He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit, listening when you talked, remembering the small details about you without even trying.

He started noticing things—how you always smelled like vanilla and something sweet, how your nose scrunched up when you were focused, how your lips parted slightly when you were about to tease someone. It wasn't just Jake who was drawn to you. Jay was, too.

"Men have different parts in their brain," their professor droned on at the front of the lecture hall, pacing slowly as he gestured to the board. "It's an anatomical difference that affects communication—"

Jay barely heard the rest. Instead, his attention drifted to you, slumped against Sunoo's shoulder, your mouth slightly open as you slept. Sunoo was just as bad, his head tilted against yours, completely knocked out.

Jay huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

The two of you looked ridiculous, but for some reason, he felt that same annoying warmth in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore. The same feeling that made him buy your favorite snacks at the convenience store without thinking. The same feeling that had him listening a little too intently whenever Jake talked about you.

"Anatomical difference, my ass. Men just use their dicks instead of their mouths, that's why they're assholes," Yunjin muttered, typing away on her laptop while half-listening to the lecture.

Jay didn't agree with that. He knew men communicated—just differently. Maybe not with words the way women did, but through actions and through presence.

Like how Jake never outright said he wanted you, but always found an excuse to bring you up in conversations, to keep you close.

Like how Jay himself never said much at all, but still, for some reason, his attention always gravitated toward you.

They just had different ways of showing affection, and for a while, Jay thought that was enough.

Until it wasn't.

"It's freezing. What are you doing out here?" Jay asked, stepping onto the snow-covered porch where Jake sat curled in on himself. The night air was sharp, biting against his skin, but Jake didn't seem to notice.

Jay's eyes trailed over him—his red nose, the slight tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes were swollen and glassy.

"Were you crying?" Jay frowned, reaching out to tilt Jake's face toward him.

Jake flinched, but he didn't pull away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

"Baby, talk to me," Jay said, firmer this time.

"I—I..." Jake's voice wavered. His breath came out in a shaky cloud, visible against the cold air. "I'm sorry."

Jay's brows furrowed. "For what?"

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, as if saying it out loud would break him.

"I like her, Jay."

Jay's breath hitched at the confession, Jake had always been expressive—his love was loud, easy, all-consuming. But maybe, just maybe, Jay had never truly listened. Never truly looked. Because if he had, he would've seen this coming.

Jay let out a slow breath, steadying himself. Then, without hesitation, he cupped Jake's face, thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I know it's wrong —"

"You don't have to be sorry," Jay murmured.

Jake sniffled, confused. "But—"

Jay shook his head, cutting him off. "I like her too."

Jake stilled. His grip on Jay's jacket loosened slightly, as if he didn't believe what he just heard.

Jay exhaled, looking past Jake for a moment, toward the snow-covered street, the dim porch light casting a soft glow around them. It had taken him too long to realize it, but now that the words were out, they felt right.

"I didn't want to admit it, but I get it. I get why you feel this way."

Jake's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching. "Then why did we—" He hesitated. "Why didn't we talk about this sooner?"

Jay fell silent, because that was the problem, wasn't it?

Their entire relationship had been built on silent understandings, unspoken words, actions instead of conversations. It had always been enough—until it really wasn't.

Jay wasn't the type to talk about feelings, and Jake... well, Jake always just went with whatever Jay was willing to give.

Jay sighed, finally meeting Jake's gaze again. "Because we never really talk about things, do we?"

Jake let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking his head. "No. We really don't."

Jay reached up, threading his fingers through Jake's hair, pulling him into a slow, grounding hug. Jake melted into him instantly. For a while, neither of them spoke. The cold wind bit at their skin, the snow crunching softly beneath their feet as they shifted slightly in place. But neither moved to go inside.

"I miss her," Jake finally whispered. His voice was small, fragile in a way that Jay rarely ever heard. "Is it right to tell her how we feel?"

Jay stiffened slightly at the question, that was the real problem. It wasn't just about their feelings anymore—it was about yours too.

He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed the shift in your energy, the way you had started pulling away, the way your texts had become shorter, emptier.

Maybe you felt it too. Maybe you had been trying to fight it just as much as he had.

But unlike him, you had chosen to run.

And Jay hated that.

Because the truth was, he had spent so much of his life avoiding unnecessary complications, keeping people at arm's length to protect himself from feelings he didn't know how to deal with. Relationships were easy when they were just sex, when there were clear boundaries that everyone followed.

But you had blurred every single one of those lines.

He had spent months trying to ignore the way he felt, convincing himself that this was nothing more than what it started as — just a bit of fun. But then you wormed your way into their lives in ways he never anticipated.

It was in the way you laughed at Jake's stupid jokes, in the way you pout your lips at certain foods, in the way you always took extra time to make sure Jake was drinking enough water or that Jay wasn't skipping meals.

It was in the way you would fall asleep on their couch, curled up like you belonged there, as if you had carved a space for yourself in their world without even realizing it.

And yet, they had never said anything. They had never talked about what any of this meant, never acknowledged the growing weight of their emotions.

"I don't know," Jay admitted, "but I know I don't want to lose her."

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on Jay tightening. "Me neither."

He wasn't sure how to approach this, wasn't sure how to untangle the mess they had all made. But one thing was certain—he and Jake wanted you.

And if there was even the slightest chance that you wanted them too, Jay would figure out a way to make this work.

Poly relationships existed, didn't they?

And if that was the way to keep you, then Jay would do everything in his power to make you stay.

...

Except you were acting like a fucking bitch.

Despite all the planning, about how to approach this properly, Jake had gone ahead and done the one thing Jay told him not to do—talk to you without a plan. Without giving you time. Without preparing himself for the worst.

And now Jake was curled up in Jay's arms, shaking, trying to choke back his sobs while Jay clenched his jaw so tightly.

Jake was impatient, and you were pushing them away.

Jay's head was going to fucking explode. He didn't know how to handle this. He hated seeing Jake cry, hated the way his hands trembled as he held onto him. Hated the way you had shut them out like they didn't mean a goddamn thing to you.

Well, he knew that they meant something to you.

Jay's patience had been stretched thin for weeks now. Every time he thought he might have a chance to talk to you, you slipped away like smoke between his fingers. It was pissing him off. He could feel you pulling back, putting up walls he hadn't even realized were there. And the worst part is he had no fucking idea how to break them down.

He wasn't the kind of guy who begged. He wasn't the kind of guy who chased. But for you? For you, he was losing his goddamn mind.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay, I'll talk to her," Jay murmured, his voice steady despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. Jake sniffled, his face buried in Jay's shoulder, but his grip didn't loosen. His whole body shook, fingers digging into Jay's back.

Jay sighed, bringing a hand up to wipe Jake's wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Jake's lips trembled.

"She's not even giving us a chance."

Yeah, he fucking noticed.

And it pissed him off. Not just because you were avoiding them, not just because you were pushing Jake away—but because Jake wasn't even mad about it. He wasn't angry; he was hurt. Both of them knew you didn't mean what you had said that day. But what could they do when you refused to talk? When you were so hell-bent on running?

"...Many individuals engage in self-sabotage not because they don't want happiness, but because they fear it."

Jay blinked at the professor's voice, his jaw tightening as he focused on the lecture.

"Fear of commitment, avoidance of intimacy, and reluctance to accept positive emotions often stem from deep-seated insecurities. This can manifest as pushing people away when they get too close, fixating on imperfections to justify emotional distance, or convincing oneself that they are 'better off alone.'"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.

"To put it simply," the professor continued, leaning against his desk, "people self-sabotage when they don't believe they deserve good things. They anticipate failure or abandonment, so they preemptively destroy what could be good before it has the chance to hurt them."

Jay's head instinctively turned to where you usually sat. Your seat was empty. Of course, it was.

His fingers drummed against the desk, irritation flaring in his chest. He already knew you were avoiding them, but it was becoming worse. First, it was the silent treatment, then skipping plans, ignoring texts. Now, you were barely showing up to class. What the fuck were you thinking? Were you really about to fail a major subject just to get away from them?

Jake nudged him lightly, his eyes worried. "She's really doing this, huh?"

Jay clenched his jaw. "Fucking ridiculous," he muttered.

He didn't understand. Why were you acting like this? They had never once made you feel unwanted. Never treated you like an afterthought.

The professor moved on, but Jay wasn't listening anymore. His mind was spinning, the weight of your absence pressing heavily against him.

Prelims came and went. And still—no shadow of you.

Jay barely glanced at his exam paper as he turned it in. He had spent the past hour only half-focused, tapping his pen against the desk in frustration, mind elsewhere. He already knew his score wouldn't be his best. Not with the way you were consuming his every thought.

Outside the exam hall, Sunoo approached him hesitantly. Jay didn't miss the way he shifted awkwardly on his feet, fingers twisting together like he was debating whether to speak.

"I'm sorry," Sunoo finally said, sighing. "I hope... whatever's happening with you guys, you'll be patient with her."

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose. Yeah. He was trying to be patient, but patience was running thin when you wouldn't even look at them anymore.

Sunoo hesitated again before glancing around, making sure no one was listening. "It's not my story to tell," he admitted carefully, voice softer, "but she likes the both of you." He shook his head, lips pressing together. "She just... she's being negative."

Jay's grip tightened on his exam booklet. Of course, he fucking knew that. It wasn't just obvious—it was the only explanation that made sense. But hearing it from Sunoo, having someone else confirm it, should have made him feel better. It didn't.

Because knowing that you wanted them didn't change the fact that you were pushing them away. It didn't change the fact that you were choosing to ruin this before they even had a chance to prove to you that it could work.

Sunoo studied Jay's face, reading his silence before sighing. "She's just scared," he muttered. "That's how she is."

Jay huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I'm getting really fucking tired of watching her run."

Sunoo gave him a look, almost as if to say, then catch her.

Fine. He would. One thing was clear—this avoidance shit? It needed to end.

They had to talk. They had to communicate. Well, they had been trying. But talking to you was like grasping at smoke. Jay had tried to contact you, but it was clear you had soft-blocked them both. His messages stayed unread. Calls went straight to voicemail.

Jay had tried to find you. But every time he did, you ran. Midterms came. Jay was exhausted, irritated, and so fucking done with the distance.

And then, he saw you. Laughing like nothing had happened, like you hadn't disappeared off the face of the fucking earth. You were standing outside the library with a group of friends, flexing your nails dramatically as the others fussed over them. Jay's steps slowed. Your hair was different, it was short.

A bob cut. The sight of it made his chest tighten. It wasn't a bad thing—hell, it looked good. But it was different. You were different.

He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, but before he could close the distance, your gaze flickered up. And you saw him for a second your expression froze.

Then, before Jay could even process it, someone else entered the scene.

Some guy. That fucking guy and his girlfriend.

Jay watched as they approached you, watched as the girl kissed your cheek, Heeseung slinging an arm around your shoulder.

And you let them. You let them pull you away before Jay could even reach you. No fucking way.

"Do you think we should give up?" Jake had asked once. Jay only shook his head. No.

Communication is key—but with the way you're acting, they need a different strategy to reach you.

You don't get to run. Not anymore. Men speak in different ways they said, and if the softest way doesn't get through to you then he'll have to go rough.

"Oh my God, this is the most chaotic event ever," Sunoo complained loudly, fanning himself dramatically with his schedule sheet. "Who in their right mind thinks it's a good idea to hold university games when summer is practically melting us alive? That's actual insanity."

Sweat clung to your forehead, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. All around you, students were sprawled across the open field, desperately searching for shade or breeze.

Sunghoon turned on his small turbo fan and aimed it toward you and Sunoo. A soft hum filled the air, and you immediately leaned into the stream of cool air.

"Bless your soul," you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as the breeze hit your face.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung sat cross-legged on the grass nearby, sipping water with a serene expression, completely unbothered by the scorching sun.

"This is actually so unfair," you muttered, glancing at her in disbelief. "I look like a soggy dog, and she's out here looking like a skincare commercial."

"She's probably not human," Sunoo said flatly.

You slumped dramatically closer to the turbo fan, shoulders sagging with defeat. "Why did you even register us for dodgeball?!" you whined, voice muffled as you practically shoved your face into the breeze. "I look like I've been through five stages of grief, I don't even barely survive now that we don't do anything, then what about tomorrow."

Sunoo shrugged, unapologetic. "It's tradition. And it's the only time I get to legally throw a ball at people I don't like."

You gave him a flat look, lifting your face just enough to mutter, "That includes me, doesn't it?"

"Depends on how much more you complain," he deadpanned, eyes hidden behind his oversized sunglasses.

Sunghoon leaned slightly forward with a furrowed brow. "Hey, your mascara is kind of melting. Like... a lot."

You gasped, sitting up straight. "No! No, no, no—" You fumbled through your bag in a mild panic, fishing out your phone. The moment your reflection came into view, you groaned. "I look like a raccoon who just got dumped."

"You always say that," Wonyoung chimed in with a lazy smile, finally acknowledging the conversation as she shifted beneath her sun umbrella. "And yet somehow you still pull."

"Not in this heat I don't," you grumbled, pressing a tissue to the corner of your eye. The moment you pulled it back, it was smudged black. "Great. I look like I'm melting from the inside out."

You leaned into the mirror on your phone, trying to fix the damage but the more you dabbed and adjusted, the worse it got. The eyeliner smeared into your under-eye, and your lashes clumped at odd angles. You cursed softly under your breath, cheeks hot with both embarrassment and the unforgiving sun.

"I need to go to the bathroom," you muttered, standing quickly and brushing off the back of your shorts. "This is a mess—I need to fix this before I look like I got dumped and then thrown into a fire."

"I told you to change your mascara," Sunoo mumbled. "Waterproof isn't just a suggestion in this weather."

"I didn't think it'd get this bad!" you hissed, reaching for your bag—which, naturally, was hanging from Sunghoon's overburdened shoulder. He handed it off without complaint, arms already full of Wonyoung and Sunoo's things too.

"Where are you going?" Wonyoung asked without moving.

"To salvage my face," you said over your shoulder. "If I don't come back, assume I drowned in the sink."

You didn't wait for a reply, slipping away from the group as your shoes scuffed against the hot pavement. The chatter of students faded behind you, replaced by the distant hum of activity inside the university. The moment you entered the shaded hallway, the temperature dropped just enough for you to breathe.

Your footsteps echoed lightly as you made your way toward the restroom, the cold tile of the building cooling the soles of your feet through your sneakers. You exhaled a long, slow breath—finally out of the noise and the sun.

You pushed open the bathroom door and slipped inside, letting it close behind you with a soft click.

You dropped your bag on the counter, you pulled out your makeup, eyeing the smudged disaster on your face. Carefully, you began dabbing away the ruined mascara and eyeliner, patting concealer beneath your eyes and slowly rebuilding the illusion of composure. Your lashes clumped slightly as you reapplied your mascara, and you leaned in closer to the mirror to separate them.

You were just about finished when a voice cut through.

"Figured I'd find you here."

You jumped, nearly knocking your makeup pouch off the counter. Your head whipped toward the door—where Jay stood, leaning against the frame.

"This is the girls' restroom," you snapped, the panic slipping into your voice. The last thing you wanted was to be cornered by him. And God, of all the times, why did he have to look so fucking good in that damn denim jacket?

Jay didn't flinch. He just stared. "It's not like I haven't seen everything already," he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him with a low thud.

You scoffed, hard, grabbing your bag off the counter. "Right. And that gives you a free pass to stalk me now? Is that how it works?"

Jay's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed low. "I didn't stalk you. I came to talk. Since you're ghosting every call, and message, avoiding us, and you made Jake cry," he added, emphasizing the last part.

"Maybe because I don't want to talk," you bit out, slamming a lipstick back into your bag. "I already told your boyfriend—I'm done with the both of you. So stop. Stop being so fucking annoying."

You tried to storm past him, but his hand shot out fast, gripping your shoulder, forcing you back.

"What the hell is your problem?!" you snapped, "You think cornering me like this is gonna change anything?"

Jay's eyes darkened, his voice dropping a notch. "Yeah. Maybe it will. Since the version where I let you push us away didn't work."

"You don't get to decide how I feel," you hissed, shoving at his chest. "You don't get to show up like this just because you're pissed I won't answer you."

"And you don't get to shut down every time something doesn't go your way," he shot back. "You act like you don't care, but if that were true, you wouldn't be shaking right now."

Jay's eyes dropped to your arm, the subtle tremble giving you away. You quickly swallowed the lump rising in your throat and tucked your arm behind your back.

He raised a brow. "Can you stop being a brat for five seconds and just hear me out?"

You scoffed, biting down the sting in your chest. "I told you—I'm not interested anymore. Why are you so damn pushy?!"

"Because we fucking like you!" Jay snapped, you stiffened, the silence that followed hitting louder than his voice had. Your breath caught. His jaw clenched, and the space between you suddenly felt way too small.

Being with them isn't realistic.

Push them away.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"Wow. Great. That's your excuse?" you spat, though your voice shook just enough to betray you. "You like me, so now I'm supposed to just roll over and forget everything? Grow up, Jay. That's not how this works."

Jay stepped forward slowly. You instinctively backed up, your spine hitting the cold edge of the counter.

"You felt something too," he said, eyes fixed on you. "Don't bullshit me."

"Shut up," you shot back too fast, and too obviously defensive.

He didn't stop. His gaze locked on yours, footsteps steady. "You can act cold, pretend you're done, like we didn't get under your skin. But I know better."

You pressed harder into the counter. "You don't know shit," you hissed. "It was a mistake. A phase. Whatever the hell you thought you saw—it wasn't real."

Jay's mouth curled, smirking. "Funny. That 'phase' made you tremble like that? That mistake had you gasping my name?"

Your chest rose and fell fast, your heart thundering behind your ribs like it wanted out.

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. "You're not scared of us. You're scared of how real it felt. You're scared because it meant something—and you don't know what the hell to do with that."

"Shut up," you repeated, but your voice cracked on the edge of it this time.

Jay went still and finally, he heard it. That tiny crack in your armor, the one you didn't mean to let slip. The one he'd been waiting for.

His expression shifted, the usual smirk gone. What was left was quiet, focus and dangerous stare.

"You can keep pushing us away. Say it was fake. Say it was a lie. But you and I both know—" his voice dipped, "—it was the most real thing you've ever felt."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. If you met his eyes now, it was over, you knew it. So you stared at the floor, at the sink, at anywhere but him.

"Look at me," he said.

You didn't. So he grabbed your jaw, rough, and tilted your face toward his. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you locked eyes with him. And that was it. The moment cracked open, revealing everything you hadn't said.

His gaze bore into you, not blinking, not softening. "You gonna keep pretending this meant nothing?" he murmured, breath ghosting over your cheek. "You gonna keep walking around like you're not haunted by us every fucking night?"

You said nothing because you couldn't. Jay stepped in closer, so close the space between you vanished, the scent of his cologne hitting you hard, that familiar deep and musky. Your legs wobbled, barely holding you up, and you cursed your body for betraying you.

He leaned in, his hand still holding your face, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. "You really think you can just move on? That someone else is gonna touch you the way we did? Know you the way we do?"

His voice dropped even lower, a growl at the edge of it. "You think you're just gonna give that cunt to someone else?" His hand slid down, slow, dragging along your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. "You think it's gonna listen to them?"

Your thighs clenched on instinct. Fuck.

Jay caught the reaction—he always noticed. His lips curved just barely. "Your body doesn't lie," he said, "It remembers us. The way you moaned. The way you begged. That pussy listens when we speak. You know it. I know it."

His hand rested just above your chest now, feeling your heartbeat racing beneath it.

"You can lie all you want," he said, eyes dark and locked on you. "But your body's telling the truth."

You were frozen, pulse slamming in your throat, heat spreading beneath your skin. Jay's lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Say it didn't mean anything. Look me in the eye and say it."

A soft, broken gasp—no, worse. A moan left your mouth. You felt the slow smile curl against your skin, felt the change in the air as his grip shifted.

"There she is," he murmured. "Couldn't hold it in, could you?"

"Fuck you," you choked, breathless, humiliated, every inch of your skin lit up with heat and shame.

His hand slid from your chest to your neck again, thumb brushing your jaw as he tilted your head up. "You already did," he said. "And you fucking loved it."

His other hand slid to your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he stepped in fully, pressing his body flush against yours, pinning you between the counter and him.

"Push me away," he said, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling, eyes locked on you like a hunter cornering prey.

But you couldn't look away. His scent coiled around you, and your legs barely held you up. You felt it, the warmth blooming between your thighs, the traitorous ache soaking into your panties, and you hated how much he could still do this to you with so little.

"Push me away," Jay repeated. "Make me cry the way you fucking did to Jake."

His hand tightened around your throat suddenly. Your hands flew to his wrist on reflex, clutching him but you didn't push. You didn't even try. A squeak escaped your lips, your fingers just held him there, trembling, as the air caught in your throat and heat flared down your spine.

"Stop talking," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut, as if you could block out the sound of his voice.

But his grip on your throat only tightened. "Why?" Jay murmured, his tone taunting. "Can't take it?"

Your lips parted, breath ragged. "I—I'm s-sorry, okay? I'm sorry," you gasped.

Jay's eyes narrowed, and a sharp, mocking smile curled at his lips. "Sorry?" he echoed. "Now you're sorry?"

"No. You don't get to say sorry and pretend that fixes this," he snarled. "You lied. You ran. You made Jake cry. You threw us away —and now look at you."

"Look at yourself," he hissed. "Pathetic little whimper in your throat every time I speak."

You tried to shake your head, but he didn't let you. "No. Don't look away now," Jay growled, fingers still wrapped tight around your throat, forcing your eyes up to meet his. "You wanna play cold? Strong? Then own it. Stand tall. Push me off. Say it was all a fucking lie."

Your lips trembled. You tried. You tried to hold it in—but everything broke at once. "It's not!" you cried, voice cracking, hands shaking against his wrist. "It's not! I'm sorry!"

Your chest heaved. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to—I just—" your voice splintered into breathless pieces, eyes glassy, vision blurring, "please just—just—fuck!"

You grabbed his shirt, knuckles white.

"Touch me, please!"

The words left your mouth like a scream torn from your core, soaked in shame, in need.

"There's the truth." His grip released your throat to slide lower, hands now on your waist. Your hips met his, and the hardness pressing against your core made your breath stutter, arousal flooding you so hard your legs gave a twitch.

"You begged," he whispered, eyes never leaving yours. "Say it again."

You swallowed hard, breath catching, lips parted and trembling.

"Say it," he repeated like a command. "Say it so you remember how low you got."

You hesitated, just for a second, but the ache between your legs, the fire in your belly, the heat in your cheeks—it was too much.

"Please..." you whispered, eyes wide, voice shaking. "Touch me."

Jay tilted his head slightly, then leaned in to your ear again, mouth brushing your skin. "Louder."

You shut your eyes, biting your lip, humiliated but so fucking far gone. "Please," you gasped, louder now, every word dripping with shame, "touch me. I need it. I need you."

Jay didn't answer immediately. He let the silence hang heavy, waiting—making you sweat in it. Then he leaned closer again. "Think you deserve it?"

Your breath caught. "No..." you whispered. "N-No. I don't."

Jay smiled. "Exactly." And then, without another word, he pulled away. Just let go of you and stepped back, turning his back.

"H-Huh?" you breathed, the air suddenly cold without his touch. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the field," he said flatly. "You don't deserve shit—not after all the stupid games you played."

Panic flared so violently inside you it made your knees weak. The throbbing heat between your legs was unbearable now, your panties soaked, your stomach aching from how badly you needed release. But worse than the arousal was the cold pit of humiliation, of abandonment.

You lunged forward, clutching his wrist with both hands. "No, no—please! I'm sorry!" your voice cracked. "Please, I'm sorry, I just— I got jealous. With you and Jake, I— I like you. I like both of you, I just thought..."

You were sobbing now, tears spilling hot and fast down your cheeks. "I thought it would be better if I was out of the picture. I didn't know what to do. I miss you! I— I need you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Jay turned slowly. "And you acted like a bitch because you thought it'd be better?" he hissed. "We chased you for three fucking months."

You froze, mouth parted, lips trembling. "And what did you do?" Jay continued, voice rising. "Blocked us. Ignored us. Walked away like we were nothing. Like you didn't feel anything."

"I did," you whispered. "I did."

He stared down at you, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on your tear-soaked face and the hands still clutching his wrist

"You're going to earn your place back," he said coldly. "We're not just taking you back. You'll crawl for it. You'll beg for it."

You stood there, frozen, tears still fresh on your cheeks. Shame burned through you, and the arousal between your legs was only getting worse.

"You want me to touch you?" he asked, his voice low, mocking. "You think I'll give that to you just like that? Just because you cried a little? Because you finally admitted you fucked up?"

You shook your head slowly, lip trembling. "N-No..." you whispered.

"No?" he echoed, lips curling. "Then why are you still standing like you're in control?"

You blinked at him, confused for half a heartbeat. And then the word dropped. "Kneel."

You flinched. Your legs almost didn't respond but your body knew. Knew the command, knew his tone, knew exactly what was expected. Your knees buckled beneath you, and you sank slowly to the floor, the cold tile biting into your skin.

Jay towered over you now, looking down with nothing but cold amusement in his eyes. "Pathetic," he muttered. "You were so full of fire. So quick to run your mouth. What happened to all that attitude, huh?"

You kept your head down, cheeks flushed hot, hands trembling in your lap.

He stepped in close behind you, hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back just enough for you to gasp. "I should make you wait longer," he said, staring down into your eyes. "Should make you watch me walk away again. But then I'd miss watching you break. And I like this view too much."

Your lips parted, breath caught between a sob and a moan.

"You know what I should do?" Jay whispered. "I should call Jake. Let him see what's left of the girl who told him she was 'done.' Let him see you begging on your knees, soaked and broken. You think he'd feel sorry for you?"

You shook your head again, tears welling up all over, and yet—your thighs pressed together.

Jay smirked. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

He released your hair, let you slump forward just slightly. "You're going to stay right here," he said. "On your knees. Hands behind your back. You don't get to touch. You don't get to beg again unless I say."

"Yes..." you whispered, eyes shut, heart racing. "Yes, okay..."

You heard the soft rustle of denim—Jay pulling off his jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the counter. The metallic click of a belt followed, then the slow grind of a zipper sliding down. The sounds alone made your pulse spike.

Jay stood above you, fingers resting at his waistband. His gaze dropped down to meet yours and the look in his eyes made your stomach twist in the most helpless, humiliating way.

He shifted his stance slightly, drawing closer, one hand sliding into the front of his jeans, adjusting himself as his breath hitched low in his chest. A dark patch spread along the front of his briefs, Jay let out a low hiss through his teeth, his jaw tightening as he watched you watching him.

Jay's thumb brushed your bottom lip, dragging the soft flesh down just enough to part your mouth. With one hand, he pushed his briefs down just enough to free himself, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his cock. The head was flushed, already wet at the tip, and he slowly angled it toward your waiting mouth.

You opened for him without hesitation, lips parting wide, tongue slightly curled. You saw the flicker in his expression, by the way his breath hitched sharply, his brows twitching together.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, just before his hips surged forward. The sudden thrust made your throat constrict, a choked gasp escaping you as you adjusted, eyes watering.

Both of his hands moved to your head now, fingers splaying through your hair, rough and needy. He let his fingertips glide against your scalp at first, almost soothing, before his grip tightened. A sharp tug followed.

"Why'd you cut your hair, anyway?" he asked, breathless, but the question was half a growl, half a genuine bite of irritation. His fingers tangled in your shorter strands, clearly missing the length he used to wrap his fists in.

Tears blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks, but you didn't stop. Your throat worked hard around him, swallowing, adjusting, the wet sounds of gulp, gulp, gulp are echoing against the tile walls of the bathroom.

Your lips stayed stretched around him, tongue coiling beneath the shaft, dragging slow and deliberate from the base upward as you swallowed him again and again.

The world outside the bathroom didn't exist. You'd forgotten where you were, forgotten the echo of distant footsteps, the fact that the tiled walls weren't just enclosing heat and pleasure but public space. You were too far gone in the taste of him, in the stretch of your lips, in the burn of each breathless gasp you took through your nose.

Then—knock knock. A sharp, sudden rap on the door snapped. You flinched, instantly trying to pull back, eyes wide in panic, throat clenching around him. But Jay didn't let you go.

"Shh," he murmured. His fingers tightened in your hair, the other hand sliding to the back of your neck. Before you could react, he forced you down—all the way. His cock sank into your throat in one sharp, complete thrust, your nose pressed flat against the skin of his pelvis. The breath caught in your lungs. Your eyes watered harder. You were choking, but you stayed, frozen, as his grip held you exactly where he wanted.

The door creaked open.

"It's just me," came a soft, casual familiar voice.

You heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place behind him. A moment later, you could feel the weight of Jake's stare, as he stood there, just inside the bathroom door, watching.

Jake's tone was edged with uncertainty, but not surprise. "You said you were just gonna talk," he said as he took in the scene—your knees on the cold tile, face flushed, cheeks hollowed, and Jay buried deep in your throat.

Jay exhaled through his teeth, head tilting back slightly, his grip finally loosening just enough for you to breathe again. But he didn't pull out.

"That's her way of apologizing," Jay hissed, his hips rolled forward again with purpose, forcing another wet choke from you. "Isn't that right?"

His hand remained in your hair, holding you steady, guiding your mouth with every thrust. His other hand slipped down to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, smearing the spit that clung there like gloss.

You looked up and there was Jake.

You'd always remembered Jake as soft-spoken, the kind of boy smiled too gently. Sweet to a fault. The kind of person who would've cupped your cheek and whispered it was okay, would've helped you up and kissed the tears from your face.

But not now. Now his eyes weren't soft. They were cold, sharp and predatory.

Even through the blur of your lashes and the sting of fresh tears, you saw it: the shift. The hunger.

"You're crying," Jake said. He tilted his head, studying your face. "She's crying, Jay."

And how you remembered, too well, the way he had this thing with you crying every time he fucked you. A fascination of your tears.

"She should be," he said flatly. "After the shit she pulled? She should be sobbing." He thrust forward again, slow and deep, watching your throat stretch to take it.

Jake didn't blink. His expression didn't soften. He just knelt lower beside you, one hand resting casually on his knee as he leaned in a little closer. His eyes were fixed on your tear-streaked face, watching every twitch of your mouth, every breath you struggled to take around Jay's cock.

His cock twitched in his pants. There was a fire building in his chest stoked by the sight of you like this—on your knees, choking, tears running, all for his boyfriend. And yet... all he could think about was that moment. That time he tried talking to you, voice soft, reaching out with patience, and you'd barely looked at him. Just shrugged him off.

Maybe he'd been too kind. No—he had been too kind.

Jake didn't know exactly what he was feeling as he watched Jay drive himself deeper into your mouth, but it wasn't softness. Not anymore. A new edge in his blood he hadn't recognized before. Every time your throat clenched, every time another tear slipped down your cheek, something inside him twisted tighter.

"You're so unfair," Jake said. He stood slowly, eyes never leaving your face.

Jay reached up, hand curling around the back of Jake's neck, fingers threading into his hair. He pulled him down, and their mouths met in a slow kiss.

You whimpered around Jay's cock, your voice small and choked as your eyes followed the scene unfolding above you.

They didn't look at you. Their kiss deepened quickly, mouths open, tongues sliding together in a messy, hungry rhythm. Jay tilted his head, humming low against Jake's mouth, and Jake responded with a moan that vibrated through him—a sound that made Jay's grip on your hair tighten just slightly.

Their bodies leaned into each other, mouths devouring, heat bleeding off them like they'd forgotten you were even there. You whimpered again, louder this time, throat sore, nose running, your jaw aching, but they still didn't acknowledge you.

Then you sobbed, your body trembling as another wave of tears spilled down your cheeks. Jake pulled back from the kiss, breathless, lips slick.

"Stop being dramatic," he muttered as he looked down at you. His hand came down with no hesitation, fingers sliding into your hair alongside Jay's to push you further.

You whimpered one last time, cut off by the sudden pressure as your head was forced forward. Your nose pressed flush to Jay's skin again, throat stretched to its limit.

"Shut up," Jake said quietly. Jay hissed through his teeth, his body jerking slightly as your throat took him again, deeper now under Jake's added weight.

You gagged again, but Jake didn't flinch. He just turned his head and watched his boyfriend with a crooked smile. before leaning in to kiss him again. Their mouths met above you, hot and open, tongues sliding as if you weren't there.

You couldn't breathe.

Your throat burned, raw and stretched too wide, and your jaw felt like it was splitting apart under the unrelenting ache. Jay's pace had become erratic now, his stomach bouncing against your nose with each desperate thrust. You could feel the tightness in your chest spreading, oxygen slipping further and further out of reach.

Your lungs screamed. Your eyes streamed. But neither of them looked down.

And just when you felt his cock throb in warning, when your body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable—

Jake pulled you off.

You gasped as you were suddenly released, choking, coughing, collapsing sideways onto the cold tile floor. Your body folded, weak and trembling, chest heaving as you dragged in greedy, ragged breaths. Your lips were swollen, spit-slick and trembling, and the back of your throat felt like it had been clawed raw.

You barely had time to lift yourself onto your elbows when you saw Jake move again.

He dropped to his knees smoothly in front of Jay, his mouth opened without a word, and he took Jay in deep, his jaw relaxed. You watched through bleary, tear-streaked eyes as Jake's head began to bob, slow and sinuous, his lips wrapped around the same cock that had just brutalized your throat.

Jay groaned, one hand bracing against the counter, the other curling in Jake's hair. His hips jerked once, twice—and then he came.

Jake didn't flinch. He swallowed it all, his throat working silently, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring it. His fingers dug into Jay's hips, keeping him in place as the last tremors rolled through him.

You stayed on the floor, trembling, watching through a curtain of tears you couldn't stop.

Jake pulled back with a wet drag of his mouth, lips glossy, tongue flicking out to catch the last trace of Jay's release. He looked up at him with hooded eyes, mouth still parted slightly, breath heavy. Jay let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing Jake's hair back from his face.

Something in you twisted again. Bitter. Ugly. It crawled up your chest and sat there. You wiped your face with the back of your trembling hand, smearing the tears more than cleaning them. The other reached up shakily, trying to push your hair out of your eyes, trying to regain some kind of dignity.

But Jake didn't give you the chance. He turned to you slowly, head cocked, still licking the corner of his mouth. His gaze locked onto you, that same hunger was still in his eyes.

"You think you're done?" he asked. Jay's hand dropped from Jake's hair, and looked down on you again.

Jake stood and approached you with the lazy certainty of someone who already knew you wouldn't resist. He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours. He reached out and brushed your hair back

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak. "I-I'm sorry, Jake..." you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. "Both of you mean something to me. I just... I didn't know how to handle it. I miss you. I didn't mean to make you cry. You're precious to me, baby."

Jake stilled. For a moment, he didn't blink. His gaze searching yours. His breath hitched, just enough to give him away, his jaw tightening as his face flickered with softness. Behind you, Jay leaned back against the wall with a soft exhale, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flicked between the two of you.

Jake's hand hover near your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You leaned into it simply to feel him again. Just that brief, tender contact that used to come so easily. Your skin brushed his fingertips, and he didn't pull away.

"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. Your body trembled, shoulders shaking, the emotion too big to contain any longer.

Jake exhaled sharply, his entire demeanor going soft suddenly. "Shhh..." he finally whispered, pulling you into him.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, and he tucked his face into the side of your head. His nose pressed gently to your temple. One hand moved to your back, slowly rubbing up and down.

"You meant it?" he murmured. "All of it?"

You nodded into his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist as you clung to him. "I meant it," you whispered, breath hitching. "Every word."

Jake didn't move right away. He just held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other drawing slow, rhythmic circles against your spine. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, faster than it should've been.

For a moment, everything else faded— the ache in your throat, the sting of your tears, even Jay's quiet presence nearby. It was just Jake. Just the closeness you hadn't had in too long.

"I should be angry," Jake murmured after a pause. "But I missed you too much." He pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you. "Don't lie to me again. Don't run." he said softly.

"I won't," you whispered. "Let me fix things." The moment the answer left your lips, Jake moved, he hooked his arms beneath you, lifting you up.

You let out a small gasp as he turned, setting you down on the cold counter behind you. Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, the glass cool against your scalp as your legs instinctively parted to accommodate him stepping in between them.

He kept his eyes on yours, even as his hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers working them down. "Let's fix things, huh?" he murmured, dragging your shorts down in one motion. "You want to make things right?"

You nodded again, barely able to breathe as the air hit your wet skin.

"Then spread those pretty thighs," Jake growled under his breath. He dropped the fabric carelessly to the floor, hands sliding up your inner thighs, his eyes landed on the soaked fabric of your panties before he pushed them aside.

"Already dripping," he muttered. His fingers pressed against your folds through the soaked cotton, dragging slowly up your slit, teasing you. The friction of the fabric sent jolts through your core. He pressed a little harder, making your hips twitch in response.

Another presence pressed close—Jay. He moved in behind Jake. "You're spoiling her again," Jay said as he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

His hands slid up your body from behind, palms rough, until they found your breasts. He cupped them through your top, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they stiffened beneath the fabric. He gave a sharp little pinch that made you whine, your body jolting forward as your thighs tensed around Jake.

"I don't think she's learned her lesson though," Jay muttered, rolling your nipples between his fingers lazily.

"She looks sorry," Jake said, but his eyes were locked on your glistening cunt. "But I don't think that mouth means anything until it's begging."

Jake dropped to his knees between your legs, mouth already parting as he pressed it against your heat. He pushed the fabric aside with one hand and gave your folds a slow, deliberate lick that made your head fall back against the mirror.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, voice shaking. "I mean it—please. I'm really sorry!"

Jake didn't answer. He just groaned against your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit. The vibrations made your thighs clench around his head, but he held you in place, grip firm, unmoved by your squirming.

Jay chuckled above you. "That's one. Keep counting." He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. "You don't get to say you're sorry once and expect it's over, sweetheart."

"I am, I swear—" you gasped as Jake sucked your clit into his mouth, making your hips jerk. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jake. Jay, please—please forgive me..."

Jay's hand slid lower, fingers trailing a heated path down your trembling stomach. His hand slipped between your thighs, right above Jake's head, and his fingers found your clit in seconds, rubbing slow, tight circles in contrast to the deeper movements of Jake's tongue.

The combination made your head tilt back, a cry caught in your throat.

Jake groaned against you, the sound buzzing through your core as he pushed his tongue into your hole, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. His nose nudged against Jay's fingers as he worked in tandem.

Jay's free hand found your breast again, making your shirt up to your collarbone and exposing your skin. His fingers found your nipple in your bra, pinching it between his knuckles until your back arched involuntarily.

Jake pulled back just enough to speak. "She tastes like guilt," he muttered before dipping back in. This time, his tongue flattened against your slit, licking long and firm, each pass rougher than the last.

"I am guilty!" you cried out, voice cracking as your fingers clutched the edge of the counter. "I fucked up—I know I did, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I missed you, both of you—"

Jay didn't respond right away. His thumb rose to your throat, brushing the hollow there gently, deceptively. "You're not forgiven yet," he said calmly. "But keep begging. Maybe we'll believe you."

Jake moaned into your cunt, tongue working harder, faster, burying himself in your heat while his grip on your thighs tightened, nails biting into your flesh to keep you still.

Your body arched reflexively, head pressed hard against the mirror behind you. The cold glass was a cruel contrast to the fever building inside you, the friction between their mouths and fingers making your thoughts blur and your words tumble out in desperate, breathless gasps.

"I'm sorry—please, I'm so sorry—Jake, Jay—don't stop, please—don't leave me—I'll do anything—"

"You will do anything," Jay murmured, lips brushing your jaw as he kept one hand working your clit and the other still wrapped around your throat. "But that doesn't mean we're done punishing you."

Jake pulled back just long enough to spit on your cunt, watching it drip down before diving back in.

"Y-Yes, yes, yes..." you breathed. A few strands of your hair had fallen across your face, clinging to your flushed cheeks. Jay tsked under his breath, brushing the messy hair away with care. His fingers swept your temple, tucking the strands behind your ear to clear the view. He wanted to watch your face, every twitch, every tremble, every silent plea written across your features.

Jake's tongue flicked over your clit again, followed by a slow, deep press inside. Your thighs shook against his shoulders, toes curling over the edge of the counter.

"You don't even know which one of us you're moaning for, do you?" Jay whispered.

"I c-can't—" you whimpered, breath stuttering. "I'm sorry—Jake, Jay—I'm sorry, I swear—please..."

Jake growled softly between your legs, like your apology alone made him want more. He shifted his angle, tongue plunging deep as his nose rubbed against your clit, creating friction that made your spine arch and your head knock back into the mirror again with a dull thud.

Jay caught your head this time, hand sliding behind your skull, fingers threading through your hair.

"You'll come like this," Jay murmured, his lips brushing yours without closing the distance. "On his tongue, with my hand around your throat, and every breath you take will be ours."

"Jake—fuck!—Jay—I'm—" You choked on your own voice, the climax coiling inside you about to snap.

Jake didn't slow. His tongue moved in steady, ruthless strokes. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored, legs trembling under the weight of everything he was drawing from you.

Jay's hand remained firm around your throat, not choking but holding. His thumb pressed lightly just beneath your jaw, grounding you as the rest of your body lost control. His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every flicker of surrender build in your face.

"Look at me," he ordered softly. "Don't look away."

You tried—God, you tried—but your vision blurred with tears and white-hot pleasure, your eyes fluttering, lashes damp as you clung to consciousness. "I—can't—" you gasped, every breath shallow, high-pitched.

Jay leaned in, brushing his mouth against yours without kissing you. "You can," he whispered. "You will."

Jake's mouth locked around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast, perfectly cruel. One hand slid beneath your ass, lifting you just enough to change the angle, and the pressure hit exactly where you needed it. The world around you fractured.

Your entire body arched.

A scream tore from your throat as Jay's hand held your windpipe and Jake's tongue forced you over the edge. Your vision went white behind your eyelids, every nerve in your body seizing with the violence of your orgasm. Your thighs clamped around Jake's head involuntarily, hips grinding into his mouth.

"There it is," Jay growled, watching the climax crash through you. "Fuck, that's it. That's what sorry looks like."

You sobbed, mouth open and shaking as aftershocks rolled through you, making your legs twitch, your fingers slip on the counter's edge.

Jake didn't stop right away. He licked you through it, each drag of his tongue coaxing every last tremor from your core. Only when your body jerked from overstimulation did he finally pull away, mouth slick, chin wet, his breath ragged.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough as he looked up at you from between your legs. "Still the sweetest fucking thing I've ever tasted."

Jay eased his grip on your throat and let your head fall forward against his shoulder. You collapsed into the space between them, boneless, panting, your body trembling and used, your voice lost somewhere.

Jake rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached for his waistband. He was flushed, breath ragged, hands already moving to undo his pants. You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide, still dazed as you looked up at Jay. "A-Are we really doing this? In here?"

Jay arched a brow. "Jake just had his mouth buried in your pussy," he said smoothly. "Don't start playing modest now. Don't be selfish."

Jake let out a sharp breath as he freed himself, hissing softly as his hand wrapped around his cock.

Your breathing hitched when he stepped in closer. He lined himself up with you, the swollen head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding up through your folds, collecting the wetness there before grinding it against your clit.

You whimpered at the friction. "My back hurts..." you managed to stammer out. "It's... it's uncomfortable."

Jake didn't even flinch, he pushed in his whole length into you in one motion. You both moaned at the feeling.

"We'll make it comfortable." Jake growled, breath hot against your cheek as he gripped your waist.

Without warning, he lifted you off the counter, his hands strong under your thighs. You let out a startled gasp, your legs instinctively locking around his hips as he held you up with ease. His cock stayed buried inside you as he adjusted his grip, settling you in against him.

"Ahh—Jake!" you cried out as he began to move, bouncing you on his cock. Every thrust drove him deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing sharp against the cold tile walls. Jay moved without a word. He slipped in behind you, one hand found your hip, steadying you as your body jolted from Jake's pounding pace, while the other reached up, sliding to seize your breast.

"God, fuck—" Jake groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your damp skin before he started kissing and biting, not caring about the sweat.

Jay's mouth found your shoulder first, then your throat, trailing wet kisses up your jaw until he reached your lips. Your head lolled back against him, mouth already open, and he took full advantage—tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing the moans Jake was forcing from your chest.

You whimpered into Jay's mouth, his cock grinding against your lower back, the friction syncing with every bounce of your hips. Your body moved helplessly between them, each movement rubbing him against you, closer... lower...

"You're so fucking wet," Jake growled against your throat. "I can feel it all over me." He thrust harder, teeth grazing your shoulder as he panted.

Jay broke the kiss with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, tugging until you gasped. "I think we'll fit," he said, voice low, eyes flicking down to where your bodies met. "Don't you think?"

Your heart lurched.

Your eyes widened as you felt Jake adjust his stance, your weight shifting in his arms. Your body tensed immediately, the pressure at your core tightening to near-panic. "Wait! W-Wait—!" you stammered, breath catching in your throat.

Jay was already positioning himself, one hand on your lower back, the other on Jake's hip for balance as he leaned in. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before you felt it—his cockhead, thick and hard, pressing lower just beneath where Jake was already buried inside you.

The angle was careful. Slick with your arousal and the lingering wetness of Jake's earlier mouthwork, Jay began to push slow his shaft grinding against Jake's through the tight squeeze of your entrance, the pressure unbearable even before he was fully inside.

Jake slowed immediately, holding you tighter in his arms, breath ragged against your cheek. His voice was low, firm, grounding.

"Relax for him. Breathe. You can take it."

But your body was shaking, the stretch is too intense, and too foreign.

"Fuck! I can't—" The words tore from your throat, panic bleeding into your tone—cut off almost instantly when Jake surged forward and kissed you. His mouth swallowed your cry as Jay began to sink in, splitting you further, claiming space that wasn't there.

Your entire body tensed, clutching, pulsing, your walls clamping down instinctively on both cocks as they shifted inside you, working together to make room.

Both men moaned low in your ears. "Shit," Jake gasped into your mouth, breaking the kiss just to breathe. "Fuck, she's tight—Jay—go slow."

Jay's groan was more guttural, his lips brushing your shoulder. "I am—she's gripping us like she's trying to push us out."

You whimpered as your body was forced to take it—all of it. The thick drag of Jay's cock sliding in alongside Jake's, every inch of your walls stretched to their absolute limit, friction pressing between them, heat building inside you so violently it made your toes curl.

Their hips pressed in unison, the base of their cocks grinding together deep inside you, buried to the hilt. You could feel them inside each other through you, the shared space, the impossible pressure, the slow pulse of them twitching inside your cunt, both thick and deep and so full it.

Jay hissed, forehead pressed to your back. Your mouth hung open, panting. All you could do was hold on—legs locked around Jake's waist, arms limp around his shoulders, your body trembling violently between them.

You couldn't tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

Jake's head dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel him," he whispered. "Fuck, I can feel him moving through you."

Jay's hand shifted from your hip to Jake's jaw, guiding his face upward. Their bodies pressed so close, only you between them, joined not just through you, but with you.

Jay leaned in, lips met Jake's, tongues brushing, mouths sliding together as their hips shifted slightly, still buried inside you. Their kiss deepened quickly, tongues pressing hard, teeth grazing. Jake groaned into it, when he pulled back from Jay only to kiss you next.

His lips claimed yours fast, almost needy—salt and sweat and desperation—and Jay didn't wait. He was already kissing along your neck, up behind your ear, while his hand slid between you to stroke your clit with slow circles.

The shift in pace was dizzying. They weren't pounding into you. Not yet. They were just holding you. Deep, warm, kissing, mouths trading between you and each other.

Jake finally broke the kiss, forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, "You feel like heaven right now."

Jay's mouth brushed your shoulder again. "She's shaking. Poor thing's too full to even speak."

Your fingers digging into Jake's shoulders, back arching slowly. The pressure of them both still lodged inside you kept your body humming with tension.

Jay kissed the side of Jake's mouth again before murmuring, "Move with me, baby."

Jake nodded once. They shifted. And then, slowly, carefully, they began to move.

One would pull back while the other pressed in, your body stretching and clenching around the rhythm. It was slower than before, more controlled, but no less overwhelming. The glide of two thick cocks inside you, perfectly in sync, had your body twitching, tears pricking your lashes again.

Their mouths kept moving, on your throat, on each other, across flushed skin and slick shoulders. They didn't speak much, just low moans, shuddered breaths, the soft slap of bodies finding rhythm again. Jay's hand never left your clit. Jake's arms held you close.

"Stay with us," Jake whispered into your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Don't run next time," Jay added, his voice deep in your ear. "We just want to keep you." And their cocks kept moving, slow and deep and together, keeping you open, full, and exactly where you belonged.

Jake shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his stance, the grip on your thighs tightening as he found more control in his movement. The slow rhythm gave way to more deeper, and faster, his hips slapping up with wet, rhythmic sounds that bounced off the walls.

The moans pouring from you grew louder. You were unraveling again, overstimulated, but your legs refused to stop twitching, clinging around Jake's waist as your hands clawed at anything for purchase—his shoulders, Jay's neck, the edge of the mirror behind you.

A sudden sound echoing outside, footstep and people murmuring as they pass by. Panic stabbed into your chest. You froze for a moment, instinct flaring, shame bubbling up behind your ribs. The reality of where you were hit hard—legs wrapped around one man, another flush to your back, both of them inside you, fucking you, right there in the university bathroom.

But the pleasure didn't stop. You twitched, thighs squeezing reflexively, a cry caught in your throat. "Someone's—"

Jay's hand came up instantly, cupping the side of your face as he leaned in, swallowing your next sound with a kiss. His mouth sealed over yours just as Jake drove up harder, his thrust knocking the breath from your lungs, forcing the moan straight into Jay's waiting tongue.

"Let them hear," Jake hissed, voice rough against your skin, his pace unrelenting now. "Let them wonder who's making you sound like that."

The footsteps outside faded, but your heartbeat didn't slow. It thundered in your chest, driven by both fear and the savage pleasure coursing through your nerves.

Jay broke the kiss with a strand of spit between your lips, eyes half-lidded, and flushed. "You're squeezing us like you want to get caught," he murmured, fingers slipping between your bodies to rub your clit again, drawing a fresh, keening whimper from your throat.

Every drag of their shafts against each other inside your overstretched cunt sent aftershocks through your core, your body trembling violently with each grind and press. The feeling of them rubbing together inside you, separated only by the thin, spasming walls of your body, wasn't just overwhelming—it was ruinous.

"F-Fuck," Jake choked, hips jolting up hard. The impact of his thrust slammed you forward into Jay's chest, your breath ripped from you as your body tried—and failed—to brace for the intensity.

Jay grunted, catching your body easily, his hand fisting your hair as he held you in place. His cock surged deeper alongside Jake's, the slick sound of their movements inside you impossibly loud in the quiet space.

"Can't hold it," Jake panted, sweat dripping from his temple, breath stuttering. "She's—she's so tight I can feel you through her—fuck, Jay—"

Jay growled, his own control shattering with every convulsion of your clenching walls. You could barely think anymore—your mouth hung open, no words left, only broken gasps and sobs as your body tightened around them again. The pressure had built too fast. It rolled up from your core, cresting so high you couldn't breathe.

Your orgasm hit hard. It exploded through your abdomen, a pulsing, electric burst of heat that seized every muscle. You screamed, not even a word, just sound—your voice breaking as your cunt clenched violently around them, walls spasming uncontrollably.

"Fuck—" Jake snarled, the rhythm of his hips shattering.

He slammed in once more, his cock jerking violently inside you as he came with a rough moan, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt. You felt every spurt, thick and hot and deep, and the sensation of being filled only sent another shiver of pleasure rolling through your already-fractured nerves.

Jay wasn't far behind. Your body's violent squeezing around both cocks at once pushed him over the edge—his thrusts turned erratic, hard, his breath tearing through his chest.

"Gonna fill you up," he groaned against your throat, voice ragged, hips pressing as deep as they could go. "You're gonna take all of it."

Then he came. You felt the way his cock throbbed next to Jake's inside you, the rush of hot fluid spilling in, mixing with Jake's release, both of them pouring into the same aching space. Their hips jerked in sync, involuntary tremors shaking them as your body held them tight, refusing to let go.

Your own climax still burned through you, wave after wave wracking your limbs, your nails digging into Jake's shoulders as your vision blurred.

You were just there, caught between their shaking bodies. They didn't pull out. They stayed inside you, panting, foreheads pressed to your skin, arms wrapped tight around your waist. The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, the soft whisper of sweat-slicked skin, the occasional stuttered groan as aftershocks rolled through all three of you.

Jake leaned his forehead against yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're so beautiful."

Jay's hand came up to stroke your side. "No more running, okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke. "We're going to talk this time. Really talk."

You tried to nod, but your head only shifted slightly. A soft, low hum escaped your throat as your vision swam and your body slumped against Jake's chest. Everything ached. You weren't sure if your legs were still attached, or if you'd ever feel your core without that deep, burning throb again.

It had been so long since you'd let yourself be used like that... and even longer since it had ever felt like this. Safe. Claimed. Held.

Jake was the first to move, easing himself out of you. You whimpered faintly at the loss, but even that sound felt distant in your own ears.

"Hey," he whispered, fingertips brushing your cheek. He tapped gently, calling your name. "Hey, come back to me, baby."

But you couldn't answer. Your eyes were half-open, glazed with exhaustion. Your body limp between them. There was no strength left in your limbs just the slow throb of overstimulation and the deep, quiet ache that said you'd been pushed right to the edge of yourself.

Jake's expression changed instantly. "Shit—she's out of it," he muttered, voice sharp with guilt.

Jay's brows furrowed. "She's overwhelmed. Fuck."

Together, they moved quickly, shifting their grips. Jake bent to retrieve his pants, tugging them up with one arm while the other held you carefully to his chest. Your body sagged against him, boneless but trusting, your cheek pressed to the slick skin of his shoulder. "I've got her," Jake said quietly.

Jay adjusted himself quickly, stepping in to help. His hands cupped your thighs, his gaze scanning your face. "We need to get her cleaned up. Somewhere soft."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his hand smoothing the back of your hair.

You couldn't speak—not really. You were too far gone, too worn down in the sweetest, most bone-deep way.

But you felt them. You felt the tissue as they wiped between your legs, cleaning their combined mess from your trembling thighs. Another passed over your face, cool and damp, brushing away the sticky sheen of sweat and the tears you didn't remember shedding. Fingers were tender as they tucked your hair back, smoothing it down, and you sighed softly into the sensation.

Jake carried you effortlessly, holding you to his chest. You felt Jay beside you, one hand steadying your legs as they moved together. Their voices were hushed now, murmurs exchanged just beyond your hearing, their steps soft against the tile.

When the door opened, the shift in air hit instantly—cool and dry from the hallway's air conditioning, raising goosebumps across your flushed skin.

You managed one last, drowsy breath as the cool air washed over you. Then your eyelids dropped.

You stirred slowly, the first thing you felt was warmth. A soft bed cradled your body, the sheets cool against your bare skin, but it was the sensation wrapped around your waist that anchored you. The scent pressing against your back was just as recognizable—clean sweat, faint cologne, and something uniquely him.

You blinked slowly, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks before you opened your eyes fully.

Your head was nestled into the crook of someone’s neck. His skin was warm beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your ear. You shifted slightly, body still sore and heavy, and looked up.

Jake was watching you, eyes soft. He rubbed slow circles against your side with the pad of his thumb, his other hand still resting gently across your waist, holding you close.

“Hi,” he whispered.

You managed a small, sleepy smile. “Hi. How long was I out?” you asked, blinking again to clear the haze still lingering behind your eyes.

Jake exhaled through his nose, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “About an hour,” he murmured.

Your brows knit faintly, and he brushed a thumb along your temple. “Don’t worry,” he added with a soft smile. “We covered for you. Told them you fainted because of the heat—overexerted, nothing serious.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry in your throat. “Technically not a lie…”

Jake’s grin widened just slightly, a playful glint flickering behind the softness in his eyes. “Mm. They don’t need the exact details.”

You gave a breath of a laugh, but it faded quickly as your gaze lingered on his face—the gentle curve of his smile, the creases near his eyes, the way he was watching you so closely.

“Jake…” your voice came out small.

He stilled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your side. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, the flood of everything you’d been trying to suppress surged up your throat. You swallowed it down once, then let it rise.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For avoiding you. For running off. For shutting down instead of just…” You trailed off, sighing as your brows pulled together. “I was scared.”

Jake’s lips parted slightly, his grip on you tightening for a moment before he pulled you in closer, pressing your cheek against his chest. You felt the beat of his heart against your skin.

“I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling,” you continued. "I started… caring. And that made everything messy. Because you and Jay—you’re already whole. You don’t need someone like me getting in the middle of that.”

Jake was silent, listening, his hand still tracing soft patterns into your skin.

“And I kept thinking…” You swallowed hard. “If I let myself fall deeper, I’ll only be the one who ends up hurt. Like I’d ruin what you both already have. That I didn’t deserve it, any of it.”

He finally spoke, his voice low. “Why didn’t you just tell us that?”

“I didn’t know how,” you admitted. “And then when I saw the two of you together, being so perfect—it made me realize how small my place in this is. Or… was.”

Jake shook his head, exhaling as he tilted your face up gently with his fingers. “You think we’re perfect?” he said, a sad sort of smile curling at the corners of his lips. “We’re not. We’ve made mistakes. We didn’t talk about a lot of things. But one thing we were sure of?” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone. “We both want you.”

Jake's thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. His breath was warm as he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing briefly. “I’m sorry we didn’t make it clearer,” he whispered. “We thought we were showing you—through touch, through time, through every little thing we did. But we never said it. And maybe that’s where we messed up.”

You blinked back the heat behind your eyes, your throat tightening. Jake’s fingers brushed under your jaw, coaxing you to look at him again.

“We want you,” he said, “In every way. Not just in our bed. Not just when it’s convenient. We want you in our life. You’ve already made space in it—you didn’t ruin anything.”

You let out a shaky breath, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your face into the crook of his neck again, seeking warmth, shelter, reassurance. His arms wrapped tighter around you.

“And Jay?” you asked quietly, voice muffled against his skin.

Jake chuckled softly, the sound a little choked. “Jay’s downstairs trying to pretend he’s not pacing. He’s been wanting to talk to you too. But I asked him to give me this moment first.” He pulled back just enough to brush your hair from your face. “You mean more to him than you think.”

The soft knock came, Jake didn’t move right away, just held your gaze, giving you a choice without saying a word. When you gave the smallest nod, he leaned over and called out gently, “It’s okay. Come in.”

The door cracked open, and Jay stepped inside. His eyes immediately found yours, and the moment they did, the edge in his posture melted. He wasn’t guarded like he usually was.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, stepping closer.

Jake shifted slightly to make space on the bed, and Jay took it without question. He sat on the edge first, then leaned in beside you, bracing one hand on the mattress near your hip.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Sore,” you said, voice raspy with sleep. “Like I got hit by a very… affectionate truck.”

That pulled a laugh from both of them. Jake’s body vibrated behind you with the sound, and Jay let out a quiet chuckle as he rubbed a hand gently over your knee, his thumb brushing just above where the blanket had slipped.

“Sorry,” Jay murmured, though the smirk was playing at his mouth now. “Not sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him when he bent down and pressed a kiss to your temple. His lips lingered there for a beat longer than expected. When he pulled back, he looked more serious.

“No more running,” he said quietly, “I’m not great with… talking. Feelings. All that shit.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down briefly before returning to yours. “But I want this. I want you."

Jake let out a quiet huff behind you, shifting closer as he nuzzled the back of your shoulder. “He’s always like that,” he whispered, “I was the one who confessed first. Initiated the first kiss. First sex.”

Jay’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You asshole,” he muttered.

“You blushed when I touched your wrist,” Jake added, grinning now.

“I was cold,” Jay shot back. You laughed then soft, but real—and both of them stilled like they’d been waiting for the sound. Jake’s smile softened, and Jay, still glaring at his boyfriend.

Jake grinned wider. “He literally couldn’t make eye contact for twenty-four hours after we slept together the first time.”

“I hate you,” Jay muttered, but he was already reaching for you again, hand slipping beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, drawing you back toward him as he curled in behind.

“You don’t,” Jake replied, smirking as he met your gaze. “He just never knows how to say the nice shit.”

“I will push you off this bed,” Jay warned to keep Jake from opening his mouth again. “Then we’ll fall together,” Jake countered smoothly, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist.

You sank into their warmth, nestled between their bodies. You turned your face slightly, resting your cheek against Jay’s collarbone while one of your hands found Jake’s under the blanket.

For a long, comforting moment, no one spoke. Then, quietly, Jay’s voice rumbled near your ear. “Were we too rough earlier?”

You shook your head without hesitation, cheek still pressed to his collarbone. “No. I needed it,” you murmured, honest and calm. “It pushed me out of my head. That’s what I needed.”

Jake’s hand tightened slightly around yours, and he smiled softly. “So… are we okay now?”

You turned your head toward him, lips curving with amusement. “That depends,” you said. “Was that makeup sex?”

Jake raised a brow, mouth twitching. “Wait—that wasn’t?”

Jay snorted behind you. “If that was just a warm-up, I’m scared to know what the actual makeup sex is supposed to look like.”

You laughed, low and a little breathless, the sound making both of them smile wider.

“I guess we’ll have to do it again,” Jake said, voice dropping just enough to make the tease linger. “Y’know. For clarity.”

It didn’t take long. Clothes were shed, tossed carelessly across the floor—shirts half-inside out, underwear tangled near the foot of the bed. You were on your back with Jake above you, his mouth on yours, his tongue moving with a tenderness that made your body ache all over again.

Then Jay moved. You barely had time to gasp before his hand curled into Jake’s hair, tugging sharply. Jake groaned into your mouth, the kiss breaking as Jay pulled him back.

“Not so fast,” Jay said, “You had your turn.”

He dragged Jake down the length of the bed, making him twist and arch, until Jake’s head was between your thighs, his back curved beautifully under Jay’s grip. Jake didn’t resist—he melted into the position, groaning as he inhaled the scent of you, mouth finding your cunt.

You gasped, your legs parting without thought. The sting from earlier still lingered, but it was chased by the familiar, glorious heat of Jake’s mouth. He licked into you slowly at first, tongue stroking over your clit.

Your back arched as he moaned against your folds, his face buried deeper. “F-fuck, Jake—” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, hips twitching against his face.

Jay watched from behind him, one hand stroking down Jake’s spine, the other trailing lower. You didn’t see the moment he slipped his fingers between Jake’s cheeks, but you felt the way Jake moaned louder against your cunt, hips jerking slightly as Jay began working him open.

“Want to see you fuck him,” you breathed, voice cracked with need. “Please. I want to watch.”

Jake whimpered into your pussy, tongue fucking you deeper in response. Jay’s eyes lifted to yours. His fingers were slowly pushing into Jake. “She wants a show,” he said, leaning in to kiss Jake’s neck. “You gonna be good for her?”

Jake moaned again, his voice muffled by your cunt, and you tightened your grip in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp.

Jay’s hand slid away briefly, and you heard the soft click of the drawer beside the bed opening. A moment later, the quiet sound of a bottle opening filled the space. Cool lube met skin, and Jay didn’t hesitate—he returned to Jake’s body with a steady hand, working the slick between his cheeks.

Jake whimpered again, body shuddering beneath both of you. Jay kept stretching him, fingers moving in slow, deep circles, curling and scissoring in a rhythm that made Jake pant harder against your pussy. His mouth never stopped licking, sucking, groaning into your folds with more desperation the more he was opened up.

You looked down and nearly lost your breath at the sight: Jake’s flushed face buried between your legs, his lips wet and glistening, while Jay knelt behind him, eyes dark, and focused as his fingers slick, sliding in and out of Jake’s ass with increasing ease.

Jake was trembling now, his thighs twitched against the sheets, and you could hear the breathless hitch in his throat each time Jay’s fingers pressed just right inside him.

“She’s gonna see how good you take it." Jake moaned hard against your clit, and you cried out—your hips bucking into his face. He didn’t stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, tongue working you open.

Jay leaned forward, pressing a kiss between Jake’s shoulder blades. “You ready for me, sweetheart?”

Jake’s reply was only a ragged whine, and it made your pulse spike.

“Please,” you said softly, the only voice in the room not breaking. Jay’s eyes flicked to yours, gaze locking for one searing moment. Then he leaned forward, hand steady on Jake’s lower back, and began to push in.

Jake let out a strangled groan against your cunt, his tongue faltering for a heartbeat before diving back in with renewed force. Your legs tightened around his head, your hips rising helplessly into his mouth.

“Good boy,” Jay breathed, voice thick as he slid deeper. “Keep eating her.”

Jake moaned again, the vibration pulsing through your clit as Jay’s cock pressed deeper inside him. You could feel Jake struggling to hold rhythm, overwhelmed by the dual sensations—his mouth locked to your cunt while Jay slowly filled him from behind.

Jake’s fingers were clutching your hips, knuckles pale, his lips slick with your arousal as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again—desperate, hungry, obedient. Behind him, Jay moved with a slow, grinding pace, hips rolling forward, burying himself inch by inch into Jake’s tight, slicked hole.

“Shit,” Jay groaned, head dropping for a second as his hands gripped Jake’s waist.

Jake whined against you, hips pushing back to meet Jay’s thrusts even as his mouth stayed locked on you, his tongue circling your clit in dizzying spirals. You could feel him moaning again and again.

Your hand threaded deeper into Jake’s hair, pulling tight, guiding his mouth where you needed him as your hips rolled shamelessly against his face. His moans were frantic now, high-pitched, especially when Jay snapped his hips forward harder—burying himself to the hilt.

His tongue was relentless, and the pressure was building again in your core, fast and burning, pulled taut by every flick of his mouth, every grind of Jay’s cock rocking through him from behind.

You were right on the edge—suspended between pleasure and the raw thrill of watching them together.

Jay’s rhythm grew rougher, his groans more ragged. One hand slipped from Jake’s hip to curl around his waist, holding him in place, deepening every thrust. The wet slap of skin filled the room, matched by the obscene, eager sounds of Jake’s mouth on your cunt.

Your back arched. Your breath hitched. “I’m—fuck—Jake!” you cried, your orgasm tearing through you.

Jake moaned loud and deep into you as you came, your body spasming under his tongue, your legs clamping around his head as your hands tangled tight in his hair. You rode it out on his mouth, grinding into him, the pressure of Jay’s thrusts making Jake groan right through your high, pushing you even further.

Your body melted into the sheets, chest heaving, but your eyes stayed locked on the scene unraveling in front of you.

Jay didn’t relent. He adjusted his grip, arms slipping under Jake’s chest to haul him higher, fucking into him harder from behind with a pace that was nothing short of brutal. His skin slapped against Jake’s ass with wet, relentless rhythm, and Jake took it beautifully—his moans muffled, body twitching with every deep thrust.

You watched them, your lips parted, breath shallow. Both their faces were flushed and wild, lost in each other. And instead of jealousy, the sight only fed the fire already burning in your gut. The ache that never really went away around them now pulsed hotter, deeper.

Jake’s voice broke as he moaned loud enough to echo through the room. “Jay, baby—oh fuck!”

Jay reached up, tangled a fist in Jake’s hair, and yanked him back just enough to crush their mouths together. The kiss was messy, desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding, both of them breathing into each other’s mouths.

The noise of it made you whine. You couldn’t stay still. You crawled forward on shaky limbs, eyes locked on Jake’s cock, thick and flushed and bouncing wildly with every one of Jay’s thrusts.

Your hand wrapped around it in one slow, sure stroke, and Jake shouted into Jay’s mouth. Jay pulled back just slightly, his eyes flicking down to see your hand wrapped tightly around Jake’s length, pumping him in time with the rhythm of their bodies.

Jake’s head fell back, hips jerking forward into your touch, his stomach tight and trembling. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, then a broken moan when you dragged your thumb over his leaking tip, smearing the precum down his shaft.

“Fuck,” he choked, voice shaking. “That—God, that feels so good.”

Jay groaned behind him, his rhythm stuttering just for a second at the sight in front of him. His gaze dropped to where your fingers wrapped around Jake’s cock—your nails catching the light, long and perfectly shaped, moving over him in steady, merciless pumps.

He hissed through his teeth, fucking into Jake harder. Jake moaned again, louder this time, his whole body pushing back into Jay while thrusting forward into your hand. His eyes fluttered open, hazy and wild as they met yours, lips parted.

Jay’s voice cut. “Lay down, baby.”

You blinked, heart pounding. You released Jake’s cock with one last stroke, watching his hips twitch at the loss, and moved backward on the bed without a word. You lay back across the pillows, your legs parting instinctively as you settled into the space, your body already pulsing in anticipation.

Jay pulled out of Jake with a slick, wet sound, his hand curling around Jake’s hip to steady him. “Come on,” he said, gaze flicking to Jake, then to you. “Enter that pussy and ride my dick.”

Jake didn’t wait. He crawled over you immediately, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, and with one fluid motion, he lined himself up and sank into you.

You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the stretch hit you hard all over again. Your walls were still sensitive, still twitching from your last orgasm, and now he was filling you again.

Behind him, Jay didn’t waste time. He adjusted, positioned himself, and with one slow, deliberate push, slid back into Jake’s ass.

"Ahhh!" Jake’s whole body jolted. A strangled sound caught in his throat, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that was sloppy, all tongue and open breath. His hips began to move almost immediately, short shallow thrusts between your legs while Jay drove into him from behind.

“F-fuck,” Jake moaned into your mouth, pulling back only to drop his lips to your throat. He bit down hard—just enough to make you cry out—then dragged his mouth lower, tongue hot on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way down to your collarbone.

Your fingers clutched at his back, and every time he thrust forward into you, it was followed by the shock of Jay’s cock driving him forward again—his motion caught between both your bodies.

Jake was trembling, moaning louder than ever, his rhythm completely overtaken by Jay’s pace. Every thrust from behind forced him deeper into you, the sensation nearly too much. His moans spilled against your throat, turning into helpless gasps as his cock slid in and out of your soaked cunt.

His voice broke in short, frantic cries. “Jay! Jay—please, baby, oh God—”

His mouth returned to your neck, teeth scraping the skin before he latched on, biting down with desperate force. The sharp sting drew a gasp from you, the pain blooming into pleasure just as Jake’s hips jolted forward again, burying himself to the base.

He held there for a moment—frozen, panting, his breath hot against your skin. His back was slick with sweat beneath your palms, muscles twitching under your touch.

Then he pulled back, just enough for you to see his face. His lips parted, breath shaky and shallow. His eyes were unfocused, lashes wet, the flush across his cheeks deep and burning. He looked wrecked, and completely beautiful—mouth closed now.

You clenched around him involuntarily. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “So fucked-out.”

Your hips rose instinctively, pushing up into him, your body begging for more, for all of it.

Jake let out a shuddering groan. He rolled his hips again, slow and deep, and the way you took him made him press his forehead to yours.

Behind him, Jay didn’t slow. He was pounding into him with brutal control, groaning with every thrust, his grip locked tight around Jake’s hips to keep him in place. You could feel each stroke reverberate through Jake's body, transferring into yours.

“F-Feels so good—ahh, fuck—feel so good!” Jake cried out, voice cracking, mouth open in a moan that bordered on a sob.

You reached up with a shaky hand, brushing the damp strands of hair from his face, your thumb stroking gently along his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

Your body clenched again, the pressure cresting high, unbearable and exquisite.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet his every desperate thrust. “Jake—cum with me, please—ahh—now!”

Jake’s breath hitched, his hips faltered before he slammed into you one final time, burying himself deep. His entire body seized, a loud, gasping moan torn from his chest as he came hard, cock pulsing inside you with wave after wave of heat.

You fell with him, your orgasm ripped through you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your cunt clenched around him, milking every drop of his release. Your cry echoed into his mouth as he kissed you again.

“Fuck—both of you are so hot—God—”

Jay’s pace grew rougher, deeper, his restraint unraveling with every breathless sound spilling from Jake’s lips, every clench of your cunt around Jake’s cock. He watched you both, panting, his hands gripping Jake’s hips so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

“Fucking hell,” Jay growled. Jake moaned again, overstimulated and soft, his forehead still resting against yours as Jay buried himself one last time with a low groan,

You felt it in Jake’s shudder, the way his breath stilled as Jay’s cock throbbed deep inside him. The sound Jay made as he emptied himself, his body pressing tight to Jake’s back.

Jay was the first to exhale, his lips ghosting over the back of Jake’s neck as he slowly eased out. Jake let out a soft whimper, his body twitching from the sensitivity, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, one hand sliding over his spine.

Jake collapsed onto you gently, his full weight cushioned by your body, his cheek pressed to your shoulder as he panted, still flushed and wet with heat. You stroked his hair, letting your fingers card slowly through the damp strands.

Jay shifted beside you, climbing up the bed on unsteady arms before dropping down on your other side. His chest was heaving, he wrapped one arm around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach, fingers brushing softly against your skin.

Jake tilted his face up to look at you. “You okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded, stroking his cheek. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Better than okay.”

Jake gave a breathless laugh, burying his face briefly into the crook of your neck. “Fuck,” he groaned, still catching his breath. “That was the most delicious orgasm I’ve ever had."

You chuckled, breath hitching a little as you threaded your fingers into his hair again.

Jay leaned in from your other side, his body pressing close, his mouth trailing a soft kiss along your shoulder before brushing Jake’s temple. His arm wrapped around the both of you, pulling you tighter into the warmth of him. Your legs tangled instinctively, bodies nestled under the sheets that now clung to the lingering heat of sex and skin.

None of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching comfortably between heartbeats and shallow breaths.

Then you glanced between them, your voice still breathless. “So…” you murmured, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Does this mean I have two boyfriends now?”

Jake’s head popped up slightly, a crooked grin forming. “Only if you’re okay being heavily spoiled and never allowed to escape.”

Jay made a quiet sound of amusement beside you, his thumb brushing a lazy line along your hip. “We’re clingy,” he said, voice low, eyes half-lidded but sincere. “Terrible at sharing. Lucky for us, we just want the same person.”

You laughed, letting yourself melt back into the weight of them, your body still pulsing with quiet aftershocks and warmth. “I think I can live with that,” you said softly, eyes fluttering closed as their hands continued to drift gently over your skin.

And then you suddenly remember something. Your eyes snapped open as panic surged through your chest.

“Shit—Sunoo!”

You shot up so fast that the blanket fell off your chest and Jake practically flinched, startled, his sleepy post-orgasm daze completely shattered. Jay blinked at you from behind, frowning in confusion. Then he realizes what you meant.

“Sunoo!!!”

Jake’s voice echoed across the grassy field the next day, dramatically over-the-top as he broke into a slow-motion sprint—arms wide, expression exaggerated with mock desperation.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, trailing behind him with your fingers laced through Jay’s. Sunoo, on the other hand, stood perfectly still ahead, arms crossed, expression locked in a glare.

Just as Jake went in for a hug, Sunoo’s palm came up and smacked him square across the face—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jolt the dramatics right out of him. Jake stumbled back, blinking.

“You didn’t text, you didn’t call, and my best friend just disappeared with you two?” Sunoo snapped, pointing an accusing finger toward you and Jay.

You smiled awkwardly, offering a sheepish little wave behind Jake’s shoulder.

“She fainted!” Jake explained, hands flying up. “We were busy assisting her. Medical-grade care. You should be grateful your best friend fell into the right hands.”

Sunoo’s eyebrow arched so high. His gaze slowly dropped to your neck… and then narrowed. “Yeah, right,” he said dryly, arms crossing again. “That why she’s covered in poorly hidden hickeys?”

Jake blinked, he slowly reached out and bit his own finger, eyes wide as he turned to stare at you. “Babe,” he whispered. “You said you’d cover those.”

You flushed, dragging the collar of your shirt higher with a quick tug. “I did! Jay distracted me!”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Dodgeball’s starting now—don’t actually faint this time.”

Your fingers gently slipped away from Jay’s, reaching out to Sunoo instead. You slid your arm through his as you began walking beside him, your shoulder brushing his. He let you lean into him without hesitation.

“I assume the three of you are okay now,” Sunoo said after a pause, voice lighter, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m still scared,” you admitted. “But… as long as I’m with them, I think I’ll be fine.”

Sunoo gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me at your back too.”

Jake popped up beside Sunoo, slinging an arm over his shoulder with a wide grin, pressing in close to you on the other side. Jay followed right behind, falling into step beside you with that calm, quiet presence that always made you feel anchored.

“So,” Jake said casually, stretching his arms above his head before locking them behind his neck. “What do you guys want to eat later? Because I’m seriously craving some Samyang Buldak noodles.”

Sunoo stared at him, blinking once. Then, flatly: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jake blinked back, innocent. “What?”

“It’s thirty-four degrees,” Sunoo said, gesturing wildly to the sky like the sun itself was his witness. “And your dumbass is out here craving spicy death noodles? Are you okay? Do we need to check for brain damage?”

"Well, I love spicy!" Jake scoffed, throwing his hands up.

Their voices quickly dissolved into muffled bickering again—Jake insisting it was about heat and thrill, Sunoo arguing that eating molten fire under the sun was a cry for help.

Jay exhaled a quiet laugh beside you, his fingers brushing against yours. You felt the heat of it—not from the sun, not from the air, but from them.

From all of this. And as you watched your best friend and your boyfriend argue, with Jay steady at your side and your pulse still echoing from the day before, you couldn’t help the smile curling at your lips.

Maybe Jake was right.

Maybe a little spicy-ness was exactly what made life interesting.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enha smut #jay x reader #jake x reader #jay smut #jake smut #enhypen x reader #jay x jake

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daryltwdixon · 3 days ago

Text

Chapter 4

Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled.

|| angst & fluff, Pre-Boston QZ, Stockholm Syndrome, Pre-Boston QZ, slow burn, raider!joel, captor!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, homestead, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, slow burn, referenced abusive family, joel says things he doesn't mean, fmc is going thru some shit so her emotions are pretty volatile, implied age gap ||

a/n: your honor I love them so much

The next morning was pale and gray, the kind of cold that clung to the floorboards and curled beneath the edges of your sleeves. Joel had brought you more clothes from his run into town—sweaters, thick socks, some long johns that looked like they belonged to a man twice your size. None of it fit. Everything still hung off you like it didn’t want to stay. But it was warm, and that was the only part you couldn’t bring yourself to resent.

You hadn’t slept well. It was hard to, curling yourself into a tight ball above the covers every night on the opposite side of his bed. You were cold, angry, mostly stubborn. But you’d never admit it out loud. And since Joel didn’t say anything about it, you figured maybe he was just grateful you still shared the bed at all.

Your body felt strange that morning. Not sore, not exactly, just… off. Like you’d been holding too much for too long and now your limbs didn’t know how to carry it. There was a weight in your chest that pressed, unnameable, and no matter how tightly you crossed your arms over it, it wouldn’t go away.

When you walked into the main room of the cabin, Joel was already there. Sitting in his usual armchair, poking at the fire he’d just rekindled. The air still carried the scent of smoke and ash from the night before, mixing with something faintly earthy—wet wood and cold stone.

He looked up when you entered, eyes skimming over you with that same quiet, unreadable expression he always wore when he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe he just didn’t want to say anything.

He just nodded once in greeting, then nodded again—to the floor in front of his chair.

Samson noticed you too, his head lifting from his paws at the sound of your footsteps. His ears perked, eyes blinking slowly as he watched you from his spot beside Joel’s feet. He looked at home already, like he’d been here forever. You wondered if it would ever feel that easy for you.

You stood there for a moment too long, frozen in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over your chest.

Not because you were afraid. Not exactly.

But because you weren’t sure what it meant anymore, to sit there. To kneel in front of him, to let him touch you, to go through the motions of this quiet ritual that had started as rough, and sometimes even painful, that now was turning into something you didn’t know how to define. You weren’t sure what message you were sending by giving in to it now.

But your feet still moved. You crossed the room, slow and hesitant, and sank to your knees in front of his chair, spine straight, chin lifted. Your hands folded stiffly in your lap. The floor was cold under your legs, the fire warming just one side of your face.

Joel leaned forward with a grunt, the old chair creaking beneath him as he reached for the drawer beside him. You heard the soft rustle of the brush, the creak of the worn wooden handle in his palm.

When his fingers touched your hair, you flinched–just a flicker, barely a breath. But he felt it.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, voice low and careful.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure if you believed him. Not because he’d been cruel—not lately—but because something in you still held the memory of it. Still wore the shape of that first day like a bruise under the surface.

The first pass of the brush was slow. He started at the ends, working up like he’d learned to. The bristles tugged lightly, but they didn’t snag, and he didn’t rush. It was methodical and gentle, his hands following muscle memory now. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

The brush moved again. And again.

You hated how easily your body responded to it. How your shoulders slackened without permission. How your breath came deeper, slower. You hated the flutter behind your ribs when his knuckles brushed the back of your neck, the heat in your chest when you let your eyes shut for too long.

You didn’t want to enjoy it.

When he was finished, he tied the leather strip around the end of your braid, hands gentle, firm. You could feel the tension in his fingertips, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Like he was waiting for yours.

You moved to stand, but you were stopped by the sound of his voice.

“Almost forgot—” he grunted, twisting to reach for his pack on the other side of him. He winced slightly, then rummaged through it, pulling out a few supplies before his hand closed around something bulkier. Something heavy by the way his arm flexed with the weight of it.

“Found this at the shops. Think it still has a few shots left.”

You blinked up at it. A camera. A beat-up old Polaroid—boxy and worn, duct tape along one edge, the light of the flash cracked. But it was still intact, still holding something of the old world. His hand hovered in the space between you, offering it gently.

“Figured… Well, spring gets real pretty ‘round here,” he said, voice a little softer now. “Might be nice to take some pictures.”

Your eyes lifted slowly from the camera to his face, and for a second, you could see it: the hope behind the gesture. The earnestness, as warped and clumsy as it was.

And it burned something sharp and twisted in your chest, something red and sick and furious. Before you could even think, you shoved his hand away, the camera jostling in his grip, almost slipping from his fingers.

“I don’t want pictures,” you snapped, rising so fast your head rushed as you stood. “I don’t want souvenirs of this place. Of you.”

His jaw flexed hard as he looked up at you, expression hardening. “Was just tryin’ to—”

“To what?” Your voice cracked, high and raw as you stood to your feet, looking down at him. “Make me feel at home? Make it easier to forget that I didn’t choose this? That I didn’t choose you? I don’t want to be here, Joel!”

His jaw clenched, and something behind his eyes went cold.

“You act like I pulled you outta some goddamn fairytale, girl.” he growled. “Like you weren’t half-dead when I found you. Covered in bruises. Lip split open and starvin’.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Remember how long it took me to brush through that rat’s nest of hair? You cryin’ cause of the mats in it? That sure as shit wasn’t me who did that to you.”

You mirrored his fury now, face twisting with it. At your feet, Samson moved to cower under the table in the kitchen at the sound of your voices rising.

“I gave you a bed,” Joel snapped. “I gave you food. I haven’t laid a fuckin’ hand on you. And you still act like I’m the monster for tryin’ to give you anything.”

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and fast and blinding. Your voice came out low and shaking.

“You are a monster.”

Joel’s face twisted. His lip curled, brows knitting like something buried deep had snapped free. But when he spoke, his voice didn’t rise. It stayed low. Cold. Tight with the kind of control that could snap at any second.

“You wanna call me a monster?” he stood so fast, so close to your face as his fury blazed. “Fine. But at least I ain’t the one who left a goddamn kid to starve under my roof.”

You flinched, but he wasn’t done.

“Your family didn’t give a damn about you,” he hissed, stepping closer. “They left you to rot. They let that low life of a man beat you. And you still talk about them like they were somethin’ worth runnin’ back to?”

Your breath hitched. The tears slipped free now, burning hot down your cheeks.

“They’re better off dead,” he growled. “And here I was, thinkin’ you were different. Thought you wanted to live.” He scoffed, bitter and ugly. “But if you’d rather run back to a fuckin’ grave—then maybe you’re better off in one too.”

The room went silent.

Even the fire stopped crackling.

The words just hung there—vile, bitter, final.

His face went pale, furrowed brow unknitting itself and eyes softening like even he regretted it the moment it passed his lips. But he didn’t take it back.

“Fuck you, Joel.” you breathed. Turning on your heel, you moved quickly, already halfway to the door.

He called your name—softly, pained.

The hinges groaned in protest as you yanked the door open. The cold wind hit your face like a slap, but you barely felt it.

The pulse in your ears was too loud, a scream wrapped in thunder, and your boots were already hitting the porch, the grass, the trees.

You didn’t know where you were going.

Didn’t care.

You just needed distance. From him. From that house. From the words you couldn’t unhear and the ones you wished you’d thrown back harder.

You didn’t get far.

At this point, there was nowhere to go. No one who was waiting for you to return home anymore. And now, as the fight churned inside your chest, raw and aching, you found yourself drawn to the first thing that resembled shelter, anything to put space between you and him. There was an old tree out in the field, grown crooked and thick at the base, its roots gnarled and rising just above the earth like ribs. You crossed the grass without thinking, boots sinking into the damp ground, until you reached it.

You pressed your back against the bark, rough and cold, and let yourself slide down to the base, knees drawn to your chest. Your face was hot and swollen, wet with tears you hadn’t bothered to wipe away. Your hands covered your face like they might hold the sobs in.

But they came anyway.

Big, heaving sobs—ugly, gasping things that clawed their way out of your throat. You didn’t even know who you were crying for. Yourself. Your family. Him. All of it. None of it. You didn’t know anymore.

You didn’t hear anyone approaching until the soft wet pressure of a cold nose was pressed against your palm.

When you peeked through your fingers, the scruffy little mutt was right there in front of you, tail thumping softly against the grass.

“Samson,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Did you get all the way out here by yourself?”

He let out a soft whine, licking at your cheek, your jaw, your chin—lapping up the salt of your tears like he was trying to wash them away. His tongue tickled, warm and eager, and you couldn’t help but let your lips twitch at the corners.

His breath smelled sweet, something you hadn’t noticed before. Like the first bloom of spring. Earthy and new. You’d never smelled anything like it, not out here in this ruined world.

You curled into him, burying your face against his fur. He stayed still beneath your hands, soft and solid and warm.

“What are we gonna do, buddy?” you murmured, rubbing behind his ears, voice thick with grief. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

And then, like ice down your spine, there was a sound.

All wrong, throaty and wet. It was close enough that the hair on the back of your neck stood up. A rustle in the trees, just beyond the field that was too quick to be the wind, too concentrated in one bush, behind one large, grey rock. Your breath caught in your throat, and you scanned the woods ahead, eyes straining against the low sun that couldn't quite cut through the trees. But you couldn’t see anything beyond the shadows and brambles. Still—you heard it.

You’d only ever heard that sound a handful of times in your life, mostly spoken in tales your parents whispered when they didn’t think you or your sister were listening. That sound lived in nightmares, in the stories of what used to roam before your father cleared the area. Or so you thought he did.

Samson stiffened in your lap, his nose twitched. And then, he growled, low and warning, teeth baring at the trees. You pulled him tighter against you, blood thudding in your ears.

Adrenaline surged fast and heightened every sound, feeling, sight before you. Your knees dug into the dirt as you forced yourself to stand, eyes never leaving the darkened stretch of woods as you started to back away.

Step by step, careful and controlled. Never turning your back.

But then, not watching where you were going, your foot snags on a root jutting from the base of the gnarled tree. It caught your ankle just enough to throw your balance off, your arms flailing as you tried to right yourself.

Your eyes dropped for just a second to steady your footing.

And that moment, that lapse of your eyes leaving the trees, was when it happened.

A scream tore through the air. One that wasn’t coming from you, one that was pained and animalistic.

The body came out of nowhere, bursting from the brambles like it had been lying in wait, low and silent and deadly.

Like it was stalking you.

All wiry limbs and rot, half-human, half-fungus, it had camouflaged itself perfectly in the shaded trees, patiently waiting for you to be distracted.

Samson fell from your arms as you tried to hold your hands out, to brace, to fight it off, but it was too fast, too heavy.

The two of you hit the ground hard.

The impact knocked the wind out of you, and for a second all you could hear was the thud of your back hitting the dirt and the dull ringing in your ears. Then it was on you—clawing, snarling, that half-jaw hanging open as its teeth gnashed toward your face. Tendrils of fungus had grown out from the skin of its face, its hair and neck, some brittle and flaking, others fresh and wet, pulsing like they were alive.

Its hands grabbed at your coat, your arms, its weight pinning you to the earth.

Samson is barking furiously, teeth snapping, his small body leaping against the infected’s side, trying to pull at the tattered clothing it still wore. But it didn’t budge. The thing didn’t even register him.

Your screams tore from your throat raw and high, your arms pushing, your legs kicking, but it was still too strong. Its weight bore down, pinning you to the ground. Its breath on your cheek–hot, wet, and reeking of rot—and its mouth too close, teeth gnashing as it let out a garbled, monstrous shriek.

You couldn't help but think: This is it.This was how you died. Alone. Stupid. Angry.

“No!” you sobbed, voice cracking open in panic, your eyes wide and wild as you fought with everything left in you. Your arms strained, muscles screaming, hands locked against the infected’s chest, trying to keep its snapping, fungal-covered face away from yours. Your legs were useless, caught beneath its weight. Your breath came shallow, useless, barely coming in at all.

You had always thought that in moments like this—when death was staring you in the face—you’d see something. Flashes of your life. Your happiest memories. The people you loved.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the bloodshot, ruined eyes of the thing on top of you. Nothing but the stink of decay and fungus and the mindless rage of something that used to be a person.

Maybe you should have prayed.

But when you tried, another thought came—unbidden, as they so often did in moments of clarity like this.

I’m sorry.I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Your arms were giving out, trembling from the effort, your hands slick with sweat and tears and dirt. You were losing. You knew you were losing. A sob ripped from your throat, full and animal, just as your strength collapsed.

And then, a blast thundered so loud it split the air wide open. Like a strike of lightning.

The stalker jerked sideways, a spray of red and black mist filling your vision as its head exploded just inches from your face. Bone and rot and muscle scattered across the grass, and the body collapsed off of you with a sickening thud.

You sucked in air like it might be your last. Your lungs didn’t work. Your chest was heaving, but nothing was steady. You were sobbing, choking, trying to pull in breath as you scrambled blindly through the dirt, arms slipping out from under you.

And then he was there.

Joel.

On his knees beside you, hands grabbing, hauling, pulling you up against his chest.

“Hey—hey, I got you.” His voice was rough, breathless, panicked. “I got you. It’s alright. You’re alright. It’s me.”

You barely even hesitated as your arms reached for him, fists twisting into the front of his coat like you’d die if you let go. Your face pressed into him, shaking, wet, your whole body trembling violently. You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even speak. There was nothing but the sound of your gasping breath and his heartbeat pounding under your ear.

You didn’t care that it was him. You didn’t care about anything except the fact that he came.

He came. Again.He saved you. Again.

You kept whispering through your sobs, again and again, voice barely audible as it fell apart in his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you said through gasping breaths. “I’m so sorry.”

Joel pulled back just enough to see your face, his hands cupping your cheeks, calloused thumbs brushing blood and tears from your skin.

His eyes, lit faintly by the sun beginning to peer through the gray sky, were full of something so tender it made your stomach twist. The lines around his mouth were pulled down, frowning, pained.

“Look at me,” he whispered, ducking his head to meet your eyes, “You don’t gotta be. I’m sorry. I never should’ve said that to you. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t—” He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing just under your eye. “I was angry. But I never meant it.”

You nodded at him, but it was weak, trembling. The kind of nod that wasn’t agreement so much as a reflex. You weren’t even sure what you were nodding to.

His words? His apology? The fact that he was there and you weren’t dead?

You couldn’t untangle any of it. How many times now had you been separated from him, only to have a fate worse than anything he’d ever done to you? It was like everything was slotting into place as you looked at him now.

Your eyes stayed locked on his face, tracing the lines you’d gotten to know over these weeks together. The crease between his brows, the deep scar on his nose, the scruff of his jaw where the morning sun hit it in patches. You couldn’t stop looking at him. You didn’t want to, and you didn’t know why.

It was like you were memorizing him. Every inch, every quiet, steady part that had held onto you even when you were angry, when you pushed and clawed at him.

There was a surge in your chest, big and tight and unbearable. It wasn’t like before, when you’d wanted him just to take your mind off your unending thoughts. This was a need, something chemical you couldn’t explain anymore.

You weren’t thinking when you reached for him again, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his jacket. You weren’t weighing the consequences as you pulled him closer. You weren’t thinking of anything at all except that it was like surfacing after being underwater too long. Like he was the first breath after you thought you were drowning.

You pulled him forward, clumsy and quick, your pulse roaring in your ears for an entirely different reason now.

And then you pressed your mouth onto his.

It wasn’t delicate. Not like you might’ve planned for, if you’d ever let yourself plan for this. It wasn’t sweet or careful or romantic. It was desperate. Messy. It was full of everything you couldn’t say. You kissed him like you were still scared of never getting the chance to say you were sorry. Sorry for running. Sorry for every terrible thing you’d thrown at him. Sorry for being stubborn, for being mean, for being so full of your own anger you couldn’t see what he was trying to be for you. You kissed him like gratitude. Like relief. Like grief. Because somehow, despite all of it, he came back. He saved you. Again. And that meant something you couldn’t begin to hold in your chest.

Joel froze at first, stiff under your hands. But you held him there, fingers gripping at the collar of his coat, clutching like your life depended on it. Then slowly, his mouth began to move against yours. Hesitant at first. Then deeper, surer. His hand stayed at your cheek, holding you steady, his thumb brushing your wet, tear stained skin as if he couldn’t believe this was real—that you were really letting him in. That you wanted to.

He eased you back onto the ground, bracing his weight so he didn’t crush you, but still pressing close, warm and heavy, like he could anchor you to the earth. He smelled like woodsmoke and pine and something that didn’t have a name but belonged only to him. The kiss was slower now, not urgent anymore. It was patient, intentional. Like he’d been holding this moment in his hands for weeks and didn’t want to waste a single second of it.

Your hands were still curled in his jacket when something cold and wet smeared across your cheek, startling you both. You gasped as Joel jerked back, and suddenly there was a blur of fur and flailing paws between you.

Samson.

The puppy’s tongue dragged sloppily over Joel’s jaw, then yours, tail wagging wildly, whining with excitement like he’d just discovered you were trying to leave him out of something important.

Joel groaned, half laughing as he wiped a hand across his face. “Jesus, alright—alright, you little shit.”

You let out a sharp sound, surprised, caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

And then it came—real laughter.

It bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it, breathless and clumsy, cracking loose like a dam finally giving way. It felt strange in your chest—light, unburdened, unfamiliar. Like you didn’t quite remember how to do it, but your body was figuring it out anyway.

Joel looked at you then as he held the dog back with his hand, and something shifted in his face. A smile tugged at his mouth, soft and amazed, and he just... watched you. His expression full of quiet awe, as if he was seeing sunlight for the first time in weeks and didn’t dare move in case it disappeared.

He was memorizing it, like this version of you, the one that was laughing, alive with a sparkle in your eyes, was something rare, something holy. Like he couldn’t believe it came from him. From this.

And for the first time in so long you couldn’t even remember, your face felt sore in a way that had nothing to do with bruises, or cuts, or dried tears.

But from the unfamiliar stretch of smiling.

taglist: @orcasoul, @ilovetoomanymen, @niceforcum, @glaszdoll, @therewastherewas, @axionn, @aleariixx, @izzy698, @shivispunk

#that house in nebraska #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #tlou #the last of us #tlou fic #the last of us fanfic

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misaerabl · 3 days ago

Text

Touchpoint

𝝑𝑒 sevika fingerfucking/teasing you under the table at a council meeting !!!

CW: public, dubcon?, power play, teasing, fingerfucking (r! receiving), dirty talking, orgasm control/denial (very mild)

The council chamber always smelled like ash and pride.

Gilded trim lined the heavy doors, Piltovans seated like they owned every inch of the room. You sat two seats down from Jayce, voice steady as you explained Zaun’s position on the latest border restrictions.

Next to you, Sevika didn’t say a word. She never had to. Her presence was louder than anyone’s voice—broad shoulders relaxed, legs spread carelessly in her seat like she wasn’t sitting in front of the most powerful figures above ground. You knew better. Knew that stillness wasn’t passivity—it was waiting. Watching.

And then her hand slid onto your thigh.

You nearly choked on your own breath.

The table was thick wood, ornate and just high enough to hide what she was doing. Her mechanical hand was warm—somehow always warmer than expected—and the weight of it on your leg made your spine go rigid.

You tried to keep talking.

“—the curfews have caused more chaos than order in the Undercity,” you managed, barely steady.

Her fingers tapped against your thigh once. A warning? A tease?

Then she began to move. The pads of her fingers ran in slow, deliberate strokes along the inside of your leg, featherlight. She knew exactly how to build tension without giving too much. Just barely skimming up and down, like she was feeling the shape of your nerves.

You clenched your jaw. Mel was saying something about resource distribution. You nodded as if you were listening, even as Sevika’s touch dragged higher. Her thumb brushed a little closer to where you were burning, and you shifted your hips instinctively.

Big mistake.

She took that as permission.

Her hand returned with purpose now, creeping under the hem of your coat and sliding firmly up your thigh. You felt her knuckles graze the edge of your panties, and your pulse jumped so hard it hurt. You could feel how wet you already were—ridiculous, shameful—and she hadn’t even gone under yet.

Your breath came shallow.

A single metal finger slipped beneath the waistband, slow enough to make your mouth go dry. She didn’t push in—no, Sevika liked the game too much for that. Instead, her fingertip traced your folds, collecting slick, spreading it with a gentle press that made your thighs tighten around her hand.

Still, her face gave nothing away. Expression flat. Like she was bored of the discussion. Like her fingers weren’t stroking you lazily under the table while council members debated mining regulations.

“Is everything alright?” Mel asked suddenly, eyebrows raised.

You nodded too quickly. “Just a—just a bit warm.”

Sevika leaned over like she was whispering something relevant, her lips ghosting over your ear instead.

“You’re soaked,” she murmured, smug and low, “and we haven’t even started.”

Then her fingers slid deeper.

You bit down a sound, sharp and almost panicked. Her hand worked with slow precision, curling just slightly, dragging against that sweet spot she knew too well. You squeezed your knees together, trying to trap her hand, to keep it from going deeper or moving faster—or maybe to stop yourself from thrusting into it.

But she didn’t let up. Her thumb ghosted above your clit, never touching directly, just circling, teasing, threatening. You gripped the edge of the table so hard your knuckles ached.

“…we’ll need a full report by tomorrow,” Jayce was saying.

“Understood,” you forced out, blinking too quickly.

Sevika pushed two fingers in. Slow. Deep.

You inhaled sharply and turned your face slightly away to hide the twitch in your lips. Her thumb pressed just slightly harder now, and your walls clenched around her fingers, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more anything.

She didn’t give it.

Her hand stayed buried inside you, not pumping, just there—filling, teasing, owning.

She leaned in again. “You’re gonna come like this, aren’t you?” she whispered. “With them all watching.”

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

And then she moved.

A slow drag out, knuckles gliding over your soaked entrance—and then back in. Deliberate. Controlled. Your fingers tightened around the table edge, and you had to fake a cough to hide the soft sound that slipped from your throat.

She pumped again.

This time harder.

You shifted in your seat, body betraying you, hips tilting forward with every thrust she gave. Her palm angled to grind against you just right now, and the heat coiling in your belly threatened to boil over far too quickly.

You blinked hard, pretending to read something on your tablet, nodding occasionally while every ounce of your focus was sunk into the way she was working you open with nothing but her fingers.

No one suspected a thing. Or maybe they did. Maybe they were too polite, or too afraid of Sevika’s shadow to ask why your breathing was shallow, why your cheeks had flushed, why your thighs kept squeezing together under the table.

She curled her fingers.

Your whole body jerked.

You felt her smirk before you saw it—her face still neutral to the others, but her hand relentless now, pace increasing just enough to have your toes curling in your boots.

You leaned in, lips barely moving. “If you make me come in this damn chair—”

Her thumb finally pressed down, slow circles tight and steady over your clit, cutting your threat short with a breathless gasp you barely contained.

“I am,” she muttered, voice all gravel and wickedness. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

You were right there. Right at the edge, fighting for composure, blinking fast and biting your lip so hard you swore it might bleed.

One more curl. One more grind of her palm against your soaked cunt—

Your body tensed.

And the climax hit you, sharp and silent, the kind that made your vision white out at the edges while your thighs trembled uncontrollably under the table. You swallowed a cry that threatened to tear its way out of you, pressing your hand to your mouth under the guise of a thoughtful pose.

Sevika didn’t stop.

Not immediately.

She let you ride it out, fingers still stroking as your muscles fluttered around her, drawing it out, until finally, finally, she slid her hand away.

You let out a shaky breath.

Mel said something about follow-up meetings next week.

Sevika wiped her fingers on your thigh.

You didn’t look at her. You couldn’t. Not until the chamber emptied, and she stood, stretching with that smug, lazy confidence like she hadn’t just ruined you in front of the entire council.

She leaned down as you gathered your papers with trembling hands.

“I’m not done,” she murmured. “Get back to your office.”

#sevika x reader #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika arcane smut #lesbian #sevika x female reader #sevika x you #arcane sevika #arcane #arcane smut #arcane fanfics #arcane fanfic #sevika arcane fanfiction #sevika smut #sevika fan fiction #sevika fanfic #sevika x y/n #sevika arcane x reader

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astrologydray · 2 days ago

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Ruler of the 7th through the houses

The ruler of the 7th house through the houses is all about your relationships, your mirror, your soulmate energy, so when we look at where the ruler of your 7th house is placed, we’re seeing where love leads you, who you’re drawn to and why, and how you balance “me” and “we.”

7th House Ruler in the 1st House

You attract what you are.

You’re your own soulmate first. People project their ideal partner onto you, and you likely pull a lot of romantic attention. Relationships play a huge role in shaping your identity. Attracts: Partners who reflect YOU. Love lesson: Don’t lose self in other’s gaze. “When I know myself, I attract the right one.”

7th House Ruler in the 2nd House

You crave stable, sensual partnerships.

Relationships are deeply tied to your values and self-worth. You’re drawn to partners who offer security or help build your sense of value — emotionally, physically, or materially. Attracts: Loyal, resourceful, dependable partners. Love lesson: Avoid transactional dynamics. “My love is worth investing in.”

7th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Love begins with conversation.

You’re drawn to witty, curious, communicative partners. Mental stimulation is non-negotiable, and you may meet lovers through local events, online, or your immediate network. Attracts: Smart, talkative, adaptable partners. Love lesson: Say what you actually feel. “We flirt with our minds first.”

7th House Ruler in the 4th House

You want roots, not just romance.

You crave emotional depth and soul-level safety in relationships. Family, home life, or ancestry may play into who you choose. Love must feel safe before it feels exciting. Attracts: Nurturing, nostalgic, homebody types. Love lesson: Don’t hide from growth for comfort. “Build me a home, and I’ll give you my heart.”

7th House Ruler in the 5th House

Love = play, passion, and performance.

You’re attracted to romantic, expressive, fun-loving partners. You may meet lovers through creative or artistic spaces. You seek chemistry, spark, and someone to make life feel alive. Attracts: Bold, magnetic, attention-giving lovers. Love lesson: Don’t confuse drama with depth. “Love me loud or leave me alone.”

7th House Ruler in the 6th House

You fall for devotion.

You’re drawn to reliable, humble, helpful lovers — or you may end up in relationships through work or health settings. Acts of service are your love language, and routine = romance. Attracts: Hard-working, grounded, supportive partners. Love lesson: Don’t make love a duty. Vibe: “Love is in the little things.”

7th House Ruler in the 7th House

You’re born for partnership.

Relationships are central to your life path. You likely attract a lot of attention — and may idealize partnerships as the key to your happiness. Balance and harmony in love are your life’s art. Attracts: Magnetic, equal, romantic types. Love lesson: Don’t abandon self for the other. “You + me = magic, but I must remain me.”

7th House Ruler in the 8th House

You want soul-merging love.

You attract intense, transformative, karmic bonds. Relationships are portals for your deepest evolution. Love may involve shared resources, secrets, or deep emotional alchemy. Attracts: Deep, passionate, complex partners. Love lesson: Don’t cling to chaos. “If love doesn’t change me, I don’t want it.”

7th House Ruler in the 9th House

You fall for minds, missions + meaning.

You attract lovers from different cultures, philosophies, or belief systems. Your ideal partner expands your world. You may meet them while traveling, studying, or seeking truth. Attracts: Free-spirited, wise, idealistic partners. Love lesson: Don’t escape reality for the fantasy. “My love story is a journey.”

7th House Ruler in the 10th House

Love shapes your legacy.

You may meet partners through work, status circles, or shared goals. You’re drawn to ambitious or “high-value” lovers. Your relationships may be public, or part of your career path. Attracts: Successful, authoritative, respected people. Love lesson: Let love in without needing it to look perfect. “Let’s build an empire together.”

7th House Ruler in the 11th House

You love like a rebel.

You’re attracted to unique, unconventional, or freedom-loving partners — maybe even meeting them online or in friend groups. You want romance that respects individuality + vision. Attracts: Eccentric, visionary, community-driven types. Love lesson: Detach without dissociating. “Let’s love like it’s the future.”

7th House Ruler in the 12th House

Your love life is spiritual, secret, or karmic.

You may be drawn to unavailable people or soulmate-type connections. Love is healing, mystical, or even hidden. You might need solitude to sort through what love really means to you. Attracts: Dreamy, mysterious, spiritual partners. Love lesson: Know when love is real vs. illusion. “My heart speaks in silence.”

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #houses in astrology #astrology content #astrology insights #astrologyposts

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threadfall · 23 hours ago

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[Image Description: screenshot of an ask on the blog argyleheir from the user starfreak, sent Jan 24, saying: "What am I" type shit. "What have you done" type shit. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME" type shit. /End Description]

Not to make everything Pern, but...Riders realising they're just wired differently after impressing and being freaked out by it? Is that a thing? I kind of want it to be a thing. Or even dragons, realising they were never allowed to shape their thoughts without human presence and intervention, however unintentional on their riders' parts, and hating it.

We get slightly close a few times on the human side in Dragonflight, at Lessa/Ramoth's impression:

"We'll get you something to eat directly," Lessa assured her briskly and blinked back at the dragon in amazement. How could she be so callous? It was a fact that this little menace had just seriously injured, if not killed, two women. She couldn't believe her sympathies could swing so alarmingly toward the beast. Yet it was the most natural thing in the world for her to wish to protect this fledgling [...] And then Lessa was lost in the wonder of those magnificently expressive eyes.

And then immediately post time skip:

Sometimes Lessa felt she was two people: gay and fulfilled when she was attending Ramoth, gray and frustrated when the dragon slept.

Just a hint of how Ramoth might be influencing Lessa to love her and give her all the nice things (though the time skip frames it as Lessa enjoying being loved more than anything).

Changing your actions and opinions for those you love is a thing we all do, but what if it was because the giant lizard living in your head was prompting you to without you or them realising it? What if you were becoming a different person against your will?

Everyone clap for non consensual body modification everybody loves a character whose body has been altered against their will

#world building ideas #book discussions #body horror but mental #idk is this a thing?#i think about the ramifications of impressing way too often

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worlds-we-write · 3 days ago

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Sweet on You

Chapter 2 | Kneaded You

pairing: Jackson!joel miller x baker!reader

Summary: You wake up in Joel’s arms and spend the morning pretending it’s just another day — until it isn’t. The town is watching. Your past won’t stay quiet. And Joel? He’s done pretending he’s not all in.

WC: 6K

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI❗️

tags: Joel Miller x Reader, Jackson Era, Age Gap, Slow Burn, Soft Smut, Emotional Sex, Filthy Dirty Talk, Gentle Aftercare, Pillow Talk, Reader Has Trauma, Protective Joel, Possessive Joel, Mutual Pining, Cinnamon Roll Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

You wake up warm.

It takes a moment to register where you are. The bakery ceiling is still above you, golden light filtering through the frosted front windows. The fire in the corner oven has burned down to glowing coals, and the room smells like cinnamon and melted wax.

And Joel.

He’s wrapped around you like he belongs there.

One arm is slung across your waist, his hand splayed over your belly, the heat of his palm soaking straight through your skin. His chest is pressed to your back, solid and slow-breathing, and you can feel the soft drag of his beard against your shoulder every time he exhales.

You shift a little under the blanket, and his hold tightens — not enough to trap you, just… remind you. That he’s still here. That this isn’t a dream.

He lets out a low, sleepy groan and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, Southern drawl turned to gravel.

You smile before you even open your eyes. “You always wake up this warm?”

He grunts. “You always talk this much first thing?”

You snort softly and roll over in his arms, facing him now. He’s still half-asleep, his eyes barely open, hair tousled from the pillow, beard a little messy. The lines around his eyes are softer here, in the early light. Less weight. Less history. Just… Joel.

And he’s beautiful.

It hits you all at once — the intimacy of it. The closeness. The fact that you spent the night tangled up with Joel Miller, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t regret a damn second.

You feel your face heat.

Joel watches you carefully. “You okay?”

You nod. “Just… didn’t expect to wake up like this.”

He smirks a little, sleep still clinging to his expression. “Could get used to it.”

Your heart lurches.

You glance toward the window, trying to hide the way that single sentence makes your chest tighten. Outside, the snow has slowed, the sky turning that pale, post-storm blue that makes everything look quiet and untouched.

You try to keep your voice light. “Think the bread’s ready to bake.”

Joel kisses your shoulder once, then groans and flops onto his back. “Jesus. You’re already thinkin’ about work?”

“You’re in my bakery,” you tease.

He lifts an eyebrow without opening his eyes. “That mean you’re gonna feed me?”

You toss the blanket off with a laugh and stand, stretching. “Only if you behave.”

He grumbles something about “no promises” and watches you move toward the kitchen with that lazy, heavy-lidded look that makes your stomach flip.

You try to keep your hands busy. Pulling on your apron. Checking the dough. Avoiding the way his eyes trail down your legs when he thinks you’re not looking.

It’s domestic. Easy. Almost too easy.

And it scares the hell out of you.

Because you know the warmth won’t last forever. The snow will melt. The door will open. And someone will see.

But for now?

Joel is barefoot in your bakery, sitting at your prep table, watching you like you’re the softest thing he’s ever wanted to keep.

And you let him.

By the time the coffee is poured and the morning chill has eased, the bakery starts to feel alive again. Familiar. The hearth glows, the scent of warm yeast fills the room, and the dough you proofed yesterday is begging to be shaped.

You glance at Joel as you set your mug aside, rubbing your hands together. “I should get started on the bread.”

Joel, still perched on the prep table with bare feet and bed hair, raises a brow. “Want help?”

You blink. “You bake?”

“No,” he says flatly, then takes a slow sip of his coffee. “But I follow instructions. Real good, if you ask nice.”

You give him a look, half amused, half wary. “You planning to help me or distract me?”

He smirks, sliding off the table with a stretch that makes his henley ride up just enough to flash a strip of warm, tanned skin.

“Why not both?”

Your brain stutters for half a second — then you throw an apron at his chest.

“Wash your hands.”

He grins.

You both settle into a rhythm that surprises you. You show him how to flour the table, how to shape the loaves gently — “don’t punch it, Joel, this dough has feelings” — and he grunts like he’s trying not to smile the whole time. His hands are clumsy at first, but strong, and you catch yourself staring more than once as he rolls and folds with furrowed brows and that same intensity he brings to everything else.

“You’re good at this,” you murmur.

He shrugs. “Worked construction. Muscle memory.”

You bump his hip with yours. “Well now you’re building buns instead of walls.”

He lets out a low laugh, and your stomach flips.

Flour ends up on your cheek at some point — his doing. You retaliate by smudging it across his jaw. It turns playful fast, and for a minute you forget everything else. There’s just heat from the oven, flour in the air, and Joel’s hands brushing too close too often.

He grabs your wrist when you try to sneak more flour toward his shirt.

“Careful, darlin’,” he says, voice low and amused. “Keep testin’ me and next time I’ll have you bent over this table before the bread even rises.”

Your eyes widen.

He grins. Unapologetic.

And just like that, the room feels smaller. Hotter. Your breath stutters in your throat as his hand lingers a second longer than necessary.

But then he steps back, reaching for the towel to wipe his hands, like nothing just happened.

The teasing simmers under the surface the whole time as you both load the loaves into the oven. When he stands behind you to peek in over your shoulder, his chest brushes your back, and you don’t move away.

The silence that follows is thick but not uncomfortable.

It’s dangerous.

It’s comfortable.

And you don’t know which scares you more.

You stand by the bakery door, fully dressed, coat zipped, scarf wrapped, and stomach twisted in ways that have nothing to do with the cold. Outside, the storm has softened to flurries, the sky pale and bright over snow-packed paths. Jackson is waking up — shovels scraping, boots stomping, radios crackling.

You glance back over your shoulder.

Joel’s shrugging on his coat, still wearing the same jeans from last night, his henley sleeves pushed to his forearms, hair still damp from where you’d run your fingers through it that morning. He looks… content. Relaxed. Like a man who slept well and got fed twice — once with cinnamon rolls, once with your thighs.

You, on the other hand, feel like your chest might cave in.

“We could wait a little longer,” you murmur. “Let the paths clear. Avoid the morning rush.”

Joel looks up at you, squinting. “You mean avoid people.”

You say nothing.

He walks to the door, stands beside you. The warmth of him seeps through your coat before he even touches you.

“They’re gonna talk, Joel.”

He shrugs. “Let ‘em.”

You stare at the door handle, your throat tight.

“It’s not you they’ll talk about,” you whisper.

Joel turns to face you fully. “They say shit about you, they’re sayin’ it about me too. You think I give a fuck?”

You blink, lips parting — but he’s already reaching past you to open the door.

The cold hits you first.

Then the sound.

Shovels scraping pavement. Kids shouting in the distance. Two women chatting by the community center steps, one of them sipping from a thermos. They both turn when the bell above your door jingles.

And they stare.

Joel doesn’t notice — or pretends not to. He offers you his hand like it’s nothing, like it’s normal, like it’s something he’s done a hundred times.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then you take it.

You walk together, side by side, hand in hand, through the snow-packed path toward your apartment. And you feel everything.

Every eye on you. Every whispered laugh behind a glove-covered mouth. Every step that says, we saw them come out together. we know.

You keep your head down.

Joel doesn’t.

He nods at people who pass. Gives Tommy a chin lift from across the road. Doesn’t let go of your hand even once.

It should feel safe. And it does.

But you still feel the twist in your gut when you hear the whisper behind you — soft, but not soft enough:

“Heard she’s trouble. Can’t believe Joel’s messing with her.”

You freeze.

Joel stops too, glancing over. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

But your face burns.

Joel studies you for a second. Then—without a word—he moves closer, slides his arm around your waist, and pulls you in tight as you walk.

“Let ‘em watch,” he mutters under his breath, jaw clenched. “They don’t know a fuckin’ thing.”

You want to believe that. You do.

But the knot in your stomach doesn’t ease.

Not yet.

Your apartment is small, quiet, and colder than you remember.

You step inside first, shoulders tense, unwrapping your scarf with fingers that still feel clumsy from the walk. Joel follows silently, boots crunching softly on the entryway mat, gaze flicking around the space like he’s reading something in the walls.

You watch him take it all in — the stack of folded laundry that never got put away, the cracked windowpane above the tiny table, the sagging couch cushion where you’ve slept more nights than not. It’s clean. It’s safe.

But it’s not homey.

Not like the bakery. Not like last night.

Joel shrugs off his coat, hangs it on the hook beside the door without being asked. He moves quietly, careful not to fill too much space. But even in silence, he’s present. Big and solid and warm in a way this apartment hasn’t been in months.

You fidget with your sleeves, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“It’s… not much,” you say, voice low.

Joel looks at you. “It’s yours. That’s enough.”

You open your mouth — to say thank you, to make a joke, something — but he’s already moving, drawn toward the table by the window like gravity pulled him there.

The drawer beside it sticks — it always does — but he gives it one quick, practiced tug, and it pops open. He peers inside, pulls out a loose hinge and a screwdriver that’s been rattling around for weeks.

You watch, confused. “What are you—”

“Fixing this.” He holds up the drawer like it’s obvious. “Drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

You blink. “How did you know it was broken?”

“Saw you skip over it when you opened the drawer.”

Joel shrugs, crouching down. “You did that thing people do when somethin’s broken — touch it like maybe it fixed itself, then move on fast like it pissed you off.”

He doesn’t say it in a judgmental way. Just observant. Quietly caring.

You lean against the doorway and watch him work, chest feeling tight for reasons you can’t name.

He gets it fixed in under five minutes. Slides the drawer in with a clean click.

“That’s better,” he mutters, wiping his hands on his jeans.

You smile softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t mind.”

And that’s the thing with Joel. He doesn’t hover. Doesn’t ask if you need help, doesn’t wait for permission. He sees what’s wrong and handles it — like it’s second nature. Like showing up and doing something is the only way he knows how to say I care.

You realize, suddenly, that he hasn’t sat down.

So you point toward the couch. “You can, uh… make yourself comfortable.”

Joel raises a brow. “That an invitation?”

You feel your cheeks warm. “To sit. On the couch. Calm down, Miller.”

He smirks. But he sits.

And once he’s settled, he spreads out just slightly — arm across the back of the couch, one leg stretched forward. He doesn’t say it, but his whole body is open. Relaxed. Like he belongs there.

Like he wants to belong there.

You move toward the kitchen to boil water — out of habit, out of the need to do something with your hands. And when you glance back at him through the doorway, you find him watching you again.

Not like a man who’s bored. Not like a man waiting for something. But like someone memorizing a view he doesn’t want to lose.

And maybe, just maybe… like someone already picturing what this place would look like with his boots by the door.

Joel leaves just after noon.

Not because you ask him to, but because he knows you need space. He brushes your knuckles with his lips on the way out — nothing over the top, nothing for the street to see. Just a quiet promise.

“Radio me later,” he murmurs.

You nod, still standing in the doorway as he disappears down the snow-crusted path, his broad shoulders cutting through the cold like it doesn’t touch him.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the silence wraps around your apartment again — not harsh, but emptier than it was twenty minutes ago. You sit on the edge of your couch, staring at the half-empty mug Joel left on your table, steam still curling in lazy spirals.

You want to feel safe. You want to believe it. That this time, it’s different. That last night — this morning — changed things.

But your gut says otherwise.

And not five minutes later, your gut is proven right.

There’s a sound outside — the faint thump of heavy boots and the muffled chatter of patrol radios. You rise slowly and move toward the window, careful not to let your shadow fall too close.

And there he is.

Your ex.

Standing by the north gate checkpoint, bundled in his winter gear, laughing at something another scout says. He’s leaning against the post like he owns the place, like he hasn’t laid hands on you, like he still doesn’t see anything wrong.

And then, somehow, he sees you.

His eyes find your window like they’re drawn to it — like he knew you’d be watching.

You freeze.

He doesn’t smile.

Doesn’t wave.

Just watches.

There’s nothing dramatic about it. No yelling. No threats. But the silence hits harder. The lack of expression. Like he’s daring you to think he’s forgotten. Like last night was just a pause.

Your chest tightens.

Your fingers tremble where they grip the curtain.

You let it drop quickly and step back, pulse hammering in your ears.

He’s just standing there.

Doing nothing.

And it still feels like you’ve been slapped.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing shallow. You tell yourself he can’t do anything here. Not in Jackson. Not with Maria and the council and all these watchful eyes.

But he’s good at hiding it.

At seeming useful. Stable. Charming in that performative way that makes people say He’s not so bad, right?

And you? You’re the one who flinches.

You’re the one who looks scared in daylight.

And fear? Fear doesn’t sell well in Jackson.

Not unless it has proof.

You don’t call Joel right away.

You tell yourself you’re just calming down, letting the tight coil in your chest ease on its own. But you’ve been sitting at the table for twenty minutes now, staring at the same mug of lukewarm tea, jumping every time boots crunch outside your door.

You know it’s him.

He saw you.

And he’s waiting for you to feel it.

When you finally reach for the radio, your fingers hesitate on the button. But the sound of a shovel scraping across the road jolts you, and your breath shakes out in one long exhale.

“Joel?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

The answer crackles back almost immediately.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

You freeze.

You never said anything was wrong.

But he knows.

“Can you come back?” you ask softly.

Silence.

Then: “On my way.”

Ten minutes later, he’s at your door.

You open it before he knocks. His jaw is already tight.

He doesn’t say anything — just walks in like he knows where to go, like he doesn’t need an invitation. You close the door behind him, heart pounding.

He turns to face you.

“What happened?”

You hesitate.

Joel watches you for two full seconds, then exhales hard and scrubs a hand down his face.

“Was it him?” he asks. No softness. Just truth.

You nod.

Joel’s entire body shifts.

He moves slowly at first, like he’s trying to not pace. Like the tension in his shoulders is something he’s wrestling down with both hands.

“What did he do?” he grits out.

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “He didn’t touch me. He was just—watching.”

“From where?”

“The gate. Patrol duty.”

Joel lets out a humorless laugh. “Of course he’s still got access to a rifle.”

You flinch slightly.

He sees it. His jaw ticks.

Joel walks to the kitchen and leans on the counter like he needs to steady himself. Like if he doesn’t anchor his hands, they’ll end up doing something he can’t take back.

“You should tell Maria.”

“I know.”

“Now.”

You shake your head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Joel stares at you, eyes dark. “Why?”

“Because if I say it out loud, it’ll become real. And I’m not ready for that. Not yet. I just… I needed you to know.”

Joel breathes hard through his nose. You can see the battle playing out behind his eyes — his need to fix it, to protect you, to make it stop.

And the part of him that knows he has to let you speak for yourself.

“I ain’t gonna sit here and do nothin’,” he says finally.

“I’m not asking you to do nothing.”

“Then what are you askin’?”

You meet his eyes, your voice soft. “I’m asking you to stay.”

Joel’s breath catches. The tension in his face shifts — not gone, but changed.

He nods once.

And then steps forward — one hand curling around your waist, the other sliding up to cup the back of your neck.

“I’ll stay,” he murmurs. “But if he touches you again, if he even looks at you wrong—I’m not goin’ to Maria. I’m goin’ to him. And I won’t be fuckin’ nice about it.”

Your throat tightens.

You lean into his chest, eyes shut, breathing him in. He holds you there, like his body is the only thing between you and the world.

And maybe it is.

Joel’s arms are steady around you. Warm. Wide. Big enough to feel like a shield.

You bury your face in his chest, just for a second. Just long enough to let your breathing slow, to let your muscles soften.

And then you whisper it — so quiet he almost misses it.

“I thought if I just kept my head down, he’d leave me alone.”

Joel’s hands don’t move. He just waits.

“That if I stayed quiet, stayed small, he’d get bored. Move on.”

Your voice cracks.

“But he didn’t. He just got better at hiding it.”

Joel’s fingers slide to the back of your neck, gentle and steady.

“I kept thinking maybe it wasn’t bad enough to tell anyone. That I’d sound crazy. That people wouldn’t believe me. And by the time I realized how deep I was in it… I didn’t know how to leave without looking like the one who caused it.”

You feel him inhale slowly. Deeply. Like it’s taking everything in him not to interrupt.

So you keep going.

“He’s good at pretending. You’ve seen it. Everyone thinks he’s stable. Helpful. One of the good ones. So I kept baking. Smiling. Working. Telling myself it wasn’t that bad.”

You finally look up at Joel, throat tight. “Isn’t that awful?”

He doesn’t speak right away. Just brushes your hair back from your forehead.

And when he does answer, his voice is hoarse.

“No. That’s survival.”

Your breath stutters.

Joel cups your cheek. His thumb brushes just under your eye, like he’s memorizing you in this moment — not afraid, not pretending, just here.

“You don’t gotta explain it. Not to me.”

You nod, but something else is still bubbling under your skin.

“I thought maybe last night would… fix something. That if I let someone good touch me, it would erase him.”

Joel’s expression hardens — not at you. At the idea.

“You think that’s why I was with you?” he says, voice low. “To fix you?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I hoped.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“I wasn’t fixin’ you,” he says. “I was touchin’ you because I wanted to. Because I want you.”

“Even with the mess?”

“Especially with the mess.”

You let out a shaky laugh.

Joel kisses your temple.

“You’re not too much,” he murmurs. “He just made you feel small so you’d forget how fuckin’ powerful you are.”

You don’t mean to cry. But it comes anyway — slow, hot tears slipping down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Joel doesn’t pull away.

He holds you tighter.

Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just stays.

And for the first time in a long, long time… you let someone hold the weight with you.

The bell over the bakery door jingles just after the last loaf comes out of the oven.

You expect a neighbor. Maybe one of the regulars. You don’t expect Maria.

She steps in with her usual quiet confidence — coat still dusted with snow, clipboard tucked under her arm, hair pulled back into a tight bun. She’s the kind of woman who always looks like she’s headed to fix something — and she probably is.

You wipe your hands on your apron and offer her a small smile. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Her tone is casual, but her eyes sweep the bakery with a purpose. She nods toward the counter. “Smells good in here. Joel been around again?”

Your stomach tightens, just a little. “He… stopped by this morning.”

Maria hums like she already knew that.

She moves toward the front window, glancing outside like she’s not here for anything in particular. “Busy morning?”

You shrug. “About the same. Bread’s selling fast. Guess people crave comfort when it’s cold.”

Maria looks at you then — really looks at you. Noticing the way your hands fidget with the corner of the dish towel, the way your shoulders are drawn a little tighter than usual.

She doesn’t call it out. Just sets her clipboard down on the counter and leans against it.

“Mind if I ask you something?”

You hesitate. “Sure.”

Her voice stays calm. Even.

“You doing okay?”

You blink. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Her expression doesn’t change. “You know that’s what everyone says right before they stop being okay?”

You try to laugh, but it comes out thin. “I’m really fine.”

Maria nods slowly, like she’s letting you say that — even if she doesn’t believe it.

“I’m not here to pry,” she says gently. “But I notice things. And I listen when people talk. I also know Joel’s not exactly the type to get cozy unless there’s a reason.”

You look down at the counter.

She leans in slightly, her tone lowering.

“If there’s something going on — something you don’t feel safe talking about — I’m not just on the council, you know. I’m also a woman who’s been through her share of shit.”

You feel your throat tighten.

Maria doesn’t press. She just watches you with that quiet steadiness that makes you feel… seen.

“Joel’s a good man,” she says softly. “But good men can only do so much if they don’t know what they’re up against.”

You grip the edge of the counter.

Maria takes a breath. “If you ever want to talk — really talk — come find me. Doesn’t matter when. Doesn’t matter where.”

You nod, unable to speak.

She picks up her clipboard again, like the moment didn’t just shake something loose inside you.

“Oh,” she adds at the door, glancing back with a knowing look, “and if you’re baking cinnamon rolls again tomorrow… Joel’s not the only one in town who wants one.”

You let out a quiet laugh, just enough for your chest to loosen.

“Got it.”

Maria gives you a wink — then disappears into the snow.

The bakery is empty again.

The rush has passed, the bell above the door gone quiet, and the sun has started to dip low behind the snow-covered rooftops. You stand at the prep table, sleeves rolled to your elbows, hands deep in cinnamon-swirled dough.

It’s muscle memory by now — press, fold, tuck, roll. The rhythm of it soothes something inside you. Makes the ache behind your ribs a little quieter.

But today, it feels different.

You keep hearing Maria’s voice.

“I’m also a woman who’s been through her share of shit.”

You didn’t ask what she meant. You didn’t have to.

You think about the way she looked at you — not like she pitied you, but like she recognized you. Like she knew the weight you’ve been carrying because she’s carried it too.

The dough sticks to your fingers. You press harder than you need to.

You think about Joel.

About how easy it was to let him in, even though nothing about your life has ever made room for soft things. About how he didn’t flinch when you broke down, didn’t pull away when you confessed the worst parts of yourself.

He just held you.

Not like something fragile.

But like something worth holding.

You press the cinnamon roll into the tray and realize your eyes are burning.

You blink fast. Wipe your hands on your apron.

You’re not crying. Not really. Just tired.

But for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone in it.

You glance at the radio on the shelf. His voice lives there now. Comfort wrapped in static.

And for the first time all day… you think you might actually want to hear it.

The bakery is closed. The lights are low.

Your apartment is still and dim, glowing softly with lamplight. You sit curled under a blanket on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, the radio in your lap.

You’ve been holding it for ten minutes, thumb hovering over the button.

The cinnamon rolls are proofing in the kitchen — the last batch of the day — and your whole home smells like brown sugar and butter. But it’s not the dough that’s keeping you warm tonight.

It’s him.

It’s the memory of Joel’s arms. His voice. His hands. The way he looked at you when he said you weren’t too much. That low, steady promise wrapped in his Southern drawl: I want you. Especially with the mess.

You take a breath.

Then press the button.

“Joel? You awake?”

A pause. The static clicks. Then—

“Was waitin’ on you.”

His voice is quieter than usual. Rougher. But warm in a way that coats your chest.

You smile a little. “You were?”

“Thought maybe you needed some time. Figured you’d reach out when you were ready.”

You bite your lip. Your fingers tighten around the radio.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to hear from me.”

Another pause.

“You serious?”

You close your eyes. “Just… everything felt different today. Out there. After this morning.”

“Yeah. It did.”

Silence stretches again, but not uncomfortably.

You let it settle between you like a blanket. Thick and soft and real.

“Joel?” “Mm?”

“Do you wanna come over?”

You don’t know if your voice sounds small or brave. Maybe both.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. You imagine him sitting in his living room, thumb rubbing across the speaker, brow furrowed like it always does when he’s thinking too hard.

“You sure?” he asks. “You want me there?”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

A quiet breath. Then—

“Be there in ten.”

The line goes dead.

You set the radio down slowly and exhale — not shaky this time. Just relieved.

Ten minutes.

You don’t rush.

You brush your fingers through your hair, wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, and check the rolls in the kitchen like it’s a normal night.

But nothing about this feels normal.

And when the knock finally comes — soft, deliberate — your hands still for just a second.

Then you move.

And when you open the door, Joel is there.

Coat zipped, eyes soft, hands in his pockets.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at you like he’s been waiting for this all day.

You step aside.

He walks in.

And something inside you finally unclenches.

Joel doesn’t ask questions when he steps inside your apartment.

He just shrugs off his coat, hangs it on the hook like he’s done it a hundred times before, and turns back to you — eyes flicking over your face like he’s checking for damage. You’re not sure what he finds there, but his expression softens, and his shoulders fall just enough to show he was holding tension too.

Neither of you speak. You don’t need to.

You just walk to him, barefoot and slow, and wrap your arms around his waist.

He pulls you in like it’s instinct — arms around your back, hands spreading wide like he’s trying to cover every inch of you. His nose presses to your hair. He breathes you in.

“You sure?” he murmurs against your temple.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I want you to stay.”

He leans back just enough to look at you.

“No rush. I can just hold you.”

You smile — soft, a little sad. “I want more than that.”

Joel’s eyes search yours. You see the way he hesitates — not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’s afraid to take. Afraid to push too far.

You take his hand. Guide him toward the bed.

The room is quiet.

Soft lamplight spills across the walls, catching on the loose strands of your hair and the edge of Joel’s stubble. You sit on the mattress first, knees bent, waiting.

He doesn’t undress quickly.

He moves slow. Reverent.

He pulls his henley over his head, folds it, sets it aside. Your eyes trail down his chest — all broad muscle, soft belly, scars that map out a life he never talks about. You reach for him as he steps closer, and he lets you.

You help each other undress — not rushed, not awkward. Just quiet. Hands tugging fabric gently over hips, brushing exposed skin. The only sound is your breathing, and the soft rustle of clothes hitting the floor.

When you’re bare in front of him, you hesitate. Instinct. Shame.

But Joel sees it.

He lifts your chin.

“Don’t do that,” he says softly. “Don’t hide from me.”

You nod.

Joel lays you back like you’re something fragile. But the way he looks at you? Like you’re his. Like he’s already gone too long without having you like this.

You’re bare under him, and still you shiver — not from the cold, but from the way he runs his hand down your side like he’s memorizing it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and full of heat. “Spread out for me like this. You want it bad, don’t you?”

You nod, breathless.

“Say it.”

Your cheeks flush, but you whisper it anyway.

“I want it. I want you.”

He groans. “Yeah you do. Been wantin’ me since the second I walked through that fuckin’ door. Don’t think I didn’t see it.”

You bite your lip.

He lines himself up with your soaked entrance and slides in slow — painfully slow — until he’s buried deep, hips flush with yours. You cry out, back arching.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel grits out. “So fuckin’ tight. Feels like heaven.”

You’re gasping already, hands scrambling for something to hold. You end up with his arms, his back, your nails digging into muscle.

“You take me so well,” he says, dragging his hips back, then thrusting in again — deeper this time, making you whine. “So fuckin’ good for me. Like your pussy was made for me.”

You moan, legs falling open wider, desperate to feel all of him.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Let me in. Let me fuck you like you deserve.”

His rhythm is slow but heavy, dragging every inch of him along your walls, grinding deep at the end of every thrust. Every time he moves, it punches a sound out of you — soft, helpless, needy.

“This what you needed?” he growls. “A man who sees you? Who knows how to touch you right?”

You nod frantically, your voice barely working.

“Y-Yes—Joel—fuck—”

He leans down, lips brushing your jaw.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Gonna soak my cock just like you soaked my fuckin’ face last night.”

You whimper.

“That pretty pussy’s flutterin’ already. She wants it.”

Your whole body shakes.

“You’re mine now, baby,” Joel growls, his voice getting rougher. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you beg.”

“Joel—oh my god—”

He grins against your neck, sweat sliding down his temples.

“Not God, sweetheart,” he pants. “Just the man makin’ you cum.”

And you do — hard.

Your walls clench around him, legs locking tight, fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm rips through you with a sob. Joel groans, deep and low, hips stuttering as you squeeze him tight.

“Fuck, that’s it—fuckin’ milk me, baby—just like that—”

He fucks you through it, then thrusts deep one last time and spills inside you with a choked moan, his body shaking above yours.

He doesn’t pull out right away.

Doesn’t move much at all.

Just stays close, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours.

And when he speaks again, it’s lower. Rougher. But softer, too.

“Ain’t ever lettin’ you go now,” he breathes. “You fuckin’ wreck me, sweetheart.”

You’re still gasping, your body trembling beneath him.

But you manage to whisper it back:

“Good.”

You’re both a mess.

Sweat-slick, limbs tangled, breath still shallow. Joel’s weight is still half on you, his face buried in your neck, one large hand curled around your thigh like he’s not ready to let go yet.

You feel his smile before you hear it.

“You okay, baby?”

You hum a little, still catching your breath. “Destroyed. Thoroughly. Thank you.”

He lets out a low chuckle — the kind that rumbles against your chest. Then he kisses your collarbone. Once. Twice. A third time, just because he can.

“You always talk that pretty when you’re ruined?”

You swat at his arm, half-hearted. “You always talk that dirty when you’re not inside me?”

He lifts his head, eyes dancing with mischief and heat and something softer underneath.

“Nah,” he says. “Only for you.”

You look away quickly, heart skipping — because fuck, that’s too much.

But Joel doesn’t let you shy away. He leans down and kisses your cheek, then your nose, then finally your mouth — slow and sweet and real.

“Didn’t know I’d like hearin’ you beg so much,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours.

“Didn’t know I would beg.”

He grins. “That mouth says a lot of things, sweetheart. But it’s honest when I’ve got it moanin’.”

You groan, hiding your face in the pillow. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He laughs quietly and pulls you closer, spooning behind you, one arm draped over your waist.

“Nah,” he whispers into your hair. “Just full of you.”

You try to act annoyed — roll your eyes, mutter something about corny cowboys — but you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

And then it’s quiet again.

Not awkward. Not tense.

Just warm.

He draws small circles on your hip. Your foot tangles with his. You press your back into his chest like it’s second nature.

“You ever let anyone stay the night before?” Joel asks after a minute.

You shake your head slowly. “Not like this.”

He kisses the back of your neck.

“Good,” he says softly. “Don’t wanna share.”

You laugh again — quiet, sleepy. “Possessive much?”

Joel doesn’t answer.

He just holds you tighter.

You fall asleep tucked into Joel’s chest, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm in your hair.

No nightmares come. No echoing footsteps or doors slamming behind your ribs. Just the weight of his arm around your waist and the slow, grounding rhythm of a man who doesn’t run.

And for the first time in a long, long time—you don’t feel like you have to, either.

AN: two words: soft filth. thank you for sticking around as joel continues to alternate between “slowest emotional burn of your life” and “talks you through an orgasm like it’s his religion.” stay tuned, and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist so you don’t miss the drama (or the smut). 💌

taglist for Sweet on You 🫶🏼: @suzysface @vikiii07 @chewie-bars @nrschuster30 @thecasualnope @lady-artemis27 @seraphimcollections @brittmb115 @leafs4life

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