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shy9-29 · 2 days ago

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I actually need a two faced jake where at school hes a sore loser versus when he’s alone with yn—complete menace. Biggest cocky flirt out there. At first, yn didn’t know much about jake until he bent her over and fucked the living shit outta her. I’m just down bad for Jake ok.

Two Faced, One Heart: Who is Sim Jake?

심재윤 x reader

��ৎ Two versions of Jake Sim—one the shy, clumsy boy who spills his coffee at school, the other the filthy-mouthed menace who had you shaking in his lap just hours before class—and somehow, you’re hopelessly addicted to both. ✉️ wc. 13.1k ⋆˙⟡ ⚠️ warnings : oral (both received), begging, teasing, cream pie, minor slut shamming, bullying, pet names, making out, swearing, harsh language, haur pulling, unprotected sex

📝: thats so fucking hot omg? I need jake so bad rn it’s not even funny

mndi · req open

———

The words come out before you can stop them.

“Do you think I could get Jake to fall for me?”

Your friends stare at you like you just confessed to having a crush on the cafeteria salad bar.

“Jake Sim?” Min gapes. “The guy who thanked the printer for working?” Jisoo raises a brow. “His Instagram only has twelve followers. Twelve. One of them is his dog’s account.” You try not to laugh. “Okay, but he’s kind of… sweet?” Min scoffs. “He wears socks with sandals.” You shrug. “Maybe I like that.” You don’t tell them that two nights ago, Jake had you bent over your tiny dorm desk, fingers tangled in your hair, voice low and smug in your ear while you struggled to stay quiet. Because no one would believe you.

Not when the Jake they know fumbles over his words in group projects and blushes when people look at him too long.

But you’ve seen the other side. The one who locks his door with a click and flips like a switch. You see him again the next day in class, right on time as always. Same oversized hoodie, same messy hair. He sits two rows behind you and doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look at him. Not really. But you feel him watching you. The weight of his stare pressed between your shoulder blades. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking about. Then, when you stand to leave, he brushes past you. Just a little too close. His fingers graze the small of your back—light, subtle, hidden. But it sends heat shooting down your spine. You catch up to him by the vending machines, just outside the library. He’s pretending to debate between orange juice and sparkling water.

You stop beside him. “Healthy choices.” Jake doesn’t look at you. “You wore that lip gloss again.” Your lips curve. “Maybe I like the flavor.” He reaches forward, selects a drink without thinking, and pays. His voice drops, just loud enough for you to hear. “I like it better off my tongue.” Your breath hitches. A pair of students walk past, one of them waving vaguely in Jake’s direction. He nods back with that usual shy smile, all harmless and mild-mannered.

The second they’re gone, his hand brushes against yours, fingers curling briefly around yours before letting go. You’re not sure your heart knows how to keep a steady rhythm around him anymore.

You didn’t know when it started—maybe it was the way Jake always sat in the back of class, quiet and unassuming. Or the fact that, every time you glanced at him, he never seemed to notice. He’d scribble in his notebook, the only sound in the room his pencil moving across the paper. You thought he was weird at first. Too quiet. Too in the background. The kind of person everyone else ignored. But there was something about him you couldn’t shake. The way his glasses would slide down his nose when he concentrated, or how he always wore the same hoodie, despite the weather.

The first time you spoke to him was after class. Your notes were mixed up, and you needed help with something—so you took a deep breath, made your way to him, and asked.

He looked up, startled. His cheeks went pink, and he mumbled something about being “kind of bad at explaining things,” but he agreed to help. That’s how it started. He was awkward. Shy. And he was perfect. You thought about him more than you should have, even as your friends teased you about how he was “just a soft loser” or “too quiet to ever be interesting.” But something about the way he treated you—how he never rushed you, never pushed, always listened—had you intrigued.

Then, the texts started coming. Small things at first—like a picture of a puppy he saw that reminded him of you. Or a random meme about books you both liked. They came at odd times, too. Late at night. In the middle of the day. And you found yourself looking forward to them, even though you knew he wasn’t exactly the “popular” guy at school.

One night, after a study session that stretched long into the evening, you both found yourselves alone in the library. It was just the two of you, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above, the scent of paper and coffee between you. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but he never did. Instead, he helped you pack up your things, careful not to touch you too much, but his fingers brushed yours when he handed you your coat. You thought you imagined it, the little spark that shot through your hand, but the way his eyes flicked to yours said otherwise.

“Uh, good night,” he mumbled, voice hushed. You smiled, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. “Good night, Jake.” You didn’t know it then, but that would be the night it all started to shift.

The next few weeks were a blur of fleeting glances, stolen moments. You’d catch him looking at you in class, only for him to quickly look away. Sometimes, he’d find reasons to walk the same path as you, his steps light, as if testing the water between you. And each time, the air between you would grow heavier, electric, like something unsaid was hanging in the space between your words. It wasn’t until one rainy afternoon that things finally tipped over the edge. You were on your way to the library when you spotted him standing under the awning of a building, looking at his phone. His hoodie was pulled up over his head, and he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the rain was starting to soak through the sleeves.

“Jake!” you called out, jogging over to him. “You’re gonna get soaked.” He looked up in surprise. “Oh, uh… I was just trying to figure out when the rain’s supposed to stop.” He smiled sheepishly. “I should’ve checked the forecast before heading out.” You shook your head, already pulling your umbrella out. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re not standing out here getting drenched. You’re walking me to the library.”

He hesitated, then smiled, a soft, shy grin. “Okay.”

You shared the umbrella, walking side by side. The world outside was blurred by the rain, everything muted except for the sound of your shoes on the pavement and the occasional brush of his elbow against yours. It felt casual, but something about it—something about him—made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

When you reached the library, you both stood under the awning for a second, the warmth of the building just inside. You were both still close, the air between you thick with unspoken things.

And that was when it happened.

Without saying a word, Jake leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “If I walked you to class every day, would you still act like I’m invisible?” he whispered.

Your heart skipped, and you didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know what to say, or what he was really offering. But you knew, in that moment, everything between you had shifted.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

But you wanted to be.

You’d never seen Jake without his glasses.

The guy everyone knew—shy, reserved, a little awkward—was always framed by those round lenses. It was part of his quiet charm, the way they softened his features, how he hid behind them like a shield. No one really saw the guy underneath, the guy who barely made waves, who faded into the background of every class.

Until today.

You hadn’t expected this when you got the text. “Roommate’s out. You wanna come over?”

It wasn’t anything crazy. It could be a quiet hangout, maybe some late-night studying. But there was a strange feeling building in your stomach, something telling you that tonight might be different.

When you knocked on Jake’s door, you barely had time to brace yourself before it swung open.

And there he was.

Jake, standing there, no glasses. He was wearing contacts, and the difference hit you immediately. His eyes, normally hidden behind lenses, were now wide open, sharp, clear. They looked darker somehow, and for the first time, you saw something in them that wasn’t there before. Confidence. A kind of intensity that threw you off guard.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice smooth, low—nothing like the awkward, stuttering Jake you were used to.

“Hi,” you replied, unsure of what to say, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.

Jake stepped aside, letting you into the room. You took a quick look around—same dorm, but the vibe was different. The room was tidier than you expected, clean, almost meticulous. No clutter, no random piles of clothes or books. It felt… like a space where Jake had control, where things were on his terms.

“You can sit wherever,” Jake said, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to it now, something about the way he stood that was different from the usual quiet guy you saw on campus.

You sat on the edge of his bed, but you didn’t know where to look. His eyes were still on you, and the way he watched you made the air between you feel thick, charged.

He took his time, like he wasn’t in any rush. “You didn’t expect this, did you?” Jake’s voice was quieter now, almost like he was daring you to admit it.

You shifted slightly, trying to act casual, but it was hard. “No. I didn’t think you’d be like this.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of shy, soft smile you were used to. It was different. “Like what?”

You hesitated, but then shrugged. “I don’t know. More… sure of yourself. Less… nervous.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, and there was a flash of something dark in his eyes. “You think I’m nervous?”

You nodded slowly, testing him. “Yeah. I mean, you’ve always been… kind of quiet.”

Jake took a step closer, his expression unreadable now, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not shy. Just don’t feel the need to put on a show for anyone. And I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe I’m some clueless guy.”

You stayed silent, suddenly aware of how close he was now, how his presence filled up the space between you.

He was different tonight. No hesitation. No awkward stutter. Just… Jake. But the version of him that you never saw—sharp, self-assured, and unbothered by anything or anyone around him.

“Want to see how different I am?” he asked, his voice lowering, the question hanging in the air.

You barely had time to process before his fingers brushed your arm, the simple touch making your heart race. And just like that, you realized you weren’t ready for the change that was happening between you—but you were already in too deep to turn back.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you agreed to come over, but it wasn’t this.

Jake leaned against the wall in front of you, and for the first time, you felt a shift in the way he held himself, like there was something between you that wasn’t there before. His gaze didn’t flicker away from yours, and his posture was different. He was comfortable—too comfortable, and it made the room feel smaller, hotter.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake beat you to it, his voice low and steady. “You don’t look at me the same way you used to.”

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

His smirk deepened. “You’re looking at me like you’re seeing me for the first time. Like I’m not just the quiet guy in the back of class.”

You tried to ignore the way his words made your pulse pick up speed. He was right, and it unsettled you more than you wanted to admit. The Jake you knew was always reserved, always hiding behind his quiet act. But the Jake in front of you now? He was different. More sure of himself. More… commanding.

Before you could find the right words, Jake pushed off the wall and closed the distance between you. He didn’t touch you at first, but you could feel the heat coming off him. You took a shallow breath, the air between you thick with tension.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You shook your head, but you could feel the unease building in your stomach, creeping up your chest. It wasn’t nerves—it was something else. Something new. Something dangerous.

He seemed to sense it, that tiny shift in your energy, and it made him lean in closer. “You can admit it,” he whispered. “I won’t bite.”

Your lips parted slightly at the sound of his voice, thick and low. There was nothing innocent about him now. You could see it clearly. This wasn’t the guy who stumbled over his words or blushed at the slightest attention. This was a version of Jake you hadn’t been prepared for.

And now that you were seeing him—really seeing him—you weren’t sure you wanted to turn away.

Jake’s hand came up to touch your chin, his thumb brushing over your skin with purpose. He tilted your head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he was dying to solve. His touch was slow, deliberate, and it made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

“Do you like this?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing along your jawline. “Do you like seeing me like this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, watching how his eyes flickered with something darker, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smirk only grew, and before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, the kind you were used to. It wasn’t gentle or cautious. No, this was different. This was hungry. It was messy. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he couldn’t wait any longer. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips parting against yours as if he was trying to steal every breath from your lungs.

You let him. You let him pull you in, let him show you what he was capable of when there was no one around to see it.

When he pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his eyes never left yours. There was something predatory in his gaze now, something that made your pulse race.

“You’ve been looking at me for a while,” Jake murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You never thought I could be like this, did you?”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for something to say, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Jake smiled, that same smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll show you just how different I can be.”

And that was when you realized—there was no going back now.

Jake’s lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath mixing with yours, the tension in the air making every nerve in your body feel alive. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you could see the way he was waiting for you—waiting for you to decide how far you wanted to go, how far you were willing to let things shift.

You had never seen him like this. The quiet guy you knew had been replaced by someone far more confident, far more intense. His hand was still resting at the back of your neck, and the way his thumb traced small circles against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

He didn’t kiss you again right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you, watching for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you weren’t ready. His thumb grazed your jaw again, this time a little firmer, almost as if he was marking his territory, making sure you knew he was in control now.

And then, without warning, he pressed his lips against yours again—but this time, the kiss was slower. It was deeper, more deliberate, as if he was savoring it. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

You tried to breathe, but it was hard. It felt like the world was closing in around you, leaving only the two of you in that small, charged space. You couldn’t focus on anything except the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands shifted, each touch sparking a new wave of heat in your body.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his voice low, gravelly. “I told you… I’m not the guy you thought I was.”

You nodded, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You could barely process what was happening. Everything about this felt different, so different from anything you’d imagined. The shy, awkward Jake had been replaced by someone who wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted.

His lips trailed down to your neck, and the soft press of his mouth against your skin made your breath catch in your throat. He moved slowly, deliberately, his hands never straying far from you. The warmth of his touch spread through you, and you felt your body responding in ways you hadn’t expected.

“Jake,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as his lips traced along your collarbone.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something primal. “Tell me what you want baby?” His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the fog in your mind.

You didn’t know how to answer, not with words. You had never been this close to him, not like this, not with the air crackling between you like it was about to catch fire. The way the pet name slipped so easily from his mouth made your pussy clench around nothing. But the look in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze, made something stir inside you.

Without thinking, you leaned in again, your lips pressing against his. This time, there was no hesitation. You kissed him back, a little harder this time, both groaning into the kiss as if you were trying to prove something—prove that you were ready for whatever came next.

Jake didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid lower, around your waist, pulling you even closer. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were firm, confident as they explored the curve of your back, the tension in your muscles, the way your body responded to him.

Every inch of space between you seemed to vanish, and soon there was nothing but the heat, the closeness, and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

For the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control anymore—or if you ever had been.

Jake pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked at you with that same intense gaze. There was something in his eyes—an unspoken challenge, a promise of something you couldn’t quite yet name. You could feel the tension building, heavy in the air between you, thickening with each second that passed.

He reached up slowly, his fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat as he pulled it over his head, revealing the smooth skin of his chest. The movement was casual, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His muscles shifted under his skin, the soft light of the room catching the contours of his body, and it was like everything about him felt real now—far more than you ever thought.

You couldn’t help but stare, your gaze tracing over the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. There was no trace of the shy, reserved guy from before. Instead, he stood there—bare, exposed—looking at you with a calm confidence that made your pulse race.

Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His eyes spoke volumes as they flickered to yours, waiting for you to respond, to make the next move.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight of him, suddenly feeling a shift, a hunger building within you that mirrored his own. It was a quiet power, a tension you could feel in your very bones.

Jake’s eyes never left yours as you stood there, frozen for a moment. The air felt thick, charged, as if time had slowed down, and the weight of his gaze made everything around you fade into the background.

He stepped toward you, his chest still bare, his body moving with a kind of fluid confidence that made your pulse spike. Each step he took seemed to make the space between you shrink, until you were once again within inches of him. He didn’t rush. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low, steady. The question hung in the air, but there was no hesitation in his tone—only the calm certainty of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, though words seemed impossible to find. The only sound in the room was the quickening rhythm of your breath, mingling with his.

Jake’s hand reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin as he lifted it, gently pulling it over your head. You let him, your heart pounding in your chest, your skin heating under his touch. He didn’t rush, his hands tracing the curves of your body with careful attention, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

When your shirt finally joined his on the floor, he stepped back slightly to take you in, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin. His eyes darkened further, a look of quiet admiration in them, but there was something else there too—something predatory, possessive.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, the words low but full of meaning.

You could barely process what was happening, but the way he said it—like he was claiming you, and yet somehow honoring you at the same time—made your chest tighten. His hands were at your waist now, pulling you closer again, and his lips found the curve of your neck. He kissed you there softly, his mouth warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As he kissed you, his hands moved lower, slowly, deliberately, until he was holding you, guiding you gently toward his bed. There was no rush, no urgency—just the feel of his strong hands, the weight of his body against yours, and the soft pressure of his lips as they trailed down to your collarbone.

Jake was taking his time, savoring the moments. He wanted you—he was showing you that much, but he was also letting you see a side of him that no one else got to experience.

And as he lowered you onto the bed, his lips never leaving your skin, you felt a kind of surrender that you couldn’t explain. He was confident, sure of every move he made. But so were you.

This was new. You were new.

Jake’s lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and you inhaled sharply as a wave of warmth flooded your body. His kisses were slow, teasing, each one leaving a faint, tingling trail on your skin. You could feel his breath against you, warm and steady, as he placed soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

His hands, still resting on your waist, tightened their grip slightly, pulling you closer to him. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if he was in no rush to get anywhere, wanting to savor every moment.

“You’re such a good girl,” Jake murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough. The words sent a shiver down your spine, stirring something deep inside you. His praise, soft yet commanding, made your heart race even faster, the air between you growing thick with desire.

You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body reacting to the way his voice made you feel—like you were exactly where you needed to be, like you were his.

Jake smiled against your neck, the words lingering in the air. “So good for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing the spot again. You could feel the confidence in his words, the way he was claiming the moment, claiming you. The heat that had been building between you both was undeniable now, and you knew, without a doubt, that this was no longer the shy, quiet guy from school.

This was Jake. The Jake who knew exactly what he wanted—and wasn’t afraid to take it.

The room felt smaller now, even with the space around you. The air was thick with a quiet tension, a sense of something inevitable hanging between you two. Jake was no longer standing across from you, maintaining that careful distance. He was close—too close—and it was clear that neither of you wanted to back away.

You could feel the pull of him, an invisible force that seemed to draw you in, making it impossible to ignore the heat that had been simmering between you both. You’d known this feeling, this desire, had been building for weeks. But now it was no longer just something you could push aside, something you could pretend wasn’t there.

“Do you trust me?” Jake’s voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, a seriousness that sent a ripple of excitement through you. He was close now, his chest nearly brushing yours, and the way he spoke made it clear he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity.

You nodded, unable to find your voice for a moment, the words lost in the heat of the moment. Jake smiled—genuine, a little wicked—and his hand reached out to guide you toward the desk.

The desk that had become a symbol of something you didn’t even fully understand yet. He placed his hands on your hips, his touch firm but not rough, leading you with careful, deliberate steps. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the edge of the desk against the back of your knees.

He stopped, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he whispered, “Stay still for me baby.”

There was an undeniable force in the way he held you, a promise in his words. Your pulse raced as your hands rested against the cool surface of the desk. The room was suddenly quieter, the sounds of your breaths louder than anything else.

Jake stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosted over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a certain thrill in knowing that he was completely in control, that he was in charge.

His hands moved with purpose, sliding from your hips up your sides, lingering over the curve of your waist, tracing slow circles over your ribs. You wanted to press back against him, to feel the weight of him against you, but something kept you still, some tiny shred of self-control.

Jake's hands moved higher, fingers trailing over your collarbone, and you couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your lips. His touch was firm, possessive, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You wanted to arch into him, to feel the weight of his body against yours, but you kept your hips planted against the desk, fighting the urge.

Jake's lips traced a path down your neck, and you could feel the smile on his face as he spoke, his voice low and rough. "You're doing so well for me," he murmured.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice shaky and desperate, "I need to feel you-need your cock."

You could feel him smirk against your skin, his hands tracing slow, teasing circles over your hips. "You that desperate, you slut?" he scoffed, his words like a taunt, a challenge.

Jake's words sent heat coursing through your veins, the sound of your own whimpering catching you off guard. It was a sound of desperation, of need, and it betrayed a vulnerability you hadn't meant to show.

But he heard it. Of course he did. He was so close to you, his body pressed against yours, and there were no more secrets between you.

You could feel the anticipation building, the air around you thick with tension. Jake's hands moved with purpose, tugging at your skirt, and it came down in a swift motion, pooling around your ankles. He took a step back, giving you space, and for a moment, you were left standing in just your underwear.

Jake's eyes darkened as he watched you, the desire in his gaze unmistakable. He moved closer again, crowding you against the desk, and you could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin, the way it made your skin prickle with anticipation.

You looked back to see Jake stroking his already leaking cock, letting out a low groan in the process. You could feel a smirk form on his lips as he shoves your panties aside. “Jesus yn, you’re dripping.” His words brought a throbbing sensation to your pussy, a desperate whimper leaving your mouth. “Jake…please,” you begged. “I need to feel you.” The heat in your body was almost unbearable now, your words little more than a ragged breath as you plead with him, "Fuck, Jake." It was like all the thoughts had slipped away from you, replaced by a pulsing need.

Jake didn't hesitate. He was still gripping your hip with one hand, his other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against him. There was no more waiting, no more teasing. He was hard and ready, and you could feel it pressed against you, and you were slick and wanting, and you couldn't take it any longer.

With a low, guttural groan, Jake slammed his cock inside your soaked cunt in one motion, causing you both to let out the filthiest sound.

“fuck, look at you,” jake groaned quietly, fingers spreading your ass apart. “such a filthy little thing, huh? letting me use that pussy mouth like it’s all you’re good for.”

his hand is tangled in your hair now, not tugging—just resting there, warm and heavy, like a crown you’ve earned. you try to stay quiet, knowing that the building has thin walls, spit pooling and dripping down your chin as your rhythm falters under the weight of his words. “Jake, it feels go good—“

“quiet,” he snaps softly, and your lashes flutter as you obey.

good. obedient. ruined.

“that’s it, baby. show me how good you are at taking my cock,” he says, voice almost tender if not for the filth of it. “can’t even breathe right, but you don’t care, do you? you love it too much. love being my perfect little toy.”

you whimper around him, and it makes his hips stutter. his thighs tense.

his control cracks just a little.

“god, you’re so good for me. fuck, baby—so fucking perfect.”

he grits his teeth, hand tightening just slightly in your hair. “no one else gets to see you like this. no one else can. only me.”

your jaw aches. your throat burns. but still, you don’t stop. “this pussy is made for me,” he continued, throwing his head back. “Fucking made for me yn.”

Jake was losing control, his words coming out in sharp breaths. He'd never spoken to you like this before, never so openly, so shamelessly filthy. Your mind was reeling, the sensations overwhelming as he took what he wanted from you, his words only fueling your own desire.

“J-Jake- too much.” you whisper cry to him. He giggles a bit, only looking at you the whole time. “And you love it.” he grabs onto your waist gently.

You help fuck yourself on him a bit faster and he lets out a groan. “You’re so tight around me.. y/n..” he thinks he hasn’t stretched you out enough beforehand. “We can.. do it..” you say, already out of breath.

You spread your legs a bit more, releasing a bit of tension on him. You succeed taking on his big cock, whilst using his shoulders as handles. “You’re taking it so good..” he whispers. You go faster at his praises.

He’s been stretching you out for a while now, and it definitely got easier over time. The slight discomfort turned into satisfying pleasure for you. His swollen tip hits your g-spot every single time, making you want to cum right there. However, he’s been wanting to finish ever since you started. You feel so good wrapped around him he’s surprised he hasn’t let out any further moan yet.

His hips move faster again, getting closer to cumming again. Your puffy cunt is crying at this point, while you let out a slight moan with every thrust. You keep going for a bit before, before rolling your eyes back to cum. “I’m— gonna… I… oh m… Jake..” you struggle.

You don’t get to say anything—your body gives out before your voice can even catch up. Your thighs tremble around him, and you’re a mess in his lap, clinging to him like he’s the only thing grounding you. The sound you let out is raw, louder than before, and Jake just leans back in his chair, watching you fall apart with that smug, wrecked grin of his.

His hands tighten around your waist, keeping you moving even as your body begs for mercy. He’s not letting go—not yet.

“You’re not done,” he mutters low against your throat, lips brushing your skin. “Not until I say so.”

You try to respond, but it’s all heat and haze now. Your chest presses against his as your head drops to his shoulder, and he doesn’t stop—he guides you through every slow grind, every twitch of your body that draws another gasp from your lips. His voice is rough, breathless, right in your ear.

Then his body jerks beneath you, and the way he holds you after—tight, possessive—tells you everything you need to know. His hand slides up your back as you both sit there, the room thick with the aftermath, your bodies still tangled.

You think it’s over. You think maybe now he’ll let you breathe.

But then his grip shifts, and he pulls you right back down onto him, your body jolting at the sudden contact.

A gasp leaves you, and his laugh—low and dangerous—rumbles against your collarbone. “Still so sensitive,” he teases, brushing your hair back as he presses a kiss just below your ear. “Thought you could handle me.”

Your arms drape around his neck again, head buried against his skin, and all you can do is hold on. You kiss the sweat-slicked curve of his jaw, trying to catch your breath while he stays buried deep, unmoving, content to just keep you there—full, overwhelmed, and completely his.

And with one hand still steady on your hip, Jake casually slides his chair back toward his desk, like it’s just another night—like you’re not still trembling on top of him.

Just before he grabs his headset, he whispers, “You should hear yourself.”

By the time you got back to class Monday morning, it was like nothing had ever happened. Or at least, that’s how Jake made it seem.

There he was, slouched in his usual seat at the back of the lecture hall, hoodie half-zipped, glasses perched slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was typing away at his laptop like he hadn’t just had you moaning his name into the crook of his neck two nights ago, skin flushed, bodies tangled.

He glanced up as you walked in. His eyes found yours for a second too long—and then he looked away, pretending to be distracted by something on his screen. You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting a smile.

You took your seat a few rows ahead of him, and a minute later, you felt the faintest buzzin your pocket.

“I had fun.”

You turned around. He was staring at his laptop like he hadn’t just texted you that. Like he hadn’t just ruined you on that same voice he used to answer class questions with a stutter.

Jake was still quiet in public, still awkward. He still pushed up his glasses too often and knocked over his water bottle when reaching for his pen. But now, there was a glint in his eyes every time he looked at you. A silent smugness. A private joke only the two of you knew the punchline to.

And when your professor called on him to answer a question, and he stumbled over the words “data structure,” turning slightly pink, you thought—no one else in this room had a clue. No one knew that he’d whispered “stay still for me” against your skin like a command. That the same clumsy guy blushing in front of the class had told you with a dark smirk, “such a good girl, you took me so well.”

You looked over your shoulder again. Jake met your eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. Just popped a piece of gum into his mouth, chewing slow, gaze steady. And then he winked.

You almost dropped your pen.

You tried to keep it to yourself—you really did. But your friends had spent the last ten minutes at your table giggling over Jake like he was some weird cryptid.

“I checked his Instagram again,” Yuna said, sipping her iced coffee. “He lost a follower. And he posted a blurry picture of a squirrel once.”

“Do you think he even knows how to use Instagram?” Soojin added, snorting. “He gives off ‘my mom made this account for me’ energy.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too hard.

“What?” Yuna asked, eyes narrowing at you. “Why are you smiling like that? Don’t tell me you actually think he’s hot.”

“I don’t think he’s hot,” you said slowly, stirring your drink.

They leaned in.

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, glancing over your shoulder out of habit.

“Okay,” you whispered. “This doesn’t leave this table.”

Yuna and Soojin practically vibrated with anticipation.

“I went to his dorm,” you started, voice low. “A few nights ago. His roommate was gone. And he wasn’t wearing glasses. He had contacts in. And he—” you hesitated, heartbeat picking up. “He was acting completely differnt. And we kinda.. you know.”

Yuna let out a dramatic gasp. “No way.”

Soojin cackled. “Shut up. Jake? Jake Sim and y/n fucked?”

You nodded slowly, lips twitching.

“And?” Yuna prompted. “And? What, did he trip over his desk accidentally slip his dick into you?”

You hesitated. “We, uh… no…”

Both of their jaws dropped—and then they burst into laughter.

“No, no, you’re joking,” Soojin said, leaning into Yuna for support. “Jake? Jake had you—what, bent over his gaming chair while his twelve Instagram followers cheered him on?”

“I’m serious,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “He’s not—he’s not how you think he is. Not when we’re alone.”

“Okay, now you’re just making it sound like he’s Batman,” Yuna snorted. “By day, he’s a bio major with a screen protector on his calculator. By night—”

“Hey.” A voice cut in behind you.

You froze.

Yuna’s eyes widened.

Soojin slapped a hand over her mouth.

You turned your head slowly—Jake was standing there, tray in hand, his expression unreadable. His glasses were on, hoodie loose, hair a little messy like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Hi,” he said, voice calm, like he hadn’t just caught you mid-confession.

You blinked up at him. “Jake.”

He looked at your friends, then back at you. “You forgot your charger last night.”

He placed it next to your drink, eyes flicking down to your hand for half a second.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quiet.

Jake gave you a lazy smile—barely there, but you knew it. You knew that look now. He turned, walked away like nothing happened, headphones already around his neck.

You turned back to your friends.

Their mouths were hanging open.

“…You’re not joking,” Yuna said flatly.

“I told you,” you whispered, trying—and failing—to hide the grin pulling at your lips.

Your friends were still frozen, processing, as Jake walked off toward the other end of the café like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb and left you to deal with the aftermath. He didn’t look back, but the slow, smug drag of his steps made it very clear—he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I…” Yuna blinked. “Was that your charger?”

You nodded, sipping your drink to hide your smirk.

Soojin finally found her voice. “Did he say last night?”

You nodded again, this time a little slower.

Both of them let out the most synchronized gasps you’d ever heard in your life.

“Girl,” Yuna whispered, leaning across the table like she was afraid someone would overhear, “what the hell is going on? That’s not even—Jake? Like, Jake Sim? He’s—he’s a meme. We literally made a Bingo card of the number of times he trips in the hallway!”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the warmth in your cheeks. “And apparently, he’s also capable of blowing my back out while explaining the difference between RAM and ROM.”

Soojin shrieked. “Stop!”

You were laughing now, the kind that bubbles up and won’t stop. It was ridiculous. All of it. And yet, every time you thought about the way he kissed you—like he knew what he was doing, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to show you—you felt your knees threaten to give out.

“Okay,” Yuna said, gripping your arm. “So, wait. Is he, like… your boyfriend now? Or is this just an elite phase?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it again.

You hadn’t even thought that far.

Jake hadn’t said anything official. No labels. No talks. Just quiet texts. A stolen charger. A wink in lecture. And the memory of him whispering in your ear, voice low and breathless, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I don’t know,” you admitted honestly. “But I don’t think this is just a one-time thing.”

At that exact moment, your phone buzzed again.

“also, I meant every word I said to you”

Your head snapped up. Across the room, Jake was seated with his laptop open, headset slung around his neck, biting into a sandwich like the most innocent man alive.

Your stomach flipped.

This menace. This liar. This actor.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen, a mix of embarrassment and fondness curling in your chest.

“you’re actually evil”

“i hate you”

“i hate that i don’t hate you”

A beat passed.

“you’re cute when you fluster. wanna come over after chem?”

Your friends didn’t even need to ask who you were texting. They saw your face and groaned in unison.

And for once, you didn’t even deny it.

Jake was a master of the double life. You didn’t know how he did it, but it was like he could flip a switch whenever he stepped foot in the hallways of the university.

In class? A complete disaster.

The shy, bumbling guy you’d always seen—his glasses slipping down his nose, tripping over his own feet as he made his way to his desk. He’d stammer when he spoke to the professor, barely making eye contact with anyone, and was always the first to look down at his phone when group discussions came up. The Jake everyone saw was awkward, quiet, and somehow endearing in his nerdy way. The one who sat by himself in the cafeteria, fiddling with his notebook, hoping no one would notice him.

And yet, you knew. You knew there was something more beneath that awkward exterior. Something darker, something confident. You’d seen it for yourself, just two nights ago. The quiet guy who barely spoke a word in class had turned into a completely different person behind closed doors.

But here, in the hallway, between classes, you wouldn’t have been able to guess that same Jake was the one who had you shivering under his touch, whispering praises into your ear like he owned you.

You were walking past his usual spot in the library when you caught him fumbling with a stack of books, his face scrunched up in concentration. He didn’t notice you at first, too focused on his task. But when he looked up, the usual blush crept up his neck, and his mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Hi,” you said casually, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You need help with those?”

He gave a nervous laugh, adjusting his glasses and dropping the books onto the table like his hands suddenly didn’t know how to hold them anymore. “Uh, yeah, no, I—um, I got it. Thanks, though.”

You could barely contain your laughter. Here he was, this guy who had literally whispered praises in your ear only days ago, looking like a total mess in front of you. He couldn’t even manage eye contact without turning an embarrassing shade of pink.

“So,” you said, leaning against the bookshelf beside him, your arms casually crossed. “You been doing any more squirrel photography lately?”

Jake froze, his face flushing deeper. “Uh, n-no,” he stammered, grabbing his books a little too quickly. “I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was like watching a completely different person. Gone was the guy who had held you close, kissed you with authority. Gone was the guy who made you forget everything when his lips were on your neck. Now, he was just a bumbling mess, avoiding your eyes, looking everywhere but at you.

“You’re so weird,” you teased lightly. “You know, I’ve been wondering… is it really the glasses, or is it the awkwardness? Which one is the real you?”

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He just looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and—was that a hint of guilt? Like he had a secret he didn’t want anyone to know.

“Never mind,” you said with a smirk, walking away from him. “Keep up the good work, loser.”

You could feel him watching you, probably frozen in place, but you didn’t care. It was almost unbelievable how different he could act when it was just the two of you alone in a room. The guy who couldn’t make it through a simple conversation in public had turned into the man who made you forget your own name when he had his hands on you.

But for now, all you could do was shake your head and laugh, marveling at how Jake was pulling off his double life—completely clueless and completely in control, all at once.

The cafeteria went silent the moment you walked past your usual table and headed straight for his.

Jake was sitting alone, as usual—tray of barely-touched food in front of him, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was trying to disappear into himself. He was hunched over his phone, earbuds in, completely unaware of the social earthquake that was about to hit.

You plopped down across from him without warning.

His head snapped up. He blinked, startled. “Wh—uh… hey?”

Conversations around you dipped, and you could feel the whispers starting. Not subtle ones either. Real, full-body turns. Eyes darting. Forks pausing mid-air. People whispering you’re joking, is that Y/N? and she’s sitting with him?

You just smiled, opening your drink like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Relax,” you said, lowering your voice and leaning forward just a little. “You’re acting like I just declared war on the entire social order.”

He pushed his glasses up and blinked a few times. “You… you don’t usually—uh, sit here.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “But today I felt like sitting with my favorite academic weapon slash secret menace.”

Jake choked on his water.

You grinned. “Also, I think I’ve figured you out.”

He swallowed hard. “F-Figured me out?”

“Yup.” You tilted your head at him, keeping your voice low and teasing. “I think your glasses are what activate your awkward personality. Like a switch. You wear them? Jake the human embodiment of a shy turtle. You take them off? Boom. Total menace.”

His ears turned pink. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual but failing completely. “They’re prescription…”

“And yet they’re also your disguise,” you smirked.

Around you, the buzz of conversation slowly picked back up. Everyone was still sneaking glances, but they were getting bored now that you weren’t making out on the table or confessing your love with a boombox overhead. One by one, people returned to their own lunches.

And that’s when he looked up at you—and really looked.

The second your audience was gone, the timid act melted off his face like it had never existed. His back straightened. His expression shifted, eyes sharpening just a little, mouth tugging into that familiar slow smirk that made your stomach flip.

“You like the glasses?” he asked, voice lower now, smooth and lazy.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden switch.

He leaned forward on his elbows, gaze steady and annoyingly smug. “You think that’s what keeps me from bending you over this table right now?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“There’s the menace,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as your pulse spiked.

Jake smiled like he’d just won something. “You came to my table, remember?”

“And now I’m questioning everything.”

He laughed under his breath, picking up a fry from his tray and tossing it into his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

“Too late,” he said, chewing. “You already made your choice. Better hope no one figures out what I look like without the glasses.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you threatening me?”

He grinned. “I’m warning you.”

And just like that, he went back to sipping his water, glasses slipping again, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Back to harmless, quiet Jake.

But you knew better now.

So did he.

You were two seconds away from dragging Jake by the collar.

He sat stiffly next to you on the couch, surrounded by your friends, looking like someone who’d just been dropped into a completely foreign dimension. His hoodie was zipped all the way up to his neck, hands tucked into his sleeves, legs pressed together like he was trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

Your friends were trying. God bless them, they were.

“So, Jake,” Yuna said, passing him a slice of pizza. “What are you majoring in again?”

Jake blinked. “Um. Bio.”

Silence.

Soojin tried to jump in. “Cool! Are you doing like, pre-med or something?”

Jake stared at the pizza in his lap like it personally offended him. “No.”

You gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. He flinched. “I, uh… I just like cells.”

More silence.

You shot him a look.

Jake gave a weak smile. “Cells are nice.”

You excused yourself to the kitchen before your soul could physically leave your body from secondhand embarrassment. Jake followed, like a lost puppy—but once the two of you were out of earshot, you whirled on him.

“Are you serious right now?”

Jake blinked innocently. “What?”

“You’re acting like a scared freshman at their first club meeting. Can you just…” You groaned, tugging him by the sleeve. “Be normal. Be you. The you that had me on my knees last weekend.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You want me to flirt with your friends?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I want you to act like you’re not a socially-anxious squirrel.”

He leaned against the counter with a little too much confidence now. “Babe, I already got what I wanted. I don’t need to charm your friends.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “If you keep acting like a brick wall, I swear to god I’m not giving you head again.”

Jake blinked.

Then he straightened.

“You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

There was a moment of silence. He stared at you like you’d just ripped the moon from the sky and thrown it in his face.

And then—he sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

You watched him walk back into the living room, a defeated slump in his shoulders. But right before he sat down again, he glanced back at you and mouthed, rude.

You just smiled sweetly.

You watched him march right back into the living room like a man on a mission. No hoodie shielding his face, no sleeves hiding his hands—Jake dropped onto the couch next to Yuna like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just been threatening to pretend he didn’t know the English language five minutes ago.

“So,” he said casually, draping one arm along the back of the couch. “Y/N tells me you guys stalked my Instagram.”

Your head snapped up.

Yuna blinked, caught. “W-What?”

Jake smirked. “Twelve followers and still managed to bag your friend. Pretty impressive, right?”

Your jaw dropped.

Soojin choked on her drink.

Yuna looked like she’d just short-circuited.

“I mean, I don’t post thirst traps or anything,” Jake continued, tone light but clearly enjoying himself. “Y/n says I should.”

You were frozen. You hadn’t even known he could talk in complete sentences around your friends, let alone roast them.

He glanced at you mid-sentence, lips twitching. “What? You said be normal.”

“This is not what I meant by normal,” you hissed under your breath.

Jake only smiled wider.

“I mean,” he said louder now, eyes gleaming, “Y/N didn’t really stand a chance. She was obsessed with me from the moment she saw me trip over a recycling bin.”

You stared at him, half-horrified, half-impressed. The duality of this man was actually insane.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, but your voice was shaking with barely contained laughter.

He leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other like he’d been doing this all his life. “I prefer ‘underrated.’”

Soojin blinked at you, stunned. “Is this the same Jake?”

“Sadly,” you deadpanned.

Jake stretched his arms overhead, smirking like he’d just won something. “Told you. Glasses on—loser. Glasses off?” He looked at you over the rim of his drink. “Problem.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Because he was right.

The conversation shifted, but Jake didn’t shrink back like he normally would. In fact, he leaned in. Tossed out a few sarcastic remarks, made a joke about the weird guy in your chem lecture, and even stole a fry off Yuna’s plate like he’d known her for years.

You sat there stunned, barely able to process the whiplash of it all.

At one point, Soojin gave you a look—eyebrows raised, lips parted like girl…—and you just blinked back, equally bewildered.

Jake caught the exchange, of course. He always did. He leaned over toward you, his voice dropping low, just for you to hear.

“Still mad at me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You didn’t look at him. “You’re skating on very thin ice.”

He chuckled softly. “You threatening me again?”

You smirked, finally glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “I don’t threaten, Jake. I warn.”

That seemed to only encourage him. “You know I love when you talk like that.”

You elbowed him under the table, but he didn’t even flinch—just grinned like the menace he was.

Eventually, your friends began packing up their things, saying goodbye, and heading out one by one. Jake stayed close beside you, still riding the high of finally breaking his “awkward loner” act in public.

As the room cleared, he bumped your shoulder lightly. “So… did I do good?”

You stared at him. “You did too good.”

He raised a brow, amused. “Jealous?”

“No,” you scoffed, gathering your stuff. “More like terrified of the monster I just unleashed.”

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder, his grin never fading. “Told you. You’re the one who wanted me to be social. You made this happen.”

You paused at the doorway, giving him a long look. “You’re still not getting head tonight.”

He laughed, following close behind you. “Liar.”

God help you—he was right again.

Jake walked you back to your dorm with a bounce in his step, like he hadn’t just caused a minor social earthquake in your friend group. You kept glancing over at him, trying to find even a trace of the shy, fumbling version of him your friends had always known—but nope. Gone. Completely replaced by this smug, way-too-proud-of-himself creature strutting beside you like he’d just won an Oscar.

“You seriously said ‘bagged your friend,’” you muttered, shaking your head.

Jake shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I was being honest.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirked, leaning closer so his shoulder bumped yours. “But you love me anyway.”

Your heart did a weird little skip, but you masked it with a scoff. “Mm, debatable.”

He laughed, but you could tell he noticed the way your ears flushed. Jake always noticed. Which made it all the more dangerous when he decided to push.

“You sure?” he said lowly, glancing at you sideways. “Because if I remember correctly, few nights ago you were practically begging—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. “Don’t you dare say that sentence out loud.”

Jake’s laughter vibrated against your palm, and he licked it just to be annoying.

“Jake!”

“What?” he said, completely unbothered, mouth curling into that damn smile again. “I’m just saying, you seemed pretty in love with me when you were—”

“I swear to god, I won’t let you cum tonight.”

He grinned. “Still wouldn’t change what happened on my desk.”

You groaned, unlocking your door and stepping inside, not even bothering to push him out. He followed like he lived there, already dropping his bag on your floor and toeing off his shoes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you muttered, tossing your jacket on the chair, “but I kinda miss socially awkward Jake.”

Jake leaned against your desk—the very one he had completely ruined you on—crossing his arms with a smug tilt of his head.

“I’ll bring him back next time we’re around your friends,” he said sweetly. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

He took a slow step toward you. “And yet…”

You backed up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. Jake caged you in without touching you, just that cocky little smirk inches from your mouth.

“…you keep letting me in.”

Your breath hitched.

You hated how right he was.

He didn’t even have to touch you—just standing there, close enough to fog up your brain, was enough to make your breath catch. That same smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips like he knew. (And he did. He always did.)

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “We’re not doing anything tonight.”

Jake tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Didn’t say we were.”

“You were thinking it.”

He grinned. “Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without being accused of crimes?”

You blinked. “Your what?”

Jake froze for half a second—just enough to catch it—then played it off with a shrug, looking entirely too casual. “You. My girlfriend.”

“Jake,” you said slowly, “we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, and?”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze, deadpan. “We’ve had sex on your desk.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. He just kept going.

“I’ve had my tongue in you. Multiple times. You think a coffee date is gonna make it moreofficial?”

You smacked his shoulder, cheeks burning. “You’re insane.”

Jake smiled, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “You’re stuck with me now. Might as well give me the title.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands found the hem of his hoodie anyway, fingers curling there.

“This better not mean I have to start posting you on my story.”

“Oh no,” he teased. “Anything but that.”

You sighed. “Fine. One date. But you’re planning it.”

Jake smirked, already way too pleased with himself. “Good. I was gonna make you fall in love with me anyway.”

It became… a problem.

First it was your friends catching you two making out in the library stacks. Then it was the quad. Then the empty art building stairwell. At one point, Yuna dramatically threatened to carry a spray bottle in her bag just to spritz you both like misbehaving cats.

You tried to tone it down. Really. But Jake had this stupid, unfair ability to get under your skin with just one look. One whisper. One brush of his hand against your lower back when no one was watching.

And then there was the incident. The one no one dared to speak about—but everyone knew.

You’d followed Jake into the men’s washroom between lectures, heart pounding, brain nowhere near your upcoming lab. One minute you were teasing him red, leaking tip with minor kitty licks, the next—A very unfortunate and traumatized TA walked in at the exact wrong time.

To this day, you’re not sure who was more horrified: you, Jake, or the TA who immediately did a full 180 and walked straight back out without a word.

Jake couldn’t stop laughing. You couldn’t show your face in that building for a week.

Now every time you pass that hallway, he leans in with a whisper and a smug, “Wanna relive the glory days?”

You elbow him. Hard. But your ears still burn.

Because the worst part? You absolutely do.

You hadn’t even had a chance to settle into the cozy atmosphere of a movie night with Jake, Sunghoon, and Sunoo before everything went to hell.

It was supposed to be a simple night. You, Jake, and his friends, chilling on the couch, watching some random movie Sunghoon picked out after a few too many awkward silences. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for this, maybe even looking forward to getting to know his friends better. You’d heard so much about them, and Sunoo had been sending you memes for weeks now, always so sweet and teasing.

But instead of a normal movie night, you ended up on Jake’s lap with your lips pressed to his, unable to hold back as he slipped his hands beneath your hoodie. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and you completely forgot about the stupid film Sunghoon had started. All that mattered was the heat building between you and Jake, the sound of his breath against your mouth, the way he was slowly getting bolder, moving his lips to your neck—

And then, the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing from across the room.

You froze, eyes widening, and pulled back from Jake just as Sunghoon and Sunoo exchanged awkward glances.

“Well,” Sunghoon said, adjusting his glasses with a little too much casualness, “This is… an interesting way to start a movie night.”

You sat up quickly, heart racing. “We—uh, we weren’t—”

Sunoo cut you off with a laugh that had a slightly knowing edge to it. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse. But wow, didn’t think I’d be walking in on this so soon.”

You could feel your face heating up, but Jake, the menace, only smirked, his arm still casually draped around you. “I was just showing her how comfortable the couch is. Isn’t it nice, babe?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at that, glancing between you two. “Comfortable, huh? Good to know.”

Sunoo chuckled. “I guess I’m glad we finally got a front-row seat to Jake’s ‘split personality.’” His voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper, adding, “Who knew the shy, awkward guy could get so… intense.”

You looked at Jake, whose eyes were practically glowing with mischief. You knew exactly what that meant.

“I told you guys,” Jake said, sliding his fingers through your hair, his voice low and smooth. “She’s got me wrapped around her finger. Not just with the whole ‘studious boyfriend’ act.”

Sunghoon chuckled and shook his head. “I’m just here for the popcorn, but whatever you guys are doing, you’re definitely ruining the vibe of the movie.”

You swore you could feel the heat radiating from your face, but Jake was entirely too smug, his hand never leaving your waist. “Movie’s overrated anyway,” he said with a wink. “Better company right here.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but somehow, you knew this was just the beginning. Jake wasn’t about to stop teasing you in front of his friends, and now they definitely knew what he was like when he wasn’t playing the quiet, shy guy.

It had been exactly one month since you and Jake made things official, and somewhere along the way, he had somehow charmed all your friends.

Yuna, especially.

What started off as teasing glances and snarky comments turned into him greeting her with “What’s up, my other girl?” in front of literally everyone—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You’d laughed the first time. Sort of.

The second time, your smile was tight.

By the third, you didn’t even look at him. Just turned around, grabbed your bag, and left without a word. The silence that followed was deafening.

He texted. Called. Showed up at your dorm with snacks, guilty puppy-dog eyes, and one of your hoodies you’d accidentally left at his place.

You didn’t budge.

Not when he spammed you with voice memos or when he got Sunoo to send you dramatic apologies on his behalf. Not even when Yuna told you that Jake had asked herhow to fix it, which was ironic in the most painful way possible.

A week passed. You were starting to miss him—his touch, his stupid jokes, the way he looked at you like you hung stars in his sky—but you were petty, and prideful, and notabout to forgive him over something as dumb as a nickname that made your stomach twist.

But Jake knew you. And Jake never lost.

The night you finally gave in, he showed up to your dorm without a word, eyes dark, hands careful. He didn’t ask if he could stay. Just got down on his knees, pulled you to the edge of the bed, and showed you how sorry he was.

You didn’t even realize your fingers were tangled in his hair, hips shaking as he flicked your clit around with his tongue, breath caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

By the time he looked up, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, your legs were trembling and you couldn’t remember what planet you were on.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, voice hoarse, a little smug, but mostly sincere.

You tried to speak, failed. All you could do was blink down at him.

He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good. Because you’re my only girl.”

And yeah—he won. Again.

The next morning, Jake acted like nothing happened.

He was sprawled across your tiny dorm bed, hair a mess, hoodie half-off his shoulder, munching on the cereal you kept strictly for late-night study stress. Like he hadn’t just given you an out-of-body experience twelve hours ago.

You stood at the mirror brushing your hair, shooting him a look through the reflection. “You’re really just gonna sit there like you didn’t have me literally sobbing last night?”

Jake grinned around a spoonful of cereal. “I figured you forgave me when you couldn’t feel your legs after.”

You tossed a hair tie at him. He dodged, laughing.

“You’re lucky I didn’t call you a cab,” you said, turning back around.

“I am lucky,” he said, voice lower now, more serious, “but not just for that.”

You paused. Met his eyes.

Jake set the bowl aside and stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, voice soft. “I’m sorry for the Yuna thing. I thought I was being funny. I didn’t realize it hurt you.”

You didn’t respond right away. He held you tighter.

“You know I only want you, right?”

You nodded, finally. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I’m your idiot.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him anyway, the tension finally melting.

Later that day, Yuna raised an eyebrow as you walked into the café together, hand-in-hand with Jake.

“Back from the dead?” she teased.

Jake smirked. “Had to perform a little resurrection.”

You buried your face in your drink. Yuna just laughed.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me it was head.”

Jake shot her a look. “Mind-blowing head.”

You choked.

“Please stop speaking,” you begged.

Jake just kissed your cheek and pulled you closer.

You really were doomed.

You’d completely forgotten your parents were in town until you got the text while Jake was still whispering absolute filth into your ear in the café line.

[Mom]: Just landed. So excited to see you, sweetie! Brunch tomorrow? Bring your boyfriend!

You choked on your iced americano so violently Jake had to pat your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, smirking like he already knew it wasn’t.

You turned your phone around to show him the message.

He blinked. “Wait. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Like—your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes, Jake. My parents. Brunch. You. Me. And them.”

He stared at you for a full three seconds, then grinned. “I’ve already got the button-up shirt in mind.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“I’m amazing with parents.”

“You’re amazing at pretending to be someone’s quiet, innocent boyfriend. That’s not the same.”

Jake leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. They’ll love me.”

“You’re gonna wear your glasses, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Act like you’ve never touched me.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll act like I don’t even know what a woman is.”

You snorted, already stressed. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Nah. I’m gonna charm them. Just like I charmed you.”

You turned to give him a look. “You charmed me by blowing my back out in a library storage room, Jake.”

“Exactly,” he said, way too proud.

You groaned.

Tomorrow could not come fast—or end—soon enough.

The next morning, Jake showed up ten minutes early to your dorm, looking like he’d walked straight out of a K-drama.

Crisp white button-up, hair brushed neatly off his forehead, his glasses perfectly in place—he even brought your mom’s favorite pastries, like he’d been studying your family’s group chat for weeks.

“You look…” You blinked, slowly dragging your gaze down his outfit. “So well-behaved.”

Jake smirked, tucking the pastry box under one arm and reaching for your hand. “Don’t worry. I left the demon version of me in your sheets.”

You nearly tripped on the way out the door.

Your parents were already waiting at the little brunch spot downtown, and as soon as your mom saw you, she lit up—then caught sight of Jake behind you and blinked like she was seeing a puppy dressed in a tuxedo.

“This is Jake?” she asked, already halfway through hugging him. “You’re even cuter than she said!”

Jake laughed, soft and shy, adjusting his glasses. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s really nice to meet you.”

You sat stiffly across from them, fully prepared for the absolute chaos that was surely coming, but Jake? He played the role like he’d been training for it all his life.

He complimented your mom’s earrings. Asked your dad smart, boring questions about work. Even waited until you were done speaking before cutting into his food.

It was unsettling.

“Jake’s in my organic chem lecture,” you said at one point, trying to keep the conversation neutral.

“Oh, is he any good?” your dad asked.

Jake smiled bashfully. “She usually tutors me, actually. I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to chemistry.”

You almost choked on your orange juice.

Your mom beamed. “I love that. I always told her she’d be such a good teacher.”

Jake nodded sincerely, resting his hand on your knee under the table, subtle and grounding. “She’s been teaching me a lot.”

Your stomach flipped for a very different reason.

By the end of brunch, your mom was begging him to come over for dinner “next time we visit,” and your dad gave him a shoulder pat like he’d just been accepted into the family.

As soon as you were out of earshot, walking back toward campus, you smacked his arm. “You manipulative little bitch!”

Jake grinned, holding up the box of leftover pastries like a trophy. “They love me.”

“You were lying through your teeth!”

Jake shrugged. “It’s not lying if I really do think you’re amazing at teaching me things. Like patience. Self-control.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping in close, voice low in your ear, “your mom just called me boyfriend material.”

You shoved him. “You are never seeing my parents again.”

“Sure, baby. You tell yourself that.”

And yeah, fine—he was boyfriend material. Just not the kind your parents had any idea about.

That night, you laid in bed scrolling through your messages while Jake sat cross-legged at the foot, shamelessly eating the last of the leftover pastries your mom had insisted he take.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Mom]: He’s adorable. Polite, smart, and that accent?? Keeper.

You rolled your eyes so hard your soul almost left your body.

Jake leaned over your shoulder. “What’d she say now?”

You turned the screen toward him. He read it, then bit into a croissant like he’d just won a championship.

“I am polite. And smart. And my voice is sexy, apparently.”

You deadpanned. “You’re a literal demon. With glasses.”

Jake leaned down and nuzzled against your neck with the fakest innocence he could muster. “You weren’t saying that when I was—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “No. My mom said ‘keeper.’ Don’t make me reevaluate.”

He laughed into your palm, biting it lightly before you yanked it back. He flopped onto the bed beside you, stretching out with a satisfied sigh like he’d just wrapped up a performance of a lifetime.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Winning over your friends, seducing your parents…”

“Manipulating the entire population,” you muttered.

Jake turned his head, smirking. “But only for you.”

You tried not to melt. You really did. But then he pulled you down beside him, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the warm curve of his body.

“You know,” he whispered, voice dropping back into that cocky, devastating register, “your parents think I’m this sweet, respectful, glasses-wearing boyfriend who can’t even pass chem without your help.”

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “And they’ll never know what their daughter sounds like when she’s underneath me, begging.”

You slapped his chest with a muffled laugh, face buried in his shirt. “You’re the worst.”

Jake just grinned against your temple.

“I’m yours.”

The next morning, Jake was already pulling on his hoodie, his bags—stuffed with random clothes, books, and a few things that had slowly found their way into your dorm—strewn across your floor.

You sat up in bed, the lingering warmth of his body beside you still making your heart flutter. It had become a regular thing now—Jake staying over, bringing more of his things each time, settling into a routine that felt strangely comfortable. It was a mixture of affection and chaos, and you loved every minute of it.

“You should’ve just left your stuff here last night,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Could’ve saved us the trouble.”

Jake smirked, looking up from rummaging through his backpack. “Don’t want to seem too comfortable too soon, babe. You know, I’ve still got that mysterious ‘bad boy’ act to keep up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s what you’re going for.”

He shot you a wink, tossing a hoodie at you. “Anyway, can’t let the world see the ‘good boy’ too much, can I?”

He was back to his cocky self, the guy who showed up to school acting like the confident, teasing Jake you had come to know, and honestly, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he flipped between his personas.

You both left the dorm and started the walk to campus, his hand in yours, the usual mix of comfortable silence and random teasing that filled your daily routines.

Just as you were about to walk up the steps to your building, Jake, always the graceful disaster, tripped on the stairs and sent his coffee flying across the sidewalk.

“Are you serious?” you asked, blinking in disbelief.

Jake stood there for a second, coffee splattered all over his hoodie and the ground beneath him, looking utterly stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “Every time. I swear to god, you’re like a walking disaster.”

Jake turned to you, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it off. “I meant to do that. Just making sure everyone’s paying attention.”

“Yeah, you definitely got their attention, Jake,” you teased. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone saw your epic performance.”

He shot you a grin, wiping at his clothes like it would make a difference. “I’m not a loser. I’m just… trying to get a reaction.”

“And you definitely got one,” you snorted, taking his hand and leading him inside.

Even though he tried to play it off as cool, the truth was, you were starting to see a side of Jake that was a little more… normal than you first expected.

And as ridiculous as the whole thing was, there was something about it—the balance of confident teasing and hilarious clumsiness—that felt right.

At least, for you and him, it did.

You nudged him with your elbow. “You gonna be okay, or do I need to get you another one before you wither away in front of me?”

Jake groaned dramatically. “I needed that caffeine. My whole personality relies on it.”

You laughed as you pushed open the lecture hall doors. “Your personality is currently soaked into your hoodie.”

Unfortunately for Jake, your shared class had already started to fill up. A few people looked up as you both walked in—him with wet coffee splatter down his front, you trying not to laugh loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Is that Jake Sim?” someone whispered behind you.

You heard a snort. “Why does he look like someone’s intern who just got fired?”

Jake sat down beside you with a huff, dropping his bag and whispering, “This is the most humbling morning of my life.”

You rached over, wiped a little splatter off his sleeve, and leaned close. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “Wait. You think I’m cute even like this?”

You grinned. “I think you’re cute especially like this.”

Jake slumped in his chair, defeated but amused. “I’m literally a walking split personality. Demon boyfriend at night, clumsy nerd by morning. This isn’t sustainable.”

“You say that like I’m not completely obsessed with both versions.”

He paused, looking at you with that soft, wide-eyed gaze he got when you caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” he said, quieter this time.

You nodded, bumping your knee against his. “Yeah.”

Jake smiled down at his ruined coffee cup.

“Still not over the fact I tripped in front of like thirty people though,” he muttered, and you snorted so loud the row in front of you turned around.

At least now, everyone knew—Jake Sim might’ve been a quiet loser to the rest of the campus, but to you?

He was everything.

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize

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hamilando · 2 days ago

Text

ੈ✩ is it kesha? becky? (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

tw : fluff; chaos, mentions of cheating

fc : lily-rose depp

a/n : this was requested by @josephqunnies I hope you like it and thank you so much for supporting me ! lysm 🫶🏻 AND YES, ITS NOKIA IN THE TITLE

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by charlesleclerc, arthurleclerc, franciska.gnomes and 1,345,574 others

roseyn yup, those flowers weren't for me

view comments

user1 y'all, posting this between cheating rumors.....

user2 is this an unhinged post or ....

user3 WE NEED CLEAR EXPLANATIONS MA'AM

user4 she is smiling in the pic, so idk

user5 this is all so confusing

user6 why would she post charles if he was cheating

user7 charles is even liking her posts !!!!

user8 so is arthur and lorenzo

user9 so did he actually cheat or did he not ?

user10 lord, give us a sign

liked by franciska.gnomes, user1, user2 and 1,983,247 others

roseyn thank you, NEXT

view comments

user1 yup, he definitely cheated

user2 AT 4AM ???? THANK YOU NEXT ???

user3 charles messed up real bad

user4 i am here for the tea era

user5 my parents divorced :(

user6 this is so random but I feel this is a prank

user7 is it like April ?

user8 it's literally october 😭

user9 ig cheaters cheat

user10 hoopers hoop, drivers drive, cheaters cheat

liked by user1, user2, roseyn and 238,546 others

f1wagnews Amid cheating rumors, Charles Leclerc was seen attending Wimbledon with someone other than his girlfriend, Y/N Rose

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user1 so its true huh

user2 didn't realize i was supporting an cheater

user3 i thought it was a prank

user4 didn't expect that from charles

user5 why does the girl look too similar ?

user6 lowkey charles being into curly hair

user7 first a curly hair teammate and now curly hair gf

user8 i feel so bad for yn

user9 why is lorenzo's wife smiling at charles when he is clearly with his mistress !?!?!

user10 this is so messed up

liked by charlesleclerc, lewishamilton and 2,478,456 others

roseyn may i present the side chick

view comments

user1 YN 😭 !!!!!

user2 oh lord, she really brewed a rumor over bromance

user3 she said i have had enough of bromance

user4 cant believe we fell for charles cheating rumors

user5 it was lewis all along !?

charlesleclerc merci for clearing my name

roseyn your fault for not buying me sushi 🫶🏻

user6 not yn fooling us all and having a laugh

user7 i cant imagine charles or lewis's face '

user8 the second pic 😭😭

user9 why is lewis peaking like that into the car

lewishamilton next time you're hungry, please contact me instead of giving my team a heart attack

roseyn 🩵🩵

user10 lewis is having a meltdown over the pictures realised

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 736,478 others

f1wagnews the side chick was none other than his own teammate, Lewis Hamilton

view comments

user1 lewis in his long hair era !?!?!?

user2 knew it that the person looked familiar

user3 that's one great laugh there

user4 imagine getting involved in cheating rumors with your own teammate

user5 ferrari admin going crazy

user6 ferrari legal team suing yn frfr

user7 just because yn was hungry at 4am

user8 welp, we all got mini heart attacks

user9 lewis needs to wear a dress now and go out with charles

user10 they said bromance over romance

let me know if you want to be added or removed to the tg!

permanent tg: @isotopemylove @chair-things @justaf1girl @bibblemiluvr @blushmimi @nikfigueiredo @amz824 @ivegotparticulartaste @raizelchrysanderoctavius @freyathehuntress @piastri-fvx @sadiemack9 @ilivbullyingjeongin @cherry-piee @luvleylisen @sweate-r-weathe-r @jxnellat @loveofmylife12 @budgetcupid @lilaissa @scorpiodiosa @wondergirl101ks @nichmeddar @hoeforlifee @urfavnoirette @lily-ann-b @okcurran @miniboast @teti-menchon0604 @motorsportloverf1 @formula1-motogpfan @capricornito @star73807-blog

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ohhowjooniewept · 2 days ago

Text

friendship group jungkook x y/n

fluff, angst, filthy smut

10k<

——

having a big friendship group was something that most people couldn’t understand. the dynamics between each and every person were important, like a well oiled machine that churned out a mixture of jokes and joy.

you had been friends with namjoon and yoongi for years, meeting taehyung, yejin and jin in your first year of university. yoongi introduced hoseok, who in turn introduced jimin, who of course, introduced jungkook.

you were incredibly close to them all, with the exception of the bambi eyed boy, who for some reason, you just couldn’t crack. it wasn’t that you didn’t get along, on the contrary - you were the most alike and he was always extremely kind towards you. it had been years and years since you first met, and you were able to have small conversations but there was an air of tension that followed you both that neither of you understood. well, you pretended not to anyway.

it was a secret to no one, except jungkook, that you were head over heels in love with him. yoongi would groan every time he’d see the starry look in your eyes once the conversation shifted towards the younger man, with yejin and jimin giggling like their lives depended on it.

“you should just get married and leave the rest of us to finally recover from your rambles.” he grumbled, once, laid out on your sofa with biscuit crumbs on his chest.

you rolled your eyes at him, frowning. “shut up yoongi, that would require him to actually like me back.”

he groaned so loudly that you found yourself grabbing the nearest pillow and plowing it into his face. “god, you’re both such idiots.” he muttered with a shake of his head.

———

jungkook had an aura around him that most described as electrifying. he knew he could walk into any room and make a friend, or have eyes stay on him for the duration of the night - he knew he had presence and it was something he enjoyed.

one thing he didn’t know, however, was how to tell the girl he had been in love with for multiple years, his feelings. add the fact that she was also in his friendship group, he knew he was utterly hopeless.

years of knowing and seeing one another weekly, but he still struggled to hold a 10 minute conversation between you both. between stuttering words and clenched jaws - he could speak to everyone else in the room as though it was a god given talent, but you? for you, he was hopeless.

every girlfriend, every fling and every message in his inbox was a way to rid himself of you, but you plagued his thoughts and every inch of his desires.

———

“right, why are you saying this to me again?” jin questioned as he cooked.

the entire group were at namjoon’s house to celebrate his new promotion, with bottles of wine sitting in the fridge and laughter heartily coming from the living room.

“jin, please.” jungkook groaned, leaning on the counter beside him. “yoongi won’t listen to me anymore. says i talk too much.

jin looked straight at him. “you do.”

“what? this is the first time i’m opening up about this to you.”

jin looked over again, more pointed. “first time this week.”

jungkook groaned once more, overgrown pout on his face as he rubbed over his eyes.

“listen.” jin began. “you can walk, or in your case run, in circles all you want. why can’t you just be honest with her, tell her how you feel?”

“i can’t even have a conversation with her without feeling like i’m going to pass out.”

yejin walked into the kitchen, hair messy and lipstick smudged from the wine she had been drinking. her eyes fell on the pout on jungkook’s face before giggling.

“let me guess, yoongi won’t let you confess to him anymore, now you’re terrorising jin?”

“bingo.” the older man grinned.

jungkook frowned. “is this just a running gag, now?”

“hard to feel sorry for you when you’re the reason for your own problems, kook.” yejin slid next to jin, moaning over the scent of multiple little dishes. “i mean, have you tried asking her out? even platonically? have you guys ever purposefully been alone with each other?”

jungkook’s frown deepened, he hated being friends with intellectuals. stupid yejin, stupid namjoon, jin and yoongi. the rest weren’t to be trusted with this knowledge; they’d blab to you in a heartbeat. little did you know, you had taken them for yourself. they were yours informants, sworn to secrecy.

“well, i guess not but…i don’t think she’d be entirely comfortable with just me.” he confessed. “she gets shy and quiet when i speak to her. she doesn’t laugh or joke the same as when she’s with all of us.”

the two looked over at the tall boy, eyes brows furrowed. they then turned to look at one another, both shaking their head. “god, why did you curse us with idiots for friends.” yejin grumbled, allowing jin to feed her ahead of everyone.

“you guys are mean.” jungkook grumbled. “at least yoongi pretends to be nice at first.”

with a roll of jin’s eyes, he handed him a few plates before shoo’ing him away, yejin following with her hands full. in the living room, you were stood by the tv, glass in hand, giggling away as you watched yoongi and taehyung battle it out on mario cart. the former was grunting and yelling, uncharacteristically, whilst the latter grinned wide as he won another round.

“you’re getting old.” tae smirked.

yoongi gave him a glare, before standing up to help yejin put her plates down. “you don’t get hit enough for my liking.”

the wine was beginning to make your brain hazy, and you felt slightly tipsy. it was no secret that you were the lightweight of the group, which was why you were on a strict one glass policy whenever you were with your group.

the living room table was set, adorned with finger food and a bowl of larger dishes, everyone tucking in. jungkook took a seat on the coach on the left, leaving a space beside him before his eyes flickered up to you, hovering over the table behind hobi, waiting to be given a plate. his eyes stayed trained to your face, a reddish flush evident on your cheeks that made his heart beat painfully. fuck, you were so pretty.

“okay. this weekend, what are we doing?” yejin clapped, as you began filling your plate. “you know i love pigging out with you guys, but we should celebrate joonie properly. you’ve really been waiting for this for so long.”

the dimpled boy grinned, blushing slightly. “i’m happy to do whatever, this is enough for me.”

“boring.” jimin groaned, shaking his head. “we need to go out.”

your eyes brushed over the seating arrangement, noticing the only free spot was between yejin and jungkook, the latter already staring up at you with too large eyes and parted lips. you wanted to scream, the little girl in you clawing her way through your body at the thought of sitting next to your crush.

with a tinge in your cheeks, you made your way over, wobbling slightly as you began to sit down. jungkook’s reflexes were fast, one hand on your thigh and the other taking control of your wine, letting you sit down comfortably.

his touch didn’t register with your brain immediately, but once you sat down and looked, noticing his hand remaining on your thigh whilst he looked up to join in on the conversation with the others, your brain began to short circuit. he was touching you. his hand. on your thigh. touching.

you had never noticed how big his hands were until now, your eyes flickering over every inch and knuckle, core clenching and mouth watering. you wanted him in a way that was neither healthy nor acceptable, but right now, who could blame you?

jungkook wasn’t fairing any better. his heart was beating so loudly, he swore he could feel it in his throat. he hadn’t even thought before touching you, it felt like second nature and once his hand found home on your thigh, he simply couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

you both sat, tense and head swirling, his hand firmly where it belonged.

“what do you think y/n, you down?” yejin murmured next to her, bumping her shoulder.

“down..” you cleared your throat, fixing your position. “down for what, sorry?”

her eyes flickered down, before meeting your gaze with an all knowing smirk. “the new club downtown on saturday.”

“isn’t it kinda expensive? i hear the drinks are pricey.” you cringed.

jimin scoffed. “with a face like yours, you won’t be spending a penny, don’t you worry.”

you exchanged giggles, the group going back to exchanging conversations as you all drank. the wine was getting to you, so much so, you hardly noticed jungkook’s hand flexing on your thigh, gripping tighter and higher.

——

saturday had finally come and you went all out. everyone was dressed nicely, excited to go christen a new club, the electricity palpable and running through you. you knew you looked good tonight, you had gone the extra mile - sleek hair and dress both tight and perhaps too short. your heels made your legs look longer than usual and your makeup sultry - you had one single goal tonight. jungkook.

you were sick of this cat and mouse game. you liked him. maybe a lot more than like, but regardless, you were going to get a few shots in you, tell him how you feel whilst you felt confident, and then get black out drunk so you wouldn’t remember it tomorrow. solid plan.

unfortunately, said plan meant nothing once your eyes fell on him.

broad shoulders and piercings catching the light of the club, drink in hand as his t shirt stretched across his chest. every plan, thought and idea fluttered away from your head, leaving a hollow echo chamber in which all you could hear was a repeat of his name.

he turned to look around, noticing you walking towards the group with hugs and greetings. he blinked once or twice, before turning around and openly groaning. fuck.

“yeah, yeah. pack it up lover boy.” yoongi scoffed, before you walked over to give him a hug too.

jungkook spun again, meeting your gaze as you shyly reached over to hug him as per usual. he never let you get far, always closing the distance himself and wrapping his arms around you as he held you tightly.

“hm. you smell good.” he murmured next to your ear, leaving a shiver down your spine.

“is that it?” you cheekily asked, eyebrow raised.

he smirked wide and broad. “you look good. better than good.”

you grinned up at him before letting him go. he, however, let his arm rest loosely around your waist as you turned to the group, gushing with yejin about how good she looked. you tried to ignore how badly your heart was thumping, he was never this bold - sure he could be touchy but that was jungkook, he practically resided on namjoon’s lap. this felt different, but you couldn’t bare yourself to get your hopes up.

his eyes flickered downwards, observing you and wracking over your body. you looked better than ever, and it both excited and angered him. he knew he’d have to have his wits about him tonight, if a man even approached you, he was sure he’d combust.

“okay, drinks!” taehyung exclaimed over the music, clapping his hands.

you and yejin took a seat at the table whilst the boys filtered down to the bar, the loss of jungkook’s arm both palpable and healing to your racing brain.

your eyes travelled to across the club, where your boys stood, jungkook ignoring evident glances and women sauntering over to him. you couldn’t help the grimace.

“you’re too pretty to frown.” yejin cooed, moving your chin so you were facing her. “especially over a boy.”

you blushed. “wish he wasn’t so handsome, can’t believe everyone sees what i see.”

“ah,” she grinned wickedly. “funny. you’ve had guys trailing you and watching you from the second you walked in, and believe me, he’s not happy.”

your eyes widened at her comment, eyes flickering to jungkook again, who’s gaze was already on you. you broke the contact, embarrassed before turning to her properly.

“enough jungkook talk, what’s on the agenda tonight? what is yeji doing?” you asked, hands in hers.

“i’m not leaving empty handed.” she wiggled her eyebrows, causing a fit of laughter that remained as the boys came back, looking at you both inquisitively.

yoongi reached over to hand you your drink, to which you thanked him gently, sipping slowly.

you felt the seat beside you dip, focused on your conversation with the boy and girl beside you, until you felt a warm hand press against your bare thigh. yejin and yoongi continued, unaware, as your head turned to face the tatted boy beside you, who drank his drink as though this was the most casual thing he had ever done. the thump in his chest argued otherwise.

you were sure your cheeks were flaming red, and your thigh began to tremble beneath his touch. you wanted him to go higher whilst also let go, you were sure your brain would wither away soon with how hazy you felt.

“like your drink?” he asked, suddenly getting closer to you so you could hear him over the music.

“mm, fruity.” you nodded, eyes never leaving his.

he grinned. “hm.” his hand flexed on your thigh. “have i told you how good you look, tonight?”

“only once.” you guys were flirting. the little girl inside your body was screaming so loudly.

he tutted, shaking his head as his grip tightened. “my bad, baby. you look stunning.” he whispered intimately into your ear. “love this little dress, new hm? would have remembered if you’d worn it before.”

all you could do is nod, as he pulled away slightly from your ear, your faces much too close to be deemed appropriate. just a little closer, he thought, eyes flickering down to your lips. just a little curve to your head and he’d take care of your tiny pout, he was sure.

before you could continue, however. “y/nnie, come on.” jimin shouted, from across the booth as he got up, forcing you to yank away from jungkook with wide eyes and parted lips. your eyes looked up to the blonde haired boy, a smirk on his face. “time to dance.”

“jimin i’m not tipsy enough.” you groaned.

“take this shot.” namjoon pushed the drink over to you, yejin giggling beside you.

you picked it up, hands still shaky, and tipped it back, grimacing deeply whilst everyone laughed and whooped around you. you shook your head quickly, as to rid yourself of the taste, before he grabbed your arm, pulling you up from your seat and guiding you down. you grabbed yejin on the way, who waved excitedly at the rest of the boys, shouting something about actually having fun.

it wasn’t long until you guys were dancing away, giggling loudly and twirling with one another. jimin was the life of your group, whilst yejin was the soul - if you ever wanted to have fun, it had to involve the pair who only ever seeked out joy.

the alcohol was already rushing to your head, leaving you a tipsy mess. being the worlds biggest lightweight never helped when you wanted to get drunk because you knew in two drinks, you were completely finished, but it was always nice to get a buzz whilst you were out.

hobi and jin soon joined, with the former’s arms around you as you danced and sang together, fits of giggles being shared.

“i don’t think i’m going to survive tomorrow, my heads already so gone.” you shouted over at him, music thumping.

“yeah, me neither - your little boyfriend is about to kill me with his stare.” he giggled louder, throwing his head back.

your eyebrows furrowed before turning your head to the side, catching jungkook’s heavy gaze.

eyebrows furrowed and a dark expression on his face, you could see the clench of his jaw and it made your core whine. he was so pretty despite being evidently bothered. the thought, the idea, that he would be this way over hobi dancing with you sent a million electricity volts through your body, your eyes never leaving his.

“we spoil him too much, now we can’t even dance with you without him planning our murder.”

you broke eye contact, looking at hobi with an excited thrill. “i want him so bad.” you groaned quietly, head falling to his shoulder.

“believe me. you could have him.”

——

the night was going strong, and you had slowed down with the drinks and paced yourself appropriately to match your friends. taehyung wanted to smoke outside, so you accompanied him.

you and jungkook had been playing a fine line all night, dancing around the tension, eye contact and fleeting touches but never anything more. it was driving you insane, you knew that maybe he wanted you in some way but if it wasn’t the way you wanted, then you couldn’t have him. you wouldn’t be able to move on and it wasn’t fair.

you both stood outside, taehyung taking out a cigarette whilst the wind nipped at your too warm skin, offering some calm to the night.

“fuck. forgot my lighter, i’ll be two seconds alright?” he groaned with a tip of his head making you nod, resting your head against the wall of the smoking shelter.

you watched him retreat, closing your eyes for a few moments before you heard a shuffling of feet behind you. your eyebrows furrowed, thinking nothing of it until a large hand gripped your hip, twirling you around to face them.

your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. why was he here? how could he be here? touching you so casually and without thought; hand bruising your hip with every passing second as he approached you with nothing but clear disrespect.

“missed me?” jaehyun, your ex, grinned down at you, lowering his head to meet your height.

your ex of two years, who had terrorised you to an inch of your life stood before you, hands on your body as though it was his every right. your relationship with him had been turbulent to say the least.

it had started once you decided you couldn’t see jungkook kissing another girl at a random party, you felt sick and you’d had enough, you were finally moving on from the schoolgirl crush you had on him. you met jaehyun and he was seemingly perfect at ridding you of jungkook’s lasting touch on your heart, until he suddenly wasn’t.

he’d get angry whenever you went out with your friends, despite knowing them and understanding the years long dynamic you all shared. the mere mention of namjoon, hoseok and jimin were enough to drive him into a rage that left you shaking all night, only for him to appear the next morning with flowers and empty promises that it would never happen again.

you’d once mentioned jungkook in a passing, harmless comment and had to nurse your face for the next two weeks as payment. he was violent regarding any man, but it was the bright eyed boy that set him off the most.

it only escalated, but by that point, you felt entirely trapped. it wasn’t until yejin had come over after months of silence on your part, and broke down at the sight of you. you’d never forget the way she wailed whilst examining the bruises on your arms and chest, holding you like a baby before packing your bags and taking you from your shared apartment with him.

you don’t remember what happened after that, it was traumatic and it had taken a year of therapy to even consider unpacking it properly. you remembered being sat with the boys, yejin holding you tight whilst they all promised to keep you safe. you’d spend a night at each of their homes in rotation for months and months, at the fear of night terrors and something worse.

the nights you’d stay with jungkook were the calmest, the scent of him imbedded deep into his home enough to lull you to sleep as he snored in the living room. your friends had supported you to an inch of your life, built up your confidence and protected you. you were no longer the meek girl jaehyun had forced you to be, you stood straight and you spoke clearly - but the sight of him; the feel of him, broke you out of it immediately.

“get off of me.” you shakily whispered, hand grabbing the hand on your hip and pushing it away with all your might, forcing yourself to step away. “you don’t get to touch me.”

his eyes darkened, the patronising grin falling from his face immediately. “you know, i thought i taught you better than that. made sure not to let you talk back, remember?”

his words made you flinch, clearly referring to the times he would plow a fist into you if you ever spoke up even remotely. you began inching backwards, throat bobbing and hands shaking.

“and that dress? so short, it’s like you’re begging for my attention. two years later and still acting like a slut, y/n?” his face contorted, as though even looking at you made him angry. “used to be such a good girl. used to fucking listen.”

“don’t speak to me. you’re..you’re not allowed to come near me.” you wheezed out as your hands shook and your stomach twisted, the horrible feeling of anxiety and fear beginning to take over you. yejin had helped you file a restraining order. he wasn’t allowed to do this to you.

“yeah? and who’s going to fucking stop me.” he growled, hand grabbing your arm tightly making you welp whilst his other pulled you forward to his chest. “fucking bitch. i’ll take you home, hm? teach you a lesson, teach you what you should have remembered.”

you couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. eyes closing and body shaking. his hand began gripping your face tightly, spouting abuse at you as your brain completely slipped away, shutting yourself down as trauma gripped the edges like a vice.

suddenly, you felt his touch completely leave you, forcing you to open them up again to find jaehyun on the floor, jungkook pounding his fists into his face. you could see taehyung shouting something, namjoon pulling you away and hobi running back inside where the others remained, no doubt to bring them to you.

you couldn’t think, your brain disassociating as your body trembled, prints of jaehyun’s hands all over your body. were you crying? tears were streaming down your face and you weren’t even aware, trembling as namjoon took you to a quiet corner, worried beyond belief.

taehyung had rushed back to their table to get a lighter, when namjoon, hobi and himself agreed to step out too, needing a smoke and fresh air. within moments of being outside, his eyes had widened at the sight of your abusive ex attacking you. he’d never get used to the look of fear in your face that felt so constant years ago, but seeing it back was enough to make him see red.

he wasn’t thinking, grabbing the man and plowing his fists into his face, watching him fall back. he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, only doing so once both yoongi and jimin had managed to get him off, watching as jaehyun scurried away as fast as he could, despite bleeding heavily from his face.

turning around, seeing you sat with your eyes unmoving and tears streaming, he wanted to chase the fucker and do it again. his baby, his girl - how could he do this to you? how could he look at you and not see anything other than stars and moon?

“y/nnie, can you hear me?” he cooed as yejin sobbed beside you, holding you tightly. the boys were all a nervous wreck, yoongi shaking angrily and the others trying to regain your attention.

after a few moments, your eyes began to focus. you met jungkook’s gaze first, your gaze flickering over him in a momentary lapse of confusion. “he’s gone, y/n. jungkook took care of it.” taehyung sniffled, crouched beside you.

a moment of silence was shared between you, the sounds of both yejin and tae filtering the air as the others ran their hands through their hair nervously.

“promise?” you asked, voice breaking making the tatted boy almost whine in sadness. “promise you, he won’t bother you again.”

you simply nodded. you hadn’t noticed how hard you were crying, with tears ruining your perfectly applied makeup and your chest heaving in what could only be fear. “i’m sorry joonie, was supposed to be your night.” you choked out.

the taller boy tutted over at you, pressing a kiss to your head. “don’t be silly, y/nnie.” he shook his head. “jungkook, why don’t you take her home? stay with her, yeah? think she’ll feel the best with you there.”

you hardly registered what was happening, feeling jungkook’s hands taking hold of yours as he helped you up. everyone took turns holding you for a second or two, ensuring personally that you were okay. yejin pressed kisses to your cheek through her own tears, promising you that you were safe and that nothing else would happen before crying further into jin’s chest. jungkook watched, almost helplessly as he waited for the uber to arrive, yoongi patting him on the back. it wasn’t long until he received the notification on his phone.

he looked at you now, as you sniffled and walked back over to him, his arms wrapping around you protectively as you all bid your goodbyes. you slid into the uber first, his arms cradling you as you shuffled into his shoulder, breathing in the same familiar scent that would soothe you.

after a while of silence, your eyebrows furrowed, taking in your surroundings. “this isn’t the way to my house.”

he looked down at you, your little hand on his. he pondered before holding it up to his mouth, pressing a little kiss to your fingers. “i know baby. taking you to mine.”

your heart was thumping again, watching him as he caressed your hands, kissing each fingertip so gently you wondered if he was kissing them at all. an act so intimate you wondered what it meant.

it wasn’t long until you arrived, mourning the loss of warmth jungkook’s body provided as he pulled you out gently, taking you inside.

you’d been here a million times before but you never tired of how warm it felt, how much it resembled each bit of him. you pulled off your heels, your height dropping significantly before shuffling to the bathroom, intent on taking your makeup off immediately.

the joys of having two skincare obsessed women in the group meant yejin and yourself kept these boys stocked, considering sleepovers were a norm. jungkook let you take your time, no words exchanged as he grabbed you a t shirt from his wardrobe, knowing how much you liked sleeping in them.

“kookie, can i shower?” you asked, quietly as you peeked your head out the bathroom.

“course you can, i got you the rose body wash that you like the other day too.” he grinned over at you, hands roaming his hair. he handed over the oversized tee you loved so much, heart skipping a beat as you gave him a soft smile. “you’re the best.” you muttered back, hearing a little chuckle from him.

you watched as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets before closing the door, your eyes screwed shut for a moment. so much had happened tonight, from feeling utterly helpless one second to so safe and warm in jungkook’s presence.

you showered relatively quickly, wanting no more than to sink into the plush mattress of his bed. “you hungry?” he asked once you came out, having showered himself in his other bathroom, dressed in a similar t shirt and plaid bottoms. he looked so cute.

“no, i’m okay.” he looked over with a small double take, drinking you in, soft skin and barely hidden legs. god, you drove him insane.

he nodded. “okay, wanna head to bed? it’s been a long night for you.” you shuffled in your spot before nodding.

he’d usually sleep on his couch whenever you were round, considering it was quite large and comfortable - of course, he didn’t want to intrude either. he had too much respect for you to ever think about imposing.

“will you..will you stay with me? tonight?” you whispered quietly, looking down as you asked.

he didn’t reply, simply began walking over to you and gently taking your hands in his, littering your smaller fingers with kisses like he did in the uber. your breath hitched as you met his gaze, watching as he nodded before leading you over to his bedroom, hand clasped over yours.

you let yourself be pulled by him, watching as he rounded the bed, knowing you preferred the side closest to the window, before getting in; watching you do the same. you both snuggled into the warmth of his covers, a groan leaving your lips.

he turned to look at you, as you did the same. he couldn’t handle how cute you looked, fresh faced and cuddled into his pillow. he wanted to protect you forever, have you sheltered from anything that didn’t wish even a semblance of joy.

“i’m sorry you got hurt, kookie.” you whispered, the little pout he loved so much forming. “i had no idea he was there and i just froze..i don’t know.”

he cooed at you, inching closer before slowly pulling you in by your waist so the space between you had disappeared. your hands moved to his chest without thinking, the urge coming naturally.

“don’t apologise, y/n. should have killed him for how he was speaking to you, i’m so sorry he did that.” his eyes shut tightly for a second, as though the memory pained him. “he’ll get what’s coming to him, i’ll make sure of it.”

you looked away, eyes falling to his neck and the rise and fall of his chest. “how do you feel?” he asked.

his hands moved to cup your face. you were both inching closer and closer without even realising it. “scared, honestly. i’ve been doing so good and now he’s reappeared.” you all but whimpered. “just wanna forget.”

“yeah?” he whispered, lifting your chin again to look at him, his forehead gently pressing against yours. “want me to help you forget, pretty girl?”

“please.” you nodded slowly, your eyes flickering to his lips whilst he did the same, the two of you dancing around the tension but tonight was enough.

he looked between your lips and eyes once more, before brushing his nose against yours. you tilted upwards before you felt a faint brush of his lips.

he pulled away, only slightly, looking at the way your eyes fluttered close, all resolve fluttering away from him before he properly pressed his lips to yours again.

kissing jungkook felt like coming home. consisting of passion and years of yearning, feeling like it had finally come to an end. all compiled into this single moment.

you pulled him closer, mouths interlocking as you shared a sweet embrace, his arms wrapping around your entire body before you began pulling away. the kiss was only brief, but its impact left you reeling.

“fuck.” he whispered. your eyes remained shut for a moment longer, opening them up to find a look of hope pulling at his fingers. “i’m going to kiss you again, okay y/n? but before i do that, we need to talk.”

you nodded, eyes focused on his lips before meeting his gaze. “okay. you go first.”

he nervously laughed, sitting up slightly and giving him a moment to get his bearings. he opened his mouth a few times, before closing it, unsure of where to start. “sorry, just hard you know? telling the girl you’re in love with that..you’re in love with her.” he rambled, scratching the back of his neck.

you could have sworn that the earth stopped spinning. you looked up at him, sitting up a little too fast, causing him to stop his rambled muttering before raising his eyebrows.

“what did you just say?” you all but whispered, eyes wide.

his mouth was gaping now, confusion littered on his face as though to question what had he actually said. once it dawned on him, his eyes matched the size of yours.

“oh…i mean i guess i said it. i..i get it if you don’t feel the same, i don’t want you to feel like you have to return the same feelings, you know?” he began again, this time much faster, the two of you completely sat up in bed. “but like can you blame me? loved you second i met you, y’know? always wanted to tell you but just get so shy around you, and you’re so pretty makes my brain shut down..”

whatever you had done in a past life, god bless. you were sure you would thank every god and every goddess for this very moment, your hands shaking as you grabbed his face, yanking it towards you and pressing your lips to his.

jungkook’s breath faltered for a second before realising what was happening. he wrapped his hands over your hips, careful not to touch the bruised skin your ex had caused, pulling you onto his lap immediately.

this kiss was unlike the other. though it shared the same passion and tension, this felt like a promise and declaration of love - a certainty that had waited to be confirmed for what felt like eons.

your mouths moved in unison, your fingers gripping into his hair as he brought you closer. he groaned into your mouth, your tongues moving together whilst you both pushed and pulled, yearning for more whilst every emotion ran through you. the feel of his piercing against your mouth felt cool; an odd feeling at first touch but quickly becoming something your brain felt addicted to.

he pulled away slowly for breath, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenching as he looked directly at you, nudging his nose with yours. “is that your way of telling me you like me?”

“i love you, you idiot.” you whispered back at him, the both of you resorting to pecks. “loved you for so long, can’t believe you haven’t told me until day.” he grinned at this, nudging your nose once more.

“yeah, you didn’t either.”

you rolled your eyes, playing with his hair from behind. “does this mean we can kiss all the time?” you asked, pecking him whilst excitedly bouncing in his lap.

he groaned loudly, hands flying to grab your waist carefully as you smothered his faces in excited kisses. “yeah, won’t ever keep my hands off of you again.”

jungkook, although elated, was fighting the demons that were currently erupting through his chest. you, in no more than his shirt and your underwear, bouncing in his lap, conveniently over his crotch where he was already fighting his growing hard on.

“fuck, y/n.” he groaned again, holding you down a little firmer, unaware that the action was now directly pushing your own core directly to his crotch. you let out a little noise, half moan half whimper; eyes connecting.

neither of you dared to move. the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable, especially after the night you had which is shy he began to pull you up, to rest you on your side of the bed again.

only, you placed your hands on his shoulders, pressing your core against his bulge firmly before rolling your hips experimentally. you couldn’t help the moan that left you, a noise leaving his lips that rivalled it.

“still…still wanna forget kookie, you’ll do that for me?” you asked, unable to stop your hips from moving in circles, not when it felt so good.

he nodded, as though in a trance, guiding your hips as he shuddered against you. “don’t want you to feel like i’m taking advantage, baby, you’ve had such a long night.” he whispered, though your actions never faltered.

sweet, sweet boy. you couldn’t believe this was happening, the man of your dreams, both your heart and brain no longer at odds but instead connected finally in matrimony. “wanted you for so long.” you breathed out with a shake of your head.

this was beyond anything he could imagine. with direct confirmation from you, he captured your lips once more, hands planted firmly on your waist as he dragged you up and down his clothed cock. you shared moans, quiet and unsure at first before you found yourself matching his movement, the two of you closer than ever in a way you had Both only dreamt of.

“fuck. we have to stop, or i’ll cum.” jungkook whined as he pulled away from your lips, arms entirely wrapping around your body as if to stop you, closing his eyes tightly. “and i plan to impress you, so..”

you panted, with both a slight nod and slight giggle before whimpering at the loss of pleasure. this only lasted a few more seconds before suddenly, you found yourself flipped, a squeal leaving you. jungkook hovered over you, peeling his shirt from his body before swooping down to catch your lips again.

you couldn’t help your wandering hands, fingers twitching over his naked chest. you had seen him shirtless before, notably when you had all gone to the beach, but the memory was seared into the crevice of your mind. feeling his skin so intimately was completely different.

your lips moved in unison before he broke away, whining at his own action as he pulled his t-shirt you wore. he looked at you for approval, to which you nodded before he pulled it up over your head.

jungkook groaned, loudly. the sight of your bare breasts were enough for him to go clinically insane, but the way you were looking up at him, eyes big and lips bruised. you would be the end of him.

“fuck, look at you. so pretty.” he reached for one of your breasts, listening to the quickening of your breath as he wrapped his mouth around one. biting, teasing and licking, he proceeded to leave honeyed marks on your skin, whilst your moans and squeaks egged him on.

he moved to your other, making sure to physically leave his claim over them with hickeys adorning your body. “need you, kook.” you whined, impatient.

the side of his mouth flickered up at the sound of your impatience, and as much as he wanted to ruin you immediately, he had waited too long for this to just end up rushing.

“need to prep you first, hm? gonna be patient for me?” he cooed as his hands continued cupping your breasts. you nodded, eagerly, hands locking into his hair as he gave them one last kiss before easing down your body, trailing kisses from your stomach to your hips. he kissed over the bruised skin jaehyun had caused, making your heart clench for a moment.

the boy you loved, with wild eyes and bruised lips, searing love into every crevice of skin he could reach, ridding you of the pain that disgusting man had placed on you. he was freeing you with every touch, with every promise hidden behind passionate touches, you felt so safe.

he parted your legs, eyes flickering up to meet yours. he grabbed the hem of your underwear, sliding it down so that he was met with your core, a noise of pure defeat leaving him at the sight of you. wet and clenching for him, yearning for his touch just as much as he yearned to taste you. “all for me, baby?”

you nodded, as he parted your legs further despite how suddenly shy you felt. he dipped his head, planting a chaste kiss to your clit, watching as your body jolted. with a smirk, he dove in.

he couldn’t help the noises that were leaving him as he sucked and licked, intoxicated by your taste. “taste so good, y/n.” he’d moan in between your legs. “could die here.” he’d add. “addicted to you.” he’d all but growl.

you couldn’t help the moans, you’d never felt like this before. sure you’d been eaten out before, but never by a man who acted like this was his last starving meal. jungkook hoisted your legs wider, as your hips lifted, your hands tight against his scalp.

“need to stretch you, fuck. need to make sure i fit, hm?” he teased, eyes connecting with yours as one of his tatted fingers teased your entrance whilst sucking on your clit. you hated the thought of any woman before you in his life, but you thanked every higher power above that he knew what he was doing, feeling your high in your stomach already.

he instered a finger, pumping at a pace that had your toes curling. the whines that were leaving you made him dizzy, he wanted more. it wasn’t long before he inserted another, beginning to thrust them in unison whilst you chanted his name.

he groaned at the sight of you lifting your hips, desperate to reach your high. he had no idea he was grinding into the bed, chasing a high of his own as he watched you quiver and moan. “so tight, y/n, can’t wait to feel you on my cock. hm? won’t be able to think once you’re being fucked right, baby.”

you nodded, head empty and hands shaking. “w-want it, kookie, want it so bad.”

his fingers quickened, getting rougher and going harder as he sucked on your clit. he could feel you getting restless, knew you were on the edge from the way you were pushing his head closer without even realising. he could feel his sick obsession in his brain growing rapidly knowing you wanted him just as much, it felt like nothing else mattered than making you good.

“jungkook.” you let out a high pitched squeal, feeling your high rapidly approaching before your legs began to shake, and hips began to raise. your high ran through you like a shot of electricity, as your moans grew higher, his fingers pumped faster and his hand pressed down onto your stomach, forcing you to feel every inch of your orgasm.

he parted from you after you began quivering from overstimulation, plopping his fingers into his mouth to memorise your addicting taste. he hovered over you once more, the tent in his bottoms too large for you to ignore.

“i hate that you’re so good at that.” you panted, unable to meet his eyes as your focused on his bulge. he smirked, watching you, placing your smaller hand onto it so you could feel him fully. “i’m all yours now baby. gonna eat you out every chance you give me.”

your eyes met, a shared grin forming between you both before you pulled him in sharply for a kiss. hot and heavy, you could taste yourself on him which drove you insane - you reached for his pyjama bottoms, pushing them down almost desperately.

parting from him, with hooded eyes, you looked down at his cock. so big and thick, prettier than any you’d ever seen before you let out the cutest moan. he swore he could die happy. “how are you this perfect, and you have a pretty dick?”

“are you trying to inflate my ego? it’s working. i’ll get that tatted on my chest, don’t play.”

you giggled up at him before pumping him, both hands moving up and down as you sighed. “want you inside me, kookie.” you peered up. “don’t make me wait anymore.”

he pressed one last kiss to you, groaning at the feel of your hands around his already sensitive member. he parted your legs, one peek at your messy core enough to drive him insane before he began rubbing the head over you.

“don’t think you’ll fit.” you whimpered, the feel of him all encompassing.

“i’ll make it fit, was born for you baby.” jungkook promised, as he began pushing his cock in, your core instantly clenching around him. he began slowly, until he was fully inside, pelvis to pelvis, eyes fluttering shut.

you’d never felt so full in your life, the stretch both delicious and overwhelming. your fingers clawed at his large biceps, whimpers and quivers filling in the air as he held you tightly, whispering sweet nothings about how good you were for him, how incredible you felt. once you gave him the green light, he began thrusting.

he couldn’t believe this is what he was missing out on. he couldn’t believe how tightly and warmly you felt around him, felt like he was finally coming home.

his hips snapped against yours slowly, letting you feel every inch as your moans got louder and louder. “faster, kook.” you begged, though you knew you never had to, he’d give you the world.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” he chanted, his pace changing as he began to thrust faster per your request, pressing his head against yours. “feel so good, my y/n, my girl.”

you clenched around him over his words making him airily chuckle, thrusting harder at that. “yeah, like that? like me calling you my girl?”

“yeah, wanna be yours jungkook.” you whimpered back, legs reaching up to wrap around his waist as he began to thrust deeper.

the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air and he knew his neighbours would be furious tomorrow, but could hardly begin to care. “you are, hm? was always my girl, you’re all mine and i’m all yours.” he promised, biceps flexing beside your face. “won’t ever let you go.”

you mewled loudly, hands finding home in his hair as you pulled against the strands. “feel so full.”

“yeah? pussy loves it baby, loves taking it.” he growled back, head hiding in your neck, leaving hickeys.

you could already feel your high approaching, but you couldn’t bare for this to end yet, lightly pushing his chest. he immediately pulled himself up and stopped thrusting, looking down at you with furrowed eyes. “wanna ride you.” you whimpered to which he threw his head back in what could only be a pathetic groan.

“you’re going to kill me, y/n.”

soon, your positions had changed and you were slipping him back inside, the two of you moaning loudly at the feel of one another in such a deeply intimate way. he felt so much bigger like this, and the feeling of fullness for you and your heat for him were enough to drive you mad.

he watched as you began to bounce, body contorting at the feeling of pleasure running through you. this was the hottest sight he had ever seen, your hands pressed against his chest to stabilise yourself.

“fuck yourself on my cock, that’s it.” he cooed, hands grabbing onto your ass before landing a harsh spank, to which you mewled and rode faster. you had no idea to what extent you were driving him crazy.

he watched as you rose, hands now held behind yourself as you practically used him to get off. the sight was severed into his brain forever, with his fingers rubbing your clit to bring you closer to your high. “already so close, feels too good.” you moaned.

music to his ears, jungkook thought. you were getting tighter and tighter, no doubt nearing your second high but he couldn’t bring himself to lay back anymore. he grabbed your ass again, before bouncing you up and down himself, your moans getting expeditiously louder.

“jungkook!” you squealed, feeling his cock fuck you in a way no one had ever managed to. you were addicted, you had no idea how you were ever suppose to live again after this, after experiencing heaven.

“fuck baby, can feel you getting close hm? wanna cum with me, wanna cum on my cock?” he cooed at you, switching your positions again. you were now on your side, one leg on his shoulder whilst he hovered over you, pounding roughly whilst rubbing your clit.

you chanted yes over and over, his free hand holding your own as he could feel his own high approaching. with the final rub to your clit, your breath stitched as your orgasm rushed through every inch of you, shaking your body beneath him.

the sight alone was enough to bring him to his own high, giving you one last sloppy thrust before cumming, his fingers on your clit not letting up as he chased you through your high, your moans twisting into one another.

his fingers fell, alongside your leg on his shoulder leaving you both a shuddering mess. he immediately found home, his forehead touching yours whilst your breaths mingled, panting at one another.

you spent a few minutes just like that, getting your bearings before he slowly pulled out, groaning at the sight of his cum trailing out of you.

“you okay, did i go too hard?” he cooed at you, his hands reaching for your face as he planted sweet kisses over your cheeks.

“felt so good, kookie. felt perfect.” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around his neck immediately, pulling him down to properly meet you beside him.

he could hardly believe it. the love of his life, cuddling into him after a session of pure passion and lust. he was addicted to you; sure that no other drug would be as potent as you. completely ruined from the inside out.

you both stayed silent for a while, simply caressing and kissing each other. it felt so pure, so right that you felt ashamed knowing you hadn’t told him your feelings earlier. you had long forgotten everything that happened that night, your brain totally encompassed by the thought of him.

“i’m never going to live down the fact i should have confessed to you earlier.” he frowned at you. “we wasted so much time.”

to this, you giggled, holding him close. “we were idiots, but i guess this means we have to make up for it, right?”

jungkook grinned widely at your words, taking your hand in his and lightly kissing your fingertips. “firstly,” he began, sitting up slightly so that you could look at him properly. “i love you, love you so much i can’t breathe when i look at you.”

you took him in, a bashful smile forming. “secondly, know i didn’t properly ask but this makes you my girlfriend, right?” he asked, smiling wider as he watched you nod excitedly with a squeak. “not for long though, i’ll put a pretty ring on that finger in no time.”

your mouth fell open at his words, eyes widening. “jungkook, you can’t say that!” you giggled, evidently very giddy at his words. say more, your heart screamed.

“please, i’ve learnt my lesson y/n. not wasting any more time.” he teased back, the two of you embracing and sharing a sweet kiss.

this was everything you both had wanted and more, spending the rest of the night talking, embracing and perhaps dabbling in other pleasurable activities. soon, you both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. home, at last.

——

“you owe me like 50.” namjoon grinned widely at jimin.

the group had walked into jungkook’s apartment, each bringing breakfast assortments and flowers for you to make sure you were alright. they had been so worried last night that they’d gone straight home, each of them unsure of what to do but all understanding that the safest place for you to be was with jungkook.

when jin had seen yoongi and examined the redness of his knuckles, he couldn’t help but grin, knowing full well the boy had probably paid jaehyun a little visit sometime in the night. neither party said anything, but an understanding was shared. you were the youngest of the group, and of course, they were incredibly protective.

what they didn’t, expect, however was to see you cuddled up in jungkook’s arms, the two of you snoring away, evidently naked considering the duvet was hardly doing anything for modesty. upon sight of this, they all silently cheered, filtering out into the living room.

“no way, you ALL owe me 80, i said they’d fuck, you guys just said they’d confess.” yejin chimed in with a grumble, prodding a figure into the taller man’s chest.

hobi couldn’t help his giggles as he began unpacking breakfast. “whatever, can we all just be glad that this ordeal is finally over?”

taehyung nodded. “no more y/n pining.”

“no more jungkook whining.” jin added.

“no more will they, won’t they.” namjoon grinned, grabbing a seat at jungkook’s kitchen table.

“no more does she lo-“ yejin began, before shutting her mouth immediately. all eyes furrowed, including hers, straining their ears to hear the sudden noises forming in the bedroom as their heads snapped, looking over.

a moan filtered out into the air to which everyone groaned, realising what had instead replaced it. “pack it up, lovebirds.” jin shouted loudly. “breakfast on the table in 5, i expect you out and showered.”

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street-smarts00 · 3 days ago

Text

Wish You Were Sober

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: The four times you confessed to Spencer while drunk, and the one time you did it sober

WC: 8.0 k

Tags/warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, lot’s of mention of alcohol consumption, regretting things said while drunk, drunk flirty reader, reader is emotionally constipated and doesn’t want to feel her feelings at first

A/N: chat I’ve been sitting on this for MONTHS it’s been marinating in my google docs for a while so hope you enjoy! I lowkey picture this happening in earlier seasons Spence but picture whatever you like ;) Beta read by the lovely @whats-yesterday00

The first time it happened, your feelings were just starting to peek through the surface.

You tried your hardest to shove them back down. Trying to convince yourself that developing the beginnings of a crush was absolutely not happening. But the alcohol opened the door you tried to close.

The whole team went out for drinks on a friday night. After multiple shots with Derek and JJ, plus the drinks you had before that, you were feeling quite a buzz. A buzz that always left you more flirty and courageous than normal.

You were busy dancing amongst the crowd with Penelope and JJ. The music was flowing through you all as it blasted throughout the bar. The movement and crowd caused the temperature to rise exponentially.

You wiped the sweat forming on your forehead and paused your dancing.

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked.

“I’m melting,” you answered, fanning yourself. “I gotta go sit down.”

Penelope blew you a kiss and said, “be back soon!” as you made your way to the table. You of course blew a kiss back to her.

After weaving through the mass of people, you approached the table housing the rest of your coworkers with a heavy sigh.

“You done partying already, pretty girl?” Derek teased.

“No, not yet. I just need a breather. It feels like 1000 degrees right now.” You sat down across from him and next to Spencer.

Derek’s attention was pulled towards someone behind you. A smirk grew on his face, “Oh Reid look, it’s that girl from earlier she’s back.”

Spencer’s face flushed at Derek’s remark.

“What girl?” you asked intrigued. You hated the taste that question left in your mouth.

“It’s nothing,” Spencer tried to brush off before Derek interrupted.

“She was flirting with him when he went up to the bar.”

“She was not!” Spencer squeaked.

Derek chuckled, “oh yes she was,” his eyes turned back to you. “She was definitely into him. And judging by the fact that she keeps looking over here, I think she wants to talk to him again.”

Spencer hid his face in his hands and quietly groaned.

“Why don’t you go over there? Go talk to her,” you encouraged while silently hoping he doesn’t leave the table.

Spencer lifted his face from his hands. His face was scarlet now.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but cut himself off. He saw your eyes staring back at him and felt his palms getting sweaty. He swallowed and stuttered on his words. “Because I wouldn’t know what to say. I can’t flirt.”

Derek leaned back in his chair, dissatisfied with his answer. “That’s bull.”

“It’s not bull.” That was probably the closest you came to hearing Spencer curse. “I’d probably make a fool of myself and say something stupid.”

“Spencer, you say a lot of things,” this earned a chuckle from Derek across the table, “But I don’t think you could ever say something stupid.”

Spencer tried to resist the smile spreading on his face from your compliment.

“Still doesn’t change the fact that once I open my mouth, she’ll lose all interest in me.”

A small pout appeared on your lips. “Well, I don’t see how a girl wouldn’t find you endearing.”

“Really?” He didn’t believe you.

“Yes! I thought you were so cute when I first met you,” your eyes brightened. “The day we met, I remember you were rambling about something and I just sat there amazed.”

He swallowed as his ears turned crimson. “You thought I was cute?” his voice cracked at the end of his question.

“Sweetie, I think you’re more than cute,” your voice lowered as you locked eyes with him.

“Morgan calls you pretty boy for a reason,” you continued with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Spencer’s heart damn near stopped. He knew your playful demeanor was from the amount of drinks you’d consumed, but still seeing you so openly attracted to him was making him delirious.

Morgan, of course, found the whole interaction to be the most intriguing thing he’d seen all week. The growing amused smile on his face was telling enough.

“Wow I think that girl from the bar has got some competition,” he teased.

You shrugged in response to his comment. “Maybe,” was all you gave as your answer. You stood up from your chair with Spencer's eyes still beaming at you.

“I’m gonna go dance some more,” you turned to the man next to you. “You wanna come with, pretty boy?”

Spencer struggled to get the words out for a few seconds. “I can’t. I don’t know how to dance.”

You tried to hide the disappointment on your face but the gleam in your eyes had dimmed.

“Maybe next time,” you replied before making your way back to the girls.

Spencer watched you walk away and disappear into the crowd. He then received an extensive amount of teasing and questions as to why he didn’t say yes from Morgan for the next 20 minutes while you were gone.

Over the weekend, the hangxiety set in. You layed in bed staring at the ceiling as the memories from Friday night flooded your mind.

The anxiety followed into Monday as you stood in the elevator. The doors opened to the sixth floor and you reluctantly dragged yourself to the bullpen.

Your hands tightened around your bag as you approached your desk. Spencer’s eyes lingered on you as you set your things down

“Morning,” he greeted with a small smile.

“Morning,” you mumbled.

You fidgeted with your hands and stepped closer to his desk.

“Listen Spence, about Friday night… l’m sorry I was flirty with you.”

His cheeks turned a dusty rose at the memory. “It’s alright.”

This still didn’t ease your worries. “Are you sure? The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable around me. Especially because of something I did.”

His eyes softened when he noticed just how nervous you were.

“I don’t, I promise,” he reassured.

“So we’re okay?”

He nodded with a small smile and the weight started to lift off your shoulders.

___________________________________________

The second time it happened was a few weeks later.

It was Derek’s birthday. The whole team went out to dinner followed by a trip to the bar to keep the night going.

Spencer stayed behind at the table, watching you order drinks and chat with Emily at the bar. He also tried to ignore the angry green feeling surfacing as the bartender flirted with you.

“So, are you finally gonna dance with her tonight?” Derek asked the young man as he sat down beside him.

Spencer sighed as he kept his eyes trained on you. “I don’t know.”

His friend patted him on the back, “Come on man. Consider it my birthday present.”

Spencer turned his attention to the man beside him. “I already got you a present.”

“Kid,” Rossi interjected from farther down the table, “in my professional opinion, when a woman asks you to dance, you dance.”

This brought out a smile from Hotch.

“Even if you think you’ll look like a fool,” Rossi continued.

“Like two weeks ago when that woman asked Morgan to dance,” Hotch teased, which brought out an annoyed expression from the man in question.

“Hey! I was not that bad,” Derek defended.

“You looked like a bird doing a mating dance,” Spencer now joined in.

Derek looked appalled from the younger man’s joke.

Soon after you approached the table with Emily. “What’s so funny?” You asked the table.

”Morgan's attempts to woo women,” Rossi joked.

Emily took a sip from her drink and rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh where do I begin?”

Derek stood up from the table shaking his head and smiling. “Well, I’m gonna go dance with people who appreciate my moves.” He then made his way to the open area where Penelope and JJ were.

Back at the table, before you could sit down, the speakers of the bar started to play Maneater by Nelly Furtado. You gasped and a bright smile filled your features.

“I love this song!” You squealed.

You set your half consumed drink down on the table and looked at Spencer, “Do you want to go dance?”

He looked at you surprised. “Me?” He squeaked.

You giggled, finding his reaction cute, “Yes you!”

Spencer started closing in on himself. Before he could come up with the excuse he used last time you said, “I can teach you. It’ll be so much fun!”

You were oblivious to the knowing looks from your other team mates at the table. Your focus was only on Spencer. Staring deep into his golden eyes and finding nothing but comfort.

“Okay,” he agreed with a small smile.

You beamed with excitement, “Yay! Let’s go.” You offered your hand to him. He took it and found you pulling him up from his chair and towards the dance floor.

He followed you through the people in the crowd until you found an open space to settle. You held onto his hands as you swayed to the beat.

Spencer tried to follow you but was still noticeably tense. He was also less focused on his dancing because he was too enamored by your movements. Watching you sway so effortlessly with the rhythm.

“Look at you Spence! You’re getting the hang of it,” you praised.

He appreciated the compliment but cringed, “I feel awkward.”

“That’s not how dancing should feel. You should feel free and loose.” You let go of his hands and spun around.

A real smile spread on his lips, “I’m surprised you’re this coordinated with how many drinks you’ve had.”

“Oh, I guess you missed when I almost stepped on you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “I guess I didn’t.”

The song ended and changed to Don’t Stop The Music by Rihanna. Your jaw dropped and your face filled with excitement.

“You like this song?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.

You grabbed his hands once more and grinned, “Yes!” You resumed dancing with his hands in yours. This time you were mouthing the lyrics of the song.

I gotta get my body moving, shake the stress away you heard from the speakers and shook Spencer's hands.

“You gotta shake the stress baby!” you cheered at him.

He bashfully laughed watching you drunkenly shout. And hearing you call him baby, but that’s beside the point.

As the song played your hips and shoulders moved to the rhythm of the music. He wasn’t as successful as you when it came to swaying his hips but he could move his shoulders and copy you.

Who knew that you’d be up in here lookin’ like you do?

You took a step back and gestured to him as the song said. Spencer shook his head and pulled on your hands to bring you back closer to him.

Do you know what you started? I just came here to party

You took him pulling you back as a way to sneak your arms around his neck.

But now we're rockin’ on the dance floor actin’ naughty

Spencer’s cheeks started to turn red at the closeness.

Your hands around my waist, just let the music play

You retracted your hands to grab his and place them on your waist.

We’re hand in hand, chest to chest, and now we’re face to face

By the time your arms returned wrapped around his neck, his ears were crimson. With your arms around him your shirt raised slightly. His hands met the gap of your skin that was exposed.

Even though he felt like his insides were going to melt, he kept his hands on you and kept dancing. Spencer followed the steps you took, the way you moved back and forth. He was finally starting to let the music flow through him.

You definitely took notice. It only made you more eager to dance with him.

As the song continued into the next verse you grew more confident.

Don’t you feel the passion ready to explode?

Your hands moved to his shoulders. You moved in closer, and with a playful smirk sang along the words so Spencer could hear.

What goes on between us, no one has to know

Just when Spencer thought the fluttering in his stomach couldn’t get worse, you leaned in close to his ear and whispered the next lyric.

This is a private show

The air between you was magnetic. It felt like you were in your own little world. Like the rest of the bar goers were gone. Suddenly, it was just you two on that dance floor.

Spencer’s face was inches away from yours. You were so close you could count the freckles on his pink cheeks.

“You look so cute, all flustered,” you muttered.

He licked his lips nervously, “I’m not used to dancing like this with someone.”

“Are you having fun at least?”

“Yes,” he answered instantly.

“Well then, we should do this more often,” you offered with a sweet smile.

As the song came to an end you leaned up and left a kiss on Spencer’s cheek. You took a step back to fully look at him. His eyes slightly widened and his lips parted from your peck on his cheek.

“I love dancing with you,” you released your hold on his shoulders. The ghost of your touch was still hot on his skin. “Hopefully we can do this again.”

His eyes shined as he looked at you, “I’d like that.”

________________________________________

The third time it happened, Spencer got a phone call at 12:04 am.

He was resting on his couch, nose deep in a book, when he heard his phone buzz. He breathed a sigh of relief at the caller ID revealing it to be you instead of Hotch with a new case.

When he answered, he heard loud music and faint voices in the back.

“Hello?”

You quickly answered back, “Spencer! I didn’t wake you, did I?” Your voice had a higher pitch than normal.

“No, I was just reading. What’s up?”

“I went out to a bar for girls night but…I had one too many drinks,” you whined.

He sat up straighter, “are you alright?”

There was a pause before you spoke again. “The room is spinning. I’m really dizzy and everything is overwhelming,” you mumbled. Hearing you sound so scared and small made his heart hurt.

“I didn’t want to bother the girls because they’re having so much fun and none of them can drive right now.”

Before you could finish your statement, he was already standing up and walking to find his shoes and jacket.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” He knew the answer.

“Please. Can you?” you begged.

Spencer was grabbing his keys and out the door in a heartbeat. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot. He walked inside and looked around the crowded room. A few meters away, a hand rose from a booth and waved him over.

He followed it and found Emily, JJ and Penelope keeping you company at the booth. You rested your head in your arms, which were folded on the table.

JJ carefully tapped your arm, “hey, your ride is here.”

You slowly lifted your head up and beamed at the sight of him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he said softly.

“They found me,” you said pointing to your friends. “They said they would babysit me until you showed up.”

He chuckled and lightly rubbed your shoulder, “You okay? You think you can walk to the car?”

You nodded and slowly stood up.

“Text one of us when you get home safe,” Penelope announced.

You gave a lazy thumbs up in her direction and turned to Spencer, “Can you remind me to do that?”

The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Of course. Come on, let's get you home,” he nodded towards the door.

You waved and said goodbye to the girls before Spencer led you through the crowd with his hand in yours. You grasped his hand like it was an anchor in the over-stimulating environment.

When you stepped outside, the cool breeze caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. The fresh air and dulled sounds were already starting to help you feel better.

Unfortunately, your balance was still screwed and you managed to trip over air. Before you could fall to the ground, Spencer swiftly reached out and caught you. He helped you stand back up and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“I got you, you’re okay,” he muttered close to your ears.

Him being so sweet was going to make your stomach twist.

The rest of the walk to the car he kept his arm around you. Your body instinctively leaned into him and used his frame to keep you upright.

When you reached his car, he opened the passenger door and let go of his hold on you. You almost whined at the loss of contact.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you spoke quietly as he helped guide you into the car.

Before he closed the door and headed to the driver's seat he offered a kind, “You’re welcome.”

The beginning of the car ride was quite aside from the hushed music on the radio. You leaned back, slouching in the car seat.

You watched Spencer’s hands on the wheel instead of the rapidly changing view of the windshield. Your fuzzy mind was trying to focus on anything that wasn't the dizzy spinning feeling that couldn't go away.

Of course your thoughts were jumbled with images of the man next to you.

“You’re so nice,” you said with a fond look.

He looked at you with brief confusion over your random declaration. “Thanks,” he returned his eyes to the road.

You shuffled in your seat to face him.

“No you’re really nice,” you huffed, frustrated he somehow didn’t understand the full scope of what your drunk brain meant. “You’re so kind and sweet to everyone. I love it.”

An amused smile grew on his face. “I try to be,” he returned.

“You are.”

He quickly glanced over to see your figure leaning against the seat. Or more like the seat holding you up. Your eyes occasionally felt heavy, leading to your eyelids fluttering every so often.

“You look half asleep,” he teased.

“I feel half asleep.”

“Then why are you so chatty all of a sudden?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, just feel like talking.”

You forced your eyes open to get a better look at him. “I like talking with you.”

Spencer tried not to think about how your voice was much more soft and melodious than normal.

“I like talking with you too,” he affirmed.

He suddenly went down a mental rabbit hole of your previous conversations with him. How often you conversed over coffee early in the morning. All those plane rides home where you both had to stifle your laughter so as to not bother the others. Or the dozens of times he rambled to you about endless topics.

“I’m surprised I haven't bored you yet with how much I talk.”

“Oh sweetie, I could never get bored of you.”

His ears started to turn red at the flirtatious tone in your voice.

“I could listen to you talk for hours. Even about things I don’t understand. I’ll always listen to you,” you continued.

“Really?” He muttered with a slight voice crack. His heart rate was steadily growing.

“Uh huh,” you confirmed sweetly.

His eyes darted to yours for a fleeting moment. You looked completely and utterly enraptured by him.

“Your voice sounds like honey.”

Spencer's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He kept his gaze trained on the road ahead.

“We’re almost at your apartment,” he deflected.

Your smile fell slightly.

The air in the car was growing stale by the seconds. Neither of you spoke until he pulled up to your building.

As you reached for the door handle, he whispered for you to “wait one second.” You complied. He got out of the car and walked to your side. He opened the passenger door and held out a hand for you.

“What a gentleman,” you said with a smug grin.

He chuckled and made sure you didn’t stumble as you stepped out of the car.

“I try,” he replied.

“You succeed.”

As you walked together to your apartment, neither of you let go of the other's hand. At your door, you fumbled with your keys. Spencer tried to offer to open the door himself but you shooed away his hand and mumbled, “I got it, I got it.”

After fighting with the lock, you stepped inside and practically threw your bag on the couch. You were seconds away from falling on the couch yourself before Spencer calmly grabbed your shoulders.

“Come on, let's get you to bed.”

You whined but didn’t object. He guided you down the hall to your room. In the dark, he reached for your lamp and turned it on. You plopped down on your bed and yawned.

“Where are your makeup wipes?” He asked, looking around the room.

You pointed towards the dresser, “In the top left drawer.” He followed your directions and returned to your bed, handing the pack to you.

“See I told you. You’re so nice,” you complimented while lazily cleaning your hours old makeup off.

“Why because I got you your makeup wipes?” He joked with a playful tone.

You giggled in response. The sound made Spencer feel like he was the intoxicated one. He would never get used to the way you laughed.

“No silly, not just that. The fact that you’re still here.”

You tried and failed at getting your lipstick and eyeliner off. Instead you smeared the deep colors around your face.

Spencer’s lips formed a thin line, trying not to smile at you smearing your makeup. He grabbed a fresh wipe and kneeled down in front of you. “Here let me help,” he mumbled. With careful hands, he pressed the damp wipe to your face to finish the job.

“Of course I was going to stay with you,” he acknowledged your previous comment. “I’m not going to just drop you off. I wanted to make sure you were safe and feeling okay.”

You tried not to smile because his hand was so close to your mouth. Your brain was going to short circuit at the closeness. His face mere inches away. His hand and the skin of your face are only separated by a tiny piece of cloth.

You watched intently as he used his thumb to wipe off the last bit of lipstick. His movements were desperately slow as he handled you with care. Like you were a fragile statue he couldn’t let break.

The action made your chest tighten and your heart race. If you had consumed another drink or two back at the bar, you would’ve jumped at the chance to kiss him.

But instead, you stared deeply into his eyes as he checked your face for any more makeup residue. His pupils were wide. You assumed it was from the dim lighting of the room.

You may not have been drunk enough to kiss him, but you were drunk enough to joke about it.

“What if I just kissed you right now?”

His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock. “What has gotten into you?” he questioned in a lighthearted tone.

“What? it’s not just me! You’re also staring at my lips!” you put your hands up in defense with a mischievous grin. “Just say you wanna kiss me.”

He chuckled at your antics. “Because I’m taking off your makeup. And what about you staring at my eyes?”

A grin spread on your face. “I can’t help it. They’re beautiful. Nice to look at.”

“They’re not that nice.”

“I beg to differ gorgeous,” you returned with a wink. “I could look at them all day.”

Spencer smiled as his cheeks turned pink. He looked between your eyes and your lips before his expression faltered for a moment. Like he was mentally stuck on something.

However, because of your dizzy mind and vision, you didn’t pick up on it.

He stood back up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You think you’ll be okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah. Thanks again for … everything.”

“You’re welcome.” He started walking towards your bedroom door but before he left the room, he paused. “Don’t forget to let the girls know you got home safe.”

Your jaw went slack and a hand flew to your forehead, “oh my god you’re right.”

He fought back a grin from your reaction. “Goodnight,” he offered before he left.

You waved and said goodnight as his frame left your bedroom. The sound of the front door shutting soon followed.

Before you passed out for the night you texted penelope you got home safe. But you didn’t see her reply until the morning.

Penelope: yay!

Penelope: hope you feel better my sweets <3

Thanks :) I have a raging migraine so I better feel better soon

Penelope: :(

Penelope: oh btw, how’d it go with boy genius???

Ugh

I flirted with him AGAIN

Penelope: you’re kidding!

Penelope: What did you say?

I can’t remember all of it but at some point I said his voice sounds like honey

Penelope: OMG

Oh no it gets worse

He helped me take off my makeup and I said I wanted to kiss him. And THEN I pointed out how he stared at my lips and I said “just say you wanna kiss me”

Penelope: oh girlie

Penelope: I think you have to throw in the towel

Penelope: you love him

You stared at the words on the screen before your hands could even type a reply. Mentally fighting with yourself about the subject.

No way

I can’t be in love with him

He’s my friend I can’t do that

Penelope: I don’t think you have much of a choice

You sighed and turned off your phone. As you reached for the aspirin bottle, you prayed you wouldn’t do something stupid like this ever again

You were wrong.

______________________________________

By the fourth time it happened, almost a month had passed since you asked him to pick you up.

To celebrate the success of a case, his coworkers and friends wanted to go out for some down time. He thanked them for the invitation but kindly rejected it saying he had previous plans to attend some film festival. In reality, he had been on the fence about attending the film festival and ended up spending the evening at home.

As much as he wanted an excuse to spend time with you, he couldn’t go through another evening of you flirting with him.

Normally, it’d be his dream to have you flirt with him and call him sweet names. To hear how much you liked his voice, his eyes, and the way his brilliant mind worked. But the more it occurred, the more confused he felt.

At first, he assumed you were just a flirtatious drunk and there was no meaning behind your advances. But as time went on, he saw your actions and affectionate words had so much desire, so much longing that he started to suspect they were based on real feelings.

Yet, it was only reserved for the version of you that had multiple drinks running through your system.

He’d almost given up on asking you how you felt. Almost.

Something that gave him a glimmer of hope was a voicemail he received.

In an effort to actually get some sleep, he took a late night shower. When he returned to his bedroom, he found his cell phone had received a voicemail. He checked and saw he missed a call from the very person he was anxiously avoiding.

With new clean pajamas on, he grabbed his phone and sat down on his bed ready for the possible plea for him to pick you up. He clicked the message and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hi Spence! I wanted to talk but it looks like you’re busy,” your voice sounded sweet and bubbly. He deduced you might have already gone home at this point given the fact that this time there was no loud background music or voices.

“I missed you tonight. I wish you came with us. I know that isn’t always your favorite place to be, but I still kinda had hope. I love spending time with you. I don’t care if it’s at work or off the clock, it makes me so happy to see you.”

His heart felt warm from the way you talked about him. Your voice sounded giddy and occasionally you would slur your words.

“It’s kinda silly but when we don’t have work or plans, I will literally count down the days until I get to see you again. Isn’t that silly? I spend like five or six days of my week with you and when I don’t see you, I’m thinking about when I’ll see you again.”

Spencer found familiarity in what you were saying. For the last few weeks he found his thoughts were constantly revolving back to you. Whether intentionally or not.

“I pretty much think about you all the time. It’s becoming a bit of a problem. I don’t mean you’re a problem! The problem is how much I like you. I’ve never liked someone as much as I like you.”

There was a brief pause in your message. He almost thought the voicemail was over until your voice returned softer than before.

“I’m probably falling in love with you.”

“And that’s really scary to think about because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before. You’re different Spence, when I’m around you I feel-“

You were cut off by the time limit of the voicemail. Spencer stared at his phone screen with wide eyes. His heart was beating so fast it could’ve jumped out of his chest.

He finally got an answer to the question that plagued his mind. You loved him back.

You loved him.

His whole body was filled with adrenaline. He almost grabbed his keys and drove over to you at that moment. But he knew he had to wait. He couldn’t have this conversation with you while you were still intoxicated and would probably fall asleep by the time he got there.

Spencer on the other hand, could barely sleep. He was too busy on cloud 9 to come back down and let sleep overtake him.

The next morning he was practically buzzing with excitement. He got up earlier than normal for work so he could stop by your apartment.

He nervously knocked on your door. He kept fidgeting by fixing his tie and cardigan while he waited for you.

When you did open the door he saw you were still in the process of getting ready. You had on dress pants and an old college t-shirt.

You looked surprised to see him of course since he didn’t announce he was going to come over. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

Suspicion started to creep its way into his mind. For now he ignored it and pushed on.

“I thought we could commute to work together. I figured you would be hungover and not in the best mood to drive.”

Your eyebrows raised and lips turned up. “That is so sweet of you,” you beamed. You opened the door wider, suggesting he was welcome. He followed and walked inside your apartment

“You’re absolutely right by the way. I feel like shit,” you groaned. “My head is killing me, I’m exhausted and I have this massive bruise on my leg.” You waved your hand over your right thigh indicating where the injury was.

“I have no clue how I got it. I probably fell but I'm not sure. Most of last night is fuzzy, I barely even remember how I got home,” you joked with a chuckle.

The suspicion Spencer felt turned into a pit in his stomach. With furrowed brows he asked the million dollar question. “Do you remember calling me last night?”

You stared at the ground as you tried to shuffle through the vague images of the night before. “No I don’t. What did we talk about?” you asked innocently.

His grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “We didn’t. Talk. I couldn’t pick up the phone and didn’t realize you had called me until this morning. That’s why I wanted to stop by. To make sure you were okay.” He topped off his lie with a flat smile.

”Thanks for checking up on me,” you sweetly replied, not yet aware of the internal mess he was experiencing.

“It’s no problem,” his voice almost cracked.

“I need to finish getting dressed and brush my teeth but I’ll be ready to leave in like five minutes.” You speed walked back to your bedroom.

It wasn’t until he heard the door close that he finally let the storm of emotions rip through him. His chest was getting tighter by the second. It felt like he was suffocating.

You don’t remember.

You told him you loved him and you don’t remember it at all. The best news he’d heard in months was a blip in your memory. Was late night drunk babbling.

He felt so foolish. So stupid for thinking you might really reciprocate his feelings.

One part of himself that was still holding onto hope tried to remember that “drunk words are sober thoughts.” But that’s not always true.

He knew studies have shown intoxication can lead to someone misinterpreting their own thoughts or feelings. Leading to them impulsively expressing things that they don’t really believe.

Unfortunately, the factual and heartbroken part of his brain was overwhelming compared to the sliver of hope he had left.

“Alright, I’m good to go,” you snuck back into the living room. Your voice brought him back to the present.

You grabbed your purse off the couch and walked towards the front door. As you put on your jacket you noticed the sudden change in Spencer’s demeanor.

“Spence, you okay?”

”Yeah, I’m fine,” he nodded and answered with a light voice. But you could see right through it. His eyes gave it away. They looked so full of hurt.

”Spencer-“

”I promise, I’m fine,” he interrupted. He offered you a fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He walked to your door and tightly held his bag. “We should go before we hit traffic.”

You observed him for a few seconds longer than he liked. The profiler side of you wanted to pry but you knew it was a bad idea to push your friend.

The drive to work was agonizingly quiet. It was odd for you two to barely speak when in close quarters. Instead, you both let the tension hang in the air, ignored and untouched.

Spencer sat with his feelings for most of the drive. He didn’t want to be hopeful anymore. He didn’t want to be confused if it was real anymore. At this point, he just wanted to give up.

Now, he’d have to keep a tight lid on his feelings for you. Leave it to fester and wear away at his heart.

Like that would do any good though. He couldn’t stop loving you no matter how hard he tried.

____________________________________

The following days felt like a dream to you. But not in a good way.

It felt like one of those dreams where you know something is off, but can’t tell what it is.

Spencer had been closed off ever since he picked you up for work. You couldn't wrap your head around why. He seemed so happy and eager when he arrived at your apartment that morning.

That was the last time you saw him act normal around you. Now there was an underlying bitterness in the words he spoke. Everytime you tried to ask him if he was okay, whatever excuse he gave you left a sour taste in his mouth.

You weren’t the only one to notice either. Everyone could sense the air go stale when you entered a room he was in. How his eyes no longer lingered on you. Or how it almost pained him to even look at you.

His sudden change in behavior was starting to drive you insane. You were overthinking and overanalyzing every single interaction you had with him, leading up to that day in your apartment. Every move you made around him was calculated. You were terrified one wrong word or move would make him hate you.

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Penelope swung around in her chair to face you. “I think it’s impossible for him to hate you.”

You shook your head, “but still he won’t talk to me Pen. He’s always been so open with me and the last few days he’s been shutting me out. He hasn’t been weird around you guys at all.”

She twirled a sparkly purple pen in her hands as she watched you sulk. “You said it started on Thursday last week?”

“Yeah, the day after our last case.”

Penelope sat back in her chair thinking. “Do you think the case bothered him? Could that be why he went home instead of going out with us?”

“No, I don't think so. The next morning when he showed up at my apartment he was in a good mood. A great mood even,” you folded your arms in frustration. “But when I left the room and came back he looked like a sad puppy.”

Penelope tapped her pen against her chin. “Why was he at your apartment before work?”

“Apparently, I called him the night before but he didn’t pick up so he stopped by to check up on me and assumed I’d be hungover.”

“Awe, that’s sweet,” she cooed before her confusion crossed her features. “Wait, you apparently called him? You’re not sure?”

You cringed as you explained, “I don’t remember calling him. I was really drunk.”

She tried to hide the amusement on her face but failed. “Why did you call him?”

You stared at the floor trying to piece together what happened after you got home that night. “I remember missing him. I wanted to talk to him, but I’m not sure what about.”

“It’d pay good money to hear whatever voicemail you must’ve left him,” she chuckled with a cheeky grin.

“Right!” You started to chuckle with her until vague memories of talking on the phone came to light. Your face fell as your drunk declarations were pulled out of your long term memory.

“Oh god,” you said barely above a whisper.

Penelope filled with concern, “sweetie what’s wrong?”

“I did leave him a voicemail. He must have listened to it while I was changing,” your eyes widened and anxiety started flowing through your veins.

Before she could ask what you said in the message, you interrupted. “I have to go,” you alerted as you remembered Spencer already left the office. “I’ll text you later!”

You practically ran back to the bullpen to grab your things and tell Hotch you were leaving for the night.

The car ride to his apartment was agonizing. You gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white.

This was all your fault. He couldn’t stand to be around you and talk to you anymore because you drunkenly told him you loved him.

You ruined your friendship.

The least you could do was go to his apartment to try to make things right. Try to fix whatever you have broken.

You couldn’t lose him. Not Spencer. Not the first man you ever actually truly wholeheartedly loved. Even if he didn’t love you back the same way. You’d rather live with the soul crushing pain of unrequited feelings, than lose one of the most important people in your life.

The walk to his apartment was even worse than the drive to his building. With every step you took, your heart grew heavier. By the time you weakly knocked on his door, your eyes had started to water.

When Spencer opened the door, his face fell with concern.

“I remember,” you whispered before he could ask what was wrong.

A look of realization dawned on him. He stepped to the side and opened the door wider, “come in.”

You followed and stood awkwardly in his living room. You’d been here hundreds of times before. But now it feels different. Even though you were welcomed inside it still felt like he was miles away.

“Spencer, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” He already knows what you’re talking about, you can see it in his eyes.

“The voicemail.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re sorry for sending it?”

“Yes, no!” you stuttered fidgeting with your rings. “I meant what I said. Every bit of it. I just uh- I wish I had told you all of that when I was sober. Maybe I could’ve phrased it better. Not come off so strong.”

“Why didn’t you?” he inquired, a hint of desperation in his voice.

He took a single step closer to you. “You could’ve told me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at him, “wait, you’re not mad about what I said?”

He mirrored your confusion, “what do you mean?”

“All week you’ve been acting weird. I thought you were mad or uncomfortable with me because I said I love you.”

Spencer raised his hand to his face as he realized. “I would never be mad at you for that.” His voice raised slightly in frustration, almost a wine, as he continued, “I was upset because by the time you sobered up, you forgot about it.”

“Oh,” you whispered —if you could even call it that— under your breath.

He lied. He listened to the message before he showed up, was going to ask about it, and you forgot like an idiot.

“You only flirt with me or show interest in me when you're drunk. I couldn’t tell what was real or not,” his expression showed more pain as he spoke.

“Spencer, I promise I really do have feelings for you.”

His lips formed a flat line as he stared back at you. “Then why did you only show it when you were drunk?”

“Because I was scared!” your voice raised. You spoke with your hands as you got louder. “How do you tell your best friend you fell in love with them? You can’t! It just doesn't work. I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m in love with you.”

You deadpanned at him, “Spencer, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he said louder than you.

The weight of his confession finally settled. Time stood still. The world stopped turning. The hands on the clock stopped ticking.

His voice was quieter this time when he said it. He spoke in the gentlest tone you’d ever heard from him. Like the words dripped right from his arteries, carrying them away from his heart and to you.

“I love you.”

“You do?”

You don’t know why you asked that. It seemed to be the only thing that could leave your mouth. How could you not believe him when he said those three words like that. Like it was his purpose. That he was put on this earth to love you and only you.

The realization of what his confession meant started to dawn on you.

“That’s why you were at my apartment. So you could tell me. And I-“

You stared at the floor with wide guilty eyes and sat (more like fell) on his couch. The guilt started to creep into your blood. It started to crush your bones.

“Oh I screwed up everything,” you buried your face in your hands.

He sat down next to you, “no you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. You have every right to be mad at me.”

”I'm not,” his hand landed on your back, his thumb slowly caressing you.

You looked up at him, “really?”

“Yes.”

You stared back at him, looking unconvinced.

He surrendered and shrugged, “okay I was kind of crushed about it. But I know now that you really did mean it.”

“I still hurt you,” you returned meekly. The tears started to return back to your eyes and you blinked them away.

“I’m so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

His thumb stopped its movements on your back. With the same hand, he pushed back the hair that had fallen in your face. He looked into your eyes like he wanted to see all of you. See every little crack and crevice of your soul you tried to hide from him in fear of judgment, in fear of him running away.

He could never run away from you.

“Tell me everything you wished you could say when you were sober.”

You sat up straighter and turned to fully face him. After taking a slow deep breath, you said what you’d wanted to say to him for months.

No liquid courage. Just the pure, raw, unadulterated you.

“Spencer, I’m in love with you. I couldn’t tell you when I was sober because I was afraid. I was in denial for so long. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t falling for you. And it’s not because I don’t want to have feelings for you. It’s the opposite. I love you so much it scares me.”

You started to play with your rings again. “I’ve never been in love before. I’ve never said it and been sure that I really meant it.”

“I mean it when I say it to you. I know I mean it because I want to spend as much time as I can with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s sitting quietly next to each other on the jet or dancing in a crowded bar. I know I mean it because I’d do anything for you. I’d listen to anything you want to ramble about. I’d drive you anywhere you wanted to go because I know you’re not the biggest fan of driving.”

You swallowed down the lump you didn’t realize formed in your throat.

“I always find myself crawling back to you when you’re not near.”

It was only now you really noticed Spencer's expression. His eyes were soft and dilated so much there was barely any brown left in them. His waterline threatened to spill with tears.

Before you could even dare to say anything else, he reached to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. His lips mixed with yours in a long awaited dance.

The kiss wasn’t overwhelmed with passion. But also not too slow and careful. The only way you could describe it was perfect.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

Every aching moment of yearning and longing leading up to this.

After kissing for what felt like forever —although you’re pretty sure you could kiss him for forever— you laid down on the couch with your head on his chest. Your arms wrapped tightly around him as if he could disappear at any moment. His one arm wrapped around your waist while the other was playing with your hair.

“You can stay the night if you want,” he nonchalantly tried to offer without explicitly asking if you would stay over.

“Do you think we’ll have time in the morning to stop by my apartment to get me fresh clothes?”

“If not, you could borrow one of my sweaters.”

You chuckled, “Imagine their faces when we show up to work together and with me very clearly wearing your clothes.”

He smiled at the thought of you wearing his clothes to work. The image of you proudly showing off that he was yours. “Yeah I can imagine it.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort

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mercvry-glow · 3 days ago

Text

Stop making this hurt

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

summary. jack knew he didn’t want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.

warnings. pitt fest incident, guns/shootings, hospital setting, blood and gore, reader gets hurt, death (not reader), medical inaccuracies and not show accurate but i tried my best, jack and robby are stressed af, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. finally my first pitt fest fic, hopefully this is angsty enough for ya'll and pleases all of my anons who asked for this! I love all of you, thank you for almost 300 followers and as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3600+

You knew it was a long shot trying to convince Jack to come with you to Pitt-Fest.

Crowds were never his thing, not even before his time as an Army medic. Too loud, too many moving parts, too unpredictable. Add a decade of trauma medicine on top of that, and the thought of shoulder-to-shoulder festival traffic was enough to make him visibly tense. You didn’t blame him — not even a little.

And as much as you loved your husband, you weren’t going to fight him on this one.

“Go have fun,” he’d told you that morning, standing in the doorway in his usual worn t-shirt and sweats, a coffee mug in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist. “Text me when you get there. And text me again when you leave. And maybe don’t lose your phone this time?”

You’d rolled your eyes, kissed him once, then twice — and promised to behave.

Truly, it was better for him to spend his one of his days off actually resting, not galavanting around the venue with you and your friends, half-drunk on overpriced cider and yelling about pierogi trucks.

So you let yourself enjoy it. The chaos, the music, the warm breeze coming off the river. You danced with your friends in the middle of the concert to some college band playing covers too fast. You tasted six different kinds of barbecue and took a picture with a guy dressed like a giant bottle of Heinz ketchup. And every couple hours, your phone buzzed with a little check-in from Jack — usually short, always a little dry since he wasn’t a big texter.

JACKY [1:14 PM] You hydrated today or just vibes?

JACKY [3:06 PM] Hope the pierogi truck is worth the foot traffic.

JACKY [4:11 PM] Home if you need me.

You were smiling at that last one about to respond around 5pm, standing in line for boozy lemon slushies with Emma and a few others, when it happened.

At first, it was just a sound — one that didn’t register immediately. A sharp crack in the distance. Then another. Then screaming.

The crowd surged before your brain caught up. Someone dropped their drink. Someone else shoved you sideways. Your phone slipped out of your hand and hit the pavement.

“Is that—” Emma started to say, eyes wide.

You grabbed her wrist and pulled. “Run.”

You didn’t know where the shots had come from. You didn’t stop to look. You just moved — through the panicked chaos, toward the edge of the crowd, ducking behind a food truck with a group of strangers just as another round cracked the air like lightning.

Your chest was tight. Ears ringing. People were yelling. Crying. Calling for help. And your phone—your phone was still on the street.

Jack.

You couldn’t call him.

But he’d know. You didn’t know how, you just knew.

And however a mile away, as police scanners lit up and trauma alerts pinged on hospital radios, Jack was already on his feet — keys in hand, work boots half tied—and heart racing faster than he’d felt since he returned to US soil.

He didn’t wait for a callback. Didn’t care that he wasn’t on the schedule. He grabbed his badge and his trauma bag and was in the truck before the next dispatcher finished her second sentence.

Because something had happened at Pitt-Fest.

And you were there.

It really sounded like a firecracker at first — maybe someone messing around near the alley that ran behind the Pitt-Fest booths. But then came the second, then the third. Screaming followed.

You turned your head just in time to see another wave of people running. And then—

“EMMA!!”

She was beside you one second, and the next, she was down.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. You just dropped to your knees, catching her head before it hit the pavement, your mind going a mile a minute.

“Hey, hey—Em—look at me,” you said, your voice louder than you realized. “Where were you hit?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her hands were pressed to her stomach, blood already soaking through her shirt and fingers.

“Fuck,” you hissed. “Okay. Okay, pressure. Emmy, stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”

You barely noticed the searing pain until your legs buckled and you were on your side. A sharp, ripping sensation tore through your ribs like glass.

Shot.

You had been shot too.

Someone was shouting. A vendor nearby had flipped a table and was screaming for people to duck. A stranger—a kid, maybe barely twenty not much younger than you—ran toward you both through the chaos, eyes wide.

“Are you hurt? I have a truck—”

“Help us—please!” you said, trying to sit up, trying not to black out. “I’m a doctor—ER. Trauma. She needs a hospital now.”

He nodded, panicked, glancing at the blood now pooling on the concrete. “We’re like five blocks from PTMC—I’ll drive!”

You helped haul Emma up with shaking arms, biting back a cry when your chest screamed in protest. She groaned as you dragged her toward the curb, her weight nearly toppling you.

The kid had his pickup pulled up half on the sidewalk within seconds.

“Put her in the bed!” you ordered. “It’ll be faster to lift her in!”

Someone else joined—another panicked bystande —helping you hoist Emma into the truck bed as gently and as quickly as possible. You climbed in after her, teeth gritted, your once cute outfit sticky with blood.

“Go!” you screamed as the tailgate slammed shut behind you.

The engine roared and the truck peeled off, tires screeching. You barely held on, your legs braced against the wheel well, one arm clamped across Emma’s wound, the other pressing against your own side to slow the bleeding.

“You’re okay,” you told her, voice tight, even though you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince. “Emma, you’re gonna make it. You’re not fucking dying at Pitt-Fest! I won’t let you.”

Her eyes fluttered, and you cursed under your breath, checking her pulse.

Thready. Too fast.

You knew you had minutes. Maybe less.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Jack was at the Pitt. On shift or not, he was always there when it mattered.

He had no idea you were on your way. Or that you were bleeding out in the back of a stranger’s truck, racing through downtown Pittsburgh.

But if you made it… if you could just hold on a little longer…

You’d see him again.

The truck rattled like it was going to fall apart with every pothole it hit on Carson Street. The shocks weren’t built for this kind of weight or speed, and the stranger behind the wheel didn’t care. He’d barely said a word since he’d skidded to a stop at the edge of the chaos. Now, you could barely hold your head up.

Emma was curled in on herself across from you, clutching the side of the truck bed like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. Her glitter jacket was soaked through—Msot of it hers, some of it not—and her ponytail had come loose, curls hanging limp against her face.

You turned your head toward her, everything in you aching.

“Em,” you rasped.

She didn’t answer.

“Emma, look at me.”

She did, finally. Her lip was split, her eyes glassy. She was holding her side with one hand, the other shaking where it pressed against her stomach. Blood oozed through her fingers.

“Hurts,” she whispered.

“I know.” You reached out, hand slick and trembling. You were starting to feel lightheaded, the pain in your side sharp and spreading, warm and wet and endless. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re almost there.”

She nodded—but then her gaze dropped to your side, and her eyes widened. “Babe… you're—”

“Don’t look at me.” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Just breathe, Em. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t sure if that was true. The blood loss was getting worse. Your top was drenched. The bullet had torn low, near your hip, and every bump in the road sent fresh agony lancing through your whole body. You tried to apply pressure but your arm wouldn’t stop shaking.

The guy driving honked again, swerving around a city bus. Ahead, PTMC’s trauma bay came into view, the red trauma flags flapping against the gray building. Almost there. Almost safe.

Then Emma made a sound that shattered you.

It was small. Wet. A choking breath followed by nothing.

You lurched forward, dragging yourself toward her with everything you had left.

“Emma—Emmy. Stay awake. Look at me.”

Her head lolled. Her eyes were still open, just barely. “I’m really cold,” she whispered.

“No, baby. No, you’re not.” You gathered her into your lap, tried to shield her with what strength you had left. “We’re here. You’re okay.”

The truck hit the curb at full speed, rocking the bed. The brakes screamed as it slid sideways, stopping half a second before it would’ve crashed into the wall of the trauma bay. And then hands—at least half a dozen of them—were yanking open the tailgate.

Chaos.

“Two critical GSWs in the back—Jesus, they’re both going out!”

“She’s losing consciousness!”

“Someone help me get her—”

“She’s coding!”

You heard all of it like you were underwater. You were vaguely aware of someone pulling Emma from your limp arms. Someone else catching you as your head dropped back, limp, blood seeping down your spine.

A nurse’s voice rang out as she tried to open your airway.

“Who is she—anyone got a name?!”

No one answered.

Inside the trauma bay, Jack was elbow-deep in yet another chest wound, barking orders, adrenaline humming through his veins. He didn’t hear the commotion at the ambulance bay over the noise of suction and a flatline monitor. Didn’t look up when the bay doors slammed open again.

Didn’t know.

Didn’t know that somewhere down the hall, two trauma rooms were opening side by side—one for your best friend who wouldn’t make it, and one for you, his wife, who just might.

Not yet.

But he would.

He always did.

Now rushing inside to the hub, “Her BP’s eighty systolic and dropping—she’s hemorrhaging fast.”

“Pulse is thready. Pupils sluggish.”

“Get Dr. Robby in here, now!”

The trauma bay was already spinning into motion when Michael stepped through the sliding doors, hand dragging down over his messy brown hair. He was halfway into his new trauma gown as he crossed the room.

“What’ve we got?”

“GSW to the lower abdomen. Entry left, possible exit—can’t tell through the bleeding. She was brought in non-EMS, unknown downtime.”

Robinavitch’s eyes tracked the chaos instantly, sharp and assessing. He reached the foot of the bed and froze just long enough to squint at your face beneath the mask of blood, dirt, and bruises. Something flickered across his expression.

“…Is that—?”

“Yeah,” one of the nurses whispered. “That’s our second Abbot.”

He didn’t react. Not outwardly. Just snapped his gloves tighter and stepped in, voice calm but commanding.

“Alright. Let’s move. I need two large-bore IVs, type and cross, four units O-neg hanging yesterday, and someone page trauma surgery—now.”

A nurse slid a face shield over his head as he pulled the curtain closed behind him.

“Pressure dressing’s soaked through.”

“She’s crashing, Dr. Robby.”

Michael leaned in over your body, catching the faintest movement of your chest. He knew your voice, your laugh, the way you snapped off one-liners at Jack and him in the hall. And right now, none of that mattered. You were just another patient bleeding out on his table. And he was going to keep you alive.

“Hang another liter. Let’s get a FAST scan going—we need to find that bleed.”

A tech slid gel across your abdomen. The screen flared to life, the grainy black-and-white image revealing what they were dreading.

“She’s bleeding into her abdomen,” someone said.

“No kidding,” Robby muttered. Then louder: “Alright. We don’t have time. Prep her straight for the OR. I want her there five minutes ago.”

He pressed down on the wound with both hands, hard. Princess to his left winced.

“She should seee Jack,” she whispered.

“No,” he said firmly. “Jack needs her to still be breathing when he finds out.”

He looked down at you, your face pale and growing colder beneath his fingers.

“You hang on,” he said under his breath. “You do not die on me. He will never recover.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes fluttered once, lips barely parted. A sound escaped, too soft to decipher as Mikey leaned closer.

Not as a doctor now, but as a close friend.

“What was that?”

Your mouth twitched. “Tell… Jack…”

But then your body jolted under his hands—heart monitor screaming into v-fib.

“Code!” someone shouted.

“Start compressions!” Robinavitch was already moving, calling for paddles. “One of you get Abbot!”

“But he’s still in Pink—”

“I don’t care if he’s in surgery or nott,” he snapped. “Tell him it’s his wife. Tell him she’s coding.”

Across the hospital floor, Jack looked up—something in his chest going cold before he even knew why.

The Pink Zone was chaos, and Red was a shit show.

Jack had blood smeared to his elbows and the kind of tension in his jaw that only came from running full tilt on no sleep. His short, curls—streaked at the temples with silver—were plastered to his forehead with sweat. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and quick, were laser-focused on the wound in front of him.

“Clamp—now,” he barked, voice low and lethal.

The security guard on the table had been fine for the minute, eventually turning critical. Shrapnel to the chest. He’d already coded once in triage. Jack had cracked him open right there on the gurney, and there was no room in his world for anything else.

Until—

“Dr. Abbot!”

He didn’t look up. “Hold pressure!.”

“Jack!”

That voice. Too familiar.

He finally looked.

One of the new night shift interns stood just inside the trauma bay doors, Jacob’s own scrubs stained and his expression wrecked. And he never looked wrecked.

Jack straightened, adrenaline still coursing, brow furrowed. “What?”

Jacob’s mouth opened—but nothing came out at first. He took a breath. Another. Then:

“She’s here. Your wife.”

The words didn’t land right at first. Jack blinked, frowning, like he hadn’t heard correctly.

“She what?”

“Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Came in the fourth or fifth wave from Pitt-Fest,” the young man said, voice tight. “They stabilized her. She was hypotensive on arrival. Tachy. Someone named Emma was with her—they were in the back of a civilian truck.”

The name Emma barely registered.

Jack’s pulse went sideways.

“She coded once—Robby sent her to the OR.”

“No,” Jack said, too fast, shaking his head. “No, she wasn’t even—she said she’d text me when—she wasn’t—”

The air felt thick. Too heavy. Too loud. His fingers curled into fists, shaking beneath his gloves.

“Dr. Abbot,” Someone said, stepping closer. “She’s still alive. They got her back. But you can’t leave right now. We need you here.”

Jack didn’t move.

“She asked for you,” Jacobs added quietly.

That broke something open.

Jack’s hazel eyes—usually unreadable—flashed wide. For half a second, pure panic. He turned, looking toward the hall that led to the elevators, toward OR.

But he couldn’t go. He knew it. The man on the table in front of him was dying.

And his wife… his wife was being cut open upstairs.

He squeezed his eyes shut once, breathing like it physically hurt. When he opened them, they were steely again. Grounded by sheer force of will.

“Tell Robinavitch to get me when she’s out,” Jack said. His voice was barely steady. “And tell him if she crashes again—he calls me. Immediately.”

“I will,” Jacob promised.

Jack didn’t answer. He just turned back to his patient like his spine was made of iron. Like his heart wasn’t bleeding under his ribs.

But his hands trembled—just once—before they found the scalpel again.

And he didn’t say another word about it, because what was there to say you could be gone before he even got to see you.

Eventually the world returned in fragments.

A slow, stuttering beep. The soft rustle of hospital sheets. The sterile hum of fluorescent lighting. Everything hurt—but not sharply. Not like it had. Now it was dull and heavy, like your body was made of stone, barely yours.

You blinked against the overhead light. It took effort. Your limbs felt like they were filled with sand.

A shape moved beside you.

Jack.

He was hunched forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tight. His short, silvery curls were flattened on one side, sticking up in the back like he hadn’t moved in hours. His hazel eyes were fixed on the floor, red-rimmed, dark and distant.

Your heart monitor ticked just a little faster. He looked up immediately.

“Hey,” he breathed, already at your side.

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved. “Hi.”

Jack let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob and reached for your hand. His touch was careful, reverent. “You scared the absolute hell out of me.”

“Me too,” you rasped.

He gave you a sip of water, helping steady the cup as you drank. When you pulled back, your throat still felt raw—but the words came anyway.

“Emma?”

Jack’s face changed.

The crack in his expression wasn’t obvious, but you’d seen it before—on the battlefiel, in different red zone code blues, in the quiet moments after a loss. He didn’t answer right away.

You already knew.

“…She didn’t make it,” he said softly. “They couldn’t even try. She was gone in the truck.”

Your breath hitched.

“She was getting married,” you whispered, tears already brimming. “She was twenty-eight, Jack...”

“I know.”

“She was going to try out for th-that promotion. She just bought her wedding dress last week—she wanted to show you, and—and she was finally gonna ask David to move in with—”

Jack didn’t try to stop your rambling grief. He just leaned in closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“I know,” he said again, voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “She died in my arms...”

His hand tightened around yours.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he murmured, guilt and grief bleeding into his voice. “I was a couple zones over. We were shoulder to shoulder with victims. I didn’t know until after they took you up to surge.”

You blinked fast. “Were you there when I came in?”

“Robby got you stable. Barely. Everyone just said it was bad. Said one of ours went down.” His voice caught.

“Jack.”

“I couldn’t go up,” he whispered. “They were still bringing bodies in. And you were already in surgery. I had to keep working.”

Your vision blurred again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you’re the one that got shot.” His hazel eyes were fierce now, even through the exhaustion. “You did everything you could. You kept Emma safe as long as you could. And you lived. That’s all that matters right now.”

You didn’t feel like it should be enough. Not with her gone, and the fate of the rest of your friends unknown. But the way Jack looked at you—like the entire world had stopped spinning until your heart started beating again—it made the pain settle differently.

He reached up and brushed your hair back, his touch gentle. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

Since the first shots rang out at Pitt-Fest, you let yourself feel the weight of everything that had happened.

Your fingers twitched under his, slow and aching, but deliberate. Jack noticed immediately, shifting to cradle your hand in both of his, as if he could anchor you there by touch alone.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “Thank you for staying with me…”

Jack’s eyes closed, lashes trembling. His head bowed as his grip on your hand tightened, pulling it gently to his chest.

“I’d stay a thousand times,” he murmured. “I’d go through hell a thousand times if it meant getting you back.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest—because you believed him. There was no part of Jack Abbot that ever did anything halfway, least of all when it came to you.

“I thought I was going to die,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “In that truck. I-I knew Emma was gone and—I couldn’t feel my legs. Everything hurt. I didn’t know if you’d even know…”

Jack leaned forward again, resting his forehead against your hands, breathing you in like he was trying to convince himself you were real. “I know now,” he said, voice rough. “And I’ve got you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, the way his body trembled just slightly with the force of holding himself together.

“I kept thinking—‘he’s gonna be mad,’” you whispered. “Because I went without you. Because I didn’t duck fast enough. Because I let one of the girls get hit.”

“Stop,” he said, voice firm but thick with emotion. “You don’t need to carry that. Not even for a second.”

You nodded faintly, tears sliding into your hair. “She died, Jack. Emma died. And I couldn’t save her.”

He stayed quiet for a beat, then moved to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, like he could pour every unspoken word straight into your skin.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll carry that with you. Every single day.” The monitors continued their slow, steady rhythm. Jack stayed at your bedside like he’d never leave it again.

Outside, the world kept spinning—grief, news headlines, recovery, chaos—but inside that quiet room, wrapped in his presence, you finally let yourself rest. Because you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

And you knew, in the deepest part of yourself, that Jack would keep holding on enough for the both of you—because that’s the type of man he was.

mercury-glow 2025

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meowdei · 3 days ago

Text

the psychology of men (a guide to understanding how they work) — ft. phainon

if nice guys didn’t always screw you over, you’d have an easier time trusting that phainon isn’t the good guy full of bullshit. but he’s still nice enough to patiently wait for you to give him one chance, though

❤︎ word count: 10.3k words — in literally one day. ONE

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; college au ; reader has a shitty ex boyfriend and trust issues — she is not perfect but she is human. be nice to her ; strangers to friends with benefits to lovers ; reader has a crush on mydei at first LOL ; mentions of alcohol and drunk sex ; phainon is a YEARNER ; resolved angst, miscommunication, and arguments ; phainon is down bad and reader is simply in denial that she is too ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read

❤︎ commentary: i didn’t care about this dude until today. he possessed me so hard i wrote 10k words in less than 24 hours. white hair and blue eyed freaks will do that to you

LESSON ONE: MEN ARE ALWAYS PLANNING SOMETHING. THE NICER THEY SEEM, THE MORE SINISTER THE SCHEME!

You meet Phainon for the first time while you’re freshly out of a relationship, nursing a broken heart. Your ex-boyfriend pursued you with that heartfelt, fairytale sort of devotion, and you thought you’d be telling people at your wedding one day that you knew he was “the one” early on in your relationship.

And then he dumped you as quickly as he “fell in love” with you. It wouldn’t be right, he’d said, it just isn’t fair to keep you around when I don’t feel the way I used to. He leaves you with not so much as a tear of sorrow, and you’re left with the aftermath of a devastating heartbreak.

Not the sad, lingering kind—this one is the sort of heartbreak that makes you hate all men. Especially the nice ones—the ones that manipulate you into thinking they’re the good guys who won’t turn on you, but they do. They always do. The nice guys are the ones with the most potential to turn out dangerous. They aren’t upfront about their assholery. That shitty ex of yours is a prime example, and you refuse to fall victim twice.

Your first impression of Phainon happens in some boring college class you take just for the elective credit and an easy gpa boost. He’s the sort of guy your attention doesn’t instantly latch onto—he’s sweet, sure, and funny but a little too gentle to be real. Too good to be true. Too much of a green flag to be interesting. Exactly the kind of guy you’re avoiding—exactly the sort of person who can worm his way into your heart slowly and lethally and then bite. Hard. (That sort of mindset is too pessimistic to be any good, of course, but you’re only just barely in your twenties as you navigate your dramatic breakup, and your prefrontal cortex is still developing.)

You find his friend a little more intriguing for the longest time, if you’re honest. The brooding blonde next to him always made your eyes linger for a second too long.

“Hey,” he whispers, poking your shoulder from behind. You turn, slightly irritated by the fact that some guy is interrupting your dissociation in the middle of class—doesn’t he know you have false scenarios to run through your mind while you pass the time? Professor Anaxagoras has a strict no-phones-in-sight policy if you want to keep your participation points up, so the only thing to entertain you is your own head. Sheepishly, as if sensing your irritation, he murmurs, “Sorry. Can I please use your laptop charger?”

“I’m using it,” you blink.

“Yeah, but it’s almost fully charged,” he practically pleads. The puppy eyes on him are unreal—you feel almost compelled to cave just at the sight of them alone until you realize it’s your charger, and he’s bargaining with you about why you don’t need it. Absurd. “I can see the green battery sign.”

“Are you serious,” you stare at him blandly, “it’s barely twelve pm. Why is your laptop already dying anyway?”

“I charged it,” he pouts, “but she’s old and on her last legs. It doesn’t last if I take the charger out for too long—I forgot to bring it with me. Please. If it dies in the middle of this assignment, it’ll make me start over! It took me an hour to google all these answers.”

Well. He’s convincing in that pathetic sort of way. Just the perfect mix between nice and genuine but still a tad bit needy that just tickles your gut in the right place to loosen you up. Without a word, you unplug your charger with a roll of your eyes and hand it to him as he smiles gratefully.

“You’re the best!”

“You’re pathetic,” his friend grunts to him from beside him.

“Don’t be rude, Mydei!” he whispers through a wounded voice.

They continue to bicker back and forth, but you tune it out—there’s only one thought on your mind for the remainder of your time in that room.

You spend the rest of class thinking about the deep sound of his friend’s voice to care about anything else. Fuck, you think—you’re almost debating that strict no more men rule you’d set for yourself after your break up, ready to throw it all away for the grumpy looking blonde with red tips behind you. He’s hot. And honestly, he seems a bit rude and crabby, so really, he can’t be that bad—and yeah, everyone would think he’s the red flag, but you know how men go. You’ve figured out their psychology. The ones who are prickly on the exterior are actually very soft inside, and they’re not half as bad as the soft, cuddly type of men who turn around and bite you as soon as you’re close enough.

This guy could be different. He could be worked into devotion instead of smothering you with it early on, only to have ulterior motives and get bored. What was his name again? Mydei? Sounds decently moanable in bed, you reason. He certainly seems like a keeper.

It’s not long before the lecture ends, and you walk off with all your thoughts consumed by the grumpy blonde guy who said maybe only three words that you properly heard before he possessed your mind like a fucking demon. So much so that you forget to ask for your charger back, and that clever asshole never gave it back on his own accord like a proper human being.

So, the next time Phainon walks into class, you’re glaring at him right at the entrance of the room with an outstretched hand and an unimpressed curl of your lips.

“My charger,” you say blandly, “you took off with it last class. I need it back.”

“Oh!” he flushes, quickly digging into his bag and pulling it out—at least he kept it in very good condition. Men are not to be trusted with things you need because they are irresponsible. Case example: not returning what they borrow. “Sorry,” he says earnestly, “I meant to return it, but I forgot. Which, I was thinking…maybe we should exchange numbers—you know…to contact outside of class if we ever need it.”

You blink, seeing right through him. Why else would you ever need it again? “You walked off with my charger just so you could use it as an opening to ask for my number?”

He flushes a deeper shade of red, creeping up to his ears and down his neck like he didn’t expect you to call him out on his so very blatant scheme. “W-well…did it work?”

You contemplate for a moment before you respond, “No.”

“How about if I throw in some assignment answers?”

“…Okay, fine.” You never pay attention in this class—the tests are open notes, and the weekly assignments are easy enough when you have the internet at your disposal. But still, having someone present the answers to you is a much faster route, and you have other non-elective classes to worry about, so all in all, if a semi-annoying guy messages you here and there, it’s not so bad.

And the better part is that his friend is hot, so you can snag the details on him, too. Men don’t really worry about the concept of loyalty—they don’t stay far away from the people their friends show an interest in for something like friendship. You know how they work. Phainon’s number can lead you to Mydei’s, and Mydei can break you free from your awful, terrible descent to madness from heartbreak, and when you inevitably have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship that lasts, you’ll never think about your bastard ex again.

Foolproof.

“Great!” Phainon beams. He hands you his phone, and you type your number in.

And that starts it all.

─��──────────────────────

LESSON TWO: SEX DOES NOT EQUAL INTIMACY. WHEN THEY SAY IT’S JUST PHYSICAL, THAT’S TOTALLY FINE. BUT IF YOU SAY IT, YOU’RE OUT OF LINE!

Exchanging phone numbers with Phainon was supposed to be a simple way to have at least one contact for a class—a very important measure you should take for every class you’re in—and perhaps, if you’re lucky, you could also somehow get closer to that hot blonde friend he has named Mydei.

It was never supposed to become a real friendship.

But, well…shit happens, and things don’t go according to plan. It also doesn’t help that Phainon is a consistent texter—almost to a fault. What sort of man doesn’t text sporadically and with a tone as dry as concrete? Phainon, apparently—which is not like any sort of man you’ve ever known.

You even start sitting with him in class instead of in front of him—that’s a terribly unplanned development. The bright side of it, however, is that you quickly get over his friend. Mydei is nice, but he’s a little too bored. Or maybe he just isn’t interested in you; you’re not so sure. No amount of flirty comments gets a flush out of him, not a smirk, not even a smart retort back. He is just…bored. (Or maybe he’s secretly just one of those good friends who doesn’t flirt with the girl that his friend is actively trying to pursue, but that option does not align with your very complex understanding of men, so you shove it aside. He’s probably just bored, and that’s just truly unfortunate. He was hot.)

But you grow fond of Phainon. As a friend. Sure, he’s clearly been interested in you since day one, but he’s not pushy, and a hint here and there that you’re still bitter about your previous relationship makes him keep a respectful distance. But he’s definitely smitten—and you? Well, you’re lonely. And he’s a good guy. A good guy who keeps you good company as a good friend and nothing more. He knows that, and you don’t think you’re stringing him along if he’s aware that you’re nothing more than friendly.

And sometimes, friends go to parties together. And sometimes, they also drink together. And sometimes, they also end up staying at the other’s apartment afterward because it’s closer and safer than trying to get back home alone. And…sometimes, although not a lot of times—but sometimes, they wake up in bed together, nude with no recollection of the previous night and love bites scattered on their necks as proof that something very, very physical happened between them.

It’s not always a common occurrence, but it’s certainly not a rare one. Does it complicate things? For certain—but you think that you and Phainon are good enough friends and mature enough people to know that sex does not equate to intimacy. Most men are super clear about that, anyway—it’s almost ingrained in their nature to say “no strings attached” before they fuck your brains out in every position they can think to try. This should not be a foreign concept to him.

But it doesn’t make the morning any less awkward.

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief, pulling the sheets over your bare chest as you stare at Phainon like he’s grown two heads. He stares back at you like you’re some figment of his imagination—unsure if you’re real but painfully hopeful that you are. And then you take a quick glimpse around his room and realize he’s a space nerd—there’s a poster about Saturn on his wall. “I didn’t think you were into space. You seem a little too air-headed for that.”

“Hey!” he pouts, “you don’t know me! I can be very smart!”

You snort, eyeing him in amusement. Except staring at him for too long means that you are forced to look at the hickey you left on his neck, almost like you were a raging, horny teenager last night and not an adult. You would be more embarrassed if one glimpse down at your chest didn’t tell you that he was even worse.

“So…” you start awkwardly.

“So…” he echoes.

You don’t know where to take it from there. There’s a beat of silence before you say, “We’re good, right Phai?”

He softens, looking at you with those large, round eyes that house every shade of the sky and her beauty before he nods and murmurs, “Yeah. We’re always good.”

“Good,” you breathe, “I’m glad. I want us to be good.”

“Well,” he rubs his neck, “we are, in fact, good. So…yeah.”

In the end, you sheepishly turn around so he can get out of bed, find his scattered clothes and put them on, and leave, and you—once you’re certain he’s far enough in the kitchen and the faucet is running—scream into his pillow before slipping out of bed and putting on your own. You’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t have only one pillow. But his sheets are navy blue, so you dock a few points for that. Not a good look.

He makes you breakfast before you leave. Something about sitting and sharing pancakes while he has tousled hair feels so natural you almost feel sick at the thought of leaving. But you tell yourself that he’s an easy friend to have and feel comfortable with, and force yourself up and to the door when the time inevitably comes.

He sees you out with a soft, “See you later?”

“Yeah,” you hum, “later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

—————

You wish so badly that you could be an ideal individual, but you are as flawed as the rest of the humans you share planet Earth with.

You and Phainon fuck again. Sober, this time. Still as friends. Not by accident, or through the influence of alcohol, or by forced proximity, or by anything that you can use to excuse it. You can’t excuse it. It’s entirely an act of free will that you consented to—because he does take consent very seriously, you learn—and it starts to become abundantly clear that sex is beginning to get a little too frequent in your time together.

The first time it happened after the initial accidental night, he was over at your apartment helping you build your new desk. The old one was too small, and you needed an upgraded space badly. He spends the evening hammering and drilling pieces away and fitting them together, and like some cliche joke from the universe, when you slip on the instruction manual on the floor, he catches you as your face hovers dangerously close to his. A kiss later, and suddenly he’s fitting into you and drilling you instead of the wood.

And then it starts to happen everywhere.

Sometimes in the back of his car before he drops you off at home after class. Sometimes on your kitchen counter when you’re supposed to be washing dishes after he’s over for dinner to study. Sometimes after he’s got a bad exam grade to blow off some steam. Sometimes when you’re particularly stressed over a busy week with too many assignments due on the same day and too many hours of your part-time job to work.

Every time it happens, you go back to acting like you always do afterward. Like it never even happened. Never mentioned, or questioned, or brought up. He never questions if something is shifting in your relationship, and you never bring it up. Sometimes, two people can have a physical relationship and still be friends and nothing more. It’s not impossible, and it’s not bad.

If anything, it makes you closer friends. You start to understand each other better. You talk more—really talk. No silly banter, or heated debate, or stressed-out vents. Just you, Phainon, the sheets that cover your bodies and a quiet room that lingers with the scent of sex.

He tells you about how much he misses his hometown. How small it is, and how everyone knows everyone. How leaving home and his young triplet sisters was the hardest thing he did, but a good degree and stable job is even harder to come by where he’s from. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

And you tell him about your ex. About how sweet and nice he was. How badly he wanted you. How good he was at doing things right and reading you for what you craved. How to love you like you always wished. How to spend time with you without burning you out and depleting your social battery. How to know your ticks and know when he’s pushing your buttons too far and when a joke doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How to make you feel seen.

No man has ever loved you like that. None have cared to, either. Learning you is a lot of work—you have years and years of life and stories and feelings and fears and everything’s to share. Teaching them is a lot. Learning them is even more.

You liked to think that boy from your past was a ticket to something good. Some better life for yourself where it’s not just you and yourself, and that’s it—a life where you were you and someone else cared to see it. Have it. Cherish it. Keep it.

You don’t know how someone could pour in so much time, do everything first, want things all on their own, and still walk away and tell you that they just don’t feel the same anymore.

You think it’s just a man thing. Men bore easily.

Phainon snorts at that.

“They do have short attention spans,” he tells you.

You smile tightly, humming as you blink back tears. “Or maybe I’m just boring.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he gasps dramatically, reaching over to swipe the tears like it’s always been his job to—it feels so natural when he does it. “You’re not boring! You’re at least a step up from boring because boring is Professor Anaxa, and god knows what he drones on about.”

“Gee,” you huff, but the tears are easier to subside when it’s him. They’re gone quickly like a fleeting reminder that sorrow exists but shooed away like they’re unwelcome when he’s around. He’s around more and more these days. “Thanks. I’m glad to be just a step up from boring. Maybe in a year or so, I’ll be two steps up from boring.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” he winks. “Some day, with enough hard work and determination, you might even be three steps up.”

“You suck,” you giggle.

He laughs, and the sound of his voice is enough to lull you to sleep. You sleep good next to him—always do.

—————

One thing you count on is that it’s always easy when it’s you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

Just two people who exist with each other, and nothing else really needs to be thought out. You don’t worry about what you wear around him or how you look. He doesn’t care too much about what you’re doing or where you’re going. As long as it’s you and him, him and you, and nothing else—it’s okay. He’s good. He treats you good and makes you feel good, too. Inside and out. Physically and mentally.

He might even be your best friend. You don’t know if you should tell him that—men get weird about definite titles like that. But then again, maybe not Phainon. He’s like an anomaly of sorts, sometimes.

But you forget sometimes that Phainon was never hoping to just be friends. And you suppose letting him feel you come undone for him more than once is like dangling his desires right in front of his face because it all blows up on you very fast.

Perfect one second, like the calm before the storm, and a disaster zone the next, leaving you no time to evacuate before the tornado has hit and done its damage.

“Mydei wants to come with us to try that new cafe you mentioned,” Phainon hums, watching in sheepish amusement as you sigh and mutter under your breath while picking up his dirty socks from the couch and tossing them across the room. (Men are all the same, aren’t they?) “He said something about there being a pomegranate beverage he wants to try.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug, slumping onto his couch, “if he doesn’t find it awkward, then I don’t either.”

“Why would he find it awkward?” he looks at you in bewilderment.

“I think he’d have to be oblivious to miss the way I was flirting with him,” you huff out a snort, “I don’t think most men jump at the opportunity to hang out with a girl they ignored advances of, but maybe he’s just too passionate about pomegranate to care.”

Everything feels like it pauses as soon as the words come out. You thought he’d known this whole time—you could have sworn he’d known. How would Mydei have never mentioned it to him? Aren’t they best friends? Don’t men at least tell their friends when a girl is hitting on them regularly in passing? Is Mydei really that bad at giving life updates, or is he more clueless than you gave him credit for when it comes to romantic interaction?

Nothing makes sense, and you’re not entirely sure about anything. The only thing you are sure about is that Phainon is staring at you like you’ve been disloyal to the worst degree.

“You liked Mydei?” he asks in hurt, staring at you with those god-awful puppy eyes. You feel like you kicked one, too, with the way he stares at you.

“W-well, no,” you stutter, “I mean, yes—but like…not really, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense.”

“I liked him for a very short time,” you say quickly, “like…like a small crush, you know? He was attractive, and I am not immune to an attractive man, so it just…b-but it never lasted for long!”

“Did you still like him when we got together?” he asks quietly. Got together��you physically have to stop yourself from flinching at those words. Some part of you feels a little bit bad that he sounds so wounded, but the other part of you feels like this is all so absurd. That he’s starting to get worked up over nothing. He has to know you were never together—you never did anything that implies two people that are…together. It’s always been a good fuck here and there, and that’s what you kept it as strictly.

(Distantly, your mind gnaws at you and screams that two people who just fuck and nothing else do not do the things that you and Phainon do. Sure, you were friends first, but two people who draw the line at sex don’t seek each other to FaceTime until three am, and they don’t bring each other soup when they’re sick, and they don’t hold each other when they cry, and they don’t, under any circumstances, tell each other about their deepest insecurities that they’ve never voiced before about shoddy exes who ruined their ability to trust and feel loved. You can’t be the closest people in your lives and just have sex—but your mind has never been your number one supporter, so you shove the voice down.)

“No,” you admit, and for a second, his shoulders sag in relief. Like he doesn’t care or feel threatened that you liked his friend as long as it didn’t bleed into your time together—and that’s when you start to wonder if Phainon is too good for you. Too kind and genuine in a way that is not dangerous. Too sweet in a way that doesn’t slowly kill you like poison but just gives you something to look forward to. Maybe he’s a good one—a good guy who is just good and nothing else. Still, you kill his heart anyway with a harsh blow to his chest as you add, “I didn’t like anyone when we started getting physical. And I still don’t, Phainon.”

Getting physical. Whatever that means. You say it like it puts some distance between the sex you have and intimacy. You say it like it rationalizes everything you do with him—you get physical, which is only human nature, and in the mix, if you develop a good, long-standing friendship, then there is nothing wrong with that.

But are you really okay with just friends? Yes. You are. Are you sure about that? Absolutely. You don’t seem so convinced. This is a positive, for sure, one hundred percent true reality. Phainon is just a friend. You’re shooting yourself in the foot.

You force yourself to stop arguing with yourself when you notice the way his eyes flash at the words: still don’t. He processes the words that you still don’t like anyone, and the look in his eyes is devastating. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Something else that you don’t quite understand, but it makes you filled dreadfully to the brim with unease.

“Every time we’ve been together has just been physical to you?” he asks quietly, croaking out the words as if they’re acrid on his tongue and taste awful. “You’re lying.”

“I thought I made it very clear we were just friends, and I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” you furrow your brows, “you can’t act like I’ve been stringing you along—”

“Before we started, fucking, sure! But I thought it was pretty mutually clear we were slowly turning romantic when you willingly took my dick down your throat every now and then.”

“We’ve never had a ‘hey, what are we?’ discussion,” you cry exasperatedly, throwing your hands up as though this is all…so, so, so absurd—and for a second, you feel like it is. You made it clear that you weren’t trying to date. Not him, not anybody. Sure, that silly blonde friend of his clouded your judgment for a bit, but that was never more than a phase. “Don’t you think it was a red flag to never discuss what we are or what we’re doing if we were getting romantic?”

He falters. Something in his face makes him look so unrecognizable. So fragile and knocked down a peg that you’ve never seen from him. And something about the way he looks at you makes you almost feel like he doesn't recognize you.

“I thought you were avoiding the conversation on purpose,” he whispers, voice cracking just as he says: you. “I thought…I thought you were just nervous about labels after everything from your last…” he clears his throat, like even mentioning the word relationship kills him, “and…and that I was just waiting for you to be more comfortable…”

You don’t know what to say. And frankly, nothing seems like it’ll make him feel better. He’s fighting the trembling of his lips and blinking back the moisture in his eyes like all he has left in his control is to not shed tears in front of you.

You extend him that much grace. (Men don’t like being vulnerable, you reason. They hate showing emotions.)

“Phainon, I think I should go,” you murmur softly.

“You want to leave?” he asks, gutted. It’s got two meanings—you know that. You know exactly what he’s asking.

Everything feels wrong when you say, “Yes,” through a soft whisper, “I do.” But you still don’t take it back.

And nothing feels right when he lets out a watery chuckle and lets the first few tears slip. “Well, you know where the door is,” he spits.

He doesn’t walk you out. You’re not sure why that feels so heavy—it’s not because you’re guilty. You know that. It’s something else, and you can’t quite understand it.

────────────────────────

LESSON THREE: NOT ALL MEN. SURE, MOST HAVE A VERY BAD STREAK, BUT NEVER THE WHITE-HAIRED AND BLUE-EYED FREAK!

You barely last two weeks before you call Phainon.

At first, you thought being without who is maybe your closest friend at the moment was just eating away at you, and that’s why you missed him. You threw yourself into your social circles, making plans left and right to fill that gaping hole of his presence. It didn’t work.

And then it slowly starts to click in place.

Your friends send you a picture of your ex’s new fling, calling him an asshole and how she’s too pretty to be his next victim. You don’t feel even the slightest bit jealous or hollow. In fact, you’re bored by the news—you have more pressing matters.

Then, you start to see what feels like fucking propaganda for romance everywhere. Every social media timeline is filled with some stupid, cheesy, cringe trend that rubs in your face how painfully in love two people are. You get ads for fucking wedding rings. Your friends are all magically starting to get out of the talking phases and actually have something exclusive and official. Your old high school friends are getting engaged, and invitations are coming in. You’ve RSVP’d one in spring and two in fall already.

Everywhere you look, it’s something that feels like the universe is promoting a relationship in your face as if it’s a poorly disguised paid sponsorship by some celebrity online, and all you want to do is throw a rock at the sky and hope it lands on whatever divine being is playing tricks on you straight in the face.

But it slowly becomes clearer and clearer why it unsettles you so much. Why it all makes you bitter and annoyed and tired and…and sad. You’re sad. And it’s because you miss Phainon, and every couple reminds you of the hurt you caused him and why it’s your fault he’s still not in your life. Because you wanted your cake and to eat it, too. Even if it meant taking advantage of his feelings and the heart he didn’t even bother wearing on his sleeve. He just pinned it to yours and let you wear it.

So you call him. When that doesn’t work, and you get sent to voicemail, you go straight to his apartment. You knock on his door incessantly for two minutes straight (you know he’s home—his car is there) before he opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon.

“Mydei, can you at least come bother me to eat a little later in the da—oh.”

He notices you and quickly straightens up, smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt as best as he can and fixing his ruffled hair (that doesn’t do much but ruffle more) as he looks at you with what is his best attempt at a nonchalant look and clears his throat. “Yes?”

“Hi,” you say nervously, “how are you?” (What else do you say? You’re at a loss.)

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs casually, “nursing a broken heart and trying to integrate back into society as a functioning member. The usual. How about you?”

You flinch at his tone, at the way it’s so clipped yet so emotional at the same time.

“I called earlier—”

“I know. I ignored that, by the way, if that wasn’t clear,” he says as if being petty and angry is the only thing he has left. (It might just be, and you certainly won’t blame him for it.)

“I know,” you whisper, “but I still wanted to talk. And see you. Which I know I don’t deserve, but I guess I’m clearly not perfect, huh?” you shrug softly, giving him a sad smile.

“Well,” he says flatly, “you came all this way, and I’ve already opened the door. Might as well say the groundbreaking thing you came to say.”

When Phainon is hurt is the only time he does not know how to be kind. He spends so much time not hurting others, not letting them feel the pain of their feelings being overlooked, that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it. How to stomach that, yes, there are hurt people in this world, and, yes, they do the hurting, too. And he might fall victim to it. And he might even be the cause of someone else’s hurt, too, intentional or not.

He’s not good at processing pain. He’s too good of a guy to ever have to dwell on how badly his actions have impacted someone. Not because he’s perfect but because he’s gentle enough by nature to avoid the necessity of it while he can.

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. Because you are. You are. “I knew you were interested early on, and having sex as often as we did was leading you on whether I meant to or not, and you got hurt because of it, so I’m sor—”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs, shaking his head with a bitter laugh.

You blanch. “What?” you ask, mildly frustrated. He doesn’t have to forgive you, but it’s certainly an honest apology. “You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to. But I just felt it was right to tell you that I—”

“I’m not upset because you don’t like me or you that led me on,” he interrupts, making you blink in confusion. He looks at you for a moment—really looks at you, and before you can say anything, he lets out another disbelieving chuckle. “You still don’t get it, do you? Do you even understand it yourself—why you’re even here?”

“To apologize, of course—”

“No.”

He says it so seriously.

Phainon is hardly ever so serious. It’s what you always liked about him, even if you hated to admit it. He’s good at taking serious matters and making them feel like they’re not so serious. Not in a bad way—he’s just good at making them feel less soul-crushing with that carefree smile and those light-hearted words. He comforts you without ever letting you feel the shame of needing comfort. It’s nice.

You forget that even he is capable of being solemn.

“No one apologizes for breaking someone’s heart unless it breaks theirs too—do you see that? Do you see that you care? I’m not upset that you don’t care about me or that you don’t feel the same. That would be easy to move on from. It kills me because you do—you care, and you feel exactly the way I do, and you just won’t admit it—do you know how much that sucks?”

You swallow thickly. It’s getting to that dangerous territory. That fragile, vulnerable place in your mind that you don’t like because then you have to admit that, yes, maybe you fucking fell hard and crashed onto the ground for Phainon. Asphalt and rocks still digging into your arms with raw and bleeding skin. Yes, maybe he’s that nice, kind, genuine guy who you fell for and who has no other motives than to spend his time being nice and genuine to you. And maybe, if you’d met him sooner and not later, you could have loved him and not some other asshole in disguise, pretending to parade around like a good man, like some wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Maybe that would have saved you the constant fear of it inevitably going all wrong—of giving and giving and giving, and one day, even that’s not enough, and someone doesn’t even want to take from you anymore. That one day, someone doesn’t even find you worth taking advantage of.

That stings.

It’s this twisted sort of rejection you can’t handle. This sickening sort of feeling makes you think it’s better to be needed for selfish reasons than to be discarded like a useless, meaningless waste of time. And Phainon wouldn’t take advantage of you, right? He’s too nice of a guy—he’d reel you in, make you think he wants you so, so badly, and then when he doesn’t, he’ll play that nice guy trick again and make you think he’s doing you a favor by letting you go. Letting you go so you’re not being used by making it known you’re unwanted and not enough.

As if he didn’t spend so much time making you want him. Condition you into thinking being loved by him was such a treasure. Convince you into needing the devotion he hands so easily for free.

But you’re wrong, aren’t you? Maybe he’s not like that at all—maybe he’s just a nice guy because he really is good. Maybe he’s not nice because he needs to be to get what he wants. Maybe he’s nice because he wants to be, and it earns him what he wants the honorable way. Maybe you’ve fallen for Phainon, and maybe you were wrong about that being a bad thing. And maybe you just really fucking hate to admit when you’re wrong. (Your prefrontal cortex is still developing, after all. The men of your past are not very helpful to that slow development.)

“I don’t know how I feel anymore,” you whisper, tears littering your eyes. And god, you feel like a witch—using those sad, doe eyes with the wet, teary gaze that you know will soften him up like butter. Because he does. Even if you don’t do it on purpose, it makes sure he softens right up in front of your face because he hates the sight of your sadness being so tangible that he can feel it on the pad of his thumb in the form of a wet, warm rivulet.

Like clockwork, he wipes the tears and sighs, and you let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how I feel about anything because every time I think my feelings are right, they’re fucking wrong,” you sob, “I am always wrong, and I don’t know how to stop being wrong.”

His arms wrap around you and pull you close, pressing your body flush against that sturdy chest that feels like a brick wall—strong enough to keep you away from all the harm and cruelty of the world around you as long as he stands in front of you. Sometimes, you think that’s all it takes. Just Phainon standing there, and that’s it. That’s it to be okay.

“You can only stop being wrong once you’re right,” he hums, giving you a sad, innocent little smile, “isn’t that the whole point of it all? To find the person who’s right? There’s gotta be a few wrong answers here and there, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to keep crying over the wrong answers,” you sniffle, “it’s dehydrating me.”

He laughs. It sounds good. It feels good, too, with the way his chest rumbles against you. He always does. Everything about him is just good. The way he smells, and feels, and sounds, and just is. Phainon is just good. You like just good—no catches, no curveballs, no fine print. Just good.

“Hey,” he tilts your face up and presses his forehead to yours, wiping your tears valiantly still, even as they keep coming. And he’s hurt. You did that—you hurt him. But he seems more focused on the fact that your heart is crumbling than his own. “I can’t promise you won’t ever cry because of me—I’m not always the brightest, okay? But I can promise that I’m going to stay and wipe every last tear if I mess up. And then I’m going to keep staying. I will always stay so I can wipe the next round of tears and hydrate you again for your troubles. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

“You don’t want it to be?” you snivel, “you seem like the type to hopelessly daydream about perfect romances with not much luck.”

“I’m going to let that dig slide because you are emotional right now, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re emotional,” he rubs your back, rocking you slowly from side to side.

And…well, you think you’re wrong. About him. About Phainon and now he’s nice in a way that’s too nice and too good to be true. You’re wrong because he’s just nice, and it’s just nice enough that it’s good, not devious—and for once, just this once, you don’t mind being wrong.

Not if it’s for him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “for being confused and scared and unable to realize I care about you. I will get some help or something to be a functioning member of society.”

“Well, when you find help, hook me up,” he snorts, “because I need it, too. You’ve done a number on me.”

You’re both laughing. And then, at some point, you’re both kissing. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and it’s just a mix of each other that feels less like it’s right and more like nothing about it was ever wrong in the first place. Sometimes, it doesn’t have to be right as long as it’s just not wrong. Sometimes, that’s enough to keep things going. Sometimes, they become right along the way, all on their own.

You cup his cheeks, making him pause his assault on your lips against his will as he lets out a soft noise of protest deep in his throat. You’ll fall hopelessly harder for him because of that later—first, you have more pressing matters.

“I’m serious,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do care about you—so much that it scares me. I care about you and I promise this time I’m going to stay and keep caring. So be ready.”

“I’m ready,” he smiles, all wobbly lips and a shaky voice and trembling fingertips. They dig into your hips as his head buries into your neck, and you hold him—latch onto him and clutch his shirt because feeling him is all that ever felt good, and you don’t think you can stomach letting it go a second time. “I am so ready to be the only thing you care about.”

“Maybe not the only thing—”

“Did you hear that? That weird crack sound? That’s the sound of my heart breaking a second time. Any more, and I’ll be collecting shards off the floor.”

“C’mere loser,” you laugh, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a hard, deliberate kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you. It makes your stomach twist and form knots and there’s this weird tickle in your chest that feels like you’re about to implode. Phainon is so good at that—at making you feel so, so unwell but well at the same time. You’re sick and nauseous from how badly you want him, but nothing else feels right until you have him.

So you wrap your arms around him, pressing nearer, closer, harder up against him and kissing him until both of you are gasping for breath in between every press of your mouths together. Your hands find his hair, carding through it wildly and pulling on the strands when he nips at your lips, and when he groans into your mouth at a particularly harsh tug, you know it’s starting to become a scene that should not be happening at his front door where anyone can pass by.

“Inside?” he pants, pulling away for just long enough to say the word.

You kiss him hard once more, making him groan again before you decide that, yes, it probably needs to move indoors. “Inside,” you breathe, labored and unsteady, “now—now, please.”

“Whatever you want,” he chuckles, “you don’t have to beg. You always get what you want—don’t I always give it to you?”

“Then quit talking and give it to me.”

That shuts him up really fast. With a dark glint in his eyes, he pulls you in, closing the door swiftly and pressing you against it. You’re caged—nothing but him, you, and the throbbing ache between your legs that seems to be a common denominator between the two of you.

“I want you so bad,” he groans, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent along your sweet, delicate skin, “want you so bad I never want you gone. Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t,” you gasp as he bites—and it’s a little hard. A little mean almost, but he kisses it better with a soft peck afterward that you forgive him on the spot and melt. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he hums, nose trailing along the column of your neck before he drags it along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before he murmurs, “but I’ll make it hard to walk away this time just for safe measures.”

It feels like a literal and metaphorical promise. Before you can even respond to his cheekiness, he has your mouth hostage again—kissing and groaning into it enough that you have no choice but to soften and become pliant under him. You swallow up his sounds as the bulge in his pants presses against your own heat, the slow, desperate pressure of him grinding against you, making you shiver against the door.

Good—he always feels so good. Everything about Phainon is always so damn good.

“Feel that?” he croons, gasping as you roll your hips in tandem with his own movements, “feel how hard I am for you? You’re telling me anyone else will want you this bad? No one. I’m it for you. I’m not giving you up. Ever.”

His voice is a low, almost dangerous promise—and if you weren’t dripping at your core from the sound of him alone, you’d be less than inclined to admit that you like the sound of that. But you do, don’t you? You want him to want you so badly, so desperately, that the thought of letting you go makes him his own worst enemy. And he does, doesn’t he? He wants you so badly that you’re almost scared.

But you like it. Love it, even. You fucking love that he needs you, and you want him to need you so badly he might just die without you.

“Don’t,” you whisper, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders. He lets go just long enough to pull his arms up and let you take it off of him, tossing it to the ground before your fingers run your nails along the hard plane of his abs. He shivers, letting out a soft, barely-there sound at the feeling. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”

“Whatever you want, princess,” he grins. Phainon leans in again, kissing you impatiently like being away from you for that short period of time was enough to have him on edge. Maybe it does because he only melts and relaxes when his lips are against yours again. His fingers trail to the edge of your pants, toying with the waistband as you quiver at the feeling of his rough fingertips rubbing against the skin of your belly.

“Need you,” you whine.

“You got me,” he reassures, “just wanna take my time, yeah? You can handle that, can’t you? Let me have a little fun with you so I cheer up before I fuck you right against this door?”

You whimper. He’s mean sometimes, too. He’s so, so nice, but sometimes, it’s like a switch flips, and he’s mean. Not cruel—just teasingly mean to keep you on your toes and have you falling apart for him. It’s so mean, but it’s so careful and thoughtful and meant just for you—like he thinks only about you.

“Just hold onto me, okay, baby?” he asks gently, pecking your lips, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Before you can even ask what that means, he drops down to his knees, spreading yours and pulling your pants and underwear down in one go, helping them off your legs as they get thrown somewhere in the back along with his shirt. You realize exactly why you need to hold on as soon as a finger prods your entrance, splitting your folds open as he peers into them and hums at the way you’re wet and slick. You gasp, grabbing onto the nearest thing—which happens to be his hair as he chuckles.

“Easy,” he murmurs, “I hardly did anything yet. But don’t worry, you can pull if you need—I don’t mind.”

Just like that, his mouth is between the apex of your thighs, tongue tracing your sweet, precious little clit before he licks a stripe along your folds, humming against your cunt and sending vibrations as you mewl at the feeling.

“Ph-Painon…fuck—”

He hooks a leg over his shoulder, letting you half sit on him as he props you up and devours you. Devours you like you were the only thing on his mind. Like he was starved and dying in this apartment, and the only thing to sustain him is you. His tongue dips past your folds and fucks into you before pulling away just as quickly and flicking over your clit. Two fingers gently prod at your entrance this time—only they don’t tease you. No, instead, they fill you up and slip into you as far as they go, curling into a sweet, sweet spot in your walls that has your knees wobbling.

You think you will fall for a moment. You think holding onto his hair and tugging him so harshly is not going to keep you steady, and the weight he takes as he props you up on a shoulder, is not going to hold you.

But he makes good on his promise. He doesn’t let you fall or slip for even a fraction, even as your legs get weaker and your orgasm draws nearer.

“‘M close, Phai—s-so close,” you whimper.

He pulls away. With a smug, stupid little grin, he looks up at you as you stare down in disbelief. “Say you care about me.”

“What is wrong with you—”

“Ah ah, that’s not what the magic words are!”

“Phainon—”

“That’s not a bad guess, but still not the right answer!”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, “I care about you, asshole.”

“A little more aggressive than necessary, but I will accept it,” he hums, rewarding you with a soft kiss to your clit. “Now tell me you know I care about you. That I want you, and I want to stay.”

“Phainon,” you plead, “please, can’t we do this later?”

“No,” he says firmly, “because then it’s just getting physical, and I am not getting physical. I am getting intimate. Tell me what I want to hear so there’s no mistaking things.”

He’s throwing your words right back at your face. And the only way you’re going to get what you want is if you own up to them, even if it’s against your will. So you do. With an exasperated sigh, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I know you care about me,” you say impatiently, “I know you care, and you want me, and you want to stay, and god knows you’re not good at leaving me alone, so I guess I will just have to get used to you.”

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, giving your clit one more kiss before he’s back to lapping at your cunt like he’s parched. Your slick coats his chin and makes his skin glisten as he traces your clit with his tongue, curling his fingers just right into your heat. They brush against that spot again—he has it perfectly memorized, and just like that, you fall apart, gushing around his fingers and coating his lips with even more of your essence.

“Fuck,” you sob, grinding against his face as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure, feeling him groan against you right where you need him.

He lets you stay like that for just a moment, resting half your weight on his shoulder and half your weight on one leg before he abruptly stands and grabs your waist, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around his hips. You’ve done this before—at that point, you’d considered it just any other step to getting physical with someone.

Now, you realize you were beyond oblivious to how much you needed it to only be him you were doing all these motions with. It almost feels silly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grins.

“What?”

“I don’t want you against the door anymore. I want you on the bed—my bed. And you’re staying there, and you’re going to like it.”

You laugh, breaking into a fit of giggles as he jogs over to his room with you in his arms. And when he drops you unceremoniously only to the bed, flopping on top of you and attacking your neck with kisses, you can’t help but break into another fit of giggles, feeling his playful nibbles and licks against your skin. It feels so easy. So natural. Only with Phainon, you realize. Only ever with Phainon.

“Hi,” you breathe when his forehead presses to yours.

He gives you a bright, toothy grin, murmuring, “Hi, yourself, pretty.”

And then he's kissing you again. His lips are soft and slow this time around. Pressing against your mouth, slotting into the space like it’s his to fit into—and it is. It’s always been his, whether you were willing to admit it or not. His tongue glides against yours languidly, no rush or impatience or desperation like usual. This time, he kisses you like you’re his and always have been—like he knows what you taste and feel like, and he knows it’s always been his and always will be. He kisses you like he’s reminding you of it, one painstakingly slow second at a time.

“You broke my fucking heart,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice raw and vulnerable but never not soft, “you know that? You broke my fucking heart.”

Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the erratic beating of it under your palm as you whisper, “Seems like it’s working perfectly well to me.”

He chuckles at that. Lets out another toothy grin before he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s cute and precious and so fucking sweet—he sounds just like what he is. Tooth rotting sweet.

“You’re always so smart with your words,” he drawls, pressing wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

One hand slowly pulls your shirt up, inch by inch, before you slowly help him take it off of you. The bra comes off next, and you’re bare—under him as nothing else but his. Nothing else that covers or keeps what’s his away from him.

And when you eye his pants with a petulant, pouty look, he chuckles before throwing you an amused look as he takes them off slowly, not taking his eyes off of you.

You and Phainon have fucked. But you’ve never been intimate—not by the real standards, at least. The proper kind where you take the time to really take in each other’s bodies, commit each dip and curve to memory, know it inside out and like the back of your hand. Where that scar starts and ends from his childhood shenanigans, where your little moles scatter along your body in hidden crevices. And when he slowly frees his cock, and you can really stare without having to tell yourself you shouldn't, you take a good look.

You take a good look at the flush of his pretty cock—pretty, just like the rest of him. A nice, soft, muted pink at the tip that oozes with the beginnings of pre cum, and it’s sensitive as it twitches under your delicate thumb when you smear the dribbling essence along the head of his cock.

“Mmh,” he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, fluttering his eyes closed and panting as you touch him. Feel him. Want him.

You finally want him, and it’s almost enough to make him spill into your hand alone. But he forces himself to composure, grabbing your hand and pinning it over your head—and then goes the other. He holds them in place with one large hand, watching as you squirm under him impatiently.

“No touching,” he whispers, “first, I’m gonna teach you not to take me for granted. Then you’ll never want to take your hands off of me.”

“If you just ask me nicely, I’ll never take my hands off of you,” you offer.

He laughs, boyish and charming and so fucking smooth, you feel something flutter at the base of your stomach. Something stirring in your guts and twisting them inside out in anticipation. “Persuasive,” he hums, “but I still have to teach you not to take me for granted.”

When the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, your wrists struggle against his hands to break free. You need to feel him—to know he’s there against you and real. To feel his hair and tug and hear him groan in response. To scratch along his back and feel his warm, damp skin, the way he shivers under the pain and likes it. To pull him closer and feel him practically melt against you at the gesture.

You want to feel him. Because you need to know he’s yours. And you never, ever want to take for granted Phainon again. Your Phainon. The nice, sweet, gentle boy who stole your charger for a day to get your number. Who knew before you knew, long before you were ever willing to know, that he would love you. Even when you didn’t want to, he did it from a distance. And when he thought you finally would, that you’d finally let it happen, he still did it quietly, stripped of labels and titles even though he wanted to announce it to the world.

For you. Everything was always for you.

“Please, Phai,” you plead, “please, please, please—let me touch you.”

“Yeah? You want that, huh?” he grins, pretending to think for a moment before he hums, “tell me why.”

“So I can feel you and know you’re mine,” you lean up and breathe against his ear, “don’t you want to be mine?”

It’s a silly question. It’s all he’s ever wanted, so he gives it to you easily. Lets your hands go and lets them wander over his sculpted body as he sinks deeper into you—no more taking his sweet time to draw out the teasing. He’s impatient now—just as impatient as you. Maybe even more. He’s been waiting longer than you have to make this happen. To take you and make you his and have you admit that he’s yours, too.

“Fuck,” he groans as he sinks the final few inches of this thick, girthy length, “fuck you’re so fucking tight. You feel that? Feel me? How deep I am?”

“Yes,” you mewl, “yes—so deep. F-feel so full. You feel so good.”

He groans at that, pulling out almost completely before slamming his hips into yours, cock burying deep into you and burying to the hilt. The tip of his sensitive length kisses against that sweet, delicate spot against your walls—your spot that he knows and memorizes so easily.

He knows you. Knows your body. He’s felt it so many times under him and made it react for him the way he wants, but finally—fucking finally, it reacts to him and only him. He knows it’s him and only him. Only ever will be if he has anything to say about it.

“God, you drive me insane. So insane, you know that?” he grunts, rolling his hips hard and fast and drilling into you like he has something to prove. Every slam of his hips and every brush of his cock along your sensitive folds makes you pull him closer, kissing him hungrily—desperately. So needy.

You need him. You’ve always needed this—someone to want you and need you and find you worth it to stay. How could you think Phainon didn’t want to stay when he was so clearly happy with just pieces of you because you didn’t want to give the full of you? When he stayed and stayed and stayed and happily took the little shards you dropped, even if they were sharp, and cut his fingers because they were pieces of you. When he was just happy to have you whichever way you let him because it was you.

All he wanted was you. You get that now. You’re not going to forget.

“‘M close,” you pant, breathing against his mouth, “g-gonna cum. With me…with me, please.”

“Yeah? Whatever you want, princess,” he groans.

His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing quick circles as his own pace quickens, and you can feel the telltale signs that both of you are not going to last much longer. He lets out a particularly deep, sharp thrust—and you’re gone.

Plummeting off the edge in a hazy fall. You mewl his name, chanting it over and over and over as your walls constrict around him tightly. Spasm around him uncontrollably. And your fall coaxes him into his own. He falls into his release with a soft, drawn-out moan of your name, hot, thick seed filling you up through quick ropes of cum. His cock twitches with each rope, painting your insides white with him.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “so fucking good—you were made for me. Only me. Knew…knew you were perfect for me since the first day.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can get without physically merging into your bones. His head tucks into your neck, and you both ride out the aftershocks of your highs. You feel him breathe, and he listens to your soft breaths, and it’s just you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

It always has been.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles tiredly after a while, sleepy words said through a petulant warning.

You chuckle, kissing his sweaty forehead as you promise, “I won’t.”

“Good. Won’t let you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

Your own eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion, slowly fluttering closed until—

“Who’s that?” you look at him in confusion as you hear an incessant knocking on the door.

He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Ah,” he sighs, “right. That’s…that’s just Mydei. He’s coming to make sure I eat instead of starving to death from sadness.”

You blink, and then you throw your head back, laughing loudly. He watches you for a moment, smiling softly at the sound of you flooding his space. “You’re hopeless, Phainon.”

“Am not!”

“Go tell Mydei to leave and that you’re alive.”

“...Okay.”

Idk what this is. It’s 10k words of pure babbling and hardly a single coherent thought. I’m sorry dfksksjr this isn’t my best work but . I needed to get him out of my system

I also think writing a reader that is younger than me and navigates life and its challenges through a less mature and experienced lens was a fun project. She is not perfect but she is certainly a human who is trying her best and wants to be loved and I think that’s endearing

#euthymiya.writing #hsr x reader #hsr x you #phainon x reader #phainon x y/n #phainon x you #phainon smut #phainon angst #phainon fluff #hsr x y/n #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail smut

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strangersteddierthings · 2 days ago

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Fic where Eddie ruins his chances with Steve because of casual biphobia.

One time Steve went to the gay bar with Eddie and Robin to be their DD if they didn't end up going home with someone else and Eddie brushes off a guy that seems SUPER interested and when Steve asks why Eddie isn't interested, Eddie's casually saying yeah, he was good looking but that guy's into woman, too, and Eddie's not into people who like both.

And that's Steve's Ah Ha! moment. He feels stupid for not realizing on his own that you can like both but now that it's been said it all just kinda clicks into his brain.

Then Dread sets in as he realizes that the only thing holding him back from wanting to be with Eddie was that Steve, genuinely, thought you HAD to pick one gender to like and he'd made his irreversible decision back in middle school with he kissed Mary during the first game of Spin the Bottle he'd ever played.

So, Steve's realized he wants to date Eddie and learned that Eddie won't be with someone who likes both. It's a terrible night for Steve all around.

And Eddie's comments don't stem from a place of actually hating bi people; it's just been years of growing up in Hawkins and being someone's dirty little secret while watching the same boys that fuck him from behind in a dark bedroom walk around the halls of Hawkins High holding their girlfriend's hands.

And because it's gotta be Steddie for me, Eddie's crushing on Steve and would absolutely go out with Steve if he asked. But Steve never asks because Eddie is so vocal with his opinions on everything and he's got no filter so he's unintentionally mocked Steve's sexuality 3 times TODAY. There's no way Steve will ask; not when he's so sure the answers going to be know.

Then ooppps. Steve gets a boyfriend and Eddie has a meltdown about it because Steve never even told him he was into guys!!

I just love all the angst potential.

#steddie #my fic #its not a fic but im tagging that so I can find this later

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madamechrissy · 3 days ago

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Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- This is a VERY angsty, please do NOT READ if you want the Geto (alt ending) this is how it was always supposed to go but I will have the happy version in a couple days. Heavy angst, reader is injured, mentions of pregnancy, reader has a baby, bittersweet and emotional, explicit sex (not with Geto) oral (f receiving) and longing/yearning. I cried 10 times so be aware lol WC this part- 7.7k

This version is does NOT END Sugu/Reader- the alt ending will! This is a Gojo/reader/ambiguous end. SKIP IT if you want the Geto end.

<<<Part Four - Playlist - Masterlist - Happy ending/alt end (soon)

Sad asf /Baby it's NO Good Ending

Satoru lifts you up into his arms effortlessly, tired students and sorcerers retreat tentatively, Suguru’s curses dissolve as if they weren’t there, all while your unconscious body lolls in Satoru’s arms. Suguru is speaking to his cult quickly, ordering them to stop and retreat for now, while Satoru waits, staring at your face now, looking so oddly peaceful for what happened.

Satoru had a feeling this would happen, and he hates himself for knowing it and bringing you anyway, but you were okay with it - willing even - to save everyone, he admires it about a girl he hardly knows. To put yourself and a baby in danger to reach out to Suguru, it shows just who you are, it’s easy to see how much Suguru has fallen, when Satoru never thought he would.

Suguru finally walks up, glaring at Satoru’s hold with eyes gone black, swiping blood off his cheek as he walks toward him now. “I can carry my wife.”

“You’ve really done such a great job taking care of her so far. I’ll carry her, I don’t trust you not to disappear and Shoko is the only one I trust helping her.”

“Tch, you think I don’t even want to help her?”

“Why? You left her.” Suguru snatches you up, and you hang so limply he feels sick, sighing in anguish as he looks at your listless body. “Now.”

Suguru never thought he’d listen to Satoru, but he does, following him now into Shoko’s medical set up, her brows raise as she sees Suguru for the first time in almost nine years, he notices how exhausted she is, all of the fun energy he remembers sapped away. He falters a moment, before carrying you inside, Satoru shuts the heavy door with an echoing bang.

“What’s happened?” Suguru delicately lays your unconscious frame, as Shoko sets to feeling your pulse.

“Energy blast from… one of my men.” Suguru gulps down it all, the fact that it’s even worse, that you were hurt by one of his by mistake.

He wants to kill that man right now.

“She’s pregnant.” Satoru mentions, as if it were so casual, and Shoko sighs now, nodding.

“Can’t be far along, she’s not showing.”

“Five weeks.” Suguru answers, quietly, as Shoko raises her hands now, and shuts her eyes, dark hair falling a bit over her shoulders.

“I can’t guarantee it will be okay, but I can save her.” Suguru’s heart shatters at her words, looking as the reverse curse technique starts working over you with the incandescent light.

“It’s all your fault. Why’d you fucking bring her here!?” Suguru walks up to Satoru now, smacking a hand as he brushes your hair a bit off your sleeping face, earning a glare behind white bandages.

“She asked to come.”

Suguru pauses. Are you that reckless?

“I told her no at first, but I thought she’d be the only thing to bring you to any of your fucking senses, have you stop killing my students, our friends.”

“I don’t have any fucking friends.”

Shoko scoffs, eyeing him with tired eyes now. “You did.”

“It’s not you all I wanted to eliminate, you simply chose to defend them, the weak, pathetic…” He can’t say it anymore, what he called them, what he called you.

“Weren’t you the one who said it’s our job to protect the weak?” Satoru’s voice is quiet now, reminding him of just that, the time he felt that way, naive and young.

“You continue to lose all your comrades and friends, Satoru you may be the strongest but it’s not worth it - without them, there are no more curses.”

“It’s not your choice to change how the world is. You’ve gone so far, the only person I’ve ever seen you love since you… changed… is here.” Satoru’s words nearly make him fall over with the pain, the grief, looking at your still unconscious body, as Shoko focuses harder.

“Please just save her.” He whispers now, and Satoru slips off his blindfold completely, blue eyes seeing right through him.

“You did this. If she doesn’t make it, it’s because of you.”

“I fucking know that!” Suguru shoves Satoru now, which merely earns a tired, sad little smile, while he grips his wrist before he lets Suguru strike him. “I know it, okay? I don’t even… fucking deserve her. I know it.” He’s close to tears as he shoves off Satoru, covering his face before he looks back at you.

It’s gone too far, god it’s all gone too far, hasn’t it?

How can he live with himself after what he’s done to you. He places a hand on yours, you don’t grip it how could you, limp and weak fingers, exhausted face growing just a little brighter. You’re exhausted from him, from the stress - god he left you in his bed, alone, naked and gleaming from your lovemaking.

Love making, it was love making.

You were his everything, and not once did he let you get treated or shown that way, what was just one time of worshipping your body when he didn’t worship or appreciate your soul? Your mind, your wishes, he barely knew you truly - he never gave you a chance to listen.

He hates himself.

He was going to kill them all, for a better world, but to lose the only important thing to him, in a room with two people who loved him?

What has he done?

“It’s not working.” He says then, worried as Shoko sighs, shaking her head.

“I need more time with her, her body is already in a rough state.”

“What rough state!?”

“She has a weak will, and she needs to have some will to make it through this.”

A weak will, because of him, he fucking knows it too- it’s all him that did this, that caused it, he wants to blame Satoru for putting you in danger, but it’s ultimately his fault. You begged him to stay despite having been forced into this, despite the horrible things he said and did to you, despite it all you still asked him. You still tried to break through, almost meeting your end.

You awaken suddenly with a gasp, sitting up, staring at an unfamiliar but pretty face of a woman in scrubs, a stethoscope around her neck. She smiles gently, you feel two men’s hands on you, Satoru’s holding one hand, Suguru the other, both staring up at you now.

“I’m sorry I put you in harm.” Satoru’s words are full of remorse, one of his eyes staring up at you, glimmering. “It was the only way but…”

“It’s okay. I chose to, it was the right thing.” He exhales in relief, as you look to Suguru now, torn between anger, relief and fear. “Suguru…”

“I ended the battle.” It’s all relief now, as you clutch him tightly, and all the love in your eyes makes him even more sick, how could you love him?

“It worked.”

“It was foolish, reckless-”

“You are not about to lecture her right now on being reckless.” Suguru scowls at Satoru’s words.

“Let’s talk while Shoko checks her out.” Suguru’s words are surprisingly soft, a way you’ve only heard a couple times, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Satoru and Suguru walk to the other end of the enormous room, footsteps echoing while Shoko murmurs softly. “I’m Ieri.”

“Thank you for… saving me, Ieri.” Your own quiet name makes her smile a bit, as she looks at Satoru and Suguru. “They were your friends, weren’t they?”

“Hmm, I guess they were. Let me check this heart rate, okay?” You nod, eyeing the two quiet men, as your disoriented mind and sore body process what happened.

“I know you owe me no favors, Satoru… but can I ask for one?” Satoru frowns now, leaning against the wall, as you sit up with Shoko’s help and speak quietly.

“You stopped the attack, if you’re willing to give this up, I’ll do you any favor.” He says, making Suguru sigh.

He doesn’t deserve you.

He doesn’t deserve Satoru.

He deserves no happiness for what he’s done, the horror in your eyes, the fear of the unknown, the baby just barely growing that surely would not survive with him near you. You look at him across the room, with those sad, broken eyes - he’d never made you happy, not once - yet you truly tried. You begged him to fucking stay and what did he do, what did he cause?

“I am taking Mimiko and Nanako far away.” Satoru’s blue eyes widen now.

“And your wife, yes?

“No.”

“Suguru, are you fucking serious, what more does the girl have to do to be with you!? She almost died to save you, not just everyone.” Satoru’s voice is a hushed whisper, eyes narrowed.

“That’s just it, I’m no good for her, or the baby if it… makes it. Chances are with me and how devastated I make her, it won't.”

“Suguru, she will forgive you.” Satoru puts a hand on his former best friend’s shoulder, coated in blood, and Suguru doesn’t shove it off, he takes a breath instead, shaking his head.

“She will, and so will you, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her and I never did.”

“So become the man she needs, you’re not too-”

Suguru laughs harshly, taking Satoru’s hand off now, holding it for a moment, a million memories of their friendship falling as his hand falls. “Both of you make excuses, but I see what I did to her.”

“She’ll be okay, Shoko-”

“She’ll never be okay. Satoru, I have to ask you…”

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking run, seriously!?” Suguru yanks him out of the room, out of your earshot now, Satoru crosses his arms, as the door echoes in the cold empty halls of the abandoned building they’d shielded Shoko in.

“Take care of her.” At Suguru’s broken words, tears feeling once cold eyes, Satoru falters, lips parting. “Take care of the baby if it… makes it.”

He glares, shoving at his old friend, who’s too down to not let him budge with the movement, forlorn look on his face. “You take care of them, become better.”

Suguru shakes his head. “I can’t face her. I can’t face what I’ve done, I need to go. Far, far away.”

“For how long!?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever come back. I know it’s a lot to ask - but I also know I can trust you to take care of her.” Satoru’s furious, not at the thought of taking care of you, but the fact that Suguru is running, that he still even now can’t accept love. “You will take care of her better than I could.”

“You think you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not. She chose to come here, can’t you give her a chance?” Suguru peers through the door window, the thick pane of glass, sighing and touching it longingly, while Shoko checks your vitals.

“Please, for the friendship we had, take care of her. The girl I love.” Satoru’s own emotions make his throat close, while Suguru realizes just how deeply he loves you, more than he even could admit. But he didn’t choose you, no matter how deeply you begged him to, no he left you alone in that bed.

He can’t forgive himself for it.

He is not sure he cares about any other casualties, he wishes he did care more for that - he still sees humans as pests, he does not share Satoru’s view and maybe never will. But you so clearly need him to, and he realizes he’s too far in his own hatred still, you were that exception, that bright spot. You were the one regret he now holds, and he knows he loves you enough to let you go.

“Please look after her for me, Satoru.”

“Jesus christ, Suguru.” He swipes a hand through his long white hair, looking at you in that room, sighing. “Of course I will take care of her and the baby. But it should not be me.”

“Thank you.” Suguru puts his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, and for a moment Satoru sees him - the best friend he ever had, making what he thinks is the best decision for a girl he loves. He loves and feels, still deep down, and something breaks Satoru down then. “I went too far.”

He scoffs at that, sighing. “Understatement of the century. I will not tell her goodbye for you, though. You need to at least explain your stupid decision.”

Satoru walks back into the room, looking down at you now, you’re weak but alive, and he still senses two energies with his powerful six eyes. He gently holds out his hands, and you take them, using his help to stand, shaky now. “Are you feeling okay, sweets?”

“I’m okay.” You nod a smile just a bit, turning to Shoko. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. We’ll… give you two a moment.” She reads the room clearly, Satoru and Shoko have known each other so long it really just takes a look.

You watch curiously as they walk out, and Suguru has tears in his violet eyes, something you never thought you’d see, his face so serious and sullen it makes you panic. “Did they say the baby-”

“No, no, for now it all looks fine. Shh.” He pulls you against his strong chest, and you fall apart, sobbing now, shaking your head and shoving at him. “I know.”

“You know!? You know? You left me. You chose this over me.” You pull back, furious, chest heaving with the quickness of your breaths, your own cheeks covered in your tears now.

“I did. And that’s why I’m no good for you.”

You pause now, gasping. “What!?”

“It was selfish, so selfish not to let you run when you wanted to.” You’re shaking as he cups your face, thumb tracing your cheek, brushing aside the onslaught of tears, exhaling and leaning low. “I almost killed you.”

“You didn’t almost kill me, you almost killed everyone! Suguru, I’m fine.”

“Tch, are you!?” His grip on your waist draws you closer, while your head falls back, and you stare into a monster’s eyes - a monster you love. “Are you fine? You almost died.”

“I chose to come here, you can’t blame Satoru when I begged him to bring me. I had to try to save them, those innocent people!”

“It worked.”

You sigh, shaking further, burying your face against his chest, he’s covered in sweat and grime and blood from the battle, but you don’t care. “Are you done with this foolish effort?”

“I’m done.” You look up in shock, cupping his face now, and he leans so low, until your breaths mingle, hand shaking as it holds you.

“Thank God. Oh Suguru, thank God.” You pull him down for a kiss, full of all the relief in your heart. You’ve saved him, everyone is okay - glimpses of hope and something beautiful fill you with a light you’ve never had. He kisses you back so deeply, exhaling against your lips, deepening it and pulling you so tightly, his hard body enveloping yours.

“I should have told you.” He whispers, pulling back, lips almost against yours, nose brushing against yours.

You gulp, throat dry, in so much fear of what he’s going to say, what he’s going to do. “Told me what?”

“I love you. Fuck I love you, love when you hit me, love when you called me out, love the fire inside you.” His declaration makes your heart shatter, you want to be happy, but you feel it - his apprehension, his fear.

“Suguru…”

“I love you and don't deserve you.”

You glare now. “Don’t you do this, don’t you run.”

“Baby, this is how I can show how much I love you.” He cups your face with two big hands and long fingers, you’re glaring through your tears, gripping his wrists.

“Don’t you dare.” You whisper, teeth clenched, you feel it then, you feel him pushing you away, when he’s just close enough.

“Satoru will take care of you both, better than I could, he’ll be good to you-”

“What!? You’re shoving me off on your fucking friend?” You shove at his chest now, but he doesn’t budge, even as you smack at it, he doesn’t move, doesn’t let go of his grip. “If you love me you’ll run away with me, we can start over.”

The desperation in your voice tempts him to no end, god he’d love it, but he knows how much you’d suffer, always. “I am leaving, starting over.”

“Not with me?” Your hurt pours through every word, and Suguru wants to bring you, god he does, but he knows it so clearly - he could never make you happy.

“You’ll be better off this way. You and the baby.”

“Bullshit, it’s such bullshit Suguru!”

“It’s the truth, I love you enough to finally do this.” He brushes your hair back tenderly, you smack his hand scowling up at him.

“You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to abandon me after not choosing me - just to not choose me again!”

“It’s not that,” your sobs wrack your body, as he steps back, brushing back his tangled dark locks. “I am choosing your happiness.”

“Why can’t it be with you?” Your broken whisper makes his heart break, but he loves you so much, he just knows.

This is right.

“I can’t look you in those beautiful eyes and know what pain I caused, I can’t have you looking at the monster I am.”

“You’re my fucking monster, okay? Mine!” You shove him again, he just sighs, defeated. “I love you Suguru Geto. I do, despite it all, despite how completely fucked in the brain you were, I love you dammit. You can’t just leave me now, like I’m some damn pet you can’t take care of. I love-”

He’s slammed his lips again, desperate and hungry, and you fall into him, as his kisses grow more and more ardent, pulling back just to take a breath, hand slipping up your spine. The contact alone makes you shiver, tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, so much emotion in this one kiss you wish it would last forever, fingers clinging to the silk of his robes.

“Don’t do this. I can only forgive so much.” He sighs at that, as you’re sniffling, eyes fucking burning.

“You’ll thank me one day, if we meet again - how happy you’ll be without me.” He breaks away then, as you crumble, holding your stomach while the sobs seem fucking endless.

“Don’t leave me, please, not again, I can’t take it.” He looks back at you as he stands by that door, pulled between being selfish and selfless.

But only for a moment.

“I’ll love you till I take my last breath. You’re not just human, you are the most special thing that’s existed.” You collapse to the floor while he walks out, the world collapsing around you, the hope you had for just a moment crushed.

He will never choose you.

“Suguru go the fuck back in there, stop feeling sorry for yourself, what are you doing to that girl?” Satoru shoves at him then, but Suguru knows it, he can’t live with himself let alone be with you, cause you pain, ruin you further.

“A moment of pain in order to be free of me. She thinks she’s in love with me now, but it’s because of her being trapped. She just thinks she does, but I don’t deserve it, not worthy of it.”

“You don’t think you deserve it, so earn it. Just stop this bullshit.”

“Satoru, thank you for not… giving up. But I can’t live with what I did, seeing it in her eyes every day. Please, just care for her.” Satoru glares and crosses his arms.

“Running away. You’re just running away.”

“Good bye, Satoru.” Suguru is gone, just like that, leaving Satoru to punch the wall in anger, and of course it starts crumbling with his strength, you gasp out in shock at the sound and he curses, resting his head for a moment.

He almost had his best friend back.

He walks in to see you so small and helpless in the big room on the floor, holding yourself in a hug, devastating to look at, when your eyes meet his. Satoru walks up to you then, sitting right on the ground, his legs crossed, brushing his fingers comfortingly against your shoulder. You’re shaking so badly, skin hot to the touch, he can even hear how fast your heart was.

“Sit up, sweetheart.” You do it with his help, you feel weak and devastated beyond repair, while he pulls you against his chest, holding you to him, letting you cry against his dark jacket, rubbing your back up and down.

“You don’t have to take care of me, S-satoru okay, I c-can do it alone. I have family that may understand-”

“No.” His word is firm, precise, you tilt your head up and look into brilliant blue eyes, lips pressed together. “I promised him and I won’t break it.”

“I’ll just be some burden to you. It’s bullshit, him leaving, bullshit.”

“Yeah. I know. But I will take care of you. Okay?” You shake your head, sniffling now. “I will.”

“I believe you, but how could he? After… I told him I loved him.” Satoru tenderly brushes your cheek, swiping some of your tears.

“He doesn’t believe he deserves it from either of us.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Satoru sighs.

“I don’t know. But for now, come on.” He stands carefully, picking your still weak body in his arms.

“I can walk.”

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” Your lips barely twitch, as you hold onto his neck.

“I guess so. I’m sorry you’re just stuck with-”

“Shh, it’s fine. Let’s get you somewhere you can rest.”

*****

One year later

You lay your little girl Noa down in her crib for the night, smiling as you touch her precious cheek, and Satoru leans in the doorway, smiling at the two of you. Her dark locks resemble her father, but aside from that she’s a spitting image of you. You look up at Satoru as you put a finger to your lips, signaling for him to be quiet, and he crooks his two fingers, asking you to come out.

“You can have a little wine now, she’s on formula mostly now, right?” He murmurs, as he takes your hand in his, and you pause - because it feels too good lately. God, he looks too good, after a year of living with him, having him hold you, hold your baby.

Satoru was literally her father, he helped you constantly, and you never paid for a thing, despite your frequent protests. Satoru went above and beyond anything you assumed when he promised Suguru that day - and the two of you have never talked to him since. The last Satoru found out, he moved to another country with the two girls, and the rest of the cult silently disbanded.

You miss Suguru every day, but Satoru slowly fills the void, the huge black hole he left when he abandoned you that day, and though you’ll always love Suguru Geto, as well Satoru, clearly, you also feel more and more for the man taking care of you. Even though you’ve fought it, for months after the baby it changed, how attractive you find him, hating yourself for it.

How can you pine away for a man never coming back?

But how can you move on after a love like that?

But you don’t realize Satoru can’t stop craving you, aching for you - also feeling fucking horrible. Suguru asked him to take care of you, and it was like he knew he would also grow to love you, but for different reasons than Suguru. He loves how funny, sarcastic and sweet you are. He loves how much you adore your little girl, and he loves her too.

He loves how you smile, how your cheeks get warm when he presses a friendly kiss on them, how the lights hit your pretty face. How sweet your scent is, how easy it is to be with you. Cooking together, taking care of Noa, just existing, you bring peace he didn’t know existed, as Satoru feels like a real home to you.

Satoru can’t imagine not coming home to the two of you, sometimes missions can last weeks, but you’re ready with a perfect meal and his favorite dessert. You’re always so happy when he comes home, hugging him tightly. The two of you hold each other, talking about Suguru at times, and how much you miss him, how much Satoru misses him.

Once last week you were crying, he had you against his chest, tilting your chin up, whispering the sweetest words. You felt all those body changes, the stretch marks, the extra skin, but he told you - ‘you’re gorgeous, okay?’ and you’d faltered, you almost kissed him, if not for your little girl crying.

You both had avoided each other that night after, he’d blushed furiously, as had you, but that was when something shifted, and the need grew more and more. Now looking at your joined hands, longing breaks through, but along with that so much confusion.

Could you be with someone else?

His best friend, that he left you with, did Suguru… expect this? Or would he be devastated, or would he even care? Did he keep tabs on you and the daughter he abandoned - for what he felt were the right reasons - or was it something he shoved far back. At times you were furious at Suguru for it, at times distraught, but sometimes you realize your life has become happy.

“Sorry…” Satoru pulls back now, that pink on his high cheeks again, but you take his hand back, shaking your head.

“I can drink a little wine, I’d enjoy some.” You smile and he exhales in relief, leading you down just one set of his elegant staircase. Satoru lived in a whole mansion honestly. But it still felt homey, it wasn’t like Suguru’s…

Suguru.

You loved him.

He left you.

And the man across from you pouring wine in your glass is beautiful, with his soft sweater and freshly washed hair, tousled just so, blue eyes soft as they study you carefully, you’re falling more, day by day. It’s not the insane madness, the brutal craziness of Suguru, it was something soft and sweet and beautiful.

“Want to watch our show?” He asks, and you nod, taking the glass from his fingers, they softly brush each other, sending trembles through the both of you, while your eyes lock, fingers staying there a moment too long. “Taste it.”

You take a breath, putting the sweet red wine to your lips, moaning at how good it is, a little drop on the corner of your mouth that he swipes away gently. You pause, as he stands there, leaning low, the huge house so quiet, your heart pounding in your chest, blood rushing to your head.

“Sorry.” He says again, clearing his throat, but you set the glass down, stepping up to him, so close, too close. Satoru’s hands ache to touch you, his lips die to touch yours. “Everything okay?”

“No. It’s not.” You sigh, hands slipping up his soft sweater, under that material, touching his bare chest and feeling it tense, a soft growl from his throat, when his hand entangles in your hair then.

“Keep touching me like that, and I will lose it.” His firm words, when he’s usually so sweet, just make you more excited, tummy flipping, clenched with desire.

“Lose what?” You touch him again, and his breath quickens, as he leans even lower, stepping you back, bit by bit, lips so close while you’re being pressed until the back of your knees hit the couch.

“The control. I can’t take you touching me.” He grips your wrists, and you turn him then, pressing him on the couch, straddling him, he gasps, as your own control fades to nothing. “You’re pushing me around, huh?”

“Maybe I am, Toru.” The nickname ruins him, as your lips crash against his, for the first time - and it feels far too good.

You never knew if you’d feel good again, the endless nights of crying for the man that left you, not once but twice, that put so much ahead of you, only to not even choose his baby, his friend, you. But you don’t hold resentment, no you still love that man, the one who ran from you all, but you feel good, Satoru’s lips are perfect, and for once you can let it go.

Just in this moment, let it all go, nothing but how perfect Satoru’s tongue feels against yours, as he’s so gently holding back. You’re grinding on him, earning his throaty moan, soaking wet when you feel his length, god you want him. You can’t stop it anymore, wanting the man who does everything for you and Noa, despite knowing how deeply connected he is to Suguru.

“God, I’ve wanted you,” Satoru’s kissing up your neck, as a hand grips your breast so gently, like he’s scared to hurt you, lips hovering on the shell of your ear now. “Tell me to stop, tell me I’m a bad friend.”

You shake your head, taking a breath. “You’re not, look at how good you take care of…. mmm, us… ah!” He’s nipped your ear with his teeth, moaning as he does, the sound igniting something inside you laid dormant.

“He shouldn’t have asked me.” He pulls back, a serious look on his face. “Now I’ve fallen, and fuck if I can stop if we go any further.”

You cup his face now, arching your hips just so, making him whimper softly, snowy lashes lowered as your heat hits him, rushing across his cock in those sweats now. His hands slip down to them, as he presses kisses on your breasts, swollen just a bit still from the baby, tempting him to no end.

“I’ve only… with him.” He pauses, blinking up at you in surprise, and you feel yourself flustered at admitting it.

“Shit that makes it worse for me to do.”

“It’s not… I… just wanted to tell you. I’m not the most experienced at certain things.” He nods then, swallowing, pressing up and watching your head fall back, making him throb harder with need.

“It’s been a year for me, so it’s been a bit, okay?” You blink in shock.

“You haven’t with…”

“How can I?” You’re kissing him more desperately now, feeling your body respond to every touch, every kiss, every brush.

“Please.” Your whisper ruins Satoru, he’s felt himself lose the will to stop, to rationalize it, but he can’t find rationale with you.

“Then we take it slow for you.” He lifts you off him, laying your back on that couch now, fingers trailing so delicately, it’s not rough, angry, brutal, it’s like he’s softly mapping your body, inch by inch, until he runs them up your thigh, parting them. “But make your decision, sweetheart, I won’t be able to stop.” His desperation is felt with every quick breath of yours, cunt growing slicker.

“I want you, Satoru… I have for… a long time.” He exhales, sliding down your body, sweet kisses on your thighs, thumb pressing your panties, and you cry out, covering your face then.

“She can’t hear you from down here, let go. Feel.” He’s kissing your thighs higher, hungrier as he slips down your shorts, tossing them, lapping at your soaked panties with his tastebuds, while blue eyes look up under hooded lids.

“Satoru!” You’re gripping his hair, so tightly it hurts, while he tastes it, the sweetness he’s been dying to for most of the time you’ve lived here. He fought it, so hard, but how can he not want you? When you look like that, feel like that, taste like this, it’s making him fucking feral, losing his strong control. “Sorry!”

“No, pull it.” He pulls your panties aside, studying your pretty pussy, you shyly almost cover your tummy a bit when he pauses you. “You’re beautiful, you were beautiful pregnant too.”

“Oh I, ah!” He’s parted them now, pressing a kiss to your bare, glistening cunt, and your body relaxes, while his hand covers your tummy.

“I thought it was so sexy pregnant, couldn’t say it.” He shakes his head, while tears of emotion and desire fill, he makes you feel so beautiful, so desired then.

The only time Suguru had done that was the last time.

One last time.

It feels so far away, so different, but you feel it in your heart - you love Satoru, you still love Suguru - fuck, Satoru loves Suguru still. But you both have to finally let him go, just a bit, and together you both do, as he’s delving into your slick, gummy walls with his long, talented tongue, all while studying you, so careful, watching every movement of your body.

There are no ‘i hate yous’ and there is no anger.

You just want him, and want him so badly.

You hate yourself for it, but at the same time, you deserve to feel loved, to feel happy, devoted as Satoru worships you, freely. He’s flicking his tongue on your clit in quick, sure flicks, as his long fingers sink in your eager cunt, hitting your g spot with just enough pressure you feel your orgasm taking you over.

“Satoru, oh my god I’m…”

“Cum, let me sip you sweetheart, that’s it.” He encourages softly, and you do, gushing all over his pretty face, he kisses you then, your taste swathed on his lips, desperate as you slip off his pants, stroking his thick, long cock, watching him whine over you. “Are you still sure?” He asks once more, tip against your entrance.

“I want this.” He exhales in relief, a hand entwining with yours as he sinks inside of you, no pain just a delicious fucking stretch, that has you screaming out, so loud he kisses you.

“Maybe not that loud, hmm?” He smirks, and you giggle - fuck you giggle all the time with him, don’t you? A far cry from the sad, depressed girl you were.

“Sorry, f-feels s’good…” He moans now, feeling your walls grip his cock, and he can’t take it, shoving your thighs up high, you gasp as he does, sinking deeper, tip against your cervix. He’s slow, letting you feel every fucking inch, as you spasm around him so close again.

“I’d love to put a baby in you, don’t you see, I’m horrible.” He rests his head on yours as his huge hands press up your thighs, and you gasp, clinging to the couch desperately as he works you. “I want all of you. I shouldn’t.”

He shouldn’t, right?

But how can he not.

He loves you.

With every stroke, kiss and whisper, you fall apart, dropping the last of your barriers for him, feeling the peak closer and closer. “You want that, Satoru?”

“God yes. You are so p-pretty pregnant, fuck… I shouldn’t have thought all those things…”

“Tell me.” Your whisper ends him, he’s slamming his cock, covering your mouth as your eyes roll back.

“Wanted you then, tits swollen, tummy so full, all I could think of was how I wanted to suck these pretty nipples, drink up all that milk from them.” He lets your thighs fall, they squeeze his hips, when he kisses a breast, bowing his back to do so, and your hands press into his strong biceps, as you whine out. “I’ve wanted you, sweetheart. Now I want you to cum on me.”

You’re done, with one more roll of his hips, you’re cumming so hard you can’t keep quiet, he’s gotta put that hand back on your mouth, watching your eyes roll back in your skull. He whispers as the orgasm rides over you ‘that’s it, sweets, there you go, so pretty’ as he presses kisses, letting you cum down, until he fills you up himself, so much cum.

He hasn’t been with anyone in a year.

How could he be, when you lived here?

You’re cumming with him again, tears falling as you kiss him, and he pulls back, frowning with worry. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m just really happy, Satoru.” Your tremulous smile ends him, and soon you’re in his bed, in his arms as he presses kisses on your shoulder. He sighs, addressing the silent thoughts while you both stare out his window at the night sky.

“Do you think he knew I’d fall in love with you?” You frown a bit, looking back at him now, your hand tightening over his.

“I don’t know. But Satoru, I love you too.” He kisses you softly, nuzzling your noses together. “You still love Suguru.”

“And so do you.” You nod then, and he swallows a bit, smiling now. “That’s okay, it’s okay to still love him.”

“Even though he’s an emo bitch?” Satoru snorts, as do you, through your emotions.

“Even though he’s emo enough for a whole 2006 band by himself.”

“With a god complex.”

“Well… I have that too.”

“I have curious taste.” He chuckles, and you turn in his embrace, brushing his soft white locks back, kissing him again, until the two of you fall back into each other, the entire night.

*****

Two years since you saw or heard from Suguru Geto

Suguru swallows nervously as he knocks on his old friend’s door - wondering if you still lived there. He was sure Satoru moved you in, why wouldn’t he? He knows you were in good hands, surely, but finally, he feels it - the draw to come back. He doesn’t expect you to forgive him, but he wants to see you, and to see his child for the first time.

He wonders, was it a boy or girl?

The door opens, and he expects his friend, only to have to look down at that face that’s haunted his dreams, his thoughts for two years. Your eyes are wide when you see him, as if you’ve seen a fucking ghost, and maybe he was to you, your mouth open wide as he hears giggling, tinkling like a little bell.

“Get here, you little brat!” Satoru’s laughing, running after a quick little girl with chubby arms flailing, and Suguru sees her then.

His daughter.

He looks back to you, opening his mouth to say something, anything, when he gazes at your body, and sees the changes.

You’re pregnant.

Satoru stops and picks up the little girl, grinning at you before he sees Suguru, then his own eyes widen, while the little girl just giggles waving at Suguru, not knowing who he was. How could she? His heart breaks into pieces when he sees her perfect face, she looks just like you, aside from already long black hair, silky and tied up in a cute little pony tail.

She’s precious, she’s perfect.

He feels it, what’s been missing, when he manages a little smile at her, and Satoru steps closer, while you’re still stunned, as you see him. You never thought you’d see him again, this past year has been spent living your life with Satoru and your daughter, and then you’d found out you were expecting. Satoru was oddly traditional, putting a ring on your finger one day.

‘You’re kind of married to my best frenemy but this will do for now’

He’d said it so casually you’d giggled, as he carried you to the room, the lovemaking was endless between you, but moreso it was the friendship- a beautiful friendship, truly. A partnership built on mutual love of Suguru at first, but of course it blossomed, until you were each other’s world, though you saw Suguru every day in your daughter.

Two years. No word.

He looks different, he’s slimmer and less buff, his hair is shorter and tied up, and he has some dark circles, but he’s as handsome as you remember. He clears his throat a bit now, rubbing the back of his neck, gone was the insanely commanding man, and replaced was one just a little unsure.

Your heart splits in half.

“Suguru, come in.” Satoru’s words surprise him, as he looks at you again, your hand on your tummy.

Is this how you looked pregnant with his daughter?

“Please come in, Suguru.” You whisper, and he nods, trying to placate a smile on his face as everything threatens him, to yank you in his arms, kiss you, press you against that wall. To tell you how badly he’s craved it, your taste, your moans, your pretty sighs, how he’s not stopped thinking of you.

But you’ve moved on, it’s clear as day with your bump growing, with how your daughter calls Satoru ‘papa’ then. He wants to be furious, but he caused it, he shoved you right into Satoru’s arms, and knew he’d fall for you, just like Suguru did. How could anyone not love you.

“Hi! Hi!” The girl says, and Suguru smiles at her, stepping closer, as she cups his cheek with her little hand.

“Hi there. I’m your parents… very distant best friend.” His soft declaration eats you alive, as you and Satoru eye each other for a moment.

“Play! Play!” Suguru chuckles, you’re not sure you really ever heard that from him, unless it was dark, mocking.

“Let’s give them a minute to catch up, clean up for dinner. You staying for dinner, Suguru?” Satoru asks, so casually as if they were just old friends, and Suguru almost breaks down.

He doesn’t deserve to be invited in.

He didn’t deserve either of your love.

“If you’d like me to.” He directs the question to you, and you nod a little, smiling tremulously.

“Please do.”

“Then it’s settled, be back sweetheart.” Satoru plants a kiss right on your lips, and you melt just a bit, before tensing, glaring at Satoru as he grins. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous!” He just chuckles, winking as he takes her to get cleaned up, leaving you with Suguru, who’s scowling at his retreating figure.

“He’s as annoying as ever.” You burst into laughter, before it turns to tears, and Suguru falters, holding a hand up, hovering near your cheek. “Fuck, I… I am so sorry I left. I’m sorry for it all.”

“It’s okay, just please, stay for dinner. Let us see you again. Let her meet you, please.” You’re a mess, and he hugs you against his chest now, feeling your tummy nudge him, your breasts against his chest, a mix of fury and understanding, longing and loathing.

“Are you happy?” His question is simple.

You are happy.

But you missed him, fuck you missed him. But now…

“Suguru um, I…” You sigh, holding his hand, stepping back just a bit, and his other hand brushes aside your tears. “I’m happy with Satoru. I love him. I know you must hate me for saying this-”

“No.” He puts a finger to your lips, pausing, looking just how beautiful they are, how beautiful you are, you always were. “I saw how he looked at you the day you met, I knew this would happen.”

“Then why!? Then why!” You pull back, shaking your head, and Suguru looks away, jaw clenching.

“I knew he’d make you happy and I couldn’t. And I loved you enough to let you have it.” Your heart is shattered into a million pieces, the baby kicks in response and you cry out just a bit. “Calm down, please…”

“I just don’t get it, I don’t get you Suguru, maybe I never will. Are you back or just… visiting?” You’re swiping at your own tears.

“I’m here for a bit. I came to see you both. Well… all three of you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Your daughter, she’s beautiful.”

“Her name is Noa.” You say, and Suguru can’t stop the smile from growing, brushing your hair off your shoulder.

“Love?”

“Love.” You touch his hand with a small smile. “Please stay for dinner, and… just talk.”

“I kind of want to kill Satoru even more than before.”

“Wanna take this outside then?” Satoru’s cocky grin meets Suguru’s eye roll - and you know this memory well from Satoru’s tales - of a basketball game with the two of them, over ten years ago now. But you see it.

They still love each other, even though Satoru has you against his side, possessive hand on your waist, and Suguru’s violet eyes glare a bit. “You took my wishes a little too far.”

“Should’ve been more specific, less emo.”

“Satoru I swear-”

“Hi, hi! Up, up!” Noa runs to Suguru, surprising Satoru and you both, as the little girl really only loves you two.

Suguru leans down, picking her up in his arms, grinning bigger than you’ve ever seen, as you barely hold it together, Satoru’s hand soothing on your back, pressing a kiss on your temple. “You’re mine, you know.” He whispers in your ear.

“Possessive, hmm?” You smile up at him, and he sighs, looking over at his friend and his daughter.

“Very, but… it’s nice to have him home.” Satoru’s words are only meant for your ears, as you glance at a man you loved, a toxic man - one who made horrible decisions - but you see it, his change, his genuine adoration of Noa then. And you look back at the other man you love, so deeply, and something about it…

Feels perfect.

Now if you read this after I warned you, I'll hear no complaining aha - if you're reading both, happy Suguru end will be VERY soon. If you just wanted the sad ending, I hope you enjoyed. It's bittersweet <3 This is how I intended it to end but so many ppl fell for our cult leader I'll have his own version. Ty for reading this~ if it's your chosen end, see you in my other ficsss!

taglist 1 @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @angelzrulez21-blog @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @satorusaysiloveyou @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @makingtimemine @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @maddyhehehehhe @nanamiskentos @yenayaps @slamonwords @nonamevenus @sugurumylove @shibataimu @spicy-woodland-queen @nonamebbsblog @notyuralycat @beabamboo @satttanx @curlyhairkk @7thsthings @ziggy0stardust @slutlight2ndver

#suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #SatoSugu x reader ???#maybe lol #geto angst #jjk angst #jjk arranged marriage #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk geto #cult leader geto #divider by strangergraphics

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fox-guardian · 15 hours ago

Text

[ID: Five digital drawings comparing the original crew of the Tulpar from Mouthwashing with their Anti-Tulpar versions. Each have lists of traits next to them.

First image is Curly. Regular curly is standing plainly and smiling off to the side. Anti-Curly is facing the viewer directly in a wide stance. He is wearing gloves, boots and spurs, and a hat, as well as a gun holster, and he has a cartoonish smile and "pie eyes".

Text reads:

Curly: laid back leader, prioritizes morale, friendly, non-violent, unsatisfied as captain.

Anti-Curly: follows policy closely, rules with an iron fist (+ spurs), hostile, cartoonishly violent (oops), being a captain is All He Has.

Second is Jimmy. Regular Jimmy is facing the viewer with a bored expression. Anti-Jimmy is smiling, slightly hunched in and waving with one foot raised. He's wearing soda jewelry, his clothes have green and pink patches, his hair is dyed and in a ponytail, and he has slash scars across his face and is missing his middle finger.

Text reads:

Jimmy: Plain, not very expressive, deeply insecure, quiet, silver-tongued, short-sighted, doesn't consider consequences.

Anti-Jimmy: Expressive + accessorizes, secure in his identity, Loud, struggles in conversation, overthinker + hates to cause harm.

Third is Anya. Regular Anya smiles softly with one hand over her chest. Anti-Anya glares at the viewer, slouching with one hand on her hip. She has glasses, a ponytail, a black turtleneck, and is wearing crocs.

Text reads:

Anya: Tries to see the best in people, Fawn response, Stubborn and hardworking, Cares about health and safety, kind.

Anti-Anya: cynical, fight response, gives up easily, careless, cruel.

Fourth is Daisuke. Regular Daisuke has one hand in his pocket, the other waving as he smiles. Anti-Daisuke is partially hunched with his hands clasped anxiously. His hair is plain and he's wearing a burgundy cardigan and white vans.

Text reads:

Daisuke: Outgoing, Directionless, Helpful, Yapper, People Pleaser.

Anti-Daisuke: Reserved, Driven, Doesn't like being asked to help, hates small talk, spiteful.

Last is Swansea. Regular Swansea is frowning to the side with his hands on his hips. Anti-Swansea smiles with a hand behind his head. He's wearing suspenders, work boots, has leather patches on his knees, and rosy cheeks.

Text reads:

Swansea: Just keeps saying shit, teaches through his experience, rough around the edges, knows he's not a good person, gets groovy when drunk.

Anti-Swansea: man of few words, "fuck around and find out" teaching style, sweet exterior, thinks he's a good person, gets wallowy when drunk.

end ID]

~~~~

THE ANTI-TULPAR CREW ARRIVES!! hopefully they were worth the wait uwu

idk exactly how most other anti-aus work, but to gather my general thoughts together, basically i'm flipping several Core Traits (the lists in the pics are by no means comprehensive, just enough to get a vibe) to flip their personalities. this ends up flipping their dynamics quite a bit as well, ofc. anti-curly is a very.... Dramatic antagonist. the setting, however, stays the same. i'm not flipping pony express or anything like that, it wouldn't be as interesting to me to change Everything. i mostly made this au to play around with character designs and swapped dynamics and stuff and to see how things would go if the people were different while their circumstances aren't.

also. it turns out when you take a generally shitty person and make someone who is the Opposite of those things, you get someone generally pretty pleasant.

So Expect More Anti-Jimmy AJSHDADJHKASJHKD

#fg's art #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #anti-tulpar au #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #anti-curly #anti-jimmy #anti-anya #anti-daisuke #anti-swansea #hopefully that id isn't too verbose and is still easy to parse #and ofc i haven't developed daisuke or swansea nearly as much as our dear disaster trio unfortunately umu #trying not to neglect them too hard #but to get a grasp on the Opposite version of them i have to get a grasp on. them. normally. and i haven't quite done that yet asjhdadjh #anywa ENJOY!! i hope <3 you like them <3

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inthelittlewood · 7 hours ago

Note

That bit you did for permitmaster when you stole cat toys from Grian and Jimmy was the best prank I've seen in a long time lmao. The way you presented it was absolutely perfect too XDDD. Can you tell us anything behind the scenes for that joke?

So it was actually Netty who concepted the prank, but it was originally just to take Timmy's.

We later found out they were staying at Grian's the night before the flight and we knew what we had to try for. At the time we thought Grian would be the Greg Davies role as opposed to the Alex Horne one, but either way it's funny to prank the hosts lol

When I tell you how I imagined it playing out, is exactly how it happened on screen, omg.. I had that "What are you laughing at, I've got one of yours 'n all" rehearsed 😂

One thing that was an amazing coincidence was Timmy going before me during the round. That one just fell straight in my lap and made the first part of the joke that much better of a natural transition

Couldn't have gone better tbh

#inthelittlewood

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missadangel · 3 days ago

Text

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 6: Truth or Dare

series masterlist

Chapter Summary: “What about me?” asked Pride. “Shut up,” replied Jealousy. Lust laughed hard. You finally get that you can’t run from your feelings anymore, but what the hell? Or are you too late?

Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time.

Chapter Word Count: 12,5k, oops I did it again!! HOT (SMUT) CHAPTER ALERT! , feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk.

authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

Getting out of bed in the morning was a total struggle. The memories from last night felt like a heavy weight, making you feel crushed. You thought you knew how you felt, but then again, you weren’t so sure. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

You definitely needed to talk to someone, or maybe even see a therapist.

But you couldn’t chat with Zoe yet; you’d come home late the night before, and now you had to rush off to work. Perhaps you could catch up with her when you return later that evening.

Zoe was still sprawled out on the couch, her ankle too painful to even rise for a bathroom break. You made her a sandwich before heading out.

As you walked to the subway, you found yourself scrolling through relationship advice sites on your phone. You knew it was a bit silly to seek guidance online, but what could it hurt to take a peek? After sifting through a bunch of silly sites and endless ads, a social Q&A platform caught your eye. One question stood out:

"How am I supposed to tell him I love him too, but I'm not ready?"

Ah just what you were looking for.

You scrolled to read all the answers.

clickcrazecreations

It is okay to not return the statement, to say “thank you but I'm not ready”, to tell the person that you are not ready to be shackled by their love and affection.

But that wasn’t your issue—you were ready;-almost ready- that wasn’t the real problem.

wanderlustchronicles

Seriously, think twice! If you can't answer, it might mean you're not really in love, girl! It's okay to move on and find someone who makes you happy!

Hey! Who said you didn’t love him? And you knew he made you happy.

oprahwindfury

Wait, you found a guy who told you he loved you first, and you couldn't reply? Seriously? In this day and age with dating being tough, that's wild! You need a good kick in the ass. You bet I will.

That comment scared you a little and made you feel weird. Why did she sound so angry?

hopelessromantic

Is he handsome? I'll say yes to him. Give me his number.

What the heck? Those online comments were really getting on your nerves.

fartnroses

It’s pretty simple, come on! Follow your heart instead of... No, I’m not talking about that squishy thing!

You were just closing the page when you realized the most sensible comment.

agnespire

Love requires Courage. Take a hard look at your fear of saying these words to him. Then, if you love him, tell him so. Good communication is key in a relationship. This means pushing yourself into situations that may not be so comfortable at first. It’s called growth. Grow together. Share your feelings. Honor your feelings for him. Most of all, confront fears you have about anything and everything, and acknowledge that all negative emotions stem from fear. Kill it! Choose Love.

Choosing love.

Maybe it was that simple.

Courage.

Maybe that's exactly what you need.

The elevator bell chimed as Oliver stepped into Harry's apartment on the 72nd floor. His phone rang just then, and he answered it while scanning the room for Harry.

“Damn gossipmongers, they don’t waste any time. Get that story taken down from every site and warn them we’ll sue their asses if they keep running with it,” he said, fuming as he ended the call. His eyes continued searching for Harry, darting toward the bedroom but finding it empty.

He ventured into the living room and discovered Harry in the last place he expected: sprawled out on the couch, one leg dangling over the side. Whiskey bottles littered the floor, and the heavy scent of alcohol mixed with something else—cigarette smoke.

What the hell?

He’d quit smoking almost a decade ago.

This wasn't good.

Oliver leaned in and gave Harry a gentle nudge on the shoulder. “Harry? You okay?”

Harry mumbled something incoherent. Oliver leaned closer, trying to catch it, and realized he was murmuring your name.

Sighing, Oliver stood up. “Seriously, Harry! Wake up!” This time he poked him a bit harder.

Harry blinked awake and sat up, coughing as he tried to shake off the grogginess.

“Cigarettes? Really?”

“I have my reasons,” he replied, still half-asleep and grumpy.

Placing his hands on his hips, Oliver surveyed the scene. “Dude, last night... I thought you and her had it all figured out, but apparently not.”

“Harry! Ollie!” Maria called out as she rushed in from the elevator, her eyes widening in shock. “Sweet Jesus!”

“Good morning to you, too,” Oliver said, smiling sheepishly.

“What the hell happened here?” she asked, grimacing as she took in the chaos. “I thought…”

Oliver shook his head. Maria sighed in frustration.

Harry, nursing the terrible headache from his night of heavy drinking, pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and temple. His hair was a mess, and he was still in the same tuxedo pants with his bow tie nowhere in sight.

“That dress. Isn’t it—” Oliver pointed to the black dress Harry was loosely holding, not even realizing he was still clutching it.

Suddenly aware, Harry sheepishly placed the dress back on the couch.

“The dress she gave back,” Oliver concluded, looking astonished.

“Are you kidding me?” Maria said, staring at him in disbelief.

Harry frowned, holding the dress back up to his nose. “Smells like her, okay?” he murmured, looking like a kid with his favorite candy.

“That’s fantastic! Bravo!” Maria clapped her hands together mockingly. “Who are you, and what have you done to my buddy Harry?”

Harry, ignoring the banter, picked up a pack of cigarettes and searched for any left inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver snatched the pack from his hands.

“Give it back!” Harry barked.

“Stop it! You’ve been clean for years; you can’t start again now.”

A tug-of-war began as Harry reached for it again.

Maria crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You guys are acting like kids fighting over a toy.” She glanced at her watch. “Just so you know, it’s Monday,” she added, putting extra emphasis on her point.

Oliver suddenly froze.

“Give me a break today,” Harry whined, seizing the moment to grab his cigarette pack. He pulled one out and stuck it between his lips. “Where’s that damn lighter?”

“Harry, it’s 7:40 a.m.”

“I’m in no shape to go to work. Just email me the presentation details, and I’ll get to it when I’m feeling better,” he said, finally spotting the lighter under the pillow.

Oliver yanked the cigarette from his lips. “Dude, it’s Monday, and the housekeeper’s coming to clean your place at 8 o'clock. You get what I mean?”

“Oh, so now you get my point, huh, you geniuses?” Maria mocked.

Harry stiffened and murmured, “I can’t let her see me like this.”

“Can’t let her see you like this? She shouldn’t see you or any of us here, man! The whole thing will be revealed!”

“Well, it was bound to happen. Let it be,” Maria chimed in.

Harry squinted at her and stood up, but dizziness swept over him. “Whoa, I think I’m still feeling the effects of last night’s drinks.”

“How much did you even drink?” Maria scolded.

Oliver grabbed his arm and glanced at Maria. “Come on, help me out. We need to get this big guy out of here.” “Are we really going to kidnap him from his own apartment? Seriously?” she whimpered, but she slipped under Harry’s other arm to assist him. “Ugh, you smell like an ashtray, hermano.”

They made their way to the elevator, and Oliver pressed the button. “You hold him up, and I’ll grab his things.”

“Get that dress out of sight!” Harry called. “She can’t see it.”

Oliver nodded and dashed back inside.

“Are we in high school or something? I’m a 42-year-old mother; I’m too old for this. You need to come clean to that girl already,” Maria muttered.

“Stop whining. You’ve been in worse situations. Have you forgotten how many times I’ve pulled you out of a mess?”

“Hey, that was when I was in my 20s! Plus, I’ve never been as pathetic as you!”

“Yeah? Who was the one crying on that married ship captain’s doorstep for hours? I got slapped in the face by his wife because of you.”

Maria swallowed hard, averting her gaze. “You really do have a good memory for a drunk.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Oliver said as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button.

When they hit the ground floor, they rushed toward the exit, but when Oliver spotted you approaching through the glass door, he froze again. “She’s coming! Turn around now!”

“There’s no other way out,” Maria snapped.

“The other elevator!” Harry pointed.

“That makes sense,” Oliver agreed.

They hurried to that elevator and hit the button. Luckily, it was on that floor, and when the door opened, they slipped inside. Oliver grumbled as he pressed the buttons in a frenzy.

Unaware of everything, you stepped inside the apartment. Just as you turned to look in that direction, you heard the elevator doors closing. Oliver, Harry, and Maria breathed a sigh of relief as you walked straight to the staff's quarters to change.

Oliver kept his finger on the door-close button, waiting.

“I think we’re safe,” Oliver grinned.

“What a morning,” Maria muttered.

Then someone called the elevator to the tenth floor, and it started moving.

“What are you doing, man? We need to get out of here now!” Harry grunted.

“What can I do? I can't keep pressing the button every second!”

When the elevator arrived on the tenth floor, the doors opened to reveal a little boy frowning at them, school bag slung over his shoulder. "Were you the ones keeping the elevator busy? That’s so wrong."

Harry and Oliver shared an awkward glance, embarrassed.

“Sorry, little buddy,” Harry forced a smile.

“Going to school, huh?” Oliver asked nervously.

“Well, I was, but now I’m going to be late thanks to you!” The boy sniffled, shaking his head. “Drunks, seriously.”

Maria covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. The little boy stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

After an awkward ride down, they finally stepped outside. Maria turned toward her car and said, “All we needed was to get scolded by a little kid. Thank you, Harry, for this wonderful morning."

“I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous,” Oliver laughed.

“Come on, get in, you big babies,” Maria said, pressing the key fob to unlock her car.

“Where to?” Harry asked, opening the door.

“To get scolded by another kid.”

“Your place?”

“Well, if you can’t stay in your own house, what choice do you have? Get in, sneaky ass.”

Before hopping into the car, Harry glanced up at the top floor of the building—his apartment. A sense of sadness washed over him, knowing you would have to clean up the mess he left behind.

“Oh, my God…”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sight—and the smell—caught you off guard. What on earth had happened here? Did they throw a party last night or something? Clearly, the owner had his share of trouble, maybe he was not so innocent after all.

First things first, you rushed to the windows, flipped the hidden lever, and let some fresh air flow through. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed a big garbage bag and started clearing the floor of empty bottles and cigarette butts from the overflowing ashtray. As you cleaned, your curiosity kicked in. It couldn’t have been a wild party; only one couch was askew while the others remained untouched and tidy. The kitchen showed no signs of food; just a multitude of empty glasses scattered around.

You scanned the room—no lipstick on any glasses, no hair on the floor, so it was obvious no woman had crashed here. Maybe the two guys just shared a few drinks and chatted? Or maybe the owner just got dumped or something.

You smiled yourself and shook your head.

"Just do your job, girl. It's none of your business," you muttered.

Meanwhile, Harry sat in Maria's living room, staring blankly at the screen. "What are you, Sherlock Holmes?" He smirked.

"Is she suspicious?” Oliver asked.

“She was at first, but I think we're good,” Harry said, flopping onto the couch.

“For now,” Maria chimed in, pouring herself a glass of water. “But she’ll figure it out sooner or later and give you a good kick on the-- Oh, is someone awake?"

Maria’s daughter, Mia, came into the room, spotted Harry, and smiled. “Uncle Harry!”

Harry sat up and patted her head. “What’s up, darling? How’s it going?”

“Fine, but are you sick or something?” she asked with concern.

“Just a bit tired,” he replied, stretching out on the couch.

"Or hangover?" she grinned.

Harry chuckled. "Smart girl."

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Oliver said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Same old, school stuff,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Mia, eat your breakfast; I’ll take you to school,” Maria said, pointing to the plate on the counter.

“You skipped work, so I should get to skip school too, right?” Mia muttered.

Maria frowned, “Who said we skipped work, smartypants? Now hurry up, or you’ll be late!”

Mia huffed but sat down. “If you didn’t skip work, why are you both here while everyone else is working? And why’s Uncle Harry in Dad’s shirt?”

Maria chuckled, “Because he got kicked out of his own apartment.”

Mia took a big bite of her toast and looked at Harry inquisitively. “Oh! Did you leave your key inside? Mom did it once.”

“Thanks for bringing that up, kiddo,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, we’re late! Just eat that on the way,” she added, grabbing her school bag and urging Mia to finish her juice.

“Good luck at school,” Harry waved as Mia headed toward the door.

“Catch you later, princess,” Oliver called back.

Mia waved goodbye, and as Maria followed her out, she turned back to Harry. “You’d better be in better shape by the time I get back, Romeo,” she warned before closing the door behind her.

Oliver turned to Harry, “She’s right, man. You need to pull yourself together; you look worn out. Even a shower didn’t lift your spirits. Want me to whip you up something to eat?”

Harry let out a deep sigh. “No, thanks. I don’t have an appetite.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Okay, that has me worried. There’s definitely something you’re not saying.”

“Well, I couldn’t say it in front of Maria, but I’ve got an issue,” Harry finally admitted.

“Yeah, I can see that. But it looks like you’ve got more than one thing going on,” Oliver said, grinning. But then he noticed the seriousness in Harry’s face and softened. “What can I do? Just tell me what you need.”

Harry huffed, swallowing hard. “I need her.”

“Dude. Tell me something I don't know."

He huffed again.

"Okay, she’ll come around if you just give it some time—”

“You don’t get it,” Harry snapped, sitting up to face Oliver. “I...really...need...her,” he emphasized, his breathing steadying as he spoke.

Oliver frowned, sensing the weight of his words. “Go on,” he urged gently.

“Every thought I have revolves around her. That night in Paris haunts me…her skin, her scent, her...”

Oliver raised a hand to stop him. “Whoa. I get it, man. No need to go into detail.”

“The memories consume me, and they’ve left me in a real bind,” he said frankly. "It's like a unique kind of erotic film that continuously plays in my mind, and she is the only actress. But I can't do anything; I'm just watching in awe."

“Can't do anything? But, I mean, come on. You—surely you’ve tried—”

“Everything. From the erotic to the pharmaceutical.”

Oliver chuckled, unable to help himself. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, but this is just bizarre, man. It’s oddly romantic too,” he said, laughing again.

“I guess it's because I’ve never faced rejection before. All I can think about is her. Maybe that’s how my body reacts, and maybe I’m—”

“In love.”

A short silence hung in the air. “Yes, I am,” Harry admitted.

“Well, If you ask me, you haven’t really tried everything yet,” Oliver suggested.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, curious.

“Listen, it doesn’t have to be about hooking up with her to solve your mechanical issues, you know? There are plenty of women out there who would be interested—like through escort services or sex workers.”

“No, never!” Harry barked. “I can’t cheat on her. Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Cheating? Is she your wife? You’re not even dating! That’s not cheating, man.”

“It wouldn’t even matter. It wouldn't work. I can’t think about anyone else. I just want her, only her.”

“Alright, but I’m out. You’re asking me to help with something I can’t fix. Plus, that girl you "want" is super stubborn. It’s definitely not going to be easy.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” he grumbled.

Oliver stood up, shrugging. “Try to get some sleep. Maybe that’ll help clear your head.”

Harry nodded and flopped back on the couch, opening his tablet to check what you were doing. Oliver shook his head when he caught sight of the goofy smile spreading across Harry’s face.

Once he stepped into the garden, he pulled out his phone and called Maria. “Hey it's me. Listen, Harry's got a bigger problem than we realized. I think you need to step in now.”

After finally wrapping up the cleaning of the apartment, thoughts of Harry filled your mind as you stepped outside. He had been on your mind all day, especially since he hadn’t reached out with a text or call since last night. You couldn’t shake the feeling of how much you missed his playful messages.

The nagging worry that you might have upset him echoed in your mind, driving you a bit crazy.

But how could you express your feelings when you weren't fully ready?

When the moment to speak your truth arrived, you wanted to pour your heart out.

You shouldn’t have brushed it off as if it didn't matter, right?

As you walked down the street, the happy couples around you caught your attention, casually dropping “I love you” into their conversations. In the past, you would have thought little of it, but now it felt like a constant reminder of what you were missing. Another couple strolled by, murmuring those same words. Then, on the subway, a woman sat next to you, holding hands with her boyfriend or husband. And there it was again—“I love you.”

Feeling unworthy, you got up and told the guy that you would get off at the next stop anyway, nudging him to sit next to his partner. You felt like you didn't deserve to be there next to them, especially when you couldn’t even tell the man you loved that you loved him back.

They seemed to express their feelings so effortlessly, while you struggled, so you decided it was better to step aside as a form of penance.

Yeah, you were really losing it.

When another cheerful couple boarded the train, and more declarations of love surrounded you, you reached your breaking point. You hopped off at the next station, even if it meant getting off three stops early. The heaviness of guilt was the last thing you needed, yet it hung heavily on your shoulders.

It felt as if your mind was caught in a tug-of-war, much like a dull quiz show.

Congratulations!

You've won yourself a lengthy walk home as a consolation prize!

Once you got home and recounted last night’s events to Zoe, her reaction was immediate. “He told you he loved you, and you did what? Just walked away?” she exclaimed. "Girl, are you crazy? You’re in love with him, for fuck sake! Call him right now and say you want to talk."

From the corner of the couch, you frowned at her. “I told you I’m not ready yet.”

Zoe rolled her eyes as if you had just said the most absurd thing. "If John told me he loved me, you'd be surprised how quickly my panties would fall down."

You grimaced. "Ugh, slutty much?"

"Stubborn much?" she shot back. “Don’t come crying to me if you lose him to someone else because you overthink everything.”

You let out a huff and stood up. “I’m heading to my room,” you muttered. “Good night.”

"Think about what I said! Tell him you love him before it's too late, you silly!"

Ughhhhh.

It was as if she was inside your head. You knew that if you didn’t speak up, other women would be swarming around him like a pack of hyenas.

You flopped onto your bed, feeling as though you were collapsing under the weight of it all, and sighed deeply. Checking your phone, you noticed there were no messages. You opened Instagram, scrolled through his comments on your photos filled with heart emojis, and couldn’t help but smile, even giggling like a little girl. Then you clicked on his profile and browsed through his pictures one by one. That’s when your heart began to race.

Thump, thump, thump.

Perhaps it was simply your body’s instinctive response.

Screaming.

It certainly seemed to convey your feelings more effectively than your words ever could.

You turned off your phone, placing it face down on the nightstand.

It was time to come clean.

You missed his messages, longed for the sound of his voice, craved his smile and his touch, and you knew that if this dragged on for another day, you’d toss your pride out the window without a second thought.

The next day?

The next day was even worse. You had hoped for a cheerful morning message from him, but when you picked up your phone and flipped it over to check the screen, all you found were a few advertisements—nothing from him.

Frustrated, you sat up in bed, seething with anger.

Why were you so upset?

Why did this feeling of abandonment weigh on you?

Your emotions took a turn, and frustration morphed into remorse.

Great!

In a fit of anger, you snatched your pillow and flung it against the wall. Just then, Zoe opened your door and stumbled in.

“What on earth is going on here?” The pillow landed at her feet. “Hey, do you want me to injure my other ankle too?”

You jumped out of bed and grabbed her arm, checking her ankle. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

“I think so, but you definitely don’t seem okay.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, right. You’re just great,” she teased. “And this pillow must be flying in from all the happiness.”

“Alright, that's enough. I need to head to the hotel,” you muttered as you opened your wardrobe to get ready.

“Oh, by the way! While you’re out, can you grab some ointment from the pharmacy?”

You rolled your eyes as you put on your pants. “Let me guess, you’ve used it all up, haven’t you?”

“What else am I supposed to do? I want to heal fast; I’m so over staying at home.”

"You gotta take it easy, sweetie. Just be patient."

“Well, I’m not as patient as you are, sorry.” She shot back with a grin.

"Just like that, and nobody got a clue, and the wedding went off without a hitch."

You were chatting with Bruno about how you managed to save the wedding cake at the last minute.

"Ah, cara mia, you’re great. Taking risks is crucial if you want to grab those chances. Being brave and going for it, no matter how it turns out, is what really counts, even if you mess up at the end," Bruno said proudly. He leaned over the counter and winked at you. "Just kidding, but seriously, try not to mess it up,” he added with a chuckle.

You laughed, but his words lingered in your mind, making your smile fade.

Being brave and going for it, no matter how it turns out.

Wasn’t love worth that risk?

Absolutely, it was worth it.

He was worth it.

Lost in your thoughts, you finally heard the waitress calling your name. “Huh? Sorry, what was that?” you asked, pulling yourself back to the moment.

“I was just saying that Mr. Finnegan's girlfriend and her friends are here, and she wants to see who made the dessert — which is you,” the waitress replied.

“Oh look, my assistant is on her way to becoming a chef,” Bruno said, grinning as he continued slicing the cheese.

“Or on the path to getting fired,” you muttered under your breath.

You were quite sure that Lucy didn’t like you at all.

As you walked into the dining room, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh when you saw Lucy and the two women sitting across from her. Lucy flashed a tight smile that didn’t do much to ease your discomfort. The other women were giving you the once-over, evaluating you from head to toe.

“Here’s the person who made this delicious dessert, ladies,” Lucy announced, with a fake smile.

“But isn’t that the waitress who danced with Harry Castillo at the wedding?” one of the women said, looking totally shocked.

“Aren’t you that maid?” the other woman added with growing astonishment. “The one who hacked our system, impersonated someone else, and embarrassed us in front of all our customers? How many faces do you really have?”

“Seems like she’s trying to snag both Castillo and Finnegan,” one of them remarked, glancing at Lucy with a knowing look.

"A gold digger for sure."

All three women were looking right at you, as if you owed them some kind of explanation. Even the people at the next table were tuning in, throwing you judgmental looks that only made your embarrassment and anger worse. You gripped your apron tightly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

Just then, Maria entered the dining room, her eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding before her. She shared in your anger.

One of the women pushed her plate away with a grimace and said, “I can’t eat this. It’s making me feel sick.” With a little shove, the plate slid off the table and hit the floor. “Oops! Well, lucky we’ve got a cleaner around. What are you waiting for? Clean this mess up!"

You shot her an incredulous glare; this was too much.

“Looks like someone’s itching for a fight,” Maria muttered as she strode confidently towards their table. “That’s not a cleaner, that’s a maid, you illiterate bitch,” she snapped.

Everyone shifted their attention to her, including you.

“Maria—” Lucy froze, taken aback.

The woman looked annoyed and shot back, “Who the hell are you talking to?”

Ignoring her, Maria turned to the other woman, the matchmaker. “It wasn’t her who hacked your system; it was Melanie and her minions. Why are you taking your anger out on this girl? And what kind of system collapses at the slightest breach? Everyone should steer clear of this matchmaking company,” she declared, her voice rising for all to hear. “If their tech team is so incompetent they can’t protect customer credentials, consider what they’d do with your credit card info! Scammers would be the best-case scenario.”

Trembling with fury, she hissed, “And who even are you—”

“Me?" She adjusted her hair in a swift move. "María Elisa Rivera Armada,” she replied coolly, crossing her arms defiantly.

A hush fell over the room; they clearly recognized her name, her connections, and her influence. The two women exchanged nervous glances before rising to leave.

“I’d better go,” one of them muttered under her breath.

Other one joined her.

Maria stepped in front of them, her expression serious. “Are you really going to leave without apologizing to her?”

Both women turned to you, quickly avoiding eye contact. “We’re sorry,” they mumbled.

“Look at them,” Maria shot back, clearly disappointed. “You were loud enough to throw insults but now I can barely hear you.”

Lucy opened her mouth to say something but held back, choosing to steer clear of a fight with her. The women repeated their apologies and hurried out.

Maria took Lucy by the arm as she stood up. You couldn't hear over their conversation while you helped the waitress clean the floor.

“I didn’t confront you earlier for what you did to Harry, because I was caught up in my own divorce and dealing with depression." Maria said to Lucy. "But let me make this clear: if you ever mess with her again, I’ll step in before Harry ever does. Got it? Just a heads up, the crazy bitch is in town and ready to kick some ass."

Lucy narrowed her eyes defiantly. “I didn’t say anything she hasn’t done. Besides, I really don’t care if Harry likes her; I just want her to stay away from Alan.”

Maria laughed cruelly and leaned in closer. "Maybe it’s Alan who needs to keep his distance from her, don’t you think? Why don’t you go and tell your boyfriend about it and see how he reacts?"

Lucy’s face flushed with anger as she stormed out of the room.

A soft murmur spread among those eating; some must have known Maria. Unbothered, Maria took a seat in the chair left vacant by Lucy and looked at you. “Don’t just stand there like a scarecrow; come sit,” she said.

“I could have handled them too, you know,” you muttered as you settled at the table.

Maria pulled Lucy's untouched dessert plate towards her. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have to stoop to their level. You’re too good for that.” She glanced at you and winked. “You’re like an angel; keep that up.” Then she took a big forkful of dessert. “Oh, this is fucking delicious.” She took another hefty bite.

You chuckled. "Bon appétit, Mrs. Rivera. By the way, thanks for that; I wasn’t sure how to respond. I mean, I’m used to getting scolded, but those accusations were a bit much."

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. It’s been a while since I’ve acted like that, and it felt so good,” she said with a laugh.

“You were really cool,” you replied with a smile.

"I should be a bit tough on you too, you know. You deserve it," she said, eyeing the dessert.

You were taken aback. "Me? Wh-why?"

Maria shot you a serious look. “Oh, you know very well.”

Silence hung between you for a moment as you averted your gaze and sighed.

“Look, I’m not great at lying, and I’m pretty upfront, even when trouble’s on the horizon. So here’s the deal,” she said earnestly.

You nodded, sensing what was coming next.

“Listen,” Maria sighed. “I’m not going to beg you like 'He loves you—just tell him you love him back, please'. No. Let’s just cut to the chase. Are Harry’s feelings mutual or not? I need to know. Is there any hope? Because he’s like my brother, and I can’t bear to see him suffer like this. Do you understand?” she added, her tone sincere.

“Maria, I don’t want him to hurt either, but is he okay? He hasn’t called me for days,” you replied, worry creeping into your voice.

Maria smiled softly.

“I don’t really know what to do anymore. I never meant to hurt him; I would never intentionally do that,” you admitted, lowering your head.

Maria’s smile turned into one of satisfaction. She had found the answer she sought. “He’s fine,” she said coldly, wiping a bit of cream from the corner of her mouth. “Well, he will be; I’ll make sure of it as his friend.” She stood up suddenly. “But I wish you had been there; by his side, it would’ve made everything much better. But again, it’s all right.”

You stood up too, trying to grasp what she meant.

“Remember. No one is irreplaceable, not even you.”

You frowned slightly. “That’s a bit—”

“Bitchy? It’s just my protective side coming out. Harry is family to me, and I tend to be overprotective of my family.” She leaned in and spoke in a lower voice. “Here’s a warning for you: you’re on the verge of letting him slip away, so you’d better act quickly.” She winked at you before turning on her heel, leaving you in awe as you watched her walk away.

Maria hopped into the car waiting for her, Oliver was in the driver’s seat, giving her a curious look.

“Well?”

“Good news, she’s totally in love with Harry,” she said with a grin.

“Then she’ll tell him, right? That’s awesome!” he replied, looking relieved.

“Hmm, I don’t think so. Not anytime soon, anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

“She just needs a little push.”

"Alright, we need to bring them together. Should I arrange a date?"

Maria rolled her eyes. “What’s it like in that little head of yours, Ollie? You men are really simple creatures."

Oliver frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“Never mind. I’ll handle it,” she said, pulling out her phone to text.

“How? What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to give her a little nudge, get her emotions going, and light that fire.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Jealousy, Ollie. Jealousy.”

Oliver leaned in to take a look at her phone. “Stella? Oh boy, Harry’s not going to like this.”

“As long as he doesn’t find out, we’ll be fine. So you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

“But what if she ends up hating Harry instead of feeling jealous? How can you be sure?”

Maria shot him a glare. “My seventy-year-old grandmother divorced my grandfather out of jealousy after fifty years of marriage. It’s one of the most primitive and powerful emotions a human can experience; it activates everything within you. Trust me—our little cat will turn into a tiger.”

It was yet another dreary morning, and you had to admit—another day without his good morning text was not going well at all.

Then there was Maria's comment. She must really have a knack for manipulation.

What did she say again?

“No one is irreplaceable.”

Did Harry actually say that, or was it her idea? No, Harry wouldn’t say something like that.

Would he?

Who knows?

He hadn’t been around for three days; maybe that’s what he thought now. You rolled over in bed, burying your face in the pillow and letting out a frustrated growl.

Why did it hurt so much?

It just made you mad. You felt like there was nothing you could do, like it was too late. You hated that feeling.

The door swung open, and Zoe peeked in. "If you're going to smother yourself, you should probably put your head under the pillow instead."

You shot her a glare. “Oh really? Why don’t you come show me how it’s done?”

She let out a wicked laugh. “So, you still haven’t called him, huh? Babe, you’re way past the ‘he should call first’ phase, don’t you think?”

You sprang up, fired up. “Don’t start on me too, Zoe! I’ve got enough people coming at me!”

She narrowed her eyes at you as you stormed out of the room. “Who else is coming at you? Although I shouldn’t be surprised! Your stubbornness must be famous!” she shouted after you.

When you got to the hotel, things just went downhill from there. You were so distracted that you messed up a bunch of things, and Bruno had to tell you to head home early. You were actually relieved because you really weren’t feeling up to working. On your way back, all you could think about was Harry. You typed out a ton of messages but ended up deleting them all before hitting send. You were itching to get the scoop about his house from Oliver so you could figure things out. You were desperate to see him. You couldn’t tell if he was just playing games or if he actually wanted you to chase after him.

But you knew you had to do something.

Just then, waiting at a red light to turn green, your phone buzzed.

Mr. Ol’man sent you a photo.

You opened the message quickly, and your heart raced as you did so without thinking.

Once upon a time, you used to have pride.

You saw the photo he sent you and froze in the middle of the crosswalk.

There was Harry, enjoying drinks in a bar with a super-hot, blonde woman, clinking glasses and laughing at the camera.

Laughing.

Happy.

With a woman.

In a bar, drinking.

Harry.

The man you loved.

The man who told you he loved you a few nights back.

Suddenly, the blaring horn of a car jolted you back to reality, realizing you were still standing in the street. You hurried across and leaned against a nearby wall to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding now, but it was all anger. It felt like fire was coursing through your veins. Then you got another message, and it only stoked the flames.

“Sorry, I sent it to you by mistake. I meant to send it to Stella.”

Stella.

Oh, come on! Seriously?

You felt a wave of anger and hurt, your body shaking as if jolted by a live wire. It took you a minute to think straight. This had to be some sort of game. There was no way it was real. It was just his way of messing with you. But what if it wasn’t?

No, you couldn’t think clearly; your mind was clouded. One emotion dominated your thoughts, taking control of your entire being.

Jealousy.

You were furious and incredibly jealous.

Tears of anger streamed down your face as you walked aimlessly down the street. While wrestling with what to do next, another message pinged on your phone.

It was from Maria.

“The King Cole Bar. Better hurry, sis; this skank’s all over Harry.”

That was the last straw.

You had to go there.

But how? You knew that place was fancy; there was no way you could walk in looking like you were right then, or in any of your clothes, honestly. In that moment, you did something rash, something that felt immature, and you’d probably regret later, but anger and jealousy took charge.

You didn’t care about the fallout.

You called her on your phone, the one saved under “trouble.”

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” you muttered under your breath. Sharing a limo with Melanie and Nate, and unintentionally overhearing their steamy chatter was too much to bear.

“God, just end my misery,” you thought grimly.

“Hey, we skipped our program for you tonight,” Melanie hissed. “How about a little gratitude?”

“So you two are together now? That's more disgusting than the most disgusting thing I can think of.”

“You really,” Melanie grunted.

Nate's hands were all over her. “Never mind her, baby, she's jealous of us.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah! I'm dying of jealousy!”

“Maybe not us, but you're insanely jealous of your boyfriend,” Melanie giggled. ‘’I see what you are doing, that's a lame excuse.”

“Mind your own business,” you barked.

“Exactly, honey, let's mind our own business,” Nate licked her neck.

Ugh, you looked away and ignored them, feeling nauseous.

At least Melanie, annoying as she could be, had brought you a dress and shoes.

Of course, it wasn't for nothing.

You promised to talk to Jack about her in return.

The limo pulled up near the bar and you got out. No, you jumped out, because the two of them were getting into it. You hurriedly told the limo driver to get lost, the two of them didn't even look back, they were too busy.

You sighed as you read the name of the bar from the elegant logo above the black entrance door. “This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done,” you muttered. People were looking at you with interest when they passed by the bar. Oh that's right, Melanie and her dress sense, she liked to look like a little slut.

So the red halter dress you were wearing was not so short but a bit revealing, with a deep slit on your right side that shows off your thigh with every step. You felt like a neon sign flashing, “Look at me!”

Thanks a lot, Melanie.

Did it really have to be red?

You tugged at the tight black jacket, trying to cover yourself up, but it wasn’t working. The doorman checked you out, grinning as he happily welcomed you inside.

As you stepped in, all eyes were on you, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

Just perfect.

You chose the corner table and sat down immediately, trying to ignore the stares. You covered your face with the menu and looked around.

Where the hell were they?

The stares were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. After all, you were stunning, dressed to impress, and scanning the room as if you were searching for someone special. Who could say what thoughts were running through their minds?

Finally, you spotted them—Maria, Oliver, and Harry sitting at the bar. But where was the woman from the photo he sent? You looked again. There were no blondes in sight—just a couple with other people, none that looked like her. What’s going on? Just then, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Maria.

“Looking for Stella? That photo was from last year, honey.”

You shot her a quick glance, and she winked at you with a sly grin.

Seriously?

Had she played you?

Maria nudged Harry to look your way, and the moment he turned, you quickly looked away.

The instant Harry noticed you, he nearly choked on the whiskey he was sipping, looking utterly stunned.

But honestly, you couldn’t care less; they had all been playing games with you, and you felt like a total fool.

You got up in a huff and tried to leave, but as luck would have it, you bumped into a guy. Of course, he was holding a glass of scotch, and the impact sent it splashing all over you—on your jacket, your chest, everywhere. The cold liquid, still icy, made you shiver when it hit your skin. Some even dribbled down into your expensive bra—the one you had saved up for.

Just fantastic.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said, looking younger than you, his eyes glued to one spot—your breasts. You were the one who bumped into him, but he was the one needing to apologize, yes he should. He grabbed a napkin from the table, still staring at your chest like he was talking directly to it. “Can I wipe that up, p-please?” he asked, way too eager.

Seriously, was he a fucking teenager or what?

You instinctively pulled back, trying to cover yourself with your arm. “No thanks,” you replied tersely.

In that moment, three things happened at once. Maria dropped her bag right on the guy's head, Harry yanked your wrist and pulled you behind him, and Oliver stepped up next to you, giving that guy a fierce look.

“Are you a creep or what?” Maria shouted.

“How dare you touch her?” Harry barked.

“Who the hell are you people?” the guy shot back.

“I’m her boyfriend, so what?” Harry replied.

“And I’m her sister,” Maria jumped in.

“And I'm her brother,” Oliver added.

Wow, here's your saviors.

That’s when you figured it was your moment to mess with them. “Excuse me, but I don’t even know you guys, so you can sort this out on your own,” you said, not bothering to look at them. You couldn’t help but enjoy the shocked looks on their faces as you turned and headed for the exit.

“Where do you think you're going?” Harry yelled after you. He bumped into the guy, causing him to stumble, and ran after you.

Once you stepped outside, you purposely took off your jacket, making sure your wet top was on full display. “My jacket is ruined,” you said, glancing up at Harry.

People walking by stared, even whistling. Harry growled, took off his own jacket, and wrapped it around you. “You think that's funny? Are you playing games now?”

“Look who’s talking,” you shot back, frowning. “You messed with me, so we’re even now.”

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Messed with you?”

You gave him a swift kick with your high heel, aiming right for his leg, and he groaned. "Ahh, what the-"

“You made a fool out of me; I won’t forget that.”

He bent down, rubbing his leg where you kicked him. “What are you talking about?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

With a sigh, you took your phone from your bag and showed him the photo and text that Maria had sent.

Harry’s face went from surprised to narrowed. “Maria… Now that makes sense. She took my phone and kept telling me not to call or text you.”

Just then, Maria and Oliver came out of the bar and walked up to you. Harry turned to her, clearly angry. “How could you do that?”

“Hey, I was just looking out for you! I had to step in a little, but guess what---it worked!”

Then he looked at Oliver. “You’re in this too?”

“I told her not to,” Oliver replied, sounding nervous.

Maria glared at him. “You sold me out, you cabrón.”

“Come on, I told you this wouldn’t end well,” he said.

You turned to Maria, upset. “You tricked me. Seriously, how could you?”

“Come on, you two are totally into each other. And you girl, you are dying to be with him! Just admit it!”

“Don’t you dare show your face around me again,” you said, eyeing Harry. “You too.” Then, you turned on your heel.

“Stop right there, sweetheart; you are not going anywhere,” he said, blocking your path. “We need to talk, and this time you’re not running away.”

You looked at him, surprised. “I’m not running away,” you mumbled. “If you want to talk, fine, but not out here; I’m freezing.”

He nodded, “Come here,” he said softly, putting his arm around you. “Oliver, give me the car keys.”

“Are we heading to your place?” you asked.

“No!” Harry snapped, making you jump a little.

“Not there,” Oliver added, looking uneasy.

“Oops,” Maria giggled.

What the hell was that?

You shot them a skeptical glance. “Seriously? Are you living in some kind of secret Batcave or what?"

Harry chuckled. “Very funny. The thing is, we can't go to my place because…”

“Because?”

“There’s a bit of an insect invasion,” Oliver chimed in. “The house is being fumigated, so…”

It seemed like a weak excuse, but perhaps it was the truth; you decided to stop probing. “So, where are you staying now?” you asked.

“Just at the hotel, of course,” Maria replied casually.

“Right, the hotel,” Harry mumbled.

“I’ll drive you there; you’ve had too much to drink, you can't drive,” Oliver said, heading for the car.

You turned to Harry, catching a glimpse of something strange in his expression but didn’t dwell on it. The thought of being alone with him was actually appealing.

Fuck all your pride and stubbornness.

Yeah, it was definitely time to follow your heart.

“Memories, huh?” you mutter as the elevator smoothly ascends to the top-floor suite.

Harry's gaze was locked onto you, his breath coming in steady but heavy bursts. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Was he checking out your ass?

It didn’t really matter; he could look all he wanted, and honestly, you wanted him to do more—like touch you, everywhere.

Right, why wasn’t he?

What was he waiting for?

Oh right, those damn cameras.

As you walked into the room, he clasped your hand tightly. When you reached the door, he pulled the card from his pocket, swiped it, and the door swung open. “Ladies first,” he said with a gesture, inviting you inside.

His voice was a bit shaky, making you bite your lip to keep from giggling. He followed you inside and closed the door with a firm click, almost as if he was making sure you were alone. You took off his jacket and handed it back to him, trying to keep a straight face. “Thanks for the jacket—”

And he lunged at you. He threw the jacket angrily and wrapped his arms around you, pulled you to him and captured your lips with his mouth. He kissed you passionately, longingly, hungrily, like you were his oxygen and he was underwater in a sea of lust.

“Harry," You breathed trying to break the kiss, but his lips closed in on yours again before you could utter another word. You sighed softly against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. As your hands slid down to his biceps, you clung to him, feeling the undeniable strength beneath the fabric, lost in the intensity of the moment.

"I thought we were just going to talk," you said mockingly, tilting your head to the side. His gaze remained fixed on your chest.

"Later, baby. With you dressed like that, I might not be able to concentrate. You look exquisite," he breathed, his voice laced with a seductive tone that made you weak in the knees.

A smile broke across your face, “You’re looking quite handsome yourself.”

And he truly was, his black long-sleeved shirt clinging perfectly to his well-defined frame.

The atmosphere crackled with an electric tension the moment his gaze settled on you. You craved to keep him focused solely on you, yearning for his eyes to linger endlessly. Those captivating brown eyes, glimmering like precious jewels, seemed to caress every inch of you, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

"Your dress is soaking wet," he said breathlessly, his hands gliding over the damp fabric, brushing against your breasts. They instantly hardened at his touch, which they had been longing for. You bit your lower lip.

"It's not just my dress," you whispered slowly in his ear.

He darkly chuckled, fire licking at your veins from the heat of his gaze, “Is that so? So you’re saying that If I touch you, I will find you ready for my cock?” he asked, grinning.

“Why not find out for yourself?” you teased.

His hand suddenly found itself trailing a path towards your bare legs to between your thighs, making you gasp. Holding on to his strong arms, the feel of his fingers trailing over your skin was a wonderful, delicious shock that left you breathless.

“Playing with fire would be dangerous, you know,” he growled low, so low, it reverberated through your chest. And through the partition of the dress, that slit that split mid-thigh, he caressed up your leg, towards your hip.

You almost mewled.

Almost.

“I'm not playing,” you murmured, half panting.

He chuckled again, that dark, seductive glee escaping from him in agonizing, tantalizing waves. “You decided to be a good girl then?” he stared at you, eyes molten pools of lust. “It surprises me you acquiesced, given how stubborn you are. Hmm, maybe I should reward you,” he whispered while his hand still deliciously trailed a lazy path over and around.

Who was playing now?

It sure wasn't you.

You were already past the playing part, you were dripping.

He knew, of course, he fucking knew, without even having to touch...

But he did touch, sliding his hands under your dress down to your wet panties, his fingers pushing them aside, there it was; he could feel your lips, drenched and ready.

You bucked against his palm, aching for more but he deliberately pulled away.

You frowned in response.

Damn.

He chuckled delightfully, looking at his fingers coated with your wetness, “My darling kitty, you’re completely soaked. So you were being honest, after all. Such a good girl. Are you hoping for a reward?”

“Just give it to me already,” you urged, gripping him tightly and pressing yourself against him, ignoring the feeling of a deep blush spread across your cheeks.

“Oh, I will, sweetheart,” he said with a sly smile. He spun you around, pulling you firmly against him. Before you could even process what was happening, his strong arms enveloped you, and you felt his chin just above your ear and his clothed cock pressing against your thighs; you could feel beneath the fabric; it was hard, painfully hard, and you gasped. "You drive me so fucking crazy. I want so bad to slide into that sweet wet pussy and feel it all tight and hot around me while I pound into you.” He purred, “But first, there’s something I want you to do.” He touched your lips, then chin, tracing his fingertip down the line of your throat, over the hollow of your collarbone, down to the swelled curve of your breasts. His other hand had already slipped under the slit in your dress and found your dripping pussy once more, you bit your lower lip hard. The hand at your sex continued to tease you, lazily circling your entrance.

Fuck.

You shuddered under his touch and words, your back arched, eyes rolling, moaning softly.

"Will you do what I want, baby?” he asked as if you might protest.

“Whatever you want,” you whispered, eyes closed and completely surrendered to him, it was all too much and you were helpless in the face of this torture, you were melting.

He had to do what he had to do already, he had to do it before you lost your fucking mind.

His other hand grabbed your head from behind and he tilted your head to the other side this time, you tilted your head back towards his other shoulder. You couldn't do anything, you had no choice but to let him play with you like a toy. “Tell me you love me,” he whispered in a demanding tone.

It took you a second to figure out what had just happened, then you opened your eyes and frowned. “What the hell? Are you really trying to seduce me into saying that?”

"You left me no choice. Now say it, come on, I'm waiting."

In that moment, your stubbornness flared up because he had pushed you, forcing you to say that. But those wonderful fingers stroking your pussy so incredibly slowly, damn it, it made you stop thinking.

“Say it,” he said, sounding a bit impatient this time. He grabbed the strap of your dress and pulled it down to your waist. "I know you love me, so spill it. I’m not letting you leave this room until you do."

You turned your head to him, "Wait, what did you say? You can't do that."

“Watch me,” he said, yanking the dress down off your waist until it fell to the floor. “Now, darling, you’ve got two options,” he said, pulling you closer. You tried to struggle, but there was no breaking free from his grip. “The easy way or the hard way.”

“I get the easy way, but what’s the hard way, Mr. Castillo?” you scoffed.

He smirked, turned you around, this time you faced him. You deliberately took a step backwards, he was unbuttoning his shirt as he stepped towards you. “So you're taking the hard way?” he said huskily and kept walking towards you, and you kept going backwards.

Until your back hit the wall.

He leaned in, one hand against the wall next to you while the other gripped the strap of your bra. His gaze was intense as his fingers played with the lace. Then, feeling impatient, he quickly reached behind you, found the clasp of your wet bra, and undid it in no time. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he lifted your bra and tossed it on the floor. You could feel your face getting hot, and you bit your lip.

After that, he bent down to your level and lifted you by your hips. Your bare breasts rubbed against his bare chest, you both moaned. “Say it,” he said again, his breath hot on your skin.

But instead of answering, you held on to him, letting your hardened breasts torture him some more.

He growled in frustration and picked you up, carried you into the bedroom and threw you on the bed roughly making you gasp. You crawled backwards as he hurriedly took off his pants, your heart pounding in your throat, excited to see him completely naked.

Your gaze remained locked on his, biting your lip in anticipation.

But he was still lingering while taking his underpants off.

Finally.

You let out a happy sigh, taking in how breathtaking he looked. Impatiently, you shifted to the edge of the bed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him closer to you. He leaned over and let you pull him down on the bed on top of you.

“Getting a little impatient, are we?” He smirked at you. “You can speed up the process, you know,” he said pinning you to the bed with his weight, putting one knee between your not yet fully spread legs and grasping your wrists.

“Oh come on, this is getting ridiculous,” you muttered.

“But it’s so much fun,” he breathed out before lunging for your mouth, pulling deep, hungry kisses that leave you both panting harshly.

Proving in a way that he was an amazing kisser and hot as hell.

Needing to taste every inch of your flushed skin, he continued up the sharp line of your jaw, your wrists slipping from his grasp.

He let out a hot breath over your ear before running the tip of his tongue down the shell of it. A shiver ran up your spine, and you bit down on his shoulder, pulling a groan from his throat. You soothed the spot with your lips as your hands roamed his body, his muscles rippling under your fingers.

He made his way down your throat, kissing and nipping and swirling his tongue in all the right places, leaving goose bumps in his wake.

Next, the tip of his tongue traced the underside of your breast in a teasing, feather-light sweep, breathing out as he hovered above the peak of your nipple, almost touching it. He waited until your eyes locked and paused just for a moment before he dived down and captured you in his mouth roughly, sucking hard as he expertly used his lips, teeth, and tongue.

“Oh god,” you let slip out on a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, chest now heaving from the sudden onslaught. He let you slip slowly from his lips but added a quick kiss to the sensitive flesh, making you jump. Your fingers run through his curls as he lowers his head further.

“You’re so beautiful baby,” he hummed.

Without warning he ran the flat of his tongue over you again, causing your hips to buck.

You were on fire.

You were whimpering.

You needed him needed him so fucking bad.

“Harry…” you moaned when he finally spread your legs and made a slight contact with your clit.

Working you with his tongue, he placed lazy open-mouth kisses over your breasts. He teased your entrance with the head of his cock while sucking your nipples hungrily, relentlessly, making your eyes roll back with pleasure, your whole body tingling.

“Shit! Harry, I’m gonna--” Already worked up from all the teasing, the exquisite combination of sensations sent a jolt straight to your core, causing a small orgasm that surprised you both.

Whoa, that never happened to you before; you were still in shock.

But that wasn’t enough.

It didn't do anything to satiate you, though; it only made you want more.

What the hell got into you?

Damn it.

He snickered. “Yes, baby, say my name and say that word, and I will give you more," he hummed into your flesh.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” you growled, almost sobbing.

“As soon as you say the damn word,” He growled back and rubbed the tip of his cock against your walls and you pressed your hips against him but he pulled back, still waiting. “Oh c’mon, tell me you love me already,” he hissed.

It was too much and frustrating

“I… Harry, I-” you panted, trying to use your words but you were failing.

“Go on,” he grunted, commanding.

It was too much and frustrating for him too.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore as his cock throbbed in agony, and with a quick and rough thrust, he buried himself inside you, but halfway through it yet was enough to make you jump and scream.

He pulled back again and sighed.

You leaned back into the pillows, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around the backs of his. Your eyes met his, with a soft caress of his cheek, you whispered, "Harry Castillo... I love you... I love you so much that I do silly things because of you. I love you so much that I don’t want a single day to go by without you."

His lips curved up in a wide, victorious smile. "That's my girl. I love you too baby.”

He began to kiss you everywhere--- your cheeks, your nose your chin, your collarbone. And you moaned a little when he finally smashed his lips on yours, kissing you hungrily, his tongue sliding across your lower lip before nipping it. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” he grinned and kissed you again.

You managed to shake your head a little, blinking up at Harry as you panted broadly against his mouth. Your cunt throbbed around his cock as he fully sheathed himself in you. His fingers intertwined with yours, raising your joined hands to rest on the pillow beside you. He rolled his hips gently, then again as you whimpered, swirling his tongue with yours. He fucked you with slow, even strokes, trading slow kisses as you moaned and panted into one another's mouths.

He then broke the kiss, pressing his face into your neck as his thrusts became harder. You gasped, sinking your nails into his shoulders as you let your eyes slide closed. The bed was beginning to shake with his movements, and the slapping of your hips slightly echoed through the grand bedroom. You felt the familiar curling sensation beneath your waist, and you slid a hand down, grasping his behind and using the grip to urge him on. He drew back just enough to get a good look at you, his eyes bright in the dim room. You sucked in a stunned breath as he reached between your legs, fingers teasing your clit as his hips pounded yours more roughly.

You were moving so wildly that he couldn't keep his mouth on you any longer.

Your head fell back and you gasped when he thrust harder, deep into your wet, heated walls, a desperate sound escaping your thoroughly kissed lips. He stroked your clit while keeping up the rhythm he knew -he remembered from the first time you had sex that night-, one that pulled insanely erotic noises straight from your throat.

A devilish grin spread across his face as he took in the sight of you, his kitty writhing uncontrollably at his touch. Unable to take his eyes off of you, he worked his hand faster, moving it in a new sinfully exquisite way.

“Oh, God! Fuck!” You cried out, slick sounds of your bodies became louder and louder with every pump of his cock as his mouth latched onto your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, gripping him tightly to your chest, needing something to hang on to desperately. He could feel your body tense and knew you were close from the sounds you were making.

Fuck, those sounds alone could be his undoing.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathed in your ear, pushing you over the edge.

And you did.

Arched off the bed, his hand never left you, gone with you, working you through it as a steady stream of curses and what could be his name tumbled from your lips. Coming back down, you pulled his face to yours as you plundered his mouth, all sense of restraint shattered. His hand started moving again in time to your kiss, trying to - oh hell no.

You needed more.

You needed him.

Surprising him, you reached and flipped his hand over, then him, still breathing hard from before. Your eyes were filled with lust as you straddled him and, without preparation, sank down onto him as much as you could take at this angle, throwing your head back while letting out a loud moan of satisfaction.

Your whole body shuddered as your hips jerked involuntarily, the feeling of him filling you so completely, almost too much but so good.

“Fuck, baby!” he choked out, his head slamming back into the pillow.

“That’s the idea,” you said, voice dripping with sex, only giving him a second or two before you start to ride him.

He couldn’t decide which was better.

Having the power to make you lose all self-control, completely at his mercy, or lying back and letting you take what you want from him.

Luckily, he didn’t have to choose.

It was like celebrating your confession; there were no more secrets, no more games, and no holding back between you two, finally.

Groaning, he ran his hands up your thighs and caressed the curve of your waist, coming around to knead your backside. Mesmerized by how fluidly you were moving, he watched in awe as your body prepared for yet another release. Rapidly reaching your peak again, he rubbed your with his thumb while his other hand tweaked and pulled your nipple. Your fingers curl, nails scraping his chest as you clenched hard around him, almost bringing him with you but he somehow managed to hold back.

Barely.

For now.

Dazed from multiple orgasms, you were not exactly sure how but he suddenly had you on your stomach, body pressed into the bed by his, the fingers of one hand interlaced with your own. He started off slowly, making sure you could handle it. He picked up the pace when you arched your back for an even better angle, giving his free hand room to sneak underneath your hips and play with you. Crushing your entwined hands together, you frantically reached out for anything else to hold on to, gripping the side of the bed with your other hand as he pounds into you from above.

Your mouth locked open, sobbed into the bed with every thrust, bringing you higher and higher until you were exploding, your whole body trembling with shockwaves originating from the epicenter where you were connected. His face was covered in sweat, cursing as he spilled into you with a deep, feral growl, finally letting go.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the tall window, you gradually roused from sleep, reluctant to open your eyes. It felt as if you were resting on a soft, fluffy cloud, completely weightless. A wave of happiness washed over you, and you silently chided yourself for not embracing this morning magic sooner. After mustering enough courage, you finally confessed your feelings for him, and Harry’s efforts truly deserved a reward.

Just then, your phone alarm buzzed loudly from inside your bag on the floor, breaking the tranquil moment.

Ugh, of course, it was Thursday.

Damn it!

Realizing you were still face down on the bed, you wished you could just stay there forever. As you swung your legs over the side and reached out, you felt the empty space next to you. Had Harry already gotten up? You yawned and looked around. “Harry?” you called out sleepily.

The bathroom door swung open, and there he was, toothbrush in hand, foamy mouth and all. He shot you a smile that made you giggle. “Good morning, beautiful,” he managed to say through the toothpaste.

“Morning, ol' man,” you teased.

He frowned dramatically and went back to rinse his mouth before returning to you. “Ol' man, huh?” he asked, sitting on the bed. You wrapped your arms around him. “My ol' man,” you replied, kissing him, and he kissed you back.

“Are you getting me back for calling you 'kitty'?” he mocked, leaning in for another quick kiss. “Maybe,” you said with a playful grin and kissed him again.

You wanted to lose all sense of time in this room with him, wrapped up in nothing but kisses, but you had to get moving. “I’ve got to go to work,” you mumbled, breaking the kiss, reluctantly.

He grimaced. “Can’t you just skip today?”

“It's Thursday, Harry. Besides, don’t you have work to get to?” you reminded him as you slid out of bed.

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you, and—” he murmured.

“Hmm?” You looked at him.

Just then, Harry's phone rang.

“I’ll be in the shower,” you said as you walked over.

He sighed and answered the call.

After using the toilet, you stepped into the shower, only for Harry to sneak in behind you. He quickly shed his pants and joined you under the warm water, wrapping his arms around you for another kiss, making you giggle.

“Looks like you were right; I guess I have to get to work too,” he said while turning on the water.

You kept kissing as the water poured over you, both of you unable to stop touching each other. Harry was super gentle as he massaged shampoo into your hair, clearly enjoying it. You returned the favor, and it felt so much nicer than just a simple swap.

As you both walked out of the hotel, Oliver showed up, carrying a bag that smelled amazing. “Here’s a quick breakfast for you,” he said, handing it over.

You glanced at Harry, who was smiling cockily. “I didn’t want you heading off to work all hungry.”

You smiled widely, leaning in to kiss him. “Thank you. And... I love you.”

He smiled back. “I love you too,” he said, giving you another kiss.

Oliver laughed, clapping his hands. “Now that’s the sight I needed to see. Congratulations. I can die happy now.”

You both shared a joyful laugh and leaned in for another kiss, celebrating your love.

Harry and Oliver offered to drop you off near the building, but you declined, knowing you still had plenty of time and weren’t running late. After saying goodbye to them, a smile crept onto your face as you made your way to the entrance.

You were now Harry Castillo’s girlfriend—something that turned out to be less daunting than you’d imagined.

Lost in thought as you approached the building, a sudden screech of brakes pulled you back to reality. Startled, you turned to find a little girl who had just fallen to the ground. You hurried to her side. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

Meanwhile, the driver of the car was shouting, “Watch it, kid! Do you want to get hurt?”

Fuming, you yelled back, “You should be the one watching out! Don’t yell at her; can’t you see she’s terrified? Come on, sweetheart.”

Once you reached the sidewalk, you crouched down to check the scrape on her knee. “Does it hurt?”

“I wasn’t scared,” she replied defiantly. “I could have handled myself against him.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, absolutely, I’m sure you could. I was just looking out for you, you know. Girls have to look out for each other, right?" You winked at her.

She laughed. "I think so too, thanks. It’s just a scrape, really."

“Let’s swing by the pharmacy for a bandage,” you insisted.

“No need; I can take care of it. I'm already where I want to be, and I’m sure there are some first aid supplies at the house,” she said as she headed toward the building where you work.

You quickened your pace to catch up. "Do you live here? I actually work here."

She glanced at you, curious. “Not really. I’m just trying to get away from my parents’ drama for a bit. I thought I’d use my Uncle Harry’s place while he’s away.”

You suddenly froze.

No way, it couldn’t be.

Must just be a coincidence with the name or something.

“Did you say Harry? Does he live in this building?”

As you headed for the elevator, the girl nodded. “Yeah, he’s on the top floor, in the penthouse.”

Another wave of shock hit you.

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Is your Uncle Harry's last name Castillo, by any chance?”

“So you know him?” she said, sounding casual.

But you were anything but casual, your mind racing.

Nodding, “Yeah, I know him,” you said in barely more than a whisper.

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