#throwing hearts at him I hope he’ll be back
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with-my-calamitous-love · 2 days ago
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please don’t ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)
k. bakugou x reader
moments in the year where katsuki realized he’s in love with you. happy new years 🤍
inspired by new years day
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february 14
he’s driving you home after a date, one hand on the steering wheel, the other intertwined with yours. city lights pass through the windows in a blur, the road long enough for you to tell it’ll be a long way home.
he’s stressed, a little. you can tell by how he grips your hand, and the way he seems not totally focused on anything in particular. you still feel safe- he’s a great driver- but his inner thoughts aren’t lost on you. normally, he’s the toast of the town, and you’re right there with him. he’s aware of his reputation, and the love he gets from fans. but with fame comes the public eye, and even he isn’t immune to it.
he’s been striking out more lately. his abrasive attitude that you love isn’t always loved by everyone. his slip ups and mistakes seem to make headlines more than his achievements. its grating on him, and he hopes you don’t notice.
but you do, because thats what you do for people you love.
1. 2. 3. you squeeze his hand three times. i love you, it spells out. i’ll love you when you’re at your best and worst. no matter what.
at first, he thinks you’re just playing with his hand, crimson eyes flickering over to you and then back to the road. exactly 2 seconds later, he gets what you really mean.
1. 2. 3. 4. he grips your hand back. i love you, too. he says, without actually saying anything. i will never not love you. you’re the only person who stays for me no matter what. and for that, i love you.
unspoken words you both know to be true that night.
april 20
he doesn’t really celebrate his birthday, but his friends and colleagues always insist on it. he snarls, scoffing, finding it all pompous and unnecessary, until he sees your starry eyes planning his special day. he can’t say no to you.
he wasn’t expecting much when he unlocked the door to his apartment. he had a feeling you’d throw him a surprise party, but he didn’t think you’d gather his old classmates in his home to celebrate with him.
he’s stunned for a moment, until his lips curve into a begrudging smile. a room full of people, on his birthday, and the first person he looks for is you.
“thanks, dumbass.” he murmurs, a few drinks in while his arm finds your waist. his smile is like sunshine, though you rarely see it when its genuine. you pretend not to notice the ‘ews’ and laughs from your peers when he presses a long kiss to your cheek.
he has work tomorrow morning. he’ll definitely regret drinking as much as he did. he decides he’ll take an advil and get it over with.
he knows how much he’s loved you from the moment he entered that party. he realizes it more when you call in for him the next day, his hangover palpable, with you by his side.
“you didn’t have to do that.” he groans, but he isn’t annoyed. its a little embarrassing being taken care of, but he isn’t complaining when its with you.
“its just one day, babe.” you hum, holding his hand, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. “you deserved the break.”
“pro-heroes don’t get breaks.” he adds.
“okay… but i missed you.” you smile a little, trying to win him over.
you already have.
june 26
katsuki is used to criminal activity. when he hears about it, he keeps a level head and a resting bitch face, ready to deal with whatever comes his way. all that rationality is thrown out the window when he hears you had been caught up in it and injured.
he runs through every medic, frantically searching for you like his life depends on it. he’s imagining every worst case scenario, heart beating out of his chest and snapping at anyone who asks whats wrong.
“katsuki!” you finally call out to him. he turns and is relieved to see you’ve only managed a broken arm. the sigh of relief that leaves his lips is a testament to how much he cares, arms wrapping around you, not giving a single fuck who sees.
“are you okay, idiot? are you hurt anywhere else?” his eyes scan you for injuries. you physically have to cup his face and bring his attention back to whats important: you’re okay. and so is he.
“i’m fine.” you almost laugh, savouring his rare moment of vulnerability. he has things to do, reporters to talk to and damage to control, but you’re the priority right now. you’re what he loves the most.
you never know how much you care until you think you’re going to lose it.
september 12
being a gruff, muscular, powerful hero, katsuki think’s he’s too strong for panic attacks. he’s also wrong.
he hopes you’re in a deep enough sleep not to notice his pacing. to him, the room is on fire, only the smoke is invisible and only he can feel the flame.
his breathing picks up, pains in his chest while the tremors set in. his heart races, nauseous and sweating while he tries to get his bearings. all of his heroes die all alone, just like he will.
“just breathe.”
he’s commanded by you, not even realizing you woke up. he feelings your touch on him, taking his hand and placing it overtop your chest. he wants to ask you when you woke up, or for how long you’ve been watching him, but he can’t seem to ground himself enough for that.
“its okay, kats.” you coo, pulling him into a hug, as if shielding him from his own anxiety. “just breathe. you’re safe here.”
he can save you from villains and threats, be your knight in shining armour, your hero. you, on the other hand, can save him from himself. and thats the moment he knows he’ll love you for as long as he breathes. even if you were to one day become a stranger to him- his heart would recognize you anywhere.
december 31st - 5 minutes to midnight
there’s glitter on the floor, polaroids tossed around lazily. kirishima’s annual new years party wouldn’t be complete without you and your boyfriend, katsuki, in attendance. people drink and blast music, reminiscing on this past year. in just 5 minutes, the world would begin again.
he could be with his friends, drunk on love, laughter, and booze. he could relish in the fame of his success and achievements. but all of that seems so small, so trivial, when he sees you out on the balcony, alone.
“idiot?” he peers out, seeing you leaning over the railing, looking out at the stars. “what’re you doing out here? everyone’s gonna start counting down.”
“hey.” you hum as he walks over to you. his arm so naturally finds its way around your waist, like it belongs there. loving you is like breathing for him.
“you know 5 years ago today, you just graduated.” you reminisce, watching his red eyes grow contemplative.
“yeah? so?” he utters, not getting your point.
“nothing, just… so many people spend new years focusing on whats ending. and thats good. i just… when i look at you, katsuki… i think of my future.”
his heart swells at that.
“damn it, idiot.” he huffs, forehead resting against yours, a dumb smile on his face. “my life has been better with you. everything has been better since you.”
you both hear the sounds of cheering, counting down to midnight. time ceases when katsuki looks at you, whole centuries passing when he holds your gaze. you melt his tough exterior and the ashes of his ambition. you become his dreams, his everything.
“10!”
“i never want you to be a stranger, ever.”
“9!”
“i wanna laugh with you for the rest of my life.”
“8!”
“i wanna hold on to every memory with you.”
“7!”
“this is so fucking corny.”
“6!”
“i know, i don’t care.”
“5!”
“i’d spend all my midnights with you.”
“4!”
“and all my new years days.”
“you hate cleaning up after parties, though.”
“i can’t hate anything when its with you. i love you, [y/n].”
“i love you too, katsuki.”
“3!”
“2!”
“1!”
january 1st
the truth is, he has always known he’s loved you. he’s never needed the reminder, like its the one sure thing in his life. for as long as he lives, he’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years day.
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reignpage · 2 days ago
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hiiii i hope this doesnt add to the super specific ask about the eden characters and doesnt seem weird but im kinda curious of what the eden couples argue about, like what causes them to argue and how long does it take for them to resolve their issues? (maybe also what they do for forgiveness? like im thinking someone would cut up fruits for their lover as an apology 💀)
Two questions in one ask HOW GREEDDDY😡
Gojo and reader
In college:
They argue about Gojo’s friends. The frat guys who are rowdy and boisterous. Most of them are nice enough but frat guys get drunk and they become people reader can’t stand to be around. But they’re Gojo’s boys so he gets defensive. This is a recurring issue so it doesn’t really get resolved, it just dies down until it gets brought up again
In life:
They argue over Gojo’s immaturity. He’s too go with the flow sometimes and it leaves reader to deal with things, like he’s always lived in a position of privilege so there are some things he misses or he just doesn’t know, like how to lead a business or be a good role model.
It doesn’t take very long for Gojo to realise because he can see her getting visibly panicked.
Gojo apologises for leaving the responsibility to her by stepping up and getting serious. And then he’s pampering her with a spa day and shopping
Geto and reader
Generally:
Geto has a tendency to become withdrawn, to start smoking more often and to lose sleep, not telling her what’s on his mind. It’s hard for reader because she’s never been in his position so she doesn’t know what to do, she wants to give him his space but she’s worried giving him too much would just allow him to spiral more, but then pushing her way in might just push him away altogether
It varies every time. Sometimes it takes a week, sometimes it takes a month etc
Geto can only apologise and try to do better, making up for lost time and attending all the therapy. But none of it ever seems to do the trick
Choso and reader
They don’t have deep issues to resolve lol, these two are like hippies, it’s all just weed and art for them
But reader does get annoyed when Choso leaves his supplies around. She trips on paint cans or stubs her toes on canvas lying on the floor. She gives him the silent treatment.
It never lasts long, choso’s got a sixth sense when it comes to his muse. And he hates making her upset, so he’ll clean everything in the house just to cover all bases. And then he gets on his knees and literally begs her to forgive him.
Reader always has a devious idea for a punishment (not always sexual but tends to be) it could be something like being her nude model for hours. Choso will do whatever, he has little pride lol
Toji and reader
Oh god, these two argue all the damn time. It’s mostly reader telling Toji off. Something like leaving his basketball everywhere or staying out too late or not throwing beer bottles away or getting into a fight with another player or a coach etc etc
It can last a while since they’re both stubborn. Longest was when he quit his job as a physical trainer without consulting her and that fight lasted three weeks. But generally it’s days.
Toji knows he’s usually in the wrong and he cozies up to her, rubbing her shoulders, hugging her from the back, kissing her until she breaks.
They fuck it out.
Lots of angry sex. Sometimes they fight just to have angry sex.
Nanami and reader:
They don’t have little fights. Nanami’s literally perfect, he has no flaws no I am not biased. Reader on the other hand is full of flaws and bad habits lol. But he’s forgiving and oh so patient, so there’s rarely ever any issue.
They do have big fights though, mostly around reader’s insecurities. Like the research partner. There’s no shouting, just tears, a lot of tears and lot of sobbing and begging.
When he sees her like that, Nanami’s heart breaks. Like literally. He falls to his knees and begs her to let him in, to not push him away, to trust him and believe him when he says there’s no one else, there’s never been anyone else.
He holds her in his arms until she calms down, takes her to the bath, and does her whole routine for her. Then he takes her to bed where he tries to soothe her and lets her fall asleep crying. When they wake up, reader is ashamed.
He doesn’t let her apologise.
Sukuna and reader:
Boy oh boy where do I begin with these two?
They argue over a lot of things. Sukuna hates when she’s nice to stupid, rich men, especially if they’re handsome. Reader hates when he’s nice to stupid rich, women, especially if they’re beautiful, and oh my god if they’re beautiful AND younger. Sukuna gets upset because she never butters him up like that. Reader is upset because he’s never nice.
They fuck it out.
Lots of angry sex that are more like hate sex? It’s just the forest over and over again, in every surface in every room in every conceivable position.
Then they’re good again.
Sometimes reader remembers what happened in first year and just gives him the silent treatment. Oh god sukuna hates the silent treatment, it’s worse than when she screams at him and attacks him, or even when she snubs him in public. He tries to do it back to her and these ice cold moments in the estate where they pretend the other doesn’t exist can last weeks, months. One time lasted 5 months.
Sukuna always caves first. He cuffs her to him when she’s sleeping so she’s forced to acknowledge his presence and even though she breaks the silence first, they both know he lost
He doesn’t mind losing when it feels like winning
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martygraciesversion381 · 2 days ago
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21
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oscar piastri x ex!reader
WARNINGS‼️: Smut!, pnv, unprotected smut (please be safe!), exes to lovers, angst, fluff
a/n: my best smut so far!!! hope you'll like this as much as i did writing it!! inspired by gracie's song 21
masterlist
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April 6th 2022. The day that you waited all year and now you only wanted this day to disappear forever. You tried to call Oscar you really did but after you broke his heart when he was sure you were the love of his life it was hard to talk with him. 
You still loved him and you couldn’t stand the thought of him happy while you were hurting at your house. You took your phone and dialled Oscar’s number before throwing it across the room. 
You shouldn’t have broken up with him cause you still loved him and apparently he had another girlfriend. God you should’ve kept that man to yourself and not let him go. Sometimes you see the look in his eyes on tv when he talks about last year when you were dating and you want to kill yourself for making him hurt this much. 
Suddenly, you stood up and went into your room to change into the pretty black dress that you bought last week. You take you heels and grab your phone and a jacket before exiting your house and walking out in the cold of the night. 
While you walk, you spot a couple walking together into the street like you and Oscar used to do and you can feel tears building into your eyes. You continue walking when suddenly your phone buzzes. You look at it and see a call from Oscar. 
You pick up the call. "Hi" you whisper. "Hi y/n….i wanted to know if you’d like to come over at mine. I…I’d like to rebuild our friendship if it’s okay." a smile finds its way on your face at Oscar’s words. "You didn’t need to call me up I’m already under." You look up to the house you were standing next to and you see Oscar smiling at the window after seeing you. 
A few seconds later, he is standing at his door in one of his McLaren shirts looking at you. "You look gorgeous." You smile and mutter a small thanks before you both enter his house and go sit on the couch. You both drink a bit of champagne as the night goes on. You can feel your friendship growing again and you couldn’t be more happy. 
"Happy birthday by the way" you say to Oscar. He smiles at you. "Have you already made your wish?" "Yes I did actually" he answers "And what have you wished for?" He leans closer to you. "This" he answers before kissing you. Your arms find instinctively their way around his neck as you climd on his lap straddling him. He wraps his arms around your waist to keep you close to him while you grind your hips on his now hard erection. 
He groans into your mouth and you swallow it while both of your tongues fight for dominance. He breaks the kiss to take off his shirt and you caress his exposed chest and shoulders with your hands. He kisses your neck and bites it gently sinking his teeth in your smooth skin. 
You get up and take off your dress letting it pool at your feet. Oscar looks at you in awe before taking off his pants and pulling you back on his lap. "Gorgeous" he mumbles before continuing to mark you up. You moan softly and tug at his hair and he groans on your skin making you even more aroused. 
He unclamps your bra and let it fall on the floor before going back to kissing you tenderly. "Love you" you mumble against his lips. His eyes widen and he pulls back."W…what?" You feel fear filling you and you’re scared that he’ll push you away. Oscar feels the fear inside you and he places a comforting hand on your thigh. "I love you too…I just was a bit surprised that’s all" he rubs circular motions with his thumb on your thigh before his fingers find their way between your legs and brush against your panties.
"Look at how wet you are for me darling so desperate for my touch. Wanna feel my dick inside you? Want me to stretch you? Want me to fuck you so bad and fill you up so you won’t be able to walk?" You nod and moan. "Please Osc want you" he smirks before picking you up and taking you to the bed. He lays you down and hovers you with his body. He places a quick kiss on your nose before taking your panties and his boxers off. 
"You’re one the pill?" You nod and he slams his dick into you with a harsh thrust. He starts to fuck you without mercy hitting your g-spot with each of his hard and deep thrusts. While Oscar continues fucking you, you feel a familiar knot building into your stomach. "You close? Gonna cum on my dick like a good girl?" You moan and he brings his thumb to your clit rubbing it bringing you closer to your orgasm. The knot in your stomach finally unties and you become a shaking mess under Oscar. Moans are spilling down your lips while you milk his dick with your juices. 
Oscar grunts before coming inside you prolonging both of your highs. You both lay down on his bed. Your head rests on his chest and his arms wrap around your waist. You both fall asleep knowing that the future reserved something good for the both of you even if you were just 21.
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tagglist:
@motorsportbarbie13 @f1addict3 @carloswinner @gorgeusreputation16 @swiftlyconehead @g00d--vibes @paulinegba
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franeridart · 1 year ago
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king doodles log
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frenchkisstheabyss · 3 months ago
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♡ Wondering ♡
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♡ Pairings: frat boy!mingi x chubby!fem!librarian!reader
♡ Genre: angst/fluff/smut
♡ Summary: While working your job at the campus library you find that the most popular guy on campus has developed quite the crush on you. Thinking that it's some sort of prank, you dismiss him completely but Mingi has his heart set on making you his and isn't content to give up that easily.
♡ Word Count: 4.5k-ish
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♡ Warnings: mingi really develops a thing for chubby girls, reader has body insecurities, body worship, kissing, male masturbation, porn, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, a lil hair pulling, a lil rough sex for a sec, technically cum marking, pet names (baby), but otherwise fluffy
♡ A/N: This is a fic I wrote for a super adorable anon and as always I'm super honored that you even asked me to write this my love. I truly hope that I did your idea some justice and you enjoy it. To all the chubby babes out there who may read this, you're a bad bitch, I swear to you, and if anyone tells you otherwise I'll swing on em. Kay, love you, bye - xoxo
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Nothing. Mingi strokes his cock—his palm gliding up and down his length, his thumb circling the rim—and he feels absolutely nothing. Lying in the darkness of his bedroom, the warm glow of light emanating from his phone illuminates the frustration on his face. His gaze lazily dances across the screen where a woman lies naked, a sex toy vibrating between her thighs. She’s in his favorite position, making his favorite noises, but he can’t get off on it.
Giving up, he lets out a groan, throwing his head back on his pillow. It’s been weeks of this. He’s been too horny to function but when the time of action comes he can only get halfway hard and nothing feels the same as it used to. Maybe a different video will help. Bringing his phone in close to his face, he scrolls through the recommended videos. His cock still in his hand, he feels it soften into a sad, floppy thing the further down he scrolls.
Just as he’s about to call it a night, prepared to at last put himself out of his misery, something catches his eye. An image of a naked woman spread across a bed, her plush body fully exposed. She’s bigger than other girls he’s seen naked in porn, even in real life. She’s chubby and soft with shimmering gloss on her lips and stretch marks on her thighs. His breath hitches at the sensation of the blood rushing down his length as he takes her in.
His interest officially piqued, he clicks into the video and watches her in action. He’s hypnotized by the way she bounces and jiggles, every motion of her body too perfect to comprehend. The skin pulls tight around his cock, beads of arousal rolling down the tip as he quickens his movements. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, an attempt at choking back the low groans fighting their way up his throat at the sight of juices moistening the woman’s soft thighs.
Seeing her hits him with a rush of something unfamiliar. Something that has his stomach muscles contracting and his mouth watering. His mind goes wild with thoughts of what it’d be like to touch her, to feel her body trembling against his. What he wouldn’t give right now to grip a belly like that or drag his tongue across the plush of her ass. It’s exhilarating, unlike anything he’s ever felt before. His cock grows so sensitive that he’s twitching with every stroke. 
Any care for if his roommates can hear him flies out of the window as a dizzying heat washes over him, the veins along his length throbbing as a waterfall of white shoots up onto his stomach. His phone drops onto the bed and he lets out a pitiful whimper, his eyes clung shut as he gives in to an orgasm so strong it makes his muscles weak. He’s so high from it that he fears he’ll never come down. Breathless, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, he sits up in bed and flicks the light on to see what a mess he’s made of himself.
His eyes drift back to his phone where a suggestion for a similar video calls him. He takes a deep breath, feeling his cock stiffening again so soon. Mingi picks his phone up, his thumb hovering over the Next button. It’s 3am and in a few hours Yunho will be banging on his door to go to football practice. He should get his shit together, clean himself off, and go to sleep. But that rush was so unexpected, so utterly delicious. He slips back down into bed, hitting the Next button. He needs more.
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“Whoa, there’s so many books here” Mingi gasps, staring up at the tall cherry wood shelves of the sprawling library. 
Mingi’s seen this place in pictures before—this marble palace with its sky high shelves and expertly crafted pillars—but in all his years on campus he’s never stepped foot in it. Nothing in this literary maze ever interested him enough to require a visit. His college career has always depended more on athletics and frat politics than it has books.
Most of his professors were more than content to give him a passing grade simply because of who he is. A stroke of luck that ran out the moment a new Women’s Studies professor stepped foot on campus. She’s set out to challenge him, to make him work for his grades if he actually wants them. A true tragedy if he’s ever been faced with one. 
“Duh, it’s full of books. It’s literally a library” Yunho laughs, plopping a small stack of books into Mingi’s arms. “I grabbed everything you need except one. The Vagina Monologues. You’re gonna have to go ask one of the librarians for help.” 
Mingi winces at the thought of the title leaving his lips and falling on a complete stranger’s ears, “Why’d it have to be called that?”
“Oh, stop being a child” Yunho huffs, catching a glimpse of a young woman pushing a cart of books past the aisle. “There! Go ask her!”
Mingi hesitates a moment but Yunho shoves him forward, “Off you go.” 
Stumbling his way down the aisle, Mingi traces the sound of squeaky cart wheels a few rows over, stopping dead in his tracks when his gaze finds the woman pushing it. She wears a flowy, pear colored dress with white lilies printed all over it. It’s long enough not to scandalize the other library staff but short enough to get a glimpse of where her thighs begin to kiss. From behind Mingi can clearly make out her shape in it, the plushness of her figure bringing to mind things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in the library. 
Humming along to a song in her head, she turns to place a book on one of the shelves and Mingi’s cheeks begin to burn. She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s said that about a lot of girls and never meant it but with this one it’s different. She has eyes that twinkle like sunshine dancing on the surface of some gorgeous lake. The curve of her nose is nothing short of perfection and her lips look like they taste of the sweetest sugar. 
“Can I help you with something?” you ask. The way he stares at you makes you feel more like an animal in some zoo than the object of his affection.
Mingi shakes himself out of his daze, lowering the stack of books down to cover the slight rise in his jeans. “Uh…I…yeah…um” he stutters. 
“Uh, I, yeah, um?” you tease, grabbing another book and sliding it onto a nearby shelf, “I don’t think we have that one.” 
“Who are you?” he spits out as if that’s a completely normal question to ask someone when you’re the one who approached them. 
“That’s a really weird question to ask someone, Mingi.”
“Wait, you know me?”
You giggle at the absurdity of such a question, “Of course I know you. Everyone knows you.” 
Mingi thinks about it for a second, the reality of his popularity setting back in. “I guess you’re right. I am pretty popular.”
The grin on his face makes you nauseous. Of course you know him. And of course he doesn’t know who you are. Mingi’s from a whole different world and you’re positive girls like you don’t exist where he comes from. Rolling your eyes, you grab back onto the handle of your cart, “If there’s nothing you need…” 
“Vagina!” he says, leaving you both stunned to the core, “I mean, monologues. Vagina Monologues. It’s, like, a book or whatever. Fuck it, are you busy tonight?” 
A whisper of laughter drifts down the aisle, giving away Yunho’s presence. He’s never seen his best friend crash and burn this hard. Keeping a straight face isn’t an option. Yunho’s laughter may not be meant for you but it feels like it is. The first time a guy like Mingi talks to you and of course it had to be a joke. 
“Second floor, in the Plays section, under E for Ensler” you snap, turning your back before you die of embarrassment right before Mingi’s eyes. 
“Wait, can I at least get your name?” Mingi calls out but you’re already pushing your cart down the aisle, disappearing around the next corner without another word. 
Yunho slaps a hand on Mingi’s shoulder, shaking his head in disappointment, “Who’s your new friend?”
Mingi sighs longingly, his gaze still lingering where you once stood, “I don’t know but I plan to find out.” 
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Sometimes when you find yourself working nights at the library you feel like Cinderella. A slave to these old dusty books, forced to clean and organize them until your manicure begins to chip while other girls are out at bars or parties. Only there’s no fairy godmother to come wave her magic wand and turn your pumpkin into a carriage. There’s no glass slipper and certainly no Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet.
Still, you need the extra money so there’s nothing to be done about it. Taking a seat at the front desk you check the time, it’s almost time to close up shop and the last few stragglers are packing up their things to head out. Once they’re gone things should be peaceful. No questions, no interruptions, no one getting on your nerves. 
“Have you been avoiding me?” Mingi asks, popping up in front of your desk. 
“Oh my god!” you gasp, clutching your chest, “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Kill you? How could I ever hurt a girl as pretty as you?” he says in that cocky tone you’ve become accustomed to. 
It’s been weeks since your first run in with Mingi and he’s been relentless ever since. He stops by every shift to ask you some silly question that somehow always turns into yet another attempt at flirting with you. You shoot him down every single time but he never seems offended or discouraged. He just keeps coming back all bright eyed and full of energy like a golden retriever. You’ve gone home every night wondering what his motivations are. Why’s he being so persistent? 
Sometimes for the hell of it you let yourself play with the idea that he might actually be attracted to you. Mingi is drop dead gorgeous after all and, even though you refuse to laugh at any of his stupid jokes, you find him pretty charming. For all his cockiness, he’s sweet in a way that makes you wonder what it might be like to be truly adored by a guy like him. This little fantasy of yours is always disrupted by the vision of Yunho laughing at the two of you. It’s a joke, that’s all, a stupid joke that Mingi’s cruel for not knowing when to give up on. 
“Aren’t you sick of coming here?” you ask, pretending to be busy on the laptop, “There must be something else you can entertain yourself with.”
Mingi smiles down at you, fawning over how your skin glows in the shreds of sunset that peek through the windows. “There is actually. I’m having a party tonight and I want you to come.”
Your eyes shoot open, an involuntary burst of joy hitting you. “A party?” you ask, sounding more excited than you intended to. Catching yourself, you reel back the excitement but it’s too late, Mingi’s already caught it. 
“Yeah, a party” he says, reaching behind the desk to grab a pen and a sticky note. He scribbles down the address and sticks it to your laptop screen. “Tell me you’ll come.”
He sounds so genuine when he says that. It’s almost as if he’s truly desperate to have you around. You look up at his face and feel the butterflies in your stomach go into a frenzy. You’ve heard the way other girls talk about him, the way they swoon over him like he’s this magical thing. You don’t want to be one of them, just another girl pining after Song Mingi but here you are. 
You clear your throat, snatching the blue sticky note from your screen, and putting it aside. “I don’t really know if I wanna spend my Friday night with a bunch of wasted pretty boys.”
“Ooh, so you do think I’m pretty” Mingi blushes, batting his eyelashes. 
You pick up a stapler, threatening to throw it at him, “Leave now and maybe, just maybe I’ll consider coming to your little party.”
Mingi throws his hands up, carefully backing away from the desk, “Fair enough. I’m wearing all black by the way. In case you wanted to, ya know, match or something.”
You wind your arm back, placing it in perfect formation to hit him in the head with the stapler. Mingi gets the message and scurries out of the door, leaning his head back in for a split second to whisper, “See you later, beautiful.” He winks at you and you groan but he’s gone now and there’s no one left to take your anger out on.
As the last few visitors trickle out you find yourself sitting in the silence of the library, that blue sticky note calling your name. You pick it up, swearing you’ll toss it in the trash but you only stare at it, reading the address over and over again. Some stupid frat party with a bunch of stupid boys at some frat house on the edge of campus. Why would you ever waste your time going to something like that? And who does he think he is insinuating that you’d even want to match with him? Anyway, you only have one good black dress and you’re sure it doesn’t even fit anymore. It isn’t even worth trying…is it?
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“I’m telling you, this girl’s gorgeous and she’s super smart too. She knows everything about books and stuff, like, you can ask her anything and she just knows” Mingi rambles, grabbing another beer from the fridge. 
“Because it’s her job” Yunho teases, leaning against the kitchen counter. 
Mingi pops the beer open, flicking the metal top into a nearby trash can, “And how did she get that job? Because she’s smart.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen him like this over a girl…ever” Jongho says, stealing Mingi’s beer for himself.
“Well I think it’s cute. Mingi’s got a girlfriend” Wooyoung sings, making cute little hearts with his fingers.
“She’d be his girlfriend if she didn’t hate his guts” Yunho mumbles half heartedly. 
Mingi gasps, taking offense to that, “She doesn’t hate me, she just hasn’t fully warmed up to me yet but she will.”
He looks around the kitchen and his friends all eye him skeptically. Mingi didn’t say that with nearly enough confidence for them to believe him and the truth is that he barely believes himself but how does he tell his friends that? He’s the one who girls drool over. He’s never the one doing the drooling. He has a reputation at stake and here he is ruining it for a girl who probably won’t even show up tonight. But he can’t bring himself to give up on you yet. 
That first night after he met you he couldn’t get you out of his head. He kept imagining that face, that body, under him, on top of him, next to him. Just the thought of you made him hard enough that touching himself was mandatory to ease his need for you. And the more he showed up to bug you the more fascinating he came to find you.
Yes, you were snippy but never enough to directly chase him away. You let him stick around long enough for glimmers of your true personality to show. You’d made the terrible mistake of showing him how sweet you could be, how funny of a girl you are, and it only made things worse for both of you. More than having sex with you he wants to kiss you and hold your hand. He wants to tell you how pretty you are and not have you threaten him with a blunt object for it. 
“Not to be that guy but when did you start liking…ya know?” Jongho says, hoping that the others will know what he means without it coming off rude.
“Chubby girls?” Wooyoung asks, making Yunho almost choke on his beer. 
“You can’t just say that” Yunho coughs, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the beer from his lips. 
Mingi’s eyes narrow, the question not quite setting right with him, “What does it matter?” 
“I mean, it…it doesn’t. I swear it doesn’t” Jongho stammers, looking anywhere but at Mingi. 
Wooyoung shrugs, coming to Jongho’s rescue, “In his defense, we’ve never seen you with one. She’s not your usual type.”
“So, what? Just cause she’s not my ‘type’ it has to be weird?” Mingi presses. 
No one says anything, not a solitary word. They only stare at the doorway, their faces drained of any color. In the next room a party rages, in the kitchen an argument is ready to erupt, and there you stand in between the two hearing something you shouldn’t have at a time you shouldn’t have heard it. 
“Hmm, well, thank you for that. I’m so happy everyone knows what I already did” you say, laughing to avoid tears, “Thank you for the invite, Mingi. Really.” 
Something’s said, you’re sure it’s by Mingi, but you can’t hear it. You’ve gone numb to everything. Even the music blaring from the speakers a few feet from you feels like it’s playing from miles away. Desperate to outrun the tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you rush through the crowd of partiers in the living room and make your way outside.
The autumn air blows against your cheeks, cooling your tears as they begin to escape. You wipe them away, doing your best to look normal as you pass people headed into the party, but you can’t seem to stop them from falling. You feel so stupid for ever believing that Mingi’s feelings for you were anything but a joke he could laugh about with his friends. His words ring in your ears as you approach your car, frantically digging through your purse for your keys. Not his type? Well he isn’t yours either. You’ve never been too fond of assholes anyway. 
“Shit” you hiss, the keys in your hand tumbling from your grasp the second you pull them out. You bend down to pick them up but someone snatches them away before you can. You spin around to find Mingi standing there, your keys jingling away as they twirl around his fingers. 
“Give them back” you demand, grabbing for your keys but he holds them up high just out of your reach. 
“You’re crying” he says and you can almost see his heart shatter, “Come back inside.”
“Why? So you and your friends can make fun of me to my face this time?” you ask, still fighting for your keys back but to no avail. 
Mingi frowns, “Make fun of you? We weren’t making fun of you. I’d never let anyone do that to you.” 
“So, what? Just cause she’s not my type it has to be weird?” you mock, feeling childish but justified considering the circumstances. 
“I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that just because I’ve dated smaller girls that doesn’t mean I can’t like you and I do. I really, really like you” he swears, “I love your body. I think it’s beautiful. Everything about you…I’m just obsessed with and all I wanna do is show you how special you are but you won’t let me and I don’t understand why.”
Folding your arms across your chest, you stand on the sidewalk staring at Mingi like you hate him but it’s not him that you hate. It’s the fact that you believe him. The tears have slowed now but your cheeks are still wet, black streaks of mascara beginning to run down your face. You drop your head, embarrassed by your mini breakdown, and Mingi swoops in, giving you a chest to lay your head on. His long arms wrap around you, locking behind your back to keep you close. It’s your instinct to pull away but his embrace is too comforting and warm to abandon. 
“If you want me to leave you alone forever I promise I will. I’ll let you go and you’ll never have to see me again” he whispers, “But if you stay I promise I’ll be good to you.” 
Your stomach sinks at the thought of never seeing him again. Day after day all you’ve done is tell him to leave you alone but it never occurred to you how much it’d hurt if he actually did. “I don’t want you to leave me alone” you admit, your face emerging from the black abyss of his shirt, “That’s, like, the exact opposite of what I want you to do.”
Mingi cups your face, his thumb stroking the curve of your cheek, “Good because I wasn’t actually gonna leave you alone. How can I when you look like this? You’re even a pretty crier. How’s that possible?”
You’ve always managed not to blush when Mingi’s said things like this—at least not when he’s around—but you don’t stop yourself this time. You don’t even make the tiniest attempt at hiding how utterly giddy you are over his comments. 
“Ooh, is that a smile I see?” he gasps, immediately making you regret it. You motion to hit him in the arm but he grabs you by the wrist, slipping his hand into yours as he leads you back towards the house. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll clean you up then we can talk more, okay?”
Mingi looks back at you and you could swear that time stands still. This isn’t where you thought you’d be on a Friday night, walking through a frat party hand in hand with one of the most popular guys on campus—with Mingi. He’s guiding you up the stairs, looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world and for the first time, somewhere deep down inside, you’re beginning to feel like it. 
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Before you left the house tonight you swore that you wouldn’t become some frat party cliche. Mingi’s hot, there’s no doubt about it, but there was no way you’d wind up bent over some bed with your panties around your ankles.
You were actually right about that. You’re not bent over some bed, you’re laying across it, and your panties aren’t around your ankles, they’re tossed off to the side of the bed, blending in with the pile of black clothing you collectively shed before you found every inch of Mingi’s cock stuffed inside of you. You came up here to talk, that was it, and in your defense you did talk. You were vulnerable with each other, you opened up about your feelings, and the next thing you knew your tongues were so far in each other’s mouths that you could feel it in your throats. 
Mingi’s kiss is sweeter than you imagined. It’s the kind of kiss you could get lost in it. Even now, after he’s been kissing your lips raw for the last half hour, you find yourself wanting more. You’re so wrapped up in him, so completely consumed by the ecstasy of having him inside of you, that you aren’t even focused on the fact that you’re naked. You can’t begin to care if you look good or not when your body’s flush with heat, feeling the best it has in your entire life.
But you do look good. Nothing in Mingi’s wildest dreams could compare to how beautiful your body actually is. His hands explore your curves, discovering those spots he knows will come to be his favorites. That squishy belly of yours that pokes out just a bit more when he massages your sides. Those pillowy thighs that seem even thicker when he presses them to your chest. Those breasts that bounce softly against his face while he’s sucking at your bud.
“You’re so fucking amazing, baby” Mingi whispers, licking his way over the hills of your breasts to bring his lips to yours. “I do have a type. You know it’s you, right?”
“Is that so?” you tease, trembling at every stroke of his cock between the slickness of your walls. You run your fingers through his hair, your back arching against the mattress so much that you’re sure you’d float away if the weight of Mingi’s body weren’t pinning you down.
Mingi kisses you like a starved man whose hunger can only be satisfied by the taste of you. “Mmm, can’t you tell?” he hums between sloppy kisses, “Can’t you feel it?” 
He snaps his hips into you and you let out a moan that makes you grateful for the loud music blaring downstairs. Keeping his lips locked to yours, one hand gripping your hip and the other cradling your face, he thrusts into you harder. Hard enough to make the bed creak. Hard enough to make your walls clench tighter. Hard enough to have you tugging his hair, moaning between his lips while your decadent juices drip down his length.
Mingi groans, holding you even tighter as the head of his cock rides the ridges of your sweet spot. Your insides are so spongy and wet, clenching around him just right. There’s no way he can go back to masturbating after this. The thought of you won’t be enough. Fantasies are absolutely nothing compared to what it’s like to truly feel you under him and around him. 
“Mingi, mmm, gonna cum” you whimper, your eyes wide and glossy as you look up at him. 
You sound so cute when you say it that he loses his sanity for a second, his hips stuttering before picking up the rhythm again. Mingi slips both hands behind your neck, deepening the kiss as he bottoms out completely. Heat pools behind your belly, spreading through your body until you’re sure flames are dancing at your fingertips. Your body tenses, a weak little moan falling from your lips before your vision goes blurry and your high washes over you. 
“That’s it, good girl” Mingi coos, basking in the warmth enveloping him, “So pretty when you cum all over my cock. Always so pretty.” 
Your walls are pulsing, fluttering wildly around his swollen cock. Your cum just pours down him, making every movement slippery wet. He can’t take it anymore. He couldn’t hold back even if he tried. 
“Aah, fuck” he hisses, pulling out of you just in time to paint your inner thighs in white, leaving ropes of cum dripping dangerously close to your core. 
Completely destroyed by your orgasm, you’re plastered to the bed and can only watch as Mingi catches his breath, immediately going to work planting kisses all over your body. He kisses the places you love and the places you hate. He worships them all with his lips because to him they’re perfect in every way.
You surrender yourself to the reality of that, letting the lingering adoration from each kiss sink into your skin. Mingi’s yours, he has been since he first laid eyes on you in that library, all you ever had to do was let yourself have him. 
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ohbo-ohno · 3 months ago
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Kinktober Day 8 - Cockwarming
Ghost x Soap x F!Reader - 1.6k
summary: Ghost keeps you on his lap while he watches a soccer game. (You POV)
cw: dom!ghost, subby soap & reader, cock warming, cunnilingus, overstimulation
“Simon,” you whine, sweat-slick back arching against his front as you strain for any sensation at all. “Please.”
“Hush,” he scolds, tweaking a stiff nipple and taking a swig of his beer. “‘M tryin’ to watch the game.”
You squeeze your eyes shut and try to take a deep breath, only to hiccup through the exhale when the cock impaling you shifts as Ghost spreads his thighs. 
You’ve been here for what feels like hours, but you know it’s only been about forty minutes, the steadily ticking clock at the top of the TV screen tells you just how slowly time passes when Simon holds you on his lap like this. 
Only five more minutes, you tell yourself, hopeful that he’ll fuck you at the halftime break, or at the very least let you have an orgasm. 
You feel more than hear him grunt behind you when you clench your inner walls around his length, your own eyes rolling back in your head at the overwhelming fullness. 
There’s a low whine from only a few feet away, and your eyes are unconsciously drawn over to where Johnny is kneeling beside the coffee table, naked and damp with sweat despite the fact that he’s been holding himself still just as long as you have, only without the cock inside of him.
Simon huffs, hooking his chin over your shoulder and leaning forward enough to see Johnny and – you assume, from the way Johnny shrinks a bit – glare him into further submission. “Quiet,” he stresses, irritated. “You’re distractin’ me.”
“But sir,” Johnny pushes, leaning closer with his hands clenched tight on his knees, knuckles white from pressure. “She looks so pretty, I need her so bad, please–”
Ghost doesn’t bother using his words, only grunts a harsh sound that has Johnny settling back onto his heels, looking properly chastised even as his flushed cock kicks against his stomach. You can’t help but moan as Ghost settles back again, every shift of him inside of you agonizing. 
One large hand rests against your stomach for the next few minutes, the callouses on Simon’s fingertips rough against your hypersensitive skin. He kneads your tummy mindlessly, pushing and pulling as he sips from his beer and grunts disapprovingly at the way his team plays. The repetitive motion calms you just enough that you can get a deep breath in, but nothing can distract you from the throbbing in your clit. 
It feels like another eternity has passed when the players all file off the field, the camera cutting away to commercial as the halftime break starts. You try to temper your enthusiasm as much as you can, but your heart races when you hear the sound of Simon setting his bottle on the coaster. 
“Alright,” he finally says, and it’s all you can do to keep from wriggling on his lap as he shifts to hold you more firmly in place. “Here, pup.”
Johnny practically throws himself forward, knees thudding loudly on the hardwood floor as he shoves himself between Ghost’s thighs, hands resting on your knees where they’re spread by Simon’s. 
Simon is quick to wrap his fingers in Johnny’s mohawk, holding him back from shoving himself face-first into the slick dripping steadily from you, and ignoring the heartbroken whine that ensues. 
“You gonna settle if I let you have a taste of the girl?” He grunts, shaking Johnny just a bit by the hair. You’re mesmerized by the way Johnny’s eyes cross, lashes damp and cheeks flushed as he pants beneath you. “Gonna start behavin’?”
“Yes, yes,” Johnny insists, nodding as much as he can. “Promise, sir, I can be good.”
Ghost snorts and scratches across Soap’s scalp, clearly disbelieving. “You better hope you can, otherwise you’re not gettin’ that pathetic thing between your legs anywhere near the girl until you prove you can behave yourself.”
You can’t tell if Johnny’s moan is heartbroken or horny when you nearly drown him out with your own cry at the cruel words. 
“I’ll be good,” Johnny insists, grip so tight on your knees that you’d worry he’d yank you out of your position if you were being held by anyone but Ghost. “Please, Lt, let me be good?”
“Hmm.” Ghost strokes over your belly and Soap’s hair at the same pace, careful to keep a firm enough grip that Johnny can’t move much more than he’s allowed. “Alright. You have ‘til the game’s back on.”
Before he can even finish his sentence, Johnny’s mouth is pressed against your cunt.
You cry out at the sharp burst of pleasure, at the relief of finally having something touching where you’re most sensitive, only to quickly melt into nothing but mewls and moans as you become overwhelmed. 
Johnny sucks your clit so hard that it’s almost painful, driving you to dig your nails into his scalp as you hold on for dear life. Simon wraps his arm fully around your waist, left hand holding your right hip tightly and his right hand keeping you open for Johnny no matter how much you struggle.
Your gasps are ripped from your chest as Johnny messily licks your cunt, Ghost’s chest rumbling against your back as he’s stroked by Soap’s tongue too. The sheer amount of sensation after so long with nothing almost blinds you, your entire world shrunk down to what can fit inside of you and what can rub against your clit in just the right way.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you gasp at a particularly rough suck of your clit. If you weren’t so mindless with pleasure you’d worry about just how hard your nails are scratching along his scalp, but the way he moans into your body wipes any hope of worry from your mind. “Johnny!”
“He treatin’ you well?” Ghost rumbles, pressing against your stomach. Any words you’d want to give him are stolen by the way he makes himself feel just that much larger inside of you, your hole so wet that you’re sure there’ll be a stain when you’re finally allowed to stand. 
“Mhm, mhm,” you hum, the only answer you can manage when Soap has taken to seemingly trying to suck the base of Ghost’s cock, only managing to lick around your hole instead. “So good,” you slur. 
“Sounds like it,” Ghost says, his patronizing amusement flying over your head as Johnny gives up on Simon’s cock and returns his full attention to your clit.
Your moans are driven higher and higher as you’re pushed closer to your long-awaited orgasm, your voice cracking as your feet kick helplessly against the couch, held firmly by Ghost. You couldn’t open your eyes if you tried, fingers digging deep gouges into Johnny’s hair and Simon’s forearm as you’re shoved towards your peak at a ruthless pace. 
You practically scream when Johnny just barely presses his teeth to your bundle of nerves, tongue lashing against you and throwing you off the cliff of release you’d been waiting on for so long. 
Ghost moans in sync with you as you milk his cock, squeezing him so tightly that it almost hurts you, hole stinging around his girth despite the juices coating all three of you. He doesn’t come, but the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you as your body does its best to coax cum from his nearly sends you spinning into a second orgasm. 
Johnny’s mouth doesn’t let up, even as your hold on him relaxes and your body goes limp against Simon. He only continues to lick at your clit, then around your pussy and trying to suck your lips into his mouth, licking you with a fervor that feels almost manic. 
“Johnny!” You gasp when he gives you just a momentary break, only to bite your thigh sharply enough that you jerk a few inches off of Ghost’s cock. 
“Down,” Simon snaps, shoving Johnny away from you with enough force to nearly send him sprawling. Johnny catches himself on the couch though, looking up at both of you with tears in his eyes and a cock that looks like it could cut diamond.
You coo a little, hand shaky as you reach out to cup the cheek Simon shoved. Ghost only scoffs over your shoulder, yanking you firmly back down so he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and nearly purring at your yelp. 
“Watch the teeth, mutt,” Ghost scolds as Johnny settles back between your thighs, pressing kisses to your soft skin as an apology. “Unless you want me to muzzle you again.”
“No!” Johnny yelps, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing himself as close as possible. “‘M sorry, sir, I didnae mean it, promise. I willnae do it again, swear.”
Ghost makes a low sound in his chest that sounds suspicious, but doesn’t push Johnny away or tell him off again. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he finally says, pushing a strand of hair back into place on Soap’s forehead. “Game’s not back for another ten minutes, you want to keep having fun with the girl or go back to your corner?”
“Wait–” you try to protest, but your voice is cut off when Johnny latches himself to your clit once again, sucking the oversensitive bundle like you aren’t still shaking from your last orgasm. You squeal at the pleasure-pain, body tense like a bowstring. “Please!”
“There you go,” Ghost purrs, resting his chin on your shoulder and squeezing your hip as your cunt spasms around him. “Attaboy, Johnny.”
Your brain practically melts out of your ears before you can string together enough words to beg for even a five minute break, but you can’t find it in yourself to be upset as Johnny practically catapults you towards another orgasm. 
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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago
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Miguel w/an Innocent S/O
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Warnings: Protective Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Implications of Smut, Fluff, More Fluff, Spooning, Mentions/Implications of injuries, Insecurity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.
Him being fiercely protective of you 24/7.
If someone even so much as looks at you wrong, he stares them down until they either break down and start apologising, or their heart gives out.
You’re the only person he shows any affection to. You’re also the only person allowed to touch him. Period.
He’s so touch starved; please hold him and tell him he’s your big guy :-(
Goes FERAL when you rake your fingers through his hair; his eyes roll into his skull and he can’t help but moan a little, even if the context isn’t sexual.
Don’t bring it up or he’ll punish you for it later 👀.
He finds your innocence both endearing and worrying.
On one hand, you believe in the good of everyone, which, considering how insecure Miguel can be, is what initially drew him to you; your ability to empathise and sympathise with others, to not judge them.
However, he knows people would take advantage of your kind and giving nature.
One time, he found out that one of the Spiders – a Victorian England era ‘gentleman superhero’ – had tossed you a used coffee cup and told you to dispose of it on his behalf. When you tried to say something, to tell him you were busy and had better things to do, he just dismissed you.
Of course, Miguel had seen this. He has eyes on you every second of the day.
You never saw that Spiderman again. Nor did anyone else. All that seemed to remain of him was his suit thrown haphazardly into the storage room, where a great big tear edged with blood was ripped into the chestpiece, the hero’s signature top hat abandoned and crumpled beneath it.
He also broke another Spider-Person’s arm when they tried to steal one of the fairy cakes you’d lovingly baked for him; poured your heart and soul into.
Miguel also growls at people he thinks are looking at you strangely. Full-on bares his fangs like a rabid dog and watches them cower.
He purposely grows his fangs out and lets you play with them.
He’s careful to make sure you don’t get hurt, though, guiding your hands away from the pointed tips.
His guilty pleasure is when you kiss his fangs and tell him he’s “The coolest, most handsome man in the world!”
“Just the world?” He says, smiling, raising an eyebrow. His heart melts in his chest as your smile widens, eclipsing your eyes into crescents.
“In ALL the worlds!” You say, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him, laughing. He brings his arms, thick and muscular, around your waist and pulls you into him, pressing ticklish kisses into your neck, revelling in your laughter.
Intimacy-wise, Miguel is horrified at the prospect of hurting you.
He’s ever so careful, as if handling glass, holding back his strength.
It’s worth it, though. The strain.
Especially when he hears you mewl and try to hide your face in his chest.
“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he says, tangling a hand in your hair and pulling your head back. His pointed fangs flint as he gives a smile. “I want to watch you like this.”
Loves your gentle kisses – they give him life.
Nothing can get him down when you’re around; especially when you’re sitting in his lap.
Though, issues have arisen as a result of your oblivion to…compromising positions.
More often than not, Miguel’s had to bite his lip and tongue when you shift in his lap, catching him, making his heart start and his breath shutter, electric anticipation jolting through him.
He takes you aside in the bathroom to deal with the issue you’ve unknowingly caused, but you don’t complain. Not that you can with your mouth full.
He looks at you with eyes which have seen the deaths of countless individuals, yet when he finds yours, he sees love and light spanning infinite universes within them. And they give him hope that there is more to life than loss and grief; more to him than his failures.
He revels in the feeling of you hiding behind him whenever you’re scared.
Sometimes he takes you to areas of the facility where he knows you’ll be easily frightened – for example, where captive villains are held – so he can feel your hands tightening around his arm or gripping the back of his suit. It makes him feel useful, like he can take on the world.
And he gets off on being the only person who can truly protect you. But he’d never tell you that, of course.
Loves demonstrating his strength around you. He can pick you up single-handedly and carry you anywhere without so much as thinking of breaking a sweat.
He prefers to be the big spoon, curling around you like a shield and protecting you from the outside world, his warm, broad chest to your back.
Tells you how much he loves you through hushed post-intimacy whispers and soft touches. Shows it through acts of service and the insurmountable adoration that fills his eyes whenever you’re around.
He can’t imagine being with anybody else. He can’t even remember the last time he felt anything save for contempt before you showed up.
And he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. No cost is too great for the love of his life <3.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist Masterpost
Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3
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penascigarette · 28 days ago
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smooth operator ch 2. this bitch bites
Joel Miller x f!phone sex worker
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➴wc: 7k | summary: you accidentally send a picture of yourself to joel which results in a video call
➴warnings: mdni, fxm phone sex, m&f masturbation, dirty talk
➴an: hi! tysm to everyone for all the love on the first part of this silly little series. I've been having so much fun writing and interacting with everyone. y'all are the best. feel free to come scream with me about this or anything <333
masterlist | series masterlist
For the rest of the night, your mind plays your conversation with Joel on repeat.
Elliot is asleep when you barge into his room, itching to share your dirty little secret. His limbs are sprawled like a starfish, his mouth hanging open, a light snore escaping him. He looks so peaceful that you decide against waking him. Instead, you sneak back to your room, feeling as if you'll explode if you don't tell someone soon. You’re a talker, and keeping this bottled up feels like pure torture.
Blowing a breath out, you stare up at the ceiling. How you feel isn’t easy to explain.
Your body is more satisfied than it’s been in a long time, aching for more.
Your heart agrees, thrilled at the thought of a forbidden relationship with this sexy, mysterious man. It hasn’t felt much since your last boyfriend—only pain and disappointment.
Your head, though, is another story. It reminds you how much trouble you could get into. Jane has a strict no-relationships rule between workers and clients, fearing the temptation to give free "sessions" or show favoritism. She’s all business, no play.
Dread swirls in your stomach. What you’ve done is dangerous, even if it was ridiculously mind-blowing. Joel wants a repeat; if you deny him, he could tell Jane.
You could always deny it… say it was just part of the act.
But your heart hates that thought. Even considering letting Joel down makes it ache as if you’ve already done it. How can you feel so much for someone after one phone call?
Because it’s exciting, the bad girl in you whispers.
You’ll get into trouble, your rational side argues, but it’s outnumbered.
Think about how amazing he made you feel, your body chimes in, tingling in remembrance. You came harder than ever, and he didn’t even touch you.
“God,” you groan, pressing your palms into your eyes until they hurt and you see funny lights. “I need sleep.” With no way to figure it out on your own, you know you need Elliot. For now, you push the thoughts away and try to rest.
Before you open your eyes, you know you’ve woken up ridiculously early. Something feels different—a sensation you can’t quite place.
You don’t have the cozy, half-asleep feeling you usually enjoy. The blankets aren’t warm or soft enough, and you’re itching to get up and do something. So, you throw the covers off, get dressed, and spend extra time on your hair and makeup. The effort gives you a bounce in your step, though the knot of unease in your gut remains.
Grabbing your phone, you head to the bathroom, use the toilet, and brush your teeth. There’s no noise from Elliot’s room—you doubt he’ll wake up for another hour. You go downstairs instead.
The kettle is still full from yesterday, so you flick it on and get your coffee ready. You debate making breakfast but decide against it—eating without Elliot feels wrong.
Less than a minute later, the water boils. You pour it into your mug, watching the steam rise before curling up on the sofa.
Being awake this early makes you feel like you could get so much done. Maybe you’ll work out after coffee, or tidy up and throw out the takeaway boxes before more clutter piles up. 
But your mind drifts back to Joel. You wonder about his morning routine. Does he put effort into his appearance because he’s good with women? You imagine him with a six-pack… God, you hope he has one.
No, stop, you think, shaking your head. What does it matter? But the thought of him only makes your fantasies steamier.
Your plans are forgotten, and you spend an hour imagining every inch of him. You don’t even notice your coffee going cold until Elliot flops onto the sofa beside you.
“There you are,” he says groggily, rubbing his eyes. “Ooh, you made coffee.” Without asking, he takes your mug, grimacing after a sip. “This is cold. How long have you been sitting here?”
“About an hour,” you admit with a shrug.
“Oh.” His brows lift. “How come, honey?” Concern laces his tone.
“I have something to tell you.” Finally, the words spill out, and you shift to face him.
“Did you finally shave your legs?” he asks, deadpan, taking another sip of coffee.
“Shut up. It hasn’t been that long, okay? This is serious.”
“Fine.” He smirks. “Go on.”
“I had phone sex last night.”
His brow furrows. “Sweetie, phone sex is your job. Are you feeling okay?” He places a hand on your forehead.
You roll your eyes, batting his hand away. “Not like that! I got off with him.”
Elliot’s jaw drops. “You… you flicked your bean to a client?”
Guiltily, you nod. “In my defense, he has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. And he’s amazing at talking dirty. Better than me!”
“Really?” Elliot’s skepticism is written all over his face.
You nod, leaning closer. “He said things like… ‘spread yourself open’ and ‘you’re such a good girl for me.’ He even told me to force my clit out of its hood! Most guys don’t even know what a that is!”
Elliot blinks, grabbing a cushion to cover his lap. “I completely understand.”
You laugh, though the thought of getting in trouble dampens your mood.
Elliot waves dismissively. “Just don’t tell anyone. I won’t either. In fact, I expect details from future calls.”
You snort. "I don't know if there will be any more."
He looks at you like you've grown another head. "Why?"
"Because I don't want to get in trouble for this," you admit, biting your lip for a moment. "Even if it was incredible."
"You won't get into trouble." He sounds so sure. "Seriously. I may or may not...have done the same thing. More than once," he mumbles the last part.
"What!?" you exclaim, wondering how the hell you're only just hearing about this. "Why haven't you told me?" You poke your bottom lip out at him. "You're keeping a lot of secrets from me lately."
He pinches your lip between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to pull it back into your mouth. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I don't tell you every time I jack off to porn, now do I? As for my date with Danny, I told you as soon as I had the balls to."
"But it is a huge deal," you argue.
"Yeah, to you, but...you're a bit of a prude."
"I am not. How can you be a prude when you work as a phone sex operator?”
"You are," he teases lightly. "When you had that one-night stand after you and Ben broke up, you cried for three days."
Your shoulders slump, and you mumble, "I was ashamed."
"Well, you shouldn't be," he says firmly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is beautiful. And fun."
"That's easy for you to say," you point out. "You're a man. Women get labeled and judged." And oh boy, do you hate being judged. It's why you don't tell people what you do for a living.
He softens at that. "You shouldn't be so worried about what people think of you. You only live once."
"I know," you mumble, not knowing what to say to that. Because it's true—you shouldn't be so concerned about others' thoughts of you—but it's not something you can just switch off. You change the subject. "So tell me about the times you've...you know." You know it’ll make you feel better.
"Well," he licks his lips and puts one hand on the back of the sofa while the other holds his coffee. "The first time, I can't even remember his name. He called when I was in the middle of getting off, and we ended up getting off together with my porno playing."
You both laugh at that.
"The second time," he continues, a certain fondness in his tone. "Was this guy called 'K.' I don't know why. There was just this... attraction, and we did it. Then it just became this thing."
You frown in confusion. "A thing? Does that mean you still do it?"
"Yep," he pops the 'p' with a grin. "He doesn't call very often, though."
"I can't believe..." you break into a breathless chuckle because here you are, worrying your ass off, and it's actually no big deal. Well, as long as Jane doesn't find out. "This is crazy."
"Maybe," Elliot shrugs and then wiggles his eyebrows. "But isn't it so much more fun that way?"
You have to agree.
___________
That night, you find yourself itching for Joel 's call. You’ve even stripped yourself naked in preparation. If that’s not eager, you don’t know what is.
Every time your phone rings, your heart leaps into your throat. It's ridiculous to act like this because of a man you don’t even know, but for some mysterious reason, he's caught your attention, and you're not letting him go anytime soon.
When it turns out it’s not him on the other end of the line, you find yourself entertaining the idea that he lied when he said he’d call again tonight. Maybe he only said it to keep you happy, or he hadn’t known what else to say.
Although he seemed interested. Interested enough to ask for your real name...you’re not counting him out quite yet. The night isn't over.
It takes another two phone calls before his name finally flashes on your screen.
Almost immediately, your stomach twists with excitement, and an ache starts to form between your legs. You're nervous but in a good way. It reminds you of the very first time you had phone sex with a client. When you manage to calm yourself down, you answer the phone, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Hey, you." Does that sound okay? You hope so.
"Hey," he greets, his voice wobbling just a little. Maybe he feels the same way you do. "How've you been?"
You blink, momentarily stunned. Did he really just ask that? None of your clients ever ask how you’re doing. Not that you’re complaining—it’s nice to be treated like an actual human being instead of just a way to get off.
"I'm great," you say honestly. "What about you?"
"Much better now," he replies, and you bite the corner of your lip to keep a goofy smile from breaking through. "I have to say, I've been thinking about you all damn day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk around with a near-constant boner?"
You’re already gushing down below. Squeezing your thighs shut at the image he’s planted in your mind, you reply breathlessly, "Can't say I have, but I know what it's like walking around with a fountain in your panties all day long."
His laugh is dark. "A fountain? Sounds like someone's been thinking naughty thoughts."
 "More than one, actually."
"Mm," he hums in approval. You hear rustling in the background as if he’s settling in. "Tell me one of them."
There are so many to choose from, but one stands out. "Okay," you say, licking your lips. "But you can't laugh, okay?"
"I wouldn't dare," he assures, though you can hear the amusement in his voice.
"Right." You take a deep breath. "So... it's a student-teacher fantasy."
"Ah," he responds knowingly.
"Yeah, so, you're the teacher, and I'm the student." Christ, you can’t believe you’re actually saying this. It feels stupid and embarrassing—so much easier to talk about other people’s fantasies than your own. "I have detention, and it’s just you and me in the classroom. You’re looking over schoolwork, and since you’re distracted, I decide to, you know."
"Say it." It’s a command, and the increase in his breathing tells you this is getting him just as hot as it gets you.
"I play with my pussy," you admit, scraping your teeth along your bottom lip. "I slip my hand down my panties, find my clit, pinch it, and rub it. I hold back my moans because I don’t want you to hear." Without realizing it, your eyes shut, and your hands wander down your body, acting out the fantasy. You’re already wet—so wet it surprises you, soaking your thighs and dampening the sheets.
"Fuck," he draws the word out. "You think you’re being quiet, but you’re not, Princess. And your pussy’s so fucking wet I can smell it from my desk."
"God," you choke out, your breath hitching. "I don’t care that you know. I’m too close—I don’t even care if you see." You’re not lying; you’re so close, but not ready to finish yet. Leaving your clit alone for a moment, you slide two fingers inside yourself—they glide in easily. "In fact, I move further down the chair and spread my legs so you can see what I’m doing."
Both of you are worked up now. You hear him stroking himself hard in the background.
He growls dangerously. "I know exactly what you want, Princess. I come over to you, throw the table out of my way, and sink to my knees. You’re so fucking wet I can see everything through your white panties. It’s clinging to your slit and your poor swollen clit."
"God."
"My whole mouth slots over your creaming cunt, and I suck the sweet juices through your panties."
Your pussy clenches hard around your fingers. "Jesus Christ. You’re so good." Your hand is practically swimming in your own cum.
"Your hard little nub doesn’t stand a chance against my tongue, and I have you gushing into my mouth in under ten seconds."
You have no self-control. You don’t want to come yet, but your hand has a mind of its own. Before you know it, you’re going over the edge.
"Ohmygod, Joel !" you squeak embarrassingly, thighs shaking around your hand as you rock your hips, trying to prolong the sensation.
"Did you come?" he asks, both amused and proud.
"You didn’t give me much choice," you reply weakly, tiny waves of pleasure still coursing through you as your hand lingers.
"Hey, I’m not complaining, trust me," he says. "The sounds you make when you come are heaven, baby."
You blow a stray piece of hair off your face and finally pull your fingers out. "Have you come? Do you want to keep going?" you ask. "I didn’t even get to the part where I give you an epic blowjob."
"Please, by all means, continue."
You grin. "All right. So after that mind-blowing orgasm, I kiss you so I can taste myself on your lips."
"Fuck, that’s hot, Princess." You hear him stroke himself faster.
"And I grab your tie, walking you back to your desk. I make you sit down." The thought of touching him excites you all over again, and you circle a nipple with one finger. "I kneel between your thighs and unzip your pants. Your dick is so hard it’s leaking pre-cum through your underwear." God, you’re desperate to taste it. You tell him that, too.
"Keep going," he orders, his voice strained.
You do. "I lick the fabric, but it’s not enough. I grab your cock and bring it to my lips. God, you’re fucking delicious. I rub the head all over my lips, needing to taste more of your cum." Shamefully, you mean every word.
"I’m so close, Princess," he groans, his pace quickening. "Just a little more."
"I take you into my wet, warm mouth. You’re so big and hard I can barely fit my lips around you. I hollow my cheeks and suck like I would a lollipop, my tongue stroking underneath your shaft. I can feel you getting close because you start pulsing in my mouth. I go faster, wanting to feel you spill down my throat."
He finally releases with a harsh moan. "Damn, Princess."
You blurt out your name correcting him before you can stop yourself.
He’s still catching his breath. "What was that?"
You repeat your name, unsure if this is a good idea but knowing it’s too late to turn back. "It’s my name."
He repeats it smoothly, the name rolling off his tongue. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."
You scoff, rolling your eyes to stop yourself from smiling. "You don’t know if I’m pretty or not."
"I don’t have to see you to know you’re beautiful."
His words touch you, but you doubt he’s worked all this out after just two phone calls. You humor him anyway. "That’s sweet of you to say."
"I better get going. Gotta get up for work in the morning," he says with a genuine yawn.
"Oh?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What do you do?"
"I’m a fireman."
Your eyes widen, and you instantly regret asking. Now you’ll be up all night fantasizing about him in uniform. "Oh god, that’s sexy," you blurt out.
"I’m glad you think so," he chuckles. "Maybe we can work it into our role-play tomorrow?"
"That’s a fantastic idea," you agree eagerly.
"All right," he laughs. "Seriously, I gotta go. Sweet dreams princess."
"Yeah," you reply, already looking forward to the next conversation. "You too, Joel."
__________________
"Tell me how big you are," you demand lightly, still tingling blissfully from your orgasm. You finally remove your hand from between your legs and use your damp fingers to trace circles around your hard nipples.
Joel laughs, the sound a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. "It's probably going to sound like I'm bullshitting, but... seven and a half inches."
You decide to believe him. Sure, he could very well be lying—lots of guys do. Practically every man you talk to claims to have a big dick. It’s all part of the fantasy. But Joel feels different. "Wow... that's huge."
Your body responds instinctively, a clench of anticipation as you imagine how full he could make you feel.
"Yeah... well, I've had no complaints," he says, sounding both bashful and proud.
"You sure?" you tease. "I bet there have been a few comments about you being too big or going too deep."
He laughs again. "When I was younger, yeah, but I learned pretty quickly that every woman is different. I like to get a feel for her using my fingers first, see how much she can handle."
You can’t help it; a vivid image of his fingers working you over, his muscular arm straining against your thigh as he tests your limits, flashes in your mind. Jesus, you could come again just from that thought. You stumble out a response. "Oh, I, uh... yeah, that’s good of you."
"Only fair. They're lettin' me have sex with them, least I can do is make sure they damn well enjoy it."
What a gentleman, you think. How many men actually care if a woman is enjoying herself? In your experience, they get off without a second thought for you.
"I wish more men were like you," you tell him honestly.
"Well... I wish more women were like you."
That catches you off guard. "Really? In what way?"
"I don’t know... you’re just so open. Sexually, I mean. You’re not afraid to tell me what you like. You’ve got a great laugh, too. And you’re so damn easy to talk to. I feel like I could tell you everything."
The words make your heart flutter. Compliments from clients are nothing new, but they usually run along the lines of, "You’re so good at talking dirty," or, "You made me come so hard." None of them are as sweet or genuine as what Joel just said.
And none of them make you think about how easily you could fall for him.
As soon as the thought enters your mind, you push it away. How ridiculous. There’s no way you should be falling for a man you’ve never met. You don’t even know what he looks like. Having a crush is one thing, but love? God, I’m turning into one of those women who fall for anyone just because they say the right things.
And the saddest part? You’re pretty sure Joel isn’t even trying.
"Princess? You still there?"
His voice pulls you from your spiral. You don’t know how long you’ve been silent, but the realization is both embarrassing and unprofessional. You’re wasting his time—and his money.
"Sorry, Joel," you apologize. "I totally zoned out. I -I’ll refund you for the call."
"Don’t worry about that," he says quickly. "Please, be honest with me. Did I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to overstep—"
Oh, god, he’s so sweet. You cut him off. "No, no! I swear, you didn’t. I was just... surprised, that’s all," you reassure him. "I really appreciate it. And... I feel the same way." You bite your lip. You hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. "I feel like... I’ve known you forever."
"I’m glad," he says, relief evident in his tone. "Was worried I’d freaked you out."
"Not at all," you reply with a soft smile.
The conversation settles into a comfortable silence. The reality of your situation dawns on you: You’re discussing feelings—real feelings—with a client. A man you’ve never met. You don’t know his last name. It’s been, what, a week?
But you want to know him. Desperately. Maybe you’re crazy. Maybe you’re just lonely. Or maybe you need something deeper than the physical connection you’re used to.
The sound of a beeping line breaks the moment. "Damn it," Joel curses. "They need me at work. I’ve got to go."
Immediately, you feel a pang of guilt. He didn’t even get to finish. "Listen," you say impulsively, "I’m going to text you my personal number, okay? When you have a chance, call me, and we’ll finish what we started."
There’s a pause. "Wow," he says finally. "That would be amazing. I could text you throughout the day, too... only if you want, of course. Don’t wanna cross any boundaries."
If anything, it's you crossing boundaries. “I’d love that." You respond honestly, your heart fluttering and a fuzzy feeling settles in your belly. You really like him, don't you? Crap.
He chuckles, and you can almost hear his grin. "Good."
—-------‐
How'd the baking go? You still alive?
You breathe out a laugh as you open and read Joel's text. It's been about a week since you gave him your number, and you haven't regretted it for a second.
Like shit, I can't have cooked it long enough because it was still gooey in the middle. But we're all still alive...for now. 
You send the text before glancing over at the modeling shoot, which is now where your living room used to be. White material hangs from metal frames, creating a backdrop for the pictures. Standing lights are positioned opposite. The photographer your mom hired is here, and your house is his studio.
Elliot is currently looking through the outfits he and your mom spent all of yesterday shopping for, now hung from a clothes rail. Some of them are latex and kinky as hell, others flimsy and revealing.
Your mom is busy pulling on a gray mini skirt. She’s already wearing stockings, a white, revealing blouse, and a tight gray blazer that cuts off at the elbows. You know she has a pair of glasses to complete her sexy secretary look. All she needs is a messy updo, and she’ll be ready to go.
You have to admit, the fake breasts she bought five years ago look fantastic in that shirt. You’re almost jealous. They look better than yours.
Elliot, meanwhile, is shirtless, with a pair of leather pants covering his bottom half. He looks amazing. His hair is messy, like he just had sex, and he’s debating with your mom whether or not he should use some eyeliner to make himself look darker and more mysterious.
You remain firm in your decision to stay out of the photo shoot. Even though you wouldn’t have to be naked, the idea doesn’t sit well with you. People could recognize you—friends from school, old work colleagues, or that bitch who stole your favorite hair clip in swimming class when you were a teen. The thought of any of them knowing—or worse, judging—what you do for a living makes you die a little inside, even though you know in your heart it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re just too sensitive, you guess.
Your phone vibrates in your hand, signaling an incoming text, and you glance down at the screen, your attention no longer on the shoot. It’s Joel  again.
Ah... remind me to do all the baking if I ever work up the courage to ask you out.
Your lips part in shock before they curve slowly. He wants to ask you out? Wow… you trap your bottom lip between your teeth as you type your response.
Deal. You finding that courage any time soon?
You hesitate, then press send before locking your phone and leaning your elbows on the counter in front of you. Your eyes follow your mother’s movements as she practices poses in front of a large, stand-up mirror. You’re on kitchen duty since you’re neither a model nor a photographer, which means it’s your job to keep their coffee topped up.
“What do you think?” Elliot asks, his question floating to no one in particular as he studies himself in a small pocket-sized mirror. A black eyeliner pencil sits in his other hand.
You tilt your head, examining his eyes. One is framed in sharp black, while the other remains untouched. “Go with the eyeliner,” you say after a moment. “It matches your leather look.” You gesture toward his trousers.
Without looking up, Elliot starts lining his other eye. “Thanks, babe.”
You curl your lips in a faint reply, even though he can’t see it. Your phone buzzes again, and you quickly check the message on the screen.
I'm working on it ;)
Good. I'm looking forward to it ;)
You bite your lip, trying to hide your excitement. You don’t want your mom catching onto your texts; without a doubt, she’d know you’re talking to a guy. Then she’d question you until you gave up the goods.
A ping behind you sounds, reminding you that you were in the process of making another round of coffee. Slipping your phone into your pocket, you decide you’d better get the coffee addicts their fix.
The photo shoot ends up being a success—not that you were expecting anything different. They could have been real models, and it makes you wonder why they didn’t pursue a career in it. They’re honestly naturals.
And oh my god, your mom—you’re laughing now—manages to get a date with the photographer. He has to be about ten years younger than her. Not that it stops him, of course. You and Elliot can’t help but exchange glances and giggle knowingly when it’s your mom’s turn to be photographed. The poor guy can’t take his eyes off her.
You hope it goes well, of course, but you doubt he’ll end up being anything more than a fling. Your mom just isn’t one to settle down. Not since your dad walked out when you were a baby and left her with a broken heart. You think she lost her faith in men after that.
Not that your experience with men is much better. Your ex was an asshole who killed your confidence and then cheated on you with someone you had considered your best friend at the time. Pretty clichéd, you know. But unlike your mom, you still have hope that a Prince Charming will come along and sweep you off your feet.
And just maybe, that Prince could be Joel.
Yes, okay, it was still early days to be thinking like that but sometimes...you just know, you know? There’s a fluttering in your stomach—a warmth, a feeling of pure happiness, safety, and understanding. It’s not the same as those first-date butterflies you had with your ex, when everything was exciting and new. No, this is something different, something deeper. You can’t quite explain how—it just is.
"Hey, you’ve got a package down here!" Elliot sing-songs from downstairs, pulling you out of your thoughts.
A package? What could it—Oh! You remember the top you ordered online and let out an excited squeal. Quickly, you step out of the shower. You were finished in there anyway.
"Coming!" you call down to Elliot, quickly drying yourself off and slipping into your plain black bra and underwear. You rub the towel through your hair, barely giving a thought to your state of undress as you head downstairs. Elliot wouldn’t care, anyway.
As you step into the room, Elliot whistles from the sofa, his legs tucked underneath him and one arm draped along the back. “Looking hot, girl!” he teases, flashing you a playful grin.
“Thanks, babe.” You lean over the back of the sofa and snag the package from his lap. Tearing open the grey plastic bag, you start digging through it eagerly.
“What’d you get?” Elliot asks, his curiosity piqued.
“Remember that top I showed you and Julie? The white one with ‘This Bitch Bites!’ written on the front?” Your fingers brush soft material, and you pull it free with a triumphant grin. Tossing the plastic to the floor, you hold the top up to admire it.
Elliot throws his head back in laughter. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, I did.” You flip the shirt around, showing it off with a dramatic flourish.
Elliot gasps as if it’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen. “I fucking love it! Do they have it in my size?” He reaches out to pinch the fabric between his fingers, giving it an approving nod. “Ooh, I like the material, too.”
“Yeah, I think so,” you say, gathering the shirt in your hands and pulling it over your head. You smooth it down and strike a pose, hands on your hips. “What do you think?”
 "Your boobs look awesome in that." Elliot nods approvingly. "Oh! Gimme your phone. I'll take a pic, and you can send it to Julie. I bet she'll wanna see it." He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.
You instinctively reach for your pockets, but your fingers brush against bare skin, reminding you that your clothes—and your phone—are upstairs. "I'll go get it," you say, heading off.
After sending the picture, you grab a quick snack before making your way back upstairs. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and you know you need to dry it before it starts frizzing.
You sit at your dresser, plug in your hair dryer, and get ready to turn it on when your phone vibrates with an incoming message. Setting the dryer down, you pick up your phone to check the text.
Damn, I hope she does, was the response, leaving you confused. 
Julie doesn’t text like that. You know how she is—always shortening her words until they’re barely readable, leaving you and Elliot to figure out what she actually means. And commas? Forget it. She probably doesn’t even know what one is.
You scrunch your nose, confused, your thumb hovering over the screen to text her back when another message pops up. This time, it’s from Joel.
You're fucking beautiful, by the way.
Okay, so that’s kind of creepy. How the fuck does he know what you look like? That’s when it hits you— the previous text was from Joel, not Julie like you’d assumed.
“Oh no…” you breathe, your fingers scrambling to scroll up through the conversation. And there it is. The picture Elliot took of you. You, wearing nothing but your white this bitch bites! shirt and black panties, your chest pushed forward so the writing stretches smooth across the fabric. And that picture? It’s been sent to Joel. Not Julie.
You growl out loud, “I’m going to kill Elliot,” your heart pounds like crazy. You spring to your feet, panic surging through you as you pace back and forth, trying to form a coherent thought. Did he do it on purpose? No, surely he wouldn’t—okay, yeah, he probably would. You groan loudly, covering your face with your hands before falling backward onto the bed. You land with a bounce.
And just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the realization hits you. “I’m not even wearing makeup, Elliot!” you shout, your voice full of despair.
You know you should respond to Joel, but you're way too busy freaking the hell out.
He knows what you look like. That’s bad. So very bad. Why exactly it’s bad, you’re not sure. But the black hole churning in your stomach insists it is.
He thinks you’re beautiful, a calmer part of your mind whispers blissfully. Without makeup. That part makes you ridiculously happy. But it’s still bad…right?
Gnawing on your bottom lip, you try to think clearly. So what if he knows what you look like? It’s not like he can track you down with just an image. Sure, okay, he also knows your first name, but you don’t even have social media. Good luck with that, buddy!
...Really? Come on.
You shake your head at yourself. You know Joel wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re just freaking out and thinking irrationally. He’s a good guy, and you trust him. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have given him your real number.
Breathing in deeply, you lift your phone to your face and read his messages again.
Damn, I hope she does.
You're fucking beautiful, by the way.
This time, you allow yourself to smile, embracing the warmth that fills your stomach at his words. He’s so sweet, with just the right amount of dirty. He hopes you’re a biter... Naughty pictures flood your mind, and you squeeze your thighs together. You’d be a biter for him any day.
Your thumbs hover over the touch-screen keyboard as you consider what to respond to him. Deciding that honesty is the best policy, you go with:
Sorry about that! It was meant for my girl friend but my other friend is a total dick. I don't make a habit of sending half-naked pics to guys. I'm glad you like it though :)
A thought pops into your head, and you quickly type:
Since you've got a pic of me...maybe you'll be open to sharing one of you?
You nibble at your fingernail as you wait for his response. You hope you didn't make him uncomfortable by asking for a picture, but you honestly do want one of him. You're curious about what he could look like. You have an image of him in your head, but you dare say it wouldn't look anything like him. A few seconds later, you get a reply.
Ah, that makes sense. I did think it was a bit odd since you never mentioned anything about us exchanging pictures. I'm glad it happened, though. Maybe I should be thanking your friend ;)
Your lips curl as you get ready to send him a response when another text comes through.
Sure, you can have one of me as long as you'll excuse my appearance. It's It’s been a rough day at work, and I haven’t had a chance to shower yet. 
Again, you start typing your reply, your heart jumping into your throat at the thought of finally seeing his face when yet another text comes through. But this time, it isn’t words; it’s a picture. The picture you’ve been waiting for.
Your lips part and your heart falls back into your chest, doing a funny little dance. A slow breath escapes you as you can't tear your eyes away from the selfie he sent you.
Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe him. whiskey-colored eyes, lips so full it almost looks like he's pouting. A day or two's worth of stubble covers his lower face.
He looks tired but still manages a small, lopsided smile for you. His hair is a mess as if he's spent a good portion of the day running his fingers through it. Full lips and dark eyes. The picture is taken directly in front, and you can see his large Adam’s apple and broad shoulders. His shirt, from what you can make out, is completely white.
“Oh my god,” you mutter in astonishment. Honestly… the guy looks like a model. You find it hard to believe someone like him needs a sex operator to get off. He must have women falling all over him. He's a firefighter for fuck’s sake. It's like every girl’s wet dream.
It makes you wonder if he's telling the truth, or if he's been lying all along and knows exactly how to draw a girl in.
Worried and paranoid, you bite your bottom lip and finally text him back.
Is that really you? Or are you screwing with me?
His reply doesn't come in the shape of a text. Instead, you get a notification about an incoming video call.
Your eyes widen, and your first instinct is to reject it. Having just gotten out of the shower, your hair is wet, and your face is make-up-free. You don’t want him to see you this way, but then you remember that he’s already seen the picture you—well, Elliot—sent him. So, you accept it. It can’t have put him off that much since he's still talking to you.
It takes a moment for the call to connect, and you bite your lip harder.
And then there he is, looking just like he did in his photo. This proves that he'd definitely just taken it moments before, and it was definitely him. You feel guilty for doubting him.
 "Wow." His full lips twist into a big smile. "Hey there, beautiful."
Your butterflies return with a vengeance, and you grin back so hard your cheeks hurt. "Hey, handsome." You know your face is burning but you don't even care. You're nervous and aren't afraid to admit it. This is a big step for both of you. Who wouldn't have some kind of nerves? The hand holding your phone up shakes slightly.
He chuckles, rubbing his fingers over his lips. "I can't believe I'm actually looking at you. It's crazy. You're so gorgeous. You're perfect."
Your entire body buzzes at his words, warmth filling you. "Coming from you? You're so fucking sexy I thought you'd sent me a fake picture!"
You both laugh, the sound full of excitement, anxiety, and amazement. "No, no. I would never do that. I'm glad you approve though, I was worried I wouldn't be your type."
You splutter, "Dude...you have to be everyone's type." The nervous laughter continues. Neither of you really knows what to say or how to react, but you can't stop looking at each other with goofy expressions. "How was your day?" you finally decide to ask, figuring that maybe a more casual conversation might help you both get over the shock.
"My day?" He was grinning still, shaking his head. "My day...this has got to be the best day of my damned life."
It’s so sweet you could almost cry. Almost sobbing with tears in your eyes, you respond, “I know the feeling.”
You’re both too overwhelmed to have a normal conversation. You stay on the phone for hours, mostly admiring each other, smiling like idiots, and commenting on your disbelief of the situation. You’re in awe of each other, that much is obvious. Time quickly flies by, and you notice Joel starts to grow more tired by the second.
"Why don’t you get some sleep?" you suggest softly, one hand tucked under your cheek as you lay on your side, snuggled up underneath your duvet. You continue to hold the phone in front of you.
He groans and rubs his eye with his knuckles. It’s adorable to see. "I should...I really, really should." His hand drops, and he focuses on the phone, flashing you a sleepy smile. "But that means hanging up...and I don’t think I’m ready to leave you yet."
You giggle quietly, feeling genuinely happy. "I know the feeling," you say. "But it's getting late, and you have work in the morning. I promise we'll talk again tomorrow night. Plus, I'll be texting you all day, you know that."
He chuckles. "Damn, I just can't get rid of you, can I?" He teases.
"Nope." You pop the 'p', grinning back. "You're stuck with me now."
He sighs dramatically. "What have I gotten myself into?" You both laugh once more. "I'm joking, of course. Who'd wanna get rid of a gorgeous girl like you?"
You hide your face in your shoulder. "Stop, you'll make me go all giddy," you warn him, half serious.
He grins. "That's not gonna make me stop, princess. You're too cute when you're all giddy."
"Oh, Joel ," you sigh lovingly before you realize what you're doing. You can't help it though. He makes you feel so good. So joyful. You can't ever remember having this feeling. It’s as if you're on top of the world.
"Darlin," he purrs back, and your belly flutters. You fall into a small silence, and for a moment, just smile at each other. It’s actually pretty cheesy.
"We should go," you whisper reluctantly.
He nods. "Yeah, you're probably right."
"Good night, handsome." Moving the hand tucked under your cheek to your mouth, you blow him a kiss.
He chuckles and acts as if he grabs it before placing it onto his lips and blowing one back to you. "Goodnight, pretty girl."
Taglist: @pedrito-is-punk7 @bitchytimetravelqueen @wh0reforbucknasty @joelsrose @justajoelsreader
@guelyury @bbyanarchist @untamedheart81 @ro-nahime-things @peepawispunk
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mikasa-imadebiscults · 6 months ago
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HIHI I LOVE UR WORK!!
Could u please do the kny Hashira with s/o who is like, the funniest mf to walk the planet. Like, they know how to hit their humour PERFECTLY and they just makes them laugh so much!!!
(Hey hey, Anon! I really hope I pleased you with the request, it was a little difficult to come up with hcs so I hope you enjoyed. Have a nice day!)
Hashira w/ a Funny S/O
(Characters Included- All the Hashira)
(Warning: Nothing, just fluff and GN! Reader)
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🔥Kyojuro Rengoku🔥
- Not afraid to laugh at your jokes, he makes it known that he thinks it’s funny. You can hear him laughing from a mile away.
- Sometimes you make him laugh so hard that he slaps his knee or throws his head back.
- Will tell you afterwards that his ribs and cheeks hurt from laughing so much, but he’ll still be smiling.
🌪️Sanemi Shinazugawa🌪️
- When you first made him laugh, he was surprised at first since it was rare for him to laugh, let alone laugh at someone’s joke.
- Though when you keep on making him laugh he gets suspicious. “What are they on about?” He often thinks to himself.
- One time when you made him laugh, he chuckled louder than usual and it caught you off guard so you were just staring at him all starstruck. Then he got embarrassed and turned away from you, telling you to stop staring.
🪨Gyomei Himejima🪨
- He finds your funny personality very endearing.
- Loves to hear any new jokes you come up with and praises you on your talent.
- If you’re having a laughing fit because of your own jokes, he’ll chuckle before smiling at you softly.
- When he found out that you could even make Sanemi and Obanai laugh he was glad that you could make his fellow Hashira happy.
🦋Shinobu Kocho🦋
- She admires how well and quickly you can make others bust out in laughter. It warms her heart.
- Shinobu’s laugh is always low and giggly. You love it. (I love it too)
- It feels weird to her to genuinely smile this much but she doesn’t mind it and learns to grow used to it when she’s with you. (Kanae above approves of you)
🍡Mitsuri Kanroji🍡
- You make her laugh so much that her face gets red. She always tries to cover it too.
- (If you’re a Hashira) She tries so hard not to laugh at one of your little jokes during the Hashira meetings. (Ultimately, she fails but the other Hashira can’t blame her)
- For the love of Mitsuri, please do not make her laugh while she’s eating or drinking something unless you wanna make her choke (and not in a good way)
🌊Giyuu Tomioka🌊
- Before meeting you, it was extremely rare to make him laugh. He probably never even laughed since Sabito’s passing. Then he met you and changed everything.
- Whenever he laughs he doesn’t laugh for very long or loud, mainly he chuckles.
- Also fun fact, he doesn’t understand dark humor, he’ll be more concerned than anything.
🔊Uzui Tengen🔊
- He is the type of person who playfully hits your back whenever you make him laugh.
- You also most likely loss roughly 30% of your hearing from his loud laughter.
- Whenever he sees you making Hina, Makio, and Suma laugh he will softly smile at all of his partners having a good time.
🐍Iguro Obanai🐍
- When he first met you he already heard about you from the other Hashira like Rengoku and Uzui. He referred to you as “The Laughing Person” because you make everyone laugh.
- Like Tomioka, he mainly chuckles, but after he’s done laughing and sees you still laughing at yourself he’ll smile to himself.
☁️Muichiro Tokito☁️
- He grows fond of you over time. Before he regained his memories he would think of you as an otter because they say that it represents laughter and joy. (I think it represents that, I looked it up so it might not be correct)
- After he regained his memories, he would be much more expressive when he’s laughing.
- Muichiro always looks forward to your jokes everyday.
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Masterlist
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shegetsburned · 6 months ago
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❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.
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BRIDGERTON AU⌇
• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3
.nsfw.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.
₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.
you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.
© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.
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luveline · 7 months ago
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coworker!james and readers first kiss pretty pretty please? with cherry on top? i love these pining idiots in love so much!
ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k
“What are you doing?” 
A warm voice and a warmer hand pressed to your shoulder. You hide the mug under your palm and look up, finding yourself face to face with a grinning James. 
His glasses make his eyes a little smaller than they are in actuality. Closer, you can see all the different shades that surround his pupils, and his hedging of dark lashes, so dark it’s like he’s wearing makeup. 
“Nothing.” 
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” His hand remains on your shoulder, a brand as the other grabs at a torn corner of a packet you’d failed to throw away. Your lips part in horror, but he can’t be stopped now. “Um, excuse me, lovely girl, but you wouldn’t know what this is off, would you?” 
“Me?” 
“You, yeah.” 
“Um…” You squint at the packaging in mock confusion. “No, don’t think so.” 
“Well, there’s one way to get to the bottom of this.” 
He moves his hand, for which you’re thankful and disappointed at once. It had been close to a hug, that warmth lingering as James opens the kitchen cupboard and sorts through tens of boxes before pulling down a hastily returned cardboard box. ‘JAMES’ has been written across it in bold sharpie. 
He slips out a hot chocolate sachet from the box and compares the scrap he’d found to the corner. They are, unfortunately, an exact match. 
“Where do you get the audacity?” he asks plainly. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
“So what’s that, then?” 
“It’s nothing,” you say, sliding the mug further away from you both. 
There’s a silence. James puts the box back in the cupboard and peers at you where you’re curling in on yourself. He’s trying to intimidate you, at least for fun, something weighted and smiley about his gaze as he slides his arm between you and the counter. “If it’s nothing,” he says quietly, “then show it to me.” 
You angle your face up to explain yourself. He’d looked sad, tired even, and you’d hoped making him a cup of hot chocolate would cheer him up. Things between you lately are clearly different, not just to you but to everyone around you. All your interactions feel watched. James’ hand curling against your waist doesn’t even feel new, it just feels firm. 
A big hand, his thumb pressing into your soft stomach. 
Your breath catches as he moves you out of his way. 
“Is this my mug, too?” he asks, all tension draining, your relief a quick breath. (Your disappointment somewhere hidden beneath it.) “You’re the cheekiest girl alive. Shame on you.” 
You give him a strange look. He can’t ignore it, you’re too obvious. 
“What?” he asks, nudging the mug back toward your hand. 
For a second you…
“I’m just kidding,” he says, his eyes widening the longer you remain speechless. “You don’t have to panic. I’m joking, I don’t care.” 
“I was making it for you,” you say. 
James’ brows relax. “You were?” 
You give him the mug, and you don’t know what to do, what can you do? If you linger he’ll work out what you’re thinking, he has a detector for all your most embarrassing thoughts, you’re sure of it. You nod emphatically and weave around him without another word. 
“Y/N,” he says to your back. The door handle is cold in your hand. You almost walk straight into it. “Y/N, wait a second!” 
You turn around, weary of a scene. “I’m fine,” you say, startled by his reaction, “I just need a minute.” 
“What’s wrong?” he asks. 
“I’m fine.” You summon your most convincing smile. Your heart bends against your ribs. “Really.” 
You leave him standing in the kitchen, nonplussed, rushing out of the main part of the office and down the two flights of stairs. Out past the receptionists, down the concrete steps, where you stop at the bottom, and sit down hard. 
What are you doing? 
Where can you go? You can’t go anywhere. James is going to know exactly what it is that made you react like that, is going to realise you have feelings for him entirely outside of the common realm. And you’ll have to keep sitting at your adjacent desks pretending it’s not true. 
Why would he do that to you? His hand on your waist turning you toward him, your faces much closer than they’d ever been. James must know that’s an intimate touch. 
He’s messing with you. 
You spend five minutes glancing out at the car park before he comes to join you. It’s awful that you know that it’s him. The wind blows in pangs against the side of your face. 
“I’m really sorry,” James says, sitting on the second to last step beside you, a strange lack of space between your two bodies. “I didn’t mean to do that to you. To freak you out.” 
“It’s okay.” 
“I really didn’t. I know I’ve messed with you before, but you were looking at me like…” 
You rub your eye, a migraine brewing behind it. “Like what?” you ask. 
“I don’t know. Like that.” 
“How was I looking at you?” 
“I don’t know. Like I– Like I broke your heart.” He laughs ‘cos it’s stupid, but his laugh peters off strangely. 
“James, you were looking at me like you were…” What’s unsaid stays heavily between you. 
He looks off to the side, his hand coming up behind his hand to scratch his hair. Curls pull and plink as his fingers comb through them, he’s rough, but the lengths of his hair are shiny under what little of the sun floods through the cloud cover above. You watch him, stomach aching for an answer, some confirmation, but the more you look the less sure you are that you need it. Everything you feel for him wells to the surface. It’s hot, and urgent, and it’s getting too much for you to hold alone. 
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits quietly. 
“James,” you say, wanting him like a palpable wound. Wanting him to need you too. “James,” you say again, putting your hand on his thigh carefully. 
He covers it instinctively. “What?” he asks. 
“Please, can I…” 
His eyes bore into yours, and follow your gaze when it tips down to his mouth. 
The skin between his brow creases with one deep wrinkle, his full lips twisted into a heart-hurting frown as he leans in. You close your eyes before he can close his own, waiting for him, to kiss you and to get this tugging yearning dealt with, but he doesn’t kiss you. His breath warms your lips and he turns to you completely, but he doesn’t kiss you. 
You want it so badly, you tip your chin up and press your lips to his. Terrified of him, because you really are in the palm of his hand now. It’s worse than when he hated you. 
He has the power to be a thousand times more cruel than he ever had before as you kiss him softly. 
James kisses back a second too late. He’s giving in to it and you’re pulling away, pins and needles in your hands. “Wait,” he says, his voice a shade of longing you’ve never heard, your eyes flashing open at the same time. His hand leaps for your waist. “Wait, please.” 
His fingers press into the dough of your side, holding you still, butterflies alive and riveted under his hand. 
You close your eyes on a whim, and he kisses you soundly. His lips part against yours to encourage a similar movement, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side and your noses smudged together. “Please,” he murmurs against your lips. 
You kiss him back like he kisses you. Soft, open-mouthed. 
His hand comes up to your face, pulling you forward, desperate to keep you close as he sighs against your mouth, the sound a vibration you feel at the back of your throat. 
Please, he’d said, like he wouldn’t get another go. 
Please. The tie on you snaps. 
You kiss him like you’ve never kissed anybody, hoping it isn’t just another obvious trick. 
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rinhaler · 1 year ago
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ok but like nanami or geto fucking us in a room and gojo just goes in without knocking and sees. and it’s all awkward and he leaves but then ends up going into another room to jerk off cause it was kinda hot…
i would like to maintain that i am not a getou fucker but i hope u enjoy this nonnie :3
warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, male masturbation, vaginal sex.
words: .9k
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“O-Oh, shit, Suguru… should we stop?” you pant, your boyfriend still smothering your neck in soft kisses. It’s an answer in itself, but he still feels compelled to breathe the words softly against your skin.
“No, sweetheart, he’ll be fine.” he coos, nibbling on your earlobe. Ultimately distracting you completely from the awkward encounter of being walked in on while you’re naked with Suguru’s cock balls deep in your cunt.
Satoru leans against the wall for a moment while your bare form runs rampant through his mind. The way your swollen, bitten lip fell from your teeth as you moaned while riding Suguru’s thick length.
The way skin slapping against skin filled the room as he relentlessly pounded into you. How sweaty you both appeared to be. You must have been at it for a while. And Satoru has never been so jealous.
He’d always had a thing for you, but kept it to himself out of respect for his best friend. But, fuck, that’s a hard thing to ignore. And now he’s dealing with another hard thing to ignore.
He shouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
But he finds himself instinctively walking to his own dorm room and leaning against the wall that he shares with Suguru. He can still hear you going at it. And his heart flutters.
You know how thin the walls are, and yet you’re making no effort to conceal your salacious little moans. You’re doing it for him, aren’t you? That’s what he thinks, anyway. That’s how he reasons it as he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it to the ground. His sweats come down just enough for him to grab his aching cock.
And the little hiss he emits is pornographic as he makes contact with himself. He’s so turned on, so sensitive it’s almost sore to touch himself. But he can’t help it. He needs this.
He runs his hand over his drooling cockhead and is even taken aback himself by what a mess you’ve made of him. Without even trying. His head falls back against the wall with a gentle thump as he closes his eyes and imagines he is the one fucking you right now. The way you’re trying to be quiet but failing completely as Suguru continues to fuck up into you and viciously pound against your g-spot without remorse.
It should be him.
He looks down at his cock. It’s red and throbbing with a burning desire to be stuffed inside of your precious little cunt.
“Hhng, ah! Suguru! Don’t, d-don’t stop baby.. haaah~!”
Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you? Even if his hand wasn’t already blurring as he fucks into his fist, he’d have to after that. You want him to hear, he was right. You want him to get off to the idea of you. Of fucking you. Of being a seedy little witness to your filthy show.
You act so innocent, but you aren’t. He should have known.
It’s always precious little things like you that are the most depraved.
He doesn’t want to stop touching himself. He wants to enjoy the feeling of pleasuring himself with you at the same time forever. But he can hear your hitching breaths. The way you’re struggling to keep up with Suguru and how he has to help you even more.
He doesn’t want to stop.
But he has to cum with you.
The way Suguru tries to silence himself as he shoots his load inside of you makes him smile. Like it’s some secret that you’re fucking. It’s well past that, now. Gojo had already borne witness to your natural instincts consuming you both.
He fists his cock faster. Harder. Suguru doesn’t stop fucking you, rubbing your clit with his thumb all the while. He can hear it in your shaky breaths. You're close. You’re so fucking close.
And you’ll cum together.
How romantic.
He doesn’t hold back his own moans as he hears you succumb to your building orgasm. It’s only right that you know what you’ve done to him, he thinks. And for a moment, it goes silent, when you realise what is happening in the room next door.
You’re covering your mouth, much to Suguru’s dismay. He yanks your hand away and interlocks his fingers with yours. Still fucking his softening cock into you relentlessly.
“Don’t be shy,” he smirks, “We wanna hear your pretty moans.”
And Satoru’s cock spurts glob after glob of white, shimmering cum onto his stomach as he moans boisterously for you. Suguru really is the best friend he could ask for. He could have so easily stopped fucking you and started a fight over the fact he’s masturbating over you.
He’s generous. Sharing you and your gorgeous moans with him. He didn’t have to, of course. But Suguru knows how lucky he is to have you. He feels sorry for every other man on earth since he knows no one else can have you.
“Fuuuuuuck me.” Satoru sighs as he finishes, jerking every last drop of cum he possibly can.
“You’re welcome, Satoru,” Suguru laughs, knocking his knuckle against the wall behind him. You collapse above his body, resting your head on his shoulder as you come down from your high. “Don’t make a habit of it, though.”
“A habit?” he laughs, knowing it’s far too late for that. “Next time, I want to watch.”
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© 2023 rinhaler
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starlostseungmin · 8 months ago
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husband!minho
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✰ notes: third entry of my husband!skz series and as for who won the poll, it’s minho’s turn!! minor warning: sex is mentioned but nothing happened!! i hope you guys enjoy!! not proofread. DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS! thank you <33
seungmin , chan( lee know ) jeongin , han , changbin , felix , hyunjin.
Husband Minho who asked, “Will you be the mother of my three kids?” instead of “Will you marry me?” on one random afternoon when you were both playing with his cats at his parents’ house. It served as his proposal and gave you a jingle ball because he didn’t have a ring with him at that time. 
Husband Minho who used to be a tsundere and nonchalant person but later changed into a fully affectionate bunny the moment he fell for you. 
Husband Minho who got emotional during the wedding day but tried to hold his tears back since it was expected that his friends would tease him later. He gave up eventually and cried when you slow danced with him at the reception. 
Husband Minho who teased you a lot but in a loving way. He tends to be a menace sometimes but it wasn’t bad. Your big baby just loves to play with you. 
Husband Minho who pretends to be annoyed when you ask for a kiss but deep inside he wants to smother you with all the love you deserve. Eventually, he couldn’t keep it to himself so he cuddles you with lots and lots of kisses. 
Husband Minho who spoils you with his five Michelin-star cooking skills and serves you high-quality food. He is the happiest when you compliment him and finish everything on your plate. 
Husband Minho who loves to drag you along when he goes camping and offers to take care of everything while you rest. He’d only ask for minor tasks from you to help him. 
Husband Minho who sends you weird selfies and cat pictures when you’re not together and says he misses you with the kids (his cats). 
Husband Minho who listens to your worries and gives constructive criticisms but at the same time he comforts you with the things you need to feel better. 
Husband Minho who loves to encourage you to do the things you want as long as it would benefit him and it’s not illegal. “The heart knows what it wants,” He said. “But let’s not go to jail shall we?”
Husband Minho who lets you burst out in anger while he stood there listening to everything. He’s not the type to baby you every time and will be civil when it comes to arguments knowing who is in the right and wrong. 
Husband Minho who will never allow you to sleep unless everything is resolved. He’d be sorry if it was his fault and be the cutest baby bunny that you can’t resist to forgive. This comes along with cuddles and kisses or makeup sex (if you’re both into it). 
Husband Minho whose love languages are acts of service, quality time, and words of affirmation. 
Husband Minho whom you swoon to over and over because of how handsome and cute he is. Never a day you’d miss complimenting him by which he’ll be all red and mushy from being shy. 
Husband Minho who got the interest of touching your butt out of his love and affection. 
Husband Minho who lays on top of you when he sees you lying down on your shared bed the moment he gets home because he’s tired and your presence makes him feel relaxed and secure.  He tends to bury his face in the crook of your neck. 
Husband Minho who is loud and dramatic in the most precious way. 
Husband Minho who never forgets important dates and will throw everything away just to spend time with you. 
Husband Minho who acts like a mother especially when you get sick and is stubborn. 
Husband Minho who is good with kids, and had asked you a few times if you want to have one with him but at the same time he doesn’t want to put pressure on your shoulders. He reassures that he can wait and doesn’t even mind if he spends his lifetime with you alone. 
Husband Minho who feels appreciated and loved when you tell him about the things he means to you and how much you are head over heels for him. 
Husband Minho who gets excited when you give him cat necessities. You wonder that he loves his cats more than you sometimes but he’d say you were equally receiving his love and affection. 
Husband Minho who doesn’t always say he loves you but rather says that you are his getaway from everything. It’s you and him against the world, nothing could replace you as you are his happy place and favorite person. The one who comes second after his cats and knows his priorities but you get the privilege. 
Husband Minho who loves you to the moon and back. 
Husband Minho who treasures you the most and the one he’d put first before everything. 
Husband Minho whom you’ll love for a lifetime, promised to never hurt, never leave, and never break his heart. 
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✰ taglist: @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly , @sleepyleeji , @starseungs , @midsoulz , @oddracha , @armystay89
©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.
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moonstruckme · 5 days ago
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hey ! by all means ignore or delete this if you're not comfortable with it, but could i request remus x fem reader where the reader has been SAd in the past and is mostly doing okay, but one time whilst kissing with remus she gets nervous ?? and remus is just sweet and comforting and trying to show reader they can trust him
again feel free to ignore because i know it could be a bit triggering but it's also nice to imagine a healing journey where you are safe with another person after all that :)
Thank you for requesting angel, hope you like it <3
cw: allusion to past SA, reader gets triggered, some semi-awkward but very loving conversation around that
Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 988 words
You love Remus’ apartment. You love how quiet it is, how it always smells like books and fresh laundry and how there’s always at least one mug on the coffee table with the tea bag still sitting in it. You love the window by his kitchen table, and how he’ll sit with you there on rainy mornings and watch the people going by with their coats and umbrellas, and you love that he’s added another hook on the wall by the door, just next to his, for you to hang your key on when you come by. You love his wood floors, and the water pressure in his shower, and the sofa he got secondhand that’s more plush than any you’ve ever sat on. 
Remus’ miracle sofa is so comfortable it doesn’t even cause a twinge in your back when he leans you back against the armrest, throw pillow fallen to the floor, and kisses you so that you curve your neck forward to meet him. It’s soft enough to dip accommodatingly for the hand Remus slides underneath your lower back, pulling you up into him as he presses you down. Its velvety cover feels cozy and familiar beneath your fingers splayed across the cushion to steady yourself. 
All things considered, you’re too comfortable to account for the feeling that starts up in your chest. It could be Remus’ hand pressing surely into your back, or his tongue skimming across the inside of your lip, or merely the sound of your panting breaths, quick and overlapping in the quiet apartment. All you know is that it feels tight, and it doesn’t go away, inching upward until your heart is hammering in your throat, a blockage for any air you try to take in. 
Remus can tell something is wrong. He pauses just before you push him off, taking his hand from your back and pulling your mouth from his with an unsteady breath. Maybe it’s only you that’s really panting. 
“Alright?” Remus asks, soft but tense. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. “Is everything okay?” 
“Yeah, I just—” You take a long inhale. It’s shallow and unsatisfying, but you feel better. “Sorry.” 
“That’s okay. Do you want me to move?” 
He starts to sit back, but you keep hold of his wrist. You don’t want him away from you. 
“No,” you say. “Sorry, it’s not you. I just started to freak out a little, I don’t know why. Sorry.” 
“Sweetheart.” Remus’ voice gentles. He knows about your history. It’s something you talked about early on, once you knew you could trust him but before you did anything more than hold hands. He’s always been exceedingly understanding about it. “You don’t need to be sorry. You’re fine. What can I do?” 
You take another breath. “I don’t think you need to do anything. I feel better now.” 
Remus nods. He looks cautious. “Was it something I did?” 
“I don’t know.” You fight the urge to apologize again, but you hope it shows in your expression. “I don’t think so.” 
“Okay, that’s alright.” Remus takes the hand that’s holding his wrist. He smooths his thumb across your palm, and you realize he’s not touching you anywhere else to avoid upsetting you. Your throat tightens. “Do you want to stop for now?” 
You shake your head. “I want to keep going.” 
“Are you sure? We could do something else.” 
“I’m sure,” you say. Grasp the sides of his sweater, pulling him closer. “I want to keep kissing you.” 
“Okay.” Remus’ lips quirk, and he grows a bit bolder, sliding his hand up the length of your arm to cup your cheek. “What would make you comfortable, lovely?” 
“I am comfortable with you,” you tell him earnestly. 
“I’m glad,” he says. “And I believe you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m okay with making you feel…with making you nervous like that. Even if it’s just for a second, yeah?” He strokes his thumb over your cheek. Heat flares in its path. “I have an idea.” 
You sit up a bit, eager. “What is it?” 
“What if, instead of me touching you, you put my hands where you want them? I’ll just leave them wherever you like, and if you start to get nervous again we’ll take a break.” His eyes flicker up to yours, cautious. “How does that sound?” 
“That sounds…” You chew your lip, stopping when Remus’ gaze drops to the motion. “That’s really sweet, Remus, but we can’t do that forever. It’s not fair to you.” 
He laughs. “Sweetheart, it’s more than fair to me. I get to kiss you. I get to be in the same room with you.” You grin bashfully at that, and his thumb dimples into your cheek, a fond pressure. “We could do it like that forever if you wanted, but we could also just take it one step at a time. Yeah? We’ll figure it out eventually, but this might be somewhere to start.” 
You nod, slowly. “Okay. That makes sense. Um…” You pick up his free hand tentatively, growing more confident when Remus squeezes your fingers. You place it on your side. His long fingers splay over your ribcage, kind and reassuring. “And this one,” you touch the wrist of the hand on your face, “you can leave here.” 
Remus’ smile reminds you of a sunrise, the way it blooms slowly, bringing color to his face and warmth to the room. “Yeah? Just like that?” 
“Yeah,” you echo. “That’s good, please.” 
“Oh, sweetheart, there’s no need to say please.” He dips down, pecking teasingly at your lower lip. “You know I’m happy if you’re happy. Let me know if you change your mind, alright?” 
“Mhm.” It’s all the response you can manage, your mind already lost to the feel of his lips on yours. 
“Mhm.” There’s laughter somewhere in Remus’ tone. He kisses you impossibly softer. “Just keep me in the loop.” 
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metranart · 2 months ago
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Imagine Gojo, Geto and Nanami anointing you as their “little darling”, forced to share you because they refuse to NOT have you in their life. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, it was ridiculous the way they took the time to make you feel… loved.
It wasn’t just the occasional pampering or the intense lovemaking sessions that they took SO seriously. It was EVERYTHING! It was visceral and addictively cathartic the way, they worshipped you.
Sometimes they got competitive, Gojo pulling you away into a hidden space, only to turn you around, throwing his jacket to then pull you on top and line your pussy up perfectly with his needy cock before plunging forward with a solid gasp that followed a thousand moans and groans, he didn’t mind being loud, he prefers it that way. Let them know, he thinks, jealous vibes tainting his greedy thrusts.
“Am I not your favorite, baby? I know I am, you don’t have to pretend nor be quiet about it just to be nice to them… they’re not here, tell me how much you like me… I want you so bad… Do you want me?” Gojo is always the most talkative, sweetening your ear every second, all in hopes to get you so distracted that when he cums inside you don’t suspect that the rubbery sound from before was from candy wrapper and not a condom. He’s sneaky like that he has to be, when the competition for you is so damn fierce.
Unlike Geto who is smoother in his approach, whose large hands greedily grab your hips as he pulls you back down onto his cock with every thrust, and it feels so undeniably perfect that you can’t even hold yourself up, arms like jelly, strength failing as you’re face down on the sheets, ass in the air to be fucked like a proper bitch.
“Satoru can be so careless, you have marks all over your body, my love.” This man kisses and caresses you with such fervent devotion that your heart skips more than a couple of beats, “-tell me if you need a break, I won’t pull out, I CAN’T-” he sounds apologetic and so damn needy that you melt a little more for him, you love when he’s shamelessly possessive, “but I’ll slow down. Boy Scout word.” That playful, understanding smile always gracing his lips, eyes too soft and warm only when he sees you. “It doesn’t bother me if I’m not your favorite, it just bothers me that you don’t know that you’re mine.” Geto is like balm, that quiet adoration is more addictive than cocaine... Geto is smart, he knows Satoru too well to know what he’s on to, but…. It is of no use to brand your body from the inside, if he does not first have your heart beating just for him. Geto is so damn, smooth.
But it's Nanami who surprised you the most, he was the calm one, the serious and stoic sheep in the flock, yet, in private and ONLY with you, heat and hormones cloud his mind, you cloud his mind and his better judgment as you moan shamelessly, wanting more and more as he fucks you good and hard before there's a hand sneaking under your belly, a thick finger begging to rub circles on your clit.
"Nanami-!! Oh GOD!" He knows how to get you vulnerable and needy, he wants to tattoo those sensation in your brain, for you to associate them with him, just him. Moans escape you, heat building as his hand plays with your sensitive nub relentlessly, sliding it, rolling it, even pinching it to elicit more lewd cries of pleasure.
"Sorry for being so damn needy, baby, but I don’t know how to hold back-… if I’m honest- I don’t want to find out how- …" He always is honest, too blunt and honest, full of a secret mischief and roughness, his original plan was to make you beg for him not the other way around, he was weak, you made him weak and he loooooooved it! 
"You want nothing more than to cum…. for me to make you cum, I can tell that goal isn't far away... fuck!" His hips quicken the pace, as he holds you down, pinned against the surface he’s thrust you into. “Your legs are starting to buckle and shake with each of my thrusts." This blond is relentless and dominant, he’ll let his body do the convincing for him. "Do you love when I hold you down, fuck!... you do, huh?” This side of Nanami is secret, dark, and so ‘eyes rolled to the back of your skull’ satisfying, that has secretly become one of your favorites.
The anthem in this polyamorous relationship is the bed creaking incessantly in time with those powerful thrusts, the headboard crashing into the wall, headboard that’s been replaced more than once in one month. Funny, how they swear and live for your wellbeing but when get closer to their climax, dull nails dig into the softness of your skin, strong grips become more determined, and your clit is worshipped into overstimulation, a painful pleasure you are still getting used to.
“Cum for me,” Sukuna growls, his request sassy as he lowers to a deeper, more possessive tone that makes something in your belly crave. His composure breaks as your climax begins to build, refusing to let go until you’ve peaked first. “Cum on my cock and show those petty sorcerers that you are only MINE!"
You wake up startled from that dream, and the first thing you check is that you are indeed wrapped in that tangle of limbs that is Gojo, Geto and Nanami. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, what the hell was that!? The strong, irregular throbbing inside your chest must have woken him up since his head lay in the valley of your breasts, and Gojo peeks up to see you with those sleepy and worried eyes. 
"Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?"
Did you?
➡️🔞 FULL NSFW ART of this drabble
➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek
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rosie-read-that · 21 days ago
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one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader
summary: your brother's best friend pays a visit to his texas hometown, and in spite of your resolution to get over your (slightly embarrassing) childhood unrequited crush, you can't help but admit that you're still down bad for jake seresin.
content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, oblivious reader can't take a hint
word count: 14k (you told me not to apologize for long fics, so here it is, i present it without apology!)
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author’s note: hello, all! i wanted to have this out by thanksgiving, but i got hit with a stomach flu and then with a regular flu, so it took me this long to finish it. i hope the wait was worth it 🫶 the title is taken from a song by maggie rogers. as promised, the next one will be a short (i mean it this time!) and spicy holiday-themed one for all the tyler owens lovers 💓 thank you so much for voting in the poll that got this baby written.
“Did you hear the big news?” Your dad bustled into the shop with his arms full of greenery, grunting as he set the bundles wrapped in newspaper into a bucket. At the counter, your mom paused her accounting and fixed your dad an eager stare. She loved news. “Jake’s coming home for the wedding!” he announced. He brushed his hands off while yours fumbled over the order forms. A few slipped out of sequence and fluttered down to the floor. You bent to pick them up, hearing your mom’s sigh of delight.
“Oh, that's wonderful news! Dinah will be so pleased, and Amanda, too. She was worried Jake wouldn't manage to get leave. You know how much she adores him.”
“Well, she's not the only one. Mike’s ready to throw a whole goshdarn parade in his honor.” The forms retrieved, you busied yourself with putting them back in order. Your dad laughed. “I haven’t seen the kid that excited since the day Gilly was born.”
“Ow!” You stuck your finger in your mouth, the taste of blood making you wince.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” your mom asked.
“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”
She came to your end of the counter. Taking your finger in her hands, she moved it this way and that, squinting at it through her glasses before she dropped a kiss on your head. “Mm, I think you’ll live.”
“Thanks for the diagnosis.”
“Don’t sass me!” she joked. “I’ll call Mike. Maybe we can all throw Jake a nice big barbecue, spend some time together like the old days.”
“He’ll probably be busy with wedding stuff,” you pointed out, mumbling around your finger.
She shot you a look that said spoilsport. “I know Jake, he’ll make the time. Besides, he’ll be walking with you at the wedding, won’t he?” Mom must have taken the shock of surprise for disappointment, because she smacked a hand against her forehead and said, “Oh, sorry! Me and my big mouth!”
It took you a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Jake.
“Don’t worry about it,” you said, making a half-hearted attempt to sort through the forms again. Your parents looked at you skeptically. “I’m fine! Josh and I are practically ancient history.”
Dad, bless him, took your word for it, or at least pretended to. He picked up the bucket of sage bundles and took it into the back, but your mom hovered, stroking your shoulder, cloyingly sympathetic. It was clear she wanted to say something but was afraid of how you’d react. Knowing her, she’d give you that hangdog expression all day until you gave her permission to spill the beans, so you gave a deep sigh and turned to her with a look that said, “Alright, let’s have it.”
“I heard he’s bringing Mia to the wedding,” she blurted out. “Amanda was livid. She said she would disinvite him if you wanted—”
“Mom, I hope you told her that wouldn't be necessary.”
“Of course I did! But she said it was a standing offer.”
Oh, bother… Amanda was a sweetheart, if not a little overeager. As much as you appreciated everyone’s tact, it was also part of the reason why you still felt some awkwardness when you thought about Josh. Any time your friends or family brought up your ex, they looked at you like they were expecting you to fall to pieces, especially after word started going around that he had moved on to someone else. No matter how many times you insisted that they could refer to him normally and not as “him” or “you-know-who,” they thought you were being a brave martyr about it, pretending to take it better than you were for the sake of maturity.
“It’s not like that,” you explained for the thousandth time. “Josh and I are fine. And Mia…” Okay, so part of you did want to bash her over the head with a waffle iron. Still… “Nothing untoward happened. We were already broken up when they got together.”
“Well yeah, but after only a month,” your mom scoffed. “That’s hardly enough time to get over a six-year relationship.”
You shrugged. “Maybe some things are meant to be, and some… aren’t.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged you from behind. You grimaced as she squeezed you tight and made cooing sounds. “You don’t have to be so civil about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”
“I know, Mom, thanks.” You patted her hand.
“Anytime.” You thought that would be the end of embarrassing conversations you didn't want to have, until she clapped her hands and said, “Look on the bright side - it’ll be good to see Jake again! For him to meet the baby - and won’t the wedding pictures be just darling? He’s so handsome! I know you’ll look just fabulous together…”
-
It was as much cliché as it was ancient history. Jake Seresin - tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a thousand-watt grin and a starring place on the high school football team - had been your crush since the moment you realized boys were more than just smelly, disgusting nuisances. Hell, you'd liked him even before the letterman jacket, around the time of his first growth spurt, when he’d come back from a summer visiting his aunt and uncle in California. From the porch steps, you'd seen him running into the yard to throw ball with your older brother, Mike, and your stomach had flopped and then flipped, and then flopped again. Looking back, Jake - a mere mortal - had an awkward phase just like everyone else, but you didn't see it at the time. To you, he was the dreamiest guy since you wore out your family’s Titanic VHS trying to feed your preteen fantasies of being Rose romanced by DiCaprio (before the ship went down).
Anyway, Jake’s awkward phase didn't last long. By the time he was a sophomore, he was playing on the junior varsity team along with Mike. Your sports-mad, overly enthusiastic dad gave them his blessing to turn the barn into their own personal gym, and while you complained about the unfairness of the world and the preferential treatment given to male athletes, you did find excuses to “run errands” and “pass through” so you could see Jake, shirtless, glistening with sweat. It didn't take long for Mike to notice. As a preteen, you weren’t exactly known for your finesse. While, in your opinion, you were doing nothing more than offering the boys a little lemonade - like Mom asked you to do - Mike would go back to the house for dinner and declare for all and sundry that he’d “appreciate it if you didn't salivate all over Jake like a peeping tom.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, you do!”
“Mom, I swear it's not true! He’s making it up. You’re making it up, you buttface! You just don't want me hanging around—”
“Why would I want you hanging around? We’re training! You’re a kid, you're a safety risk!”
“Mooooom!” you wailed.
“Honestly, Mike, don't call your sister a safety risk. You're hardly grown yourself.”
“She called me a buttface!”
“That’s true. Sweetie, don't call your brother a buttface at the table, it's not polite.”
“Fine. I’ll call him a buttface later, like he deserves.”
No further comment was made about your crush on Jake on that occasion, but over the years it became your brother’s weapon of choice when he wanted to knock you down a peg, and “I’ll tell Jake you have a big fat crush on him” was a surefire way to get you to do whatever he wanted.
Once, you went down for a glass of water after you were supposed to be in bed and came upon Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.
“—it’s a harmless little crush,” you heard her say. “We all had them at that age.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Of course you don't. She’s your daughter and you're finally working out that she's not going to be a little girl forever.” There was a pause. “You don't have to worry, Stan, I’ve given her The Talk.”
Ew, gross, ew! You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you remembered The Talk and you didn't want to have it ever again!
Your face heated as you knelt on the stairs. Hearing about The Talk in relation to you and Jake made you think about the stuff you’d seen at your friend Tessa’s house on the TV one night during a sleepover. You had stared at the screen, titillated and kind of horrified at what the actors were doing, the way their bodies moved and the sounds they made. Once the scene was over, you turned to each other and burst into nervous giggles, knowing your parents would blow a gasket if they knew what you’d seen. Not that you understood it. You knew how babies were made, but you didn’t understand what sex was supposed to be.
And your dad was worried about you having it? With Jake?
“He’s a good kid,” your mom gentled. “He knows she's too young for him - I’m not even sure he's aware that she likes him. Even if he is, he treats her like Mike’s kid sister. She’ll grow out of it.”
“If you say so, hon. But God as my witness—”
“She’s gonna have a boyfriend at some point.”
“When she’s eighteen,” your dad declared, “and not a moment sooner!”
You padded back to your room. It wasn’t news, but hearing that Jake thought of you as a kid dealt a heavy blow to your self-esteem. From then on, you resolved to play your cards closer to the chest - you might not be able to help the way he made you feel like your insides had turned to melted goo, but no one else had to talk about it behind your back like you had some sort of disease.
Unfortunately, playing it cool was one of the hardest things you had to do during high school. As it turned out, Jake and Mike were actually pretty good at the whole football thing. Around the time they made varsity, you zeroed in on the fact that girls found their athletic prowess to be sexually irresistible; they were crazy about them - and crazy about Jake in particular.
You watched as he winked and blew kisses at a train of girlfriends while he was out on the field. He leaned against their lockers, turning the charm up to eleven and brushing strands away from their cheeks, saying things like, “Pick you up at six?”
When he got his first truck - a beat-up old Chevy that he bought off Don Amberley by working shifts at the hardware store - you’d peer around your curtains at the sound of his horn. Sometimes Mike would take a while to leave the house, and Jake would turn his head to kiss the pretty girls in his front seat as a way to pass the time. The shy ones laughed, warding him off with a light push against his chest, while the bold ones closed their nails around his shirt and pulled him even closer, all but straddling his lap. You watched with bated breath as he put his hands on them, green with envy, wondering what it would be like to have his attention, not as his best friend’s little sister but as an actual girl.
Your suffering lasted a whole calendar year, after which Jake went off to college, then joined the Navy, and while time made you realize that you needed to move on with your life and stop making up scenarios about a white picket fence and two-point-five children, you never forgot about Jake, who in your mind - and despite your best efforts - remained the measure to which you compared every other guy.
It wasn't just his ridiculously handsome good looks, though having the body of a Greek god and a smile that made your toes curl didn't hurt. He had helped you when you’d scraped your knee roller-blading, letting you lean on his shoulder and fetching the bandages from the downstairs powder room; he joined your mom in the kitchen to do the washing-up when he stayed over for dinner, saying, “ma’am, I insist,” which earned him funny looks from Mike, but it never swayed him into doing things differently. You liked that he’d earned his first truck, got good grades, was a loyal friend. To you, Jake Seresin was the full package and then some - what more could anyone want? And while you had long accepted that he would make another woman very happy someday, the way in which your family teased you about your “little childhood crush” never failed to put your stomach all in knots. There was nothing little about it. In fact, it had now lasted well into adulthood and you had a feeling it would never fully go away.
-
Dad was right. Michael insisted on being part of the airport welcome wagon, cringey sign and all. He even stuck Gilly in an adorable pilot’s costume. Your sister-in-law sent you looks the entire way and, like a saint, restrained herself by only once making a comment about “your brother’s true wife.”
You sat in the backseat, trying to will yourself into being less nervous. Maybe it was your guilty conscience; for some reason, you kept thinking about all the times you’d imagined him in bed, or in the place of one of your boyfriends when you were doing couple-things. Be cool, be cool, you kept telling yourself.
By the time you parked at the airport, you thought your poker face was pretty flawless. After helping Julie wrestle the baby things into the stroller, you made your way through the chaotic mass of people coming and going through the Barbara Jordan terminal. The weather was good. Jake had texted your brother to say that he’d landed safely and was waiting to deplane, and Mike, vibrating with excitement, was trying to stake out a place in the Arrivals hall that would show his dorky Welcome Home, Hangman! sign in optimal light. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. You kept apologizing to the people he elbowed out of the way, as if to say, “Move aside, I was here first, bud!” But it did strengthen your resolve to be chill because at least one of you had to be.
Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the line of passengers spilling into the hall. Like something out of a romcom, Jake Seresin spotted Mike standing in the crowd, dropped his duffle bag, and came bounding into his arms. They talked over each other between laughter and bro-y exchanges, while Julie snorted through her nose and even Gilly sputtered and snuffled. You could take the boy out of Texas, it seemed… but back home he was still sixteen around friends.
Jake turned to you and smiled. “Hey, Cabbage.”
“Please, don’t,” you said, feeling awkward about the old nickname.
“Come here, bring it in.” He held out his arms, grinning, and there was no conceivable reason why you’d say no, so you steadied your nerves and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around you. He smelled just as good as you remembered him - better, even, because a memory could never be as good as the real thing.
“You’re so stiff!” Jake pointed out, squeezing you tighter.
“No, I’m not.”
“What am I, your creepy uncle?” He looked down at you, then over your shoulder and spotted the baby in Julie’s arms.
His smile lit up his whole face and you felt your heart twist against your ribcage. You let out a breath when he let you go, trying not to fixate on the way his hand brushed against your shoulder as he did so, a slide that seemed to linger.
Fondness - that was all it was, you told yourself. He’d known you all your life and he was fond of you.
He turned his attention now to your little niece.With something like awe, he said, “Michael, you old bastard…” Then, “Sorry, little lady - you must be Gilly! Hi! Hi there, it’s your Uncle Jake! Your not-at-all-creepy Uncle Jake…”
“Nice one,” you threw back.
He grinned wider, saying, “Julie, how are you?”
“About as well as can be expected with a teething baby.”
“Well, you look great.”
“Liar,” Julie replied, but his comment made her stand a little straighter.
He let Gilly grip his finger in an attempt at a handshake. Being a sucker for attention, she wiggled her body in her mother’s grasp and held her arms out to the smiley stranger, wanting to be carried. Jake was thrilled. He bounced her in his arms the entire way to the car, asking about the wedding, his parents, how Amanda was doing, which of their friends he could expect to see on Saturday afternoon. Mike stuck to him like glue, carrying Jake’s bag for him and answering his questions. You were certain he’d send Julie to the back so Jake could ride shotgun, but instead, he loaded Gilly into her baby seat and Jake touched you on the elbow, saying, “I can take the middle seat.”
“You don't want the window?” you asked, your arm tingling. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses once he left the terminal and he looked like a movie star, all golden skin, slicked-back hair, and a hint of stubble on his jaw. You had no idea how you were supposed to survive a 90-minute car ride when just the sight of him made you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.
“I want to sit next to my goddaughter. You get her all the time,” he pointed out and ducked into the car.
Helpless, you climbed in after him and pulled the door closed. In the back of the SUV, there was no way for your bodies not to touch. By necessity, your arms and thighs pressed together, his body solid and warm. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself by squirming away even though your heart was beating double-time and you were at a loss as to what to do with your hands.
Thankfully, the car started moving, and by the time you made it onto the highway you had almost gotten used to the feeling of his muscled forearms and the smell of his cologne. You were focusing on the passing landscape as he made small talk with Mike and Julie, so it caught you unawares when he turned to you and said, “So - it seems we’re paired up for the wedding. I’m sorry about you and Whatshisface, by the way.”
Here we go… “I know that you name his name, Jake.”
“Do I? Persona non grata. I must have erased him from my memory chip.” He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and there was something about the twinkle in his eye that made you glare daggers at your brother, who was looking suspiciously blank-faced sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Oh my God, Mike, what did you tell him?”
“Nothing! I just said you two broke up and that he’s with Mia now.”
“That cow,” Julie put in.
“Okay, time out!” you called, doing the motion with your hands. “As much as I appreciate this show of familial solidarity, it’s really not necessary. Josh and I are cool.”
“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.
“Then be cool, Mike! And you!” You wagged your finger in front of Jake. He stared at it like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “You just got here. Do you really want to spend the rest of the week picking fights that have nothing to do with you?”
Evidently, the answer was yes, but he raised his hands in a facetious show of surrender. “Hey, I never liked the guy.”
“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.
“What? You never said anything!”
“I’ve always said that - haven’t I, babe?”
“Mike, you say a lot of things,” Julie drawled.
“…including the fact that I never liked the guy! Him and his beady little eyes—”
“He gets hay fever!” you defended. “That’s not his fault!”
“—and the fact that he stayed in the apartment—”
“I wanted to move out! Julie, a little help here?”
“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”
“What?” You were flabbergasted. You thought that everyone liking Josh was the whole reason why they felt communally betrayed by the breakup. Now they were acting like the spearheads of an anti-Josh conspiracy? “Are you seriously telling me this six years after the fact? You went to games with him!”
“Wait, you went to games with Josh Spritzer?” Jake balked, his voice going up an octave while Mike went red in the face.
“I was in a dark place, man. Julie was pregnant and you weren't around… It was a case of the pre-baby blues!”
“I feel like you just admitted to cheating on me. Josh Spritzer?”
“Hey!” you warned.
“I mean, I guess it’s all a matter of taste, sweetheart…”
“Seresin, what the hell!”
“…although God knows I never knew what you saw in him—”
“Oh, didn't you?”
“Hey, I love you all sooo much,” Julie piped up from the passenger seat, “Jake, I’m happy you’re here, but will you all shut up so Gilly can sleep?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Though Jake sobered up, the provoking glint remained in his eyes. Once more you were aware of his closeness and the heat of his skin.
“Unbelievable…” you said underneath your breath, crossing your arms, your reward being another one of Jake’s dazzling smiles.
-
When you arrived, the reunion was as rowdy as you expected. About two dozen Seresins and their closest friends and family had convened at Jake’s childhood home. Amanda cried when she saw her favorite cousin coming towards her, and she excitedly introduced him to her husband-to-be, a bookish engineer named Christian who came from a small family and seemed as flattered as he was overwhelmed by all the attention.
Dinner was served outdoors, buffet style. The backyard was strung up with twinkling lights and music played from a pair of speakers stationed at the back porch. The air was festive and full of hope; it was easy to get caught up in the pre-wedding bliss when you were well-fed, your glass never empty, the company some of your most loved people in the world.
Josh - thank God - was not in attendance. He was supposed to walk down the aisle with you. Your save-the-date and wedding invitation had arrived labeled with his name along with yours, the assumption being that of course your long-term, live-in boyfriend would be your date. After you’d broken up, Amanda had to reshuffle her arrangements to keep you as one of her bridesmaids, the only upside being that Jake’s uncertain attendance made him your perfect partner.
Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.
At some point in the night, after speeches had been made and dessert served, Jake took the seat next to you to chat with his great-aunt Sandy and her boyfriend, Clyde. The apple pie came courtesy of Mrs. Seresin, who had the best recipe in the county and probably the entire state of Texas, in your limited and yet eager opinion. You demolished it with aplomb and once you finished, Jake pushed his plate towards you, the crust untouched. “Have at it.”
“Are you sure?” you asked.
“I know it’s your favorite part.”
The fact that he remembered made you feel sixteen again, watching him come home from university, crushed at knowing that he had a whole life you didn't know about, people he knew who were probably far more interesting, sophisticated and self-assured. He joined the Navy, and then moved out west while you stayed behind in your hometown, stationary while he took to the skies.
He had always been nice to you, for all that he enjoyed teasing you and even making fun of you on occasion. But that didn't mean you would ever be anything more to him than his best friend’s sister, someone he indulged in the same way as Amanda.
You excused yourself from the table, picking up plates as a pretense to head inside and get a few moments to yourself. This was exactly the reason why you hadn't wanted Jake to come home. Selfishly, in your heart of hearts, you had prized your own comfort above Amanda’s happiness, which made you feel like a Grade-A jerk, but you weren't ready to confront the way he made you feel after all this time. How could you explain to yourself, let alone anyone else, that you were holding out for a fantasy you’d had since you were young?
Suddenly, the presence of everyone you’d known and loved all your life felt oppressive rather than a source of delight. You poured yourself a glass of wine from one of the open bottles on the counter and went out to the Seresins’ front porch. From there, the sounds of the party seemed far away and you let out a sigh of relief. You sat on the ledge with your back to one of the vertical beams, watching the night breeze move the branches on the trees and the clouds which obscured the waning moon. Gradually, your mind slowed its pace and you were able to enjoy the song of the night critters mingled with the distant music of someone - probably Clyde - strumming his guitar.
Your repose was broken by the screen door opening and then clattering shut behind you, making you turn your head to see Jake coming outside, just a touch sheepish but for the most part his usual Jake-self, out of his jacket and carrying a bottle of beer.
He lowered himself beside you, and after a moment’s silence, said, “So, how’ve you been? Aside from Whatshisface.”
You shot him a warning look. If he was bringing up Josh, it was only to tease you like he’d done in the car and you weren’t in the mood right now to be the butt of a joke - not when you felt so vulnerable about what he was to you. (Dammit… and of course this has to be a wedding.)
“What,” he said, gently cajoling, “I can’t ask?”
“About my personal life? You never used to care.”
“In high school, I don’t think I was supposed to care. And afterwards—”
“Afterwards, Hangman got a little too full of himself,” you quipped.
“Hey… that's… actually pretty accurate, I’m not gonna lie.” He took a swig of beer, laughing as he said it. The porch light threw his features into sharp relief and you gave yourself permission to look at him - really look at him - for the first time since he returned.
Setting aside that he was gorgeous as ever, he seemed less carefree than you remembered, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He appeared, well, like a grown-up, for lack of a better word. You wondered whether you were being unfair in making assumptions when you had both changed so much in the last decade, as people tended to do. He wasn’t just the dream guy in your head; he was so many things in his own right, and he was here with you, wanting to talk - and maybe trying to get to know you on an even field.
If only that wasn't another reason to love him.
“You seem different,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t giving you away.
He looked at you for a few breaths, the corner of his mouth tipped up but the rest of his face serious. Then he shrugged in mock humility with a “What can I say, greatness suits me.”
“Idiot…” You shook your head and let out a snort, though on the inside you felt full of champagne - fizzy and bright because he was with you.
“How's the shop going?” he asked after a beat.
“Pretty well. We’re doing the flowers for Amanda’s wedding.”
“And you're bridesmaiding?”
“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”
“I think Amanda would disagree.”
“Well, it is her wedding,” you pointed out, “she’s—”
“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.
“She’s excited,” you corrected even as a montage ran through your head of all the times Amanda had texted the wedding party’s WhatsApp group to say that “a catastrophe” had occurred or that today was the worst day of her life because “the linen photos do NOT reflect the true shade. I wanted SAGE green - doesn’t this look laurel to you?”
“She’s my cousin,” Jake went on. “In fact, she’s my favorite cousin - which is how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s the biggest bridezilla this side of the Mississippi. To being wedding buddies,” he said and held his beer out towards you, “’cause God knows we’re gonna need it.”
“Wedding buddies,” you said, and clinked your glass. You waited until he had a mouthful of beer to say, “So, how’s your love life these days?”
“O-ho!” He nearly choked. “We are not doing that.”
“That hardly seems fair!”
“Age before beauty, Cabbage: I still get to make a few of the rules.” Watching your face work into a grimace, he laughed. “You really do hate when I call you that, don't you? Look at you! It's like a full-body cringe!”
“Stop it!” you complained.
The unfortunate nickname started back when you were a kid and had a penchant for a particular Cabbage Patch doll, which, in hindsight, seemed like an emotional support object, thank you very much. You carried it around until you were forcibly parted during Kindergarten - hence, Cabbage Patch, which in time shortened itself to “Cabbage.” It was cute when your mom said it, but Jake?
“You don't seem to mind when Mike calls you that,” he replied.
You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve seen Mike in all sorts of undignified situations. It evens the playing field.”
“I’d say we've known each other almost as long.”
“It is not the same.”
“How come?”
“It’s just… not.”
“I’m getting nothing else out of you by way of an explanation, aren't I? Fine…” he dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll stop calling you Cabbage.”
“You don't have to…”
“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”
“Thank you,” you said, a little embarrassed.
From the backyard came a round of applause as Clyde finished his song. Jake smiled at you, then leaned close with a devilish glint in his eye. “Are you sure you're okay with the whole Josh thing? We can always make it our mission to make him insanely jealous.”
You scoffed. “Please, he would never buy that. You and me? He’d see right through it.”
“I want you to know that your lack of faith in my abilities is deeply, deeply hurtful. I’m just saying! You haven't seen me in action!”
“Oh, I’ve seen you in action, alright…”
“There she is!” he cackled.
You hoped the laughter meant he’d missed the note of jealousy in your voice. “Besides, I don't care about making him jealous,” you said with a shrug. “He and Mia are good together.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah… Okay, look,” you sighed, “the only reason I’m telling you this is because you're not them, so I’d better not hear a word from Mike about anything I’m about to tell you. Deal?”
He nodded, and mimed zipping his lips closed for dramatic effect.
“There’s just… no sob story about it,” you began. “By the time it was over, it was almost a relief. And honestly? If it hadn't been for our families, we would've broken up ages ago.”
“What was wrong with him?”
By the look on his face, it was like he expected you to say he had a funny snore or that he chewed too loudly or had an extra head. If only the truth were that tangible. He wasn't mean to you, didn't cheat. But he wasn't Jake. He didn't make you excited to wake up in the morningz
“By the end, we were more like roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained. “I mean, when it happened, did I want to claw Mia’s face off, knowing she’d been angling for an opening for years? Of course I did. But that was more about my pride than anything. I wasn't heartbroken. I’m not,” you insisted. “But telling them that would feel like ruining Christmas. They're having fun slinging mud on my behalf.”
“And maybe just a tiny part of you enjoys it?” Jake asked.
“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”
He laughed. “Do you really think I’m above a bit of harmless spite? Hell, I practically wrote the playbook. But what you said - about your pride being hurt? That goes for him too, you know. He doesn't have to buy the whole thing, he just has to see you moving on. Trust me, it’ll hurt.”
“Maybe I don't care enough to hurt him.”
Jake studied you, his eyes shining in the warm glow. “You really have grown up,” he said at last. “I, on the other hand—”
“Oh, come on. Jake, you’re all talk, always have been.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The summer before your junior year,” you pointed out, “you spent nearly all of it replacing Will Delonge’s wooden fence and you told no one about it. The only reason I know is because Mom found out—”
“Your mom finds out about everything,” Jake lamented.
That she did. “You helped Arn McCallister with his math grade,” you added. “You asked Gina to dance at the Winter Ball when her friends made that bet—”
“Some friends,” he interjected. “I swear, Fiona Brussaurd still scares the shit out of me. What, were you keeping tabs on me all through high school?”
“Everyone was keeping tabs on you all through high school,” you confessed. “You were Jake Seresin, Hometown Hero. You still are. You could probably get away with murder.”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks, but it might have been the beer he finished, or a play of the light. “Actually, I can’t. Semper Fortis, remember? You can't fly planes in prison. Besides, I am way too pretty for that uniform.”
“And you always do that,” you replied. “Try to throw people off the scent of you being an actually decent guy. But I know the truth,” you pointed out. “You have a tell.”
“Really, what's that?”
Over the course of the conversation Jake had angled towards you without your notice; now, your knees were touching and his upturned mouth was close enough to kiss. Your heart was racing in your chest, and yet his gaze was like a challenge - don’t back down, he seemed to say, and that was all Jake. He was exhilarating, just by being himself.
You dared to draw even closer, as if whispering a secret. “Mothers love you.”
“Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”
“Take the hit, Seresin. No one is that good.”
Smiling, he nudged your knee and leaned back on his hands, sitting with you until the first early-nighters began to leave.
-
Amanda Seresin was two years older than Jake. Her dad, Jake’s uncle, passed away when Amanda was fourteen, and ever since, Jake and his parents had taken her and Dinah under their wings. Jake was the closest thing she had to a brother, and though he was younger, you knew Jake was incredibly protective of her and his aunt, so you were determined not to ruin his wedding experience by being a lovestruck weirdo.
After your time together on the porch, that might prove difficult for you. But this was about Amanda. She assigned you to be his date, and you were going to be a professional about it.
Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.
“These are a little tall, aren’t they?” your mom asked, fretting over the tulips at the center of one of the guest tables. “I asked for measurements, but now that they’re here…”
You glanced at your watch. “We have time to fix them.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, mom, all of them. Let’s take them into the kitchen, then we can rush up and change before the cocktails start.” You knew she wouldn’t have a speck of peace if she didn’t get them trimmed. She would fret and fuss, and probably commit floral kidnapping crimes when it all got too much. She liked everything to be perfect, especially for the people she loved, so you ignored the time crunch and your watch yelling at you that it was 4:35, twenty-five minutes before guests were due to arrive for drinks and canapés, and, signaling for your dad to help gather up the centerpieces, you rushed into the venue’s kitchen and started trimming down with the nearest pair of garden shears.
Your mom breathed a sigh of relief when the task was done and a few of the earliest guests offered to help carry the vases back to the tables, giving you enough time to head upstairs and put on the blue dress you’d brought in a garment bag.
So you were fussing about your looks… That didn’t mean you were not chill, it just meant you wanted to look nice… for Amanda. For the photos. It had nothing to do with Jake Seresin at all.
By the time you made it down - finally, and a little late since you spent more on it than usual perfecting your makeup - there were about sixty people on the lawn, nibbling on pulled pork sliders and mac-and-cheese bites, mini tacos and bacon-wrapped dates. You spotted your dad grabbing one of everything and your mom pulling on his sleeve, probably to hiss, “Pace yourself, hon.” She had a glass of champagne in one hand, more as a prop, since half of her attention was spent surveying her work as if anticipating one of the centerpieces to go up in flames.
Knowing her, she might have packed a tiny fire extinguisher in that glittery, silver clutch.
You stifled a laugh, grabbing a plate and a few of the canapés from a passing waiter. The rehearsal dinner was a much bigger affair than the barbecue Jake’s parents had thrown for close friends and family the night before. You knew Josh would be in attendance (probably with Mia) and so would a lot of your high school crowd. Letting out a sigh, you threw your shoulders back and tried to look relaxed, exchanging greetings as you mingled with the growing number of guests. It was a beautiful night. God must love Amanda, as He should, because the weather was balmy in a pleasant way, warm enough that the ladies could throw off their wraps and show off their dresses, the men leave their jackets draped over chairs.
The venue was a little bed and breakfast with a sprawling back patio and hedges that grew around the property, gracefully unkempt, with magnolia trees in bloom. You said hello to your old History teacher, a small, soft-spoken woman with a gray bob and tortoiseshell glasses dangling on a chain. In turn, she had taken personal interest in Amanda, Jake, and then you - she was the whole reason Amanda went into teaching, and you heard Jake mention once that he wouldn’t have joined the Navy if not for her. Sometimes, you felt a little self-conscious about not having more to show for your education, but Ms. Beauchene never made you feel like your life choices were a disappointment. She popped into the flower shop on occasion, pleased with her paper-wrapped bouquets, and no matter what, without fail, you’d ring her up and she’d say with full honesty, “These are going to make my week,” before she walked out humming.
You were glad Amanda included her in the rehearsal, especially when you spotted Josh walking in with his arm around Mia’s waist. Excusing yourself, you made for the bar and ordered one of the signature cocktails, Amanda’s favorite blackberry bourbon smash, and downed half of it before turning back and making small talk as if your life depended on it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the sight of Josh that had you feeling like the inside of your brain was crawling with ants. It was Mia. You hated the thought of her seeing any kind of weakness in you - that she might take in your appearance and think that your hairdo was messy or that your eyes looked a little dark, and assume from it that she’d left you a human wreck after her little victory.
Without a doubt, Mia had attended the Fiona Brussaurd School of Mean Girls, and the last thing you wanted to do was appear like the lesser creature. So when your family began to fuss under the pretense of “casually” making conversation, you swatted them away, feeling grateful when dinner was announced and everyone could retreat to their neutral corners.
You chose to sit at a table with a few old school friends, one of whom was also in the wedding party, and to avoid the meaningful looks Julie had been sending you all evening, you sat with your back to the rest of the guests, enjoying the hour of relative peace and reminiscing, the view of an ornamental fountain set with warm lights, and your plate of pan-seared sea bass and cheesy potatoes. Gradually, the music shifted from sit-down easy listening to dancing tunes, and the people at your table began seeking out partners or joining those already on the lawn who were spinning and jiving in every available space.
Soon, you were alone at the table. You leaned back in your chair, enjoying the breeze against your face. If you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of music and laughter, you could almost forget all the drama with your ex…
You felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Jake and his movie-star grin. The butterflies started banging around your stomach again. Forget the tulips, you were the one with your nerves all in a tangle tonight.
“Hey, stranger - ’nother drink?” he asked, offering you another of the bourbon cocktails. He had a rocks glass in his other hand, and without waiting for an invitation he took the chair next to you, throwing his arm across the back of yours.
You replied, “Yes, please,” trying not to melt into his touch. Nuzzling against him like a cat would not be chill, you reminded yourself, even if he did look incredible with his open dress shirt collar and the little peek of his chest made you feel like a Victorian with the vapors.
He lounged in that casual way of his, attractive without trying. “These things really go on forever, don't they?”
“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”
“What happened to getting married on a Tuesday while everyone’s at work?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just quote Runaway Bride?”
His face went still. “What, no.”
“Yes, you did!” you exclaimed, setting down your drink and straightening in your seat. Jake looked mildly panicked and was doing his best to look innocent, which you found absolutely hilarious. “Oh my God, are you a closet romcom man?”
“It must've been subconscious.”
“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.
“She looks happy.” Jake tipped his head towards Amanda despite the fact that she was behind you both, out of sight, and clearly being used as a way to change the subject. “You know the guy?”
“You met him yesterday,” you said. And I know what you're doing implicit was in your tone.
Jake shrugged, an expert at deflection. “Yeah, but it's hard to tell what a guy’s made of from a single meeting.”
Deciding that the accusation of Romcomitis would go unanswered on this particular occasion, you tested the limits of his cool under pressure, pretending to deliberate before you played along with the conversational shift.
“D’you want to hear the absolute worst thing I can think to say about him?”
Jake went battle-ready, poised to hate the guy. You watched his shoulders and the set of his jaw change, and it made you want to touch the side of his face and kiss the frown away, laughing as you did.
Just messing with you, you would say.
It would be so easy. Maybe the fantasy was clouding your judgment - along with your third cocktail of the night - but you could feel in your body that being with Jake would be as natural as breathing.
You looked over your shoulder, watching Christian lean into Amanda to whisper something into her ear.
He had his hand on her arm and looked a little spooked, probably because one of the Seresins’ honorary aunts, Jackie, who was known for her tell-it-like-it-is comments, no matter how indiscreet, was walking away. Poor guy. Amanda giggled at whatever he said and stroked his hand, whispering back words of reassurance. Their demeanor together was easy, full of shorthand. And Amanda did look happy - so happy that it made you a little jealous, pleased as you were that she had found her person.
Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.
“He's a little dull,” you explained. “But in a good way. He mellows her out.”
“Amanda? That sounds like an impossible task. But I can see it…” He cocked his head. “I think.”
You turned your eyes back to your own table. Jake was fiddling with his glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around the oversized iced cube. He looked pensive, a furrow appearing between his brows that, in another life, you would have stroked away.
He shook his head and raised the glass to his lips. “You don't realize how much you've missed…”
Before you could think about it, you had your hand on his arm. “Hey, no one's keeping score.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Then don't,” you insisted. “You do what you've gotta do - we all know that. Your parents know it, Amanda knows it. She’s just happy you're here.”
You could tell that, as much as he appreciated your words, they weren't enough to sweep away all the moments he hadn't been around to see. It didn't matter that Jake loved flying planes, that he was proud to be one of the best naval aviators in the service, and wouldn't change his career for the world. He was still in a position where he had to ask you what Amanda’s future husband was like. He had missed his goddaughter’s christening, had to rush out of Mike and Julie’s wedding five years ago… He’d made an oath, and for as long as he wore the uniform, his first commitment was to something other than his family. Other than himself.
He spoke his next words quietly, almost to himself, just for you.
“You know, the thing about flying is that when you're up there, nothing else matters. It can’t. All of your focus, all of your faculties, your energy… they're in the air. Meanwhile, all of this real life… the thing we’re meant to be safeguarding for everyone else, it doesn't stop, and when you land right back in the middle of it—”
He stopped.
“Yeah?” You were hanging on for the rest of it, eager for these little pieces of Jake that you stored up even after he was gone.
“I mean, it feels like yesterday since I left for college, signed up. Now Amanda’s getting married, Mike’s having kids, you are having just the worst luck of the year…”
“Hey!” you laughed.
“I’m kidding, kidding!”
“You’re sounding like an old man, Jake. You're thirty-two - pull yourself together. Jeez! Who knew Top Gun would make you so existential? Is that why you're self-medicating with classic romantic comedies?”
“If you ever tell Mike, I swear to God—” He pointed his finger at you, and you pinched it in two of yours, earning a chuckle and a childish attempt at a thumb-war game that was interrupted when the bride herself came up behind you and threw her arms around you both with a “Hey, you two!”
“Mands!” Jake exclaimed, craning his neck to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Having fun?”
“Absolutely. So, so much—”
“You big fibber,” Amanda threw back. “Why are you here? Go dance!”
“Can’t. I’m keeping my date company, and a gentleman never abandons his date. It’s in the rules.”
“Good thing I know you're not a gentleman. You're in my wedding party!” she said. “It’s up to you two to set a good example for the other guests.”
“Yes, ma’am. Shall we?” He offered you his hand, throwing Amanda a look that said, See? I’m following orders.
She smiled back, giving you room to rise from your chairs and circle round. With her arms crossed, she watched as you found an open space, making sure you’d followed through before seeking out her next victims.
As bad luck would have it, the song switched from something uptempo to an Ashley Monroe ballad, romantic strings and all. “Has anybody ever told you/ that when you walk into a dark room/ the light of a thousand moons surround you?/ Yeah, there's just something about you./ Has anybody ever told you?”
It was stupid, but the words felt so real with Jake’s hands on you that you were worried he’d be able to read your mind or see on your face that you meant every sentence. You tried looking anywhere else, at the other couples, the catering staff picking up empty glasses, at your mom fluffing a perfectly decent bouquet, anywhere but at Jake.
“Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?” you asked, eyes darting nervously at being caught red-handed.
“Tense up like I’ve got the plague,” Jake said. “You’re making this weird.”
“I’m making what weird?”
“We’re dancing!” He pressed one hand against your hip, the other into your lower back. “Just dance!”
“By which I’m sure you mean, ‘just follow my lead’?”
You didn't mean to sound so prickly, you were just panicking and trying to throw Jake off the scent. This does not constitute playing it cool, you scolded yourself. But instead of taking it badly, Jake laughed as he stared down at you.
“If you like. Or I can follow yours if it makes you feel any better. Here, you can put your hand on my waist - but leave room for Jesus.”
“Dork.”
“There we go,” he cajoled, swaying with you in time to the beat. “Letting you insult me seems to really get your engines going. We should analyze that.”
“Don’t you ever stop talking?”
“I don’t know, do I?” He cackled out loud at the dark look you sent his way, stroking your back in a way that meant absolutely nothing, but which you felt all the way down to your toes. “You make it too easy,” he added.
Jake’s sense of humor made it hard to stay self-conscious. Eventually, you eased into the dance and you were almost sorry when the song switched to something a little more upbeat that didn't require him to stand so close to you. Still, he twirled you in a circle and brought you back into the solid curve of his body, showing off.
Then, out of nowhere, his face worked into a scowl as he spotted something a few yards to your right. You turned your head to see what it was, so lost in the moment that it took a few seconds for you to register that Josh was dancing with Mia, quite well, actually, to the Texas Tornados.
“Look at that schmuck.”
“Jake…” you warned.
“What? It’s just an observation, I’m not saying it for your benefit.”
“She looks incredible,” you sighed. On anyone else, the dress she had on would make them look like a costume disco ball, but on Mia it looked modern and chic, showing off her body and matching well with a slicked back bun and dangly earrings.
Jake’s shoulder rose and fell beneath your hand. “If you say so. She’s not really my type.”
Are you serious?  “Jake, just about every woman is your type.”
“I’m sorry, are you slut-shaming me right now? In this political climate? I could have you canceled for that.”
“Ha-ha,” you said in response. “I mean, look at her, she is objectively a 10 - don’t say you wouldn’t. Hell, I would if I were inclined that way… Don’t!” You pinned Jake with a warning stare, cutting off the joke that was on the tip of his tongue and dying to come out.
“Well, I wouldn’t now,” he said instead.
“Gee, thanks.”
“For the sake of our friendship.”
The word made you tense up again - not on purpose, it was an automatic reaction you wanted to take back as soon as you went stiff all over again. And it didn't escape Jake’s notice.
“What?” he questioned, cupping your shoulders and shaking you a little as a gag. “Oh my God, have you ever thought about taking up yoga? Meditation?”
“Flying lessons?” you shot back.
“Hey, don’t knock it. Compared to you, I am a very chilled-out person.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to admit that he was right. No matter what was going on inside Jake, he knew how to keep a calm exterior. You’d always admired that about him. With the exception of your dad, your family wasn't known for its cool under pressure. Even Mike could be a bit of a basket case. That’s why he and Julie worked so well together.
You sighed again, wondering if you’d ever find your own version of Christian or Julie, someone who fit with all of your wonky parts and made you feel, regardless of circumstance, that everything would turn out okay.
“You look beautiful, by the way.” You looked at Jake, startled by the remark and the heat rushing into your face. He was dead serious. The levity you saw in his eyes had nothing to do with his tone, which was kind but not pitying. And you knew Jake would never say something like that if he didn’t mean it. “Not that it’s a competition,” he tacked on, “I’m just saying… don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure he’s eating his heart out right now.”
“And how would you know a thing like that?”
“Because he hasn’t stopped looking at us for the last sixty seconds.”
Your gaze drifted off to the side before Jake took your chin in his hand, his touch gentle and yet firm.
“Don’t look!” he chided. “Jesus… That’s recon 101 - I’ve got your six, you keep dancing and pretend we’re not talking about him, you amateur!”
“Sorry! You’re so bossy!” you grumbled, fighting off another blush.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”
The word zinged through your body along with the killer Jake Seresin dimpled grin, and to make matters worse, he twirled you again, laughing when he brought you to rest your back against his chest. Josh froze when he saw you, spotting Jake’s hands on your waist. But you couldn’t care less - you were breathless, with Jake’s mouth close enough to kiss, reminding you of his knee nudge on the porch and his arm beneath your hand.
For a moment, you could almost believe that he was flirting with you for real. If you turned your head, would he accept the press of your mouth against his? Would he push you away or pull you in closer, regardless of your families watching and Josh staring, almost open-mouthed, like he couldn’t believe Jake fucking Seresin would give you the time of day?
Before you could make a choice, the song ended and Jake released you from his grip, keeping a hand on your back as he herded you away from the dance floor and to the bar, where he ordered a beer and asked if you wanted something. If you answered, you weren’t aware. You felt not in control, your stomach all in knots and the memory of Jake’s touch seared into your skin. A part of you still wanted desperately to kiss him and the other wanted to rush into the B&B and burst into tears from sheer confusion. Meanwhile, Jake seemed perfectly fine, chatting with the bartender on duty and leaning against the counter as he dropped a few bills into the tip jar.
“What are you doing?” you asked when you felt him touching you on the shoulder.
“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”
“Hey! On the dance floor was one thing, but I am not aiming to make this entire weekend about making my ex jealous. Any high school dude-vendetta you have against Josh should be addressed on your own time, you psycho. Besides, he’s never going to actually buy it.”
“Alright.” Jake threw up his hands, lowering the charm down a few watts. Your drinks were set down on a pair of square cocktail napkins and you took up yours, a fizzy gin thing with lemon that made you wonder whether you shouldn’t have stuck with bourbon to avoid going around with a hangover on Amanda’s wedding day.
Jake went on. “But I’m really not liking all this negative self-talk, you know. Mia might be a 10, but at most he’s, like, a 6…”
“Oh, be quiet!”
“You’re an 8.”
“What?” The alcohol either rushed up to your head or evaporated completely. How the hell did Jake manage to say things that left you completely dumbfounded and without a single intelligent thought in your head? And he did it with a smile! This one was purposefully subdued as he waved around with the beer in his hand as if making a profound point.
“You’re way out of his league. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”
“Okay, well…”
“You’re blushing!” he remarked. “That’s adorable.”
“You’re not funny, Seresin.”
“Hey, I joke about a lot of things, but I don’t go around handing 8s to just anyone.”
“Oh, look, they’re bringing out coffee.” The needle was tipping firmly towards the need to escape, though it wasn’t that serious - you knew it wasn’t; Jake had a tendency to be a flirt and he usually didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, it could even be amusing to play along, to get swept up in his wit and the light of his attention. But you didn’t want to play. And you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his company because you weren’t. You loved every precious second you got to spend with him, knowing he’d be off to California soon and that the next time you might see him could be months or even a year from now.
Getting your hopes up would be a mistake, and you were dangerously close to doing it.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He touched your elbow gently. You wished he couldn’t read you so well. Or that he could read you better, and see what you had been trying to say to him for years but were too scared to utter.
You did your best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to hover all night. Go, take a load off, have fun.”
“I am having fun,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”
“I was. I am,” you corrected, frustrated with yourself for not taking it better. For not being cool and together and the sort of girl who took charge and damned the outcome. She would’ve kissed Jake when she had the chance. She would have shown up to California. Hell, she would’ve made her move ages ago instead of pining, pathetically, and letting twenty years go by.
That’s what Mia had done. And that’s why she had her dream guy - your former guy - while you were exactly in the same position, too tongue-tied to take a shot.
“Just… can you give me some space?” you blurted out, your frustration bleeding through.
The hurt in Jake’s expression was there and gone in a lightning flash, but you’d seen it and you felt terrible about it. Before you could say anything to make it better, he’d replaced it with a devil-may-care smile.
“Got it,” he said, his voice a little tight around the edges. “Well… I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need me.”
With that, he took his beer and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to weave your way through oblivious partygoers to find the nearest ladies’ room, where you locked yourself in a stall and tried not to ruin your makeup with the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.
-
Hindsight was a bitch. The next morning you were sure you’d overreacted, made a fool of yourself and created a potentially awkward situation now that the wedding day was upon you and you had to take his arm, in - you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand - five-and-a-half hours, and walk with him down the aisle wearing a smile for the sake of the photographers.
You groaned, covering your face with your hands and calling yourself every name in the book.
Jake had promised to be your wedding buddy and then sweetly kept his word, and what did you do in response? Completely freak out, you scatterbrained nincompoop.
As penance, you threw yourself into the arrangement of the reception flowers, channeling your mother while you directed the staff this way and that, trying not to think about Jake and the mortifying apology that awaited you. It was the right thing to do - not only to clear the air but because he hadn't deserved being chewed out in a momentary panic, and you knew you wouldn't feel right with yourself if you didn't take the blame and say your mea culpa.
But boy were you dreading it.
“You should head out now, Cabbage,” your mom advised around eleven o'clock. “Dad and I can handle the rest and you should be with Amanda, spend some time with the girls before the big event.”
“Are you sure you don't need help with the aisle arrangements?” A cowardly attempt, but you did it anyway.
“We’ve got it,” Mom repeated, turning you around and all but shepherding you into the parking lot. She waved you off with a “have fun,” and you couldn't help your brain’s internal response of “fat chance.”
All the way to the B&B you kept rehearsing what you might say to Jake when you saw him, but by the time you pulled up and found a free parking space, you were sweating, physically and metaphorically, and thinking that, maybe, if you listened to TED Talks rather than Dateline, you might have an enlightened response to your current dilemma.
You fetched your bagged bridesmaid's dress from the trunk of the car, along with your makeup bag and hair tools. You’d have to use the shower before you started getting ready, but you were looking forward to get-ready champagne and a throwback playlist. Anything to feel more like your normal self and less like a silly teenager who couldn’t talk to boys.
You went up three flights of stairs to reach the bridal suite. From both sides, you could hear music spilling out into the hall, an ABBA classic clashing with Brett Young. Automatically, you placed your hand on the doorknob leading towards bouncy 80s pop only for it to turn and spring open, revealing Jake with an undone bow tie hanging around his neck.
It could be that your mouth sprung open, not expecting to see him that abruptly and without giving yourself your planned thirty-second pep talk.
Your mind went blank. All you could do was stare at him like an idiot as he pointed across the hall and said, “Bridal suite’s that way.”
“Yeah, it was…”
“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”
“Are you sure it wasn't yours?” The joke spilled out of your mouth, landing awkwardly to your own ears. But Jake smiled anyway, glancing down as he let the door close behind him. 
He rubbed the side of his freshly shaved cheek. “I’m headed down to the front desk, by the way. I swear I’m not stalking you.”
You deserved that. So instead of cringing down into the floor - which was what you really wanted to do - you took the hit and said, “I didn’t think you were.”
“About last night…”
“I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I’m just… a little stressed,” you cut him off. It was an understatement, and not totally honest, but it was the best you could do without getting into the embarrassing particulars.
From the groomsmen’s side, Britney Spears followed ABBA, singing, “Oops, I did it again,” which seemed perversely apropos and just another reminder that you were a puppet of fate. Presently, you had to be paying for God knows what sin - probably calling Mike a buttface all those years before.
“Hey, I get it. I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” Jake went on.
“You’re not! You’re a good friend… Thank you.”
It pained you to say it, but you figured now was as good a time as any to face facts: you only had a few more days together, and you didn't want to spend them all wasting what you had, wishing it would turn into something else. Friendship with Jake was good enough. He was kind and loyal and honest; hell, anyone would be lucky to have him in their corner.
Maybe what you needed was a little gratitude. It was a wedding day, after all. Your friends and family would all be gathering in a few hours to celebrate Christian and Amanda and they had chosen you to be a special part of their most important day. How cool was that?
“Can we just not talk about Mia and Josh today?” you asked, hefting the garment back up your shoulder. “I want to focus on Amanda and make sure she has a nice time at her wedding - get drunk but not sloppily so, take a few pictures, dance a bit, not feel like everyone’s waiting for the Jerry Springer shoe to drop?”
“We can do that,” Jake replied.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“See you on the other side?”
“You bet.”
He went down the hall, turning right and bounding the carpeted stairs. You watched him go with a sigh, deciding that it was hard to be a grown-up and lovelorn at the same time. The two things were so incompatible - liking someone, loving them even, felt utterly undignified.
Nonetheless, you could breathe a lot easier after clearing the air. With the apology out of the way, you threw yourself into full bridesmaid mode, squeezing into the cramped bathroom with five other women in customized robes who were curling, straightening, powdering, talking, fighting for counter space, gasping at gossip, and being an overall flurry of chaos while the bride reigned over all, putting in comments through the haze of hair- and setting spray.
The air in the room was joyous, with a smattering of nervous energy mostly provided by Amanda.
Once dressed in your different styles of champagne satin, the bridesmaids focused on making sure Amanda was ready for her starring role. You took turns doing up the buttons on the back of her wedding gown, and when Dinah popped in to give her a pair of diamond earrings she wore to her own wedding, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. “Do not let my mascara run!” Amanda urged, prompting Carrie, the maid of honor, to jokingly rush forward with a folded-up Kleenex and dab at her eyes.
The groomsmen left for the wedding venue first, piling into a shuttle after yelling well-wishes through the door. Fifteen minutes later you followed suit, with Ali O’Rourke pouring canned cocktails into plastic cups and filming the journey at the same time as her phone blasted Taylor Swift (“But none of the breakup songs!”). In twenty minutes you were at the botanical garden, arranging the first look through a comical series of shouts and mimes partially obscured by a tall bush and caught on camera by the couple’s videographer. Once Christian had gotten the memo to stand there, at the edge of an ornamental pond but with his back to the azaleas, you pushed Amanda in his direction and waved her on, giving whistles and catcalls when he dipped her into a kiss that was very un-Christian-like and all the more romantic for that reason.
Once the wedding party photos were done, it was time to head inside and wait for the guests to arrive. You found that, like Amanda, you were feeling a little jittery now that patience was all that was required. From the double doors to the altar, it was a fairly long walk and you were worried that your heels would sink into the grass or that you would fall flat on your face. Luckily, you weren’t the only one with that fear. Amanda’s coworker, Lucy, who had never been a bridesmaid before, had a minor freakout, and talking her down helped you allay your own fears, as did the liquid courage courtesy of Ali’s dress having pockets.
(Amanda: “I don’t remember reading that on the website.”
Ali: “That’s because you didn’t. I had it tailored.”)
At last, the wedding coordinator called for everyone to take their places and Jake came towards you, looking smart in his tux. At the rehearsal dinner you’d heard Mike asking, “So, where’s the dress uniform?”, to which Jake replied, “And upstage you?” Well, uniform or not, you were sure he could upstage anyone. To you, he was the handsomest person in the room, and you were in danger of saying so until Jake beat you to the punch.
“Look at you, you clean up well!” he remarked.
“And you look terrible.”
“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”
You laughed. Humble as always. You were glad to see that all the awkwardness between you had gone, in no small part because of the excitement over the ceremony. A sudden hush came over everyone as Harriet signaled for the doors to be opened. Jake held out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, echoing his words when he asked you to dance.
This time you were ready for it. No matter what, in this particular moment, you and Jake were allies - wedding buddies, he said - and instead of overthinking things or making a mountain out of a molehill, you were resolved to enjoy it.
You took his arm and faced forward. The first strains of music began. Showtime, Harriet mouthed, while at the altar Christian turned to meet his bride.
-
The ceremony was over in the blink of an eye, followed by a drinks reception and a sit-down dinner punctuated by toasts that ranged from the humorous to the downright sentimental. Now that Amanda had clipped up her train, she seemed more relaxed than she had been in the morning, and it made you feel like you could let down your hair, so to speak, and enjoy the party underneath the light-strewn tent.
The guests were eager to dance. Without letup they moved through classic wedding standards and modern dance hits to country reels and the obligatory playing of “Mr. Brightside,” a moment which Sandy and Clyde stole with their enthusiastic head-bops. You couldn't remember the last time you danced, or laughed, half as much, and even the appearance of Josh and Mia couldn’t steal your good mood. As long as they kept to their side of the tent, you could pretend they weren't there and if Mom or Julie sidled up with a comment in defense of your honor, it was easy to point a finger to your ear as if to say, “What? I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”
Jake kept close for the most of the night, leaning in close and making funny comments about the hidden goings-on - who was putting the moves on who, who was sneaking mini cupcakes into their purse, who got carted off to the indoor area after over-imbibing and nearly causing a minor dancefloor traffic incident.
Maybe it was all his Navy training, but for a guy’s guy Jake had an uncanny eye for gossip, and you said so, winning a laugh and another request for your oath of secrecy.
“I hate to tap out before Great-Aunt Sandy,” he said halfway through the Jailhouse Rock, “but do you want to take a breather? I feel like I’m getting a stitch in my side.”
“You? Sheesh, Hangman, you're really letting yourself go,” you chaffed. “What'll the higher-ups think when you get back to San Diego?”
“Well, if they really want to replace me, I’ll send them Aunt Sandy’s way.” He led you outside, where you promptly balanced one foot at a time trying to unclasp your heeled sandals while Jake watched, snorting before he took pity on you and let you lean on his arm.
His very muscled arm…
Inwardly, you sighed like one of the Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast, but hey, you’d behaved yourself all day; you were allowed to have the occasional impure thought.
With a little sound of triumph, you managed to remove your shoes and held them by the straps, walking on the grass in your bare feet. You had a pair of flats in your purse, but that was somewhere inside and, anyway, the ground felt good against your tired arches. You’d been dancing for over two hours and needed the break.
“How do you even stand in those death traps?” Jake eyed your shoes as if they were hand grenades, which amused you to no end seeing as they’d cost you a small fortune precisely because they claimed to be comfortable.
“They’re not so bad,” you replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t need them if you weren’t so tall.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You shrugged, keeping your face deliberately blank. “It’s a free country.”
“Wow…” Jake huffed through a laugh, “you are incapable of just being nice to me.”
“What, I am nice!”
“In a backhanded-compliment sort of way, sure.”
“What do you want me to say? ‘Jake, you’re the biggest 10 at the wedding’?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re getting warmer,” he said with a toothy grin, entering a path bordered by low hedges leading to the pond where the first look had taken place.
The lights from the wedding reception lit the way, along with the small solar-powered fixtures planted in the ground, but for the most part the darkness was a respite from the sights and sounds of the packed tent. In a way, it made it easier to talk to Jake, ignoring your history, feeling like a girl who’d been asked on a walk by someone who wanted to spend more time with her.
You laughed, leaning into the role of interested flatterer. You were walking backwards, even daring to place your hand on the front of Jake’s shirt, trusting him to lead the way and keep you from tripping into a bush. “You’re an incredible dancer,” you put in, going full Bimbette. You might have batted your eyelashes, and your voice took on the dreamy girlishness of Marilyn Monroe, which only gave Jake the giggles as he tried to maintain his yes, I am all the things composure. “You look as good in a tux as you do in your Navy uniform.”
“Both true.”
“You’re funny and smart, and soooo interesting.”
“Don’t I know it.”
You gasped, stopping in your tracks to place your hands on his cheeks. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. “You’ve got a face like an Old Hollywood dreamboat.”
He nodded solemnly, the slight clearing of his throat the only indicator that he was on the verge of breaking character. “You’re not the first person to say that, actually.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mm, does that surprise you? Do you disagree?”
“Of course not, this is the Jake Seresin Appreciation Hour.” You draped your arms around his neck. Maybe it was the cocktails or the distant wedding music making you bold, but Jake didn't pull away and you were only pretending - at least, that was your justification when you felt the weight of his hands on your hips.
“Go on, then.”
“Your eyes are green.”
“Now you’re just stating facts.”
“Fine, but you’re being a very picky subject!”
“I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, “Jake Seresin Hour was not my idea. You don’t get to institute it and then complain when I point out your lazy reporting.”
Lazy reporting? You were ready to duke it out over that and he knew it, his eyes alight with the challenge, head cocked to see what you’d come up with next. Your back hit the trunk of a live oak and you felt the adrenaline in your veins mixing with the alcohol and a sheer attraction that wouldn't be kept at bay. You wondered briefly whether this was what flying was like - a full-bodied, present physicality, all instinct, every move stretched taut and your nerves like live wires.
Jake glanced at your mouth and it left you breathless. Little wonder, then, that the next words out of your mouth were half confession, half part of the game.
“There’s not a single person at this party who isn’t head-over-heels in love with you.”
“Not a single one?” Jake argued. “Not even the groom?”
“Not even the groom.”
“Well, obviously, we’re not including my relatives in that.”
“But everyone else…” you trailed off.
“Everyone else. Including you?”
“Especially me.”
It’s just a game, it’s just a game. The thought kept clashing in your head with the urge to say “kiss me” and he was standing so close, with his body half pressed against yours, solid and warm, realer than any lust-fueled fantasy you could’ve come up with in the dead of night, the party forgotten with him as your only view, and you kept thinking, Maybe he wants me to. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe I should do it - what would be the harm?
The answer to this final point was obvious, and yet he was hard to resist. His fingers brushed against your waist, the touch feather-light enough that it might have been in your imagination except for his forehead pressed down to yours, his heart beating steadily beneath your nervous hand.
Without debating it further you pulled him into a kiss, shutting your eyes against any possible consequences as you memorized the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands sliding down your back, the heat of his breath. You pulled away, mortified by your lapse in judgment and the obvious proof of feelings which you now couldn't take back.
There was no undoing this, but still you tried.
“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m drunk… I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine.”
“No, I’m… I’m gonna go.” You slid past him, holding your breath, willing him not to follow after you or try to stop you from fleeing. Your body felt like it was short-circuiting, blazing with need and then doused in icy-cold regret and horror at your own actions.
So he had flirted with you. That didn't mean he wanted to kiss you; it certainly didn't signal any romantic interest that merited you throwing yourself at him and telling him, of all things, that you loved him!
You went back to the party, picking your purse up from behind your chair and forcing a smile when people stopped you to chat, making excuses and saying you had to go to the bathroom. Inside, you moved past the lobby and straight out to the drive, where the hired shuttle service was taking guests in no state to drive to and from a few local hotels.
The driver asked if you were ready to leave and you said yes, feeling mildly guilty for staging an Irish goodbye, but there was no way you could go on pretending for the rest of the night, let alone face Jake. You prayed that everyone would be too busy having fun to notice your absence, and if not you would apologize profusely tomorrow at brunch, claiming a headache or exhaustion or anything else that might obscure your bad decision-making and propensity to lose your shit around Jake.
You were let onto the bus, the sole passenger as the driver turned on the engine and radioed his boss to say he was en route to the B&B. Just as you were relaxing into your seat, Jake came bounding up the steps, giving the driver a cursory nod just before the doors closed behind him and the vehicle began to move.
“Can we talk?” he asked, sliding next to you and dropping his jacket in his lap.
“There are, like, fifty open seats.”
“But you’re sitting in this one,” he said with the ghost of a grin. You would've rolled your eyes if you weren’t busy wishing you could teleport to literally anywhere else.
You faced forward to the other cars on the road, watching their taillights shine as you moved into nighttime traffic. “Can you do me a favor? I know you’ve done a lot of them over the past couple of days, but can you just forget that ever happened?”
“No.”
Aghast, you turned your head to see Jake looking maddeningly smug, not to mention relaxed, while he was invading your personal space and driving you to the brink of mental collapse.
“Why not?” you demanded.
“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”
“And is what I want—”
“Completely irrelevant,” he finished for you. “Besides, you kissed me, remember?”
“I don’t. I’ve wiped it from my memory chip.”
With a smile, Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips that was almost chaste, except for the brush of his tongue against your lip and his fingers cupping your chin in a hold that was teasing and gentle, and undeniably thought-out.
“How about that one?” he asked, pulling away just enough to view your reaction.
“How about what?”
He grinned. “Cabbage.”
“Ew! Why would you call me that right now?” you exclaimed, scooching back into the window.
“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”
“Like a leafy green?”
“Yeah, like a whole salad.”
You laughed. “That makes no sense.”
“It really doesn’t.” But it did. Like so many other inside jokes, you knew exactly what he meant to say. It made you feel all warm inside, especially because there was no trace of subterfuge in his handsome face, and you knew he’d never be cruel enough to lead you on. He followed you, he thought you were beautiful, and he was here trying to convince you not to take the kiss back.
To be bold. To follow through.
“If you want to keep being friends…” he began.
“You and Mike are just friends, Jake. I’m the kid sister with a massively pathetic crush on you.”
“Maybe I have a crush on you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“A little… A lot, actually.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
In front of Pleasant View the driver pulled on the brakes, and Jake laced his fingers through yours as he dismounted and put a twenty in the tip jar, stopping in front of the entrance to face you with a question hanging, unspoken, in the air. If you let this opportunity pass you by, he would let you do it without a word, taking the gentleman’s way out and stopping his pursuit under the assumption that you had no interest in being with him, or in seeing where this new thing between you might go. But if you said yes…
The possibilities flashed through your mind, as frightening as they were wonderful. Everything might change. Everything would, there was no doubt about that. But change wasn’t always a bad thing, and if you had someone holding your hand along the way?
Wasn’t that what love was all about?
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Jake pointed out.
“Is that an issue?”
“Why, is it an issue for you?”
You shook your head, trying to contain the nervous joy in your chest. “Maybe you should take me flying sometime, teach me the ways of classic Hangman chill.”
“Just name the time and place,” he promised. “I’m ready when you are.”
Instead of second guessing, you took him at his word.
You reached up and kissed him fully on the mouth, sighing when he pressed you flush against his chest and carressed the nape of your neck. There was no predicting the future; that part would always be like navigating blind. But Jake was worth the risk. If nothing else, he was the sort of man who made you want to try, who took chances, and made you laugh through the terror of uncertainty.
In that moment, being lifted off the ground, physically swept off your feet by the man you’d loved since you’d first contemplated what love could be, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And the best part? From the look on Jake’s face, you knew the exact thought running through his head:
Babe, the luck is all mine.
Man, you loved weddings.
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