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illum1z · 3 days ago

Text

snow cream

Roommate!Yunho x F!Reader

summary: Six months of living under the same roof, and you barely knew the guy. You both always came and went, to and from your jobs and school, only ever interacting in the kitchen or the living room late at night when you wanted a glass of water or he wanted to watch TV. But when winter rolls around and the snowstorms get heavy, maybe somehow you could warm up to each other…

tags: snowed in, forced proximity(?), attempt at humor, fluff, mutual pining, hand kink (duh), soft mdom, petnames (baby, angel face, pretty girl, slut etc.), Yu LOVES touching you, handjob, nipple sucking, fingering, tension, unprotected sex (BOOOOO), lotus positon, he talks alot, multiple orgasms, aftercare, NOT PROOFREAD

wc: 7.2k

notes: sort of based around a nsfw audio I listened to a couple years ago LMAO.

tracklist: bad liar, poison, intro: singularity

“Reports are flowing in from the NWS about upcoming snowstorms, which are expected to reach record levels; the surrounding area is expecting up to 6 inches. Officials are closing roads and the district schools are shutting down until-”

“Just my luck, huh?” You switched off your phone and rested your head against your steering wheel with an exasperated sigh. You had seen the beginning of the snowfall that week, just light flakes here and there, but they weren't sticking.

But of course mother nature had to give a big fuck you and mess with your plans that weekend with 6 inches of snow. Roads were closing, and so were the stores, so you needed to be in and out before the snowstorm picked up.

You rubbed your temples before switching your car off, getting out, and walking into the grocery store with your original plan in mind.

You had planned to pick up some ingredients for some appetizers you were going to bring to one of your friends' birthdays, but you had frowned when they texted your group chat, saying the party had been cancelled because of snowfall.

That's what led you to the news, deflating your excitement. Instead of being here for groceries, you were here to stock up on supplies. And so was everybody else. The store was packed with people. Mothers are rushing and snatching boxes of cereal off the shelf. Dads are stocking up on batteries and jugs of water. The poor employees were at war with the panicking public. Quickly as you could, you grabbed a cart and picked up some essentials. Batteries. Toilet paper. Bottled water. Some nonperishables. While walking past the home section, you noticed a couple of displays where they were selling large fleece blankets.

You eyed them for a second, debating if you should get one.

Maybe two.

One for you, one for your roommate. Jeong Yunho.

You had met him on Craigslist whilst looking for roommate listings. You decided community college was best for your budget years ago, but you needed to find somewhere else to live. Soon. Living with your parents is not for the weak.

You spent hours on different websites, desperate to find somewhere close and affordable. Maybe also a roommate who has a low chance of murdering you in your sleep.

You stumbled across the listing one night, hope slowly dwindling at the awful market.

2 bedrooms. 2 baths. 600 per month. Cats are welcome. Email for more information.

Immediately, you jumped on it because there was no way you would be able to find anything cheaper than this, unfortunately. You emailed him all your information. About your job and schedule, and made sure to mention that you would like to bring your cat, Patches. About a week later, you had driven to the house to look around and discuss final plans and agreements. Along with you, you brought your cat so she could become accustomed to the new living space.

The house was cute and quaint, a little grey and white bungalow with a few bushes on either side of the steps that led up to the black door. A decent-sized front yard, neat and green, with a driveway with just enough space for two cars. Perfect.

When you met the person who posted the listing, you had pulled up to the house, parking your car behind another one already in the driveway. He was on the porch, in the process of carrying some bags inside the house.. When he saw you, he waved for you to follow him inside. He showed you to your room, talked about rent and policies. You both established some privacy rules, and he was petting your cat the entire time. He seemed to take a liking to her immediately. Yunho had you sign some things, and then that was it. Simple, fast, and easy. A few days later, you had moved your stuff in, and from then on, you and Yunho barely interacted.

He said that he’s usually at one of his friends' houses, at work or class, or in his room playing games. This was perfect for you; you enjoyed your privacy, and if you were being honest, you were nervous around Yunho.

He had this boyish charm to him that made your heart flutter; he was tall and spoke to you gently, as if he were too loud, he might scare you. He had dark brown hair that parted in the middle, with bangs that sometimes covered his eyes. And you couldn’t help but feel ashamed that your gaze always drifted to his hands whenever you saw him. Large and slender, the veins prominent like a roadmap.

He always made sure that you knew where he was going when he went somewhere with a text like “At friends,” or “Out drinking.”

Another thing you had noticed while living with him was that it was like he stole your cat from you. IF you couldn't find your cat anywhere, it was safe to assume she was in Yunho's room. She followed him around the apartment all the time, whenever he sat on the couch to watch TV, she was in his lap. Whenever he was in the kitchen cooking, she was perched on the counter watching intently.

One day, you came home and saw Yunho on the couch with her. Usually, she’d get up and greet you by rubbing her face against your legs. Instead, she stayed put, gave you a curt meow, and that was it.

You walked by the back of the couch and narrowed your eyes at her, mouthing the words “traitor” before retreating to your room.

You ran your hand over the navy blue fleece blanket that was folded next to a similar white one. Making up your mind, you dropped the blue blanket in your cart as well as the white one. After some more shopping, you checked out and began your drive home, the snow beginning to fall again.

Your mind wandered back to your roommate again. You're pretty sure he was at a friend's house right now, you just hoped he would make it home safe. Driving home through the snow was certainly a feat. Everyone on the road opted to go under the speed limit in hopes they wouldn't go sliding at a sharp turn. A blanket of white began to accumulate on the ground, and it was growing increasingly difficult to see through the snow swirling in the air.

After a grueling and stressful journey, you returned to the house safely. The yard was a pure, sparkling white, untouched like a fresh, clean blanket. You gathered your bags and stepped out of the car, trudging through the snow as it only continued to climb higher and higher. As you suspected, Yunho’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

You made it inside, the warmth of the heater immediately making you shed your jacket as you dropped the bags on the table. As soon as you did, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out to see a text from Yunho.

“Be home later.” Simple and quick. You thought for a moment whether you should text back. Your fingers began typing, and then you hit send.

“Be safe.” A second later, it buzzed again.

“Will do.”

You felt stupid for the way your heart clenched a little. You could count on three hands how many conversations you’ve had with him that lasted longer than a minute. Words are always fleeting between you two, always too busy for anything more than a good morning or an update on bills. But Yunho always responded to your texts with earnestness, replying fast and confidently. It was never anything deep, but whenever you asked what he wanted for dinner, he always responded with whatever it was he wanted, with a smiley face and a thank you.

He never really engaged in any more conversation than that, but for some reason, you could tell her cared more than he let on.

You put away all the things you bought, deciding to place the blanket you bought for Yunho on the couch so he’d see it when he got home. You cleaned up a little, because if you’re going to be snowed in, at least let the place be neat.

After some light cleaning, you had a shower and decided that for tonight’s dinner, you’d make some chili, so that way you would have leftovers for the upcoming days. Tonight was usually Yunho’s night for meals, but you were feeling froggy.

Connecting your speaker to your phone, you cleaned up your area and put on some music, getting ready to make dinner. You were in your zone, chopping tomatoes and browning the beef. The music flowed from your speaker, and the house was filled with a cozy feeling. You were an avid big light hater, so a few lamps and candles here and there set a soothing ambient lighting. The sun was setting, and the snow was picking up, the wind howling outside.

After another hour or so, dinner was done, and Yunho still wasn’t home. It was 8 pm. He’s usually out past 11, but because of the storm, you had assumed he’d be back earlier. You decided to shoot him a test, for your own mental fortitude. The snow had calmed, gentle snowfall dusting your windows.

“Are you on your way home? I made chili.” Send.

You waited a minute or two. No response. You rested your elbows on the kitchen island, waiting for his reply.

The three bouncing dots appeared at the bottom of your messages, and he was typing.

It stopped for a second, then started up again.

“Can you come outside?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise at such a weird question. You thought he was with his friends. He was typing again.

“Down the street.”

“Stuck in the snow.”

“Please.”

You were so confused. Quickly, you slipped on your coat and your shoes by the door. You slipped your phone in your pocket and opened your front door. The cold hit your face like a mallet, and immediately your nose started to burn. But it was beautiful outside. Fresh snow everywhere. It was dark outside well into the night, but the snow was so white it was like it provided a little glow of its own. Snowflakes flurried from the sky, landing all over your clothes. You stepped into the front yard, and half of your calf sank completely beneath the surface of the fluff.

You, albeit with some trouble, waded through your front yard and stepped out onto the icy street nearly losing your footing and busting your ass. The neighborhood was silent, not a soul in sight, the end of the street being swallowed in black emptiness.

But on the other end of the street, a lone car pulled off to the curb, headlights on as the snow swirled around the warm beams of light in a dancing flurry.

Beside it was your roommate, waving at you, bundled in a coat and scarf, grey sweatpants, and a desperate look on his face.

You started to walk towards him, doing your best not to slip and fall. “What the hell is going on?” You exclaim as you walk towards him. His tires were buried in the snow, and his windshield wipers were swaying steadily, clearing the flakes off the glass.

When you were about 6 steps away from reaching him, you began to lose your footing, the ice seeming slicker than before.

“Careful-careful-careful!” Yunho reached his hands forward and took a step in an attempt to catch you, but it was too late.

“Shit!” your feet slipped from underneath you and after a couple slips and slides fighting to stay up, you ultimately fell directly on your ass, a sharp pain shooting up your tailbone.

You groaned, hand reaching back and rubbing your lower back. Immediately, the wet ice soaked your pants uncomfortably, and you already knew you’d wake up tomorrow with a nasty bruise.

Silence fell as you sat in defeat and mulled your pain, but Yunho was oddly quiet. You raised your eyes to look at him. He had one hand over his mouth. His eyebrows were raised in shock, and his eyes slowly narrowed as he took you in.

“Laugh. I dare you.” You glared at him, wincing at the sharp pain crawling up your tailbone.

“Jeong Yunho, you are a child.” You rolled your eyes as he busted out into a fit of laughter, one hand on his car while the other stayed on his mouth. You turned and got ready to get up so you could hit him.

“N-No wait stop!” he shouted between fits of giggles, his arms coming down and trying to pull you up by your arms, while simultaneously avoiding your violent hands.

“I’m sorry, let me just- hold on- stop trying to hit me (Name)! I'm trying to help you.”

“Well then, stop laughing at me!” His own feet were starting to lose friction on this ice as he felt his body sway as he grabbed you.

“If you don’t stop moving, you’re gonna take us both down!” Yunho tried to manhandle you back up, but unfortunately he lost it and tumbled down right next to you, accidentally yanking you onto your back as he landed on his ass.

“Goddamnit...” Yunho laid back in the snow, seemingly giving up on trying to get either one of you on your feet. You giggled behind your hand as you looked at him, his hair all messy and dusted with snowflakes.

He glanced at you and sighed. “Go ahead. It's only fair.” You took that opportunity to laugh in his face, him lightening up and joining you.

When you both calmed down, you looked behind him at his car. “So what happened, you just got lodged in the snow?”

“Wow, real astute (Name). Did I also mention that it’s snowing outside? How crazy is that?” You moved to smack his shoulder at his smart alecness, but he dodged.

“Stop trying to hit me, and help me move my car.” Bewildered, you watch as he stumbled and tried to stand up, feet slipping here and there as he finally stood upright. Like a baby penguin

“Help you push the car?” You snorted and tried to stand up yourself grunting. “Yeah, that's like not happening. Especially on this ice. You’re just going to have to leave it here until some of the snow melts.” Yunho looked at you like you had just told him something outrageous.

“Are you serious?” He glared at you, noticing how you made no move to come over and start pushing the car. “Insane actually…” he mumbled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration as he watched the snow fall from the night sky.

“Listen, I made dinner tonight. It's chili. Come home for now, it's cold, and the snow will pick back up again soon. Come inside, and we can worry about this later.” Yunho stopped and seemed to think to himself for a second, before his eyes flicked over to yours.

He looked at you with a surprising gentleness, roving over your face before landing on your lips for a fraction of a second, so fast you didn’t catch it.

“Alright.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, let's go inside. It's okay. We can worry about it later.”

“That's what I said,” you chirped as you turned your back, beginning the slippery journey back to the house.

“I know that's what you said. I was just rephrasing.” Yunho followed behind, shuffling his feet on the ice so he wouldn’t have to pick them up and risk stepping wrong. It was silent on the way back, both of you too focused on not falling again.

You shed your shoes and coat by the door, turning to Yunho and pointing to the rug on the porch.

“Shoes.” You stated. Yunho looked down and removed his shoes, setting them next to yours.

Satisfied you opened the door, you hung your coat on the hanger in the foyer. “I just cleaned the house.” You mumbled to yourself, as if to affirm the reason you made him leave his snow-filled shoes outside.

Yunho followed behind, hanging his own coat and scarf on the rack. You sighed and fell on the couch, groaning in relief at the warmth that surrounded you.

“There’s chili in the kitchen if you want some.” You closed your eyes, basking in the warmth. The pine candle you lit made the house smell so comforting, taking in a deep breath, you heard Yunho’s breath hitch. When you realized he hadn't said anything yet, you peeked open an eye, only to catch him looking away from you.

His arms came up, smoothly directing his gaze down at his hands, fidgeting and playing with his fingers like he was bored.

He was almost caught, your shirt had ridden up when you laid on the couch, exposing your belly and the hem stopping right where your under boob began. Yunho’s brain nearly short-circuited at the sight, wondering what it would feel like to lie to you on his bed and drag his big hands up and down your waist, squeezing and kneading and feeling you…

He blinked, realizing he was much too far in his fantasy, expecting you to be looking at him like he was a pervert. Instead, he caught your eyes glued to his hands like they were the most interesting thing in the world. You blinked once. Twice. Before turning round and snatching up the remote, switching the TV on.

“Like I said, dinner’s in the kitchen. Help yourself.” Quickly gaining your composure like you weren't imagining his fingers inside of you, you switched to a cooking channel and sat on the couch, full attention on the screen.

“What's this?” Yunho tapped the back of the couch. “A blanket?” You didn’t look back at him, too embarrassed to show your face.

“Oh yeah, when I was at the store, I saw they were selling soft blankets, so I got you one.” You shrugged it off. When he didn’t respond, you assumed that he just went to the kitchen to eat.

A few more beats of silence, and you thought you were in the clear from your way too hot roommate, when his gentle, rich voice hit your ears like a truck, and you felt your core clench hard.

“Thank you (Name), you’re such a sweetheart. Thanks for always thinking of me.”

Like someone just shot you, you whipped your head around to see Yunho holding the blanket in his hands, towering over you, standing behind the couch. His fingers dipping into the soft, navy blue waves of fleece, his lips upturned in a soft smile, and his eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

He was going to kill you. His hair fell in front of his eyes as his hands slowly caressed the blanket he held, his posture was relaxed as his eyes remained fixed on you, and you swear you saw them flick to your lips for a second.

Your heart stopped and fell to your ass, immediately nervousness took over your body and you felt like a hot mess.

After a few seconds of silence, Yunho’s smile fell, and his eyebrows knitted, like he was frustrated. He leaned his head back and shoved the blanket in his face, groaning into it.

“Don't… look at me like that.” Yunho’s muffled voice spilled from behind the blanket in his face, and you went rigid. How were you looking at him?

“Well, I don't look at me like that either!” You exclaimed, your voice shaking slightly. Yunho moved the blanket from his face, butting on the back of the couch. His eyes locked with yours again. Every time you looked away, he stepped a little closer, until he was sitting next to you.

“Hey, uh. Back up maybe?” You chided, trying to hide how much of a mess he was able to make of you just by looking at you.

“No.” Yunho challenged, looking at you intently. “Stop looking away and look at me.” So you did, you gazed into his eyes and immediately felt weak. His pupils were BLOWN. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, eyebrows cinched as he stared at you like he was trying to pin you to your spot.

He wasn’t saying anything, but he didn’t look like he was thinking either. He was just staring. You were starting to feel put on the spot, and you were about to make an excuse to go use the bathroom.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Yunho whispered. You nearly choked on your spit, but his hand lifted and dragged his fingertips down the bridge of your nose with feather-light gentleness, along your eyebrow, along your jawline. Like he was mapping out your face.

“Yunho…” You whispered, afraid that if you spoke too loudly, it could shatter the atmosphere. The air was thick, and the wind outside howled as the snow picked up again. The house almost seemed too hot now, and frankly, a snowball to the face wouldn’t be so bad right now. Yunho gnawed on his bottom lip.

“How come you never talk to me?” You suddenly blurted it out, instantly regretting it when it slipped out of your mouth. Yunho, obviously taken aback by your question, paused his touches on your face. He let his hand fall onto his lap and quickly grabbed his hand again, encasing it between your own two.

“What I meant is! Like, why don’t we take or hang out more often? I mean that I would like to, not that you… I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about.” Yunho watched as you stumbled over your words, a smile crossing his face again as he chuckled at your franticness.

“(Name), (Name), stop.” The hand he held in your grasp, gently pulled from you, now holding your wrist. Yunho lowered his head and looked at your hand. Keeping his head down, his eyes lifted to meet yours as his thumb pressed onto the pulse point on the inside of your wrist. His other hand came up to your face, cradling your jaw softly.

Your chest felt like it was going to explode, overwhelmed with how Yunho was so close to you, how he was touching you, how he was looking at you.

“You know, I feel bad. You just thought of me while out shopping and got me a gift, but I don’t have anything for you.” Yunho frowned, dropping his gaze back down to your hand, his fingers tracing lightly up the inside of your arm, drawing circles and stars into your skin.

You shrugged gently, trying to brush it off so you didn't seem like you were expecting something back, because truly you weren’t. You just wanted to get him something.

“It’s nothing, Yu, you don’t have to -“

“No, it’s not nothing! Don’t say that.” Yunho squeezed your wrist softly, bringing your arm up and pressing whispers of kisses from your pulse point up your arm, and back down again as he spoke.

“You’re always so thoughtful. Always checking up on me, making amazing meals for us, looking so pretty all the time.” You swallowed, your face quickly heating up at the praise, and the strain in his voice as he spoke. You struggled to find words to reply to him. You never realized how much he appreciated what you do, and frankly, you didn’t realize how much you did for him.

“I wanna give you something too.” His eyes flicked up to yours, searching for consent in your eyes. You didn’t say anything. Then you whispered a question, the doubt in your mind creeping into your words.

“Yunho… you don’t have to give me anything-” Before you could continue, he pressed a finger to your lips to stop you from talking.

“Buh buh buh. Stop. This isn’t for you. Well, it is for you, but it's for me too. I want to. I want to take care of you like you take care of me, (Name).” Yunho’s hand landed on your upper thigh, gently kneading it like he was trying to ease the tension, keeping his eyes on yours.

“Is that okay?” The slow, gentle rub on your thigh was comforting, however, not calming in the least. The tendons in his hands flexed as he stroked his hand about the expanse of your leg. He stopped when your thigh tensed, resuming when you opened your mouth to speak.

“Yes.” barely there, in a whisper.

“Words, angel, use them please.” Yunho inched closer to you on the couch, his other hand coming around to cup the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his, his nose just barely brushing against yours.

His smell enveloped you, his bangs tickled your forehead as his staggering breath fanned against your lips.

“Yes.” You spoke louder, pressing a soft kiss against his lips, testing the waters. “Please.” You expected Yunho to chase your lips, but instead, he just smiled and leaned back.

“I knew it.” Your heart stopped. What's he doing?

“All this time since you moved in, I thought maybe I was a pervert.” He lifted his hand and gently pushed against your chest, urging you to lie on your back on the couch, your head on the armrest. He slowly crawled over on top of your body, one leg slotted between your thighs with his knee just barely brushing your core, his hands pressing against the couch by the sides of your head. He brought his face down to yours, space nonexistent between you two as his calm breaths mingled with your nervous ones.

His eyes locked on yours, shamelessly flicking to your lips every few seconds. “You’re always looking at my hands, baby. Do you like them?”

Your breath hitched, and embarrassment crept up your spine. Yeah, he had noticed. This wasn't a new fascination of yours. You had always been drawn to hands in a way, but his specifically. The long, nimble fingers, the prominent veins, and the sheer size of his palm.

Teasingly, he brought his hand up to your face, twisting his wrist to give you a good view. Slowly, he moved his hand down against your throat, his fingertips brushing against the side of your neck softly, up and down, trailing along your collarbones and between your breasts, down until they reached the hem of your shirt.

You watched with bated breath as he teased the hem of your shirt, rubbing it between his fingers, slightly lifting it and letting it fall back down.

“Want me to take it off for you? Undressing you like a gift, yeah?” A quiet whimper slipped from the back of your throat. His hand slipped under your shirt, flattening his large, warm palm against your stomach and caressing your skin gently.

Agonizingly slow, he dragged his hand up, taking his time mapping out your body, his other hand quietly lifting to cup the back of your neck again, pulling your head up to press your forehead against his. His eyes never left you as you felt his calloused fingertips brush against the underside of your breast, tracing light patterns around your areolas so softly it almost tickled. Your stomach clenched at the touch, letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

“You're so soft, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. Can’t believe you're letting me..” His large hand cupped your breast, softly kneading the mound.

His fingers twilled the hair on the nape of your neck, occasionally squeezing the back of your neck reassuringly, like he wanted you to know that he had you. He's gonna take care of you.

“Can you whine for me, honey? I love your voice.” You didn't need to hear that, as he slipped his hand from under your shirt, lifting the hem until it sat under your chin.

“Arms up.” Breaking from your stupor, you lifted your arms as he dragged your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere in the dim living room. His eyes moved down and locked on your exposed breasts, your nipples hardening in response to the cold.

“There they are. So pretty.” Without warning, his lips crashed with yours, swallowing your whimpers while his hand found your breast again. Messy and slow, his tongue coaxing your lips open for him and slipping into your mouth. He moaned deep into you, his hand massaging your breast roughly as he lost himself in your mouth.

Every buck of his head he tried to push himself closer into you, like he was trying to melt into you, his lips relentless against you, sucking your plush bottom lip and nipping at your tongue teasingly.

Pulling away was hard for him; it almost hurt. He gave himself a moment to take you in. Swollen lips, blown pupils, and frizzy hair. A mess all for him.

His kisses trailed from the back of your ear down your neck and landed around your breasts. Kissing and soothingly running his tongue around them before latching onto your nipple. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, focused on the feeling of his warm mouth enveloping your nipple.

Taking this opportunity, his other hand moved from behind your neck and landed on the waistband of your pants, undoing the buttons before slipping his hand past the waistband of your underwear.

Your eyes shot open again at the feeling of his finger tracing a slow deliberate line up your slit, gathering your wetness. You craned your neck to the side, draping your arm over your mouth and avoiding his hot gaze. Yunho clicked his tongue and with surprising ease let his finger press against your opening, sliding perfectly inside of you, his fingertip brushing against your G-spot softly.

“I’m gonna need you to look at me, baby, I can’t give you what you need if you aren't looking at me.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you bit your bottom lip, ripping your arm away from your eyes and slowly focusing your eyes on him. And you almost wished you hadn’t.

His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, pupils blown and hair tousled all around his flushed face. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his hand disappearing between your legs, his cheek pressed up against your breast, his tongue lolling against it, tracing lazy patterns around your areola. His eyes took you in, like you were the most stunning thing he had laid eyes on, which was the truth.

His eyelids fluted before his lips wrapped around your nipple again, kissing, licking and sucking as he started dragging his finger inside of you, curling it just right in that way that made your breathing hitch and your eyes roll.

“Yu-, fuck…” He nipped at your nipple, immediately soothing it with his tongue and pulling off of you with a slick pop.

“I’m trying so hard to be respectful…” He ground out the words like talking hurt his throat. You were finding it hard to focus with the attention he was giving your body, perfectly pressing your buttons and winding you up like a toy. Easily slipping another finger inside your cunt, you let a groan out deep from your chest, turning him on impossibly more.

“But baby, fuck you’re making this so hard for me…” He let his mouth wrap around your other nipple, massaging your hip with his free hand as he sloppily licked you up like candy.

“So good- wish I could eat you all day. I do…” he moaned between kisses on your breasts, switching between suckling them and biting. “I do. I really fucking do…”

Yunho’s fingers press inside of you harder, coaxing you closer to your orgasm. Unbeknownst to you, he was grinding his rock hard cock against the cushion of the couch, desperately trying to ease the pain from how hard he was feeling you soak his fingers like a slut. Your eyes watered, and you were finding it hard to breathe as his long fingers reached spots you never could. You thought back on the times you’d sit on your bed, trying so hard to reach an earth-shattering climax, imagining his fingers fucking you instead of your own. Nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

“Fuck baby, cmon get up. On my lap.” Hazily, you watched as he slipped his fingers out of you, sitting on the couch, legs on the ground. Impatiently, his big hands engulfed each side of your waist and lifted your body with ease to sit on his lap. You bent your knees on either side of his thighs, his cock pressed against your wet cunt.

He craned his neck up to look at you, immediately slotting his lips with yours. Working in tandem, his mouth devoured yours, swallowing you up like he needed you to breathe. One hand cupping your neck and pressing you as close as he could, while the other kneaded the flesh of your ass like a stress toy.

Without thinking, eyes closed as you let him fuck your mouth with his tongue, your hand slipped between your intertwined bodies, fishing his dick from out of his pants, hot and heavy in your hand.

His breath stuttered between his kisses, but his lips never left yours as you wrapped your hand around the upper half, your thumb brushing against the slit on his swollen tip.

He bit your lip accidentally at the stimulation, pulling away from your lips finally to look down at your hand wrapped around him.

His breathing quickened, and his hips bucked, chasing more of your touch as you teasingly played with him. You kept your eyes on his face, watching his eyebrows twitch and his eyes shake.

“Baby, you handle me so f-fucking well…” His moans were quiet, but so loud in the silence of your shared home, the snow howling just outside.

Your grip lowered, squeezing the base before dragging your hand up and down the length of him. His head lifted again, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, pressing desperate and wet open-mouth kisses on your collarbone, his barely contained whimpers falling against your heated skin.

“Off..” he groaned into you, but too lost in the feeling of him throbbing in your hand, you didn’t quite understand.

“H-huh?”

“Off, off- clothes off. ‘S so hot…” He shimmied underneath, shedding his shorts and nearly ripping his shirt off.

He grabbed the base of his cock, urging you to lift your hips so he could press his tip against you.

“Nice and slow for me, sweet girl, sit on it. Take your time, don’t wanna hurt yourself…” His eyes locked with yours as you complied with his request, slowly letting your hips sink down on him.

When his tip pressed in, that stupid, lazy boyish smile of his spread across his face, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyebrows cinched, focused on feeling you take him in like he was meant for you.

“There you go, slow… good, mmm, good fucking girl (Name.)” Your breath caught as you continued to lower your hips down onto him. Bottoming out with a groan, your hands gripped his shoulder, your nails digging into the blades.

You both sat there for a second, relishing the intimate feeling of just being connected. Your breaths mingled, and your thighs shook, his hands massaging your waist, squeezing your hips every time they slid back down.

When Yunho finally spoke, it was strained and so quiet you almost couldn’t hear it.

“Rock your hips. Grind on me pretty, take what you need from me. Make yourself feel good.”

You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut, moving your hands to cradle his head. Cautiously testing the waters, you rolled your hips forward, his tip perfectly dragging against that sweet spot deep in your tummy. The moan you let out was borderline pornographic; nobody had ever been so deep in you, and the fact that it was Yunho was so overwhelming.

“Oh god…” You moaned, pressing your lips into his hair, gasping and whining into the soft locks. His hands gripped your hips and helped you move, pushing and pulling you, moving you back and forth on his cock.

“That's it… fuck, always knew you’d take me so well. Like me all in your guts baby, huh?” You nod against him, your breath hitching when he lifted you so you slid up his cock and back down. Effectivley using your body to fuck himself into you.

“Don't stop, keep rolling those hips, angel, do not stop.” His hand came up and gripped your throat, maneuvering your head down so he could kiss you again, groaning into your mouth as you did into his as he fucked you up and down on his cock, your hips contining to grind. With every thrust and every flick of his tongue, his fat tip constantly dragged against that spongy spot inside of you.

A smug laugh slipped past his lips as he watched how desperate you were to feel good, and he was feeling really good about himself as he watched you lose yourself on him.

“Yeah, ride it, baby, ride it…” He bucked his hips, smiling wider when your back went taught feeling the pressure inside of you, as he continued to fuck himself into you slowly, dragging your pleasure out as much as he could.

“This is all for you, for being so good to me all these months, for always being so fucking s-sweet and taking care of me…” He thrusted harder with every other word, like he was enunciating how much this meant to him.

“Thank you Yu- fuck, you’re so big thank you ngh..” He nipped at your bottom lip, giving your throat one more squeeze before moving his hand back down to your hips and forcing your hips to bounce on him a little faster.

“My pretty baby takes dick so well. I regret not fucking you sooner, coulda’ had this pussy a longgg time ago.” Yunho let his finger slip to your clit, rubbing in pressurized circles, dragging the sweetest noises from you.

You opened your mouth, trying to speak, but all that came out were strangled moans and staggering breaths. Yunho understood, though, pressing his lips against yours again.

“Cumming baby?” He whispered into your mouth, smiling when you nodded, unable to speak, too busy focusing on your impending orgasm. “Good, let go. Feel it and let go for me.”

Like the obedient slut you were for him, your spine straightened and you gasped, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking train, shotting from your toes and electrifying your body like you had been shocked, up through your stomach to your brain, making you lightheaded.

When he felt you cum, his hips stuttered in you feeling you clench like a vice and began to speed up. “Yeah, yeah, yeah- good girl, let me fuck you through it, let me get you through it.”

And thats exactly what he did, without letting up the pace, Yunho fucked into you without abandon, the slap of skin on skin echoing around the living room, mixing with your broken whines and his concentrated groans as he made you fall apart like shattered glass around his dick.

“T-too much–!’ you cried when he continued to bully inside you, his fingers still not letting up on your overstimulated clit. “Gonna c-cum again, Yunho!”

Yunho felt himself reaching his peak, but he would do anything to get you to cum again. With newfound rigor, he rolled his hips into you rough, meanly kissing you and sucking your tongue like he was searching for water.

“Again, angel, again. You can do it.” He moaned loudly into your mouth, his fingers opting to rub your clit slower, this time pushing upward, the pressure increasing tenfold.

Yunho twitched inside of you, feeling as you toppled over the edge again, the second orgasm so much more intense than the first. You couldn't breath, cumming two times so close together. Your thighs burned, and your head spun, vision blurring for a second.

Yunho groaned loudly, bucking his hips a few final times before spilling himself inside of you, continuing to roll his hips into you, riding both of your climaxes out.

You slumped onto him, hands at your side as you regained your breath, thighs sticky, and your body stuck to his. Yunho kissed along your shoulder, allowing you to regain your senses as he came down from his high as well.

Slowly, when you were finally breathing normal, he grabbed your waist and lifted you off of him, sighing as he watched his cock slip out of you, placing you back on the couch.

“Don’t move, I'm gonna go grab a rag.” Yunho stood up and walked down the hallway towards the bedroom. He came back a few seconds later, wearing a pair of sweatpants and carrying a black t-shirt, a pair of underwear, and a wet rag.

He sat down on the floor and gently grabbed your ankles to move your legs to face him, spreading them so he could clean between your thighs. He wiped the cold rag along your inner thighs and cleaned you well, before slipping the pair of underwear over your ankles and up around your hips.

“Here, put this on, it might get cold in here again since we’re not fucking like rabbits anymore.” You both laughed as he handed you the t-shirt. You brought it up to your face, inhaling. It was his, and it smelled like him. You felt fuzzy as you slipped it over your head, smiling when you looked down at him.

He was gazing up at you with nothing but love in his eyes, his hands rubbing absentmindedly along your calves, soothing your aching muscles and placing gentle kisses on your ankles, and up your leg to your knee.

“How are you feeling (Name)?” He waited for your response, his hand never ceasing the gentle massaging.

“Do I even need to say?” You smiled at him, and he smiled back, moving to sit next to you on the couch.

“Guess not, moaned loud enough to wake the neighbors.” Instinctively, you smacked his shoulder in disbelief before the words settled in.

Your smile fell, and a worried look crossed your face. “Was I actually?” He let out a hoot of laughter at your reaction.

“I was joking but you were pretty damn loud. It's okay though, cuz you sounded so pretty.” Yunho kissed along your neck, smiling when you twitched from the tickling feeling.

Suddenly, you remembered the dinner that was still in the kitchen, and you stood up and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Come on Yu, I'm fucking starving and you made me forget I made dinner.” Yunho chuckled and stood up, following you to the kitchen to make himself a bowl.

With your food in hand, you sat on the couch together, with you lying between his legs, the back of your head lying against his chest as you ate together. The snow fell quietly, and the TV droned in the background as you basked in each other's presence.

“Does this mean you’ll come out of your man cave more now?” Yunho scowled at you and playfully flicked your forehead.

“Don't get smart with me, young lady…” he paused and smiled.

“Of course, gotta give my girl the attention she deserves, right?”

#ateez #ateez smut #jeong yunho #yunho #yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x reader #jeong yunho smut #ateez fanfiction

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hanniebaeee · 24 hours ago

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Baby On Board

Chris x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing!

Genre: strangers to possible lovers, flufffffff

Summary: You see a poor (hot) dad struggling with a crying baby in your flight, and step in to help. And sparks fly.

a/n: Short, but I tried. So tired I wanna pass out. Happy weekend everyone 🫶

It was exactly 58 minutes and 35 seconds since the very cute, very angry baby in 23A began crying. You couldn’t blame the kid - it was a long-haul flight - the adults were barely coping. Still, the loud wails had your head pounding.

You peeked over the seat, and saw the lone soldier of 23A. OH.

He looked absolutely exhausted - but yet gorgeous - messy dark hair, slightly sweaty, dark circles under his brown eyes. He bounced the baby in his arms, trying desperately to calm the poor child down, but it was like she had no plans to stop.

Your heart went out to the poor man. He was trying his best. But a couple of passengers muttered complaints loud enough for him to hear. One guy even hit him with a passive-aggressive, "Maybe some people shouldn't fly with babies."

You’d had enough of the rudeness. And, you did something insane. You stood up, and made your way over to 23A.

“Excuse me,” you said, tapping his shoulder.

He turned around, eyes widening when he met yours. Up close, he looked even more gorgeous, even if completely wrecked. His lips parted as if to apologize again.

“Do you want me to hold her for a bit?” you offered gently, glancing at the red-faced, wailing infant. “It looks like you could use a break.”

His jaw dropped slightly as he asked, “Are you serious?” His strong Australian accent hit you square in the gut.

“Completely serious,” you replied, smiling.

He hesitated only for a moment before nodding, looking like he was about to cry out of gratitude. "Thank you. God, thank you."

He handed the baby over carefully, like she was made of glass. The little one, red as a tomato and just as angry, locked eyes with you. You started gently bouncing her, speaking to her in a soft whisper. She gazed at you, her loud wails softening into tiny whimpers and then as if someone flipped a switch, she fell quiet.

Her father watched in absolute surprise (and some exasperation) as she let out a little sigh, snuggled in against your boobs (of course she did), and fell asleep. Just like that.

"What the…?" The man looked at you like you were a literal angel. "Are you some kind of baby whisperer? How did you do that?!"

“Trade secret.” You grinned.

“Seriously, she hasn’t slept in days. I mean, I haven’t slept in days. I don’t even remember what my knees feel like.” He said.

“Sleep is for the weak.” You nodded sagely, making him laugh.

“I can't thank you enough for this… I was this close to jumping out of the emergency exit.”

“Oh not dramatic at all,” You teased.

“Not at all,” He laughed. “I'm Chris, by the way. And she's Mia.”

“Y/N,” You said, rocking the baby in your arms, her warmth spreading into you like the sweetest hug.

When you were sure that she was asleep, you leaned forward to place her in the bassinet. It took only a second for the baby’s eyes to snap open, and her face scrunched in fury. She let out a blood-curdling scream that made Chris groan and bury his face in his hands.

“Okay,” you said, sitting back down with the baby nestled against your chest. “I guess this is my seat now.”

He shot you a sheepish, but grateful smile. “You don’t have to do this. I feel so bad…”

“Don’t feel bad,” you interrupted, adjusting the baby in your arms as she snuggled in. “Just so you know, you’re doing great.”

“Am I?” he asked with a self-deprecating laugh, running a hand through his messy curls. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“You are,” you assured him firmly. “She’s fed, she’s loved, and you’re trying everything. That’s all that matters.”

He exhaled deeply, like your words actually lifted a weight off his chest.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

He laughed again, his whole face lighting up, and suddenly the exhaustion made him look even sexier. How was that even possible?

You quickly stopped that train of thought. He has a kid. That meant he had a partner. You quickly looked away, feeling a little embarrassed.

Mia whimpered gently in her sleep, and then nuzzled into your soft chest and fell asleep again. Chris sighed, watching his daughter sleep.

“She’s had colic the past two weeks,” he admitted quietly. “I didn't even know what I was doing wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong, Chris,” You said softly. “These things happen. It's always something or the other with babies. Besides you'd have some support -”

“Her mom’s not in the picture. Left right after she was born.”

You glanced at him, your heart squeezing. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head.

“We were never really together, it's the strangest story really. Ahh, it’s been hard. But… Mia’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your heart did something that had you holding the baby tighter against you.

“You’re seriously incredible,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

“Dinner works,” you said casually, surprising even yourself.

He blinked, then smirked. “Are you always this smooth, or is it just me?”

You shrugged, your lips quirking up. “I think it's Mia. But you'd learn eventually…if at all -”

And judging by the way his eyes lingered on yours, it looked like that’s exactly what he intended to do.

You landed, and you tried to hand over Mia to Chris at the baggage claim. But she had a tiny fistful of your soft pink jumper, and was totally unwilling to let go. So here you were, walking beside Chris towards the exit, Mia still fast asleep in your arms and Chris, carrying your small trolley bag along with his massive duffle bag and a little bag of the baby's things.

You tried to wrestle it off his hands, but he shot you a tired but warm smile.

“You’re holding my kid. Least I can do is hold a bag.”

It was hard not to feel your heart melt at his words.

As you walked toward the arrivals area, you could see your best friend Minho waiting for you, spinning his car keys around his finger. His handsome face wore a bored expression that immediately turned into bewilderment when he saw you.

His sharp gaze flicked from the baby in your arms to Chris, carrying three bags like a domestic god, and back to you.

“Oh my god,” Minho said loudly, striding toward you. “Please don’t tell me you’ve had a secret husband and baby hidden away in Australia.”

You burst out laughing, swatting him on the arm. Even Chris chuckled, though he looked just a little awkward.

“Minho, meet Chris,” you said, still grinning. “And this is Mia. Chris, this is Minho, my deranged bestie. And no, Min, she’s not mine, and I am not secretly married.”

Minho narrowed his eyes playfully. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Nice to meet you, man. And thanks for not jumping to any conclusions.” Chris adjusted the bags on his shoulder, smirking.

Minho snorted. “Oh, don't mention it.”

“Can you behave for, like, five minutes?” You said, rolling your eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Minho quipped before turning his attention to Chris again. “What’s the story here?”

“Mia's been having a rough time on the flight, so I was just helping out.” you supplied quickly, seeing your gremlin of a best friend already starting to look way too invested in this.

“Helping out, huh?” Minho’s smirk widened.

Chris’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, and you shot Minho a warning glare. “Don’t start.”

Minho held up his hands in mock innocence. “I didn’t say a word.”

The moment was broken by Mia stirring slightly in your arms. You looked down, your expression softening as you whispered, “Hello there.”

Mia made grabby hands at you, his tiny hands caressing your face.

Chris watched you like you’d hung the stars, his gaze so intense it made your stomach flip. When you looked up and caught him staring, he smiled - a real, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Here,” you said, stepping closer and gently handing Mia back to him. But before you let go, you pressed a soft kiss to her tiny hand.

“Bye, sweetie,” you murmured, your voice laced with affection.

Chris held her carefully, his expression unreadable as he looked at you.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything. Really.”

You nodded, smiling. “Text me about dinner?”

He grinned, the tiredness in his face momentarily replaced by something lighter, more playful. “Oh, I will.”

As he walked away, you felt the weight of Minho’s smirk before you even turned to face him.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” he teased. “So. Flirting with a hot single dad? Is this just a new hobby, or should I expect babysitting duties soon?”

“I was helping him, Minho.” You groaned.

“Right,” he said, dragging out the word dramatically. “And I’m here because I love airports.”

You shoved him lightly, but as you walked toward the parking lot, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

Because, honestly? You couldn’t wait for that call.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @sammhisphere @soona-huh @princesskrystix @thecutiepieme

#stray kids #skz #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan fluff #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff

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yunalinwrites · 3 days ago

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one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

UPDATE !!! PROLOGUE OUT NOW 🤑

also masterlist

#jinu x reader #kpdh #jinu kpdh #jinu #kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #saja boys #saja boys x reader #fanfic #kpdh fanfic #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh romance #kpdh abby #kpdh mystery #kpdh baby #kpdh bobby #fanfiction

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badjokesbyjeff · 3 days ago

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An extraordinarily handsome man decided he had the moral responsibility to marry the perfect woman so they could produce children beyond comparison.

With that as his mission he began searching for the perfect woman.

After a diligent, but fruitless, search up and down the east coast, he started to head west.

Shortly thereafter he met a farmer who had three stunning, gorgeous daughters that positively took his breath away, so he explained his mission to the farmer, asking for permission to marry one of them.

The farmer simply replied, "They're all looking to get married, so you've come to the right place. Look them over and select the one you want."

The man dated the first daughter, and the next day the farmer asked for the man's opinion.

"Well," said the man, "She's just a little bit, not that you would notice, pigeon-toed."

The farmer nodded and suggested the man date one of the other girls, so he went out with the second daughter.

The next day, the farmer again asked how things went.

"Well," the man replied, "She's just a little bit, not that you would notice, cross-eyed."

Again the farmer nodded and suggested the man date the third girl to see if things might be better, so he did.

The next morning the man rushed in exclaiming, "She's perfect, just perfect! She's the one I want to marry!"

They were wed right away, and months later the baby was born.

When the man visited nursery he was horrified: the baby, while cute, had the ugliest face he ever saw.

He rushed to his father-in-law asking how such a thing could happen considering the parents.

"Well," explained the farmer, "She was just a little bit, not that you would notice, pregnant when you met her."

#funny #jokes #lol #humor #comedy

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keirareidss · 3 days ago

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tight skirts and nerdy glasses - s.r

♡ summary: spencer gets flustered when you wear a short skirt to work pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut wc: 1.3k inspo

Spencer glanced at his phone again. Read 20 minutes ago. You'd been texting earlier, him telling you about the toast he made this morning, and you letting him know you were going to be a bit late to work because of your doctor's appointment. His last message to you read, 'how's everything at the doctors office?'

You read the message but never responded. Maybe your name was called. Maybe you got some really bad news and couldn't handle talking to anyone right now. Maybe-

The door to the BAU office opened, heels thumping quietly on the carpet floor, Spencer's head lifting to follow the sound. His eyes caught on your figure, watching as you strutted towards your desk, sending a dazzling smile at Derek.

"Hey, gorgeous." Morgan's chair spun slowly as he turned to follow you with his full body. Spencer understood the feeling. The magnetic pull of you, his body being tugged in your direction.

"Morgan." You drawled in greeting, reaching your desk where you set down your purse, turning your attention to the dorky man across from you. "Hi, Spencer."

"Hi." He said, his throat dry. "You didn't answer my text." He was deliberately keeping his eyes on yours, forcing them not to drag down to the short skirt clinging to your legs. The hem barely kissed mid thigh, surely not appropriate for work but you were on good terms with Hotch so he'd let it slide.

Spencer had noticed the skirt right when you walked in. The sway of your hips distracted him from the cute pink and black pattern, his eyes widening. He barely pulled his eyes away from your ass when you reached your desk, not confident that you hadn't seen him ogling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you know what happened? I responded in my head and I forgot to actually text you back." You explained, chuckling as you tuck your purse under your desk. His eyebrows furrowed, confused.

"Oh." He said dumbly.

"Do you want a coffee? I'm gonna run to the kitchen." You asked, hesitating by your desk.

"No, I'm good." He responds, unable to help the way his eyes follow your ass. He tries not to stare, he really does, but he can't help but be bewitched by the way your skirt rides up the back of your thighs as you walk.

He forces his eyes back to the file on his desk but, out of the corner of his eye, he notices your figure bending down at the waist, picking up one of the stir sticks you dropped on the floor. He turns his head, his breath hitching as he caught a glimpse of your underwear under the skirt.

He quickly averts his eyes, a blush rising on his cheeks. He kept his eyes down as you sat back down with your coffee, sighing softly as you turned on your computer, heading to your email folder. Spencer didn't have to worry about accidentally mindlessly gazing at you, burying himself in his work.

The next incident is when you bump into Penelope as she hurries her way up to Hotch's office. She drops her pen which you bend down to pick up. Spencer's eyes find their way to you once again, burning into you. You hand Garcia her sparkly pen with the fuzzy top back to her, your head turning to find Spencer's stare.

You grin at him and he looks away, blushing as he adjusted his glasses. If there was one thing Spencer wore that you were absolutely obsessed with, it was his nerdy, black and gold glasses. They made him look so cute and innocent. They made you want to get on your knees and suck his cock until the glass fogged up.

You round his desk, leaning back against his and looking down at him. His eyes flicker to your thighs before he glanced up at you.

"Hi, Spence." You smiled, bracing your hands on the edge of his desk.

"Hi."

"Can I show you something?" You asked,

"What is it?" He tilted his head, the gold of his frames glinting in the light.

"Just come with me." You pulled him to his feet, starting to walk away. He doesn't follow right away frozen in his spot by the sight of your skirt, high on your thighs. He blinks quickly, rushing after you, following you out of the bullpen.

You lead him to a dark storage closet down the hall, following him inside. He turns to face you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What did you want to show me?" You stepped forward, chest to chest with him in the small space, standing up on your tip toes, your lips inches from his.

"I've seen you staring, Spencer." You purred and his eyes widened, cheeks flushing a pretty pink to match your skirt. "Is there something about my skirt that's enticing to you?"

"No! No, I mean, well- yes but, it's just-" You chuckled, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the soft of his sweater vest under your palms.

"Or is it something other than my skirt?" His face got redder as his back met the wall. Your fingers untucked his shirt from his slacks, finding his belt buckle. His breath hitches as he watches your movements. "Do you want this?" You asked looking up at him. He nodded frantically.

"Yes- please, please." Grinning, you sank down onto your knees in front of him, pulling his zipper down. His head falls back against the wall with a thump when your hand palms him through his boxers.

You free his hardening cock from his pants, stroking slowly and watching a bead of precum dribble from the tip. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, taking him into your mouth, feeling him heavy on your tongue. You take as much of him into your mouth as you can, breathing deeply through your nose.

"God- you, you're so..." Spencer whimpers his hand gripping your hair as you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the tip and he twitches in your mouth.

A trail of spit follows, clinging to your bottom lip as you pull back, looking at him. You were a sight for sore eyes, skirt bunched up your thighs as you sat on your knees, your hair tousled from Spencer's grip. You were his wet dream come to life. Well, it's more the other way around. His wet dreams were inspired by you, made of you.

His wide eyes stared down at you from behind his glasses as your hand continued to lazily stroke his length, his small whimpers music to your ears.

"I'm close." He warned you, moaning quietly.

"Do you want to cum in my mouth, Spencer?" He swore he stopped breathing when that sentence came out of your pretty pink lips. He could barely make his brain work enough to form a response.

"Y-yeah." You grinned, taking him past your lips again, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. With a few more bobs of your head, drags of your tongue, and twists of your wrist on the base of his dick, he's coming down your throat, his hot release coating the inside of your mouth, dribbling down your lip.

He moans, cursing under his breath as his hips jerk, his eyes squeezing shut. Once you've pulled every last drop from him you sit back, climbing to your feet. You brush off your skirt as Spencer does up his pants.

"You, uh- you look really pretty in that skirt."

"Oh, honey, I know." You pat his chest, walking out of the storage closet, leaving him leaning against the wall, chest heaving deeply as he stared at the sway of your hips in that skirt. That damn skirt.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

#criminal minds #♡ keira's fics #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

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purplereina11 · 2 days ago

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Part 2

You go to your cousins wedding in Spain, and you catch the eye of the Alexia Putellas, she unintentionally becomes your plus one

Wordcount: 13.7k

It had been a few weeks since Carmen’s wedding.

A few blurry, grey skied, coffee fuelled weeks of trying to convince yourself you hadn’t romanticised the whole thing. That it wasn’t just the Spanish sun and wine and heat of the moment. That the version of her you’d held onto in your head, sharp-m eyed, smug, soft when no one else was looking wasn’t just some dream your brain stitched together in the haze.

London felt particularly grey today. The sky was heavy with that pre-storm pressure, and your scarf kept sliding off your shoulder as you wandered through Soho with a paper bag full of takeaway dumplings and zero plans for the evening.

You were halfway to the tube when your phone buzzed in your coat pocket. You didn’t think anything of it at first just another group chat, probably Carmen sending details of the girls trip you’d been invited to. Hen do 2.0 for one of her friends who couldn’t make either, but when you glanced down at the screen, your feet actually stopped moving.

alexiaputellas followed you

You blinked looked again. Yup. Still there.

Your heart jumped in your chest in a way you hated admitting to some involuntary thrill you couldn’t quite suppress, like your body had been waiting for it even when your mind had given up hope.

You tapped the notification like it might vanish if you waited too long.

There it was, her profile, blue tick a thousand posts and now, that tiny line of text at the top

Follows you

You stared at it for a moment, standing on the edge of the pavement as people brushed past, your dumplings going lukewarm in the paper bag.

It wasn’t a message, It wasn’t a like from 2019, but still.

Your thumb hovered, then you flicked back to her profile, stared at that stupidly cute profile picture, and smiled before muttering under your breath “…Took your time, menace.”

You waited, not because you wanted to play games, but because the tube was packed and you were standing elbow to elbow with a man chewing gum like it owed him money, and it didn’t feel right not the moment you wanted to follow her back in.

So you waited, walked home, scarf looped twice around your neck, headphones in, the sky cracking open just a little on the walk from the station. You could still smell the rain on the concrete by the time you unlocked your flat door and dropped your keys into the bowl.

And then you did it casually, quietly. Followed her back.

You threw your coat over the chair, kicked off your shoes, turned toward the kitchen and Ping.

Your phone lit up almost instantly.

One message.

alexiaputellas: Hola, Muppet 🧡

You stopped right in the middle of your kitchen and let out a breath of a laugh. Of course she messaged first, you stared at the screen like it might wink at you.

You typed… and deleted. Typed again. Paused, then finally sent

Didn’t know Barça did background checks that slow.

Another couple messages appeared in quick suggestion,

alexiaputellas: We had to run yours twice alexiaputellas: Very suspicious. alexiaputellas: Too pretty to be trusted.

Your heart stuttered a little at that one. You took a slow step back until you were leaning back against the counter, the phone warm in your hand.

You still owe me translations, you know.

alexiaputellas: No alexiaputellas: I said… in England alexiaputellas: You home now, no?

Are you tracking me??

alexiaputellas: Romantic. Not weird.

You snorted, fingers flying now before you could second guess it,

What’s the Spanish for cocky bastard?

There was a pause, you could picture her face so clearly the slow grin, the narrowed eyes, probably showing her phone to someone smugly like she knew she had you hooked.

alexiaputellas: Translate it yourself alexiaputellas: Google. Later. In bed. Alone. alexiaputellas: Like you did with very beautiful 👀

You paused, feeling the blush creep to your ears,

Can I ask you something?

alexiaputellas: You already are alexiaputellas: But okay alexiaputellas: Yes alexiaputellas: I think about you too alexiaputellas: Was that the question or no?

You covered your mouth with your hand, like that might keep the grin from splitting wider, no, it hadn’t been but it worked just the same.

You toss your phone onto your bed, half-laughing, half-panicking at that last message. Yes. I think about you too. It stares up at you from your duvet like it’s dared you to reply and now you have to pretend you’re calm.

You turn on your bedside lamp, take off your socks, and tug your hair up into a messy bun as you pad to the bathroom, phone in hand. The screen keeps lighting up as you turn the tap on to wash your face.

Another message flashes,

alexiaputellas: Are you blushing?

You lean on the sink, dripping, as you type with your pinky,

Obviously not. I’m completely composed. Washing my face like a normal person. Not pacing. Not checking the mirror, not smiling.

Your phone buzzes again as you’re dabbing at your face with a towel.

alexiaputellas: You are cute when you lie alexiaputellas: I can feel it alexiaputellas: Like heat waves

You laugh, shaking your head, your smile caught in the mirror.

Back in your bedroom, you pull your tank top over your head and swap it for a worn hoodie, tugging it on with one hand while still typing with the other.

What are you doing right now then, poet?

alexiaputellas: Stretching alexiaputellas: not a joke alexiaputellas: Recovery session in the morning alexiaputellas: We have yoga alexiaputellas: I’m very bendy

You stop mid-motion, one knee on the bed as you read that.

…Is this your version of flirting?

alexiaputellas: What gave me away 😇

You snort and shake your head, crawling under your duvet with your phone still in hand. You reply,

I liked you better when you were grumpy losing at beer pong.

alexiaputellas: Liar. alexiaputellas: You like me more now. alexiaputellas: Admit it

You pause.

Roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling for a second, lips pressed together in a half-smile, wondering if maybe this isn’t just harmless fun.

Then, you type

I admit… I liked you then I like you now

Another pause.

But I still would’ve crushed you in a rematch.

This time it takes a little longer for her to reply.

alexiaputellas: I want to see you again. alexiaputellas: I mean it.

Your stomach dips a little. You sit up slightly in bed.

You type slowly

I’d like that.

alexiaputellas: Then we’ll make it happen. alexiaputellas: I’ll find an excuse to be in London alexiaputellas: Or you come back to Spain alexiaputellas: Or we meet halfway alexiaputellas: but somewhere with beer pong

You laugh, biting your lip.

You look around your room soft lamp glow, quiet hum of the city through your window, the warmth under the blanket flicking on your TV to watch the latest episode of love island from the comfort of your bed.

☀️

You didn’t think turbulence could last an entire flight, and yet.

By the time the plane finally skidded onto the runway in Mallorca, your arms were stiff from white knuckling the armrest and your mouth tasted like overpriced airport coffee and regret. You hadn’t slept, the man behind you had sneezed every five minutes without covering his mouth, and the toddler across the aisle had kicked the seat rhythmically, like a metronome designed by Satan.

You were not your most glamorous self as you trudged through arrivals, hoodie creased, suitcase wheel squeaking every few steps and then you saw Patri.

Leaning casually against a pillar just past the barriers, sunglasses perched on her head, holding up a cardboard sign that read,

Muppet the beer pong queen

You burst out laughing the moment your eyes landed on it and her face lit up. She grinned as she shoved the sign behind her back and opened her arms wide. You didn’t hesitate you walked straight into the hug.

She pulled back and looked you over. “You look like hell.”

“Gracias.”

“De nada.” She smirked and took your suitcase from you. “Come on. Carmen’s already on the yacht. I left her with too much rosé and too few snacks, so we’ve probably got a tipsy captain situation by now.”

The warmth of the island wrapped around you as soon as the terminal doors opened not just the heat, but the hum of Spain again. Loud voices, the smell of sunscreen and ocean and that undercurrent of something fizzy and alive.

You glanced sideways at Patri as you walked toward the car. “So. This whole thing’s just a bonus hen do for the friend who couldn't make either of the first two?”

Patri shrugged, loading your bag into the boot. “Any excuse, really. We don’t need much.”

“Clearly.”

“And…” She glanced at you quickly before slipping into the driver’s seat. “Carmen said you needed a break.”

You raised an eyebrow. “From what?”

Patri grinned. “London. Work. Thinking too much.”

You shook your head and climbed in beside her, but she wasn’t wrong, snd as she pulled out onto the sunlit coastal road, your phone buzzed softly in your pocket.

You didn’t need to check.

You had a feeling who it might be, you pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a message from Alexia.

alexiaputellas: Hola, muppet. alexiaputellas: Did you survive the flight? alexiaputellas: I was going to say I missed you but that might be too much for one message.

You smiled, fingers already moving.

You’re too smooth. But yes. I survived. Barely. And I missed you. But that’s definitely too much for one message.

Her reply came almost instantly.

alexiaputellas: Good. alexiaputellas: Because I’m counting on seeing you again soon. alexiaputellas: You better not be hiding in a hoodie and avoiding me.

You laughed softly to yourself as you typed back.

Hoodie is essential armor, you should know that. But maybe I’ll risk it. Depends on how convincing your ‘counting on’ is.

Her response was quick, teasing.

alexiaputellas: Very convincing. alexiaputellas: Also, I’ve been practicing my English so I insult you better next time.

You grinned.

Can’t wait, but you’re already winning at that.

You tucked your phone away, heart fluttering just a little.

Patri glanced over with a knowing smile. “Someone’s got you grinning like a fool,” she said.

You shook your head, trying to look casual. “Just a friend.”

☀️

The yacht rocked gently beneath your feet as you stepped aboard, the sun hanging high in the sky, casting a glow over the turquoise water. Laughter spilled from the deck, mixing with the faint clink of glasses and the distant call of seagulls.

Carmen was already there, perched on the edge of the boat, her smile bright and effortless as she greeted you with a quick hug. Around her, the group buzzed with energy friends from Spain, England, and everywhere in between, all gathered for one last celebration.

Carmen waved you over, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You made it! Finally! We thought you’d been eaten by the airport demons.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Barely survived.”

The day unfolded with sun drenched swims, shared stories, and endless rounds of sangria. Someone started a playlist, and soon the deck was alive with music.

You found yourself talking to one of Carmen’s teammates, swapping funny wedding stories and learning a few Spanish phrases that made everyone laugh when you butchered them spectacularly.

Between the chatter and the splash of waves, you caught a glimpse of Carmen watching you with an amused expression, shaking her head but clearly pleased you were slotting into her group despite your apprehension to come.

You’re sitting on the deck in your shorts and bikini top, the sun warming your skin as you hold your glass of wine loosely in one hand. The laughter from the girls playing games in the ocean drifts up to you, carefree and infectious. You smile, watching them splash and compete, their joy contagious.

You glance down at your phone and realise it’s the quietest it’s been all week. You scroll through your messages, but nothing new from Alexia. You sigh softly, almost disappointed, 4 hours was the longest you'd gone without hearing from her, she always found a reason to message you. The silence was noticeable but suddenly, the volume level spikes dramatically, breaking through the relaxed atmosphere. You look up, squinting toward the dock, and spot Alexia striding confidently toward the yacht with a few of her teammates trailing behind her. Your heart skips a beat, you had no idea she was coming.

You lean on the railing, taking a slow sip of your wine to steady yourself, trying to play it cool. Carmen catches sight of Alexia and moves over to greet her warmly. You can’t hear their conversation over the hum of the party, but you notice Carmen’s eyes flick up to you and a small smile plays on her lips as she points you out.

Alexia’s gaze follows, and for a moment your eyes meet. She offers a quick, teasing smirk before turning back to Carmen, who nods and gestures for her to go join you. Your pulse quickens as she makes her way across the deck, and you feel the familiar flutter of excitement mingled with nerves.

She’s going to come up the stairs, you don’t even pretend not to notice, she saw you watching her. One hand curled around your wine glass, the other resting casually against the warm railing, eyes fixed subtly, you hope, as Alexia moves across the lower deck, sun lighting up the streaks in her hair and that chain she seems to always wears catching the light with every step.

She laughs at something one of her teammates says effortless, that low, raspy kind of laugh that carries and then she glances up.

Right at you.

Your stomach dips, sharp and sudden, and you almost choke on the last sip of your wine. She takes the stairs slowly, deliberately, her hand sliding along the rail as she climbs. Her top is simple, black, paired with loose cream shorts that hang low on her hips. She’s tanned, relaxed, glowing in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the Mallorca sun.

Your grip tightens slightly on your glass as she reaches the top deck and stops in front of you. She grins and then, with that accent that makes the word softer, almost affectionate, she says, "Hola, muppet."

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it. “Do you ever greet anyone normally?”

She shrugs, brushing hair off her shoulder. “Only the boring ones.”

You tip your glass at her. “Lucky me.”

“Very,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes scan your face, like she’s making sure this is real, like she didn’t just spend days talking to you but still needed to see you to believe it.

It’s quiet up here, just the breeze, the water, distant shouting and music below. You feel like you're standing in a bubble with her like time’s paused for a second. You smirk. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“You didn’t either.”

Touché. You lift a brow. “Are we keeping secrets now?”

Alexia smiles, slow and unreadable. “Surprises,” she corrects. “Better word.”

You look at her for a beat longer. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Some are.”

Alexia tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking down subtle, but not that subtle. You watch her take you in.

From your loose shorts, to the bikini top clinging to your sun-warmed skin, to the lazy way your wine glass tilts in your hand. Her gaze lingers just long enough to make your chest feel a little tighter. You shift your weight, heat blooming under your skin not from the sun.

“Have I passed inspection?” you tease, lifting your brow.

Her eyes meet yours again, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I already knew what I’d find.”

That makes you grin surprised, flustered, flattered all at once. She steps beside you, close enough that you feel the brush of her bare shoulder when the wind tugs her hair across her face. She tucks it behind her ear, then glances at you.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she says quietly.

“Neither did I,” you admit. “Last minute decision.”

She nods, gaze still on you. “Good decision.”

Your heart kicks hard against your ribs, as there’s a beat of silence between you, and then she adds, more lightly, “Though… I was not told about the uniform.” She gestures toward your bikini top. “You’re showing off. Is this on purpose?”

You laugh, playful but a little breathless. “We're on a yacht in Mallorca don’t pretend this is a surprise.”

“It is,” she says, deadpan. “Because now I have to focus.”

You bite your lip to stop the grin from spreading. “Focus on what exactly?” you ask, sipping your wine, eyes on hers.

She shrugs. “Not falling in love.”

You choke on your wine actually choke, coughing once into your shoulder as she smirks, completely unbothered. “Oh my God,” you say, wiping your mouth, laughing. “That was so corny.”

Alexia shrugs. “You like it.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to hide the smile now clawing at your cheeks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Her smirk softens, just slightly. “You think I'm pretty?”

“Shut up menace.” you mutter before sipping your wine trying to deflect, but there’s a moment where her eyes hold yours, and neither of you says anything.

“Do you want to stay up here?” she asks, after a beat. “Avoid the chaos for a little longer?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think I do.” You’re thinking up something sarcastic about her 'not falling in love' comment, because you will get the last word when a voice bellows as someone's rushing up the stairs behind you.

“OI!” Carmen’s voice barrels across the top deck, followed by a chorus of laughter and the unmistakable sound of flip-flops slapping wood. “Are we boring you two? Or are we witnessing a seduction?”

You roll your eyes, groaning under your breath as you turn around, “Absolutely nothing’s happening,” you say, a little too quickly.

Carmen arches a brow. “Hmm. Your body language says something is.”

Alexia, maddeningly unbothered, just leans back against the railing with her arms crossed, smirking as the others begin to flood the space towels draped over shoulders, glasses clinking, swimsuits still dripping from the sea.

Patri trails in behind them, eyes immediately darting between you and Alexia before she sidles up to your side and whispers, not nearly quietly enough, “So. Just friends, huh?”

You glare at her. “I hate you.”

She clinks her glass against yours. “No you don't”

You look at Patri as Alexia walks to go claim a spot on the large day bed, "Can two gay girls not just have a conversation now?"

Patri smirked leaning in, "What were you talking about?"

You stared at Patri plotting your get out strategy, your brain was short wiring so all you could think of was to say, "Shut up!" like a petulant teenager and walk away.

Someone’s dragged a speaker up, shouting about needing 'a proper playlist,' and another girl is rifling through the drinks cooler like she’s on a timed challenge show. Just like that, the top deck is full of voices bouncing, music swelling, feet kicking off wet sandals and hands reaching for sangria.

You should feel annoyed, maybe, or self-conscious, but you don’t.

Alexia’s still watching you. Even as she talks briefly with one of her teammates, her gaze keeps sliding back to you like a thread pulling taut. She catches your eye and gives you the smallest, most knowing smile and your stomach turns to glitter.

Carmen’s holding court, retelling the story of how Patri somehow fell into the sea while trying to take a selfie, when you catch her eye and lift a flat, hand-decorated box from under the table like you’re revealing buried treasure.

“What is that?” she asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

You grin. “Something I made.”

You set the box down and lift the lid. Inside: twenty-eight little printed cards, all neatly laminated, and a matching board fitted with tiny windows. All the cards are photos of players Spanish players, Carmens brow furrows as you wait for a reaction you deemed worthy for the effort

“…Is that—?”

“Spanish Women’s Football Guess Who,” you announce proudly, like it’s your greatest achievement to date. “I spent hours printing and cutting these out. Don’t act like this isn’t impressive.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Carmen shrieks with laughter, immediately grabbing the board and turning it to show the rest of the girls. Patri gasps, someone yells “NO WAY,” and another yells back

“Oh my god look at Pina’s face on this one!”

“I’m obsessed with you,” Carmen says, genuinely delighted. “You are so unserious and I love it.”

Behind her, Alexia appears, casually glancing over Carmen’s shoulder, her mouth twitches as she spots the game.

She locks eyes with you and smirks. “Is that another game for me to beat you at, muppet?”

You shoot her a bored look, resting your chin in your hand. “This again?”

Alexia walks forward, slow and theatrical, pulling out a chair across from you. She sits, tilts her head slightly, and pats the table between you. “Set them up,” she says with mock authority. “I make it quick and painless for you.”

You raise a brow as you reach for the second board. “You’re awfully confident for someone who still thinks the wind sabotaged her at beer pong.”

“It did,” she says, deadpan. “You saw no?.”

You’re grinning as you slide the windows up, your board clicking into place. Around you, the noise has shifted Carmen’s taking pictures, Patri’s already trying to look over your shoulder, and someone is calling for drinks to be refilled because “this is about to get serious.”

Alexia leans forward, resting her elbows on the table as you shuffle the deck between you.

She picks her card, eyes scanning it before she places it facedown.

Then looks up at you, all confidence and challenge.

“Preparada?” she asks, low and smug.

You smirk, "Vamos"

The corner of her twitches as her eyes lower, "You ask first"

“How kind,” you deadpan. You glance down at the grid of faces, flicking through potential eliminations. "Does your player have blonde hair?"

"Si"

Alexia watches with mild alarm as you flick down the first row. Then the second. Then half of the third.

“Qué?” she blurts, leaning forward to look at your board like you’ve just performed some sort of witchcraft. “Wait, wait, how many gone?”

You give her a smug look as you sip from your drink, board now nearly bare. “Math’s not your strong suit, huh?”

She narrows her eyes at you like she’s already plotting revenge, “Okay,” she mutters, dragging her finger across the little plastic windows of her own board, clearly stalling. “Hmm. Let see…” She looks up at you with a glint in her eye. “Do yours…” she draws out the pause, “…have tattoos?”

You grin. “Yes.”

“Ha!” she exclaims, flicking down a measly five faces, the rest still proudly standing. She glares at the board like it betrayed her. “There are too many tattoos on this team.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Patri snorts from the side, muttering something in Spanish you don’t understand but makes Carmen nearly choke on her drink laughing.

Your turn again.

You squint at your board, already whittled down to six faces.

You glance at her across the table, feigning sweetness. “Is your player wearing a headband?”

Alexia’s mouth pulls into a tight line. She doesn't answer right away, Carmen groans. “Just say goodbye, Ale.”

Alexia sighs, “Yes.”

You flick down two more windows. “Three left,” you announce, smug as hell.

Alexia squints at you, eyes narrowed. “You cheat"

“Oh I’m sorry,” you say, leaning across the table like you’re letting her in on a secret. “I thought you were gonna make it quick and painless for me?”

The table explodes with laughter Alexia kicks at your foot under the table, which only makes you laugh harder. “Alright,” she says, determined now. “Is yours… defender?”

You consider, then look at Patri over your shoulder who smiles and shakes her head. “Nope.”

Alexia groans and dramatically flicks down another few faces, her confidence has officially cracked.

You stare at your board, three faces left, you look at her, she’s chewing the inside of her cheek now, watching you too carefully. You smile sweetly. “Is your player…” You draw out the tension, grinning. “Is your player... Ona?” You glance to Ona standing mere feet away.

She stares you down. You stare right back, then she exhales sharply, slapping her card face up.

Ona.

You raise your arms in victory. “YES!”

Alexia collapses back in her chair, groaning as the girls around you burst into applause and jeers. Someone starts clapping slow and mocking and Patri reaches over to high-five you.

“You’re so dramatic when you lose,” you tease.

Alexia shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she points at you. “You are not allowed to make games anymore.”

“Oh, I’m making every game now.”

She leans in, smirk pulling wider. “Muppet, I destroy you next time"

“You already tried.”

“I was distracted.”

You give her a look. “By what?”

Alexia just shrugs, nonchalant, eyes dancing as she holds your gaze and your heart does something stupid again. You shuffle the selection deck, "You really should know your team better capitana"

She leans forward again, resting her arms on the table, a cocky tilt to her chin. “I know my team,” she replies, slow and sure, the accent curling soft at the edges of each word. “Just… not with your face smiling all the time.”

You freeze halfway through shuffling the deck. “What?”

Alexia grins wider, clearly proud of herself for making that land. “You are” she waves a finger at you, squinting like she’s trying to translate something in her head “how do I say… not helpful for brain.”

You laugh, caught off guard. “Not helpful for brain?”

She nods firmly. “Exact.”

Carmen passes behind you and drapes an arm dramatically around your shoulders. “Ay dios mío, are you two flirting or arguing, I can’t tell anymore.”

“Both,” you and Alexia say at the same time, and Carmen just laughs and ruffles your hair before disappearing again.

You slide her a new draw card from the deck. “Here, distraction. Try again.”

Alexia picks it up without looking, tapping the back of it against the table like she’s preparing for war. “Okay, but… you do not smile so much now,” she warns, deadly serious. “No smile. Very serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“You are never serious,” she shoots back, grinning.

You glance around most of the group has now filtered toward the bow of the boat, distracted by music and the sudden reappearance of food. The buzz of conversation shifts away from your table, leaving a small pocket of quiet between you two again.

Alexia rests her chin in her hand, watching you with soft eyes that still hold something sharp underneath. “Okay, you ask.”

You lift your brows. “Oh, so we’re playing again?”

“I must win,” she says with mock solemnity, placing her hand over her chest. “For… pride. For Spain. For… honour.”

You smile, propping your chin on your fist. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” she says back, lips twitching. “But… maybe cute also.”

Your pulse kicks up a little. You shake your head and look down at the board, trying not to give her the satisfaction of seeing the effect she’s having.

You flick the first card down, but your focus is all wrong now. The air between you has changed quieter, softer, charged with something unspoken.

Alexia’s watching you, head tilted slightly, fingers idly tapping the table like she’s not entirely sure whether to keep playing or say something else. Her knees nudge against yours beneath the table, barely there, but she doesn’t move them. Neither do you.

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual. “Alright. Blonde hair?”

Alexia glances down at her card, then back up at you. “No.”

You flick a few cards, but there’s no rhythm to it. Your hands move slower now. She notices because of course she does. “You okay?” she asks, voice low and quiet.

You look up, and something in her expression hits you harder than it should, concern, but not just that. Curiosity, a kind of tenderness that doesn’t match the teasing grin she usually throws around. You nod, offering a little smile. “Yeah.”

A pause, then, softly, “Are you sure?”

Your throat tightens. “I just… forgot how warm Spain is,” you joke, but your voice doesn’t quite carry the joke.

Alexia hums, not calling you out, not pushing, but her eyes stay on yours, steady and searching.

After a beat, you look down at the table, trying to collect yourself. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” you admit, quietly again, "It never crossed my mind to be honest"

“Mallorca?” she says, her accent turning the word into something prettier. She shrugs. “Carmen say come.”

“I thought you had… training"

“I ask.”

You blink. “You asked to come?”

Her mouth curves. “Carmen said you be here. I say… okay, maybe I have time.”

Something in your chest tightens, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s something sweeter. You look at her for a long moment, sunlight catching on the gold chain around her neck and the small curl of hair escaping the bun at the nape of her neck. “I don't think this trip is going to be what I expected it to be,” you murmur.

Alexia smirks. “Good?”

You smile faintly. “Yeah. Good.”

She leans in again, conspiratorial now, like you’re sharing something secret. “Wanna know something?” You nod. “I don’t care about, game,” she says. “Just wanted to sit here. With you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the bluntness of it how honest she is, even with broken English. You look down at the game between you and then back up at her. “Well,” you say, your voice soft, “we can stop pretending, then.”

Alexia reaches over, slow and deliberate, and flicks all the tiles on your board down. “I win,” she says, but it’s a whisper now.

You laugh, barely, under your breath. “Sure you did, Capitana.”

She nods, "Si, you forfeit" you giggle sitting back as she smoothes her loose hair watching you

Neither of you move, you just sit like that close, quiet, the rest of the world soft and far away until a shout from the other end of the yacht cuts through the moment.

“Y/N ALE WE LEAVE IN TEN MINUTES!” someone screams.

Alexia groans, leaning her forehead against her hand. “I must win again!,” she says dramatically.

You stand slowly, grabbing your drink, and glance at her over your shoulder. “Yeah?” you smirk. “You’ll need all the help you can get later" and when you walk away, you don’t have to look back to know she’s following.

☀️

You step off the boat and onto the pier, shoes in hand, the heat still clinging to your skin from the sun-soaked deck. The group’s laughter carries through the breeze as you all wander barefoot up a dusty path, Carmen leading the way like she’s got some grand surprise up her sleeve.

You follow, sipping what’s left of your drink, eyes squinting against the late afternoon light until, the path opens up.

A football field, real grass, proper goals, painted lines, you stop dead in your tracks.

“…Are you actually kidding me?” you ask, blinking at the sight of several girls already kicking a ball around. Your gaze sweeps over the pitch like maybe it’ll magically disappear if you blink enough times. “You’re on a hen party and you want to train?”

Alexia jogs past you in shorts and a tank top, ball at her feet, ponytail swinging. “I warm up only,” she calls, not even glancing back, like that somehow makes this more normal.

You look to Carmen. “Seriously?”

Carmen just grins, shrugging like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “What? We got itchy feet. You don’t keep a player still too long.”

You shake your head slowly, dragging your towel out of your bag and dropping it right there at the edge of the pitch. “You lot are actually insane.” Then you flop down onto the grass, stretching out dramatically. “I’m sunbathing,” you declare, lying back with an exaggerated sigh. “Y’all can kick each other and pretend this is 'just a warm up'. I’m getting a tan and minding my business.”

You hear Patri laugh somewhere nearby, the sharp thud of a ball being passed between feet. Then Alexia’s voice drifts over again, “Muppet is scared.”

You lift your head, squinting toward her. “I’m not scared, I’m sane.”

“Same, same,” she says, but the grin she throws you is anything but innocent. She spins the ball on one finger before catching it again and pointing it toward you. “One shot. If you score… we no run.”

You raise your brows. “If I score, you wait on me this entire trip.”

Alexia’s grin widens. “Deal.”

You groan, pushing yourself up slowly, “Fine, but after this, I’m retiring.”

You pad barefoot onto the pitch, knowing full well it’s a trap, but you’re already smiling. You trudge reluctantly onto the pitch, wiping your palms on your thighs as Alexia spins the ball lazily in her hands, waiting for you. Just as you reach her, she looks past you, calling out, “Patri, muppet on your team!”

Your head snaps toward her, scandalised. “Are you serious? I thought we had something special.”

Alexia just smiles sweetly, tossing you the ball like she didn’t just betray your trust in broad daylight.

Patri jogs over, already amused. “Perfect. Y/N, you’re in defence.”

You blink. “Defence? That’s… near the back, right?”

“I need you to man mark Alexia.”

You stare blankly. “Cool, yes, because I totally understand what that means.”

Alexia steps in, hand brushing your arm as she leans close enough that her voice rumbles just by your ear. “You follow me. Always.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Like… wherever you go?”

She grins. “Yes.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So like a shadow, but annoying.”

“Exact,” she says, eyes gleaming, "You just be yourself"

Your mouth drops as the game kicks off, "You'll regret that comment Putellas"

You immediately ignore the ball and just wrap your arms around Alexia like you’re a child latching onto its mother's side. “How’s this for marking?”

She bursts out laughing, twisting as you cling to her like Velcro. “You are bad at this.”

“I’m great at this,” you say, tightening your grip as she tries to step around you. “You’re just mad because I’m winning.”

“There is no ball,” she points out, wheezing through her laughter.

“Semantics,” you reply, as she breaks into a short sprint and you trip slightly trying to keep hold.

The ball does finally roll your way, and just as you’re about to shout something vaguely helpful, Alexia turns, grabs you by the waist, and lifts you clean off the ground like you’re made of feathers.

“WHY ARE YOU SO STRONG?!” you shout, kicking your feet mid-air.

She laughs, breathless. “You are small!”

You flail as she sets you back down, ball already passed off. “That’s rude. I am compact.”

“You are problem,” she says through a grin, nudging your hip with hers.

You stumble, but catch yourself, grinning. “Still man marking though. Pretty sure I’m nailing it.”

She steps closer, that same familiar glint in her eye. “You are not football player.”

“No,” you agree. “But I’m very talented at being annoying.”

“You are… very good, yes.”

And neither of you notice the goal scored behind you, too busy laughing, limbs tangled and rules forgotten just you, Alexia, and the kind of game that doesn’t need scoreboards.

You’re both still half-heartedly pretending to play football, but really it’s devolved into something much sillier wrestling like kids, arms looping and dodging, feet tripping over each other as the rest of the pitch carries on the actual game somewhere in the distance.

You’ve been holding your own surprisingly well, mostly by using the tactic of clinging to Alexia and refusing to let go but she’s sneaky. Smirking like she’s up to something, like she’s winding herself up for revenge, her fingers drift too casually to your side and then disaster.

You squeal, loud, louder than necessary really, it escapes you like an involuntary alarm, sharp and high and completely humiliating, as her fingers graze just under your ribcage. That awful, ticklish spot you forgot even existed until she found it with sniper precision.

You jump back like she’s electrocuted you, eyes wide in betrayal, “Don’t!”

But it’s already too late Alexia’s gone. She doubles over, laughter cracking out of her like thunder, stumbling in a circle before crouching down to the grass, arm wrapped around her middle as she practically sobs with laughter at the noise you made.

You stand there, half horrified, half laughing yourself, cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that funny!”

Alexia gasps for breath, eyes watery, voice cracking. “You scream, like, pequeña rata!”

“Like a what?”

“Little rat!” she manages through tears, curling forward again, face flushed and delighted.

You pout, crossing your arms. “I cannot believe this. You’re bullying me on a field. There are witnesses.”

“No,” she wheezes. “Just me. Just you.”

You glance around none of the others are even paying attention, too busy actually playing. Of course they are. It’s just you two, tangled in your own private chaos on the edge of the pitch.

Alexia looks up from where she’s crouched, wiping tears away with the back of her hand, still grinning. “I win.”

You drop beside her, breathless. “You cheated.”

She shrugs innocently. “Is not in rules. I check.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, leaning back onto your elbows as you breathe in the sunset-warm air beside her, “you keep playing like this, I'll get you back.”

Alexia flashes you that cheeky, dimpled grin. “Promise?”

Patri scores with a clean shot, and the others on the pitch let out a chorus of cheers, but she barely celebrates she throws a hand up, exasperated but smiling. “Look at these two.”

Everyone glances over.

There you are, perched back on your hands in the grass, face tilted toward Alexia, who’s lying on her side next to you like it’s a picnic, not a football game. You’re both in your own world, grinning, animated, lost in some conversation that clearly has nothing to do with football. You laugh at something she says, shoulders shaking, and Alexia’s eyes light up like she’s never heard a better sound in her life.

“You think they know we’re still playing?” Ona says, arms crossed, amused.

“They don’t even know we exist,” Patri replies, shaking her head with a fond sigh. “We could light fireworks over their heads and they’d still be like, ‘Anyway, do you put ketchup on pasta in England?’”

On the pitch’s far edge, you shift your weight and bump her with your knee playfully Alexia nudges back with her foot and you both laugh again. Totally oblivious.

“I’m telling you,” Patri adds, glancing at the others, “we could call full-time, go back to the yacht sail off, and they’d still be lying there an hour from now, pretending to argue about who's more competitive.”

Behind her, Carmen just smirks knowingly. “Leave them. They’ll figure it out.”

Alexia turns her head then, just for a second, catching Patri’s gaze across the field. Patri raises her eyebrows pointedly and gestures at the ball like, hello? remember this?

Alexia waves her off without even hiding her grin, then turns back to you, you’re still smiling, still talking, still utterly unaware of the small audience watching you like a romcom scene they never agreed to be extras in.

The girls come wandering over, the game having naturally fizzled out because honestly, what was the point when their star striker and your half-baked defender were giggling in the grass like it was a sleepover?

Patri folds her arms, looking directly at you, mock stern. “Seriously?”

You blink up at her, all wide eyes and fake innocence. “What?”

She points at Alexia, who’s now lazily tossing blades of grass at your knee like she hasn’t a care in the world. “You told me you didn’t know football.”

“I don’t,” you protest, brushing off a bit of grass. “But you told me to man mark her and I did exactly that. I think I’ve been incredible, honestly. She’s been absolutely useless this entire game. I think you should be thanking me.”

Alexia lets out a breath of laughter beside you, not even trying to defend herself.

“I’m the best defender you’ve got,” you continue confidently. “Better than Ona running around like a lunatic.”

“Oye!” Ona calls out, laughing but offended enough to squint at you. “I’ve been playing two positions!”

You grin. “Yeah and I’ve been playing Alexia out of the game. I’d say we’re even.”

“She didn’t even touch the ball after the first five minutes,” Carmen says, trying not to smile.

“Exactly!” you shrug, “I was just doing my job very well. I was basically Velcro.”

Carmen’s shaking her head, laughing as she throws an arm around Ona. “Honestly, I’m giving Y/N player of the match just for commitment.”

Alexia finally chimes in, glancing up at Patri with a smug little smirk. “She is very... sticky.”

You hold your hand up for a high five. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment. I think”

Ona narrows her eyes playfully. “I will nutmeg you next time.”

“Wouldn’t even notice,” you grin, “I’ll be busy man marking the captain.”

Alexia leans in, voice low with a smirk, “You like to follow me, eh?”

You flash her a grin. “You wish.”

Patri groans. “Dios mío, we’re not playing football anymore, we’re watching flirting with extra steps.”

Carmen’s laughing. “That’s generous. There were no steps. Just vibes and poor defending.”

The sun had started to dip lower in the sky, as the impromptu match fizzled out into nothing but laughs, teasing, and sweat-slicked hair clinging to sun-kissed skin. Someone shouted something about drinks and showers back on the yacht, and slowly everyone began to head for the gate.

You stretched your arms overhead, groaning dramatically. “That was exhausting. I was man-marking the most chaotic player on this field. I deserve an award.”

“You did nothing,” Ona called over her shoulder with a grin.

“I did plenty, I rendered your captain useless,” you said, tossing a thumb toward Alexia beside you.

Alexia, still glowing with that half-smirk of hers, crouched slightly in front of you, glancing back over her shoulder. “Get on, Muppet. You cry too much.”

You blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

She didn’t answer, just wiggled her fingers expectantly and without thinking you grinned, ran a few steps, and hopped onto her back, arms slinging around her shoulders.

She rose with ease, steady, strong, her hands slipping to your thighs to hold you in place as she began to walk back with the others.

You let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re going to regret this when your legs give out.”

“I carry trophies,” she said smugly. “You are lighter than Champions League.”

You tried not to let that go straight to your chest. “Well then, I’m honoured. Shall I sing as we go? Serenade you?”

“Please don’t,” she muttered, but her voice was smiling.

You rested your chin on her shoulder, eyes closing for a second, just feeling the sun on your back, her warmth under your hands, the rumble of her laugh in her chest as someone ahead cracked a joke you didn’t catch.

“Is this a normal hen party tradition in Spain?” you asked, lifting your head. “Kidnap your opponent and carry them to sea?”

“No,” she said. “Just for you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the blush crept up your neck all the same, behind you, Carmen was definitely watching and smiling. A picture secured for future use.

☀️

The sun was melting into the horizon now, all burnt orange streaking across the sea like someone had taken a paintbrush to the sky. The heat of the day had cooled into something softer, and the laughter had quieted down to that mellow kind of content that follows a good meal and too much wine.

You were stretched out along the cushioned area at the back of the boat, legs pulled up, arms folded loosely across your chest. You’d only thrown your bikini top back on after the shower and were still in your shorts, goosebumps forming slowly on your arms with every passing minute. The sea breeze picked up, curling around you and making you shiver slightly not enough to get up and change, but just enough that you rubbed your hands over your arms absentmindedly.

Carmen sat beside you, legs folded beneath her, drink in hand. The others, Patri, Pina, Ona, Jana were still up front somewhere, music playing low and distant. Only a couple of Carmen’s old friends lingered nearby, chatting quietly, a couple of metres away.

Which is probably why Carmen struck now. She leaned in, elbow on the back of the seat. “So.”

You turned your head lazily. “So…?”

She gave you a look, the older cousin one. “Are we going to talk about the fact you’ve been glued to Alexia’s side since she got here?”

You blinked. “Glued is a strong word.”

Carmen arched a brow. “She gave you a piggyback. You’re not ten.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “Okay, that was a little unhinged.”

“And sweet,” Carmen added, voice softening. “Very her, too. She's quiet, but when she decides to like someone…”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You think she likes me?”

Carmen tilted her head. “Do you?”

You didn’t answer right away. You bit the inside of your cheek, then glanced down at your fingers where they were tangled in your shorts’ drawstring. “I don’t know. She’s fun. Surprising. Funny even though we barely understand each other half the time and it’s been nice... being around her.”

Carmen smiled, her tone gentle now. “That didn’t sound unsure.”

You gave a small, helpless laugh. “It’s just… this bubble. The wedding, the yacht, the Spanish sun. It doesn’t feel like real life.”

“But you wish it was?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to, she reached over, squeezing your knee gently. “Well, if anything were to happen... she’s one of the good ones.”

You smiled, something soft in your chest stirring, before you could say more, footsteps sounded behind you.

You turned slightly Alexia stood at the edge of the deck, a soft hoodie in her hand.

She didn’t say anything as she stepped forward and gently draped it over your shoulders, her touch feather-light.

You looked up at her, eyes wide, and she just said, “You cold.”

Not a question, just a quiet statement of fact you nodded once, lips quirking. “A little.”

She smiled, just barely. “Better.” she sat beside you, her thigh brushing yours.

Carmen, without a word, stood up and slipped away into the shadows of the boat, leaving you two alone beneath the glowing sky.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves of the hoodie, the fabric warm. It smelled faintly like salt, sunscreen, and something distinctly her. It hung off you like a blanket, the sleeves far too long, but you didn't care.

Alexia didn’t say anything, she just sat beside you, close but not overwhelming, the two of you facing out over the sea in a rare, easy silence. You scrolled lazily on your phone, the gentle sway of the boat and the last gold streaks on the water lulling you into a kind of soft quiet that made everything else, London, real life, feel impossibly far away.

She shifted beside you a moment later, sitting forward to grab a cushion from in front of her. As she moved, you got the first clear look at her back tattoos. You tilted your head a little, curious.

“What’s this one?” you asked gently, reaching forward without thinking.

Your fingers brushed her lower back, just along the ink, and you didn’t miss the way her skin instantly prickled beneath your touch goosebumps, but she didn’t flinch or move away.

You ran your fingers lightly over the edge of the tattoo, a detailed little portrait. the lines were delicate, fine, intimate.

“That’s you?” you asked, tilting your head. “As a baby?”

Alexia nodded, glancing over her shoulder. “Mm. Me and my papa.”

You stilled a little. The way she said it, my papa, soft and full of something deeper, something quieter.

“From a photo,” she continued. “I was maybe… couple weeks old?”

You smiled, fingers still resting lightly against her skin. “It’s a beautiful tribute.”

She hummed, a small smile tugging at her mouth, but she didn’t speak. You didn’t ask more, you just let your hand fall gently away, giving her space, but your knee bumped hers again like a silent reassurance.

She sat back again, hugging the cushion to her chest this time, the hush between you settled like a blanket, you sat still, scrolling idly on your phone, though your attention wasn’t really on the screen. The hoodie helped, but your legs were still curled tight to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. You were colder than you wanted to admit, but you didn’t say anything, didn’t want to ruin the quiet.

But Alexia noticed, of course she did. She shifted slightly beside you, and without a word, her hands touched your knees, nudging them gently. You let her move you, slowly, without hesitation, until your back pressed lightly into her chest, your body guided to rest between her legs. She was warm against you, solid and unhurried, and she wrapped her arms around you without asking, one resting across your stomach, the other looping just under your shoulders.

“You’ll be warmer like this,” she murmured, her voice low against your ear.

You exhaled softly, something unspoken settling in your chest, “Is this part of the captain’s duties?” you teased, voice quiet, eyes still fixed on the water.

“Only… special cases,” she replied, her English slow but sure, the smallest smile in her voice.

You could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing behind you, the faint brush of her knuckles against your side. You leaned back just a little more, letting yourself melt into her, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands now, her warmth seeping into your skin, your chest, your thoughts.

From the far end of the boat, tucked in a corner of the upper deck just out of view, Carmen leaned against the railing with a glass of sangria in hand. Patri stood beside her, sipping hers more slowly, while Ona and a couple of the other girls lounged nearby, all of them speaking in quiet voices now that the sun had dipped and the air had settled into a cooler, calmer stillness.

Their attention wasn’t on the water, or the music, or even their own conversation anymore. It was on the back of the boat, on the two of you.

You, leaned into Alexia, her arms wrapped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her chin rested lightly against your shoulder, no kissing, no obvious display just quiet closeness. The kind that said more than loud affection ever could.

“They’ve been like that for almost half an hour,” Ona whispered, smiling into her drink.

“She looks so smug,” Jana muttered playfully. “Like she won something.”

“She did,” Carmen said under her breath, but there was a fondness in her voice.

Patri glanced at her. “They both did. Not that either of them would admit it.”

Carmen huffed a laugh, brushing her fingers over the rim of her glass. “You know what’s funny? They both really like each other… and yet somehow both are completely convinced the other doesn’t.”

Patri raised an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to both of them about it?”

“I don’t need to. You can see it.” Carmen gestured with her glass. “Y/N acts like it’s just wedding bubble magic and Ale? She’s all nerves under that whole too cool to care thing. We've known her for years when have we ever seen her like this with anyone.”

Ona gave a knowing smirk. “She didn’t even bring her phone to dinner. You know how rare that is?”

“She’s pretending to play it cool,” Carmen said, half-laughing. “But then she shows up with her hoodie, sits behind her like a human radiator, and acts like that’s normal.”

They all looked over again.

Alexia was now leaning in slightly, saying something low near your ear. You smiled, eyes closing briefly as you shook your head in amusement. Whatever she said, it made you laugh soft and genuine. She rested her chin back on your shoulder, her eyes still on you like she was watching something she couldn’t quite believe was real.

Patri tilted her head. “You think either of them will say anything?”

Carmen let out a quiet sigh, eyes never leaving the two of you. “Honestly? I don’t know, but I hope so. They look like they forgot the rest of us exist.”

“Yeah,” Ona agreed, almost wistful. “They look happy.”

☀️

The night had fully draped itself around the yacht, the stars scattered across the sky, the only sounds now the gentle lap of the water against the hull.

The others had gone to bed or slipped inside, but neither of you had moved. You stayed out at the back of the boat, still resting against Alexia who was know laying down, her ribs your pillow. The string lights above cast a warm glow across her face, softening the sharp lines, making her look almost unreal. She still hadn’t asked for her hoodie back, and you had no plans to give it up.

“You’re very quiet,” she said suddenly, her Spanish accent curling around the words.

You looked over at her, the smallest smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just shy.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “No. No shy. Liar.”

You laughed, shifting slightly so your knees brushed. “I’m not lying. I’m just… mysterious.”

She leaned in a little, eyes narrowing like she was studying you. “Mysterious. Hm.”

You nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Deep, complicated, unreadable.”

Alexia hummed, unconvinced. “No. You are… how do you say…” she paused, thinking, then pointed a finger at you, “Trouble.”

That made you grin. “I’ve been called worse.”

Her smirk widened, and she looked far too pleased with herself. “You like when I call you that.”

“You call me a muppet most of the time.”

“Because you are.” She shrugged, casual, but her eyes were gleaming. “But… pretty muppet.”

You gave her a look, trying not to laugh. “Wow. That’s the smoothest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Wait,” she said, holding up a finger. “I have better.”

You leaned in, amused. “Do you?”

Alexia shifted so she was facing you more directly. “Tu… eres muy bonita.”

You blinked, smiling slow. “That’s the same one you wouldn’t translate last time.”

She just gave a lazy shrug. “Still won’t.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“You already know.” The air stretched between you, electric and easy all at once.

“I think you like being mysterious too,” you said softly.

“I think…” she began, then reached forward to tug playfully at the hoodie sleeve, “you like me.”

You raised a brow, pretending to consider it, lips barely hiding your smirk. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she echoed, mock-offended, hand to her chest. “After you stole my hoodie?”

“You never stole it,” you said, nudging her leg with yours. “You gave it to me."

She grinned, leaned up on her hands, your head naturally moving to rest on her stomach. “Still counts.”

You tilted your head, letting your eyes linger on her. “What are you going to do if I don’t give it back?”

Alexia’s gaze flicked to your lips, then up to your eyes. “I come to London.”

Your heart stuttered but you didn’t let it show, you only smiled wider. “Just for your hoodie?”

“Maybe.” She grinned, eyes dancing. “Or maybe for the trouble.”

You leaned back beside her, bumping her shoulder. “You’re such a flirt.”

“You love it,” she said, barely above a whisper and God help you, because you really did.

The hours slipped by unnoticed, as if time had stepped back to give the two of you space.

You and Alexia stayed there, tucked into the back of the boat beneath the stars, the yacht swaying gently on the dark sea. The air had gone cool but not uncomfortable, and you were still wearing her hoodie, legs pulled up beneath you as you sat facing her, a blanket shared between you.

The flirty energy had quietened into something softer intimate, you’d both stopped trying to impress each other. You were just talking, learning, listening.

She spoke slowly, sometimes pausing to find the English, other times slipping into Spanish when her emotions outran her vocabulary and you didn’t mind. You were patient, you’d ask again if you needed to, or you’d just watch her hands move as she tried to explain. Sometimes the way her eyes lit up said more than her words could.

She told you about her family how close she was to her mum, her sister, the memories that came sharp when she talked about her dad.

“I was eighteen,” she said, staring out at the water, her voice quieter now. “He… he loved football. He is why I love football.” She glanced over at you. “He never see me play for Barça, he love Barca, he wanted me to play for Barca”

You didn’t interrupt, just gently reached out, your hand brushing over hers where it rested between you.

“But… I feel him,” she added, tapping her chest lightly. “Always.”

You nodded, your throat a little tight. “I think he’d be proud. Probably wouldn’t believe what you’ve done.”

She smiled, soft and knowing. “Sometimes, I don’t believe.”

Then she told you about when she was little playing with boys in the street, ruining shoes, getting in trouble for coming home muddy. About her first time putting on a professional jersey, about the World Cup both the heartbreak and the victory. How it felt to wear the armband for Barcelona.

“You make it look so easy,” you murmured.

“It’s not,” she said honestly. “But… it’s my life.”

You admired that about her how she never glamorised it. She wasn’t chasing fame, it was about the game, the work, the love, to you it came across that the fame was a burden she bore to enhance the game.

Between the heavier parts, there were moments of laughter, she told you a story about her first red card how it was completely unnecessary and she’d gotten sent off because of a stupid tackle when they were already winning by four.

“I was… how do you say… idiota.” She laughed, rubbing her hands over her face.

“You still are,” you teased. “But like, in a charming way.”

Her smile came easy now. “Muppet.”

Eventually she leaned her head back, eyes closed as she breathed in the sea air. “It’s late.”

You nodded. “Very.”

“Still want to talk.”

“So do I.”

Alexia cracked an eye open and looked at you, her voice a little hoarse now from hours of talking. “You make me… feel calm. It’s… strange.”

You smiled, your hand finding hers again without thinking, “Not strange,” you said. “Just rare.” You don’t know how it happened but at some point, you both burst into quiet, tired laughter, faces lit by the first pale strokes of dawn brushing across the sea.

“The sun is rising,” you whisper, eyes wide with disbelief as you glance out toward the horizon. “We’ve literally talked the entire night.”

Alexia leans her head on your shoulder, yawning softly. “Oops.”

You laugh again. “I can’t believe neither of us noticed.”

She turns slightly, "I never see sunrise before,” she says, like it’s nothing, like she hasn’t just dropped a little bomb into the moment.

You pull back slightly, looking at her. “Wait. Never?”

Alexia shakes her head, sleepy eyes blinking. “Always… sleep. Or travel. Or game. Never this.”

You gape at her, exaggerated. “You’ve never stayed up and watched the sun rise?”

She shrugs. “Maybe from plane. But not… like this.”

You glance back at the soft glow pushing up over the edge of the sea, golden light washing everything in soft, dreamy colour. The water glistens, the world still, quiet, and unreal. “Well,” you say gently, nudging her side. “Now you will.”

You lay in silence for a few minutes, shoulders touching, eyes fixed on the horizon. Eventually, Alexia lets out a sigh so relaxed it almost sounds like a lullaby. “This is nice.”

“It really is.” You glance at her to find her blinking slower, lashes heavy over her eyes. She’s trying to stay awake, but failing beautifully. She tilts further toward you, head resting just beside your shoulder as she moves to lay on her side. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, even though your own eyelids are heavy now too.

“I stay… for sunrise,” she mumbles, already halfway gone.

You smile, your cheek resting on your own shoulder toward her, the suns slowly climbing higher, but your eyes flutter shut. There, in the soft orange glow of a brand new day, with Alexia’s slow, steady breathing warming your shoulder, you both fall asleep, the sound of the sea your lullaby.

☀️

The sound of footsteps and soft chatter starts to filter into your half-dreaming mind, but you're too comfortable too warm and weightless in the cocoon of Alexia’s arms to really react.

Up the steps come Carmen, Patri, and a few of the other girls, all blinking against the light and clutching coffees in oversized mugs.

Carmen stops first, mouth parting in quiet disbelief as she nudges Patri. “Are you seeing this?”

Patri follows her gaze and lets out a sleepy laugh. “No jodas… they’ve been there all night?”

“Still in the exact same spot,” Ona adds, sounding both amused and concerned. “Have they moved at all?”

“Nope,” says Pina, peeking around Carmen. “Same position.”

Carmen crosses her arms, a wide grin forming as she takes in the sight of you, curled gently away from Alexia, her arm wrapped securely around your waist, her head nestled perfectly behind yours. There’s a cushion half-draped over both of you and her hoodie still snug on your frame.

“I said they liked each other,” Carmen mutters, shaking her head. “They just don’t believe it yet.”

“Should we wake them?” Patri asks, raising an eyebrow.

Carmen smirks. “Let them sleep. They’ve clearly had more important things to do than sleeping anyway.”

“Talking?” Ona suggests.

Another round of quiet laughter rolls through the group as they move quietly past, trying not to disturb you. But one of the girls, Jana probably whispers a little too loud,

“I give it two days before they finally kiss.”

Still half-asleep, Alexia shifts a little behind you, burying her face more against your shoulder.

You mumble, barely conscious, “Is someone talking?”

“Shhh,” Alexia says, her voice groggy but affectionate. “Ignore. Dreaming.” And with that, you both drift right back off, leaving the girls now above deck in collective awe and maybe a little smugness as they head for coffee and breakfast, quietly placing bets on how long it’ll take for the two of you to finally admit what everyone else already knows.

☀️

The sun is high and unforgiving now, glinting off the calm sea and warming every surface of the yacht. You step out from below deck in nothing but a bikini, your hair piled messily on top of your head, sunglasses half-slipped down your nose as you squint into the light.

Patri's the first to spot you and waves you over. “You finally ready for the day, sleeping beauty,” she grins, sipping her iced drink.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I blame your captain. She talks so much.” You stretch your arms overhead with a quiet groan, and the motion draws more than just a few eyes not that you notice.

You walk over and join Carmen, chatting softly as the two of you start to wander toward the front of the boat, leaving the others behind, but the others are watching.

Patri’s smirk is practically feral as she nudges Alexia, who hasn’t even tried to hide the fact that she’s staring and not in a subtle way, no, Alexia’s eyes have been shamelessly following the sway of your hips, the line of your spine down the middle of your back, the way your laugh lingers in the air behind you.

“She is walking away,” Jana mutters behind her shades. “You want to follow with tongue dragging or...?”

“Shut up,” Alexia murmurs, finally blinking and tearing her eyes away.

“She’s hot, we get it,” Ona adds, grinning. “But so are you. Go talk to her.”

“I did talk,” Alexia says, crossing her arms like it’s a winning argument.

Ona, lying stretched out in the sun nearby, scoffs, “You fell asleep with her. That counts as more than talking.”

“It was just… talking,” Alexia mutters, cheeks pinking.

“No, no. That was emotional intimacy, amiga,” Patri chimes in. “You two are dangerously close to soft launch territory and you haven’t even kissed her yet?”

“She’s British,” Alexia argues weakly, still watching the direction you walked in. “They flirt like… like joke. You know? Maybe it’s not real.”

Patri squints. “She literally fell asleep in your arms and was walking around in your hoodie like it’s her favourite possession.”

“She’s not wearing the hoodie right now,” Alexia says quickly.

Pina raises a brow. “But you noticed.” That shuts her up Patri leans in, serious now. “Ale, she’s not playing with you. I saw how she looks at you. If you like her… just do something.”

Alexia hesitates, glancing again toward the bow of the boat where you and Carmen have disappeared behind the sunshade and she doesn’t say it out loud but her mind is already made up.

She just needs the right moment.

☀️

You’re sat on the curved white cushion at the very front of the yacht, knees pulled up loosely to your chest, sunglasses still perched on your nose as the wind tousles strands of your hair. Carmen lies next to you, propped up on one elbow, eyes scanning the horizon but her attention keeps flicking back to you.

“You’ve gone quiet,” she says, nudging your foot with hers. “That usually means something’s brewing.”

You shrug, smiling faintly. “Just thinking.”

“About football?”

You snort. “When have I ever been thinking about football?”

She raises a brow. “About a footballer, then?” You give her a look, biting your lower lip to hide your smile, Carmen laughs knowingly, tipping her head back. “Right, there it is.”

“It’s stupid,” you murmur, fingers tracing absent circles over your shin. “We barely know each other. It’s all wedding magic and sea air and too much rosé. That’s not… real.”

Carmen shifts a little closer, eyes narrowed in mock scolding. “Don’t be thick. You think I haven’t seen the way you two look at each other?”

You roll your eyes behind your glasses. “We flirt. That’s not the same thing.”

Carmen tilts her head. “No, but the way she looks at you when you’re not even talking! That’s not just flirting.” You fall silent, staring out to sea. You hadn’t thought anyone had noticed. You didn’t think she would actually, “She told me she’s nervous,” Carmen continues gently. “Which is wild, because I’ve seen her captain Spain in a World Cup and she didn’t blink, but with you? She’s clueless.”

Your stomach twists in that infuriating, wonderful way it always does when Alexia’s name comes up now. “So what do I do?” you ask, voice quieter, unsure.

Carmen smiles. “Be honest. She’s not going to risk something unless she knows it’s safe.”

You exhale, leaning your head back against the sun-warmed railing behind you. “She makes me feel like a teenager.”

“That’s probably a good sign,” Carmen says, nudging your foot again with hers. “Or a terrible one. Either way, you’re in trouble.” You laugh despite yourself, Carmen grins. “And now I’m going to leave you right here so you can figure out what you want.”

You glance sideways. “You’re abandoning me?”

“Absolutely,” she says, standing up and stretching, “I’ve done my part. I’m going to pretend I need a drink and let you sit with your feelings.”

She pats your shoulder, dramatic like she’s imparting some ancient wisdom, and walks off, leaving you alone with the breeze, the sun, and a head that suddenly feels too full.

You pull your sunglasses back down and lean into the railing again, watching the water sparkle.

Something makes you glance over your shoulder just a flicker of instinct, Alexia’s there, by the side rail on the mid deck. She’s got a bottle of water in one hand, talking casually with Ona and Jana, but her eyes flick to you and linger. Only for a second. Just enough for your breath to catch, then she looks away with a small smile, brushing hair behind her ear as she says something to Jana, and you watch the way her shoulders shake lightly with laughter.

☀️

The sun is at its highest point in the sky now, casting everything in a warmth, glittering across the waves around the yacht. The music has mellowed, some of the girls are dozing in the sun or sipping drinks, and you’re back near the railing, lazily watching the sea roll beneath you.

You hear the soft patter of feet before you feel the light splash of water flicked your way.

“Hey,” Alexia says, her voice a little breathless. She’s slightly damp, her hair messy from the salt water, a towel thrown over one shoulder. “Come swim.”

You tilt your head. “Your friends stop playing with you?”

She shrugs, smirking. “Yes. Jump with me.”

You glance at the ocean, then back at her. “You’re not gonna throw me in or something stupid, are you?”

Alexia holds up both hands innocently. “I swear. Together. Come.”

You hesitate for only a second. “Fine, but if I belly flop it’s your fault.”

Alexia laughs. “No belly flop. I teach you perfect jump.”

You both climb to the top deck railing, she stands close, shoulder brushing yours, both of you looking down at the water below.

“On three?” you ask, your heart kicking up.

She grins. “Uno, dos… tres!”

You jump. For a second there’s only the sound of rushing air, then the cold, wild shock of the sea and it swallows you whole. You surface with a gasp, blinking away water, laughing breathlessly as you smooth your hair from your eyes, but she’s not next to you.

You spin in the water, treading, scanning, “Alexia?” Then you feel it her hand grabbing your thigh underwater, lightning quick. You yelp, nearly jumping out of your skin and suddenly she bursts up in front of you, close, eyes bright, laughing with reckless joy.

“Muppet!” she says between laughs, wiping water from her face. “You scream like little child!”

You swat water at her. “You psycho! You scared the life out of me!”

Her grin only widens. “Worth it.”

The two of you float closer together, feet kicking lazily beneath the surface, the water cradles you both, the laughter fades, leaving behind the hush of waves and your quiet, steady breaths.

Alexia floats closer, eyes never leaving yours. You don’t speak neither of you needs to. Her hand finds your hip beneath the surface, fingers light but certain, and your breath hitches.

There’s a stillness between you now, a moment stretched thin like glass, you glance down her mouth, then up again and she sees it.

Her brow lifts a fraction, asking permission without words and when you don’t pull away, when your fingers lightly skim the water between you, her head tilts forward until her lips touch your own.

The kiss is slow, warm, her lips soft and unsure at first, like she can’t quite believe you’re letting her, but then she deepens it, just slightly, and it feels like you’ve never been kissed properly before this.

There’s nothing urgent, nothing messy, just the sun, the sea, her hand on your hip, and that one perfect, heart stopping kiss sweet and surprising and unbelievably careful.

When she finally pulls back, eyes still half-closed, she exhales softly like she’d been holding her breath the whole time and you’re smiling.

You’re still close, water lapping gently around you, your heart doing wild, clumsy things in your chest. You try to play it cool, but the warmth blooming across your cheeks gives you away.

Alexia notices instantly, her lips twitch, the corner of her mouth pulling into a soft, amused smirk. “Ay,” she says, voice low, teasing, “you shy now?”

You glance away, biting your lip, trying not to grin. “I’m not shy.”

She raises an eyebrow. “No?” You shake your head, even though you absolutely are. Alexia hums, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, fingers feather light against your cheek. “Muppet… you are very red.”

You splash water at her face. “I hate you.”

She wipes her face dramatically, laughing. “No, no… no you don't.”

You squeal as a splash of water hits your face way too aggressive to be accidental. “Alexia!” you cry, laughing as you swipe water from your eyes, spinning in the sea. “I’m literally not bothering you!”

She’s already grinning, smug, floating a few feet away now with her brows raised like she’s done nothing wrong. “What? I swim. The water is free.”

“You’re so annoying.”

Before you can splash her back, she darts forward, faster than you expect, and suddenly both her arms are around your waist from behind after she turned you, lifting you slightly in the water as you shriek and kick.

“Muppet, stop crying,” she laughs in your ear, holding on tightly while you flail in her grip. “So dramatic.”

“You’re a menace,” you giggle, wriggling but not really trying to get away. “I’m gonna drown and it’s gonna be your fault.”

“You don’t drown. You float,” she says, her lips brushing close to your temple, voice warm with laughter. “You float and complain.”

You laugh harder, leaning back into her slightly, your hands resting over hers as she holds you above the gentle sway of the sea. The water sparkles around you, her chest pressed to your back, both of you breathless and giddy.

She rests her chin on your shoulder for a beat. “You’re really fun,” she says, more quietly this time, like it slipped out by accident.

Your smile softens. “You’re really annoying.”

Alexia just squeezes you gently in response. “Still… you don’t let go.”

You’re still in her grip, laughing and kicking lazily, the warmth of her breath near your ear making it far too easy to forget you're supposed to be retaliating.

So, you strike. Quickly twisting in her arms, you push down on her shoulders and dunk her under with a triumphant shout. “That’s what you get!” But the moment her head disappears beneath the surface, something shifts. You know that you’ve made a huge mistake, you feel it a second later, her hands sliding firmly up your legs under the water, gripping your thighs. Then your hips and waist, she uses your body for leverage and shoots up with shocking strength, resurfacing right in front of you, water dripping from her face, eyes sharp and locked on yours.

Your breath hitches, because you felt all of it, every inch of her touch. The way her fingers trailed, the way your skin lit up like fire when she moved. Alexia’s close now you’re treading water but it feels like you're floating without control.

She pushes wet hair back, smirking. “Bad move, muy mal.”

You’re still catching your breath, blinking at her. “I… yeah. Regret.”

Her grin spreads, lazy and far too knowing. “You okay, muppet? You look…”

“Don’t say it.”

She leans closer, brushing her nose against yours playfully. “Nerviosa.”

You groan, half embarrassed, half giddy. “I hate you.”

She hums like she doesn’t believe you at all and she’s right, because right now, all you want is to dunk her again… or kiss her again, maybe both.

☀️

You’re sprawled out on the lounger, sunglasses on, drink in hand, all the ingredients of relaxation at your disposal and yet, you are absolutely not relaxed.

The girls have discovered the makeshift shower hose at the back of the yacht, and one by one they’ve started copying your photos Carmen was taking from earlier. You watch them giggle and pose dramatically under the stream of water, the whole scene chaotic in the most endearing way.

But now it’s her turn, you’d clocked Alexia’s bikini hours ago, burnt orange, minimal, and devastating but now, standing under the soft arc of the shower hose at the back of the yacht, she’s basically committed a personal attack.

Your stomach tightens, you sip your drink, but it might as well be sand with how dry your mouth suddenly is.

She moves slowly at first, fixing the hose, laughing as Jana gives her chaotic instructions in a mix of Spanish and Catalan. You watch a droplet run down the slope of her collarbone, between her breasts, and lower, okay, yeah, this isn’t just heat from the sun.

Her front is mostly to you, all smooth skin and muscles shifting gently beneath golden tan, the curve of her waist impossible to ignore. The bikini bottoms sit low on her hips, and the top, it clings in a way that makes you cross your legs without thinking.

You can’t look away, like your brain is gone and all that’s left is instinct and want.

You fan your neck with your free hand, entirely defeated by how smug she somehow looks while doing absolutely nothing. Her stance is casual, but confident one hand lost in her hair, the other adjusting the water flow, the tattoo on her ribs catching glints of light.

It should be illegal and then her laugh rings out, husky and sudden, like someone had said something actually funny, you feel that sound. Deep in your chest, like a ripple of heat.

Carmen catches your expression, you glance at her, and she just raises her brows like, yeah. I know.

You flush, but don’t deny it. How could you? The woman looks like she was carved by Mediterranean gods and dipped in sunlight and now she’s refusing to smile for the camera.

You sit up a little straighter, pressing your thighs together and calling out, “Smile, Alexia!”

She doesn’t, just tosses you a glare over one perfect shoulder, eyes shaded by wet strands of hair, the sun catching the droplets still clinging to her skin.

She doesn’t smile, so you make her. “Alexia, smile, it’s cute!” you call again, biting your lip as she visibly tries to suppress it. Still nothing, you swing your legs off the lounger, leaning forward. “You're cute when you smile!"

Still nothing and so you do it, loud and unapologetic, with all the flair of a karaoke queen with no shame,

"Hey sexy lady, I like your flow, your body's bangin', out of control!"

The girls burst into laughter Patri actually collapses against the railing Alexia turns, giving you the most unimpressed look she can muster but her mouth twitches, the corners betray her and there it is, the smile, soft, beautiful and real.

It curls across her face and your heart actually skips. You soak it in, her lips, parted slightly, the dimples you hadn’t let yourself stare at too hard before, the gentle crinkle at the corner of her eyes.

You want to bottle the image, or maybe frame it, or possibly throw yourself overboard to cool off. She shakes her head at you, the hose forgotten. “Muppet,” she mutters, that smile still dancing there like she can’t get rid of it even if she tried.

You grin, cheeks burning, probably blushing head to toe, she turns back to pose, more relaxed now, a little sassier, and maybe her next smile is for the camera, but you swear the one before it was just for you.

Jana’s still directing, crouched low to get the angle just right, Alexia tipping her chin, shifting her weight like she doesn’t know how good she looks which somehow only makes it worse.

She’s standing under the shower again, rinsing off salt and sun, water gliding across the dip of her waist, tracing the lines of her abdomen, catching on the hem of her bikini bottoms.

Your throat tightens and it hits you, just like that, what happens after this?

The laughter, the sun, the sweet kisses, the way her hand had fit on your waist like it had always been meant to be there. The flirting, the games, the look she gives you when she thinks you’re not watching.

It’s all happening in this capsule of perfect time, but what happens after? After the yacht docks, after the bags are packed, after you’re back in London, and she’s in Barcelona living her life with cameras in her face and teammates who see her every day. You're just the girl she met at a wedding.

You shift your weight, uncomfortable under the weight of a thought you didn’t want to have.

Will I get to see her again?

You don’t dare say it aloud, not to Carmen, not even to yourself.

You feel it instead in the way you try to commit every detail to memory. The way Alexia leans into the sun, half smiling. The outline of her tattoos scattered over her back. The way she laughs when Jana nearly drops the phone.

You want to press pause, to stretch this moment just a little longer, because what if this is the last time?

---

Where do you think these two would meet again?

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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jyunhology · 3 days ago

Text

oh, honey lady ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ smg (m)

summary: when you get stood up and cancelled on one too many times, your friend takes it upon herself to get you to enjoy a night out. but you’re faced immediately with the source of your woes pressed up to another and a bartender who catches on quickly. the latter offers to dance with you; will you say yes?

a/n: have been getting a lot of feels for mingi lately .. i blacked out n wrote this aft watching the recent ateez whodunnit because jesus christ that man looked FINE acting as a bartender.

wc: 6.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! bartender!mingi, softdom!mingi, sub!reader, reader's (ex) bf is a loser, reader lowkey traumatised from her (ex) bf, mingi is very understanding, consumption of alcohol (however, they’re not drunk during the deed, just a little tipsy), grinding in a public space (a club lol), lots of teasing, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, praise, use of pet names (baby, honey, doll), bit of fluff in the middle, clit stimulation, unprotected p -> v sex (pls wrap it up irl), creampie, slight aftercare, mingi is so soft and patient with reader .. ❤️

No matter how much you knew this wasn’t your fault, you still can’t help but find fault with yourself — looks, personality, fashion. You passed it off the first time as something akin to a mistake, a miscalculation with the overtime your boyfriend, Hyunjae, had to do because of his recent promotion.

With mumbled apologies into your hair and fairly enjoyable sex, you thought everything between you both was going to be okay. It was just one dinner date, plus, he made it up to you with a fancy trip over the weekend and several, impressive gifts.

But you think you should’ve known better, because it happened a second time not even a month later, and the cycle repeats itself: sin, repent, and fall back into temptation all over again.

The only mistake you were making was thinking too highly of Hyunjae, assuming temptation was reports and hard work for extra cash, and not having a fucking affair with another woman in the printing room.

By the time the third incident came around, your friend was quick to propose a night out the next day despite your protests, but you know it came from a place of love. With the way she comforted you with memes and funny reels and words of advice, you realised it was the first time you’ve laughed since the supposed dinner at seven.

Ignoring the sinking dread settling in your heart the next afternoon, you shoot a simple ill be out late tonight to Hyunjae before dragging your body out of bed. You moved on autopilot, then, choosing not to acknowledge that he didn’t even return last night, preoccupying yourself instead with picking out your outfit.

And it was easy enough with a clear vision in your head; you weren’t afraid to dress up even after getting together with Hyunjae. This time it wasn’t any different — miniskirt, a cute fitted top and boots — that you already felt a bit better upon arriving at a bar for some pregame. The alcohol felt good, the company was better, and the both of you were already giggling and tipsy when you entered the club.

“Isn’t this way better than crying over that dumbass?” Yunjin nudges you gently before offering you a small smile.

You sigh, “I guess. I just don’t want it to be a recurring thing and make you responsible every time.”

“At least you know your limit now,” She loops an arm around you to keep you close as you two walk deeper into the club. “Still, as much as I love you, it was difficult trying to get you out of the club because you’d only be talking in counts of 8.”

Ever the teasing friend, you nudge her back before breaking into laughter together, heading right to the bar for a lighter drink. It’s buzzing with orders left and right with the (possibly) poor newcomer trying his best to work the counter with all its confusing buttons. But he’s saved by another, a taller, more experienced bartender who was definitely carved by gods.

You try not to gawk, though, feeling guilty even when he shoots the two of you a small customer-service smile. “Give us a minute, alright? We’ll get to ya soon.” The moment he’s turned around, Yunjin shakes your arm excitedly.

“What? What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! Tell me you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Yunjin…” You sigh. “You know Hyunjae and I aren’t broken up—”

“Yet.” She interrupts with that single word and you shoot her a half playful, half serious glare.

“Okay, but, I have no business looking at other people just ’cause I’ve been stood up thrice.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, recognising that it really didn’t sound good out loud.

“Yeah, but don’t you think those are enough times to call things off?” She faces you completely now with both hands on your arms, trying to look you in the eye while you shrink, flustered and a bit embarrassed at how easily you seem to crawl back to Hyunjae.

Because you felt that if you let this go, you’d never feel this way ever again, having someone else walking out your life again like clockwork.

Your fingers tense subconsciously; clenching, unclenching. You settle for taut hands to your friend’s, removing them with the little fight left in you. “Yunjin, can— can we please drop this for now? I came out to forget my boyfriend for a bit, and then I’ll go back home and everything will be f—”

But the universe has other plans for you, conversation cut short from the handsome bartender asking about your orders now.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. What will you two be having?” In the midst of wiping his hands on the towel, he leans over the counter just as Yunjin gives her order, but you swear over the booming music, the bass reverberating, the screamed lyrics, you hear familiarity.

It’s funny how habitual you can become with someone; hearing that same laugh in your skin on slow mornings and during reruns of B99 that you can’t help but search the dancefloor frantically.

You weren’t even sure why you did it, but you think you were chasing that familiarity and safety of having someone even though they were shit at showing up.

But along the desperate scans you do with your eyes, you register that you were simply accustomed to having Hyunjae in your life, accustomed to coming back again to an empty house. Yet, you can’t even remember the last time you said I love you to him.

And always trust your gut, because that sinking feeling from earlier comes back tenfold when your eyes lock onto two people on the floor with bodies leaving no space.

Hyunjae has no qualms about getting caught, his hands roaming all over her body and practically grinding from behind that you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yunjin…” The lights were too blinding, the music now too loud, but you don’t have to say anything to know she’s already helping you onto a bar stool. When she turns to where you were looking, her jaw tightens and wordlessly places a hand on your lower back.

You go through emotions, fast — denial, and then anger and then a hint of sadness. But what you’re mainly feeling is a thirst for revenge knowing he thinks you’re a coward, a girl desperate for love.

Maybe you are, and there’s nothing wrong with mourning what you had. Though, being cancelled on three times within two months and spewing lies about overtime, ignites your resolve easily.

All the while, the bartender watches the interaction carefully, skilled hands still able to fulfill people’s orders, but he’s got you and your boyfriend all figured out. Not that he meant to eavesdrop, though, exchanging a glance with your friend until you raise your head with unshed tears.

“Thought I lost you there for a moment. That your boyfriend?” He nodded in the general direction and had probably used that line countless times, but you give credit where credit’s due; he was attractive and didn’t choose to comment on your glossy eyes.

With semi-long hair, pretty moles and plump lips, you want to enjoy this seat a bit longer, proposing a silly idea as you nod.

“Ex-, now. Do you have any chance to get them both kicked out?” You smile, small and unsure, but he replies with an even sweeter smile laced with sympathy that makes your heart skip just a little.

“No can do. If he’s not causing trouble, our bouncers have no reason to throw him out. Sorry, ladies.” For a moment, he’s back to being professional and tries not to steal glances at you as you blink away tears and attempt to appear unaffected.

He serves the drinks he’s already made, helps the counter boy again with orders until he hears your friend beg again when he comes ’round to your side.

“Oh please, Mr Bartender!” He raises an eyebrow, eyes trained on the both of you while capping his shaker before shaking. You purse your lips teasingly despite your blurred vision and the heat on your cheeks, “She can be pretty persuasive.” God, you didn’t even know what you were feeling at the moment.

He shrugs. “Well, tell you what — I get off my shift in about fifteen, and you’re looking for some retribution. Why don’t we do a little dance of our own?”

With a sigh, you ponder over your cards — Hyunjae might be pleasantly surprised and you’d end up with a hot bartender in your arms to boot. But if this is only going to leave a hole in your heart after everything, what really was the point?

“It’s your call, doll. If you’re still holding this,” He holds up a slim piece of metal that matches the club’s colours with its letters engraved in stark white, “by the time I come back, I’m taking you onto the floor for a dance. Deal?”

It’s dropped into your palm before you flip it over, running a thumb over the debossed name.

“Mingi.”

“You got it.” Mingi gives you a dazzling grin and a wink while you stifle a smile.

You spend the next ten minutes debating your options that you can’t count the amount of times Yunjin had to get your attention back on her. Revenge sounded delicious before.

Now? Now you’re waddling deep in doubt, worried about the aftertaste; all you wanted was to go home and sleep this whole thing off. Even the name tag was weighing heavy in your hand.

But the late nights cooking dinner, sitting alone at restaurants and the sheer indifference Hyunjae’s currently dancing with, did you in.

If you were chickening out only so someone this terrible stays, then you might regret this single night with someone else who already has shown you more respect than Hyunjae ever did.

The music is a bit clearer to you, now, and less suffocating as you call out to the bartender with five minutes left until his shift ends. You play with the pin at the back, unfastening and popping it back into place repeatedly.

“I’ll take a Lemon Drop.” A knowing smile, a swipe of your card, sugar sweet on your lips. It hits great, and with a bit of liquid courage in you, you wait.

Mingi is quick to show up by your side a few minutes later, but he manages to take your breath away all over again with a more casual look.

Jewellery, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt down to his pecs that gives you a glimpse of a pretty little pendant resting nicely on his chest and rings adorning his fingers.

“Care for a dance?” His deep voice up close already has your stomach turning, opening your hand to show how you still had his name tag and he grins. “Keep it for now.”

You barely hear the whisper into your ear, but without any second thought you place your hand in his, the metal of his rings sending shivers right up your arm and down your spine. A faint cheer from Yunjin encourages you on, already feeling the addicting beats of the music playing.

Mingi is considerate above all else, looking back to see if you were still there, clearing a path for the both of you until you’re a few bodies away from Hyunjae. But standing out here now brings another wave of panic and embarrassment.

You were really about to do this, but—

What if he doesn’t like the way you danced? What if he’s a clean freak and would rather not have his hands over your already sweaty sides? What if Hyunjae creates a scene?

The thoughts are never-ending, swirling in your mind until you can feel Mingi’s hand enclose around your other hand, halting you from adjusting your outfit, from scratching at your skin.

It’s hot, too crowded for a dance floor and he knows that you’re nervous again with the increased proximity to your boyfriend.

Without words, Mingi brings your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Is this okay?”

You nod. Bodies beside you cause you to inch closer to him and his hair is so soft. Your tongue tingles from the lemon’s sourness and you want nothing more than to balance it out with his mouth that smells of rum.

“Hey, I realise I haven’t gotten your name just yet.” The smile he has isn’t teasing, cocky, and you manage a small one back. He leans down to get your answer.

“It’s (Y/N).”

“Pretty. Follow my lead.”

And slowly but surely, you get out of your shell as you both lose all formality with the ear-splitting songs. The cocktail makes your hands wander, trailing over his nape, over his broad shoulders. He still hovers.

You don’t know whether it’s Mingi, the dim lighting or the song but you don’t hesitate to force his hands to your sides and he takes it as a sign.

He’s pulling you close until you’re pressed to his front, head immediately going for your exposed neck, and the laugh that escapes feels so different from Hyunjae, so free that you giggle with him.

It turns from wanting to Hyunjae to see you could do so much better to genuinely enjoying your time with the bartender that you don’t register the shock forming on Hyunjae’s face when he spots you just a few people over. Mingi doesn’t miss it, squeezing your waist softly to bring it to your attention.

“B-babe? What’re you doing here?” He acts like he doesn’t even know the girl dancing with him, yanking her off of him as he tries to preserve his dignity. But you knew better — you’ve seen her face at company dinners, on his Instagram story.

“Why are you here?” He sputters out an answer, not expecting you to fight back. Hyunjae’s smaller than ever now.

The bartender resists the urge to scoff at his lack of explanation, about to tell him to piss off when you push at Hyunjae with a finger. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. Witnessing you and the girl you told me not to worry about. Talking crap about overtime just to fuck her in your workplace.”

“W-What? That’s bullshit, where’d you even get that from?!”

Thank God for Mingi’s Lemon Drop, because you shove Hyunjae harder than before, angering the people behind him who push him back towards you.

“Guess you’ll never find out how. Get your shit out of my apartment and leave before tomorrow morning or else I’ll be telling your boss about inappropriate workplace conduct.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes and waves you off, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I hope the job market’s ready for someone who promised overtime hours only to soil the printing room. Keep checking your emails babe.” You purposefully drag out the pet name he likes to use on you, which now sounds cheap and tacky. Mingi can’t help a cackle from escaping, tugging you closer as if you’re his.

And you might just be by the end of this night.

Hyunjae doesn’t bother to one-up the bartender one bit, only throwing Mingi a scowl before elbowing himself through the crowd. Unknowingly, your body relaxes, melting into the other’s arms easily and wanting nothing more than to turn off your brain for the night. It makes Mingi smile.

You’re bolder when the night deepens. It starts with running your hands down his chest and grasping softly at his waist. There’s whispered lyrics into your skin, letting him trail kisses down your jawline to your sternum and you feel like you’re on top of the world.

His body’s flush against yours, tensing and breathing hard. The heat’s suffocating and the kisses sweet, hovering over just where you both need each other desperately.

“Heard you’re a dancer,” Mingi mumbles, sneaky hands going past your hips to your ass and kneads. You laugh.

“You heard whatever Yunjin said? It was one time,” You reminisce about the time you went out for her birthday before getting shit-faced drunk and talking to her only in counts, “and she was struggling to understand what I was saying.”

It takes a beat for you to take the leap. “Want me to show you?”

A pretty laugh leaves his lips, “Your dancing or your innate ability to only talk in eights?”

Fuck, he’s handsome and funny.

“Har-har, very funny.” The moment’s playful but charged with underlying tension that only increases once the song changes. With a hand, you lift his head from your neck, taking advantage of his surprise to turn around.

Pushing up against him, you make sure he’s feeling every part of your ass on him, swaying your hips until you get a small groan from him. Tempted, Mingi places his hands along your waist, helping you grind down on him while arousal pools in your panties.

He’s enamoured with how well you fit against him, even more so when you lace your fingers with his, tugging one up to rest on your chest.

He takes the bait with how you turn your head, boasting your pretty lips with eyes closed. But you’re not letting him get what he wants that easily, finger pressed against his lips.

“Did the Lemon Drop do this, hm?” He’s back on your neck like it’s his home, slurring his words in that deep, deep voice of his that you want nothing more than to hear that for the rest of your life (and hopefully in your bed tonight).

“Maybe.” You can’t help but chuckle triumphantly, but it’s cut short when he suddenly yanks you back to his front; shit, you can feel his hard-on — he’s big.

You subconsciously gulp and pull him closer (not without a mildly surprised “oh”), overwhelmed with the feeling of his chest against yours, of his hips moving in tandem with yours, of his breath on your lips.

“I’m full of surprises, too.”

“That was so corny.” Biting your lip, you try to stifle a smile but it bleeds out past your lips, “You’re lucky I still want to fuck you.”

“Aw, only fuck?” He feigns sadness as he bats his eyelashes at you. That question probably would’ve made you think twice, but with Mingi’s little pout, the vodka in your system and Rihanna in the background, you throw all complicated feelings out the window.

“Shut up, Mingi.”

That elicits a low chuckle. “Gladly.”

He collides with you immediately, lips moulding into yours like two parts of a whole that you stumble a bit from the force. But you waste no time in reciprocating with neediness of your own, tugging him down to you with hands tangled in his black hair.

You could care less about your ex, about Yunjin excitedly texting you from the bar, nor the people around you.

Not when Mingi’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and your pussy’s just desperate for relief that you moan softly into his mouth.

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulls away for air, but he’s already hooked onto your taste, leaving pecks on your lips again and again. His hands rest comfortably on your sides, caressing, squeezing. “Need to hear that in my sheets.”

You mutter a soft fuck before licking your lips, “Your place?”

Mingi hums into your lips, “You have my name tag, baby. It’s up to you,” and grins when he sees you jolt. The pet name affects you. He knows.

Fuck it. You need this man now.

With a quick text to Yunjin, everything that happens on the way to Mingi’s doesn’t exist. The ride was both a torment and a blur when his hand trails so closely to where you need him and his hips adjust uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. You’re so horny that you’re sure you’ve sobered up already.

You lunge forward once the front door’s closed, eagerness undermining both your abilities to remove your shoes, too preoccupied with devouring the other.

Mingi tastes like sage and citrus, a flavour you’ll keep locked away forever; he breaks the kiss reluctantly, and that taste travels down your body, taking his time.

Mingi’s anything but composed, though, larger hands wrapped around your middle while he takes in your scent and sweat, nose pressed against your heaving stomach.

Just a mere bartender, a one-night stand acting like a lover when he fully goes onto his knees and zips open your boots. Torturously, agonisingly slow, and removes them even slower.

By the time the second shoe’s off, your hand has already messed up his hair. You push him to you, he pulls back.

“It’s my time to tease, doll. Patience.” You whine softly in disagreement, letting him plant soft kisses along your ankle, up to your shin and knees and finally your inner thighs that threaten to tighten in his hold.

“Mingi…” You don’t mean to sound so desperate off the bat, but your cunt’s pulsing and the AC’s sending goosebumps all over your skin and possibly the hottest man alive is on his knees in front of you.

“Fuck, baby, I can smell you from here.” Like a gentleman, he helps you to shimmy out of your miniskirt and underwear before tossing it somewhere and you’re suddenly self conscious about being all exposed.

But Mingi simply doesn’t care about decorum as he lifts your leg, prompting you to place it on his shoulder. He marvels at your arousal illuminated by the doorway lighting, stifling a moan.

“Look at you.” Sighing, he plays with your folds, trailing a finger up and down and smirking when he feels you shiver under his touch. “So perfect. All this for me?”

“Y-Yeah, just for you,” Your words are muffled from your hand, trying to hold back your sounds but Mingi isn’t having any of that. He thinks your ex-boyfriend may have something to do with it.

“Let me hear you, alright, honey?” Mingi takes your hand and interlocks it together with his, a promise that you’ll be the star tonight. “We’re safe here, there’s no need to hold back.”

You nod just as he blows into your cunt, making you clench around nothing and he smiles. “For now, let me eat my meal.”

And Mingi eats, convincing yourself that you’ve definitely driven a hole through his shoebox cabinet with how hard you were leaning against it. Your hips buck against his face, tongue flicking over your clit as you relish in the pleasure.

“Oh my G-God, Mingi…” You can barely hold eye contact with him as he latches onto your pussy like a vice, addicted to your taste, your sounds and how you drip endlessly all over his tongue.

“That’s it, doll, tell me how good you feel.” Mingi continues to inch closer on his knees, trapping himself under your thighs as his tongue works wonders.

With an experimental finger, he circles your pulsing hole and pushes in ever so slightly, making you almost keel over from the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi, that feels so—!” Your moans fill his house together with the lewd sounds of your pussy, feeling the vibrations of his hums on your sensitive clit. His thumb plays with it as he comes up for air, adding a second finger easily before starting to pump them with determination.

“That feel good?” He’s brutal in his thrusting, but it’s not even a minute when he returns with his merciless tongue again, swearing that you were seeing stars from this alone.

If Mingi was this pussy drunk, who knows how you’d feel when he’s in you? You tremble at the thought, fingers pulling at his hair until it stings.

But Mingi loves it, loves seeing your eyes flutter close and your toes curl in sheer pleasure as the prettiest mewls fall from your lips. You’re full on grinding into his face now, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, while there’s the audible slick sounds of your juices.

It’s hotter than it was on the dance floor, and fully knowing you’d be buckling to the ground if it wasn’t for Mingi’s secure hold on you. Because you can feel yourself getting weaker and weaker the more the coil in your stomach turns, clamping down hard on his fingers.

“I-I’m close, baby—” Your words slip, every part of your body tingles and he pants out a plea.

“Call me that again for me, doll.” He’s ravishing you, ruining you for any other person and you wouldn’t have it any other way. His rings feel so cold on your cunt, while his mouth’s hot and he’s dizzy off of you.

“Gonna cum, baby,” If your friend couldn’t understand you while drunk, Mingi’s chest puffs with pride making you babble nonsensical things while you’re both tipsy with his name being the only coherent thing, “Mingi, Mingi, Mingiiii.”

The name becomes a chant together with needy whines that’s drowned out by your soaking pussy. Mingi lets the force of his palm stimulate your clit instead, and the visual of seeing him on his knees with this tongue out—

“F-fuck…” Your orgasm hits you in sudden waves, sending you jerking against his hold even when his fingers don’t slow down, “Feels s’good, Mingi—”

“There we go, baby, keep cumming… Taste just like honey.” Mingi groans and drives his tongue along your folds for a taste, but now he takes and takes, savouring whatever you have to give. Sweeter than his Lemon Drop, you taste so heavenly that he wants seconds.

But you have other plans, trying your best to regain your balance and simultaneously drag him up by the biceps. Mingi traps you in between the cabinet, and you trap him with a passionate kiss. Moaning into his mouth at your taste while he soothes your aching thighs with his gentle touch.

“Bed. Now.” Your cheeks warm as he laughs against your lips at your request.

“You got it, doll.” With a hand outstretched, you grab hold and let him lead you just like the club. Along the way, you slip on your underwear just so you won’t be butt ass naked and he throws you a small smile. Except this time, you’re not performing for anyone, not for Hyunjae, not for yourself, and hopefully not for Mingi.

Though, if riding Mingi’s tongue had you thrashing left and right, you think you’d be safe, knowing he’ll take care of you.

His room feels strangely familiar — posters and records plastered up everywhere with a portable closet and pretty lights. There’s a few guitars in cases with one displayed proudly while his desk is littered with cute trinkets and a gaming set-up. It’s a lived-in bedroom, worn down from years of tape on walls and accidents from silly dance moves.

“Hard to believe I’m an adult with this room, huh?”

You smile at him, finding it endearing he’s still kept his hobbies and favourite things close to him. “No no, it’s charming. I like it.”

You continued, “I don’t think having a ‘serious’ job like bartending immediately eliminates your other hobbies.”

Mingi shoots you that boyish grin again, “You think my job’s ‘serious’?” and mimics your air quotes.

“Well, you are handling alcohol — it seems pretty serious, don’t you think?” There’s no choice but to giggle when Mingi’s expression turns from all-knowing to pondering. “And— And there’s always the usual brooding persons that come in to vent their problems to you.”

Mingi bursts out laughing at that with an attractive rasp to it, plopping on his Queen size. “You’re not wrong about that. I guess I’m sort of like a therapist too.”

Like a magnet, you feel the pull into his arms just as he whispers a c’mere, finally able to see his face properly when you stand in between his legs.

The glistening juices on the bottom half of his face make you flush just a bit, but up close, Mingi feels so familiar. Not the way Hyunjae was — that was habit disguised as familiarity.

But despite your unconfirmed fate and the possibility of never seeing Mingi again, he enchants like no other. Fuck, you were talking crazy.

The other seems to see your dilemma, reaching for your hands. “We don’t have to do anything, you know?”

His touch is so tender, it makes your heart ache, “I know we only danced to scare off your boyfriend but I genuinely did want to know you. And… I know you feel it too, but I don’t wanna pressure you after seeing such a shitty thing in the club.”

“You’re… not wrong, Mingi. It has been only a few hours and you’ve already made me feel more worth than he ever did but, I’ll need time to process my feelings too.”

Slowly, you remove your hands from his but only to straddle him in the next second, whining softly when he tugs you closer if that was even possible.

“But tonight, I want you to fuck all the feelings out of me. I don’t wanna think, I don’t wanna—” You heave a heavy sigh, swallowing when you think back to Hyunjae and his colleague.

Mingi applies light pressure to your side to ground you. “(Y/N), hey, it’s no problem. Your wish is my command, tonight.”

“And after—”

“We’ll talk about the after later, don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout it.” You don’t even realise he’s flipped you over but he takes his time to remove his pants and boxers, ego stroked just a little when he sees your wide eyes at his size.

“You’re…”

“I know, baby. We’ll take it slow, alright?” Mingi is steady even as he reaches over for a condom, but you stop him.

“Wanna feel all of you.” He swears his heart bursts at your cute pout. “I’m clean and on the pill, that okay?”

“More than okay. I’m clean too. You sure you’re okay?” He asks as he tugs your panties to the side, interrupted briefly from your impatient hum.

“Yes, Mingi. Please just fuck me already.” Your voice is less bratty, more pleading, but it strikes a chord within him. He obeys immediately.

“Okay, okay!” His deep laugh elicits one out of you, too. At least you don’t stop him from taking the lube — he spurts a good amount and strokes himself with a soft grunt, mixing in with his pre-cum. Relief. “It’s gonna hurt. Need you to breathe and relax, okay?”

Mingi’s already much thicker than your ex, and you hiss slightly at the stretch once he inches his cock in. But it’s nothing you can take, eyes trained on how he’s pushing through slowly.

“F-Fuck, baby, you gotta stop clenching. So tight—” You whimper at the sight, but Mingi uses his body to push you down, distracting you with deep kisses that subconsciously relaxes your body. His intoxicating smell and presence does the rest of the job.

“Taking me so well, good girl.” He mumbles into your skin as you become obsessed with the way his body engulfs yours, towering but certain.

His pendant’s movements are messy, colliding with your chin over and over but Mingi is just so deep it doesn’t register in your head. “Just a little more, honey, you got it.”

In the next minute, Mingi’s loud groan fills your ears, bottoming out in your walls that feel so warm that he never wants to pull out.

His furrowed eyebrows with sweat lined along it paired with his beautiful parted lips is enough to make your cunt pulse and heart full — making a pretty man like him lose his mind over you, desperation and profanity spilling over.

“M-Move, baby, please—” With a slow thrust of his hips, he has to drop his head to yours because you just feel too fucking good wrapped around his aching length. Both your shaky breaths mingle as he sets a comfortable pace that allows you both to feel every part of the other.

And his languid movements have never felt slower and more intense, the obscene noises of your soaking pussy stuffed full reverberating off the walls. It surrounds you like a cloud, making the feeling, the sensations rise to an all time high.

It’s worse when Mingi folds your legs to your chest, the image of his shaft disappearing into your pretty little pussy searing itself into his brain.

Mingi keeps his promise to you, taking your one-worded pleas and turning them into repeated “ah’s” with no room for any word or any doubt left in your mind. By now, he’s pistoning in and out of you, your release from earlier merging with the lube until both you and Mingi are filthy and soaking, juices flowing down your thighs and right into his sheets.

“You’re so wet, holy f-fuck—” His eyes are the ones struggling to stay open now, drunk off of everything you that he can’t even move his hips properly, stuttering every now and then.

There’s the delicious squelches every time his skin meets yours, the dizzying pap! pap! pap! that hypnotises you. “Listen to how wet your sweet pussy is, baby.”

You’re past words, only babbling incoherence as Mingi grunts above you, continuing to fill you up with his cock. His thrusts start to turn erratic, so lost in the feeling that the grip on your legs loses its hold. You take the chance to wrap them around his waist, barely catching his pendant and yanking him towards you.

“Kiss me stupid, Mingi.” The long, drawn out moan against your lips sends heat bubbling up from inside you. And the kiss he lands on you leaves fire along your skin, burning indefinitely until a particular thrust has your eyes rolling back.

“Cumming— f-fuck—!” It comes out in broken sobs as you see white, cumming so hard on his pulsating length that your juices spray everywhere and your legs shake uncontrollably. The slight sheen along his cock starts to form a ring of white and he whines at your warmth.

Everything — the craving for you, your tight cunt, how you leak all over him — makes him cum right after. “I-I’m gonna pump you full, baby— shit…”

Your eyes can’t help but roll back again at the sensation of Mingi painting your insides white, cum spurting so deep in you that you can feel it flow out. It’s so warm that you squirm as he holds your hips down, making sure your hole gets every last drop.

Without pulling out, he admires your sweaty top that’s been pushed past your tits, your heaving chest and the remnants of your trembling thighs with a lip bite accompanied by a smile.

Silently, he caresses your outer thighs, slowly bringing your feet down to rest on his soaked sheets. You whimper when you feel him pull out, the salacious sight of cum leaking out from your pussy comes out in blobs; it takes everything in Mingi to compose himself.

Because you were utterly fucked out, eyes constantly blinking with a light-headed expression that tells him he might’ve fucked you dumb. Your little sounds are just adorable that he rubs his cum just one last time over your folds, claiming you.

“Okay okay, baby, I got you.” With a peck to your forehead, Mingi promises to come back with a wet rag and some water and the last thing you remember is sage and citrus wafting through the air as he plants a sweet kiss to your lips. “And then tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out, okay honey?”

You drift off easily, but you’ll find that for now and possibly forever, Mingi always keeps his promises.

A dream — you think, when you wake up, but you recognise that the bedroom is not yours and the ache in your body persists. But to your dismay, Mingi is nowhere to be found. Not until you hear faint humming coming from the kitchen and smell the lovely aroma of pancakes.

“Morning, baby.” Mingi says like you’ve always been in his life, like you’ve lived here for many years, like you’re familiar to him.

“Y-Yeah, good morning, Mingi.” Awkwardly, you take a seat at his island, but as you watch his broad back cooking breakfast for his one-night stand, you relax for a bit.

Mingi piles a few pancakes for you effortlessly, sliding the plate to you, followed by the butter and then holds up maple syrup in his left hand and honey in the other. The question is unsaid, but you nod towards his right with a small smile that’s returned.

“Eat.” With a plate in his hand as well, he plops down beside you as if one-night stands don’t complicate feelings and makes things messy.

But Mingi, the bartender, with a pure heart and even lovelier soul (you have yet to discover this), eats a meal beside you like you’re tied together by fate (maybe).

(You are).

Now, his deep voice sounds small, but sure. “And then we’ll talk feelings after. And we can talk about the ‘after’ after.”

A deep breath for good measure and luck. “And also maybe about the date I’d wanna bring you on.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡ also major thank you to this video which made me lose my mind n inspired this...

#ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez scenarios #ateez mingi smut #mingi smut #song mingi x reader #song mingi smut #song mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi hard hours #ateez drabbles #ateez mingi x reader #ateez smut #song mingi fanfic #mingi ateez #mingi x you #song mingi ateez

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carmenlikeme · 3 days ago

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The decision to have a second child with Robby isn't an easy one.

You both want to. Your first baby was and still is your biggest blessing; you would never regret them, and there wasn't a moment when you didn't think about having another baby. At least two children. Three, if you felt like you could survive not sleeping for over 12 consecutive years.

But your first pregnancy had been so difficult for you, you had doubts.

Well, Robby had doubts.

During your first trimester, you were barely able to drink water before wanting to throw up. Dana recommended some anti-nausea medication, and Robby decided to pick up the least amount of shifts he could to make sure you were okay, always by your side, and just right behind you as you collapsed on the tiled floor.

Your second trimester was a bliss, full of cute pictures, early maternity shoots, and an intimate gender reveal where Robby cried his eyes out after finding out he was gonna become a girl dad. Endless purchases and moodboards for the nursery. You couldn't ask for anything better.

Then, the third trimester came, and with that, the early-onset preeclampsia.

You spend most of your days in bed now, just standing up to go to the bathroom, and even then, you're being looked after when you walk, even for a few steps. When you are close to 34 weeks, you both decide to admit you to the hospital for monitoring, and Robby feels so much better knowing you're only a few floors away.

That's why he looks so stressed, speaking to Dana about how you both want it, but you might consider adoption to avoid putting you at risk once more. Javadi is close by, and before she can stop herself, she opens her mouth to speak.

"Dr. Robby, did you know that 13% of preeclampsia cases are attributed to paternal factors? There's this study that says that while women's genetics are the most important, if the father was born from a pregnancy with preeclampsia. It's generally attributed to 13% from the father, there's another..."

"Hey, crash! I need your help!" Santos interjects, pulling her by her sweatshirt and dragging her away against her will.

Robby stands still next to Dana, who isn't sure if she should kill Victoria just yet. He pauses, tries to find something to say.

"Is that true?" he asks.

"What's true?" Samira joins the conversation, a tablet in her hand. "Mr. Murphy is ready for discharge."

"Javadi just said preeclampsia can be attributed to paternal factors," he says, his tone is almost sarcastic.

"Oh, yeah. There are a lot of new studies about that, also about how paternal diet, mental health, and exercise habits can have an impact on a pregnancy. There's also a greater risk of a premature birth if the father is over 45, so..."

The rest of the conversation and the day go by in a blink. Robby goes home defeated. And there you are, the TV is on, but you're fast asleep with your baby girl on your chest. He smiles, and for a moment, he forgets about the thing that almost made him spiral.

You wake up 30 minutes later. He's cleaning, and you're sure there's a new load of laundry already in the washer. You want to stand up, but your baby is just so comfortable there, you don't wanna wake her up.

"Good morning, love," he says when he walks back into the room. He leans in, careful enough not to disturb his daughter, and kisses you softly. "I missed you two."

"Thank god you have the weekend off," you whisper. "She didn't take a nap today."

"Well, she's almost one. She wants to conquer the world, but her body isn't letting her. Now that she's walking, she'll be unstoppable."

He sits next to you, and even as careful as he is, your baby wakes up. Her bright eyes open, Robby immediately grabs her from your chest and pulls her onto his.

"Show daddy your new shirt, baby," you say. She's still sleepy, but immediately cries when she is far away from you. She cries and tries to crawl back to you immediately. "This kid, she wouldn't even let me go to pee for two seconds."

She sits up on your lap, and it's only then that Robby pulls down her shirt to see it. His hand stays there, frozen, as he reads the words over and over again. He feels like choking up. It's like you're both back in your old apartment, cramped in the tiny bathroom as you wait for the pregnancy test results.

Best Big Sister.

He doesn't know how long it takes him to turn to you, but there you are, holding a pregnancy test that says "Pregnant. 3-4 weeks". You're crying, and he doesn't know when he started crying with you.

"Surprise!" you whisper, choked up. "I guess it's happening."

He kisses you again, this time he takes his time, despite how much your daughter babbles and screams. Just for a second, he kisses you like the world is about to end in just a moment.

"I guess it is."

Nothing matters, just for a second. It's just him, you and your little family.

#michael robby robinavitch x you #michael robby robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robby x you #dr robby x reader #dr robby x y/n #the pitt fic #i wanted to make this like a 100 words #so i wrote it directly on tumblr #and this came up #THIS ISNT WHAT I INTENDED EITHER #anyways

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hearts4hughes · 2 days ago

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ೃ࿔:･ rafe defends you at the country club

he slams the door like he’s trying to wake the dead. you blink up from the couch, half-curled beneath a knit throw blanket with a cherry popsicle and an old rom-com playing on low volume. it’s peaceful, calm, your favorite time of day. until rafe storms in, yanks the collar of his white polo like it’s choking him, and mutters under his breath, “fucking doug.”

you raise a brow. “i didn’t know you hated old white men named doug. explain.” you bite your popsicle, staring at him like he’s your girlfriend about to gossip.

rafe looks at you like he forgot you were here. his eyes soften. “you look cute.” he melts when he looks at you.

“don’t pivot.” you chuckle, wiping melted popsicle off your fingers.

he drags a hand through his hair, all messy from golf, and paces around the room. the words are still caught behind his teeth. “he was talking about you.”

you frown. “who was?”

“doug,” he spits. “the one who always wears those cheap-ass loafers and thinks he’s the richest man alive.”

you set the popsicle down. “what did he say?” an uneasy feeling swirls through your stomach. you never liked half the men at the club. they always undressed you with their eyes and muttered nasty things under their breath.

rafe doesn’t meet your eyes at first, just begins muttering it like it tastes bad. “cameron’s got the right idea. keep a pretty one around, they stay quiet if you spoil ‘em enough. i used to have a girl like that. good for your ego. even better for weekends.” he mocks doug’s annoyingly high-pitched voice.

your stomach twists. your face contorts like you’ve eaten something rotten. rafe’s jaw clenches. you can practically hear his molars grind. “and you said…?” you murmur, mentally preparing for whatever bloodbath he’s about to describe.

“i said if he ever said your name again, i’d knock his veneers down his fucking throat.”

you stifle out a laugh and chuckle, “that’s my man” under your breath.

rafe shrugs like he’s trying to play it off. but you can still see the rage simmering just under his skin, warm and wild and utterly feral in its loyalty. “he tried to laugh it off. like it was a compliment. like you’re just,” he growls, “just some thing i let tag along for photo ops. some little doll i keep in the background so i don’t have to listen when she talks.”

you stay quiet and wait. rafe breathes out. his hands are fists at his sides. like he doesn’t know where to put them, only that they want to hit. “i hate that shit,” he mutters. “i hate when men talk like that. like they own women. like a girl’s worth is measured in how well she shuts up and smiles. like you’re disposable.”

you rise to your feet and he looks up. his eyes are dark with rage. his fingernails are bleeding from how much he’d bitten them. his hair is tousled like he was on some rollercoaster. you cross the room slow, until you’re toe-to-toe. until you can feel the heat coming off his chest and see the guilt still hanging in his eyes—not because he said it, but because he couldn’t kill the guy who did.

“i’m not disposable, rafe.”

he nods, quickly. “i know.”

“i’m not here to stroke your ego.”

“i know that too.”

“i talk back.”

“you don’t let me get away with shit.” he smirks. he’s not ashamed of it, he’s proud. he’d tell anyone that asked that—he’s not your boss. if anything, you’re his.

“and i never will.” the sides of your lips curve into a grin. pink floods your cheeks.

his eyes flicker, warm and wrecked. “good.”

you tilt your chin. “so what now? you start a feminist book club? throw hands in the locker room? get ‘respect women’ tattooed across your ribs?”

he smirks, faint. “you’d like that last one, huh?”

“i’d like not having to flinch when i hear my boyfriend’s name at the country club.”

he’s quiet for a beat. he looks at the ground. “i’ll never let them talk about you like that again. i don’t care who they are. money doesn’t make them right. and it sure as hell doesn’t make them safe.”

you hum, soft. “neither do country club memberships.”

he shrugs. “i grew up there. that doesn’t mean i have to become them.”

and that, right there—that’s what breaks you open a little. not the protective streak, or the fact that he came home furious on your behalf. but that, he doesn’t want to be like them. not for money. not for status. not even for safety.

“c’mere,” you whisper. he steps in like gravity, pulling you in by the waist, forehead pressing to yours.

“you’re mine,” he says, so quietly it barely counts as sound. “but not like that. never like that.”

you breathe him in, nod once, and press a kiss to his nose.

#zyafics-mrgacampaign #nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine

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minieskirt · 3 days ago

Text

slightly exhibitionist rockstar!vi who loves when her pretty little femme gf comes to her shows so she can drag you backstage with her (>⩊<) loves when you dress up all cute in skirts or dresses that leave so little to the imagine when you’re dancing or jumping along to the music. when you're hanging out before or after her band performs, she can barely keep her hands out from under your skirt, grabbing a fistful of your ass or letting her knuckles graze your clit through the fabric of your panties just to see your eyes widen with a faint jolt. she's such a big fan of quickies before shows, almost giddy as she's tugging you along with her to the bathrooms, oblivious and uncaring to who else might be in the nearby stalls, not stopping no matter how red your face gets when she starts backing you up against the stall door, mumbling low into your ear, "baby, it's okay. just relax for me, yeah?"

it makes her own cunt throb to watch your ankles go a little shaky as her hand slips into your skirt, thick calloused fingertips finding your folds and dragging your slick up toward your already swollen clit. she's merciless with the way she's switching between finger fucking you and swirling the pads of her fingers over your clit, fast enough you can see the tendons in her forearm flexing. she's high on adrenaline and affection for how you're white-knuckling her bicep for balance, head hitting the stall door with a soft thump, your whiny breaths and the squelching sound of her fingers pumping in and out of your pussy filling the cramped space.

your knees are locked and almost painfully stiff from trying to keep yourself standing up and not buckling every time your hips jerk against her hand, practically dizzy from the speed that she's pulling orgasms from you. you're sure that someone has breezed in and out to actually use the bathroom, heard you whining and moaning so loud your throat's starting to feel hoarse, but you honestly can't bring yourself to care right now. the only thing you can focus on now is the way vi's crowding your space, brushing her free hand over your hair, kissing your sweat-damp forehead, mumbling in your ear what a good fuckin' girl you are for her and promising how much harder she's gonna make you cum next time.

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prettygirl-gabi · 3 days ago

Text

I Am a Spoiled Princess

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings/ UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: it’s clear who really did all the planning… and who just showed up like the spoiled princess she is.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin

If there was one thing I excelled at in our relationship, it was being loved… aggressively and unapologetically. Especially when it came to vacations.

Like this one.

We were currently on a boat off the coast of some turquoise-water island—one I definitely couldn’t pronounce—sun kissing my skin, drink in hand, while my girlfriends made sure I didn’t lift a finger the entire time.

And no, I didn’t plan a single thing.

Well, not entirely true.

I did bring up the idea of a vacation.

That had to count for something.

“Okay, baby,” I grinned, adjusting my bikini strap as I sat on the lounge chair, phone in hand. “Let’s do that trend. The one with the ‘I’m so-and-so and I…’ thing.”

Paige looked up from where she was flipping through the resort’s room service menu. “That trend where couples flex on each other?”

“Yup,” I nodded, turning to Azzi. She was standing by the edge of the boat in a cute cover-up, hair up in a pineapple puff, sunglasses resting on her head. “We’re doing it.”

Azzi smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re about to do it just to brag about how you didn’t do anything.”

“I would never,” I said, grinning and opening the TikTok app.

“Liar,” Paige muttered under her breath with a teasing smile, sipping her drink.

“Okay, so we’ll film clips, and I’ll edit it later. Just trust me, the internet is gonna eat this up.”

Cut to the TikTok:

🎥 “I’m Y/N, and I—”

CUT

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I paid for the flights, got our passports renewed, and coordinated all the hotel transfers so Y/N didn’t have to even look at an itinerary.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I planned this whole vacation down to the restaurants, private boat, and massage appointments. I even found the gelato spot Y/N said she ‘randomly dreamed about.’”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I packed Y/N’s suitcase because she was ‘too tired’ the night before and fell asleep face down on her clothes.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I bought all her outfits—including three bikinis I had to guess the sizing for because she ‘couldn’t decide’.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I ordered her go-to snacks and feminine products for the hotel room without her asking because her period came the day before we flew out.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I coordinated our TikToks, brought the tripod, and made a shared album just for the vacation memories because I know how much she loves archiving things.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I gave her my sweatshirt on the plane because the cabin air was too ‘disrespectful’ for her shoulders.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I spent three hours rescheduling the snorkeling excursion because Y/N ‘felt a vibe’ it was gonna rain on the original date.”

🎥 “I’m Y/N…”

CUT AGAIN

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I carried her through the airport in Turks because her ankles got swollen and she didn’t want to wear shoes.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I bribed hotel staff with WNBA tickets to let us check in early ‘cause she didn’t sleep well on the plane.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi , and I washed the sand out of her hair after the beach day because she didn’t like how the salt made it ‘crunchy’.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I dealt with customer service for three hours because her floatie didn’t arrive in time.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I posted her IG photo dump for her because she couldn’t decide on a caption.”

🎥 “I’m Y/N… and I am a spoiled princess. And I brought up the vacation idea in the group chat, so technically, you’re welcome.”

“I’m just saying,” I said from my throne of towels, fruit slices, and adoration, “none of this would’ve happened if I didn’t casually mention needing a ‘tropical reset’ in our group chat.”

“You said that while crying into your Panera soup after a scrimmage,” Paige pointed out.

Azzi added with a chuckle, “And you sent it at two a.m. with the message: ‘do we even live life if we’re not in bikinis sipping something fruity at least twice a year?’”

“EXACTLY,” I pointed dramatically. “Vision. Leadership. Initiative.”

Paige came over and kissed the top of my head. “Delusion.”

Azzi sat beside me, offering a piece of watermelon to my lips. “But make it pretty.”

I took the fruit and smiled. “See? That’s why I keep y’all around.”

The comments were blowing up.

“NOT THE HARSH CUT AFTER Y/N SAYS ‘I’m Y/N and I—’ 😭😭😭”

“No but Y/N living every soft girl’s dream???”

“This is what it means to be the favorite child and the wife.”

“Azzi and Paige are taking turns raising this one like she’s the royal baby.”

“Y’all sure she didn’t marry into royalty??”

I showed the phone to Azzi and Paige, who were cuddled up with me on the hammock outside our villa.

“Look! The fans get it,” I said proudly. “I am a spoiled princess.”

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly. “Glad they know.”

Paige smirked. “Glad you know.”

I leaned against them, sighing happily as the night breeze swept through.

“Next vacation,” I mumbled. “Let’s go skiing.”

Azzi groaned. “Babe, no. You hate the cold.”

“Exactly. That’s why you’ll carry me down the slopes.”

Spoiled Princess Privilege™ was alive and thriving.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

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althaiareads · 3 hours ago

Text

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

That is 100% something Jake would do and then act all innocent when people get mad over it. 10/10 characterisation.

“Because I know you. I’ve watched you with every guy you’ve dated. Just because I wasn’t the guy doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.”

He's been watching and he's been taking noteeees. I- This is so cute.

“I can’t believe you just told your ex I’ve got a huge dick.” You shrug, one shoulder rising nonchalantly. “You’ve got the ego to match, so I figured I could make an educated guess. Besides, it’s not like Spencer will ever know for sure.”

She's so funny, I love her. I bet Jake loved that.

This was such a fun read! I loved the teasing, the internal conflict, wondering if they want to cross the line from friendship to something else, it's all so real and raw, I loved it. And Jake, holy shit, THAT MAN IS A MENACE, the gray sweats? Yeah, no, she had no chance.

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

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

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

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

word count: 10937

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

Another awkward stretch of silence.

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

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

“See you Friday, then.”

“See you Friday.”

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

What the fuck did you just do?

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “That easy?”

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer is always civilized.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, how are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?”

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

“I highly fucking doubt it.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it almost wrecks you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the plan, anyway.

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

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

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought.

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

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

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

You feel it everywhere.

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

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck are you doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t ask you to come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching.

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

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

BZZZZZZZZZZZT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dreams?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake…”

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

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

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

You don’t answer. You can’t.

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

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

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest.

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

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

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

“Fuck it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wake up warm. Too warm.

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

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

And then... you remember everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not when I’m this right.”

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

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Define right.”

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

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

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

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

You smirk. “Jealous?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock.

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

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

END.

#Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin fluff #Jake Seresin smut #geminiwritten

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jeeseth · 1 day ago

Text

# GABRIELA? — megan skiendiel x f!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ you fell for the nerd. now she’s hot—and obviously gabriela wants her. but too bad so sad megan’s already yours. and gabriela? she never even stood a chance.

˖⋆࿐໋ ( hotnerd!megan x f!rᥱᥲdᥱr ) ── .✦ you might wanna tune in < gabriela by katseye > ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⟡﹒ tᥲgs ﹐ ﹅ ⟢ angst. tiny bit of fluff at the end :D idek the genre atp. non-idol au, college au, nerdy!megan, hotnerd!megan, mention of that stewpid gabriela, jealousy?, kissing, lowkey suggestive if you squint your eyes, lowercase intended, mens dni, grammatical errors .

( ˶°ㅁ°) !! a/n - i’m going insane as i patiently waits for katseye comeback BUT HERE THEY ARE ! so this fic is clearly based on their first comeback and i hope yall like it! i use grammar checker. anyway enjoy :3

megan’s wearing two different socks again.

you notice it halfway through class—her left foot has tiny cats doing yoga, and the right one has pineapples. not even trying to match. and somehow, you think that’s kind of cute.

she’s hunched over her desk, bangs in her eyes, poking at a calculator that looks like it was made in the early 90’s or sum.

"megan," you whisper, nudging her arm. "that’s a scientific calculator. we’re doing stats."

she looks up, blinking rapidly like a baby deer caught mid-crash.

"oh!" then she laughs quietly. "that explains a lot."

you didn’t mean to fall for her. she was just the quiet, weird girl in your class who asked too many questions and carried way too many pens. but then she offered you her last highlighter. and you both got locked out of the lab once and sat on the floor for an hour talking about which disney princess would survive a zombie apocalypse (she said mulan. you said anna. and she obviously judged you).

she wasn’t cool. she wasn’t smooth. but she made you laugh when your life felt flat. and when she finally kissed you under that sad-looking tree behind the science building, you knew. you were gone.

now it’s your third year.

and megan—your megan, is no longer the girl who forgets her id card every other day. she still snorts when she laughs and still can’t really do her eyeliner to save her life. but she’s hot now. confident. witty. everyone looks at her when she walks by. you pretend it doesn’t bother you. you pretend you’re used to it. until she shows up.

gabriela. the new transfer with perfect hair, smooth talker and suddenly, she’s everywhere. in the library where you and megan used to study alone. in your group chats. next to megan in the cafeteria, smiling like she owns the place. you don’t like how she looks at megan. and you hate how megan doesn’t seem to notice it.

"you’re staring again," megan says, bumping your shoulder with hers gently.

you blink, trying to pretend that you’re clearly not staring. "no i’m not."

"yes you are." megan grins, turning her head toward you. "what is it?"

you hesitate, the words catching in your throat before you finally let them out. "gabriela," you say quietly, like just saying her name might shift the mood. "i don’t trust her."

megan looks up from her phone, brows pulling together. you’re not sure what you expect her to say. maybe to agree. maybe to ask why or maybe even nothing at all. but right now, the only thing you do know is that something about gabriela makes your chest tighten and you need megan to know that.

"what? she’s just friendly." megan blink in confusion before she burst out laughing. you don’t laugh with her because why would you?

"she’s not. she wants something. and i think it’s you." megan’s smile fades a little upon hearing you say that, her smile softening into something you can’t quite read.

megan then reaches out and tucks your hair behind your ear. something she always do to calm you down. "then she’s already lost."

you try telling yourself that it’s fine. when it’s clearly not. you’re sitting across from megan at the library table. your laptop’s open, but you haven’t typed anything in ten minutes. why? because you’re too busy watching gabriela slide into the seat beside megan like she’s been doing it all semester.

"sorry." gabriela says, out of breath and smiling like she’s in a freaking romcom. "there were no seats left." that’s a lie. you literally passed by four empty tables on the way in.

megan only took a glance at gabriela before focusing back on her laptop. "you can sit." she says, friendly as ever. you clench your jaw but still nod. whatever. be positive, right?

the next day, gabriela shows up with two iced coffees and she places one in front of megan with a huge grin on her face.

"i noticed you always get oat milk." she says, biting her straw.

you don’t get a coffee. plus you weren’t even told they were meeting. like what? megan thanks her then laughs awkwardly, and then she shoots you a look across the table. one that says i swear i didn’t ask for this.

you nod, trying to stay calm and collected. and suddenly freezing in your own relationship.

day by day, it’s starting to get out of hands. gabriela starts tagging megan in memes. makes a private story and only adds you two. starts borrowing her pens, then her jacket, then you swear you saw her wearing one of megan’s hair clips.

and megan? sweet, clueless megan? she’s still trying to see the good in her.

"she’s lonely." she says one night while scrolling through her phone beside you. "i think she just wants to be friends."

"she clearly wants you." you reply almost immediately.

megan snorts before laughing softly. "stop."

the last straw for now, comes a week later.

you walk into the cafe near campus, holding your breath and a half nervous smile, ready to surprise megan after her class. maybe share a slice of cake, maybe just sit with her for a bit. cute right? but there she is.

megan. sitting by the window, sunlight catching the strands of her hair. and gabriela. leaning across the table her fingers brushing megan’s hand and whispering something that makes her laugh—her laugh. the real one. the one that reaches her eyes.

your heart immediately drops into your stomach. but you don’t storm in. instead, you just watch from the cafe door for a second too long. well, long enough to see the way gabriela looks at megan like she’s already won. like this is all a game.

and in that moment, you realise that this isn’t friendly anymore. gabriela? she’s not playing fair. and worse, she’s playing hella dirty.

it’s one random night where you just can’t seem to shut your brain off. you toss and turn then toss again. your pillow is too hot, the air is too still, and your thoughts won’t shut the fuck up.

you stare at your ceiling like it owes you an answer, but all you get is silence and that heavy, itchy feeling in your chest like something’s off or wrong, crawling under your skin and settling there like it belongs.

gabriela. you don’t even want to think her name, but it’s stuck in your brain like a bad song. you grab your phone and look at the time on your lockscreen. 2:04 a.m.

you hesitate for a second. then type. you don’t care anymore. you need megan.

you : you up meg?

meimei : always. what’s up??

you : can we meet? i can’t sleep.

meimei : see you in 10.

the wind bites a little as you sit on the chipped concrete ledge, pulling your hoodie tighter. you used to come here with megan all the time during your first year. at this skatepark back before things got weird. before gabriela smiled her way into your life like an infection you didn’t catch fast enough.

just then, megan’s headlights flash across the park before she turn off the engine.

"hey." she says, walking over with her usual stupid grin that makes you feel both better and worse.

"hi." you mumbles softly as megan sits beside you. she doesn’t ask why and doesn’t push. she just sits. you absolutely love that about her. but tonight, you need to say something.

"i don’t like the way she looks at you." you mumble quietly but it was loud enough for megan to hear and turns to look at you slowly. "who?"

"gabriela." you sighs before looking at megan.

megan laughs softly, like you just said something stupid like the sky is purple or something. "she’s just friendly."

"no, megan." you say, sharper than you mean to. "she’s not just friendly. she’s everywhere and it’s not normal."

"what are you talking about?" she frowns, a little confused and a little hurt.

"you really don’t see it?" you hate how desperate your voice sounds. but it’s 2 in the morning and you’re so tired and the words are just pouring out now.

"she flirts with you, she touches you, she buys you coffee, she posts about you like she’s already got you—and you let her. you smile and you thank her and it’s like i’m standing there like some background character."

megan looks at you, stunned like you just accused her of robbing a bank.

"i thought she was just being nice." megan says, voice small and soft and it tugs your heart.

"that’s the problem, megan." you whisper. "you always think everyone’s being nice. even when they’re not."

megan stays quiet for a while, picking at the sleeve of her hoodie. "i didn’t mean to make you feel like that."

"i know." you sigh. megan gently pulls you to her and make you leans your head on her shoulder. feels warm and familiar.

"i only want you," she says softly. "you know that, right?" you nod. you want to believe it. but in the dark, with her pressed against you and gabriela’s smirk haunting your memory, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

you’re quiet on the drive back. megan’s hand brushes yours a few times on the gear shift, and each time she smiles it’s like the world is still okay. like your heart isn’t pounding so hardly against your ribs with the weight of everything unsaid.

she parks in front of your dorm building and shifts into neutral. "i wish i could keep you longer." she says, eyes soft.

you smile, a little forced. "you could. just saying."

megan laughs softly. "tempting, but you have a class in six hours and i still have to finish my lab report."

you reach for the door handle—reluctant, tired, still tangled in thoughts. when suddenly megan’s phone, sitting face up in the cupholder, lights up. a text notification.

gabriela : hi pretty, you up? 🩷

then you feel like the time slows. your hand freezes. you don’t even mean to look. you really don’t. but there it is, glowing like a slap across the face.

megan doesn’t even notice it. she’s reaching to turn the engine off while humming under her breath.

you force a breath. "she has your number?"

"huh?" megan turns to looks at you, feeling confused.

you nod toward her phone. "gabriela. she texted you." megan glances down and momentarily freezes. you wait for her to say something else. explain. laugh. anything. but she doesn’t.

"did you give it to her?" you ask, trying to sound calm. your voice comes out small like you’re already bracing yourself for the answer.

megan runs a hand through her hair. "i-i yeah. she asked if we could work on econ stuff together. i didn’t think it was a big deal."

you nod slowly. "right. not a big deal."

"baby…" megan sighs, hands reaching out to caress your thigh. "please don’t do this. it’s not like that."

but your mind’s already going places. its spiraling. because damn it is a big deal. because now she can text her cute nicknames and send stupid pink hearts and megan might just smile at her phone and don’t even realise why it hurts.

you want to say something—something clear, something fair. but instead, your voice cracks "you know she wants you, right?"

silence. megan’s eyes flick down, feeling guilty now. "i didn’t reply." but the message is still there and it’s taunting you.

you open the passenger door quietly and step out. "goodnight." you mutter simply.

megan reaches out but you’re already stepping out, hoodie pulled tight with hands in your pockets.

you don’t slam the door and you don’t cry. you just walk away, trying not to think about how easy it is for someone else to call your girl pretty at 2 in the morning. and how easy it might be for her to answer.

megan’s eyes light up the second you walk into class. you see it. of course you do. that tiny lift of her shoulders, the way her pen stops mid scribble, like her entire body is quietly screaming finally.

but you don’t look at her. you walk past and take your seat two rows behind. no wave, no smile, not even a glance. if she notices, she doesn’t show it. but gabriela does. and that’s the part that really stings.

gabriela turns in her seat just slightly, her lips curving when she catches your cold silence. then of course she leans a little closer to megan. you look away before you have to see her stupid smirk.

megan tries again after class. she lingers outside the lecture hall, waiting to see your familiar face.

"y/n." megan calls once she spotted you. but you just keep walking.

you hear her footsteps behind you, quick and light, trying to catch up to you. but someone says her name. gabriela probably and megan stops. you don’t.

you ignore megan’s texts, leave her on read, respond with "👍" when she asks if you’ve eaten already. because yeah, maybe you’re being dramatic and maybe you’re hurting her. but it hurts to feel replaceable. to feel like someone else can call your girl pretty at 2 in the morning and you’re just supposed to laugh it off?

by lunchtime, megan’s getting way desperate.

you see her walking across the quad, squinting into the sun, scanning the crowd for you. you duck into the side hallway before she spots you. five minutes later, you hear her calling your name again. soft, almost confused. you keep walking.

you think you’ve escaped her for the day, but no. not megan. you’re halfway through washing your hands in the girls’ bathroom. just trying to breathe, honestly—when suddenly the door swings open.

"y/n." you look up and see megan standing in the doorway, clearly out of breath after finding you, her eyes wide and red-rimmed like she’s been holding it in all day. she walks in quietly.

"can you—" her voice cracks. "can you just stop running for one second?"

you don’t say anything. she moves closer, gently placing her hands on your shoulders. "please," she whispers. "talk to me, baby."

"what’s the point?" you shake your head slightly, no you’re not angry. just tired.

"because you won’t even look at me anymore."

"yeah." you snap, sharper than you meant to, but it’s too late to pull it back. "and you barely noticed until now."

megan flinches just slightly, but you see it. the way her shoulders tense. the way her eyes drop for a split second like your words hit exactly where they were meant to.

"you gave her your number, megan." you say, stepping back. "you let her call you pretty. and you think i’m just supposed to sit there and smile while she plays this whole innocent act in front of you?"

her voice trembles. "i didn’t reply."

"you didn’t stop her, either."

you don’t say let’s break up. you just say, "maybe we need space." and megan? her eyes red and shoulders trembling, just nods. no begging. no yelling. just silence. and that actually might hurt more.

she leaves the bathroom first. you wait until the door closes before letting yourself cry.

days pass.

you still see her across campus, in the shared classes you now sit far apart in. she looks smaller, almost like she’s folding in on herself.

you almost want to run to her. but you remember the text. the smirk. the way she looked confused when you told her it hurt. so you don’t.

gabriela, of course, notices. and now that you’re ‘on a break’ she turns it up. first, it’s subtle.

"oh sorry, didn’t know you two weren’t sitting together anymore." she says loudly in class, like it’s some kind of news.

then it’s the coffee. again. the same iced oat milk latte now with a little pink sticky note on it.

you looked pretty tired today, thought you could use this ☕❤️ - g

you don’t drink. for some very obvious reasons.

by the end of the week, gabriela starts worming into your friends. laughs with them too easily, shares inside jokes you’ve never heard before and suddenly, you’re not being tagged in the group’s stories anymore.

one day, you walk into the student union and see her sitting in your usual spot—your seat, laughing with people who used to sit beside you. one of them looks up, sees you, and hesitates. but they don’t say anything.

gabriela does. she waves and mouths "you okay?" so you just turn around and walk out.

it was one random day where you’re sitting alone on the campus bench near the main hall. you weren’t planning to be here. it’s just where your feet stopped walking.

the breeze is cool, but not enough to calm your thoughts. your phone’s been silent all day and even the birds seem to know you’re not really in the mood. you’ve been holding yourself together for weeks now. but today? it feels heavier and lonelier.

you scroll aimlessly on your phone. click your screen off and then on again. still nothing.

elsewhere, megan is watching gabriela laugh with your friends again. but it doesn’t feel so casual this time.

gabriela leans into one of them, whispering. they all laugh. megan watches one of them glance at her, then quickly look away. something twists in her chest.

later, gabriela catches up with megan after class. "megan!" she calls happily, like they’re best friends- no. like they’re lovers. megan stops walking.

"hey." gabriela says, touching megan’s arm. "are you free right now? i wanted to—" but megan isn’t listening.

her eyes flick past gabriela’s shoulder. and then they light up almost immediately upon seeing you’re sitting on that bench with your head down. and suddenly, nothing else matters.

"megan?" gabriela steps in front of her, trying to get her attention. "i said—" but megan doesn’t even look at her. she pushes past, literally brushing her shoulder and walks straight to you.

your heart stutters when you hear footsteps approaching fast. you look up and there she is. your sweet megan looking all winded and flushed. her hand holding her bag like she ran across campus just to get here.

"y/n." megan says, a bit out of breath.

"meg?" you blink, clearly stunned. she doesn’t wait for another word. she just sits beside you like it’s the only place she wants to be.

"i was so stupid." you open your mouth, but megan cuts you off. "no—listen. i thought she was just being nice. i wanted to believe that. but she wasn’t and now she’s trying to replace you. trying to replace us. and i let her get too close. i’m so sorry, baby."

you stare at her. megan’s breathing hard, eyes shining like she’s about to cry.

"i miss you." she says. land i don’t care if you hate me right now. i just need you to know that gabriela never even had a chance. it’s always been you."

you don’t say anything at first. you just look over her shoulder and see gabriela standing in the distance, watching and clearly stunned. exactly how you once felt. you turn back to megan. and for the first time in weeks, you smile again.

you don’t speak for a moment after she says it. megan’s eyes are locked on yours like she’s afraid if she looks away, you’ll disappear.

"you’re really late." you whisper softly to megan. she swallows hard. "i know."

you cross your arms over your chest while looking at megan. "you ignored me while she was crawling all over you."

megan nods quickly, fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie. "i did. i-i’m literally the worst."

"literally?" you raise an eyebrow. "scientifically." megan blurts out. "i ran the numbers."

she opens her tote bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper. you unfold it slowly. it’s a handwritten bar graph titled, ‘times i’ve been an idiot in the past three weeks.’ you snort at it.

"i was going to make it in excel." she says sheepishly, pushing her glasses up, "but you stopped answering my texts so i kind of panicked."

you cover your mouth, trying not to laugh. "you’re such a loser, mei." you mumble quietly but loud enough for megan to hear it.

then megan leans in, hopeful. "but like, your loser?" you look at her. messy hair. anxious eyes. notebook paper graphs and all. gosh.

"yeah. my loser." you says softly. megan grins so wide her whiskers dimples show.

then she reaches into her bag again. "i also made you this." she pulls out a keychain. it’s a tiny pixel heart. "it’s from that game we played last summer." she says, voice quieter now. "the one where you said if we were video game characters, you’d always pick me."

she hands it to you carefully. like it’s fragile. like it means everything.

"so… do you forgive me?" megan asks, her eyes filled with hope. you don’t answer right away though. instead, you loop the keychain onto your bag before standing up and hold out your hand.

"buy me a hot chocolate and maybe i’ll think about it." you say while looking at megan. she stumbles up so fast she almost drops her phone. "yes. absolutely. i brought my punch card. you get a free one if—"

"megan meiyok skiendiel."

"yeah. right. i’ll shut up now."

you take her hand. you’re walking away together when you glance over your shoulder, just once. and gabriela’s gone. and this time, you’re the one who won.

the campus is warm under the golden hour light. you’re walking beside megan, sipping the hot chocolate she bought you. extra whipped cream, because she said you deserved it and listening to her nerd out about something you don’t even fully understand.

"so technically." she says, pushing up her glasses, "the multiverse theory means there’s a version of me out there that never messed up, and we’ve been together the whole time."

you raise an eyebrow. "so you’re blaming parallel universe you for this entire mess?"

"i’m just saying. it’s possible." megan shrugs making you laugh. and she grins hearing that sweet sound of your laughter. and for the first time in what feels like forever—it’s easy and it’s light again. until.

"oh my god." you whisper, abruptly stopping in your tracks. megan follows your gaze and freezes. stupid gabriela turning the corner. with her perfect hair, her fake smile and her eyes locked right on megan.

"nope." you mutter. "same here." megan says. you waste no time and grab megan’s hand and bolt away.

"this is ridiculous." you gasp for air while ducking behind a vending machine with megan. then you spot the janitor’s closet. open and empty. you don’t need to think twice. so you dive in and pull megan with you.

the closet door barely clicks shut before your back hits the wall. you gasp when you feel megan’s already on you. her glasses fogged, her jaw tight and her eyes burning.

"you’ve been running." megan says lowly, bracing a hand beside your head.

your breath catches in your throat. "megan—"

"shut up." she whispers, tugging you in by the collar. "you owe me." her thigh slips between yours, and your knees almost give out.

"thought so." she grins. the dangerous type of grin. you try to answer, but her mouth silences yours, rough and desperate and starved. her hands swiftly slide up your thighs, taking her time. taking everything.

"you’re not walking out of here the same." she mutters, biting down on your lower lip. and damn she’s right.

when the door finally creaks open, the hallway’s quiet. you step out first with you cheeks flushed, skirt crumpled beyond saving. megan follows behind, hair a wreck, glasses crooked, lips pink and smug.

someone passes by and does a double take to make sure they’re not hallucinating or something.

megan gently wraps her arms around your small waist and keep walking with that stupid smug grin on her face.

#megan skiendiel #katseye #katseye x reader #katseye x female reader #megan skiendiel x reader #jeeseth #dew’s 🍈

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