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dismalflo · 2 months ago

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all the reasons we're not in love

James potter x fem!reader ✩ 4.6k words

summary: You and James are best fucking friends—nothing more, nothing less. So why does everyone act like you're secretly in love, like it's some kind of undeniable fact?

cw: fluff, a pinch of angst, steamy makeout but no smut, best friends to lovers, idiots in love.

James gets up from the booth and leans down to ruffle your hair just because he knows it’ll annoy you. All sat around a too small booth in the back of the pub with a few chairs pulled up to accommodate the large group. It’s James' turn to buy a round, and you make a show of swatting his hand away as he goes, tracking his movements all the way to the bar.

You have a second to take in the dingy lights and the rowdy regulars in the local before Lily scares you half to death, leaning into your field of view. Eyes alight with mischief and an impish smile on her lip.

“So…” she says, dragging out the vowel, “what's going on?”

“What's going on with what?” you laugh, confused but delighted by Lily after a few drinks.

“You and James!” she practically squeals, shaking your arm with gleeful energy. “You’ve been giggling like schoolkids all night. He had his arm around you! Just admit it already—you like each other.”

You groan. “Lils, we always do that.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, clearly fed up with your refusal to see what she sees. And you? You’re fed up with everyone constantly implying that you and James must fancy each other. As if friendship isn’t enough.

“James and I are friends. That’s—”

“Best fucking friends,” James announces cheerfully, appearing out of nowhere and sliding your drink in front of you before placing the rest in the middle of the table.

“Exactly! Thank you,” you say, gesturing to him like he’s just proved your point.

Lily exhales sharply, throwing you a meaningful look before turning back to the group.

James sinks back into the booth beside you, draping an arm casually along the backrest behind your shoulders

“Try this,” he says, nudging his glass toward you. He’s been working his way through the list of ridiculous specialty mocktails on the menu and insists you sample every one. “It’s strawberry… something. You’ll like it.”

You take a sip. He’s right, obviously—it’s sweet and bright and tastes like summer. You smile up at him, pleased. “That’s really good. I’m getting one next round.”

He grins, radiant. “You can have that one, angel.”

You try to push the glass back, but he doesn’t let you. He’s about to insist again—mouth open, eyes soft—when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Why don’t you share your drinks like that with me, Moony?” Sirius whines from across the table, looking genuinely offended.

Remus sighs—meaning to sound exasperated, probably—but the fond look he gives his boyfriend tells a different story.

“We’ve been drinking the same thing all night, that’s why,” he replies, a smile starting to bloom on his lips. “And…” He glances your way with a teasing glint in his eye. “We’re not an old married couple like them.”

“Yeah,” Sirius mutters, barely above a breath, like it's a tragedy, “good thing they’re both fit.”

You let out a loud laugh. “We’re friends—”

“Best fucking friends.”

“—Not an old married couple. And honestly, you can’t say anything, Remus ‘Knitwear’ Lupin.”

“She’s not wrong,” James says with a quiet chuckle, sliding his hand to your back, fingers moving in lazy, absent-minded circles.

Remus only laughs, shaking his head, while Sirius looks scandalized—utterly betrayed on his boyfriend’s behalf.

“I like Rem’s knitwear, Trouble,” Sirius says, fixing you with a glare that would be more effective if his cheeks weren’t flushed from the drinks. “And I’d be very careful, or I’ll convince him to stop knitting your presents. Then all you’ll get are boring gift cards.” He nods solemnly, clearly impressed with his own threat.

You gasp dramatically, hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. “You wouldn’t.”

Sirius just giggles in response—giggles, which is never a good sign—so you turn to Remus, eyes wide, appealing.

“You wouldn’t let him, would you? You’ll still knit me things, Rem?”

Remus chuckles, shaking his head with a smile that promises yes, always.

That’s when you notice James—usually the loudest one at the table—has gone quiet. You turn toward him, curious, and catch the way he’s watching you. Soft eyes. That funny little smile he only wears when he thinks no one’s looking.

“You okay?” you ask, voice gentling with concern.

The question seems to pull him out of whatever haze he was in. His grin returns, bright and easy, like it never left.

“I’m great, angel.” He leans in, dropping his voice so only you can hear. “If Moony stopped knitting for you... I’d learn how to.”

You blink at him. “You? Knitting?”

He nods solemnly, one hand still warm against your back, and raises the other as if swearing an oath. “I’d do it for you. Even if it meant stabbing myself with the needles every five minutes. That’s how committed I am.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re so dramatic.”

You’re laughing, and your cheeks are warm, and James is still looking at you like you’ve hung the stars—but you brush it off like you always do.

Because this is what you and James do. Banter, teasing, little smiles no one else gets—your own language that you’ve been speaking fluently for years. It’s not new. It doesn’t mean anything.

He nudges your knee with his own, still grinning like he’s won something. Like your laugh is enough.

And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

But then Lily shoots you another look across the table, all smug eyebrows and that annoying “I told you so” glint in her eye, and it hits you again like it always does—this sudden awareness of how everyone else sees you. You and James. As if it’s already written somewhere, carved into the stars or tucked between the pages of your shared history.

You take a sip of the strawberry-whatever to stall, trying not to frown. Because the truth is, you know how this looks from the outside. All the little things he does, the way you lean into him without thinking, the endless inside jokes—it paints a picture. A certain type of story.

Because he’s James. And you’re... you.

And no matter how many times Sirius winks or Mary raises a knowing brow or Lily insists you're in love, you don’t think there’s a universe where you and James actually get together. Not really.

You’re best friends. That’s it.

And maybe there’s something sacred in that. Something worth protecting.

Besides—he doesn’t fancy you. Not like that. And you certainly don’t fancy him. No matter how charming he is. Or how warm his laugh makes you feel. Or how he always saves you the last piece of your favourite treats even when he pretends he won’t. Or how he’s looking at you now like he’d burn down the world just to keep you smiling.

No. You don’t fancy each other. That would be... messy. Complicated. The end of everything easy and good between you.

And James Potter may be a lot of things, but he’s not your ending.

He’s your always.

So you take another sip of the mocktail he gave you and bump his shoulder with your own, like nothing ever passed through your mind. He bumps you back, that lazy smirk still on his lips.

The pub starts to empty in waves, voices thinning out as people stumble toward coat racks and lingering goodbyes. You're nestled deeper into the booth than you realized, lulled by warmth and easy laughter and the comfort of being surrounded by your people.

Eventually, someone suggests calling it. Mary’s already halfway into her coat, Sirius is trying to coax Remus into stealing pint glasses for their flat –something about the collection– and Lily kisses you on the cheek with a meaningful look before grabbing Marlene’s arm and disappearing toward the door in a burst of cold air and laughter.

And James?

James is exactly where he’s been all night—at your side, elbow brushing yours every time he moves. When you pull your coat on, he reaches over without thinking and helps tug the hood into place for you.

“You ready?” he asks, and it’s easy, familiar.

“Yeah. Thanks for driving.” You smile, a little sleepy now that the buzz is fading.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else to make sure you get home.”

The drive is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. Music hums low through the speakers—something you’ve heard a million times over, something James mumbles along to under his breath when he thinks you’re not listening. He’s one of those annoyingly good drivers too. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely between the seats, fingers drumming to the beat.

You glance over once and catch him mid-yawn, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at the road.

“Wanna come in?” you hear yourself ask when he pulls up in front of your place, your voice softer than you expect. “Just for a bit? I might put on a film.”

James looks at you, searching your face for something. Whatever he finds, it makes him smile—gentler than before. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

You flick on the lights when you step inside, and it’s like muscle memory from there: shoes off, jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa, kettle filled. James leans against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. And he kind of does. There’s a mug he always uses in your cupboard. A hoodie of his in your laundry pile.

“What are we watching?” he asks, already padding into your living room, socked feet silent on the floorboards.

“Something easy,” you say. “Something we’ve seen before so I don’t actually have to pay attention.”

James shoots you a grin over his shoulder. “That for me or for you?”

You ignore the question, toss him the remote. “Dealer’s choice.”

You end up on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled somewhere in the middle because it’s late and it’s cold and this is what you do. It’s not new.

The movie starts playing, dim blue light casting soft shadows across his face. You watch it for a while—or try to—but your thoughts start running at a mile a minute instead.

You try to focus on the movie. Really, you do. But all you can hear is Lily’s voice echoing in your head: “Just admit it already—you like each other.”

It’s not just her. It’s everyone.

Sirius, with his loud, theatrical gasps every time James passes you a drink. Marlene muttering “just kiss already” under her breath like it’s an inside joke. Even Remus, who’s supposed to be the voice of reason, always quirking a brow when James tosses an arm around your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Which it is. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean anything.

But now? Now it’s stuck in your head. Every glance, every smile, every stupid joke he laughs too hard at—it’s all tinged with the weight of everyone else's expectations.

You lean your head back on the cushion and sigh.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” James asks, voice soft and scratchy with tiredness.

You glance at him. His eyes are still on the TV, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he already knows you’re spiraling.

You hesitate, then sit up a little. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze flicks to you instantly. “Course.”

“Do you ever get… tired of everyone thinking we’re in love?”

James lets out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “All the fucking time.”

You nod, almost relieved. “Right? It’s like—just because we’re close doesn’t mean we’re secretly pining.”

“Exactly!” James says, animated now, like he’s been waiting for someone to validate this. “Like, we literally watched Sirius throw himself at Rem for years and no one said shit, but I pass you a drink and suddenly it’s like—‘When’s the wedding, James?’”

You snort, finally smiling. “It’s exhausting.”

“Truly.”

Silence falls again, but it’s different now.

“I just…” you start, voice quieter. “I wish there was a way to prove it, you know? That we don’t fancy each other. That this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you “—this is just friendship.”

James raises a brow, half-amused. “You want, like… a presentation?”

You giggle. “Maybe.”

“Bullet points and everything?”

“‘All the reasons James Potter is categorically not in love with me.’”

“‘Exhibit A: the time I ate her last slice of pizza.’”

“‘Exhibit B: he never laughs at my best jokes.’”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Another beat passes. You look at each other.

There’s a flicker in James’ eyes—just a spark of something you can’t name—and it hits you, sudden and sharp, how close you are. His knee is still pressed against yours. His fingers are brushing your ankle like it’s nothing. Like it always has been.

You lick your lips. Heart hammering. And then—

“…We should kiss.”

James blinks. “What?”

You’re not even sure where the words came from. They just—slipped out. But now that they’re here, they feel oddly right. Inevitable.

You swallow. “We should kiss. Just once. To prove there’s nothing there.”

He stares at you, stunned into silence.

You rush to explain. “I mean—everyone keeps saying there is. And maybe if we just… did it, and it was awkward or bad or whatever, we could tell them and they’d drop it. They’d finally stop acting like we’re in some secret relationship.”

James is still staring, mouth slightly open.

You flush, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s stupid, forget it—”

“I’ll do it,” he says suddenly.

Your breath catches. “You will?”

He nods, slowly, like he’s still catching up with himself. “Yeah. If it’ll prove a point.”

You try to ignore the way your pulse spikes. “Right. Okay.”

With the room still mostly shrouded in darkness, it's difficult to make out the features of his face clearly. He shifts closer to you whilst manoeuvring your legs to settle beside you properly. There's little time to recognise the shift in his gaze as it pins to your lips before he's grinning and speaking again.

“What happens when you fall in love with me because of this?”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Your ego’s fucking massive Potter, I’ll be fine.” you say, gently slapping his arm. “Not sure about you though.” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you, acting like you're the biggest nuisance in the world.

“Come on then.” you say, impatiently. James sighs, then nods, before he's raising a hand to cup your jaw. His touch is gentle, like he's holding something fragile, priceless. And then he's leaning in so slowly, allowing you the time to pull away in case you’d been joking.

You let your eyes fall shut, expecting his kiss as your hand drifts to rest on his knee. You don’t notice the faint hitch in his breath at your touch—it’s so subtle, it nearly slips past you. The kiss comes and goes in a heartbeat, a fleeting, chaste peck that barely brushes your lips. When his hand pulls away and he clears his throat, your eyes open. He doesn’t say a word.

Despite the fact you should feel happy that you felt nothing, there's a strange twisting feeling in your stomach. Like when you startle awake after dreaming that you're falling. Then it comes to you, that kiss wasn’t a real one it can’t prove anything.

“That wasn’t a proper kiss, James.” you say while looking down at your hands, not wanting to face him.

“You’re right.” you look up to see his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and you're startled by the sudden fascination with his mouth.

“You have to kiss me like you’d kiss someone you're in love with.”

James’ gaze drops to your lips and stays pinned there as he’s silent, thinking.

“I can do that… I think.”

“Come on then.” you joke as you take a deeper breath in.

James exhales, slow and steady, but you can see it—the way his fingers twitch slightly, like he’s restraining something. Like there’s a weight behind your words neither of you wants to name just yet.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quieter now, with none of that usual cocky lilt. It’s careful. Measured. He’s giving you one last out.

You nod. “It’s just a kiss.”

But it’s not. You both know that. It hasn’t been just a kiss since the moment you suggested it.

Still, you say it anyway, because it’s easier to pretend it’s simple.

James shifts closer, knees brushing yours again, the space between you shrinking by the second. His hand finds your jaw again—just like before—but this time his thumb lingers at your cheekbone, the pad of it brushing soft circles that make your heart lurch. There’s something almost reverent in his touch now, like he’s memorising every inch of you.

When he leans in this time, it’s slower. Like he’s moving through water. Like the world around you doesn’t matter anymore.

And when he finally kisses you, it’s nothing like the first time.

It’s not hesitant or performative or brief. It’s warm and aching and real.

James kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. Like this isn’t about proving anything or making a point—it’s about you. About this.

His lips are soft and sure against yours, and when your hand slips up to grip the front of his jumper, he deepens the kiss with a low hum in the back of his throat, like he’s been holding that sound in for too long.

One of his hands slips down to your hip, shifting you closer, settling you on his lap. You go willingly, knees digging into the sofa at either side of his thighs as he tilts his head back to reach you better. Completely lost in each other, forgetting, you’re sure your lips will soon turn numb.

Your hands drift upward to settle around his neck and lightly tug the hair at the nape of his neck. James pulls you closer by the waist, chests flush and his mouth remains probing and searching on your own.

There’s the feeling of a smile in the kiss but you can’t tell who’s it is. You’ve fallen into a steady rhythm, easy and sweet, but when a noise is pulled from his throat you freeze, pulling away.

Looking down at him your face sits somewhere between concern and confusion. James stares right back at you panting, but otherwise seemingly unaffected.

“Forgive a man for getting distracted, angel.” he defends, like it's all your fault.

You know you should move away from him now. Really, you know. But there's a strange standoff happening where neither of you look away and neither of you move. Until you do.

It's hard to tell who moves in first, but the other reciprocates and you’re kissing again. James kisses you like a man starved. It's feverish and intense. It's everything.

You can’t help but grab hold of his hair, curls silky and soft through your fingers, giving them the slightest tug experimentally. It makes James shamelessly grind up against you. Nails digging lightly into the back of his neck, you gasp when his mouth leaves yours properly and latches onto your neck, lost in the bliss of it all, you grind down against him.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” His breath sounds strained. “can’t take it—“ His murmur is a rumble against your skin. You flush at the idea that he can’t contain himself because of this. Because of you.

When he pulls away, finished ravishing your neck, you come back down to earth, scrambling to remove yourself from his lap. His hair is messy, messier than usual, from your touch and his lips are red and kiss bitten.

You look to the far corner before you speak, unable to look at him now.

“... I guess we’ve proved we don’t fancy each other, then.”

You’re a liar and you know you are.

It’s been two days since the kiss. Two long, excruciating days where you haven’t spoken to James once. Not a text. Not a call.

You’ve replayed that night over and over in your head, hoping it would start to blur around the edges, lose its sharpness. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s crystal clear—every touch, every sound, every look he gave you. And worst of all? You don’t even regret it.

You’re halfway through nursing a lukewarm coffee at the back corner of a café when Sirius slides into the seat across from you like he owns the place, all leather jacket and smug grin.

“Oi,” he says, tugging your cup toward himself and taking a sip without asking. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

You blink, startled. “Us?

As if summoned, Remus appears beside him, calm and neat in that way that makes you feel even more frazzled by comparison. “She’s definitely been avoiding James,” he says, not unkindly, as he slides into the seat beside Sirius.

Sirius throws an arm around Remus’ shoulders with dramatic flair. “And thus—by extension—the rest of us, tragically caught in the crossfire of whatever the hell is going on.”

You frown. “Nothing is going on.”

Sirius lets out a loud, derisive snort. “Right. Tell that to James, who has been moping around the flat like a Victorian widow.”

“I’m serious,” you say quickly.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “So are we.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on. He’s not moping.”

Sirius levels you with a look, all theatrics dropped. “He didn’t even yell at me for eating his last bag of crisps yesterday. He just sighed. Like—actual sadness sighing. Who even does that?”

Your heart sinks, but you try not to let it show. “He’s probably just… tired. He drove me home from the pub that night, maybe he’s still catching up on sleep.”

Sirius and Remus share a look.

Remus tilts his head. “That’s the night it started, you know.”

“I told you,” Sirius says, grinning now like he’s cracked a case. “Something happened in that car. Or after. Did you two fight?”

“No,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Nothing happened.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“I’m not lying,” you lie.

Remus leans in, voice quieter now, more careful. “We’re not trying to corner you. Just… we’re worried. About both of you.”

You take a long sip of your coffee, trying to buy time, but it’s cold and bitter and doesn’t help at all. You stare into the cup like it holds the answers. It doesn’t.

Sirius softens, which is somehow worse. “Look, we’re not asking for details. Just—maybe talk to him?”

You sigh. “I don’t know what I’d even say.”

“Try the truth,” Remus offers gently.

The truth is a mess, though. The truth is a blur of lips and hands and breathless gasps. It’s James’ eyes on yours in the dark, his fingers brushing your cheek like he was afraid you’d vanish. It’s the way you didn’t sleep that night, couldn’t sleep, because your skin still remembered the shape of his touch.

And the worst part? The worst part is you know what you felt wasn’t one-sided.

Sirius glances at his watch. “If you don’t call him, I’m sending him to your flat.” He threatens, leaving no room for argument.

You don’t call him.

You want to—God, you want to. You’ve picked up your phone half a dozen times just to stare at his name, thumb hovering over the call button like it’s going to electrocute you. But every time, something stops you. Some awful cocktail of fear and guilt and what-if. What if it was a mistake? What if he regrets it? What if he doesn’t, and you’re the one who ruins everything?

So you don’t call. You sit with the silence and let it suffocate you.

It's nearly midnight when there's a knock at your door.

Your heart jumps into your throat. For a second, you think about ignoring it, pretending you’re asleep, but you already know who it is.

You open the door anyway.

James is standing there, hoodie thrown on as if he’d left in a rush, curls messy and damp like he’d just run his hands through them a thousand times on the way over. His eyes flick across your face like he’s checking to make sure you’re real. Like he didn’t quite believe you’d actually answer.

He looks tired.

You swallow. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes, voice low.

There's a silence. Tense. Tight. It stretches between you like a rubber band pulled too far.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he says eventually, shifting on his feet. “Told myself you’d call. That I’d give you space.” He pauses. “But I waited. And waited. And you didn’t.”

Your chest aches.

“I know,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I just… I couldn’t.”

James steps past you without asking. You don’t stop him.

He makes his way into your flat like he always has- it’s muscle memory. Like he belongs here. And God, maybe he does.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he says suddenly, turning to face you. “I thought we were okay and then it’s like you disappeared. No texts. No calls. Like it didn’t mean anything.”

“It wasn't supposed to mean anything, James.” you snap.

He flinches, like you’ve slapped him. You immediately regret it.

“I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You didn’t mean for it to mean anything,” he says, voice low. “But it did.”

You exhale shakily, crossing your arms like they can shield you from this. “We said it was just a kiss. To prove a point.”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t work,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

You glance away, blinking too quickly. “That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It’s not fair that I kissed you and everything changed and you’re acting like it didn’t.”

You hate this. Hate how right he is. Hate how vulnerable he looks standing in your living room like he’s afraid to breathe too hard and scare you off.

Your voice is quiet. “I didn’t know what to say.”

He’s quiet a beat. Then:

“Say anything.”

You hesitate. Your throat feels too tight. But then you force yourself to look at him, to see him.

“I love you,” you say. “And I don’t care if it’s wrong, I just do.”

James exhales, a slow, shaky breath like he’s been waiting for this—like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, firmer now. “I love you and I’ve been trying not to. Because I thought it would ruin everything.”

He steps forward, hands gentle as they come to rest at your waist. “I’ve always loved you, I think.”

It breaks something open in your chest. This is real. This is terrifying. This is everything.

“But what if we mess it up?” you ask, voice trembling.

James gives you a soft, crooked smile—the one that’s always undone you. “Then we mess it up. Together.”

You laugh, a watery, disbelieving thing, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in.

And when he kisses you this time, it’s not tentative or desperate. It’s steady. Sure. Like he knows you’re his.

Like he always has.

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yurizq · 10 days ago

Text

ෆ Yuji had been talking about this for weeks.

He’d planned the whole thing — lowkey dinner, his favorite casual spot near campus, the booth in the corner where you could laugh and eat and relax — just the four of you. You, him, Megumi, and Nobara. Just friends. No pressure.

“I want them to meet you,” he’d said with a soft grin, arms looped around your waist in bed the night before. “You’re important to me. They should know that.”

You kissed his cheek. “Of course, baby.”

But you hadn’t told him your own plan. You were going to ruin him.

He looked so damn proud when he introduced you.

Yuji stood up as you arrived at the table, pulled you close by the small of your back, beaming from ear to ear like you were some rare prize he’d won at the fair. “This is her,” he said to Megumi and Nobara. “The one I told you about.”

“Hi,” you smiled sweetly.

Megumi gave a nod. Nobara narrowed her eyes. “So you’re the girl who stole his hoodie and disappeared for a week?”

Yuji laughed nervously. “That’s not— She didn’t disappear, she just—she stayed over a few times, that’s all.”

You slid into the booth beside him. Your thigh pressed against his. “I just wanted to keep him warm.”

Megumi’s lips twitched like he was already suspicious.

Nobara snorted. “Right. Sure.”

You leaned over to grab a fry from Yuji’s plate — and your hand stayed there. Dropping. Resting. Slowly sliding down to his thigh under the table.

Yuji froze.

His smile faltered just a little, but he didn’t say a word. Not yet.

“You okay, baby?” you asked sweetly, eyes locked on the menu like nothing was happening.

“Y-Yeah.” His voice cracked. “Totally fine.”

Your hand moved higher. Smooth and slow. A casual brush over the front of his jeans that had his back straightening like he’d been electrocuted.

You watched him from the corner of your eye.

He was already hard.

Pathetic, you thought fondly.

Nobara started talking about some girl from one of her classes — something about a fight and a chair being thrown — but Yuji was zoning out. His eyes were wide, stuck on the table, lips parted, hands balled into fists in his lap as your fingers ghosted along the length of his growing bulge.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna be nervous,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“I-I’m not nervous,” he whispered back.

You smiled. “Then why are you sweating?”

His hips jumped when your hand squeezed gently. You could feel the heat through his pants, the way his cock was twitching in your palm already. He shifted awkwardly in the seat and cleared his throat again.

Megumi raised a brow. “You good?”

“Yup,” Yuji squeaked. “Yup. I’m just—hungry.”

“Oh, he’s hungry alright,” you murmured.

He shot you a warning look, cheeks flushed.

You just giggled under your breath, unzipping his jeans beneath the tablecloth like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Yuji grabbed his napkin and slapped it into his lap in one frantic motion.

Nobara blinked. “...You okay?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

You freed his cock slowly — already hard and leaking — and wrapped your hand around it under the table just as Nobara took a sip of her soda and said, “So how’d you guys start dating?”

Yuji flinched.

You stroked him once.

He twitched violently.

“Sh-She came up to me at the gym,” he gasped. “Said I looked like I had bad form.”

Megumi made a noise. “You do.”

You hummed and slid your hand down again, thumb smearing the wet slick from his tip.

Yuji’s eyes rolled back for a second before he bit his lip hard. You felt his cock jerk in your hand. So close already, and you hadn’t even started stroking properly.

“C’mon, Yuji,” you murmured, dragging your fist back up slow. “Be polite. Tell them what else I said.”

His voice was barely a breath. “Y-You said—fuck—said I was cute…”

You smiled. “Good boy.”

Nobara blinked. “What?”

“Nothing!” Yuji barked, too loud. His face was red. “She said I was cute!”

You giggled, hand moving faster now, wrist flicking the way you knew he liked. He was melting. His head dropped forward a little, breath shivering, trying not to thrust into your palm.

Megumi’s eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re okay?”

Yuji didn’t answer. His mouth opened, but no sound came out — just a strangled little moan that he covered with a fake cough.

Your hand squeezed, twisting near the his tip, and his thighs shook under the table.

You leaned close, whispering, “Gonna cum, baby?”

His hips jerked.

“Right here? While your friends are watching?”

“P-Please—” he whimpered.

You jerked him fast now, grip tight and mean, dragging his orgasm out of him with no mercy. His cock twitched and throbbed in your hand, and then—

Hot, sticky cum spilled all over your fingers.

Yuji bit down on his knuckle to stay silent, trembling, entire body twitching while you milked him through it under the table.

It was filthy. Warm and slick and wet in your palm.

You licked your lips and reached for your water like nothing had happened.

“Yuji,” Nobara said. “You’re, like… glowing.”

He blinked, pupils blown, face flushed, still twitching from the aftershocks.

“…I love her.”

919 notes · View notes

inseobts · 3 months ago

Text

Fake Proposal

in a way or another, accidentally or not, they end up making fake proposals...

fem!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, ace, law and shanks

a/n: put my whole heart for the shanks one and now I feel lonely af lmao

words count: around 0.6k - 1.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The smell of grilled fish and sizzling meats fills the air as you and Luffy settle into your seats at a bustling restaurant by the shore. The place is packed, laughter and chatter surrounding you as waiters move between tables carrying plates stacked high with food.

Luffy is already bouncing in his chair, eyes darting between different dishes on the menu. He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oi, look at this!” He shoves the menu in your face, pointing at a special section “‘Lovebird Feast’, free dessert for nearly married couples! That’s awesome! I want it!!”

You snort, pushing the menu back down “You’d fake a whole marriage just for free food?”

Luffy tilts his head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “Duh! Free food’s free food! It's always the most delicious.”

Before you can protest, he’s already turning to the nearest waiter, waving them down enthusiastically, “Hey! We want the lovebird thingy!”

The waiter, a woman with a kind smile, gasps in excitement “Oh! How wonderful! Congratulations, you two!”

You open your mouth to correct her “Stop Luffy, we’re not—“ but Luffy is already jumping ahead.

“Shishishi! We aren’t yet but I’ll do it right now!”

Wait what?!

He suddenly slides out of his chair and drops onto one knee in front of you. The entire restaurant seems to hush. A few heads turn. Somewhere in the back, a musician starts playing soft romantic music.

Oh. Oh no.

Luffy grabs your hand, grinning up at you like he’s having the time of his life “Y/N! We’ve been on so many adventures together, and you always give me food, and you’re really fun to be around!” His grip tightens “So, do you want to marry me?”

The restaurant erupts. People cheer, clapping and whistling like this is the most romantic thing they’ve ever seen.

Your face burns.

This idiot! He didn’t even try to make it sound real!

Still, two can play at this game.

You bring a hand to your chest, gasping dramatically “Luffy, I—I don’t know what to say!” You blink rapidly, pretending to fight back tears “This is so sudden! But...” You clasp his hands in yours, shaking them for extra effect “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

The cheering gets louder. Someone throws flower petals over you. The musician in the back picks up the tempo.

Luffy beams, bouncing to his feet “AWESOME! Now where’s the food?”

The waiter, practically swooning, claps her hands together “Right away, sir! And don’t worry, your Lovebird Feast comes with our cutest personalised decorations, so give us a moment and we’ll get it to you”

Luffy turns to you, grinning ear to ear “See? Told ya it’d work!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying so hard not to laugh “You’re impossible.”

A few minutes later, your table is overflowing with steaming plates of grilled seafood, buttery rolls, and a massive chocolate cake that says Congratulations, Lovebirds! in fancy frosting and two small drawings of your caricatures with hearts around them.

Luffy digs in immediately, stuffing his face with meat and laughing between bites “Man, this was such a good idea! Maybe we should do it again at another restaurant!”

You snort, shaking your head “What, you gonna propose to me at every place we eat now?”

He swallows a mouthful of food and grins “Maybe! You’d say yes every time, right?”

Your heart stumbles over itself for a second, but you quickly recover “Only if there’s free food involved, I guess.”

Luffy laughs, shoving another piece of cake into his mouth “Then it’s a deal!”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop smiling. Even if it was fake, and even if he only did it for the food…

You kinda wouldn’t mind hearing him say those words again.

Maybe for real, next time.

You’re now on your way back to the ship and just thinking about telling everyone what happened makes you laugh.

“What are you laughin at?” Luffy asks while bouncing his own belly.

“Sanji’s gonna hate us when we’ll tell him what we did to get free food…” you laugh more.

Luffy suddenly stops and you turn to see what’s going on with him. Only to see him trying to mimic Sanji’s face and expression, “Food isn’t a game!! And why did you use my y/n for your stupid plan?!?”.

You start laughing so hard that your stomach starts to hurt.

“Let’s make a bet Y/N… I bet he’s gonna say the exact same words I said just now” he says putting his hand in front of you.

“Mmh okay. I bet he’s going to say something like ‘How dare you propose to Y/N before me!!!’”

Luffy smiles and “That’s a good one. What do you want if ya win?”

Oh, now this is a hard question… What do you want?

Then an idea pop up in your mind.

“If I win I’ll be the captain for one day!” You say smiling proudly at your own mind, imagining already the things you could do and make Luffy do as his Captain.

“Shishishi, that’s a good one. Okay. But if I win… we’re gonna get a real ring your size for the next time!” His eyes close as his smile widens even more, “So? Deal?”

You heart start beating so fast that you’re bearing breathing.

Why?

Why does he want a ring?

And why is he planning on proposing again?

Then you snap out of your thoughts as you hear his laugh again. You look at his hand in front of you, waiting to be shaken.

“Deal…” you say as you now shake his hand.

Back to the Thousand Sunny the first thing Luffy does is looking for Sanji and tell him everything that happened, excluding the bet part of course.

He even mimicked the expressions the waiters and waitresses had while he was proposing.

Then, after a moment of shock and as you were anticipating, Sanji finally speaks “Mon Dieu , food isn’t a game, idiot! And why did you use my precious Y/N for your dumb game…”

“Oh, you lost Y/N. Now we’ll get a ring!!” Luffy smiles at you, ignoring the way Sanji stopped his desperate act just to look at him like he murdered someone.

You blush hard, not being able to even say a word.

“WHAT RING NOW? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? Y/N STOP LAUGHING, THE IDIOT IS BEING SERIOUS!!”

Sanji keeps trying to stop both you and Luffy, but honestly?

You wouldn’t mind getting proposed again, and who knows maybe with the ring it will feel real.

And you don’t mind it at all.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro knew coming here was a mistake.

The restaurant is way too fancy for his taste, golden chandeliers, white tablecloths, expensive plates that look like they belong in a museum. The portions are tiny, the waiters have that I’m better than you attitude, and worst of all… Sanji recommended it.

You, however, are having a great time.

You sip your drink, smiling at the romantic ambiance, while Zoro sulks across from you, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This place is nice” you hum.

Zoro scoffs “Tch. Feels like a prison.”

You roll your eyes, about to retort, when his fork suddenly slips off the table. With a sigh, Zoro pushes his chair back and kneels down to grab it.

And that’s when it happens.

A loud gasp echoes through the restaurant.

The soft clinking of silverware stops. Conversations halt. The waiter carrying a tray of wine nearly drops it.

Zoro freezes, fork in hand.

“…What the hell?” he mutters.

You glance around and immediately see the problem. The entire restaurant is staring at him, some people are covering their mouths, others are tearing up, and the woman at the table next to you whispers excitedly to her date “omg look, he’s proposing!”

They think he’s proposing...

Your lips twitch. Oh, this is gold.

Zoro must realize it too, because he slowly looks up at you, processing the situation. The restaurant waits with bated breath. You see the exact moment he decides to roll with it.

Still kneeling, he sighs dramatically and reaches for your hand instead of his fork.

“Guess there’s no backing out now” he says flatly.

A chorus of awws sweeps through the restaurant. Someone sniffles.

You bite your lip, holding back laughter. If Zoro’s gonna pull this, you might as well make him suffer.

So, with your most dramatic expression, you gasp, bringing a hand to your chest “Zoro! Is this—” You choke up for effect “Is this really happening?”

Zoro glares at you, silently daring you to push further.

You do.

You blink rapidly, pretending to fight back tears “I—I never thought this day would come!” You squeeze his hand, voice trembling “Ever since I first saw you, I knew—” You pause, just to let the anticipation build “that you were the love of my life!”

A woman two tables down bursts into tears.

Zoro’s jaw tightens. His ears are definitely red now. But he won’t let you win so easily.

He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah… you know, it’s been real annoying, carrying this ring around for so long.”

Your eyes widen. Oh, he did NOT just—

The restaurant collectively gasps again. Even the chef peeks out from the kitchen.

Zoro still doesn’t have a ring, so the bastard reaches over, plucks a tiny onion ring off his plate, and slides it onto your finger.

“There,” he says, smirking “You happy now?”

You nearly choke on air.

The restaurant erupts. Cheers. Clapping. Someone throws flower petals. A waiter rushes forward with champagne.

You need to end this. Fast.

So, with all the enthusiasm of a dramatic soap opera heroine, you throw yourself into Zoro’s arms, hugging him tightly.

“YES! A MILLION TIMES YES!”

The place loses it. Some guy at the bar is sobbing. The waiter brings out a massive cake with Congratulations! written in fancy chocolate drizzle. The restaurant manager himself personally congratulates you.

You and Zoro finally lock eyes, both of you struggling to keep a straight face.

Still holding you, he leans down, voice low enough for only you to hear.

“You are so dead after this” he mutters.

You grin “Worth it.”

Zoro sighs, but there’s amusement in his expression. He still hasn’t let go of your waist, and for a second, the noise around you fades, the restaurant blurring into the background.

His thumb brushes against your hip.

“You really wanna sell this?” he murmurs.

You raise a brow “What are you—”

And then he kisses you.

It’s quick, barely more than a brush of lips, but it still shuts you up completely. Your breath catches as the warmth of him lingers, his grip firm and steady as if grounding himself.

Then he pulls back, smirking at your stunned expression “Figured we had to make it convincing.”

The crowd loses it again. Someone pops open a bottle of wine. The cheering is deafening.

Zoro slides back into his seat, reaching for his drink like nothing happened, while you just stare at him. Your face is burning, your heart racing.

Did he... did he really just...

“Oi,” he calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. He nods toward your plate “Eat. We scammed our way into this food, might as well enjoy it.”

You pick up your fork numbly, still processing.

Later that night, walking back to the Sunny, still slightly tipsy from the free champagne, Zoro shakes his head, chuckling.

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you still went along with it” you tease.

He gives you a sideways glance, smirking “Yeah, well… guess I’d propose to you eventually anyway.”

You trip.

Zoro catches you easily, steadying you with a firm grip, and when he helps you up, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away.

Your heart does something stupid.

“…You serious?” you murmur.

Zoro just smirks, squeezing your hand and giving you a quick peck on your lips before letting go.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see, idiot.”

── .✦ Sanji:

Sunlight spills over the ocean, turning the water into shimmering gold as the sea breeze carries the scent of freshly baked pastries. The café you and Sanji are at is charming, small round tables with white tablecloths, elegant teacups, and a dessert display so tempting even you had to stop and admire it before sitting down.

Sanji, as always, is in his element. He leans back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, looking completely at ease as he watches the waves roll in. He’s been extra flirty today, not that it’s anything new, but there’s something almost mischievous about his smile as he rests his chin on his hand, eyes locked on you.

“You look stunning today, mon amour.”

You snort, sipping your drink “You’ve said that three times already.”

“And I’ll say it a hundred more if it makes you smile” he replies smoothly, winking.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the way your lips twitch upward. Hopeless flirt.

A waiter suddenly approaches your table, setting down a small menu “Would you two be interested in our Eternal Love Special? It comes with a complimentary dessert for newly engaged couples.”

Sanji’s brows lift, and immediately, you see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

You raise a hand, ready to shut this down “Oh, we’re not—”

Sanji reaches across the table and gently takes your hand in his, cutting you off completely.

“Ma chérie” he sighs, looking at you with the softest, most heartfelt expression you’ve ever seen “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do this.”

Then he quickly turns to the waiter “Thank you, I took it as a sign to finally do what I was planning for months now”

Your brain short-circuits.

Wait. WAIT.

The waiter gasps. The couple at the next table stops mid-bite. A hush falls over the café as all eyes turn to the two of you.

You know Sanji. You know this is fake. But the way he’s looking at you, the warmth in his eyes, the way his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand, it feels real.

You swallow hard “Sanji—”

He stands up, gracefully stepping around the table before lowering himself onto one knee. The sunlight catches his golden hair, framing him like something out of a damn romance novel.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were special,” he says, voice smooth as silk “Your laughter is my favorite melody, your kindness is my greatest treasure, and every day with you is sweeter than the finest dessert.”

Someone sniffs. You don’t dare look away, afraid your own face might betray you.

Sanji reaches into his pocket, and for a horrifying second, you think he might actually have a ring... He pulls out a thin silver napkin ring from the table setting.

The café erupts into cheers. Someone claps. A woman dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. The waiter looks about two seconds away from fainting.

Sanji takes your hand, slipping the napkin ring onto your finger with such tenderness that your heart physically aches.

“Tell me, my love,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but with an edge of something more “Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”

You could end this now. Laugh it off, tell everyone it’s fake, and move on.

…But where’s the fun in that?

You inhale sharply, pressing a hand to your chest like you just can’t believe this is happening “Sanji, I—” You let your voice waver for dramatic effect “Of course! Yes!”

The café erupts. Cheers, applause, a waiter brings out a fancy chocolate cake with “Congratulations, Lovebirds!” written in delicate script.

Sanji presses a lingering kiss to the back of your hand before rising to his feet. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“You play dirty, sweetheart” he murmurs.

You smirk up at him “Right back at you.”

The two of you sit back down, and while Sanji smoothly dives into his slice of cake, you… you can’t stop staring at him. Your heart is still racing. He’s been teasing you for so long, but this felt different.

And maybe the little gleam in his eyes says he knows it too.

Sanji casually picks up his fork, cutting into his cake as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell in the middle of the café. But there’s something different about the way he looks at you now, a quiet intensity behind his smirk.

You, on the other hand, are trying your best to keep your composure, but your heart is still fluttering uncontrollably. That was not part of the act, you think, biting your lip.

“So,” you begin, trying to regain some semblance of control over your thoughts, “you think I’ll just say ‘yes’ to a napkin ring?”

Sanji grins like a cat who’s just gotten the cream “Only if you’re truly as smitten with me as I am with you,” he teases, his voice dripping with charm “Was that not the most romantic proposal you’ve ever heard?”

You blink at him. That damn smirk. It’s hard to keep a straight face when he’s so pleased with himself.

“Romantic?” You arch an eyebrow, playing along “More like cheesy, Sanji. I mean, come on... napkin ring? Really?”

He chuckles, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear “It’s not the ring that matters, my dear. It’s the gesture.” He winks, leaning back in his chair, looking completely smug now that the moment has passed “Besides, I’m sure I’ll get you a real one soon enough. Once I find the perfect one.”

You blink at him again, still processing how he just seamlessly went from a joke proposal to something that feels strangely serious. Did he mean it?

Before you can dwell on it too much, the waiter returns with another plate, this time with a much larger piece of cake.

Sanji’s eyes light up “Ah, my favorite!” He takes the plate and picks up his fork, but before taking a bite, he looks at you again, that same intensity in his gaze.

“So,” he says, his voice suddenly more quiet, more sincere “did you like it? The proposal, I mean. I know it was a little… unorthodox.”

You’re caught off guard by the seriousness of his tone. He’s not teasing you now, not putting on that flirty act he does so well. His gaze is soft, like he’s searching for your answer, his expression almost vulnerable.

You bite your lip, fighting back the heat creeping up your neck “I...” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. You want to tease him, but there’s something there in his eyes “It was… unexpected” you finally say, your voice softening “But… sweet, I guess.”

Sanji’s lips curl into a grin again, but this time, it’s gentler, less playful and more genuine. “You know, you’re the only woman I’d do something this stupid for.” He leans closer, his voice dropping even lower, his breath warm against your ear “So, maybe... just maybe, you know... when the time is right, I’ll actually make it real.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t tell if he’s joking or if this is one of his moments of sincerity. But then, the way his hand brushes against yours as he pulls back from the table feels like something more.

You stare at him, and he meets your gaze, his blue eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can say anything, Sanji’s finger gently taps the napkin ring on your finger, the little silver band now feeling strangely significant “Just wait,” he says softly, “the real proposal will be a thousand times more romantic. And you’ll be the one telling me yes.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the thought, knowing he’s both serious and playful, making you realize that, despite all the teasing and drama, he does mean it. And maybe, just maybe, you’re a little bit more excited about the idea than you want to admit.

“You better keep that promise, chef” you reply softly, your voice almost teasing, but with a genuine undercurrent that you both recognize.

Sanji leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself “I’ll hold you to it, mon amour. You’ll see. I’m a man of my word.”

And as the two of you continue eating, the quiet intimacy that lingers between you both speaks volumes. Even if the proposal was a joke, the feelings beneath it were anything but a joke.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The crew is in the midst of celebrating their latest victory, mugs of rum and plates of food scattered across the long table. Everyone is laughing and teasing each other, the air thick with camaraderie and joy. Ace is leaning against the railing, surrounded by his crew, his usual playful energy filling the space.

You’re off to the side, chatting quietly with Marco, enjoying the rare peace amidst the rowdy celebration.

“Looks like everyone’s having a good time” you say, smiling as you watch the crew’s antics.

“Yeah,” Marco replies, “they definitely need moments like this. It’s been a while since we’ve had a reason to really celebrate.” He glances at you, a soft smile on his lips.

Meanwhile, Ace is leaning over the table, listening to the crew, and you notice the mischievous glint in his eyes as he exchanges a few words with Thatch. The two of them laugh, and you can see Ace’s trademark grin forming.

Suddenly, someone’s voice rises above the others, slurring slightly from the alcohol “Hey, Ace!” he shouts, clearly a little tipsy “I dare you to do something! You’re always pulling pranks, it’s your turn!”

Ace smirks and looks over at them, his eyes flicking to the rest of the crew who eagerly start egging him on “What do you have in mind?” he asks, leaning in as if he’s genuinely curious.

The others grin at each other, clearly having had too many drinks “I dare you to propose to Y/N, right now!”

The crew erupts into laughter, clearly loving the idea. You’re still talking to Marco and don’t hear it, unaware of the dare.

You turn around, confused, just as Ace, with his usual confidence, strides over to you. His eyes lock onto yours, and his smirk widens, his posture already dramatic as he drops to one knee in front of you.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice loud and theatrical, “will you marry me?”

The entire crew gasps and then bursts into laughter. You freeze, completely caught off guard.

For a split second your heart skips a beat, but then you notice the glint in his eyes. He’s teasing. It’s the same playful look he always has when he’s messing with someone.

You swallow hard, trying to laugh it off “Ace, what are you—”

But before you can finish your sentence, Ace stands up quickly, his grin widening as he grabs your shoulder and laughs loudly “Haha, come on! I’m just kidding! You know me!”

The crew, still in fits of laughter, cheers him on, but your heart sinks. You feel embarrassed, and the sudden realization hits you hard. You knew it was just another one of his jokes but for some reason, this one stings more than the others. You’re left standing there, staring at him, feeling both foolish and hurt.

“Ace…” you start, your voice quiet and suddenly trembling with a mixture of anger and something deeper. You can’t put your finger on it, but it feels like your heart’s being pulled in two directions.

Ace notices the change in your tone and looks at you, the playful glint in his eyes dimming for a moment as if he’s unsure of what’s happening “Hey, come on. It was just for fun, right?” He chuckles, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice now, a hint of unease that wasn’t there before.

You force a smile “Yeah, sure, just for fun” you say, but your voice cracks slightly. You quickly turn away from him, walking off toward the edge of the ship, away from the crew and the laughter. You don’t want to face anyone right now, not Ace, not anyone.

Ace calls after you, but you don’t look back. You can feel his gaze on your back, but you don’t know if you’re ready to face the playful tone that always comes with his jokes. You’re hurt, and you can’t tell if it’s because you really thought he was serious for a moment or because it felt like he didn’t take your feelings into account.

The sound of the crew’s laughter is still behind you, but it feels distant now. You rest your hands on the cold metal of the ship’s railing, staring out at the dark, endless sea, trying to breathe through the hurt.

“Hey,” Ace’s voice suddenly cuts through the night air. You hadn’t realized he was following you. His playful tone gone, replaced by something softer, maybe even regretful “I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”

You shake your head, not turning to face him “It’s fine, Ace. Just... just go back to the crew. I don’t want to make a scene.”

There’s a long silence, and you can feel him standing behind you, still close, but not daring to push further. You can hear the deep sigh he lets out.

“You know I mess around a lot, right?” Ace says quietly, after a beat “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Ace seems to sense your hesitation, and he steps a little closer.

“I was just having fun with the guys,” he continues, his voice low, almost apologetic now “I didn’t think it would upset you. I’m sorry. If you want to talk about it… I’m here.”

You take a deep breath, trying to push back the frustration that’s built up in you. You hate how vulnerable you feel, too exposed. But you can’t let him see that, not right now.

“I just need some space” you reply quietly.

There’s another long pause before you hear him step back and you finally allow yourself to breathe a little easier. Ace doesn’t push you any further. You hear his footsteps retreat, but you know he’s still watching you, waiting, just in case you need him.

You know Ace didn’t mean to hurt you. You know he’s always been like this reckless, playful, always laughing things off. But tonight, it felt different.

Why did it bother me so much?

You hear footsteps behind you again, slower this time, more hesitant. You sigh “Ace, I said I needed some space—”

“It’s not Ace.”

You turn and find Marco standing there, arms crossed.

“You okay?” he asks, but his sharp eyes tell you he already knows the answer.

You manage a small, tired smile “Do I look okay?”

Marco huffs a soft laugh “Not really.” He steps beside you, leaning against the railing. For a moment, the two of you just stand there in silence.

Finally, he speaks again “Ace is an idiot.”

You let out a surprised laugh, though it’s weaker than usual “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

Marco tilts his head slightly, watching you “But he’s not heartless” he continues “He cares about you more than he probably realizes. And right now, he’s sitting over there, looking like a kicked puppy because he knows he messed up.”

Your fingers tighten on the railing “I know he didn’t mean to hurt me, Marco. But…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable “I guess it just stung more than I expected. He laughed it off like it was nothing.”

Marco hums in understanding “Because to him, it was just a joke. But to you… it wasn’t.”

You don’t reply, but you know he’s right. Even if you hadn’t admitted it to yourself before, a small part of you had wanted it to be real.

Marco pushes off the railing and pats your shoulder lightly “You don’t have to talk to him yet if you don’t want to. But if you do…” He glances toward the other side of the ship, where Ace is sitting on a barrel, staring down at his drink, barely touching it. His usual carefree energy is gone “He’s waiting.”

You hesitate. A part of you still wants to be mad. But another part, the part that cares too much, wants to hear what more he has to say.

With a deep breath, you push off the railing and make your way toward him.

Ace notices you immediately, his head snapping up, eyes widening slightly. He doesn’t grin this time, doesn’t make a joke. He just watches you cautiously, like he’s bracing himself.

You stop a few steps away “Hey.”

Ace exhales, setting his drink down “Hey...” He looks uncertain, which is rare for him “Can I...” He hesitates “Can I talk to you?”

You nod and sit down on the crate across from him. He looks relieved but still fidgety, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

After a long pause, he finally speaks “I didn’t think, okay?” His voice is quieter than usual, missing its usual cocky edge “I didn’t think about how it would feel for you. I was just messing around with the crew, and when they dared me, I just… went with it. I didn’t mean for it to be a joke at your expense.”

You cross your arms “Then why did you laugh it off like that?”

Ace winces slightly “Because… I panicked.”

That catches you off guard “Panicked?”

He lets out a slow breath and runs a hand through his messy black hair “Yeah. Because for a second, when I was kneeling there, looking at you, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore” He pauses, his voice dropping lower “And that scared the hell out of me.”

He looks at your confused face, and for once, there’s no teasing in his eyes. Just raw honesty.

“I mean…” He rubs his face, frustrated with himself “I mean that maybe it wasn’t just a joke to me, either.”

The world seems to tilt slightly. Your breath catches, and you stare at him, trying to process his words.

Ace sighs, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees “I don’t know how to say this the right way. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing. But you—” He exhales sharply “You matter to me. More than I probably let on. And when I saw how upset you were, I realized that I really, really don’t want to lose you.”

You swallow thickly, your emotions all tangled up “Ace…”

He leans back, giving you a small, hesitant smile “I won’t joke about something like that again. I swear. But…” He rubs the back of his neck “If—if I ever did propose… I’d want it to be real.”

For a long moment, you don’t speak. You’re still mad. Still hurt. But beneath all of that, there’s a warmth spreading through your chest, something dangerously close to hope.

Finally, you shake your head and stand up. Ace tenses, as if expecting you to walk away again.

Instead, you go closer. And before you can overthink it, you grab the front of his shirt and tug him down into a kiss.

Ace freezes for a second, caught completely off guard. But then he melts into it, his hands finding your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. The kiss is slow, uncertain at first, but then it deepens, warm, real, full of everything you haven’t been able to put into words.

When you finally pull away, Ace blinks at you, completely dazed “...Whoa.”

You smirk, your heart still racing “No jokes this time?”

He grins, breathless “No jokes.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway “Good.”

Ace watches you for a moment, then his grin softens into something more genuine “So… does this mean you forgive me?”

You pretend to think about it “Hmm. I dunno. Maybe you should actually try proposing for real and see how I feel.”

His eyes widen, and you laugh at the way he suddenly looks flustered. But the warmth in his expression tells you that maybe, just maybe, that day isn’t as far off as you once thought.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The ballroom is suffocating in its elegance, gold chandeliers, velvet curtains, and nobles dressed in the finest silks. Conversations flow with laughter, political gossip, and expensive wine. You navigate the crowd effortlessly, your arm looped around Law’s as the two of you blend in among the guests.

This is just another mission.

Your goal this time is to gather intel on the underground auction happening later tonight. And to do so, you have to pretend to be a wealthy couple and gain access to informations. Tonight you are Law’s fiancée.

“You’re tense” Law murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips.

You glare up at him, keeping a pleasant smile for the guests “Maybe because I’m still processing how I went from ‘crewmate’ to ‘fake fiancée.’”

He hums “Would you rather be my wife?”

You elbow him discreetly, and he chuckles under his breath.

“Ah, you're Torao, right?” a nobleman approaches with a warm smile and glass in hand, but Law suddently snorts at the name already planning on getting revenge to however was supposed to arrange a fake name for him... you try your best to not laugh “And who is this stunning young woman?”

Before you can even open your mouth, Law speaks smoothly.

“My fiancée”

You freeze for just a fraction of a second, but you recover quickly, forcing a demure smile as the nobleman’s eyes widen in delight.

“Oh, my! I had no idea you were engaged! Congratulations!”

More nobles turn their attention toward you both, excited murmurs rippling through the crowd. You barely resist the urge to shoot Law a look, because you figured he’d introduce you as a partner or companion, but fiancée? That just complicate things.

You manage to slip away after a few more introdutions, excusing yourself to get a drink and some air. Meanwhile, Law stays behind, sipping his wine in silence.

That’s when an older noblewoman leans in conspiratorially.

“You know,” she hums, swirling her drink, “I couldn’t help but notice something peculiar.”

Law barely reacts “Oh?”

She grins “She’s not wearing a ring.”

His fingers tighten subtly around his glass.

Another noble nods “Yes, rather unusual for an engagement, don’t you think?”

A dozen responses flash through Law’s mind, he could say something like it’s being resized, or that you don’t like wearing jewelry. But instead, for reasons even he doesn’t fully understand, the words that come out are, “I have a ring.”

The noblewoman’s eyes sparkle “Oh? Then why isn’t she wearing it?”

Law exhales through his nose “I was planning to propose soon.”

The group of nobles collectively gasps.

“Tonight?!”

Law immediately regrets his words.

“Oh, how romantic!” one woman gushes “You must do it here!”

Law resists the urge to teleport himself out of this conversation, but when he turns, he sees you making your way back, completely oblivious to the trap he just walked into. And something shifts inside him, because in his pocket, there is a ring. Your exact size.

He never planned to use it. He doesn’t even fully understand why he bought it in the first place. Maybe it was impulse, or maybe it was something deeper, something he refuses to acknowledge.

But now he stands. The room falls silent.

You slow your steps, eyes flicking to him in confusion “What...”

And then he kneels.

Your heart stops.

The nobles erupt into cheers.

Law looks up at you as he pulls out the ring.

Your breath catches.

Why is he doing this? Why does he have that?

Law exhales, his voice quieter now, just for you.

“y/n,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours, “marry me.”

There’s no teasing in his tone. No playfulness. Just Law, holding your hand, holding a ring he never intended to actually reveal, and looking at you like he means every single word.

The entire ballroom is silent, every noble watching with excitement. Somewhere in the distance, someone murmurs about how romantic this is, but all you can hear is the rushing in your ears, the unsteady rhythm of your breathing... because Law is holding a ring. Your exact size. And for he looks like he actually means it.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out.

Law exhales softly, gaze unreadable. His fingers ghost over yours as he holds the ring between them, and you swear you feel a slight tremor.

“Uhm... say yes” he murmurs, voice too low for anyone else to hear.

Your breath catches “What?”

His fingers tighten around your hand, almost imperceptibly “Say yes...” he repeats, softer this time.

You swallow hard. You know this is a performance. Something must have happened while you weren't there and he's doing all this to keep up the cover and complete the mission. But something in the way he’s looking at you, so calm, so sure, makes your throat tighten.

You force yourself to move, to push away the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume you.

“…Yes.”

The second the word leaves your lips, the room erupts. Cheers, applause, laughters, as the nobles celebrate.

Law stands smoothly, still holding your hand, and in one fluid motion, he slides the ring onto your finger.

A perfect fit.

Your chest tightens.

Why do you have this? you want to ask. Why do you have my size? Why does this feel real?

But instead, you let him pull you closer, his fingers resting lightly against your waist as someone shouts “The kiss! You have to seal it with a kiss!”

Your stomach flips violently. You glance up at Law, expecting him to show hesitation, annoyance... anything.

But his expression remains unreadable.

He exhales quietly, as if resigning himself to what comes next. Then, in one smooth movement, he cups your face, his calloused fingers brushing against your jaw.

His lips press against yours as the world blurs.

It’s soft at first, gentle, the perfect display for an adoring fiancé. But then his fingers slide into your hair, pulling you a fraction closer, and something shifts.

The air between you crackles, the warmth of his body pressing into yours. Your fingers clutch at his suit, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

It doesn’t feel fake, not even for a second, and that breaks you.

When he finally pulls away, the crowd is ecstatic, clapping and cheering. You barely register them.

Law leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice just for you.

You’re not. Not even close. But you have to force a smirk, masking the confusion, the longing, the ache in your chest.

“You’re a better actor than I thought” you whisper, trying to sound teasing, but it comes out unsteady.

His lips twitch slightly in almost a smirk.

And then, just as he turns to lead you away, his voice drops to a whisper.

“Am I acting?”

Your breath catches.

But before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling you through the crowd, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Come on,” he says “We still have a mission to finish.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

The ring on your finger feels heavier than it should, and now you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to take it off.

── .✦ Shanks:

The Red-Haired Pirates are celebrating their recent success, the air filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and music. You and Shanks are at the center of it all, the crew’s favorite couple. You’ve been together for a while now, everyone around you knows how close you two are. The bond you share is evident, whether you’re laughing together, sharing a drink, or pulling off your signature “fake proposal” routine at taverns to get free food.

Today was no different. You’d pulled off yet another hilarious fake proposal at a local tavern with Shanks dramatically getting down on one knee and you playing the blushing fiancée, and everyone else had completely fallen for it. The whole crew had watched from the sidelines, laughing at the reaction of other people around. You and Shanks had left the tavern with free drinks and a standing ovation, and now you’re back on the ship, basking in the afterglow of your latest successful scam.

The crew is still laughing, recalling the events from earlier.

“That was too good,” Yasopp says, slapping his knee as he chuckles “I swear, you two are getting better at this with every try.”

“Yeah, honestly, I almost thought it was real” Benn Beckman adds, leaning back in his chair.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile “You guys are terrible” you tease, nudging Shanks playfully.

Shanks simply grins casually leaning against the railing of the ship as the crew continues to tease the two of you about your newer “engagement”. His eyes are full of mischief, the same spark you’ve always loved. But there’s something different tonight, they seem a little more serious, almost like he’s thinking about something far beyond the joke.

“You know...” Shanks starts, his voice quieter than usual, drawing your attention. The rest of the crew falls into a hushed silence, sensing something is about to shift “Maybe one day, we should do it for real.”

You blink, staring at him “What?” you ask, not sure if he’s still joking or if something else is going on.

Shanks smirks, but there’s a certain vulnerability in his gaze now that makes your heart skip a beat “I mean it. What would you say if I asked you for real one day? Like, if I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”

For a moment, everything around you goes still. The sounds of the crew’s laughter fade, and it’s just you and Shanks, standing there. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, something deeper than the usual playful teasing.

You feel a flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. It’s clear he’s not messing around anymore.

“You really want to know?” you ask softly, your voice a little unsteady.

Shanks doesn’t break eye contact, his expression soft but steady “Yeah, I do.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. For a heartbeat, everything feels heavier... your emotions swirling as you take in the meaning behind his words. Then you smile, a warm, genuine smile. You take a deep breath, knowing what this means “Then ask me, and find out.”

Shanks’ lips curl into a gentle, tender smile, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s going to kiss you right then and there. But instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“I’ll make you notice right away when it’s for real,” he says, his words full of affection “You’ll be so surprised when I’ll do it, you won’t even know what hit you.”

You laugh softly, a mix of emotions rushing through you “I can’t wait...” you say, your voice light but with a hint of excitement.

Without another word, Shanks pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he presses his lips against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. You melt into it, the taste of his lips familiar and comforting, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

The crew is watching you two, stunned into silence at first, but then the cheers start.

“Get a room!” Lucky Roux shouts with a laugh, and the rest of the crew joins in, clapping.

You pull back slightly, your forehead resting against Shanks’ as you both smile at the crew’s reaction. He gives you a playful wink, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes” he says softly, his grin full of mischief again.

“Yeah,” you reply with a smile, still feeling the warmth of his kiss on your lips “I kinda spoilered you my answer.”

The crew continues to laugh and tease, but you and Shanks know this moment is real. It might not have been an official proposal yet, but you both understand that when the time is right, he’ll ask, and you’ll say yes. For now, though, you’ll just enjoy this moment with him, the love between you two shining brighter than anything else.

And as the crew celebrates, you and Shanks share another kiss, a promise of what’s to come.

Shanks barely pulls away from your lips before a familiar glint of mischief sparks in his eyes. The crew is still laughing and whistling, throwing jabs about how disgustingly in love the two of you are, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

You know that look.

Before you can react, Shanks suddenly drops to one knee again, right there on the deck, holding out his empty hand like he’s presenting a ring.

“Alright, alright! Since the moment is so perfect... Y/N, will you make me the happiest pirate alive and marry me? For real this time?” His voice is exaggerated, his expression overly dramatic as he bats his lashes up at you.

The crew erupts, laughing and cheering like this is the best show they’ve ever seen. Some of them start slamming their mugs, chanting, “SAY YES! SAY YES!” Lucky Roux even tosses a handful of peanuts in the air like they’re flower petals.

Shanks is still kneeling, hand outstretched “Well?” he asks, tilting his head with a teasing grin “Are you gonna break my heart in front of my beloved crew, Y/N?”

You let out a dramatic sigh and step closer, leaning down just enough to flick his forehead.

The exaggerated thunk makes the crew howl with laughter.

Shanks rocks back like you’ve physically struck him, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded “Rejected… just like that?” he gasps, looking up at you with the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen “You didn’t even consider it? Not even for a second?”

You shake your head, grinning “Oh, shut up. If I say yes to every proposal of yours, we’d be married a hundred times over by now. I can’t accept two in just one day.”

The crew explodes into laughter again, slamming their mugs together, completely losing it over the ridiculousness of it all.

“I think this is the first time Shanks has ever been turned down,” Yasopp says, wiping tears from his eyes “Somebody write this down, it’s history in the making!”

Shanks, still on one knee, sighs dramatically before looking up at you with a lopsided grin “Guess I’ll just have to try again some other day”

There’s something in the way he says it, something in the way his gaze lingers on yours, that makes your chest tighten.

And then, without warning, he rises to his feet and takes your hand.

You raise an eyebrow, confused, but he just smiles as he pulls you in closer “What are you—?”

“Dancing” he answers simply.

There’s no music playing, just the sound of the crew’s laughter and the gentle crash of the waves against the ship. But that doesn’t stop him.

Shanks starts to sway, leading you effortlessly into a slow dance, like the two of you are at some grand ballroom instead of the deck of a pirate ship, surrounded by a bunch of rowdy, drunken idiots.

The crew quiets slightly, watching in amusement. But then you hear Yasopp groan “Oh, come on. Really?”

“Oi, we’re in the middle of a celebration, not a honeymoon!” someone else calls out.

“Get a room, this time for real!” Lucky Roux laughs.

But you barely hear them.

Because you’re looking at Shanks, and he’s looking at you.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter that there’s no music, or that your idiot pirate family is teasing you both in the background. It doesn’t matter that this started as a joke, or that moments ago, he was on one knee in the most ridiculous, over-the-top fake proposal.

Because right now, the way he’s holding you, one hand in yours, the other resting on your waist, feels so natural. So right.

You let yourself melt into him, following his lead as the two of you continue to sway in the middle of the chaos.

“You’re ridiculous” you murmur, but your voice is soft, affectionate.

Shanks smirks “And yet, you’re still here.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head “Yeah,” you whisper “I am.”

His grip on you tightens just slightly, and his expression softens “Perfect.”

Then, grinning, Shanks playfully lowers you backward while holding you, like in a dramatic dance move. Catching you completely off guard. You gasp, clutching at his coat, and the crew loses their minds.

“ALRIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Yasopp groans “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! If you're not going into a room then I am!”

The crew bursts into laughter, some covering their eyes, others raising their drinks in amusement.

Shanks, still grinning like a fool, pulls you back up and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

“You really are the love of my life, y’know that?” he murmurs.

Your heart skips a beat.

You smile, reaching up to brush a few strands of red hair away from his face “Yeah,” you whisper “I know.”

And as the crew continues their antics around you, you realize that this is the best moment of your life.

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animamii · 5 months ago

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even while locked up, Toji will make Valentine's day special for you. He already has a letter sent to you every day leading up to the 14th. Some of them sweet, romantic. Others just straight up dirty. He also has Shiu get you some things, spending the money he has in an offshore bank account.

February 1st

There's a ring at your doorbell, and you sleepily open the door.

"Shiu!" You happily greet before you realize he's holding one of those giant ass bouquets of roses. One of those ramos buchones with the pretty gemstones and your initial spelled out with baby's breath. Flashy as hell. "What's all this?"

"Jus' read the damn letter," he nods to a red envelope, a cigarette dangling out his mouth but away from your precious gift. Toji would kill him even from the inside if he were to find out Shiu got even the slightest of ashes on his girl's gifts. You take the envelope, tracing your name written in Toji’s bold, messy scrawl. You barely close the door before sliding your finger under the seal.

Didn’t forget, baby. I never do. First day, first gift. You better love it. Had Shiu pick out the biggest, most ridiculous thing I could find. My princess only deserves the best, right?

February 2nd

The letter today is simple. Too simple.

Baby, I hope you didn’t think I’d only spoil you with flowers.

Your stomach twists in anticipation. Later that day, you hear a knock. This time, it’s a delivery service. You sign for a package, confusion written all over your face—until you open it. Inside is a velvet box. You slowly open it, and it catches the light, casting rays of color—a necklace, a gold figaro chain with a diamond pendant. Looking closer at the pendant makes your breath hitch.

His initials.

You press your lips together, heart thudding. The note beneath it is shorter this time.

Wear it. Every day. I’ll know if you don’t.

February 3rd

On your front porch it a tiny pink box with another letter perched on top. You open the box first, the whole collection of a lip gloss you wear, one Toji said was his favorite because he loves the scent and the taste when he kisses it off your lips.

I was gonna wait, but fuck it. You know I don’t have patience. I’ve been thinking about you too much, baby. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. All I can think about is that pretty mouth of yours.

You don’t even finish reading before you slam the letter shut. Your face is on fire. He’s ridiculous. But your fingers linger on the page, gripping it tight. You’re not going to reread it. You’re not.

February 4th

Another gift. This time, it’s a designer perfume. You spray it on your wrist out of curiosity, inhaling the scent—rich, warm, deep. A little spicy yet still sweet. Just like you. A folded note is stuck in the packaging.

This is how I want you to smell when I have you under me.

You hate the way your breath catches. The way you tighten your grip on the bottle, as if that’ll stop the way his words sink under your skin.

February 5th

Shiu hands you the next letter without a word. You expect something dirty again, but instead—

You been eating, baby? Sleeping? You better be taking care of yourself. I’ll be real pissed if I find out you’re not.

You blink at the paper, stomach twisting. You don’t even like that he makes you feel this way. Cared for. Wanted. As soon as you look up, Shiu hands you the bags from behind his back. It's takeout from the place you always went to with Toji. Your favorites are inside, every single thing down to the drink. You knew Toji meticulously picked out each menu item. In the other bag Shiu hands you is self care items. Your creams and serums and even the face masks you force Toji to wear with you.

February 6th

You shouldn’t be looking forward to these letters as much as you do. But you do. This one is short.

You dream about me? Bet you do. Wonder if you wake up wet, missing my hands.

You rip it up, toss it in the trash.

Then, minutes later, you dig it back out, smoothing out the pieces.

You hate him.

February 7th

Another knock at the door. Another gift. This time, it's a dress—silky, short, scandalous.

The note?

Wear this when you come see me.

Your breath catches. He hasn’t mentioned seeing you yet, hasn’t even implied it. But now, it lingers in the air.

February 8th

A different kind of letter today.

If I was there right now, what would you do?

You should throw it away.

Instead, that night, you sit on your bed, staring at it in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, heart pounding in your chest.

February 9th

A small box sits outside your door in the morning. This time it's a velvet pouch. You pull the string, letting the contents slide onto your palm—an anklet, delicate gold with a tiny charm dangling off the chain. This one matches your necklace, his initials are on this one too. You don’t even hesitate this time. You clasp it around your ankle immediately.

This one's gonna be dangling over my shoulder soon.

February 10th

Shiu shows up again. Another box.

Inside? Lingerie.

Red. Lace.

The note is just one line.

Think about me when you put it on.

February 11th

You better be missing me, baby. I know you are.

This time the gift is a whole outfit. One of those flowy white maiden-style off the shoulder dresses, pretty sandals, and even an innocent enough white bra and panty set with cute little bows.

It doesn't go with the letter, which leaves you a tad bit confused.

February 12th

This letter is filthy.

Explicit enough that you don’t even know how he got it past whoever checks his mail.

You have to sit down after reading it.

And take a very cold shower.

February 13th

Another envelope. You open it, expecting a letter. But nope. Just a single ticket to Italy for February 15th. Weird.

February 14th

A single rose sits outside your door, a final letter tucked beneath it.

You should know by now to lock your windows, ma. Don't know what kind of scary men could climb through your window.

What the?? Slowly you turn around, and there he is, in the flesh. All smug and cute like he knows he did a damn good job at surprising you.

"Happy Valentine's Day princess."

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robbysreaders · 2 months ago

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pairing: jack abbot x f!reader warnings: age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/he's late 40s) word count: 500ish notes: a spiritual successor to my casual but not casual drabble (here it is if you are curious but you don't need to read it enjoy this one.) be kind to me, i am not a writer but dr. jack abbot is a menace who i cannot stop thinking about so you all must suffer with me.

Your phone buzzes against the sticky surface of the bar table, lit up with Jack Abbot and a photo you secretly took of him eating fries and scowling at the menu.

You grin, already a little too tipsy, and slide your finger across the screen.

“Hey, old man,” you say, standing up to find somewhere a little quieter.

You’re met with that low, dry voice you already know so well: “Please tell me that’s your third drink, not your sixth.”

You look around at the table — your best friends, all glittery and flushed and loud. “...Define sixth.”

You hear him chuckle on the other end. “Having fun?”

“Mhm. They made me take a lemon drop shot. And then a photo booth happened. Probably banned from karaoke now.”

Jack’s quiet for a beat. You know that pause — he’s doing a mental check. Are you safe? Are you happy? Are you going to try and walk home in heels again?

“I’ll get an Uber to yours in a bit,” you add. “Once I wrestle my dignity out from under the table.”

“Nah,” he says. “Tell me when you're wrapping up. I’ll come get you.”

You blink. “Wait—what? No, you worked all day. I’ll be fine—”

“I want to.”

“Jack—”

“I’d rather pick you up and make sure you don’t forget your purse like last time.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. That stubborn, I’m-doing-this-my-way kind of tenderness he never admits out loud.

You hang up. Blush. Immediately tell your friends.

Cue the chaos.

Twenty minutes later, Jack pulls up in his beat-up pickup truck and steps out, wearing a hoodie, jeans, and an expression that says I was not emotionally prepared for this level of perfume and sequins.

Your friends? Obsessed instantly.

He opens the passenger door for you like a goddamn gentleman, then circles back to help your friend Jess climb into the back, muttering, “Watch your step — last time someone faceplanted outta here was Robby after four bourbons.”

He gets everyone in, seatbelts checked, directions logged into his GPS.

You glance over at him — one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh, calm in a sea of giggles and Taylor Swift echoing from someone’s phone.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you whisper.

He just looks over, squeezes your knee, and says, “I wanted to.”

One by one, he drops each friend at their door. Waits until they’re inside. Waves when they call out “Thanks, Dr. McSteamy!” and “Tell him he’s gotta clone himself!”

Finally, it’s just you.

Tipsy. Warm. Full of something that has nothing to do with alcohol.

You glance over at him again. “They love you.”

“They’re very loud about it.”

You laugh. “They said I have to keep you.”

He smirks. “That right?”

You nod. “You making it hard to argue.”

He pulls into your driveway, cuts the engine, and looks over at you with that soft kind of affection he’s still not used to showing.

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

#jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt drabble #the pitt imagine #dr. abbot #dr. abbot x reader #dr. abbott #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #strictly casual #p attempts to start writing

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prettyngeto · 1 month ago

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PROLOGUE || signed, sealed, delivered (i'm yours) - 18+

sukuna x f!reader - series

summary: one night (and one wine bottle in), you decide to sign up for an anonymous pen pal programme at uni. sukuna was given two options - a therapist or a pen pal. you can guess which one he chose. only problem? you hated each other's guts in real life.

content: uni au, anonymous pen pals, academic rivals to lovers, slow burn, bad boy sukuna x fed up reader, forensic sciences student! sukuna, mutual pining masked as academic warfare, sukuna lashes out at everyone except her because yes... he's still a little shit though, reader has a cute obsession with sea animals - specifically sharks, eventual smut 🌚

main masterlist || jjk masterlist

series masterlist ⌯⌲ prologue ⌯⌲ chapter one (tba)

Dr Yumi Takahashi’s office smelt like oranges and vanilla - sweet and serene. Ryomen Sukuna hated it with every fibre of his being.

He sat slouched in the annoyingly comfortable seat across her desk, arms folded tight across his broad chest. His gaze scanned the room in quiet disdain before honing in on her baby blue blazer. Then lower - to the enamel pin on her lapel that read: ‘catch vibes, not viruses’. God help him. He fought the urge to scoff, lips curling, tongue flicking over his lip ring - a nervous habit disguised as irritation. The fabric of his black compression shirt stretched over solid muscle and tattooed skin as he shifted, itching to bolt out the door at any given moment.

“So, Ryomen,” Dr Takahashi began, voice eerily soft, placing her mug of lavender tea down to put on her signature pair of lime-green rimmed glasses. “Let’s talk about what happened in Professor Kimura’s class.”

“I didn’t do shit,” he snapped.

“Language.” She chimed, eyes peeking up at him over the frame of her glasses disapprovingly whilst pointing to the poster behind her that read ‘No vulgar vocabulary!!’, complete with a smiley face in the corner. She opened a purple polka dotted file, RYOMEN SUKUNA, printed out in bold across the front.

“Let’s get back to the issue at hand. You slammed a textbook so hard you cracked the desk Ryomen.” She paused, hands folded as she leaned forward. “You wanna tell me why?”

He scoffed, irritation growing once more. “He said I was wrong just because I didn’t cite his paper. Sue me for not wanting to kiss his academic ass. Besides, it’s not my fault he wrote a whole load of bullshit. I cited three other papers - all peer-reviewed by the way - was that not good enough for him?”

Dr Takahashi blinked slowly. Calmly. Deadly. “You have anger issues, love.”

“Tch, no shit.” He mutters, rolling his eyes.

She remained silent, ignoring his quiet jab. She simply opened her drawer to pull out a floral folder, sliding it across the desk with the air of someone offering a dessert menu. “Two options.” She hummed, pushing her glasses up her nose, holding up her index finger. “Option one: therapy. Weekly anger management sessions. No exceptions.”

Sukuna paled, mouth parting slightly in horror. Sit in a room with some shrink and talk about his feelings for the better part of the day? Fuck no.

“…What’s the other option?” He muttered, tongue flicking out to tap at his lip ring again.

She smiled. Sweet. Slightly sadistic. There wasn’t much that could scare Sukuna. But Dr Takahashi’s smile? Yeah, that shit made the list.

She slid across a bright yellow pamphlet, a cartoon envelope taking up most of the page. “Option two: you join the university’s anonymous pen pal programme.” Her smile widened. “Organised by yours truly”

He balked. His eyes flicked up at her. Then at the leaflet. Then, back at her, squinting like she’d just asked him to scale Everest with a fucking toothpick. Hell, at this rate, he’d rather do that.

“You want me to write? Letters? To some fuckass stranger? Like it's 1725?”

“Writing is a powerful emotional outlet, Ryomen.” She explained, with the patience of a monk. “And it’s anonymous, no names, no faces. Just pure communication. I think it could do you some good.”

“I refuse.”

Her smile sharpened - no more softness, just pure sadism.

Sukuna shivered.

“Shall I book your first therapy session then?” she hummed, voice sickly sweet.

His eyes flitted back to the therapy form. He imagined someone staring at him, asking him: ‘And how did that make you feel?’ with faux sympathy. It made him want to punch a wall. Or maybe someone.

He sucked in a sharp breath, seething silently, crimson eyes fixed on the stupid pamphlet.

“....Fine,” he muttered. “Give me the damn pen.”

A FEW HOURS LATER - 2AM, THE GIRLS' DORMS

You sat cross-legged against the headboard of your bed, laptop perched on your thighs as you took another swig of your wine bottle. Yes, bottle - because somewhere around your fourth sip, you decided glasses were beneath you.

10 Things I Hate About You was playing for what was probably the millionth time in the background, when your laptop pinged. A new email? Who in their right mind was sending campus-wide emails at two in the fucking morning?

I regret to inform you that curiosity (and alcohol) won this time - you open it.

“Not therapy. Not journaling. But a little bit of both.” ‘Dr. Y. Takahashi’s new wellbeing initiative—connect through anonymous letters!’

Well fuck… that was poetic, (according to your wine-hazy brain.)

Naturally, you did what anyone halfway through a bottle of Chardonnay and going through a quarter life crisis would do right now. You signed up.

ᯓ★ notes from star: IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS SERIES GUYS i'm cooking so hard, trust. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated and let me know if you wanna be in the taglist!! mwah <3

1K notes · View notes

taeghi · 6 months ago

Text

take two

you weren’t expecting to see him again, but here he is. jake’s back, and with him comes everything you’ve been trying to move on from. so, what now?

PAIRING : ex!jake x y/n

GENRE : second chance love, ex's to lovers, smut, angst. bathroom sex, choking + hair pulling :D

WC : like 7k?

MDNI

your coworkers convinced you to go out with them after work. it is friday, after all, so you thought it would be a good start to your weekend after a long week of work.

across the street from your workplace is a bar that your coworkers and other workers nearby visit regularly. it's not too small and not too big, but on weekends, it's particularly busy. there are some booths that align the edges of the place, a counter area to order drinks, and a pretty large dance floor.

your coworkers and you snag a booth in the far corner.

your nails tap against the scratched wooden table as your coworkers look at the menu, thinking about ordering an appetizer for you all to share. to be honest, you aren't really hungry, and you are getting tired of them arguing about what to order.

"i'm just going to the bar to get a drink," you inform them, causing them to glance up at you.

"oh, can you get me a beer, y/n?" lila asks, her eyes lighting up.

"can you get me one, too?" daisy adds hopefully.

"why don't you just get us a jug of beer to share, y/n?" serena suggests instead.

"yeah! that would be better!" lila nods, her smile taking up her entire pretty face. daisy nods in agreement, looking between the two at the table and you.

"uh, yeah, okay! no problem!" you agree with your coworkers and turn towards the bar.

you sigh to yourself as you ask the bartender for a jug of beer and slide him $30 across the counter. you don't like beer, but you've just started working at this company and quickly realized how cliquey it is. the girls you came with tonight are more popular at your work. they're pretty and good at their jobs. you were shocked when they invited you to go out with them tonight.

since you're new at your job and don't know anyone properly yet, you decide to go out with these girls, even if they aren't your usual friend type. that's why you're ordering beer instead of your normal drink. you're used to trying to fit in with other groups and surrendering your authentic self, though you thought you wouldn't have to once you graduated college.

the bartender places a jug of beer on the counter; you reach for it simultaneously with someone else—your hand brushes against the stranger's hand on the jug's handle. you pull back quickly and start to apologize, "oh, i'm so sorry i thought that was mi-," the words die on your tongue.

"y/n?"

the way he says your name is too familiar for your liking. you've heard him say it many times before and never thought you would hear it again.

"jake?" you respond, and as you do, you realize it's the first time you've said his name out loud in years.

jake looks the same but different all at once. his features are more mature than they were in freshman year, and his hair is longer. his chest is more built, and you can't help but notice how the shirt he's wearing is so snug against his arms, which are bigger than you remembered. his eyes are more tired and sunken than they were those years ago.

"yeah, it's been a while." he speaks awkwardly, but he doesn't make a move to escape.

his words force you to think back about when you last saw him, the pain of that memory is suppressed but still somehow fresh. you remember the both of you yelling and crying and him leaving your dorm room for the last time by slamming the door behind him.

jake was your first boyfriend.

you met in your first year of college, and within a week, you were dating. the first half of your relationship was perfect. if only it could have stayed that way.

before the beginning of the sophomore year had even started, your relationship with jake sim had faltered. you think it was both of your faults as to why it ended. he began to get more popular and wanted to go out and neglected your needs for his social life, and you started to get more self-conscious and insecure.

it wasn’t long after your breakup that jake sim had disappeared.

you hadn’t even known he left until your mutual friends and acquaintances had started asking you where he went. but you were as shocked as they were.

you aren’t sure where he went, but you knew for a fact that he had dropped out of your university. there was a few rumours about where he had gone, like to france to learn french or that he went back to australia because his family had gone bankrupt.

you (and probably everyone else he ever knew) checked his social media daily to see if he changed anything or posted anything. he never posted on his snapchat again, didn’t retweet a stupid meme on twitter (i will never call it X). his instagram only had one small change suddenly, a few months after he had left. the first letter of your name that was in his instagram bio had been deleted.

you remember the feeling of your heart sinking into your stomach when you pressed his username in your recent searches, thinking that nothing would have changed, that his instagram would still look like he was forever stuck in the past. but the first thing you noticed when it slid onto his account was your initial gone. it comforted you but devastated you at the same time.

on one hand, he was at least alive and safe if he was editing his insta bio, and on the other hand, he really had moved on from you.

after he removed your initial you stopped checking all of his social media. at some point, he had deleted his instagram completely, but you weren’t shocked by that as much.

you had thought you would never see jake sim ever, again and that you could move on with your life.

but that didn't last long since he's standing directly in front of you right now.

he continues with your lack of response, "you look good, though, y/n."

you glance down at your work attire, just some dress pants and a blouse, "thanks, i'm just here after work."

"oh, where do you work?"

"uh, across the street, at the law firm, across the street."

his eyes light up at the information, "oh my god, you always wanted to work there! that's great!"

you smile painfully at his remembering of what you wanted to do after college. your gaze softening with a sadness you couldn’t quite hide. it was like you’re scared that if you blink he’d disappear again.

"what?" he asks you with a curious smile, obviously picking up on your expression.

"sorry," you shook your head to come back to reality, "i just… i never thought i’d see you again."

jake’s laugh was quick and full, like how you remembered it, “yeah, me neither to be honest.

your head tilted slightly, yourbrows knitting together. "where did you go, anyways? like, when you dropped out?"

his smile faltered at that, just a fraction, but it was enough for you to notice. there was a hesitation in his eyes, his mouth opening like he was searching for the right words to be able to explain himself.

but before he could speak, "here's your beer, miss." the bartender places another jug of beer beside jake's. you thank him before he moves on to the other customers, demanding his attention.

you glance back at jake, "i've got to get back to my coworkers…"

jake nods, and you can sense some disappointment in him, "right, i guess uh, i'll see you around maybe."

"yeah, maybe."

"it was nice seeing you, though. have fun with your coworkers."

you offer him a faint smile, "it was nice seeing you too; bye, jake."

you turn on your heel and start to walk back to your table. you feel like the blood has entirely left your body as your heart quickens. you can't believe you just saw your ex after all these years. you realize how fresh the pain is still.

you place the jug of beer on the table, and the other girls barely speak to you as they cheer for the alcohol and pour it into their cups.

for the rest of the night, you force yourself to sit there, listening to lila complain about the girl in the cubicle beside her, serena whining about how your boss has been avoiding her since their most recent hookup, and daisy hating the way the other girls in the office dress.

you try to focus on their conversations, but it feels draining. you wonder how you got yourself in this position.

you thought your life would be so different after college—that you'd actually enjoy life. but you're starting to think it's all the same no matter where you are. you're holding a cup of a drink that you don't even like and pretending to fit in with these coworkers that you really don't like.

in the same bar, there's jake sim, your ex-boyfriend of all people. you can't help but wonder how he's genuinely been and what he's been up to now.

it's a thought that keeps you up at night every few months: what would have happened if you had stayed together during college if you hadn't let your insecurities get the best of you, if you had gone out with him to those parties he was always going to?

before you can stop yourself, your gaze shifts across the room. there he is. jake is sitting at a table with a few friends, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to someone speak. your heart clenches as his eyes suddenly lift, locking onto yours through the crowded bar.

the noise around you silences. his gaze feels heavier than it should—like he's reading every thought you've buried, every emotion you swore you'd moved past. you want to look away, pretend that you don't see him, but you can't. his eyes are prettier than you remembered.

just as your thoughts start spiraling, a waitress steps in front of his table, breaking eye contact. it's enough to jolt you back to reality, enough to remind you of where you are and who you're supposed to be now.

"i think i'm gonna head home," you tell your coworkers, forcing a weak smile as you grab your bag.

they barely notice as you slip away, the bar noise fading behind you as you step outside.

every step you take home leads to a new memory you've suppressed about jake. like when he used to hum his favorite song as he drove, how he pulled his jacket off and covered your head with it from the sudden rain one night, and the memory of how his voice sounded so deep and raspy in the morning as he begged you to stay "just a little longer" in bed.

how could jake still affect you after all these years?

you wipe the tear falling down your cheek.

you spent the rest of the weekend wondering why you had the worst luck. you could’ve run into anyone you’ve ever met, but it just had to be jake sim.

your break up with jake was hard on you. he was the first boy you ever loved. sometimes you wondered if he would be the only boy you’ll ever love.

since jake, you’ve gone on a few dates with other boys; some you’ve met on shitty dating apps and others your friends had set you up with. most of them never went to a second date and the rest didn’t last more than a year.

it was starting to frustrate you and you were beginning to think you’d be single forever.

your friends asked you what was wrong with all the boys you’ve dated, and you could never tell them a straightforward answer. you felt like you were looking for something in each of them that they never had. sometimes your mind would tell you that you’re looking for jake within them, but you never let yourself ponder on that thought for long.

when monday rolled around again, you realize you spent the entire weekend holed up in your apartment with thoughts of jake sim taking up your entire mind. you tell yourself that the past 48 hours was the final time you’d ever think about him and you went to work.

you are kind of proud of yourself for not thinking too much about jake sim all week.

everytime your ex boyfriend would seep into your mind, you reminded yourself to not think about him. there is no good about thinking about all the what if’s that surround him and your relationship. that your history with jake sim is done, and you’ll never see him again.

this friday night, you aren’t spending it in a corner of a bar with your coworkers that you mildly hate, but spending it in a corner of a bar with your college friends for one of their birthdays.

you had met the birthday girl, aeri, during your freshman year of college and she had easily become one of your best friends. even after college aeri and you have made sure to remain close, despite both of you working a lot of longer hours now.

you show up at the bar she had texted you the address to earlier on time, wearing a short black dress that you always wanted to wear but never a reason to. you’re quick to spot your friend group in the bar. they were loud and already filling up two tables pushed together.

“oh my god! y/n!” aeri suddenly squeals as she sees you over the many heads of your friends.

the whole group turns at your name and you’re suddenly being pulled into many hugs as you greet all your friends. some of them you haven’t seen since graduation, but others you’ve seen last week.

“happy birthday, aeri,” you greet your best friend finally, handing her her gift in a pink bag.

“aw, thank you so much, y/n!” she pulls you into a tight hug, your chin squeezed against her shoulder and neck.

“it’s no problem! i hope you like it!”

“oh, you know i will.” aeri moves her hand dismissively, but then her eyes suddenly light up. “oh my god, y/n, wait, guess who showed up!”

you tilt your head curiously, “who?”

“jake!”

his name makes your blood run cold and your body heat up at the same time. you follow with your eyes where your best friend's finger is pointing, and sure enough, jake sim is sitting at the table.

unlike last week, jake’s hair is pushed back neatly and he’s wearing an all black suit, he looks more put together. it makes your heart stop for a minute as you take in his appearance. his chocolate brown eyes are looking back at you with a sheepish smile on his face.

“isn’t it great y/n? he’s back!” aeri continues, not being able to contain her own excitement for her old friend returning.

“uh, yeah, it is.” you nod, not being able to form any other words.

some servers suddenly approach the table with some drinks, distracting everyone, so you take your chance to sit down at the only empty chair at the table. which just so happens to be across from jake.

you curse yourself for taking so long to pick an outfit out, you could’ve been here earlier and not forced to sit directly looking at your ex.

thankfully, sora is sitting beside you, she’s the sweetest girl you’ve ever met. you met her during your final years at college, though you wish you could’ve met her much sooner. she always knows how to cheer you up.

“hi, y/n! i love your dress.” sora greets you, her lovely smile already on her pretty face.

“thanks sora, i love your dress too, it’s super pretty!”

she thanks you before she takes a sip of her drink, “so you were friend’s with jake too, then?”

dammit sora.

your wide eyes meet jakes wide ones across the table. both of you look at each other and then at sora. since sora had joined your friend group later on, she never got to meet jake. maybe she’s heard some stories about him, but that’s all she would’ve known about your ex.

“uh yeah, we were.” jake speaks for you, keeping his voice so calm compared to how you were feeling inside.

from down the table you hear aeri scoff, “please sora, they weren’t just friends.” everyone turns to look at aeri, who bless her heart, is already wasted, “they dated!”

your stomach drops further at your best friend reminding everyone about your past relationship with jake. the table laughs as you see everyone remembering. you stare down at your lap, wishing you could disappear.

“yeah, sora,” you hear your friend heeseung speak from down the table, “jake and y/n use to be like attached at the hip.”

sunghoon, who’s sitting beside heeseung chimes in with a teasing smile, “jake and i use to live together in freshman year. it was like y/n was our third roommate. i remember us joking about her having to start paying rent she was there so often!”

the laughter around the table is lighthearted, with everyone remembering freshman year. but you leave your gaze fixated on your lap. you glance up at jake quickly, wanting to see if he’s just as awkward and embarrassed as you are, but of course he’s not.

jake is calm and seems completely nonchalant about the whole thing.

before you could spiral further, the servers return with plates of food for everyone. the conversation shifts as everyone starts to prepare to eat, mumbling about how hungry they are.

sora leans toward you, her expression apologetic as she whispers to you, “i’m so sorry about that y/n. i should’ve been quieter or something.”

you shake your head, giving her a small smile. “it’s no problem sora. it’s okay— you didn’t know.”

from down the table, aeri’s voice cuts through, “more shots!” she yells, raising her glass high. you realize she must be really going full out for her birthday this year.

suddenly, you feel something brush against your calf. the gentle but purposefully movement makes you jump slightly. your eyes dart across the table, meeting jake’s calm gaze. his leg is the one stretched out under the table with his foot gently rubbing yours. you can tell that the look in his eyes is asking if you’re okay. it makes your chest tighten.

you can’t hold his gaze for long.

you take the chance to excuse yourself. “i’m going to the bathroom,” you murmur quietly to sora, who nods in understanding. you can tell she still feels bad for triggering the jake conversation.

you leave the table quickly, making a beeline straight for the hallway that leads to the bathroom. when you reach the door though, it’s locked.

“great,” you sigh to yourself and spin to lean against the wall, it’s cold against your warm skin.

you close your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. everytime you think you’ll never see jake sim again, you’re always proven wrong. and now, he’s back with your friend group, so you’ll have to see him even more often. you don’t know if you can do it. you think about going home early. aeri is too drunk to notice if you disappear before her fourth round of shots.

another person walks in the tight, dark hallway to the bathrooms which makes you glance up and realize it’s jake.

he stops in front of you, “are you okay?”

“yeah, just someones in there,” you nod towards the closed bathroom door, “so i’m waiting.”

jake nods as his mouth forms an “O” in understanding. he leans back against the opposite wall of you, so you’re both facing each other.

now, in the dark, you recognize how much his facial features have matured since you last saw him. he’s not boyish and silly like he used to be when you dated. jake looks more serious and stoic and you wonder if you would even know parts of him anymore.

“why are you acting like nothing happened between us?” jake suddenly asks you.

it takes you by surprise, how blunt his question is. you try to remember if jake was this blunt when you dated.

“what do you mean?”

jake pushes off the wall behind him and he steps towards you, closing the distance in the small hallway. his movements have your pulse racing. his frame is enclosing you against the wall, he leans one of his hands against the wall beside your head.

“you know what i mean, y/n.” jake’s voice is low as he speaks. he looks down at you, right into your eyes. you feel your knees buckle. “you’re sitting there, acting like we’re strangers or something. like none of it mattered. like i didn’t matter to you.”

your whole body feels like its on fire. your fingers grip the hem of your dress, trying to keep you present and upright against the wall behind you.

“jake,” you whisper, trying to tell him anything. but the intensity in his eyes and how close his body is to yours make it hard to think straight.

“just tell me, y/n,” jake says slowly, his free hand brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face, making your breath hitch at his touch that you haven’t felt in years, “is this really how you want it to be between us?”

his words hang in the air. the tension between you is so thick in this small hallway that it feels almost suffocating. his hand lingers on your cheek. the touch of his fingers makes your brain fuzzy. you want to respond to him, saying something or anything to him, but you can’t focus on anything but how close he is to you. how familiar his touch is.

“tell me you don’t feel it anymore.” jake tells you, his breath warm against your skin. his fingers fall to your jaw, titling your face up so you’re forced to look directly at him. you feel hyper-aware of the fact that his lips are just a mere inch away from yours.

“f-feel what?”

the bathroom door opens right beside your head, the light from inside brightens the hallway. you both freeze as you look at a girl you don’t recognize step out of the bathroom. her eyes widen slightly as the light behind her exposes both of you pressed up against the wall. her face is contorted as he awkwardly walks around you and back to the bar.

before you can say anything, jake is pushing you into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it with both of you inside.

jake doesn’t give you a second to breathe, he’s pushing you up against the sink’s counter, your hips pushed against the ledge.

“the neediness y/n,” jake answers your question from the hall, “you used to be so needy for me. you used to make me make you cum at least twice before we could even leave the house. do you remember that, y/n?”

his words make you gasp, the memories of all the times jake has made you orgasm come flooding into your mind. no one’s ever known your body as well as jake has. no one’s ever been attentive as him. with all the boring dates you’ve been on through the years, the sex was just as boring.

“do you want me to remind you why you were so needy for me, baby?”

“please,” you whine out, suddenly caving into your desires, to your neediness.

within seconds jake is lifting you up onto the bathroom counter behind you, your back pressed up against the cool mirror. his hands don’t hesitate to roam your body, feeling your body again, like he once did all the those years ago. you bite your lip to suppress a moan. you’re quickly remembering how easily his touch affects you.

“did you miss my touch, baby?” jake whispers, his hot breath fanning your neck. it sends goosebumps across your skin. his lips start to trail down your neck, kissing the skin there so softly, teasing. his hands are the complete contrast to his lips, they’re rough like they own you.

even after all these years, it still seems like jake knows exactly how to tease you and touch you. it feels as if there was no time gap between then and now.

jake’s fingers start trailing up your bare thighs, so gently and warm, “you missed the way i make you feel? the way i make you cum?” his words further light the fire within you. you nod against the mirror behind you, watching as he stands between your legs, his fingers finding the already damp fabric of your panties.

jake hooks his fingers under the elastic and pulls them down, leaving your bottom half completely exposed to his eyes. the sudden rush of cool air on your core makes you gasp. but jake wastes no time and slides two fingers inside your wet folds, eliciting a soft cry from your lips at the feeling of being stuffed.

“you’re so fucking wet baby,” he growls, his fingers starting to push in and out of your hole. he curls them in just the right way that has you moaning already. he knows your body already, he doesn’t need to probe around to find that one spot that has you writhing in pleasure. he knows what makes you weak. “do you want me to fuck you right here? in this bathroom with all of our friends outside waiting for us?”

you can only nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps as his fingers still fuck into you. he leans directly over over pussy, allowing a string of spit to fall from lips and right onto your core, mixing with your juices all over his fingers. the sounds emanating from your pussy fill the bathroom. the slick noise jake’s fingers slicking against your juices mingle with your moans.

jake adds a third finger, stretching you, filling you. its the most full you’ve been in years. the sensation is addicting.

“tell me you missed me, baby.” jake demands, his fingers twisting and thrusting inside of you. “tell me you’ve been thinking about my touch— my cock pounding into you.” his words are even more addicting as you’re forced to listen to him in your ear. you whimper out in response, trying to keep your eyes open to watch him, to watch his fingers sink into your wet core over and over again.

“say it,” he insists, his fingers slowing their pace, teasing you. “say you need my cock, that you want me to remind you why you loved my cock so much.” his free hand reaches up, gripping your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your thoughts swirl. the choke sends a rush of adrenaline through your body, heightening your senses. you feel so submissive to him that it only fuels your desire for him.

“i, i need it!” you manage to croak out, your voice so hoarse. “please fuck me, jake, please.”

your words make him release your neck, and instead he grabs your hair. the pain feels good as it mixes with the pleasure his fingers are giving you.

with both of his hands busy and your hips bucking off the counter and legs squeezing around jake’s wrist, jake’s access to your sweet spot inside of your pussy was disrupted.

“hold your legs open for me,” jake tells you. your hands reach around to hook underneath your knees to spread yourself bare for him. “good girl.”

you whimper at the name. jake keeps your head pinned back against the mirror and keeps his other hand delved deep inside your pussy as he curls and swirls his fingers around your g spot, stretching you.

you felt so dirty— fucking your ex in a bathroom with your friends all outside waiting for you. you’re bare on the sink counter and holding your own legs open, spreading yourself for your ex.

“f-fuck!” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as he finger fucks you. everytime his fingers enter you you feel closer and closer to the edge— you can practically taste your orgasm. “i want your cock so bad! i need it, please!”

jake groans, he swears he feels his cock twitch in his pants at how needy your voice sounded, “fuck, you know how much i love hearing you beg. i can’t say no to it,” jake then takes his fingers out of you, chuckling at your whine and the way your pussy tries to clamp around them, wanting them to stay inside.

he leaves you panting and writhing on the counter as he starts to unbuckle his pants and pull his hard cock out. the sight of you with your hair messy from his hand pulling it and your pupils blown out makes his cock drip more with precum.

you spread your legs again for him to stand in between them. his large, hard cock only inches away from sliding into your pussy. he leans between your bodies again, letting spit drip from his mouth and land right on his cock. you forgot how much jake loves to make it as messy as possible.

jake presses his cock against your throbbing clit. it makes your squirm as it rubs up and down your wet folds, collecting more of your juices and his spit. you whine out into the bar’s bathroom as he teases you. your hips try to grind against his cock that is vertical with your slit as he rubs it up and down. you really are so desparate and so needy, especially for jake’s cock.

you’re getting tired of his teasing and smirking as he watches you try to grind yourself onto his cock. “jake, please fuck me already!” you urge him to take you then and there.

“someone’s impatient,” jake continues smirking. before you could complain further, jake thrusts forward, filling your wet pussy in one swift motion. you instantly cry out, throwing your head back against the mirror behind you.

the feeling of finally being stuffed full satisfies and overwhelms you at once. but, jake holds himself still for a moment, with his cock fully lodged inside of you, letting you adjust. he doesn’t pull out until you nod at him that it was okay to start.

his first thrust back in is rough and hard. the force of his hips meeting yours makes your entire body jerk against the bathroom counter. the mirror behind you holds you in place for his harsh thrusting. jake’s hands are holding your legs tight as he begins to fuck in and out of you.

the sound of the wetness from your juices and his saliva fill the room along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. jake’s grunts are low and his face is already contorted into pleasure as he focuses on fucking his cock deep inside of you.

“fuck you’re such a good girl, taking all of my cock like this,” jake groans out, his pace becoming relentless and wild as he fucks you on the counter. “you’re gonna cum all over my cock right? show me how needy you are— how much you need to cum on my cock?”

“oh fuck yes!” you cry out, your legs wrapping around his waist tighter, latching onto him, “please fuck don’t stop!”

yor nails dig into his shoulders through his black shirt. jake reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and starts to circle it the way he knows you like it.

jake seemingly knows everything about your body, even more than you do. you swear he makes you cum than you can make yourself cum. nothing feels as good as jake— that’s all you can think about as he is pounding into you.

suddenly, jake pulls out of you completely and steps away, making your legs drop from around his waist.

“jake,” you whine out, “what the fuck? i was so close!”

he only chuckles in response, “turn around, let me see your ass.”

you shut up and get off the counter, turning around like he told you to. jake’s hand is on your back, pushing you down so your ass it up and your chest is pressed flush against the cool bathroom counter.

jake’s other hand harshly slaps your bare skin on your ass, “spread your legs.” you do as he says again, whining at the pain and pleasure you’re feeling all at once.

you feel jake’s hands wrap around your waist before he slides his cock back into you, both of you groaning at the feeling of the different angle. jake’s grip on your waist tightens as he starts to fuck into you from the back now. your ass moving every time he slams his cock back into you all the way.

without jake holding you in place, you’re sure your hips would be bruised from the bathroom counter from how hard and fast he’s pounding into you. you keep your hands on the edges of the bathroom counter, letting jake fuck you at whatever pace he wants. your moans are getting louder and louder as both of you start to fill the bathroom up with the smell of sex and sweat.

“fuck, this pussy is just as good as i remembered it,” jake grunts out behind you. his once neat, pushed back hair is now messy along his forehead from his harsh movements and sweat. his bottom lip is swollen from biting down on it as he fucks you.

“mhm,” you nod against the counter, “y-you’re cock is still so good, fuck.”

jake’s hand lands harshly on your ass again, your hand quickly covers your mouth to prevent you from screaming. you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as jake fucks you, his cock stretching you so fucking good.

jake suddenly pulls your hair backwards, “stand up.” you do as he says yet again, but you need to grip the counter in front of you and lean on his body behind you to stand up. “look,” his nods beside your face from behind you, now that your back is pressed against his chest, his cock still lodged deep inside of you.

you look ahead of you into the mirror and see what you and jake look like pressed up against each other. jake’s one hand is still in your hair, pulling it back so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. both of your hair is a mess either way, and your black dress is pulled up way past your waist, it’s almost like a crop top now.

yours and jakes eyes both look blown out, high on sex, pleasure and adrenaline. even though you’re both sweaty, you can’t help but think how good jake looks with a few sweat droplets gathering around his hairline.

“don’t you look so sexy, baby?” jake whispers into your ear, he starts to thrust upwards into your pussy again, it makes your knees buckle underneath yourself. you whimper in response, not being able to take your eyes off of yourselves in the mirror.

“y-you look so hot,” your voice is hoarse as you tell him. in the mirror you see him smirk at you, before he leans over and starts sucking on your neck, biting and nipping at all the spots that he knows drives you crazy.

jake doesn’t stop thrusting his cock up inside of you as he lets go of your hair with his hand. he then trails his hand down the front side of you and circling your clit again with two fingers. you throw your head back onto his shoulder, but still keep your eyes on the mirror in front of you. it was like watching your own personal porn, the way both of you were groaning and grabbing each other. the way your entire body would jerk everytime jake thrusted inside of you.

“that’s it, keep watching us, baby,” jake groans into your ear, your eyes meet his through the reflection of the mirror, “don’t we look so good together?”

“y-yes,” you whimper out, the pressure on your clit making you lose yourself within the pleasure.

“did you miss my cock, y/n? did you miss me?”

“mhm, yes, fuck, missed you so much.”

jake smirks against your cheek at your response, his thrusting getting more erratic, wanting to make you cum all over his cock just like you had done before, years ago.

“then cum all over my cock baby, show me how much you missed this.”

his words push you to the edge, your orgasm finally done building as it courses through your body almost suddenly. “fuck!” you cry out, your nails digging into the bathroom counter in front of you. without jake holding you you would’ve fallen right down from how the pleasure completely takes over your body. his two fingers don’t stop circling your clit all the way through your orgasm, making you cry out his name, your pussy clamping around his cock.

jake continues to thrust through your orgasm, his own release building. He grips your hips tightly, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he empties himself deep inside you. "That's it, baby, milk my cock," he growls, his voice hoarse with pleasure.

As your bodies slowly calm, Jake leans forward, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss. The taste of him, the feel of his body against yours, reminds you why you had always found it so hard to forget him.

“I missed this, missed you," he breathes against your lips, his fingers gently caressing your cheek.

with his words and now that he wasn’t inside of you or making your mind all fuzzy, his words only brought you back to reality.

the reality that you just had sex with your ex in a bathroom of a bar at your best friends birthday party.

jake can physically see you tense in front of him, he lets you step away from him, turning away from him to pick up your panties from the floor and quickly slip them back on.

“y/n?” he questions you, “are you okay?”

“mhm,” you tell him, it’s all you can manage, your mind too confused with anything else.

the air in the bathroom suddenly feels suffocating. your lips and body are still tingling from his touch.

it feels like just a second ago, jake was just a memory from your college days, someone that you thought you'd’ never see again, and now, you’ve just been pressed against the bathroom counter with his hands all over your skin and his lips claiming yours. you feel like nothing makes sense right now.

you take a step back, putting distance between you and jake, your heart pounding erratically. “i can’t do this,” you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you reach for the door handle.

“y/n, wait.” jake’s voice is soft but urgent, and his hand wraps around your wrist gently, trying to stop you. “can we just talk?”

but you shake your head, pulling free from his grasp. “i can’t,” you repeat, your voice cracking slightly. without another word, you slip out of the bathroom and into the bar and then out the front door.

the cool night air hits your face as you push open the door and step outside, trying to steady your breathing. it’s a relief compared to the heat inside that bathroom. you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to think about everything that just happened and how you’re going to get home right now.

“y/n!” his voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see him jogging toward you. before you can react, his hand catches your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. his grip is firm but not forceful, his eyes searching yours desperately. “please, talk to me.”

you pull your wrist from his grasp, a lot harder than you had meant to, but you were angry and confused. “you don’t get to just walk back into my life like nothing happened, jake! you don’t get to just show up, fuck me, and act like—like you didn’t just leave me!”

ake flinches, his expression twisting with guilt. he runs a hand through his hair, looking down for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “i know,” he says softly. “i know i don’t deserve to just… come back like this. but y/n, i couldn’t stay away.”

“then why did you leave?” you demand, your voice cracking as you step back from him. “why did you disappear? you weren’t even home half the time anymore.”

“because i was scared,” he’s blunt again, something you don’t recognize in the man you thought you knew, but you prefer it like this than him bottling it up and leaving. scared of how much i loved you. it was overwhelming, y/n. you were my whole world, and it terrified me. i mean, we were so young and, i didn’t know how to handle it, so i ran.”

your breath catches, tears stinging your eyes as his words sink in. “you hurt me, jake,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “you broke me.”

“i know,” he says, stepping closer, his expression full of regret. “and i’ve thought about you every day since i left. i just didn’t know how to fix it.”

his voice softens as he reaches for your hand, but he stops short, giving you the choice to take it. “but i’m here now, y/n and i’m not scared anymore. i love you.”

you stare at him, his words hanging heavily in the space between you. part of you wants to push him away again, to protect yourself from the pain he’s already caused. but another part—the part that still remembers how he made you feel, how he made you laugh, how we always seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

“jake,” your voice weak, “you can’t just say you love me and expect it to fix everything. i mean, we dated years ago.”

“i don’t,” jake jumps to say, “i know its not that simple, but i mean it y/n. and i had to tell you what i’ve been feeling for years, even if you don’t love me anymore.”

you sigh, trying to sort all of your thoughts out. the person standing before you is no longer the boy you fell in love with all those years ago, even the simple interactions you’ve had with him so far you can tell he’s different.

“it’s going to take time,” you start to say, finally, “but i can forgive you.”

you see jake’s eyes light up in the dark night, he steps closer to you, his body heat warming yours. he takes your hands into yours, wanting you to focus only on him. “i’ll wait as long as it takes y/n. just tell me there’s a chance.” jake’s lip purse into a pout, wanting you to say yes to him.

his round eyes looking up at yours makes you scoff, “yes jake, there’s a chance.”

jake pulls your hands closer to him, making your body rush into his, making your faces only inches apart, “i won’t mess this up, y/n.”

“i believe you.”

“so… take two?”

“take two— and it’ll be the only other take, jake!”

“okay, okay, i believe you.”

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

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rafeshit · 5 months ago

Text

dad!drew x pregnant!reader

warnings — fluff and stuff :)

summary — drew being overprotective when you leave a hotel to see a swarm of paparazzi and fans at the doorway

—

You stand in front of the hotel room mirror, applying a final coat of mascara as Drew sits behind you, watching with an admiring gaze. You're both getting ready to head out to dinner, and you can't wait to dig into the food.

"Drew, I have been craving seafood all day," you say, setting the mascara wand down on the counter. "I hope they have some options at this restaurant." You groan, all you need right now is seafood, your whole pregnancy you had been craving it like clockwork.

Drew's face lights up with a smile. "You're in luck, because I checked the menu online and they have an entire section dedicated to seafood. You're going to be in heaven baby."

You let out a squeal, happy to hear that, and Drew gets up from his chair, walking over to where you stand. He drops to his knees, his hands on either side of your belly, and presses his lips to your stomach through the tight black dress, sending kisses all over your stomach. "Hey there, buddy," he coos, speaking to your bump. "Mama's been craving some fish, huh? Are you hungry, baby?"

As if on cue, the baby kicks, and you both laugh at that coincidence.

"Looks like someone's excited for dinner," Drew says, chuckling, looking at you.

You run your hand over your belly, feeling the pressure of the baby's kicks. "I think someone's been listening to our conversation," you say smiling.

Drew plants one more kiss on your stomach before standing up, holding out a hand to help you turn around. You take one last glance in the mirror, making sure your makeup is perfect, before grabbing your bag and nodding at Drew.

"Ready to go?" he asks, and you nod. as you head out the door, Drew wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You lean into him, and step out into the hallway. As the elevator doors slide open, you and Drew step inside, pressing the button for the lobby. The ride down is quick and quiet, and your hands are interlocked with Drew’s as he kisses you on the cheek.

As you exit the elevator, you push through the glass doors, and surprisingly you're met with a swarm of paparazzi and screaming fans. You blink, taken aback by the chaos. "How did they even find us?" you wonder out loud, grasping Drew's arm for support. You'd only arrived in town today, and you'd been discreet about your whereabouts.

Drew shields your face from the flashing cameras, as you step outside. "Let's just get through this," he mutters, guiding you through the crowd. Fans reach out, begging for autographs and pictures, but Drew politely declines, mentioning your dinner reservation. You nod in agreement, trying to stay focused on getting through the crowd.

But just as you think you're making progress, a paparazzi grabs your arm, yanking you back. "How's the pregnancy going?" he asks, his camera lens inches from your face, flashing bright white flicks in your face, practically blinding you.

You stumble, almost losing your balance, but Drew quickly reacts, catching you. He shoves the paparazzi away with his shoulder, giving him just enough force to get him to back off. "Watch yourself, dick wad," Drew spat, "You could've hurt her."

The paparazzi sneers, but Drew's warning is clear. "You're going to need to do better than that if you want a shot," Drew adds. You take a deep breath, continuing through the crowd. Drew wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in even closer.

Finally, you see the black sedan waiting for you, and Drew opens the door, helping you inside. You collapse onto the seat, exhaling a sigh as the door closes behind you. "Are you okay?" Drew asks, moving a piece of hair from your face.

You nod, still shaken up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." Drew takes your hand and scans your face. "Anytime, baby. Now, let's get to that seafood, right?” He offers a smile, to which you could reciprocate.

As the car pulls away from the curb, you start to feel dizzy. The encounter with the paparazzi was more than you can handle, and the motion of the car isn't helping. You sway slightly to the side, feeling like you're going to faint.

Drew's eyes snap to yours, "Hey, hey, are you okay?" he asks, quickly releasing his seatbelt and moving closer to you.

You nod, trying to assure him, but the words get stuck in your throat. Your vision starts to blur, and you feel like you're going to pass out. Without hesitation, Drew takes your hand and pulls you into his side. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, holding you close, and begins to speak softly into your ear. "Take slow, deep breaths, baby. You're alright now. I've got you."

You nod, already feeling better as you lean into him. He tenderly strokes your hair, his fingers gentle against your scalp. "That was a close call back there." he says, verbally upset about it.

As the car continues to move, Drew holds you tight. Your dizziness begins to subside and after a few minutes, you feel well enough to sit up straight again. Drew helps you adjust your seatbelt and hands you a bottle of water from the car's mini-fridge.

"Here, drink this," he says, "You must have gotten dehydrated from the shock."

You take a sip, feeling the cool liquid soothe your throat. "Thank you.”

Drew smiles, "Anytime, baby. Now, let's get to that dinner and get you those crab legs."

“Thank God.” You chuckle. Upon arrival at the restaurant everything else went smoothly, you had a nice romantic dinner at one of the best restaurants in the city and you enjoyed your seafood by clearing off the entire plate. When it came time to go back to the hotel drew made sure to step out the car first and make a pathway for you by telling the fans that you were expecting and needing the space. They obeyed, because they were respectful as always.

Finally you reach the hotel room and collapse on the bed, drew following suit. he wraps his arm around your tummy and smiles at you, to which you smile back. He places a kiss on you lips and you both then prepare to get ready for bed.

#drew x reader #drew starkey x reader #drew fluff #drew starkey fluff #dad!drew starkey #pregnancy #pregnant #pregnant fluff #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #dad!rafe cameron #pregnant reader #pregnant!reader #rafexreader #drew starkey

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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Purple Lace Bra

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rhett just wanted to try out the new bar in town, and he bites off more than he can chew when his eyes settle on you.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut…Of course…And Swearing…Of course lol And a hot cowboy, because yeeeeehawwww and hawwwwwyeeeeee!

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (risky behaviour here), Fingering, Handjob (ish?), little rough, a bit of hair pulling, some dirty talk, and breastplay.

Author’s Note: Alright guys, I heard you I heard you, and I decided to take a stab at writing for Rhett. I’m hoping it meets expectations. Fingers crossed! Enjoy though!

Word Count: 8,998

The bar was new.

That much was obvious from the second Rhett stepped inside.

It didn’t have that worn-in, lived-through, broken-down charm most places in Wabang wore like a badge. No warped floorboards swollen with spilled beer and questionable stains older than some of the patrons. No cigarette burns crusted into the lacquer of every tabletop. No cracked vinyl barstools or hand-carved initials sunk deep into the counters. No grit under your fingernails just from leaning against the wall.

Everything in here was intentional.

Dark walnut paneling framed exposed red brick, and the floors–still scuff-free–glowed under the dim warmth of amber-tinted Edison bulbs hanging from long black cords. The air was thick with sawdust and varnish, freshly cured wood layered beneath the heavier scents of whiskey, fried grease, perfume, and sweat. Someone had poured a hell of a lot of money into making the place feel like a dream of a saloon.

And it was packed.

It was too many people for a Wednesday night, if you asked him. Locals mixing uneasily with out-of-towners in freshly bought boots. Girls in fringed skirts and lips gloss laughing too loudly. Guys leaning on pool cues like props, flexing flannel sleeves that didn’t have a day’s work on them. Music buzzed low from overhead speakers–something twangy but radio-polished, not nearly enough slide guitar to be worth a damn.

He stepped in slowly, one hand pushing the door open with that unhurried, deliberate motion he never lost–boots hitting the threshold with purpose. The scent hit him first. It wasn’t just alcohol or fryer grease, but the sharp undertone of new.

Rhett’s eyes scanned the room from under the shadow of his hat. He tugged at the brim slightly–a reflex more than anything–and felt the familiar weight of the stares he got in places like this.

He didn’t dress like the others. His boots were worn down with real scuffs and creases from a hard day's work. His jeans hung soft and broken–in, and his button-down was plain, with sleeves pushed up and frayed at the cuffs. Technically he looked like a man who belonged there, but the crowd was definitely not for it.

He made his way to the bar slowly, easing up between a group of college kids and a woman wearing heels way too tall for gravel parking lots. He nodded once to the bartender–young, slick, and clean–and ordered a beer without looking at the menu.

Then he heard it.

That mechanical groan–a low hydraulic hiss followed by the whump of rubber matting and the screech of excitement from somewhere in the back corner of the room.

Rhett’s brows lifted at the noise, and angled himself just enough to see it: a mechanical bull, spot lit and surrounded by a padded floor, ropes separating it from the tables like it was some kind of goddamn spectacle. People were gathered around it with drinks in hand, watching like they were at a sideshow–waiting for someone to get thrown. Rhett stared at the thing like it might come alive and charge through the room.

He exhaled through his nose–half sigh, half scoff–and felt the faint sting of amusement press behind his eyes. What the hell were they trying to be in here?

The bartender slid a bottle across the bar top with a practiced hand.

Rhett caught it without looking, fingers curling around the neck, and brought it to his lips. The beer was cold, too crisp, almost too clean. Like everything else in the damn place.

He let his shoulders settle, jaw ticking once, then let his gaze wander–across the room, over the padded mat where a guy in a pearl-snap shirt was still arguing about whether or not he could “last a full ride,” past the mirror-backed shelves of overpriced whiskey, and toward the booth tucked along the far wall.

That’s when he saw you.

You were tucked into a half-moon booth with two other girls–both of them already tipsy, leaning close, wide grins on their gloss-slicked mouths. You had one elbow on the table, a mixed drink in your hand, laughing at something one of them said, your head tipped back just slightly.

Something about the curve of your throat caught the light. Your hair was wind blown, and a few loose strands framed your face nicely. Your boots were crossed beneath the table, and the denim on your legs looked like it had actually been worn instead of picked out of a catalog, and the tight white tank top you wore had definitely pulled his eyes in even further.

You didn’t look like the others.

Didn’t talk too loud. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t scan the room trying to be seen.

But Rhett was seeing you anyway. Every damn inch.

He took another sip of beer and tilted his head slightly intrigued. He had not seen you before, at least that’s what he assumed as you didn’t look familiar, nor did you look like a local.

Your friends were egging you on–he could tell. They leaned in closer, nudging your shoulders, gesturing toward the bull with wild eyes and laughing mouths. You shook your head at first, lips pressed together in a mock “no way,” but then they pushed a little harder. One of them slid out of the booth to tug on your wrist while the other started clapping and cheering. You gave your friend a look–part exasperation, part warning–but the corners of your mouth were already curling into a smile.

Rhett saw the exact moment your resistance cracked. The way you tipped your drink back for one last sip, slid it across the table, and stood–unhurried, unrushed, like you were indulging them, but on your own terms. You pushed your hair out of your face, and adjusted the hem of your tank top before stepping out of the booth completely.

You weren’t trying to get anyone’s attention, but you already had his, and he couldn’t bear to look away.

Your stride through the crowd wasn’t cocky–it was confident. Like you didn’t need to prove anything. You weaved between tables, boots thudding softly against the polished floor, hips swaying with a rhythm that was natural to you. The overhead lights caught the glow of your skin, the edge of your collarbone, the gentle sheen of sweat on your throat.

Rhett’s lips parted slightly around the mouth of his beer, almost like he was enchanted by you and the way you carried yourself.

You crossed into the roped-off section with one hand lightly grazing the padding, you nodded once at the guy operating the bull, and pulled yourself up onto the platform like you’d done it a dozen times.

Hell, maybe you had.

The crowd started to cheer again–louder this time. People leaned in, trying to look over others shoulders. You didn’t even flinch. You turned your back to them, adjusted the rope with practiced ease, and swung one leg up and over the smoothness that Rhett felt in his chest.

You settled into the saddle like it belonged to you. There were no nervous glances. No wobbly balance checks. Just a shift of your hips, a flex of your thighs, and a subtle roll of your shoulders as your hands found their hold–one gripping the rope, the other resting lightly on your thigh.

Rhett’s gaze didn’t waver. He took another slow sip of his beer, the bottle cool in his palm, but he barely tasted it. He was too busy watching you.

The way you sat up there–easy, unshaken, comfortable like it wasn’t your first time–made something slow and solid settle in his chest. You didn’t look like someone pretending to be brave. You looked like someone who didn’t need to pretend at all.

Your spine was straight, but not stiff. Every part of you looked grounded. Controlled, and goddamn was it attractive.

Rhett couldn’t picture you on a real bull–didn’t want to, not really–but there was a part of him that figured you’d probably hold your own just fine. Maybe not from experience, but from that glint in your eye. That natural, unshakable calm.

The operator adjusted a dial, and you gave a short nod, like you were bored of waiting.

Rhett tilted his head, eyes tracking the slow movement of your fingers tightening around the rope. Your hand adjusted just right so you had good tension, and then your other arm lifted, loose but ready.

The bull kicked forward, and you didn’t flinch one bit. You moved.

It was immediate. Like you were built for the rhythm of it. Your body rolled forward, then back, countering every lurch of the machine like instinct. Your legs flexed tight, hips following each twist with unhurried precision. The movement pulled your tank tight across your chest, your shoulder muscles taut with focus. But your face–your mouth, your eyes–remained easy. You were enjoying this.

That made it worse for him in the most consuming way possible.

People around him were cheering now, laughing, calling out, whistling–but it was all background noise to Rhett. His knuckles tensed around the neck of the bottle, barely aware of it.

You were the only thing in the room.

He felt like he was watching something private. Like the way you moved wasn’t for the crowd–but maybe, maybe, it was for someone. For the one person paying real attention.

And when your eyes flicked up mid-spin, and landed squarely on his–Rhett’s breath felt like it was pushed out of his lungs.

You looked at him like you’d known exactly where he was standing the whole time.

And when you smiled–just barely, just enough–he felt it deep in his ribs.

That wasn’t an accident.

That was intentional.

The bull jerked again–harder this time, testing your grip–and Rhett swallowed, slow and thick.

Because you didn’t break.

You leaned into the movement, hips shifting forward, then back, chest arching ever so slightly with the roll of the machine. Your tank rode up just enough to show a strip of skin–taut and warm under the lights–and the sweat starting to build at the back of your neck shimmered like gold dust.

You didn’t wince. You grinned.

You were in control.

Every second of it.

Rhett was breathing through his nose now, jaw tight, the bottle sweating in his grip, untouched. His pulse pounded in his neck, heat climbing slowly beneath his collar, across his chest, and lower.

Watching you ride wasn’t just impressive–it was devastating.

You moved like you knew exactly what it looked like. What it did to the men watching. To him.

And if you didn’t? That was somehow worse. Because your body, the rhythm in it, the way your hips met the motion of the bull like you were answering it–it felt less like performance and more like instinct.

Rhett’s mouth was dry.

He cleared his throat, quiet, subtle, but it didn’t help. His gaze dropped to your thighs, flexed tight around the saddle, your back arched and rocking in time, the tension in your arms, the control in your shoulders–

Jesus Christ.

His hand slid along the bar behind him, like he needed something to brace against. His boots stayed planted, body tight with the kind of energy that didn’t have anywhere to go. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, behind his ears. He took another drink out of pure habit–but the beer barely registered on his tongue.

You didn’t look away from him again.

But you didn’t have to.

You’d already seen him. Already snared him.

And the longer the ride went on, the harder it got to breathe.

The bull picked up speed. Your body snapped harder into the motion. Every line of you sang with tension–coiled and lit and burning–and Rhett swore he felt it like touch.

His skin prickled.

You were panting now, chest rising and falling, heat blooming across your cheeks. But your eyes stayed calm, your mouth open just enough to draw breath between your teeth, and your thighs didn’t loosen once.

Rhett’s heart was hammering now. Low in his chest. Down in his gut. He shifted against the bar without meaning to, jaw clenched tight, thighs tense, every inch of him drawn like wire.

It wasn’t just want.

It was need.

Not to touch. Not yet.

Just to keep watching.

To see how long you’d let him sit there with that heat curling through his stomach, with sweat at the back of his neck, with his breath caught behind his teeth while you made it all look effortless.

And then–mercifully, murderously–the buzzer sounded.

The bull slowed.

You took the last few seconds of movement with a slow, rolling ease–like letting go of control wasn’t something you did all at once.

When the machine finally stilled, you swung one leg back over the side and hopped down to the mat.

Rhett had to physically stop himself from stepping forward.

Because you landed like you were still riding. Like you still had the momentum in your blood. Hair stuck to your temples. Shoulders glowing. Chest rising and falling with short, slow breaths. You were glistening, flushed, lips parted like your body was still half-there.

You smiled.

And then–God help him–you looked at him again.

A breathless, wicked little thing that told him you knew.

You knew what watching you had done to him.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and stepped out of the roped area, crossing the floor toward the bar like you weren’t leaving a trail of heat in your wake.

You didn’t rush.

Didn’t even glance his way at first.

You just stepped up to the bar–right beside him–like it was the most natural thing in the world, and rested your elbows on the counter. Close enough that his shoulder caught the warmth still radiating off your skin. Close enough that he could smell it–you–sweat and juniper perfume and cherry lip gloss. The heady, breath-stealing aftermath of adrenaline and heat.

Rhett didn’t dare move, he didn’t even turn his head. But his eyes flicked down just once, and that was enough. Because up close, now that the sweat had soaked a little deeper into the cotton of your tank, it had slipped ever-so-slightly lower. And just right on the border, where the neckline dipped, he could see it…

Purple lace. Delicate, scalloped. The edge of your bra, soft and feminine and barely visible, peeking like a secret just for him.

His throat worked around a swallow, and he looked away immediately, heat climbing behind his ears. He could feel the tips of them burning beneath his hat.

The bartender approached and you leaned forward, forearms resting against the word.

”Red Russian please,” You said, voice low and easy–honeyed but sharp at the edges. You didn’t have to raise it. He heard every syllable as it slid off your tongue. The bartender gave you a nod and turned away to make the drink.

You leaned a bit, just enough to shift your weight toward him, and without looking, without needing to, you let your voice slide between you and Rhett like silk laced in smoke.

”So…You always stare like that, or was I just particularly inspiring tonight?” Your head turned, slowly, and you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. Rhett’s breath caught–he felt it. Right there in his chest. Like someone had knocked a fist into his sternum and told him not to react.

He brought his eyes to yours like he couldn’t stop himself. They were darker than they’d been a moment ago, lit with something low and burning–lust maybe.

“I…” He swallowed, licking his dry lips, “Wasn’t starin’. Just–watchin’, I guess.” You hummed, amused, the curve of your lips tugging into something sly, but you held his gaze.

“There’s a difference?” His lashes fluttered at you, as you watched the faint pink blush rise to his cheeks just above the stubble that sat neatly on his face. His grip on the neck of the bottle tightened slightly. His voice was low–gravelly and warm when it finally came.

”Yeah,” He replied, “One’s rude. The other’s…Real hard to stop.” You smiled at his response.

”Mm, guess I oughta be flattered then.” Your drink arrived moments later–blood red in colour, topped with a cherry–which gave you something to fiddle with, “You always this good at compliments or am I just bringin’ out the Southern charm?” That made something flicker behind his eyes. A soft huff left him–almost a laugh, but not quite–and the tension in his shoulders finally shifted. Rhett moved, just barely, letting his elbow rest against the bar now–getting closer. His fingers traced the condensation sliding down the neck of his bottle, but his gaze didn’t leave you. He let the silence settle thick between you, then answer, voice smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous.

”Could say it’s the charm.” He drawled, slow and sure, “But the truth is, darlin’, I think it’s just you.” You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you turned your attention to the drink in front of you–blood-red and glinting beneath the low amber lights–lifting it to your lips with an ease that was all confidence and quiet command. You sipped slowly, just enough to stain your mouth with something sweet and strong , then set the glass back down with a gentle clink.

Rhett’s eyes dropped to your lips again, like he hadn’t meant to, like they just drew him in without permission.

And then–without ceremony–you plucked the cherry from the top of your drink, and held it by the stem between your two fingers before bringing it to your mouth.

You kept eye contact the entire time, as you pulled the fruit off it’s anchor.

The cherry disappeared behind your lips, the stem left dangling between your fingers as your jaw moved with delicate precision, tongue flicking behind your cheeks. You chewed slowly, swallowed gently, then licked a faint smear of juice from the corner of your mouth–soft and languid.

Rhett shifted in place, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. The slight roll of his shoulders, the way his hand tightened around the bottle, the flare of heat at the base of his throat. You were doing this to him. Every second of it. And he was letting you.

Hell–he was begging for it.

You let the empty stem drop gently to your cocktail napkin and leaned in just a breath closer, your voice a low, syrupy hum between the two of you.

“So if I’m the reason,” You said, “Guess I should know what to call the man I’m inspirin’.”That made something flicker through him. Not just lust now—but interest. Real interest.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch like he was working out the puzzle of you in real time. And then–finally–he offered you a hand.

Calloused. Warm. Strong fingers, broad palm, veins faintly raised from years of real work. The kind of hand that looked like it could break you apart or hold you like something sacred.

“Rhett,” He said, voice like gravel and molasses. “Rhett Abbott.” You took his hand into yours, giving it a gentle shake. Your touch was soft, but firm. Full of intention, just like the rest of you.

Your thumb grazed the back of his hand once before you replied.

”Nice to meet you, Rhett Abbott,” You said, your voice curling around his name like sheer silk, “I’m Y/N.”

God help him, hearing his name come out of your mouth like that–low and smooth, like it tasted good–did something to him. Something sharp and hot that settled just behind his rib cage.

You still hadn’t let go of his hand. You held it just long enough for the pad of your thumb to trace that one shallow callous on the base of his thumb. Just long enough to let the quiet stretch between you with thick implication.

When you finally released him, it wasn’t because you wanted to. It was because you’d already said enough with the way you touched him

Rhett cleared his throat, but his fingers curled slightly like they missed yours already. His eyes raked over your face once–then lower. Over the hollow of your throat, the curve of your shoulder, the edge of that purple lace he’d clocked earlier still flirting with the neckline of your tank. He didn’t look long. It was already burned into his brain.

”Y/N,” He repeated, slowly, “Pretty name.”

“Reckon I like how you say it.” Rhett smirked at that. Barely. Just a ghost of one tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it was real. Like you’d teased it out of him. You turned a little more toward him then, resting your arm along the bar, letting your knee knock against his under the counter. Light. Barely there. But enough to make his spine straighten just a little. Like you’d touched something electric.

Your knee stayed where it was–brushed lightly against his beneath the bar–but your body shifted just a little more, leaning into his space like the air between you wasn’t already thick with heat. You rested your weight on one elbow and brought your drink to your lips again, letting the edge of the glass kiss your mouth in a way that made his jaw tick. He followed the movement like he was starved for it.

You swallowed, set the glass down, and tilted your head just enough to let your hair fall over your shoulder–like an invitation disguised as casual comfort.

“You always watch that close,” You murmured, voice low and honey-slick, “Or was that just ‘cause I was the one up there tonight?”

Rhett’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip, and his gaze flicked from your mouth to your eyes and back again. His voice, when it came, was a little rougher. A little deeper. Like heat had sanded it down.

“Oh, that was definitely just you,” He said, that slow drawl curling around the words like smoke. “Ain’t never seen someone ride like that and look so damn calm doin’ it. Thought you were gonna break that bull’s heart.”

You laughed–low, warm, right against the rim of your glass. “Poor thing didn’t stand a chance.”

He leaned in then, just enough that you could feel his breath brush your cheek. Just enough that your knees bumped again beneath the bar and stayed there.

“Neither did I,” He said, voice like gravel dipped in sugar. “Not the way you moved up there. All control. Like you weren’t ridin’ it–you were taming it.”

You glanced at him then–sideways, coy–and your lashes fluttered as you reached for your cherry stem again, turning it slowly between your fingers.

“I like the fight,” you said, soft and easy. “Like seeing how long I can last. Pushing just hard enough to keep it under me without ever losin’ control.”

Rhett’s eyes dropped to your fingers, to the cherry stem twisting like it meant something. Then to your lips. Then your thighs.

“Yeah,” he said roughly, “I noticed.”

You leaned in just a little more, your shoulder grazing his, your thigh now pressed warm and steady to his beneath the bar. Your voice dropped with it–silk-wrapped and scorching.

“You watchin’ for technique, or just lettin’ your mind wander?”

Rhett’s breath caught. You could feel it–the heat rolling off him like summer rising off a blacktop. His hand flexed around the beer bottle again, but this time, he didn’t look away.

“Little of both,” He admitted. “Hard to focus on much else when you’re movin’ like that. All rhythm and fire and…” His eyes dragged down your body, slow and reverent, before landing right back on your mouth. “Hell. You knew exactly what you were doin’.”

You gave him a smile then. Slow and wicked.

“Maybe,” You whispered, dragging your finger through the condensation on your glass again. “But I liked the way you looked at me. Like you didn’t know whether to get on your knees or run for your life.”

That made Rhett laugh–quiet, breathless, and a little strained. He leaned back just a touch, but it wasn’t to retreat. It was to restrain. Like he was keeping himself in check with the last thread of composure he had left.

“I’m still tryin’ to decide,” He said, voice thick, jaw tight. “But you keep talkin’ like that, and I might not have much choice left.”

You reached out and touched his wrist then–light, fleeting. But it landed like a thunderclap. His skin burned under your fingertips.

“Good,” You whispered. “I like when they break a little.”

He stared at you. Eyes dark. Body tense. The air between you so tight it felt like the whole bar might collapse under it.

And when he spoke next, his voice was low. Dangerous.

“Truck’s parked right out back.”

Your smile grew slow and hot.

”Then finish your drink, cowboy,” You purred, “So I can show you what else I’m good at ridin’.” The moment the words left your mouth, low and laced in sin, something sharp flickered in his eyes–something hot and immediate. His hand flexed once more around the neck of the bottle, and without a word, he lifted it to his lips and drained it. Tilted it back and finished the whole thing in one long swallow, throat working, jaw tight.

You watched it happen with an appreciative hum in your throat, heat blooming low in your belly.

When he slammed the bottle down on the counter, it was soft but final–like a decision had been made. A quiet, controlled yes that rang louder than any shouted answer ever could.

You didn’t even give it time to settle.

You picked up your Red Russian with one hand, let the condensation slide across your fingers, and finished the whole thing in two unhurried gulps. The syrupy liquor coated your throat, leaving warmth and spice trailing down your spine. You licked the last drop off your bottom lip–slowly, deliberately–then set your glass beside his, neat and empty.

Rhett’s eyes were molten when you turned to him.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

He reached for you first. Not your hand, not your waist–your hip. Fingers curling into the denim there, firm but measured, like he was already thinking about the rhythm he’d felt earlier and couldn’t wait to see what it was like underneath him.

You let him pull you in that half-step closer, boots toe-to-toe now, the space between you practically vibrating with heat.

“You sure about this?” He asked, voice a gravelly murmur, his forehead dipping just barely toward yours. “Ain’t exactly gentlemanly what I’m thinkin’.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you leaned up–so close your lips barely grazed his ear when you spoke–and let your voice spill soft and wicked against his skin.

“Good,” You breathed. “I wasn’t lookin’ for a gentleman.”

That broke something in him.

Rhett’s grip on your hip tightened just enough to make you gasp, before he quickly put a few bills onto the counter to cover both your drinks and a tip. He didn’t say goodbye to the bartender, you didn’t say bye to your friends, and neither of you glanced back.

The both of you exited the bar in a bundled mess.

Outside, the heat hit different.

The air was thick with late-summer weight, still clinging to the pavement like it hadn’t let go of the sun yet. The gravel lot behind the bar was quieter than the front—less neon, less chatter, less everything. Just the low hum of cicadas, the creak of the wooden porch settling behind you, and the sound of your boots crunching in tandem with his as Rhett guided you through the dark.

He didn’t hold your hand.

Didn’t need to.

His fingers were still resting at your hip, steady and sure, and that subtle grip told you everything—possessive, deliberate, still holding the ghost of the rhythm he’d felt watching you ride. The kind of touch that said he wasn’t in a hurry, but he was done wasting time.

His truck was parked near the back edge of the lot–older model, clean but rugged, navy paint dulled slightly by dust and heat. He opened the passenger side door for you with one hand, the other still on your hip like he couldn’t let go just yet.

You climbed in without a word, denim brushing the edge of the seat, your skin still humming from the way his fingers had lingered.

Rhett circled around to the driver’s side, slid in beside you, and shut the door with a quiet click–like sealing something in.

He didn’t start the engine right away. Just sat there, hands on the wheel, letting the silence stretch while the tension pulsed like a heartbeat between you.

Then he turned toward you slightly, one arm resting on the back of your seat, his voice low and rough.

“Gonna take you somewhere a little less public.”

You arched a brow, slow and teasing. “What, so this is how it ends? Sweet talkin’ cowboy turns out to be a backwoods murderer?”

Rhett snorted–one of those quick, sharp laughs that came from deep in his chest. He turned the key in the ignition, engine rumbling to life beneath you both. Rhett glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into something crooked. “Nah,” he said, voice warm and amused, “Murderers don’t usually open the door for ya first.”

You let out a real laugh then–one of those unguarded, honeyed bursts that settled between you like heat off asphalt. Rhett felt it in his chest.

“Well,” You grinned, settling back in your seat and tossing him a sidelong glance, “Good to know you’ve got manners even if your intentions ain’t pure.”

He shot you a look, teasing and dark under the brim of his hat. “Darlin’, I think we both made our intentions pretty damn clear back at the bar.”

You hummed and turned to the window as he pulled out of the lot, tires crunching softly over gravel. The streetlights thinned the further he drove, buildings falling away into the long stretches of open dark. Moonlight painted soft edges on the dashboard, and the cicadas hummed low in the background.

“So,” You said after a few quiet miles, your voice relaxed, “Is takin’ strange women into the dark back roads a hobby of yours? Or am I special?”

Rhett huffed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re the first one I’ve let boss a bull around like that and still managed to get me flustered enough to forget my own name.”

You smirked. “So that’s a no.”

“That’s a hell no,” He muttered, turning onto a narrow road lined with trees, the path barely lit by his headlights. “There’s a place up here I like–quiet, no folks around. It’s nothin’ fancy, but…”

You let him trail off, watching him drive. His hands on the wheel were steady and confident. That same quiet control you’d felt from him all night.

“I like quiet,” You murmured. “Grew up around noise. Kinda nice when it’s just…” you gestured at the empty stretch of road, “This.”

Rhett nodded once, like he understood that more than he could say out loud.

“Me too,” he said. “Always felt easier to breathe when I’m away from all the noise. City folks don’t know what they’re missin’.” You smiled, settling deeper into your seat.

“So what do you do, Rhett Abbott? Besides, ruin the hearts of mechanical bull riders and flirt like it’s a full-time job.” He gave a low laugh at that.

“Used to ride real bulls actually. Circuit stuff. Got outta it a few years back–bad fall. Now I help run the ranch out west of town. Horses mostly. Sometimes cattle.”

You raised a brow. “A real cowboy, huh?”

He shot you a look. “You doubted?”

“No,” You said, slow and sweet. “I just like when the fantasy turns out to be real.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “And you? What’s a woman like you do when she’s not showin’ off on saddles and makin’ grown men lose their minds at a bar?” You grinned, stretching your legs a little where they were curled in the cab.

“Right now? Between gigs,” You said, voice low and easy. “Used to work with a fabrication crew–wood and metal mostly. Signs, custom builds, furniture. Stuff with some weight to it.” You glanced at him with a tilt of your head. “Like makin’ somethin’ that lasts.”

Rhett’s eyes flicked toward you, interested. “So you’re strong and dangerous, huh?”

You smirked. “Only if someone mouths off.”

That got a real laugh out of him, one that curled low in his throat and settled warm between you. “That explains the way you handled that bull. Kinda figured you were used to workin’ with your hands. You moved like someone who doesn’t second-guess herself.”

You shrugged. “Gotta trust your grip when the thing you’re ridin’ is trying to buck you clean off.”

He glanced sideways at you again, and there was something darker in his gaze this time. “Pretty sure that’s a metaphor for somethin’.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate, letting your fingers trace along the edge of your seat like you were thinking it through. “Maybe. But you’re gonna have to earn the answer.”

Rhett made a low sound–half amused, half something else entirely–and shifted his grip on the wheel. His knuckles were pale from how tight he was holding it. Like talking to you made him want to put his hands somewhere else entirely.

“So…Builder by trade, heartbreaker by night,” he said, a little teasing.

You gave him a sidelong glance, lashes lowering. “Who says I break hearts?”

He looked at you then, full on. The truck bumped a little over the road’s uneven shoulder, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “I watched half a bar stop breathin’ when you got on that bull. Think you underestimate your effect, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, looking back out the window. “And what about you, cowboy? You always this smooth or am I just bringin’ out your best material?”

Rhett shook his head, lips twitching. “If this is me at my best, we’re both in trouble.”

That earned him another laugh, and this one was breathier–laced with something warm that settled in your chest. The trees were growing taller on either side of the road now, shadows stretching long across the narrow lane as the headlights washed over trunks and underbrush.

He slowed a little, the tires crunching gravel as he turned down a path almost completely swallowed by trees.

“Almost there,” he said, voice dropping.

You looked over at him again, this time more curious than teasing. “So what’s at the end of this mysterious road? You gonna show me your secret cabin in the woods or somethin’?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t mischievous–it was soft. “Nah. Just a clearing. Good view of the stars. Ain’t much…But it’s quiet. And mine.”

Something about the way he said that made your chest tighten just a little.

And sure enough, not thirty seconds later, the trees opened up–and the sky swallowed everything. A wide, empty field stretched out under the moonlight. The grass was knee-high and silver in the glow. Beyond it, dark hills rolled out like soft waves.

Rhett pulled up near the edge, killed the engine, and sat for a second in the hush.

“You weren’t kiddin’,” You murmured, looking out through the windshield.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached over, slow and steady, and pushed the gear shift into park. His hand lingered near yours on the console.

“Figured you deserved a little privacy.” The clearing fell into silence the second the engine cut.

No crickets. No frogs. Just the long, stretched hum of summer heat lingering in the tall grass and the low creak of the truck settling under its own weight. The moon was full overhead, casting everything in that washed silver that turned skin into porcelain and shadows into ink. The cab was dim now, the dashboard lights fading to black.

You were still facing the windshield, but your eyes weren’t on the field anymore.

They were on him.

Rhett sat there for a beat–forearm resting on the wheel, chest rising slowly beneath his button-down, jaw ticking like he was chewing on a thought. And then, without a word, he reached up and pulled his hat off.

It was a quiet gesture. Simple. But it felt intimate. Like stripping something away.

The shadows shifted when he did. His hair–thick and messy and darker than you’d expected–was flattened at first but slowly began to lift with a few rakes of his fingers. It curled just slightly at the nape of his neck, soft and unruly like it hadn’t been tamed in days. Moonlight bled across the slope of his cheekbones, highlighting the rough stubble that scraped across his jaw and throat. His eyes, darker now without the brim shadowing them, flicked toward you.

And you–God, you were staring.

Wide-eyed. Lips slightly parted. The kind of look that said he could’ve asked you anything in that moment and you would’ve said yes.

Rhett’s breath hitched as he caught it–that softness, that stunned hunger pouring off you like heat. He blinked once, slow, and placed his hat behind the seats. Then his body shifted.

He leaned in.

Slow at first, one knee turning slightly on the bench seat, his thigh brushing yours, arm braced lightly behind your shoulder. You felt the weight of him in the air before you felt the touch–his gaze locked on your mouth now, like he was testing whether or not you’d move.

You didn’t.

So he did.

The first brush of his lips was rough. Not because he meant it to be–but because he couldn’t help himself. He kissed like a man who’d been holding back all night, and now he had you within reach. His mouth crashed into yours with heat and intention–firm, urgent, full of all the tension that had been simmering since that first lock of eye contact by the bull.

His hand was on your jaw before you could even register it–fingers curling under your chin to tilt your face, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek like he wanted to hold you still and memorize the taste of you all at once. His lips parted slightly, coaxing yours open with the kind of confidence that felt lived-in. His tongue swept past your teeth like he was claiming territory, dragging a low sound from the back of his throat as you met him stroke for stroke.

There was nothing slow about it.

No delicate build. No tentative start.

It was need. Straight and uncut. The kind that had been brewing like a storm since you sauntered across that bar and took your seat beside him.

You gasped softly as his other hand gripped your thigh–fingers digging into denim, pulling you closer across the seat. The slide of your legs against his made your breath hitch, and he took full advantage of it–swallowing the sound with another bruising kiss, one that left your head spinning and your lips slick.

He kissed like he’d been starving. Like every part of him ached for friction, for pressure, for the slide of you under his hands. You could feel it in the way his chest pressed to yours, in the way his hips shifted, the way his thumb dragged along the underside of your jaw like he was mapping it for later.

When you whimpered into his mouth–just barely–he pulled back half an inch, enough to speak against your lips.

“You kiss every cowboy like this,” He rasped, voice hoarse, “Or just me?”

You smiled against him, dizzy and breathless.

“Just the ones who earn it.”

He groaned at that. Something deep and low that vibrated between your ribs.

And then he was kissing you again–harder this time. Rougher. No hesitation.

His hand was already under your shirt before the next kiss even broke.

Calloused fingers skimming the slope of your stomach, up and over the curve of your ribs, until his palm found your breast. He groaned into your mouth the second he felt it–the way you arched into his touch, the soft weight of you in his hand, the faint catch in your breath that said yes without a word.

You tugged at the hem of your own tank top, and Rhett helped–eager hands dragging it up, over your head, flinging it somewhere toward the footwell. You didn’t care where it landed. Not when his eyes dropped and locked onto the purple lace he’d been fantasizing about since the bar. It was barely a barrier, practically translucent in the moonlight, and when he exhaled, it came out ragged.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, his voice gone rough with want. “You really were tryin’ to kill me.”

He bit his lower lip, hard enough to leave a dent, and reached behind you with one hand. The clasp came undone in a single, practiced flick–his breath catching as the straps slid from your shoulders.

The bra dropped to your lap.

And Rhett’s restraint shattered.

A low, guttural moan broke from his throat, and then his mouth was on you.

He latched onto your nipple with zero hesitation–hot, wet, desperate. His stubble scraped harsh against the softness of your breast, but you didn’t care. You gasped, back bowing into the seat, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue circled, sucked, licked you like he was drowning in the taste.

He palmed your other breast while he devoured the first, thumb brushing over the peak, just enough to make your toes curl inside your boots. His hips shifted–rolled–and that’s when you felt it. The thick, solid press of him straining against his jeans, hot and hard beneath the weight of your thigh.

The moment your hips moved–just once, slow, deliberate–grinding down over him, Rhett bucked.

He pulled off your breast with a wet, gasping sound, forehead dropping against your sternum like he needed a second to breathe. He huffed a breath against your sternum–half laugh, half groan– before lifting his head, eyes dragging slowly down your body. His gaze was molten when it landed on the waistband of your jeans.

“Kinda feelin’ like that bull right now with you grindin’ on me like this.” Your laugh was breathless, broken by the heat still simmering between you, but it faded the moment his hand slid down your stomach. Slow. Purposeful. Thumb tracing the edge of your jeans.

You looked at him, head tilted back against the window, lips parted–but you didn’t stop him.

Not when he dipped his fingers beneath the waistband.

Not when he popped the first button open with a practiced flick.

Not when the sound of your zipper lowering filled the cab like a goddamn gunshot.

His eyes dropped, zeroed in on the reveal, and when he caught the first glimpse of what was underneath–matching purple lace, delicate and damp–he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered, almost reverent. “You really came dressed to ruin me, huh?”

You arched a brow, smirking lazily even as your skin burned. “Maybe I just had a feelin’ tonight was gonna get interesting.”

He let out a low whistle, fingers brushing the waistband of your panties now, rough pads dragging slow against the lace.

“A feelin’, huh?” His thumb traced the dip just below your navel, and then lower–teasing just shy of your center.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, letting your knees fall open slightly, brushing his thigh. “Turns out I was right.” His fingers dipped lower–slipping beneath the lace with a practiced boldness that sent heat blooming through your gut. And then he touched you.

Direct. Smooth. Just enough pressure to make your hips twitch and your thighs part wider.

“Oh, fuck,” You whispered, voice catching in your throat as his thumb found your clit and circled, slow and devastating.

Rhett groaned like he felt it too–like your reaction was dragging it out of him. “That’s it,” He murmured, voice thick, “Just like that… Jesus, you’re soaked.”

You whimpered as his middle finger slid down and eased into you, thick and slow, curling just right. Your whole body arched toward him, breath coming in shaky bursts, and your hand–god, your trembling hand–fumbled for his belt.

“I need—” You gasped, not even sure what you were asking for, just chasing the friction, the heat, the him of it all.

He caught your mouth with his again–kissed you open and messy and panting while his fingers worked you in slow, addictive strokes. Every curl of them was deliberate, precise, dragging moans from your lips that he swallowed down like a starving man.

Your hand finally popped his buckle open. He groaned into your mouth as you tugged the zipper down, the sound loud and obscene in the still air. Your palm found him, hot and hard, pressing against the cotton of his boxers, and he shuddered.

“Fuck,” He rasped, voice guttural now. “You touch me like that and I’m not gonna last.”

“Then don’t wait,” You breathed, thumb tracing the curve of him through the fabric. “Wanna feel you too.”

He cursed again–low and rough–and shoved his jeans down just enough for you to slide your hand inside. Your fingers wrapped around him, thick and pulsing and god, he was big. Hard. Leaking against your palm already.

Rhett bucked into your grip, forehead crashing against yours, panting like he’d just run a race. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart,” He groaned, voice breaking, “I swear to God…”

But he didn’t stop.

His thumb pressed harder on your clit now, circling tight and filthy while he pushed a second finger inside you, stretching you just right, dragging the kind of moan from your throat that made his hips jerk.

“Fuck, I love the way you sound,” He growled, mouth finding the hinge of your jaw, teeth grazing there. “You hear yourself, baby? Soundin’ so fuckin’ pretty on my fingers.”

You rocked against his hand, desperate now, grinding down as your strokes on him faltered from the way your thighs were trembling.

Your breaths tangled in the heat between you–his lips on your cheek, your chin, your neck. The windows were fogged now, the whole cab heavy with the scent of sweat and sex and summer air.

“Don’t stop,” You whispered, eyes fluttering as pleasure coiled tight in your belly, sharp and hot. “Right there–God, please–”

“Say my name,” He begged, hoarse and wrecked. “Say it when you come, darlin’. Wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

And that did it.

The orgasm hit like a freight train–your walls clenching around his fingers, your thighs snapping tight around his hand as you cried out into his mouth. “Rhett–oh, my God–”

He groaned loud, hips stuttering as he watched you fall apart. His free hand clutched your waist, grounding you. He held you through every last tremor–jaw clenched, breath shaky, fingers still buried deep inside you. Your muscles fluttered around him, slick and pulsing, and he bit back another groan as you slumped forward against his chest, wrecked and panting.

And then, rough and low, like gravel in his throat:

“I need to be inside you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a confession. A prayer. A need so raw it cracked something open between you.

You didn’t answer with words.

You kissed him–hard. Dragging your mouth over his like you were trying to drink him down. And as you shifted in his lap, knees straddling his hips, he groaned into your mouth, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight. The moment your soaked panties brushed the length of him, he cursed, the sound punched from his lungs like he’d taken a hit to the chest.

“Fuck, darlin’–you’re gonna ruin me.”

You made quick work of it–shimmying your jeans down just enough, dragging the drenched lace of your panties to the side. His cock was already hot and heavy in your hand, slick from your touch, and when you lifted your hips and lined yourself up–

“Oh my God,” he growled, head tipping back against the seat, eyes rolling as you sank down onto him.

He was thick. Stretching you wide. Filling every inch.

The stretch burned in the best way, made your breath catch, made your thighs shake. And Rhett? He was gasping like it was killing him–like the feel of you clenching around him was too much to bear.

“Jesus Christ,” He choked out, nails digging into your hips. “You feel–fuck, you feel unreal.”

You started to move.

Slow at first–rocking your hips in slow, deliberate circles, watching his jaw lock tight, his hands twitch like he wanted to grab, to thrust, to lose it. His eyes snapped open, blown black with lust, fixed on where you were joined like he couldn’t look away.

“Don’t stop,” He rasped, voice shredded. “Ride me, baby–just like that–fuck–just like that.”

You ground down harder, the friction brutal and perfect, and his hips bucked up into you instinctively–meeting every roll with a sharp, hungry thrust that made you gasp. Your hands braced against his chest, nails digging in as you bounced now, full and fast and desperate, sweat slicking your thighs as the truck began to creak around you.

The windows were already fogged.

Then your palm slammed against the glass behind him, leaving a streaked, smeared handprint as your rhythm snapped into something wilder.

Carnal.

Unfiltered.

The truck rocked beneath you. His hands flew to your ass, gripping hard, helping you move, driving you down onto him with each thrust like he couldn’t get deep enough.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” He groaned, teeth gritted, sweat dripping down his temples. “Ridin’ me like this–you tryna make me lose my fuckin’ mind?”

You moaned loud in answer, thighs burning, body trembling, chasing that second high with reckless abandon. His name left your mouth again and again, breathless and broken and gasping.

He fucked up into you now, faster, rougher, sweat-slick and savage, every slam of his hips making you cry out. The slap of skin, the creak of leather, the fogged-over windows–it was all heat and friction and nothing else mattered but this.

Rhett growled your name–harsh and desperate–before dragging your mouth back to his.

“I’m close,” He rasped against your lips, voice gone.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “Me too.”

And then it hit again–your body locking up, mouth falling open as the second orgasm shattered through you, your whole body seizing as you clenched around him, sobbing his name.

Rhett followed a heartbeat later, hips jerking up hard, burying himself deep as he came with a guttural moan, spilling inside you while your name tore from his throat like it was the only word he knew.

The truck went still.

Just the sound of your panting breaths, your sweat-slicked skin sticking to his, your heart pounding against his chest like thunder. Rhett’s arms slid around you the second the tremors subsided, pulling you flush to his chest like he didn’t want even the air between you. His breath was still ragged, chest rising and falling against yours, but his hands–God, his hands were gentle now. One splayed across the small of your back, the other curling around the back of your neck like a secret he wanted to keep safe.

You felt him exhale–deep, steady–his breath warm against your temple. The kind of breath a man took when the storm inside him finally broke.

“Jesus,” He whispered into your hair. “I ain’t never–” He broke off, let out a soft, stunned laugh. “Ain’t never felt anything like that.”

You smiled against his neck, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Me either.”

There was a beat of quiet–intimate now, not charged. Just the hum of the world spinning outside the fogged windows and the slow, steady thump of his heart under your cheek.

Then Rhett shifted slightly, just enough to lean back and look at you. His eyes were soft now, hazy but clear, and his lips curled into the kind of crooked smile that made your chest ache.

“You, uh…” His fingers traced the edge of your jaw, featherlight. “You think maybe I could get your number? Unless this is the part where you climb out the window and disappear into the cornfield like some kinda beautiful ghost.”

You blinked–then burst out laughing, the kind that made your stomach ache and your chest feel too full. You ducked your head against him, shaking with it, and felt his own chuckle rumble beneath your palm where it rested on his chest.

“You asking for my number after all that?” You teased, voice still breathless with laughter. “Bit backwards, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” He grinned, nudging his nose against yours. “But I figure…Might be worth makin’ a habit outta seein’ you like this.”

You smiled, soft and slow this time, cupping his cheek.

“I think you’re right, cowboy.”

And there it was again–that look. The one that said he’d chase this feeling wherever it led.

Outside, the moon hung high over the field, casting the clearing in silver and shadow. Inside the truck, the heat lingered–on your skin, in your breath, and in the way Rhett looked at you like he’d just found something he hadn’t even known he was searching for.

And when he kissed you again–soft, slow, grateful–it wasn’t a promise.

It was a beginning.

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