#beep beep beep beep...it's all he can hear...

[lacydaydream]

Riots and Scenes

⤷ Mark Meachum

Mark Meachum x fem!nurse!reader

summary: There’s a riot in Palmdale- and you’re the lucky nurse who gets to give him medical assistance.

estelle yapping: let the Mark brainrot commence!

cw: slight violence. eludes to gross interactions for the reader. that’s really it!

word count: 1.9k

The unmistakable sound of feet pounding down the hallway catches your attention, head snapping up to look through the med bay. Six officers run down the hall, tactical vests on and weapons drawn. Their silhouettes are seen through the small windows in the locked doors and through the bars of the cells.

A beeping sound starts in the room you’re in, the shrill tone making your stomach drop. There’s a riot in the prison. Which means you’ll be put to work, patching up criminals. Some of them need to be handcuffed at their hands and feet because of their horrifying crimes. Men who smile at you while there is still blood caked under their fingernails. The men who croon out a ‘sweetheart’ with a sleazy gin, eyes glinting with something that makes your heart drop.

Nerves bubble up in your abdomen as you swing your stethoscope behind your neck, the cool metal hitting your skin. There’s no time to throw on your lab coat, the sound of officers yelling and inmates shouting getting closer.

Maybe if you knew when you started med school you’d end up in a prison med bay, you wouldn’t have gone through that first semester of college. Ever since you could remember, saving lives always felt like your calling. Being the one to work in a lab and catch early signs of cancer that save a life had been the dream. But life’s funny like that– the universe always wanted a good laugh. It didn’t matter that you always dreamt of helping people– in all transparency, you were helping people. It’s just that some of these people had gutted and strung up women.

And most of them couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. You’d stopped wearing lip gloss after the first month. Stopped holding eye contact for longer than necessary. The insides of Palmdales’ walls were quick teachers.

You get paged into a sectioned-off room, dodging through other nurses and doctors running around helping patients and officers. A huff leaves your lips as you approach the sliding glass door, a small contraption blinking by the handle. You wait for one of the officers behind the wall to unlock the door.

When a click is heard, the door starts slowly sliding open. Like any prison, it smells like antiseptic and body odor. You’ve gotten used to it– years of practice being a big help. Your eyes glance around at the white walls, peering into a tinted window.

A burly man in uniform is sitting behind the window, tucked away at a desk scattered with monitors. He looks like he’s in his early forties, the apparent donuts between breaks catching up to his waistline. The man taps a key and the door slides shut behind you, squeaking like nails on a chalkboard.

The soft clicking sound of a lock comes next. Then, the next sliding glass door that finally opens up to the secluded room beeps, the contraption by the door handle blinking green. Unlocked, finally. When you squint, you can see two blurry figures. A man in blue, who you assume is the inmate, and a man in a suit.

They seem to be engaged in a heated conversation. The blur of blue is shaking his head, using his hands as he speaks. You can see slight sass in the man’s body language. An inaudible sigh leaves your lips, already knowing this patient is going to be a thorn in your side. It’s always the ones who talk too much. The ones to try to charm their way out of rules.

The door slides open and you walk through, flashing the badge you left hanging around your neck. The man behind the window throws up a hand, ushering you to continue on your path toward your apparent next patient.

As you walk in, over the sound of the glass door squeaking, you hear two men talking over each other.

“Not a riot,” one of them grumbles, a soft southern accent that sounds like whiskey splashed with honey.

When you turn the corner, wide doe-eyes and dressed in soft pink scrubs, both men turn. Your eyes flicker over the man in the suit, and you recognize him as the guard who often takes the night shift. He’s kind– often offering to grab you water from the kitchen.

Then your eyes land on the patient. His skin is tan, muscles taut under the blue prison jumpsuit. His hair is a chestnut brown. It’s obvious someone just raked a hand through it, locks falling over his forehead. His eyes are a bright green. In the obnoxious overhead light, you can see how they carry confidence. The sort of confidence that made you feel bare, whether you wanted to or not.

Just the way he sits on the metal table– his posture lax, forearm resting against his knee– tells you everything. Even from across the room, his presence demands attention. Almost like he has his own gravitational pull.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes trailing up his muscular frame. It’s not often you get to help a patient that, for lack of a better term, is hot. Judging by the small pull of his lips, he can see your thoughts written right across your face. And worse, he liked it.

Officer Thompson turns, offering a small smile. “Sorry for dragging you all the way here.” He lets you walk over, weaving behind you as he walks toward the door. “This is our riot starter. Please notify the guard outside when your examination is done.” Thompson turns, offering a small smile once again. “I’ve got to help with the cleanup.”

You offer a polite smile back, nodding as he makes his way out. When you turn back to the man sitting in front of you, your smile drops.

He’s staring up at you. Eyes scanning your figure as if assessing you, skillfully analyzing your posture and micro-expressions. “Wasn’t a riot,” he drawls, gaze catching yours.

You swallow, taking the stethoscope from around your neck and putting it on. “Really?” you ask him, walking up and placing the cool metal plate against his chest. “Deep breath.”

He obliges, not a bit of trepidation in his movements.

“Was defending myself, darlin’.” He tilts his head to capture your gaze. “Some guy tried to jump me. Couldn’t not do anything.”

You nod, trying to keep the thoughts about his warm skin from your mind. Even in prison, locked away for God only knows what, he smells good. He smells like soap and something indescribable. A small part of you wanted to lean in closer, learn the stories behind his eyes. Another part wanted to sprint towards the door.

Focus, woman! Professionalism. Working. Job. Yes.

Continuing on with checking his chest and back, you notice his eyes drop to your chest. His eyes aren’t lustful like most of the men sulking around the walls– his gaze is curious. Is something on your shirt? Before you can reprimand him for his wandering eyes, you realize he’s looking at your lanyard. The badge that hangs on the hook states your name, occupation, and even has a smiling picture of you from a year or so back. Back before you stopped smiling at people like that. Back when people didn’t use your name to feel like a weapon or uncomfortable cloak.

You straighten, the equipment slung back over your neck as you deem his heart rate fine. None of his air passages are blocked, his breathing clear. You almost want to blush for your assumption of his character. He’s far different– more poised and witty than the other inmates.

“Not much of a talker?” he questions gently, fingers grazing your waist. His touch is almost unnoticeable over your scrubs. Cocky confidence dances in his eyes, watching your reactions with an almost analytic gaze.

“I’m working,” you murmur, fingers grazing his skin as you check his lymph nodes. No swelling. Just stubble from his short beard and warm skin. Your mind wanders to wonder if he could feel the tiny shake in your hand. If he does, he gives no indication of it. Maybe that’s worse.

You can feel heat rising under your skin– the kind that would linger well after you clock out for the night.

“Doing a fine job, too,” he muses, looking up at you. “Hell, I felt better the second your pretty face came in here.” He grins, voice smooth as aged whiskey.

Despite the implications of his words, they don’t ignite a feeling of annoyance in your chest. This isn’t new to you. A bunch of men locked up in a penitentiary getting access to a pretty girl whose whole job is to take care of them? Yeah, you’re no stranger to the offhanded inappropriate comment.

But his comments aren’t about being inappropriate. He seems sincere– like the words simply fall from his lips naturally. The absence of a boner is also a helpful point in his favor.

“Are you feeling lightheaded? Blurred vision?” you list off the usual questions, trying your best to stay professional. You glance down for a second to bite your lip. If you crack a grin, you already know he’s the type of guy to run with it.

“M’alright, darling. Got a great vision in front of me.” He grins at himself, clearly proud of his remark.

And despite your best protest, a soft scoff leaves your lips. It’s a soft chuckle at how hard he’s trying, obviously finding his own reach amusing. “Alright, you’re fine…”

He grins, knowing he’s won the silent battle.

“Mark.” His voice is calm, wrapped in cocky confidence, yet still soft enough to show he means every word he says.

“Mark,” you contend, offering a genuine smile. “Your vitals are normal. Which means my job is done. I’ll need you to monitor your body tonight in case anything feels wonky.”

Mark nods, listening to you with a set expression. “Yes ma’am.” His eyes narrow out of curiosity, lip curling up. “I should come right back to you if something feels off?”

You take a step back, nodding. “If I’m on shift.”

Mark’s expression hardens as the gears turn quickly in his mind for a response. His gaze drops to your lips before slowly tracing over your features. He catches your gaze, a smoky air of magnetism seemingly circling around him. “When are you on shift? In case my body starts feeling wonky later.”

You shake your head, looking up at him. Right as your lips purse to form a slightly sarcastic reply, the door behind you opens. Then, the reality of the situation sets back in. You’re in a prison. With an inmate. Somewhere along the last ten minutes, you’d gotten lost in his charm– drawl fully capturing your senses. Forgetting any possibility that could have landed him in prison.

This is a man who could have done anything. For all you know, he could have murdered someone in cold blood.

You look over to see a man wrapped in a blue suit– an older gentleman with a badge on his hip. FBI. Yeah, that’s your cue to leave. You hum, turning back to offer Mark a small smile before quickly scurrying toward the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mark calls after you, voice controlled as he glances toward the man clad in a suit. His eyes flash in a sort of recognition, but the look is gone as soon as it comes.

When you turn, hearing the soft beep of the door, your face is softly flushed from the pet name. Your eyes catch his gaze like his mere presence demands it.

“Have a good shift.”

[witchbitchlovesdilfs]

ok there is a tragic lack of jack Abbot sickfics with him being stubborn and finally letting himself be taken care of.

if you want to... perhaps an abbot sickfic???

Stubborn

Jack Abbot x reader

warnings: possibly female reader? (usage of sweetheart), painkillers, jack's prosthetic

words: 0.9k

a/n: I agree! we need more reverse comfort!

You had just clocked into work when you got the call. 

“Y/n? Hey, it’s Robby.” You could hear him scratching his beard through the phone. “Jack’s not doing too well.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask urgently, moving to lean against a wall in a more private sector of your office. 

“He’s sick.” Robby chuckles with exasperation. “He won’t admit it, but he’s got a fever.”

You pull your car keys out of your purse. “Did you check his temp?”

Robby scoffs. “He’s too stubborn.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I’m on my way. Can he be cleared for the rest of the day?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Robby.” You hang up and tuck your phone away before flagging down your boss and explaining the situation. She dismisses you with a smile and understanding, and you practically sprint to your car.

You and Jack have been dating for six months now. Having met when you sliced your palm open making dinner, you hit it off right away. Despite only being together for half a year, you knew each other pretty well. You were Jack’s kryptonite, whether he’d acknowledge that or not. You could read every shift of his posture, every frown line’s meaning. You were also the person to call when Jack needed to listen and stop acting so stubborn.

Pulling into the PTMC, you pray that Jack will give in and let you take care of him. You doubt you can drag him all the way through the hospital without falling target to a large audience. Checking your hair, you step outside.

Mel lets you in with a grin. “What’s got you stopping by?” she asks cheerfully, hugging a clipboard to her chest.

“I’ve gotta wrestle the marine brat home,” you joke. “Any idea where he’s at?”

She pursues her lips. “Not sure. I’d check with Dana.”

“Thanks, Mel,” you smile, patting her shoulder and promising to hang out with her and her sister next weekend. 

Dana’s brow raises when she spots you. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she cracks, hugging you as you step closer.

“Hey Dana.” When you pull away, you lean against the nurses station. 

She settles back down into her chair. “You here for Abbot?”

“Yep. Think I can convince him to go home?”

She smirks. “Sweetheart, you could convince that man to do anything.”

You blush and startle when a hand clasps your shoulder. Turning, you lift your head to meet Jack’s gaze.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher than usual. His eyes are squinted in confusion and almost worry. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

You pull him towards a quieter corner where the med students and nurses can’t speculate. “Shouldn’t you be in bed with a hot cup of soup?”

Jack sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Robby.”

“Yep,” you say, crossing your arms. Your voice softens. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” 

Jack shrugs this off. “It’s not a big deal. I’m fine.”

You move your hand to rest the back of it against his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Jack dismisses this, but you notice the sluggishness behind his movements. “Let me take you home,” you plead, offering up your best puppy dog eyes.

Jack huffs, averting your gaze. “I have six hours left.”

“Robby said it’s okay.”

He scoffs. “Well, if Robby said-”

You hit his shoulder gently, playfully. “Your place or mine?” you persist.

Jack looks down at you, and his expression morphs into one of defeat. “Yours?”

“Perfect,” you smile lovingly, patting his chest. “Grab your stuff. I’ll meet you at the nurses station.” 

You help Jack settle on the bed, propping his prosthetic against the nightstand. He’s in a loose white tee and boxers, and as he leans his back against the headboard, you disappear in search of the medical supplies. 

When you return, you kneel on the bed beside Jack and press the thermometer against his forehead. Once it beeps, you pull it back. “101.”

“Not too bad,” Jack shrugs it off.

“Hush,” you scold, setting the thermometer aside and placing bottles of Advil and Tylenol on the nightstand. “I’m the doctor now. Let me baby you.”

Jack rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face.

“How’s the pain?” you ask, moving to massage the skin around his amputation. 

Jack lets himself sink into the bed. “I’ve had worse.”

Your glare is stern, and Jack huffs in defeat. “A solid six out of ten.”

“How long ago did you eat?”

He looks at you slowly, sheepishly, and you take his actions and silence as an answer. “Jack,” you groan. 

“I was busy,” he excuses.

“What are you in the mood for?”

He lets out a quiet moan when your fingers press a particularly tender spot. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”

You give him a look that says really? and Jack gives in. He’s been doing that a lot around you. “Soup?”

“Chicken noodle?” you ask, standing gently as to avoid stirring the inflammation in his limbs.

“The one and only,” he nods.

You bend over and plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Anything else?”

Jack reaches up tiredly and places his hand behind your head, lowering you back down until his lips press against yours. When he lets you go, both of you are smiling.

“That’s all,” he grins as you shake your head at him.

“Get some sleep,” you say, and Jack lets his eyes flutter shut.

[imagination-mess]

A Second Chance at Life (Touya Todoroki X Fem!Reader) Chapter 8

Summary: For the past five years, you’ve been raising your son as a single mother. You’ve successfully avoided questions about his father by claiming that he died during the Paranormal Liberation War. From what you believe, this isn’t a lie. The last time you saw him was when he personally escorted you to U.A.’s shelter amidst the chaos in the streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he has been alive all this time, clinging to life in a facility working to keep him alive. His father, Enji, has been desperately searching for someone willing to heal him. After his presumed death, a single photo of you and Dabi began circulating through the underground, hinting at the nature of your relationship. To protect yourself and your child, you had to pay someone to stop the pictures from spreading further.

The photo provided answers to a long-standing question: who was the healer Dabi had been protecting? It identified you as the healer who had been deemed untouchable, but it also brought unwanted attention.

A/N: Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors in advance.

Word Count: 1.9K+ Masterlist of ASCAF Previously Chapter Seven

The soft beeping of machines was the only sound Touya could hear as he slowly woke up, surrounded by the sterile, familiar smell of the hospital.

His eyes fluttered a few times before his vision adjusted. Above him was a plain white ceiling and a fire sprinkler. His gaze drifted to the sides, spotting two windows on opposite ends of the room, curtains drawn for privacy. His attention landed on a whiteboard with a large, clearly printed message:

Please press the button in your left hand when you are awake.

Was this a dream?

Or…

Was he dissociating again?

The last thing he remembered was being rushed through hospital halls, the lights overhead blurring past as they pushed him in urgency. He couldn’t make out what they were shouting. His body had been shutting down against his will.

He used to think it was a myth — that your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.

But it wasn’t a myth for him. He saw it and felt it. Terrifying and painful, moment after moment replayed. And at the end of it all, there was you , walking someone back to the U.A. shelter. The last thing he remembered was your smile, but even that was hazy. Your face wouldn’t come clearly. Just a blur. A voice he barely held onto.

He could hardly remember your face now. Too many years spent dissociating during confinement, using it as a shield from the pain that came when even the strongest meds stopped working.

Now, he didn’t feel pain.

Now, though, there was no pain…only a strange weight in his limbs.

He tried moving his fingers. They trembled. Slowly, he felt the small object in his palm. It took every bit of focus to curl his fingers around it.

His thumb brushed over the button as he clenched his teeth, focusing all his effort on making his body obey.

A soft chime rang through the room.

His body gave in, muscles relaxing, too exhausted for anything more.

A few minutes passed before a familiar face entered the room.

Kaito, your father stepped in, offering a soft, reassuring smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Todoroki. I am Dr. (L/N). Let me run a few quick examinations before we get you some soup to start with. Then, we'll work toward solid foods. I’ll also catch you up on everything that’s happened, alright?"

The white-haired man came beside him and wrote something on his clipboard, glancing at the machine beside the bed.

"You’ve been unconscious for over a month now. It took longer than expected for you to wake up. You’re going to be disoriented and sluggish for a little while, and probably confused. It’s normal. Nothing to worry about." Kaito said, putting the clipboard down and hearing the water faucet turn on.

"I'm just going to test your strength. I'll place my hand in yours, and I want you to squeeze as hard as you can. After that, we'll see if you can move your toes and fingers. Then we'll get you some soup. You need to be on a liquid diet for a bit."

Kaito moved closer and placed his hand within Touya's grip before glancing up at the doctor.

"Squeeze my hand as best as you can. I’m just testing how well the operation connected your nerves to your muscles. After that, you can try moving your toes whenever you wish," he explained.

Touya did as he was told but struggled. He could barely manage it, but he did it. That was the best he could do. He had to try again with his right hand, the one he had believed was destroyed. His right hand was much harder to move, and he realized just how much heavier it felt compared to his left.

Kaito was watching him carefully, but his expression remained unreadable. He walked away, grabbing his clipboard once more. He returned to Touya's bedside and flashed a light at his eyes, prompting him to follow it. As he did, Kaito wrote something down.

"One last thing. Can you speak for me? One word would be enough. Even a curse word would count," Kaito asked with an amused smile.

Touya’s throat felt painfully dry, as if he hadn’t spoken in years. Despite the discomfort, he forced the words out, even though it felt like sandpaper scraping against his throat. A hoarse rasp escaped, and he tried to swallow, barely managing it due to the lack of saliva.

"W-what had-hap-pened?" His voice was weak and strained barely above a whisper. "You were taken in as a case study to see if someone with severe burns and near-death injuries could survive if their body was healed. It was done with your father's permission. No one wanted to take your case until Dr. Remedy was contracted by your father as a last resort." Kaito lifted his eyes from the clipboard, briefly meeting Touya's gaze.

Touya’s eyes widened at the mention of her name— your hero name, which was also the name you went by as a doctor.

"She’s the only reason you’re alive right now. If she hadn’t gathered doctors from across the nation to help you, you wouldn't have made it. The others, along with her, are dealing with the consequences, even after over a month. Many of them ended up in the hospital and have been banned from using their quirks for the next few months, for their own safety. All because everyone who worked on your case was treated as a case study. They overused their quirks."

Kaito paused before continuing.

"They all did it for scientific reasons, ignoring the fact that you were a high-profile criminal. They were doing it to help future patients with burns like yours. But the cost was too much for those doctors, who are now facing the consequences. In other words, you’re going to be the only person in this nation to undergo this dramatic transformation." Kaito looked directly into Touya’s eyes.

"Take this opportunity. Another chance at life. Your body costs the well-being of 15 doctors and 5 nurses. You better take care of it. Otherwise, you're wasting Dr. Remedy’s belief that people like you deserve second chances." ____________________________________ The next few weeks, Touya cooperated with the physical and occupational therapists, walking through the hospital with a walker. He felt like a baby deer learning how to walk again. The only reason he went along with it was because he was sick of feeling like a damn baby.

Due to his physical condition, his stay was extended until he could move on his own, after which he’d be transferred to the rehabilitation facility. He rejected visitation from his family. He felt too vulnerable like this. Too exposed. He didn’t want to see their pitying stares.

He heard the arguments outside his hospital room. His father, Enji, tries to see him, getting rejected every time. The old man had nothing but time to waste, showing up day after day, just to be told no.

As much as Touya hated getting help from strangers, the staff had been patient with him. They didn’t push him too hard. Some nurses definitely judged him, but at least they kept their comments to themselves. The hospitality was… normal. He was treated like any other patient.

They didn’t look at him with pity. They encouraged him, even when he told them to shut up and mind their own business. They just ignored his outbursts and kept going.

His quirk-canceling cuffs rotated between ankle and wrist restraints. Military grade, due to his classification as a high-profile criminal. The staff rotated the cuffs regularly to prevent weakening or discomfort while he regained strength. They were far more advanced than the ones he’d seen before. He remembered snooping through your apartment out of boredom, finding backups of your hero costume and the old quirk-cuffs tucked away in the closet. Those things looked like toys in comparison.

Once he was able to speak normally again, a therapist from the rehabilitation center started visiting daily for his sessions.

If he could, he would’ve jumped out the window by now.

He knew he’d agreed to his younger brother’s rehabilitation plan. Something that would hopefully work in the court system’s favor. But in truth, he didn’t care about all that. He just wanted out. Out of confinement. Out of pain. Out of this miserable limbo.

He did think of you, a couple of times.

After he regained his voice, his lawyer began visiting twice a week. What he didn’t expect was for your mother, Reika, to actually keep her word that if he left you out of the chaos, she’d represent him. She planned to take his case, even in the event that the League was taken down.

She was a terrifying woman who demanded respect. If you didn’t give it, she’d drop you as a client without hesitation. Well known in both the legal world and the underworld under a different name and a different mask.

She may have been a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. When she made a deal, she kept her word so long as you kept yours.

“Touya, your father is a piece of shit.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. The expression on her face told him everything. 

If she could kill the old man herself, she would.

“What did he do this time?”

“Acted like a misogynistic prick,” Reika snapped, her voice full of disgust. “Like I haven’t defended more high-profile criminals than most lawyers ever dream of. He pulled that ‘I’m the dominant man in the room’ garbage gave me that stare like I was supposed to flinch. Tried talking over me like I was his damn secretary.” Her tone shifted into a mocking imitation of a deep, gravelly voice. “ ‘I’m the alpha in the room.’”

She scoffed and leaned back in her seat.

“Honestly? I was one bad moment away from stabbing him in the neck with my pen.”

She clicked that same pen in her hand, her fingers twitching with irritation. "Anyways, none of that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you to ensure that you aren't surprised if it gets brought up in the court." Anyway, enough about that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you—to make sure you’re not surprised if it gets brought up in court.”

"How is (Y/N)?" Touya whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

 He knew it was out of the blue.

He’d eavesdropped a few times. Doctors and nurses mention how this would be the longest leave of absence you’d ever taken.

He knew he had a better chance of getting an answer from Reika than from Kaito. Kaito was always accompanied by someone. Touya couldn’t show that he knew him personally, and he understood why. It would launch an investigation, especially with all the pro heroes and police constantly walking around.

Reika paused for a moment, glancing up from the leather folder she always carried to jot down her notes.

“She’s doing better. Got discharged about a week ago,” Reika said, tapping her pen against the folder. “She’s being forced to take a six-month leave, but other than that, she’s okay. You’re not the reason she was bedridden. There was just an incident with Endea—”

“Did he hurt her?” Touya cut in sharply.

“No. It was indirectly... surrounded by other factors,” Reika replied, shifting into her lawyer voice. Touya shot her a look, but Reika didn’t flinch. She simply flipped to a new page in her folder, her tone shifting coldly as she dove into the notes and legal strategy for his upcoming plea hearing. --------------

Anyway, how are we feeling about Touya being awake now? He already hates feeling weak, and now he has to talk about his feelings? He’d rather jump out of a window, especially if it means talking to a stranger.

This chapter was going to go differently, but I decided to delay a certain scene. There’s actually another deal Reika and Touya made, which is the main reason she’s representing him during the war. The chaos happening in these streets is no joke.

The next 2 chapter will explore how Touya and Remedy met as teenagers: one struggling to survive in the streets, and the other trying to help people with nothing but good intentions. Spoiler alert: Touya is the stray cat, skeptical of the preppy cat.

Any thoughts or theories? I’m all ears! I’d love to hear them. Thank you so much for everyone who commented on the previous chapter! You guys are the reason why the chapter got posted earlier than expected. Your comments seriously mean the world to me. 💖 I’m so grateful to know there are people who want to read more. Next Chapter 9

[joesheadband]

SUMMARY: You and Justin were close as soon as you two met in college. Unfortunately when Justin's football career progressed you stuck out in Oregon, ultimately leaving Justin as he went to LA. You thought you wouldn't come in contact with him again until you're visiting LA for the first time. WARNINGS: Very very fluffy, reader is from the east coast (unimportant), small use of y/n, second person point of view, & i don't know what else!! (take this as an apology for me barely starting part two of my justin series)

You and Justin were practically best friends. You two met in college as he was late to one of the shared classes you guys had both of your freshman year.

You guys were always with each other, until his senior year where he fortunately got the news that he is going to the NFL. You’d known that he was going to the NFL, beyond excited for him and happy that his football career is becoming serious.

Until he had to tell you where he was going, which changed your guys relationship.

You and Justin sat down in a nearby coffee shop, simply talking about your guys future after college.

“Uhm, so you know how I’m going to the NFL?” Justin hums, his eyes staying on his drink.

You excitedly nodded, an immediate smile playing on your face. “Yeah? What about it?” You tilted your head.

Justin looks up at you, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to the LA Chargers.” He confesses after a few seconds.

You couldn’t help but let your jaw drop, immediately starting to fidget with your nails. “Actually?” You feel your voice crack slightly.

Justin slowly nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “Yeah, and I’m not sure if you’re going to stay out here or go back to…” He trails off, understanding that you get the idea.

You nodded understandably, letting a few seconds pass as you thought of what to say. “I am.” You mumbled, your eyes flickering all over the cafe but Justin’s face.

A silence falls between you two. Not an awkward one, but a silence where you can feel the tension between one another. The tension heavy as you two sat together, the sound of other people chatting and the espresso machine beeping only playing in the back.

Many years have passed since that conversation. You gotten much better, way more happier since that day.

But you were currently in LA for your sister, she gave birth to her first daughter (which is your first niece) and you obviously had to see them both.

As you two walked in a marketplace, looking at the various fruits and veggies in the stands. Easy conversations rolling off both of your tongues.

You see your sister walk away, shortly after she yells your name to show you some of the fruit. As you walk over, your gaze down on your phone as you were mid purchase of something off of Amazon, not paying attention to the atmosphere around you.

“Y/N?” You hear a voice call out your name, you immediately look up, recognizing a very familiar face.

“Justin?” You feel your jaw drop again, just like how it did when he broke the news to you.

“I haven’t seen you — in like forever!” Justin stuttered, gently giving you a side hug. The tips of his ears feeling warm as he gave you a hug.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat as he brought you into his embrace, immediately returning his hug. “I mean, yeah. It has been forever.” You awkwardly laughed, letting go of the hug after a few seconds.

A silence between you two falls, a much more comfortable one. A silence where you both feel the warmth of one another.

“Well, wh-what are you doing in LA?” Justin stuttered once again, shifting his weight between his feet as he spoke.

You shrug, “Currently I’m in LA because my sister gave birth to her daughter, which is my niece.” You smiled proudly, your cheeks still flushed. You paused as you thought of what to ask in return, “Hows football going? You’re still playing for the Chargers?” You hum, a smile still playing on your face.

Justin nods, “Oh well congrats to your sister, that’s nice.” He awkwardly smiles, patting his hands on his shirt to somewhat dry them off from sweat. “Yeah, I’m still playing for them. It’s been good, really good.”

You nod in agreement, your gaze never leaving him. “That’s good, yeah I’m glad. I always knew you were going to make it far in football.” You softly giggle, shrugging as you spoke.

Justin quietly laughs with you, “Yeahh, you always believed in me, huh?” He hums, bringing one of his hands to scratch the back of his neck.

“Yup, always have and always will.” You giggle still, getting interrupted by your phone ringing.

You silently tell Justin to wait a minute as you answered, it being your sister. She told you to come to the front as she was about to check out.

You frown as you hung up, putting your phone in your back pocket. “I’m sorry Justin but I have to go, it was really nice getting to talk to you again.” You smiled again, giving him a side hug.

Justin’s face feels warm as he returned the hug, “Yeah-yeah, I’ll text you?” He awkwardly smiled as he let go of the hug, tilting his head.

You nod, “Yeah! I’ll be expecting a message.” You hum, turning on your heels as you somewhat rush to get to your sister.

As you give him one more look goodbye he’s still looking at you, that same goofy smile on his face still.

I DID ITTTT! are yall proud of me, i also had to turn on auto correct and auto capitalization for this.😅😅

[moonwalkingprincess]

Marshall's anatomy part 1

(Eminem x nurse reader)

Not mockingbird sorry...

The ER was chaos.

Alarms. Calls for trauma bay assistance. Stretchers rolling through too fast for the tired eyes around them. You barely had time to breathe when the call came in: young woman, unresponsive, no pulse on scene, CPR in progress. Cardiac arrest.

You read the name off the form as you snapped gloves on: Hailie Jade Mathers.

You froze.

No. Couldn’t be. The name, sure, but that Hailie? Eminem’s daughter?

Your breath hitched, but your rhythm didn’t falter. You were a fan, sure. You grew up with Lose Yourself, Mockingbird, all of it — but this girl was a patient. Not a celebrity’s daughter. Not a headline.

A life.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Come back.”

And like a miracle, her pulse returned.

“(Y/N)! You’re up,” someone barked. That shook you back.

Fan or not, she was your patient now.

Chest compressions. IV. Epi. Time melted into mechanical, practiced movements.

You leaned over her, pressing steady, deep. “Come on, girl. Don’t make me lose you.”

Then a weak cough. Her eyes fluttered. A monitor beeped with life.

You stepped back. You’d been in this moment before — but never with a name that echoed through your childhood headphones.

She was going to be okay.

Two hours later, she was conscious, groggy, and stable. You checked on her quietly, offering a calm smile when she met your gaze.

“You did CPR?” she asked hoarsely.

“I did,” you answered gently. “But you did the hard part — you came back.”

She gave a small nod. “Thanks.”

You left her room to chart the incident. You were scribbling notes when someone approached. You didn’t look up at first — not until the footsteps slowed, and the silence grew… tense.

“I’m looking for the nurse who was with my daughter.”

That voice.

You turned. Hoodie, hat, sharp stare.

Marshall Bruce Mathers III. Eminem. Right there in the ER hallway, looking both completely out of place and somehow completely real.

You cleared your throat. “That would be me.”

He stared at you like he was trying to read more than your name tag. “She said you saved her life.”

“I was part of the team. CPR brought her back. She’s stable now.”

His jaw flexed. “I owe you more than I can say.”

You gave him a soft, professional smile. “You don’t. She made it. That’s enough.”

But he shook his head, voice low. “No. Not for me. Look, I know people like to be subtle, but if there’s anything I can do — tickets, money, shout-out, whatever — name it.”

You hesitated. It was one of those moments that you knew could go viral, or get weird, or never be spoken of again.

So naturally, your tired brain went rogue.

“Well… I’d like to date you,” you mumbled under your breath, just soft enough that you thought he wouldn’t hear it.

Wrong.

He paused. Head tilted slightly. “What was that?”

Your eyes widened. “Nothing. I—I was kidding. I didn’t think you’d hear that. I meant something normal. Like… a gift card. Or a hoodie.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “I meant like concert tickets or money.”

“I figured.” You gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, it was a joke. I’ve been up since five.”

He studied you for a second, then something shifted. His mouth twitched up. He looked younger when he smiled, like the weight on his back lifted a little.

“You know what?” he said, surprising you. “You’re cute. Let’s grab a drink.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

He shrugged, casual like this wasn’t a plot twist in a fanfiction dream. “Yeah I would like to get to know the woman that saved my baby girl's life.”

You laughed — a breathy, disbelieving sound. “Is this real?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“You don’t have to feel pressured just because I saved your daughter’s life,” you teased, trying to cover the way your pulse had quickened.

He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I’ve been pressured into worse things than a drink with a hot nurse.”

You bit your lip, warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Alright. Fine. One drink. I pick the place.”

“Good. I hate Hollywood restaurants.”

“You are Hollywood,” you joked.

He smirked. “Nah. I’m just a dad who’s damn lucky you were on shift tonight.”

You smiled. “I’ll text you. If you don’t ghost me.”

“Please,” he said. “You think I’m letting the woman who saved my daughter ghost me?”

[itzgrassroots]

International space station core

Like boy stop transmitting radiowaves, ur gonna explode the hubble telescope

[novaimperia]

★ asking roommate!sukuna if you can get a lift to campus

halfway out of the door, your roommate turns his head and lifts a singular brow at you, the piercing there glinting. keys hanging off his finger, backpack slung on over one shoulder, you’re glad you caught him right before he left – his long legs make him impossible to catch up to. 

“no.”

and then he leaves.

you run after him. “oh, come on. why not?”

not slowing his pace down at all, he lifts up a hand, counting down. “one, i’m not a taxi. two, i don’t want to. three, it’ll become a habit. four, you’re annoying. and five, i don’t want to.”

he’s probably not wrong; since his car is much, much nicer than the public transport available, and quicker too, you’d likely get too used to the comfort and plead to make it a regular thing. although, you’re not really convinced it’d be so bad. “please? there’s a creepy man on the bus and i don’t want to run into him.”

at his car now, unlocking it with his key, he opens his car door, throws his bag inside, climbs in, and slams the door shut in your face. shooting you the most unamused look in the entirety of humanity’s existence, you’re sure, he drawls, “so then walk.”

you watch his car disappear out of the car park.

five minutes later, you’re grumbling about how he’s the worst roommate ever and how, if given the chance, you’d gladly suffocate his irritatingly handsome face under a pillow. just because he’s rich, naturally smart, effortlessly athletic, crazily popular even though he doesn’t want to be, he thinks he can do as he pleases. and yeah, guess he can. but still!

the past couple weeks since you’ve met him, you’ve been good to the bastard. you say hi, you keep clean and tidy, never make too much noise, don’t invite yourself to any of his plans, and you don’t snoop or invite friends over. by his standards, you’re the perfect roommate. whereas he’s been rude – he doesn’t accept any of the baked goods you’ve offered him, doesn’t watch movies with you, or even share dinner at the same time. too often have you caught him walking around in just his boxers or in a towel after he’s showered and he doesn’t apologise, just smirks when you get all flustered. the monster doesn’t even look at you when you cross paths on campus; he just pretends he doesn’t know you.

“hey, sweet’art. you live ‘round here?”

oh, great, there’s a crackhead limping towards you. despite this being the main street, there’s not many cars or people passing by. it’s just you and a creepy old man ogling at your body. whether on the bus or off, it seems you attract weirdos on a spiritual level. fantastic. 

“leave me alone.”

that doesn’t go over well with him. a scowl darkens his raggedy features. his steps hasten. you stagger back. 

beep!

“fuck off, you dirty old geezer.” a familiar car pulls up beside you. sukuna sneers at the man, who backs away a little frightened. huh, it’s quite easy to forget that people tend to find your roommate’s energy off putting. that’s pretty useful. those heated eyes slide over to you. irate, he jerks his chin. “what are you waiting for? get the fuck in.”

beaming, you squeal. “thank you!”

perturbed by your cheerful disposition despite how your morning’s going, you can only assume, he mutters some half-hearted insult under his breath and pays you no mind whilst he has a hand on the steering wheel and the other on your headrest, fingers drumming. 

satisfied when he hears the click of your seatbelt, he drives off. “you finish at three today, right? meet me at the parking lot by the gym at quarter past three. if you’re even a single second late, your broke ass is getting left behind, clear?”

“crystal.”

grimacing at your sudden laughter, he groans. “fuck this year’s gonna be a long one.”

and he couldn’t be more right.

[suksatoru]

"if you can hear me, chosen one, give me your strongest kick."

you lift your gaze from the book page pinched between your fingers and offer satoru an unimpressed glare. as scolding as you try to appear, there's a hint of a smile tugging your lips upward at his ridiculously adorable antics.

"i think our princess might be napping," he hums, pressing a flurry of kisses over the swell of your stomach as you squirm under his touch, wiggling your toes.

"you're going to be late, satoru! weren't you supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago?"

"hahh?"

he drops his face back onto your stomach gently, sighing happily as his hand glides over the soft bump. you decide to let him lie with you for a little while longer—the soft smile etched onto his face was far too precious to disturb.

"i'll text nanami and let him know you'll be a bit late to the mission, okay?" you say softly, carding a hand through his platinum locks as he hums softly, lashes fluttering close.

satoru talked to the baby in your belly quite often—even going as far as having full-on conversations with her. there had been countless nights where you stirred awake only to hear his silky sweet voice muffled against your stomach, all while he gazed starry eyed at the gentle curve of your stomach in front of him.

satoru's dearest dream had always been to have a family. it was a quiet truth he wouldn't ever dare to speak into existence because it didn't seem possible in any universe—but somehow, he stumbled upon a way. and now he gets to spend his evenings like this with you.

satoru's boundless affection during your pregnancy will forever be something you would be grateful for. the fondest thing you would look back on would have to be the endless amount of baby clothes he got—satoru had even purchased a matching set of onesies for all three of you to wear. typical satoru. he was adamant about making sure the three of you would have a bunch of pictures together as a family so he'd be able to send everyone he knew those corny holiday cards he always saw on tv—the only reason you remember that moment from so long ago right now is because of the phone call you received.

"hello?" you speak in a hushed tone, rocking the ivory haired baby in the crib next to you gently as you hold your phone between your cheek and shoulder.

"hello! is this mrs. gojo? i'm calling to confirm your family photoshoot scheduled for next week. it's the two hour session. it looks like you scheduled it a little over a year ago?" her voice comes to life through the phone, and your rocking slows to a stop.

"oh," is all you can manage at first.

you hear the sound of her typing come to a slow stop as she waits for your response. you resume rocking your daughter's crib before answering.

"i'm sorry, but it seems like my husband forgot to cancel the appointment."

she goes on a bit of a tangent, gently scolding you because the company was extremely busy with numerous photoshoots and you had canceled so last minute—but she promised to get it fixed and have the money refunded as soon as possible.

the line beeps quietly when you drop the call, and your hand feels perpetually numb as you drop your phone into your lap.

you rub at the sting that blinds your eyes a second later before rising on wobbly legs, not checking if your baby is asleep as you stumble towards your bedroom's balcony door and slide it open. you tuck your knees under you on the ground and rest your head against the railing, allowing the cool metal to be pressed against your cheek as you take a steadying breath.

you were nearing the one year anniversary of satoru's death and, quite stupidly at that, thought you'd be in a better condition by now. but his presence was irreplaceable—and it was moments like this where you were reminded how painful it was to lose your soulmate in the blink of an eye.

the night air kisses your cheek, whipping your hair around gently as it falls over your eyes—and the sensation is uncannily familiar to the way satoru's slender fingers would play with your hair and tickle your cheek whenever he was in a particularly playful mood.

the night traffic flowing beneath you fades to nothing as the wind whirls around you—but, it felt like if you closed your eyes hard enough, strained your ears as much as possible—then maybe you could make yourself believe that the whistling wind whizzing past your ear was satoru's voice lulling the ache in your chest away instead.

[satoblue]

“RESEMBLANCE” — gojo satoru

to satoru’s surprise, his first-born looks nothing like him. | wc: 1.0k+

f!reader, established relationship (you are mrs. gojo), pregnancy mention, you’re in the hospital after giving birth to your beautiful baby girl who looks a lot like you, satoru is a menace to society (and you), talks of sex (so may be a bit suggestive) | star divider by @/cafekitsune, swirl divider from pinterest + edited by me

the first few stages of emotions satoru feels upon seeing and holding his healthy, newborn baby girl in his arms are 1) relief, 2) joy, 3) surprise, and 4) confusion.

as he stares down at the child in his arms, that big mouth of his opens once and all havoc wreaks loose.

“this baby isn’t mine.”

the words are simple but not in meaning as it invokes such a reaction out of the nurses and you.

with a few, shocked gasps ringing in the air, you feel all eyes in the room aside from satoru’s (whom is still fixated on your newborn) come onto (the both of) you.

the heat on your cheeks in that moment is nothing compared to the utter rage brewing within you at his audacious behavior.

disbelief written all over your features, you try to ignore the avoidant side eyes of the medical staff. of all the times to spout some ridiculous nonsense, your husband chose now? — what the hell was he playing at? was this bastard accusing you of cheating?

“excuse me?! have you lost your mind?”

“i mean —” he licks his lips as if choosing his next words carefully (which he doesn’t). “she looks nothing like me. are you sure we got the right one?”

you can hear the whole world go silent aside from the beeping monitors in your hospital room. the nurses quickly (and wisely) hurry out.

“looks nothing like you?”, your eyes narrow, repeating his words dangerously low as if you were about to combust. he could practically see the steam coming out of your ears and holds back a chuckle.

“gojo satoru,” he winces at his full name. “that is your daughter — your daughter that i carried inside my stomach for months!”

and it was no easy feat.

perhaps it has something to do with satoru being the strongest, and in that way he has a mutant’s sperm — but your pregnancy was more difficult than the typical one which left you bedridden at only four months. and that is without even mentioning how your child felt the need to come earlier than her due date.

there should be absolutely no doubt in his mind that this is his child, one who is full of surprises right from birth.

“i know… but she doesn’t even have my hair or my nose or my lips! not even my big ears,” he pouts as he inspects the baby, turning her all sorts of (safe) ways to get a better look.

“all that there is, is you.” he finishes, gaze softening with a double meaning to his sentence, and he finally looks up at you sitting on the hospital bed.

“is this what this is about?”

“yes!”, a pitiful whine leaves his lips. “she should’ve come out looking exactly like me — my twin!”

“why does it even matter, ‘toru? she’s still yours in every way but appearance.”

“because, i want everyone to know i did this to you, that we made this child together — but my genes didn’t even put up a fight! how else will everyone who sees us together know you belong to me in such an irreversible way?”

then his sights dart to your stomach, hidden behind your thin hospital gown, his white brows furrowing. “maybe i didn’t fuck you hard enough…” he ponders, lips pursed.

his tone is low, but you hear it. your hands fly over your tummy to shield it from his piercing gaze, heat returning to your cheeks as you let out the scandalized gasp of the century.

there is a certain gleam in his eyes at your reaction — and you don’t like it one bit!

you think about hitting his head with the pillow to knock some sense into him (though it’d likely prove fruitless since his head is so big and boneheaded), but you’d save his beating for later when he isn’t holding your precious girl.

“you—”

with a sudden gasp, he reaches out a hand to you, waving it slightly to satiate your temper. he shushes you gently, whispering, “wait wait — she’s opening her eyes!”

quieting down, the both of you lean in, curious and in anticipation as your little one’s lashes flutter open slowly.

at what stares up at you, your lips part in sheer awe — and your husband stays uncharacteristically silent beside you.

“oh, satoru,” you absolutely melt.

with a coo, you whisper, “she has your eyes.” the very cerulean color you fell in love with once before and have again right now for the second time.

noticing how he hasn’t uttered a single thing, you look over next to you, before your eyes widen at the sight that greets you.

satoru, your husband, is crying. salty tears slip from his ducts and down his flushed cheeks, cute brows scrunched, blue clashing with blue for the first time.

“aw, baby. are you okay?” your own eyebrows knit together in worry and in contentment, noting his tears are of happiness.

all you get in response is a nonsensical blubber and a sniffle.

satoru’s heard it over a hundred times — how his eyes are pretty, beautiful, ethereal — even from you. he’s never cared much for it. to him, they were just eyes and the only value he saw in them is the power they gave him over others.

but now, he understands. and he thinks he’s starting to fall in love with them too.

“she’s so beautiful…” his lip wobbles, voice shaky and quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“i know,” you breathe.

putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, you smile. “happy now?” you’re barely able to conceal the amusement in your voice.

“mhm.” he hums, eyes still shimmering and glassy, lips in a pout.

“wanna go home?”

“yes, please.”

there’s nothing more that he wanted to do in that moment than take his baby girl to the loving sanctuary he deems the closest thing to heaven, his paradise — and he’s never letting her go.

extra:

“i can’t believe she only has my eyes, though. i guess i’ll just have to try harder next ti — ow! that hurt!”

[minnie-movs]

“She’s my type! (homicidal)”

synopsis. deadpool!gojo pushes you till you break (him)

content warnings. semi-proofread, fem!reader, gojo’s annoying, blowjobs in an alley, oral f!receiving, car sex, hate-fucking(?), she hates him and he loves that, cumming early, dirty talk, cowgirl, gojo whines gojo whimpers gojo cums, seriously he cums a concerning amount of times, overstimming gojo, dumbification (him), lots of male crying, he calls reader mommy, threats of murder/killing, descriptions of intended violence

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Deadpool!Gojo is the bane of your existence, constantly annoying you with his smartass jabs, perverted comments, and terrible jokes.

Deadpool!Gojo hears the words “Fuck off, Gojo” at least 7 times daily from any given person, especially you. 

Deadpool!Gojo turns off Infinity around you. He wants to feel your touch even if it’s just a shoulder graze or a punch to the face (the latter is a daily occurrence).

Deadpool!Gojo punches the air in triumph when he finds out he’s been assigned a mission with you, sprinting through the halls of the X Mansion straight to your room and bursting in.

“Heyyyyy, partner,” he sings as he skips into the room and over to your bed, flopping down on it like a child, “Ready to fuck up some bad guys?” 

You groan, like you’d been doing a lot that day, ever since you found out the Infinity-wielding pain in the ass would be your mission partner. “Just my luck. Fuck me,” you mutter, packing your gear.

Lying on his stomach, he props his face in his palms, feet kicking in the air, “Oh, trust me, pumpkin. I’ve been trying. But let’s save that for after the mission, hm?” Even through his mask, you could practically hear his annoying smirk. 

“Although since you brought it up,” he continues, not letting your clear disinterest deter him, “Maybe we could sneak in a quickie before the ball-busting begins? Pre-fight sex helps me focus. Specifically, doggystyle— backshots are great for an ass-kicking mindset. Cleanses the soul. Realigns the chakras n’ all that good shit. It’s science. Look it up. P-O-R-N-H-U—”

You shoot him a venomous glare that screamed, “Shut. Up.”

He immediately holds up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling sheepishly, “Or don’t. You’re right, saving it for after is smarter. Sort of a celebratory homecoming. Speaking of cumming—“ 

Your fist cuts that comment short, meeting his face with a satisfying crack!

Deadpool!Gojo stares unabashedly at your ass while scaling the side of a building, even throwing in an “awooga,” much to your disgust. 

Deadpool!Gojo doesn’t let a time-sensitive situation like you defusing a bomb stop his sardonic commentary. 

The room is silent, save for the periodic beeping of the contraption in front of you. You sit hunched over the deadly-looking device, sweat creeping on your brow, trembling fingers clutching the wire-cutter, “Red or blue?”

The white-haired mercenary lounges nearby, doing nothing to help, “You ever think about how turtles could be doing more for this country?” 

“Red or blue wire, Gojo.” 

“I mean, they come with their own armor! But those weird little fuckers just choose to chill in a lake all day.” 

“I swear to god—“ 

“Imagine the damage you could do if you chucked one of ‘em at the enemy’s head, shell first.”

You grit your teeth, “They’d die. Just tell me the color.” 

“The enemy or the turtle?” He shrugs, “Eh, doesn’t matter. Point is, we underestimate those green snails. Didn’t one of them paint the Sixteenth Chapel?” 

“It’s Sistine, and that was Michelangelo.” 

“Exactly.”

Your jaw muscles tense with barely-restrained frustration. You open your mouth to retort before you decided the device, whose timer had jumped from three minutes to one, needed your attention more.

“Here, let me help—“ he starts.

“You can help by shutting the fuck up.“ 

“Ooh, someone’s cranky. Is it the bomb? It’s the bomb, isn’t it?” 

“It’s you, actually,” you hiss, jittery hands held over the red wire. 

He throws a hand over his chest and mock-gasps, “I resent that! I’m plenty helpful—”

You whip around, grabbing his collar and slamming him into the nearby wall, the wire-cutter now hovering dangerously over his crotch. You let it close slightly, the metal jaws just barely touching him, eliciting a low moan from him— half from pain, half from something else. 

A low, menacing growl leaves your mouth, tone dripping with threat, “One more word and you lose a testicle.”

“…hot.” 

And then you punched him in the face again. 

(You do end up defusing the bomb, with seconds to spare at that, no thanks to him.)

Deadpool!Gojo compromises your stealth when he leans against a very obvious “CALL SECURITY” button.

Alarms blare, red lights flash, and within seconds, a swarm of armed men flood the room. 

He rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish look, “Oops…? Hehe.”

Fucking idiot. You contemplate feeding him to the enemy. 

Deadpool!Gojo relies on his katanas and martial arts more than Infinity or other powers in battle—purely to impress you. He swings dramatically, flips unnecessarily, flexing his “raw skills.” It’s like he’s performing rather than fighting. 

Mid-battle, covered in blood (not his), he frantically waved at you, “Y/N! Did ya see the finishing move I pulled on that guy? Fuckin’ sick, huh?!” 

You do not respond. He pouts. 

Deadpool!Gojo wolf-whistles when he sees you nail a villain with a kick to the nuts.

“Ngh- oh yeah, me next.” he likes CBT for sure

You nearly drop your weapon, “What in the fuck—“

Deadpool!Gojo takes the time for a dance break, mid-fight. 

“I’m Every Woman” blares through the speaker system— when the hell did he get control of the comms— as he full-on belts the song, complete with hair flips and hip swings. (songs also on that playlist: tell it to my heart by t. dayne, wannabe by spice girls, 10 minutes by lee hyori, baby one more time by b. spears, love don’t cost a thing by j. lopez) 

You seethe, yelling from a far corner as you take down another guard, “GOJO, TURN THAT SHIT OFF OR SO HELP ME, I WILL RIP OFF YOUR DICK AND FEED IT TO YOU!”

He loudly moans from under his mask, “Hngh- oh yeah, keep talking about my dick, babe— I’m nearly there—”

Deadpool!Gojo is smug as hell after knocking out a final thug that had you in a headlock.

He drawls, self-satisfied, and points finger guns at you, “You’re welcome. I’ll take my thank you blowjob now.” To which you give him a murderous scowl.

Deadpool!Gojo makes it so you both have to abort the mission to escape. Turns out pressing a “CALL SECURITY” button brings, well, security. A fuck ton of it. 

“If we survive this… pant… I’m strangling you with your own mask,” you snarled, sprinting alongside him, dodging bullets and hellfire.

“Aw, babe, you’re so cute when you wanna kill me,” he pulls up his mask to flash you a grin.

You punch him a third time, mid-run.

At Sister Margaret’s, Deadpool!Gojo watches you dejectedly explain to the team how you fled enemy territory empty-handed. 

Deadpool!Gojo then pulls the very item you were after out of nowhere, revealing dramatically that he’d pocketed it when you were busy fighting. (vague ass mission, pretend “item” is sumn important pls)

He doesn’t miss your fuming face in the crowd— but pretends to.

Should he have said something to spare you the frustration? Probably.

Was his way more fun? Definitely.

Deadpool!Gojo has an innocent look but is internally giggling he’s dragged him by the collar to the alley behind the bar.

“Woah, easy with the threads, sugarplum. This stuff’s custom-made.” 

“You absolute pain in my ass,” you growl, yanking his mask off to reveal his annoyingly attractive face.

His piercing blues glinted with mischief, a smirk playing at his lips, “Oh, sweetheart. if you wanted me in your ass, you could’ve just asked—“

“You had the artifact THE WHOLE TIME?!” 

“Oh! Great twist, right? Did you see their faces? They were all ‘omg gojo! gojo’s so smart and cool, we love him! he deserves several blowjobs as thank you! and I volunteer to be first! no, I volunteer. no I voluntee—‘“ 

“SHUT. UP! You made me think we FAILED, asshole! You humiliated me in front of everyone, you insufferable, selfish, reckless, piece of—“ 

“Oh sweet, I love a good hate-fuck prelude.” 

You surge forward, crashing your lips against his, effectively silencing whatever bullshit would leave his mouth next. 

Deadpool!Gojo is speechless when he suddenly finds you on your knees, his cock halfway down your throat, and has to physically fight from cumming too quickly—your loud, wet sucks and gags not helping the fight at all. 

Deadpool!Gojo has extreeemely sensitive balls and is a congenital yapper. Not a good combo for when the person sucking his dick is also someone who thinks of ripping out his larynx every time he opens his mouth.

He groans, letting his head fall back against the brick wall, fingers fisting in your hair for support. True to his nature, he tries and fails to keep composure with sarcastic quips, “Ah, there’s my thank you blowjob. Cuz’ I was beginning to wonder— ngh!” 

He doubles over with a choked gasp, his cock jerking in your mouth when he feels your teeth graze the sensitive vein along the underside—deliberate and warning. The message in your eyes was crystal clear: Shut up or I will bite.

And he wisely obliged. For about ten seconds before—

“If you’re hah- trying to get me to ngh- apologize for the mission, you sure picked a hnghh- h-hell of a way, babe. s-shit- i did technically save your ass, y’know- oh wait no- not the balls- they’re sensitive- seriously, anything but the balls- wait wait don’t— fuck! shit! fuckshitfuckshitfuuuuuuckkkkk!”

He spills down your throat embarrassingly fast, his chest heaving, throat catching on a half-choked moan, “Ah- hah- t-t-told you- *cough*—“ 

But it’s fine because the sight of you gulping down every drop of his cum has him immediately hard again.

Deadpool!Gojo eats you out like a man starved— on his knees in the back of your Honda Odyssey, of all places.

Not that he’s complaining. He’s quite happy to be suffocating between your thighs, his nose buried deep in your pussy folds, licking and slurping like it’s his last meal. (mf the type to go “nom nom” or “gobble gobble” or sum shit while eating kitty)

The most pathetic whimpers and mewls leave him as he aches to touch his cock, which is dripping leaky faucet, globules of precum bubbling at the tip, but he can’t— courtesy of you tying his hands behind his back. 

He’s also a messy eater, slobbering and drooling all over your clit like a rabid animal. At one point, he tries to motorboat your pussy, the man is unhinged.

And somehow, even with a mouth full of pussy, he’s still.

fucking.

talking.

“Mmh- fuck you taste so sweet- *lick* pussy’s so delicious- *suck* could eat you all night- mmmh- shit you gettin’ close? yeah yeah cum for me, baby- cum on my tongue, pretty please? squirt all over my face with this pretty lil cunny- mmh pleas—“

You cringe. Christ, his dirty talk sucks. You’ll have to fix that for next time—

Next time? Why the hell were you thinking of a next time? 

On the brink of orgasm, you tighten your grip in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan, “God- ngh- do you ever stop talking?”

In frustration, you forcefully buck into his mouth, hoping to shut him up. Jokes on you though. That just made him cum. 

Hands-free.

Just from eating you out.

He shudders, a choked moan ripping from his throat as hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out onto the backseat carpet.

He doesn’t let up, however, making sure to take you over the edge with him, tongue-fucking you through your high and his own. Your gasps and moans are sweet music to his ears, your clit pulsing against his tongue as you drench his face.

And still, he doesn’t stop. He slurps up your juices, his tongue invading every crevice of your cunt, greedy for every last saccharine drop.

God, he fucking loves your pussy. 

Deadpool!Gojo cries and whines like a bitch while you ride him into oblivion. 

His blue eyes are locked onto your bouncing tits, pupils blown wide in awe. He’s drooling, hands roaming aimlessly—gripping your love handles, palming your ass, cupping your breasts—unable to decide where to settle.

God, he wishes he had more hands.

Your pussy is heaven to him. Hot, wet walls squeeze his cock like they were made to ruin him. It’s so good, so unbelievably good, his vision blurs with tears.

You’re so fucking beautiful. 

So so so beautiful… 

THWOP! 

And so fucking cruel. 

THWOP! 

You slam down on his cock with a cruel force, the skin of your ass slapping against his thighs. 

THWOP! THWOP! 

The lewd schlick-schlick’s of your pussy swallowing him echoes in his ears, mingling with his breathless, broken moans. 

He’d be well past his fifth orgasm by now—if you weren’t such a sadistic, heartless bitch who hates happiness.

…his words.

Because for the past hour or so, you’ve been fucking him like his dick owes you money, always stopping right as he’s about to cum. 

Like right now.

You hover over his swollen tip, eyeing him smugly. He’s a mess. Flushed cheeks, damp lashes, glassy azure eyes pleading up at you.

Oh, but the real sight is what’s below— his cock twitches desperately, every individual vein begging for friction. His balls? Overloaded. Heavy. Drawn tight. Concerningly big. How the fuck does he still have cum left to give? 

Gojo swears you hold his life in your hands. If you didn’t let him cum right now, he’s pretty sure he’ll die. 

Pride shattered and dignity obliterated, he wails, voice cracking, “Hnghhh- fuck- OKAY! ALRIGHT! I’M SORRY! I’m sorry about the artifact! I thought you’d think it was cool—I was wrong! I’m sorry for humiliating you, I’m sorry I’m a dumb fucking cock-for-brains idiot who only thinks with his dick— IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMFUCKINGSORRYYYY!!!”  

His hips desperately rut upward, chasing the last bit of movement he needs to finally, finally cum. “Now please! Let me cum! I need to cum! I NEED TO CUM! PLEASE LET ME CUM! PLEASE, MOMMYYYY!” 

You paused. 

…did he just say Mommy?

Oh, he is gone. 

You mentally file this moment away— prime blackmail material for the next time he gets smart with you.

For now, you’re content. You got what you wanted: an apology from the Merc with a Mouth and the pleasure of watching him fall apart. 

A Cheshire grin curling your lips, you give a single, permitting nod—then slam down onto his cock, hard. 

Gojo damn near ascends. 

Deadpool!Gojo moans like a girl when he cums in the loudest, sluttiest, most pornographic way.

His eyes roll back, mouth falling open. His entire body convulses, back arching off the car seat, muscles locking up as the orgasm annihilates him.

He cums harder than he ever had, the air ripping from his lungs as he shoots his creamiest load yet. His cock pulses with every desperate burst of sticky, gooey seed—your gummy pink walls now sprayed white. His abs flex violently, spent, while your greedy pussy yanks him deeper, intent on milking him dry. 

And then, the worst thing happens.

You keep moving.

Deadpool!Gojo pleads with you to stop fucking him, fully sobbing through the overstimulation.  

It’s too much. His nerves are fried, he’s slowly going stupid. Hell, he just might be already. His cock is helplessly quivering inside you and his whole body’s shaking. Pearly tears slip down his cheeks as he begs you to stop moving on his cock. 

“P-please—please! t-there’s n-nothing l-left! i c-can’t c-cum a-anymore! i-i’m f-fucking e-empty! i’m fucking shooting blanks! i-i’m begging, please don’t m-make me c-cum again! I’ll break- I’LL BREAKKKKK!!” 

He chokes on a sob before his cock pitifully spurts out another empty load. 

Having had your fill of his miserable begging, you generously oblige. You dismount, lazily glancing back at the wonderful mess you made. 

Deadpool!Gojo is left ruined, utterly destroyed after you’re done with him.

His head lolls to the side, tongue hanging out, drooling as he stares at nothing. His limbs shudder weakly, his cock now soft and limp, still giving the occasional pathetic shiver.

A stupid, cum-drunk grin stretches across his face as he meaninglessly babbles like an idiot, “c-cum… c-came… s’ m-much… ah… can’t f-feel my d-dick… love it… t-thank you…“  

Gone is the bravado of the cocky, sharp-mouthed antihero. 

Lying there, wrecked beneath you, is your broken little bitch—Satoru Gojo aka Deadpool. 

a/n. women bullying men during sex>>> originally wrote this with hawks from mha in mind then realized he n gojo are the same person in different fonts. it was tough writing this tbh cuz i had to balance both personalities. i still think he ended up more gojo than dp anyway sighhh. i hope people like it and if you don’t, that’s ok but please be kind :) 

[hairmetal666]

Six months. For six months Steve has been listening to this radio show and not ever one time did he expect to hear the host, Eddie Munson, growl out the words “Hawkins, Indiana," but here they are. The name said.

Steve stops the car dead in the middle of the road, can’t hear anything aside from the radio show host listing Hawkins facts in his sonorous voice.

He should have known. Like rationally, he should have considered it a possibility that Hawkins might come up on this late night talk radio show called Hellfire about monsters, cryptids, folklore. 

It’s just. He thought. Hawkins hadn’t exactly made national news, and what had was about a toxic gas leak and a government coverup, not exactly this show’s focus. 

But enough, apparently. Obviously. 

Eddie starts talking about the disappearance of Will Byers, and Steve lays his head on his steering wheel, tries to ignore the way his hands tremble. 

For six months Hellfire brought him comfort and companionship as he roams the dark street of Hawkins on what Robin calls his patrols. It’s not like he can sleep, not anymore, so what better to do than make sure everyone is safe? That there’s no signs of the Upside Down? That the gates are still closed? 

Hellfire has been his companion through it all and now—now—

Eddie’s talking about the Department of Energy, MK Ultra, a fake body in the quarry. 

He could turn it off. Or better yet, go home. But he sits in his car out by Lover’s Lake and he listens to Eddie detail the rumors and speculation. Listens to the callers who share their two cents and conspiracy theories—none close to the truth. 

The thing is. He’s become—fond of Eddie, of Hellfire. He doesn’t care about cryptids, isn’t interested in Big Foot, but he was captivated by Eddie. Not just him, though, it’s the whole thing with his producer, Gareth, and his two other best friends who pop in from time to time. They’re funny, nerdy, love that dork game the kids play. And if the low resonance of Eddie’s voice makes him a little melty? Well, that’s between him and 3am. 

Steve calls in, sometimes. Has called in. Just, you know, once a week or so. It's not like he knows anything about the monsters, but he asks questions, likes to listen to Eddie talk no matter if he understands.

They finish with a caller and Eddie says, "unfortunately, we'll probably never know what happened."

And Gareth cuts in to say, "Hawkins is only an hour a way. You know. If you find that interesting."

"What are you saying, Gar?" Eddie asks. "That we should go?" He laughs.

"Why not? We could do our own investigation. Maybe we'll find something the authorities don't want us to."

"Hmm, what do you think, listeners? Should we don our adventurer caps and head into the unknown?"

He doesn't remember putting the car into drive, but he knows he's speeding toward the little two-pump gas station on the edge of town and the deserted pay phone there.

The line beeps and beeps when he dials. He tries again and again, until finally there's a click, and Eddie's radio voice booming in his ear.

"Thank you for calling Hellfire," he laughs, manic. "You're--

"You can't go to Hawkins," he interrupts.

"Sweetheart," Eddie croons. "Haven't heard from you in a while. How are you?"

"I'm Fine. Stay out of Hawkins."

"You gotta ease into it a little, baby. Little small talk first."

"Eddie..."

"What do you know about Hawkins?"

"N--nothing. I've heard bad things about it. Cops."

"Cops," Eddie snorts. "I'm not afraid of Hawkins PD. Are you calling because you're worried for my well-being, sweetheart?"

"Yes." Steve doesn't hesitate.

"You're my favorite listener, you know that?"

"I'm being serious."

"It's cute."

"It's a really bad idea to go to Hawkins."

"Do you know what's funny? You didn't know what a chupacabra was, but you know about Hawkins."

"I--" he swallows. "Have specific interests."

Eddie laughs. "What do you know about Hawkins?"

"Nothing," too quick.

"Are you lying to me?"

"I can't say."

"You just keep getting more and more mysterious."

"Please, stay away. It's--there are things, people--you don't want their attention. Just, please. Trust me."

"I'll agree on one condition. Tell me how you know this."

"I can't," he whispers. "That's why you need to trust me."

"What's stopping you?"

He flashes back to an interrogation room, Hopper's stern face, the even sterner ones of the government agents, the four-inch high stack of papers to sign, again and again and again.

"NDAs."

Dead silence on the other line until Eddie asks, "wait, PLURAL?" excitement spikes through the speakers.

That's when Steve hears the distant click down the line, knows it isn't him or Eddie, knows--

The line goes dead.

"Fuck."

He goes straight to the cabin. It's late enough in the morning now that he's unsurprised to see the glowing ember of a cigarette near the porch steps.

"What'd you do, kid?" Hopper asks when Steve gets out of his car.

"Called into a radio show about monsters."

The chief sighs, drops his hands to his sides, muttering. The crunch of gravel way up the long drive has them both turning.

"Guess we're in for a long day." Hopper stomps out his cigarette.

---

Steve isn't allowed to listen to Hellfire anymore. Is forbidden from calling in. And he gets it, okay, he knows. He said too much on the radio, but he hopes that he didn't get Eddie in trouble, that they don't try to come to Hawkins.

He gets a late start on his patrols one night. Took the kids to the movies, caved within minutes when they begged to go for ice cream after, Robin giving him a fond eye roll when he stops.

It's late, summer sun set for hours already, and he's driving on backroads behind the lab. And it's been--it's been a few weeks, okay, since the last call, long enough that he's stopped thinking Eddie will show, so when he sees the van on the side of the road--when he sees the van he doesn't stop right away.

It's tan and white or maybe grey, old, from the 70's or something; spiky black lettering on the side. It says Hellfire.

Steve slams on the breaks so hard the tires squeal, car skidding. He parks haphazardly on the side of the road, only grabbing a flashlight before hurling himself into the woods.

He figures Eddie and the guys will be easy to find, bumbling through unfamiliar forest, but minutes pass with nothing but his own feet crushing through the underbrush. He's afraid to yell, afraid it will draw the wrong kind of attention, but he does a kind of hoarse whisper, knowing it's not enough.

There's a small rock formation that he skirts past, mind everywhere but on his surroundings. He hears a rustle, he thinks, turns, and in the space of a breath, collides with something distinctly solid, warm, and judging by the pained grunt, human.

"Fuck. Gareth?" A very familiar voice asks.

"Eddie??" He responds. His fingers scrabble for his flashlight, illuminating the leaf strewn forest floor and some nearby tree roots.

A beam of light illuminates his chest and face, forcing his eyes down. "Who are you?"Eddie demands.

Steve finally grabs his flashlight, points it at Eddie's middle. Has a second to take in his long, curly hair, his cut-off t-shirt, pale skin and the swirl of inky black tattoos. "I'm--I--I called into your show. I--I told you not to--"

"Oh," Eddie's breath hitches. "Sweetheart. You said not to come to Hawkins and then you--you--" He blinks, seems to struggle to find words. "I didn't expect you to be so beautiful."

He smiles. "i--your show, I loved it. I miss listening to you. I miss--" He takes a step, closes the distance. Eddie smiles and it grips something in his stomach, doesn't let go.

Over Eddie's shoulder, there's a flash of movement, catches in Steve's periphery. It's an unfurling, an opening, there's a shine of saliva, teeth.

His heart stops.

"Eddie--"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Run."

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, neighbors to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), reader first orgasm, soft dom Han Jisung, emotional vulnerability, praise kink, mention of toxic relationship, slight exhibitionism (thin walls), slight degradation of ex-boyfriend, aftercare, fluff, soft angst (parental neglect), mdni

notes: in which han jisung hears you faking your orgasms through the walls of your apartment--and things spiral from there.

The walls in this building are a joke.

Half an inch of drywall. That’s all that separates his shitty one-bedroom from yours. He’s counted.

It’s not like he meant to know so much about you. He’s not trying to eavesdrop on every late-night argument, every hungover FaceTime call, every time you drag your heavy Econ textbook across the floor.

He just lives here.

And unfortunately, so do you.

Jisung never asked for the proximity. He never asked to know the way your voice rises when you're tipsy or how you only sing when you thinks no one can hear. But he does. He knows. He knows you eat too many frozen waffles and tha tyour microwave beeps twice before you remember to take shit out. He knows the name of your boyfriend, the sound of your laugh when you’re trying too hard, and worse—

The exact pitch of your moans when you’re faking it.

Because you fake it. Every damn time.

And he would know. He’s had the misfortune of being hard at 2AM with your paper-thin walls pressed against his back and that sorry excuse for sex filtering through his second-hand studio monitors like a mockery of porn.

It’s always the same: breathy gasps, your boyfriend’s awkward grunting, the bed springs squeaking like hell, and then—

“Oh my god, yeah, just like that...”

Flat. Perfunctory. The kind of moan that sounds practiced. Rehearsed. Completely unconvincing.

Jisung rolls his eyes and turns the volume up on his mix.

Not because it bothers him. Not because he cares.

It’s just distracting.

He’s got better things to do than think about the pretty girl next door faking orgasms like it’s a part-time job.

Like finish this track. Like land an actual gig. Like figure out how the fuck he’s going to keep affording rent in a city that eats people alive and doesn’t even burp after.

He’s not interested.

He’s not.

Except—

Sometimes he wonders what it would sound like if you meant it.

What you’d sound like if someone took their time. If someone made you come for real, dragged it out of your with fingers in your hair and lips on your neck and the kind of steady, brutal rhythm that doesn’t stop until you’re shaking.

What you’d sound like if it were him.

Jisung curses under his breath and drags his headphones off.

His eyes are dry. His dick’s half-hard. His track’s going nowhere.

Cool.

Maybe he just needs to… do something. Anything. Something mundane. Something that reminds him he’s a functioning adult with a trash bin and a spine and better things to focus on than the soft moans of the girl next door and the way they don’t sound quite right.

He grabs the overstuffed trash bag by the door, ties it with too much force, and makes a beeline for the hallway before he can talk himself out of it.

The fluorescent lights hum. The elevator’s broken again. Everything smells vaguely like burnt toast and someone’s fruity shampoo.

This building is hell.

He loves it.

Jisung drops the bag down the chute, lingers a second too long just to feel the rush of cold air against his face, then heads back.

He’s barely two doors away from home when he sees you.

You’re standing outside your apartment, arms crossed over your chest, loose sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder like it’s been a long night. Your boyfriend—Jason? Jared? Justin?—is leaning in too close, his mouth moving fast. Jisung can’t make out the words, but the tone’s familiar. Sharp. Defensive.

The boyfriend tries to kiss you.

You turn your face away.

Jisung doesn’t mean to stop walking. His feet just… do.

“I said I’m tired,” you mutter.

“Oh, you’re tired?” the guy snaps, way too loud for this dingy little hallway. “You weren’t tired twenty minutes ago when you were riding my dick, were you?”

Jesus.

Jisung should keep walking. Should disappear into his apartment and mind his business like he always does.

But instead, he just—

“Hey.”

His voice comes out cracked around the edges, like it hasn’t been used in a while. Which is accurate. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone in three days. Not unless you count the talking he does into the mic when he’s laying down verses at 3AM.

You both turn to look at him.

Jisung tries to smile.

It’s more of a grimace.

“You, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing at you instead of the walking ego next to you. “You okay?”

You hesitate.

The boyfriend doesn’t.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Jisung shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket. “Neighbor.”

The guy blinks, then laughs. “Oh. So you’re the one blasting that emo SoundCloud shit through the wall every night?”

Jisung winces. A breath stutters out of him like he’s been lightly slapped.

Then he notices it—you wince, too. The tiniest flicker of guilt flashing across your face, so fast he almost misses it.

And yeah. Okay.

That stings more than it should.

“I didn’t say it was shit,”you mumble under your breath, clearly meant only for your own conscience.

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says quickly, forcing a light tone as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s fine. Totally fair. Some of my stuff is… uh. Kinda dogshit.”

The boyfriend grins like he’s just won something.

“Glad we agree. Thought I was gonna have to explain how sound works to a wannabe DJ.”

Jisung opens his mouth—then closes it again.

Not worth it.

Definitely not worth it.

Except you’re still looking at him. Still standing there with your arms folded tight, sweatshirt slipping down further. And your face—

There’s something in it. Not pity. Not sympathy.

More like… regret.

He hates that it softens him.

The boyfriend, oblivious, barrels on. “Anyway, next time you feel like giving a concert at four in the morning, maybe wait until someone asks.”

“Next time you feel like giving headboard percussion lessons at two,” Jisung mutters, “maybe make sure she actually comes.”

The words leave his mouth before his brain catches up.

Instant silence.

You gasp. Cover it with your hand, like you’re trying not to laugh—or scream.

The boyfriend just stares at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Jisung shrugs, already stepping toward his apartment door. His hands are shaking a little, but he keeps his voice light.

“I mean, the moaning’s impressive. Real Oscar-worthy shit. But you’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

“You little—”

“Hey, man.” Jisung turns back for half a second, nodding at him with a crooked, tired smile. “If I can tell through the wall that she’s faking it, that’s not on her. That’s on you.”

He shuts the door behind him before the guy can even finish winding up his insult.

Click.

Deadbolt.

Silence.

Except for the thundering in his chest.

Jisung exhales hard, forehead thunking against the door. “What the fuck did I just do?”

He sinks down to the floor like his legs have given up. Which, to be fair, they kind of have.

This isn’t him. This isn’t what he does.

He doesn't talk back. Doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t insert himself into other people’s messy lives—especially not yours. He barely speaks to delivery guys. Half his social life happens through a pop filter.

And yet.

“You’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

God. It was kind of funny.

But still—Jesus.

Jisung scrubs both hands over his face, embarrassment curling in his gut like a hangover.

Across the wall, he hears footsteps. Muffled shouting. The boyfriend’s voice, sharp with wounded ego. And then—

The unmistakable slam of a door.

Silence.

No more voices. No more fake moans. No more anything.

Jisung doesn’t move.

Eventually, when the silence stays long enough to feel safe, he hauls himself up off the floor. Brushes dust from his sweats. Tries not to replay what he said out loud like a greatest hits compilation of shit he absolutely should not have said out loud.

____________________________________________________________________________

He sleeps like shit.

Of course he does.

And when morning comes, it hits in a wave of cheap sunlight and neighborly noise.

He hears your usual routine unfold with near-perfect familiarity: fridge door opening, kettle clicking on, cabinet slam (twice—you always forget which one holds the instant coffee). Muffled cursing. Zipper. Then keys jingling against the lock.

He listens as you step out, lets the door fall shut behind you, and walks down the hall toward the stairs.

Everything is the same.

And none of it is.

Because this time, when you leave,your footsteps pause right outside his door.

Just for a second. A breath.

Then gone.

He groans and pulls the blanket over his face.

The rest of the day moves in its usual haze. Jisung does what he always does: noodles with a half-finished beat, eats instant ramen over the sink, ignores three texts from Chan asking for an update on the mix. His headphones stay around his neck most of the day, never quite getting used.

By sunset, the hallway is quiet again.

The beat he’s working on is shit. He knows it’s shit. He keeps tweaking it anyway.

It’s not even music anymore. Just sound. A bunch of clunky, disjointed loops that won’t glue together no matter how many times he messes with the tempo.

He’s just about to scrap the whole thing when—

Knock knock.

He freezes.

It’s soft. Measured. Hesitant.

He doesn't move right away—just sits there in his desk chair like someone just rang the doorbell in a horror movie. Then he leans back slightly, just far enough to peek over the edge of his laptop.

Another knock.

His heart does something stupid.

He stands. Pads barefoot to the door. Checks the peephole.

Of course it’s you.

You’re standing there in leggings and an oversized hoodie, arms cradling a plastic container like its armor. Your hair's pulled back, face bare. You look—

Small.

Unsure.

You lift one hand and knock again, even softer this time.

He hesitates a second longer, then opens the door.

Not all the way. Just a crack.

Your head jerks up. You blink. “Hi.”

He blinks back. “Uh. Hey.”

You shift your weight. “Can I—uh, are you busy?”

He opens the door a little wider, eyes flicking down to the container you’re holding. “No. I mean. Just… failing at music.”

That gets the faintest smile out of you.

“Right. Yeah. I, um…” You hold out the container. “These are for you.”

He stares. “Cookies?”

“Apology cookies.”

There’s a beat.

Then:

“I didn’t bake them,” You admit. “But I did walk two blocks to the overpriced organic place to get them. So. Effort was made.”

He blinks down at the container again, like it might disappear if he stares hard enough.

“Effort noted,” he mumbles.

You shift again, hugging your arms tighter. “You don’t have to eat them. I just—felt weird not saying thank you. Or sorry. You didn’t have to do what you did last night.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Felt weird not saying something. So.”

You stand there in the doorway for a second, both of you clearly unsure of what to do now that the thing you came to say has been said. He should probably invite you in. Or take the cookies. Or smile, or make a joke, or something.

Instead, he clears his throat.

You jump in to fill the silence. “Also, just so we’re clear—I didn’t actually mean the SoundCloud thing. That was… low-hanging fruit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve listened?”

That earns him a flush, bright and instant. “Not on purpose.”

“Wow.” He presses a hand to his chest. “What a glowing endorsement.”

“I’m just saying—I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. That wasn’t fair.” Your gaze softens. “Your stuff is good. Better than good, actually. The one with the—uh—strings and that lo-fi beat underneath?”

His eyebrows raise. “Track twelve?”

She nods.

His stomach flips. It’s ridiculous. But that track had been sitting unfinished for weeks, like something he wasn’t sure anyone but him would ever care about. And now she’s standing here—face bare, voice quiet—quoting it back to him like it meant something.

He doesn’t know what to say.

For someone who spends hours arranging syllables and syncopation for fun, it’s laughable how words immediately bail on him when they might actually matter.

“You, uh…” He shifts the container to one hand. “You’ve got a good ear.”

You smile. It’s small. A little sheepish. “I’ve got shit walls.”

That makes him laugh—quiet and surprised.

“I should let you hear more sometime,” he says, before he can talk himself out of it.

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“I mean—only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought…”

He trails off, scratching at the seam of his sleeve.

“I’d like that,” You say.

And he doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that blooms in his chest. It’s not huge. It’s not loud. But it’s there—steady and unexpected, curling under his ribs.

“Cool,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ll, uh. Let you know next time I make something new.”

You nod, then shift your weight backward—just enough to start retreating. But not before your eyes flick to his again, briefly, like you want to say something else.

He thinks might.

But all you do is smile—small and real—and take one step back towards your door.

“Goodnight, Han.”

His name on your lips feels like something it shouldn’t. Like a secret.

He nods. “Night.”

And then you turn. Cross the narrow hallway back to your apartment, keys already in hand. you hesitate at the door for half a second—he notices that, because of course he notices that—then slides the key in, disappears inside, and lets the door fall shut behind you with a soft click.

He watches the empty hallway for a beat longer.

He stares at his own door for a moment after he closes it, forehead pressed against the wood like the words you left behind are still floating in the air.

Goodnight, Han.

He hadn’t realized how nice his name could sound until you said it like that.

It echoes in his chest. Warms something that’s been cold for a while.

When he finally moves, it’s slow. He sets the cookies on the kitchen counter, grabs a pen, and flips open the nearest notebook—one he’s barely touched in weeks.

And he writes:

Track idea: starts quiet. Voice sample, maybe hers? Lo-fi beat behind it, soft keys. Let it build. Don’t let it rush. Let it breathe.

He underlines let it breathe three times.

Then he puts his headphones on.

And for the first time in a long time—

The music comes easy.

______________________________________________________________

You never planned on being friends with Han.

The boy next door with the quiet mouth and loud headphones. The recluse who only seemed to exist in studio beats and half-heard melodies through the wall. You knew his name before you knew his face—Han, printed on a mailbox slot too narrow.

Now he nods at you in the hallway. Smiles, even. You’ve learned that they’re rare, his smiles—crooked and shy, like they’re still trying to figure themselves out. You’ve started waiting for them.

Some mornings, you catch him in the elevator, hoodie pulled over messy hair, a takeout coffee in one hand and sleep in his eyes. You say hi. He says hey. He always holds the door for you.

It’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.

And then, one night—it’s something.

It starts with your friend’s voice, high and nervous. “I swear I had your keys. I swear they were just—fuck, okay, check your bag again—”

You’re too drunk to care. Or think. Or stand up straight

Your bag is wide open on the hallway floor, a war zone of receipts, gum wrappers, lip glosses with no caps, and an unopened pack of hot sauce packets you swear you didn’t steal from Taco Bell. Your friend is crouched beside it, frantically digging like she’s searching for buried treasure.

And that’s when the elevator dings.

You don’t even bother turning around. You’re too busy trying to balance one heel on top of a rogue pack of gum like it’s a tightrope.

Your friend, however, freezes. Then straightens sharply, whisper-hissing, “Oh shit—it’s your neighbor.”

You blink. “Which one?”

“The hot one.”

That gets your attention.

You turn—wobble—and there he is: Han. Grocery bag in one hand, hood halfway off, hair a little windblown. His eyes flick from your friend to you, then to the scene at your feet: your life in full chaotic display.

He pauses. Then says, with the softest little blink of disbelief,

“Uh… everything okay?”

You blink right back at him.

Then lean toward your friend—not subtly, not gracefully, and definitely not quietly—and whisper at full volume:

“You’re right, he is hot.”

It echoes.

Down the hall. Into the vents. Probably into the next dimension.

Your friend claps a hand over her mouth.

Han stares at you, frozen mid-step, grocery bag dangling like it no longer belongs to him.

You sway slightly. Flash him a winning, drunken grin. “Hi.”

His ears go pink.

He recovers with a cough and a quiet, “Hey.”

Your friend steps in, trying to salvage the moment. “She, um… lost her keys. And maybe her filter. And maybe also her last three brain cells.”

“I have at least five brain cells,” you argue, eyes still locked on Han like you’ve just spotted the last bottle of tequila on Earth. “Maybe six.”

“Okay,” your friend says sharply, grabbing your arm before you can say anything worse. “She’s drunk. She needs to sleep. You’re right next door. I trust you, I think. Will you—can you—?”

“I’ve got her,” Han says, voice gentle. Too gentle. Like he’s trying not to laugh but also trying not to die of second-hand embaressment.

He steps forward, freeing his hand long enough to steady you when you stumble again. His grip is warm, careful. You immediately lean into it like he’s a weighted blanket.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Strong and polite. A dangerous combo.”

He just smiles—shy and crooked, the way he always does when he doesn’t know where to put his face. “You good to walk?”

“No promises.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’” he says, easing your arm over his shoulder.

Your friend sighs, already backing toward the stairs. “If she tries to seduce you, just tell her she cries at Disney movies and once got drunk and tried to fistfight a traffic cone.”

“I won, though,” you shout after her.

Han chuckles.

Your friend throws one last suspicious look over her shoulder, mouthing to Han, text me from her phone if she throws up, before disappearing down the stairwell.

And now it’s just you and Han.

And the heat of your skin pressed to his side.

And the wild, buzzing thought in your brain that you’ve never been this close to him before.

He shifts his weight. Glances down at you.

“You seriously okay?”

You nod. “I feel great.”

“You say that while using me as a crutch.”

“Yeah. But like—a sexy crutch.”

He laughs, head ducking slightly like he’s embarrassed for both of you.

But he doesn’t let go.

And he doesn’t stop smiling.

Han’s arm stays steady around you as he unlocks his door, grocery bag still dangling awkwardly from one wrist. He guides you inside carefully, flicking on the lights with his elbow and nudging the door shut behind you.

You blink, taking it in through a haze: tiny apartment, warm lighting, a bunch of wires and gear by the desk, no couch in sight.

He catches you swaying and steers you toward a plain padded chair by the wall. “Here, sit for a sec.”

You plop down like a ragdoll.

Han crouches in front of you instantly, gently tugging your heels off one at a time like he’s afraid you’ll tip over trying. “You good?” he murmurs, setting your shoes aside neatly. “Anything feel weird? Dizzy?”

You grin at him. “You’re so worried.”

He flushes instantly. “I just—yeah. I mean. You’re really drunk.”

“Yeah, but like, in a fun way.”

“Still,” he mutters, already handing you a bottle of water from the counter. “Drink this. Slowly.”

You take it. “You’re like a… a boyfriend. But like, a really responsible one. Like—tax-paying, call-my-mom-for-me energy.”

Han snorts and gets up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, you’re done talking now.”

“I’m not!” you call after him as he sets the grocery bag down. “I’m very interesting!”

He just shakes his head, trying (and failing) to hide his smile.

When you blink again, he’s in front of you, holding out a hand. “C’mon. Bed’s this way.”

You pause. “You only have one bed.”

His ears go pink. “You can take it.”

You squint. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

He shrugs, awkward. “Floor. I’ve got blankets.”

“That’s tragic.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

You pout but don’t argue as he pulls you gently to your feet again. You’re warm, wobbly, still clutching the water bottle like a security blanket, and when he steers you toward the bed, you barely resist at all.

He helps you sit, then hands you a second pillow and adjusts the blanket like he’s not trying to combust over how soft you look there. He’s halfway to standing up again when you tug the edge of the blanket higher and murmur:

“Thanks, Han.”

He’s still standing near the edge of the bed, half in the dark, blinking at you like you’ve just short-circuited every single brain cell in his head.

His voice is a little uneven when he says, “Y-Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You smile at him, all cozy and soft, limbs draped across his sheets like you belong there.

He doesn’t even know where to put his hands.

“I, uh—” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I still have a bit of work to do. Just mixing something. I’ll, um. Be over here.”

You blink up at him. “What kinda work?”

“Music stuff.” His voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat immediately. “I won’t bother you. You can—yeah, you can just pass out. All good.”

“You don’t mind me on your bed?”

Han stares at you for a second too long.

Then jerks his gaze away. “No. I—I mean. No, definitely not. Like, at all.”

He fumbles over to his desk, nearly knocking over a pair of headphones, and drops into the chair like his legs have forgotten how to bend properly.

You snuggle deeper into the mattress, dragging the blanket over your legs with a dramatic sigh. “This is comfy. You have good taste in sheets.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, clicking around on his laptop even though the track’s already loaded. 

You giggle.

He pretends not to notice.

You don’t see it—but his eyes flick to you constantly. Quick little glances when you shift, or sigh, or tuck your face into the pillow like it’s your new favorite thing. He can’t not look.

You yawn, cheek squished into his pillow. “You smell nice.”

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a quiet plea for mercy. “You should, uh. Try to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

You don’t move.

Just keep lying there. All sweet and sleepy and tangled up in his blankets, on his bed, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And even though he should be focusing—he really, really should—

Han can’t stop smiling.

He turns back to his screen and presses play, the familiar beat fills his headphones, looping low and steady.

It’s not done—not even close. The layers are uneven, the bass too soft, the melody still fighting to find its place. But it’s something. And tonight, it’s the only thing keeping his hands busy while his mind refuses to stop thinking about you in his bed.

You’re quiet for a while.

He thinks maybe you’ve finally fallen asleep. You haven’t said anything in minutes, and your breathing’s slow, almost even. He lets himself glance over his shoulder.

You’re still awake.

Eyes open. Watching him.

You shift slightly under the blanket, cheek still pressed into his pillow. Your voice is soft, drowsy. “Can I hear it?”

He blinks. “What?”

“The track you’re working on,” you murmur. “Can I listen?”

Han’s heart does a somersault. Or maybe a backflip. Hard to tell through the static in his chest.

He turns fully in his chair. “Now?”

You nod, slow and lazy. “You promised. You said I could listen next time you made something new.”

Right. He had said that.

But not this one.

Not track twelve.

He fidgets with the headphone wire. “It’s not that one.”

You blink at him, confused.

“The one with the lo-fi strings,” he explains, voice quieter now. “Track twelve. I still haven’t finished it.”

“Oh.”

You don’t sound disappointed. Just curious.

He rubs a hand over his face, then offers a crooked little smile. “But you can hear this one. If you want.”

You nod again, eyes fluttering half-shut like the night is finally catching up to you.

He hesitates.

Then gently unplugs the headphones from the jack, letting the soft sound of the track fill the room.

It’s quiet. Dreamy. Bare bones but beautiful—slow, pulsing synth layered under a simple piano loop. There’s a vocal sample buried under the mix, something wordless and airy, like a breath that never ends.

You close your eyes fully this time, listening.

And Han watches you—watches the way your body relaxes into the sound, how your lips part just slightly, like the music is pulling something from you even in sleep.

He turns back to the screen, fingers hovering over the trackpad.

You speak again, barely above a whisper.

“It’s sad,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer.

“Not in a bad way,” you add quickly. “Just… it sounds like it’s missing something. Like it’s looking for something.”

Han swallows.

Yeah.

That’s exactly what it is.

He stares at the waveform on his screen and says, very softly, “I think it’s trying to say something I don’t know how to say yet.”

You don’t reply. Not right away.

When you do, your voice is already trailing off into sleep. “You don’t have to say it. It’s already in the music.”

And then you're still.

Breathing even. Eyes shut.

Han doesn’t move for a long time.

Just sits in the soft blue glow of his screen, heartbeat slowing down to match yours, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to finish a song when the thing it’s missing is falling asleep five feet away.

______________________________________________________________

It’s been months since that first night.

Since the couchless sleepover, since the drunken key fiasco, since you fell asleep to the sound of his unfinished song.

And in that time, Han has come out of his shell in the slowest, sweetest way possible.

At first, he was shy. Still the hoodie-wearing recluse with his eyes glued to Ableton and his words tucked somewhere behind clenched teeth.

But then he started showing up more. At your door with takeout. With headphones and half-finished demos. With quiet, tentative smiles that stretched wider the more you smiled back.

You got to know him.

He told you about Malaysia—about sticky summers and midnight noodles and the way his parents still call twice a week even though they’re oceans apart. He told you how he moved to Korea for college, studied for a year, and then dropped out when he realized his brain was wired for sound, not textbooks.

You told him about your life, too—your parents and their ever-shifting conditions for love, the apartment they still pay for, the degree you’re grinding out just to prove something. To who, you’re not even sure.

And Han—turns out he’s kind of a chatterbox. Once he’s comfortable, the boy talks. About anything. About everything. With his hands, with his whole face. About samples and synths and the absolute travesty that is powdered parmesan.

Now, it’s like this: casual, constant, inevitable.

You crash at his place sometimes—not because you're locked out, but just because. Sometimes you bring your laptop and do homework on his floor. Sometimes you nap in his bed while he works. You keep a toothbrush there now. A hoodie of his has quietly migrated to your closet.

You even invited him to your graduation this spring. “It’s not like my parents are coming,” you’d shrugged, and Han had just blinked at you, then said okay, like it wasn’t the biggest fucking deal.

He still blushes when you call him hot. Still won’t take the bed when you stay over. Still treats you like you might disappear if he lets himself want too much.

And today, you’re at your place—your couch this time, legs tangled together on either end, killing time the way only two people who are too comfortable with each other can.

Lazy game of truth or dare. No real stakes. Just soft laughter and shared snacks and the kind of questions that teeter between teasing and tender.

Han’s fingers are brushing against your ankle, casual and unthinking. The popcorn bowl is somewhere on the floor, long forgotten. You’re both half-reclined, cozy and loose, a tangle of limbs and friendship that’s been threatening to become something else for weeks now.

You’ve already dared him to do his worst celebrity impression, and he’d made you sing a jingle from one of your old childhood commercials. The kind of dumb, lazy game that only works when you trust someone enough not to twist the blade when things get close.

Now it’s his turn.

“Truth,” you say, yawning, stretching like a cat in the sun. “I’m feeling vulnerable.”

He gives you a look. One brow raised, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his thigh. “Okay. What was your best orgasm?”

You blink.

Then laugh.

He flushes instantly. “Shit—was that too far? I thought we were in the spicy round.”

“No, no,” you say, waving a hand, trying to keep your smile light. “It’s fair.”

But you don’t answer right away.

You sit there for a second, fiddling with the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His question settles somewhere low in your stomach—not uncomfortable, just… exposed. Like a truth you’ve learned to laugh off before anyone can look too closely.

You glance at him, then say it—half-teasing, like a joke you’ve told a few times before.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Han blinks. “You wouldn’t—?”

You shrug. “Never had one. Not a good one. Not any, actually.”

There’s a pause. His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but you beat him to it with a raised hand and a crooked grin.

“I know, I know. Tragic. I’m either defective or cursed. It’s a toss-up.”

He doesn’t laugh.

You thought he might—just to lighten the mood. Maybe roll with the joke, keep it casual.

But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.

But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.

“That’s not funny,” he says, voice quiet. Barely a wrinkle of sound between you.

You blink. “It’s kind of funny.”

“No, it’s not.” He leans in a little, eyes searching yours. “And it’s definitely not true.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer than you mean to. “Tell that to every guy I’ve slept with.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just says, soft but certain, “They don’t count.”

Something in your chest pulls tight.

You sit back, let out a soft exhale through your nose. Try again, lighter this time. “I mean, at some point, you start to wonder if it’s just you, right? Like maybe I missed a biological memo.”

“You didn’t,” he says, firm now. “You just haven’t been with someone who cared enough to figure you out.”

You snort softly, eyes dropping to his lips before flicking back up. “What, and you do?”

His breath catches, just slightly. But he doesn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he says. Simple. Sure. “I do.”

You go quiet.

It’s not the answer that surprises you—it’s how steady he is when he says it. Like it’s not even a question in his mind. Like he’s already imagined it, already decided what he’d do if you ever let him.

That steadiness makes your throat go tight.

“Okay,” you say, voice quiet. “Then what would you do?”

Han shifts slightly, eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. Focused.

“I’d start slow,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a line—it sounds like a plan. “Let you get used to being touched in a way that’s not… performative.”

You blink.

He leans in, just a little. Not close enough to touch. Not yet.

“I’d watch your face,” he continues, softer now, “and actually pay attention. I’d figure out what makes you squirm. What makes your breath catch. What makes you ask for more.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

“I’d talk to you,” he murmurs. “Tell you what I’m doing. Tell you how fucking good you look while I’m doing it. Make sure you know every second that it’s about you.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

Because Han is looking at you like he already has you spread out in his mind. Like he’s memorizing every microreaction, storing them away like he might need them later. Like he’s already tasting the sound you’ll make when he finally breaks you open.

Your voice comes out low. Barely there.

“That’s a lot of attention for one orgasm.”

Han’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite yet.

“I’m not aiming for one.”

You feel it in your chest—in your spine—the way his voice sinks into you. Low. Purposeful. Like he’s already in your skin, like the words themselves are a touch.

You can’t breathe.

He’s so close now, and still—still—not touching you. He could. He should. Your body is already leaning into the heat of him, legs still curled beneath you, the hem of your sleep shirt brushing high on your thighs. But he doesn’t move.

“Have you… done this before?”

He blinks. “Made someone come?”

You nod, quick, almost shy.

“Yeah.” His mouth lifts at one corner. “Why?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking over his face. “I… thought you were a virgin.”

Han blinks. Then he laughs—a soft, breathy thing that curls low in his throat.

“Wow,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks already going red. “That’s, uh… new.”

You’re not teasing anymore. Not really. Not with the way your eyes keep flicking over him—his mouth, his hands, the pink creeping up the slope of his neck. Not with how you’re sitting up straighter, how your thighs squeeze just slightly together without meaning to.

He notices.

And it flusters him, of course it does—he’s Han, after all. All nervous energy and soft-spoken charm. But there’s something else underneath it too. Something steady. Something you didn’t see before.

“You really think I’ve spent this much time listening to you fake it through the walls and didn’t fantasize about doing it better?”

Your breath catches. Hard.

His gaze doesn’t drop. Doesn’t falter.

And suddenly, you’re seeing him for what he is—really seeing him.

The slightly older boy next door. The dropout with big hands and bigger dreams. The quiet music producer who hides behind humor but notices everything. The same Han who always opened his door, always gave you the bed, always walked on the street side of the sidewalk—but now you realize he’s been wanting you the whole time.

And you missed it.

You look at him now—and you feel it.

The shift.

Because he’s still Han. Still hoodie-clad and sweet and overly cautious.

But he’s also a man.

And god, it’s hitting you all at once.

The way his eyes haven’t left your mouth. The way he says things like I’m not aiming for one with such quiet, devastating confidence. The way he can be so careful with you and still make your skin burn like he’s already touched you everywhere.

You swallow hard.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping low, “you’ve done this before.”

His fingers twitch where they rest against his thigh. “Yeah.”

“How many girls?”

He blushes harder at that. Clears his throat. “I mean, not a lot.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m not—” he fumbles, flustered now, voice high-pitched with embarrassment, “—like, I’m not some sex god, okay?”

You giggle. Can’t help it.

He glares, weakly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You lean in. Let your voice soften. “Like what?”

He shifts under your gaze, eyes flicking down again before returning to yours. “Like you’re surprised.”

“I am,” you whisper.

And you are.

Surprised by the heat in your belly. Surprised by the tension in his jaw, the way he’s not looking away now. Surprised by the fact that the Han you thought you knew—the one who panicked over burnt rice and once apologized to a houseplant—is sitting in front of you, cheeks flushed, voice low, practically thrumming with restraint.

And the restraint is unraveling. You can see it. You can feel it.

His hand is still resting on his thigh. Tense. Useless.

You want it on you.

He must know, must feel the shift in the air, because he breathes out through his nose—shaky, controlled—and finally moves.

Not to kiss you.

Not yet.

Just slides closer, knees brushing yours. Hands braced on either side of your thighs like he’s holding himself back from climbing into your lap. Like if he gets too close, he won’t be able to stop.

His voice is soft when it comes. Careful.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You blink. “What?”

“This,” he says, eyes darting between yours. “You. Us.”

Your heart kicks.

“I’m serious,” he adds. “If you want me to stop, I will. Even if I’ve already started. Even if you change your mind in the middle. I need you to know that.”

You just look at him.

At his flushed cheeks, his trembling fingers gripping the couch cushion, the way his eyes won’t stay still—darting to your mouth, your thighs, your eyes again.

You don’t know how to say what’s clawing up your throat. Don’t know how to explain that you’ve never felt like this. Like you could fall apart and not have to put yourself back together alone.

So instead, you reach for him.

You thread your fingers through his, bring his hand to your thigh—bare skin under the edge of your sleep shirt—and press it there, warm and waiting.

His breath stutters.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His breath stutters.

That’s all it takes.

His fingers flex against your thigh—just a twitch, nothing urgent. But the heat of them sinks in deep. You can feel how careful he’s being, how tightly he’s holding the leash on himself, like he doesn’t trust what’ll happen if he moves too fast.

You tilt your hips slightly. Just enough.

He moves.

Slides his hand higher, beneath the hem of your sleep shirt. Knuckles grazing soft skin, the inside of your thigh, and you’re already trembling. The anticipation is thick—so much thicker than anything that’s come before it. Your body’s aching and he hasn’t even touched you where you need it yet.

Han breathes out slowly. You can hear the effort it takes not to rush.

His fingers reach your panties.

They’re soaked. Clinging to you. And he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he feels it—somewhere between a sigh and a groan, like it’s hurting him, how wet you already are.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m trying not to.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, and leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You can just let me take care of it.”

And you do.

You sink into the cushions and let his hand keep climbing. Let it trail over skin that’s already too hot, too tight, too aware. The hem of your shirt rides up over your hips as he moves, exposing soft skin and damp fabric.

He touches you through your panties first. Just a single stroke—up and down, slow, deliberate.

You jolt.

Your thighs twitch. Your hips tilt into his hand before you even mean to.

His fingers are steady. Gentle. No fumbling, no testing limits just to say he did. He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

When he does, it’s with a breathless little sound—almost like awe.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and tight. “You’re so wet already.”

You shiver.

He doesn’t ask permission again. He doesn’t need to. Your legs fall open on instinct, your body already offering itself up like it’s been waiting for this. For him.

He dips his fingers into you with quiet care—just the first two, slow and unhurried, and it’s so much. Not just the stretch, not just the slick slide of it—it’s the way he groans like he can feel how good you feel around him. Like your body is turning him on just by existing.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “How has no one made you cum?”

You whimper.

“Seriously,” he says, fingers curling slightly inside you, rubbing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. Wet and warm and just—fuck, baby.”

Your hips jolt when he says it—baby—and he notices. His mouth quirks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, watching your face like it’s giving him instructions. “You like that. Being talked to while I fuck you with my fingers?”

You moan—helpless, high-pitched—and your hand shoots down to grab his wrist.

He stills immediately. “Too much?”

You shake your head. Or maybe you nod. You don’t even know anymore—your brain’s barely holding on, your body dragging you under, soaking up everything he gives like it’s the first drop of water in a drought.

He watches your reaction like it’s gospel. Like every twitch and gasp is holy.

“Thought so,” he says, and starts to move again—slow, controlled pumps of his fingers, careful not to lose that rhythm now that he’s found what works. The way your walls clench when he curls. The way your hips chase him when he retreats. The way your breath hitches when his palm drags across your clit just a little too hard.

And god, he uses it all.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes glued to where he’s working you open. “If this pussy was mine, I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone.”

You gasp.

“I’d keep you like this every night,” he says, voice thick now. “Stuffed, dripping, begging for it. Just like this.”

You keen, head falling back against the cushions, thighs straining around his wrist. Another twist of his fingers, another filthy curl, and you’re spiraling again—clenching, grinding, chasing something you’ve never actually caught before.

But it’s still not enough.

Close, so close. You can feel it in your gut, in the burn behind your eyes, in the way your whole body draws tight like a wire about to snap. But then it slips, slithers away like it always does, leaving you aching and wrung out and panting like you’ve been running in circles.

Han doesn’t stop.

He slows, sure. Eases off that pressure like he knows—like he felt the way you were peaking and watched it fall apart all over again.

Your breath stutters. Your hands tremble where they’re gripping the couch cushions. Your whole body shakes with the frustration of it.

Han looks fucking thrilled.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes glued to the slick mess between your legs. “You’re gonna be a fucking problem, huh?

You whimper—shaky, half-desperate—and try to pull your legs closed, but his free hand slides up your thigh and keeps them open. He’s still panting, still hard in his sweats, and yet somehow entirely focused on you.

Your voice comes out broken. “I can’t—fuck, Han, I was so close—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. His fingers finally slip free, soaked and shining, and he brings them to his mouth like it’s nothing. Like tasting you is just a thing he does between breaths. “You’re so fucking pretty can’t believe no one’s ever made you come.”

He sucks one finger between his lips, humming low in his throat, and your entire body jerks.

He grins around his knuckle. Blushy. Sweet. Still Han, somehow—except his eyes are dark now, slow-burning, locked onto you with intent.

And when he speaks, it’s not teasing. It’s reverent.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he murmurs, dragging his hand down your thigh again. “Didn’t think you’d ruin me this fast, though.”

You squirm, still reeling from the touch of his fingers, still aching from how close you came—how it slipped just out of reach. Your panties are somewhere around your knees now, tangled and damp, and your thighs are trembling despite the warmth of the room.

But Han doesn’t give you time to settle.

He drops back down between your legs like it’s instinct.

Like he belongs there.

You brace for it—his mouth, his tongue—but nothing prepares you for how intentional it is.

Because when he licks you, it’s not just lust. It’s devotion.

The first press of his tongue is slow, hot, drawn out like he’s tasting something forbidden. It drags through your folds, slick and maddening, before he pulls back just slightly and exhales a shaky breath against your cunt like it’s worship.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking sweet. So wet—dripping for me, baby.”

Your hips jerk. A soft moan tears from your throat, helpless and startled.

He hums at the sound. And then his tongue is on you again—lapping, curling, sliding in lazy circles around your clit, not rushed, not rough. Patient.

But it’s overwhelming.

Too much and somehow still not enough.

You gasp, spine arching. Your thighs twitch against his shoulders again and he presses his hands there—holding you open, keeping you still. His grip is firm, grounding. Gentle only in contrast to the way he eats you.

He groans low when your hips roll, when your slick coats his lips and chin. Like it turns him on more than anything else. Like this is the part he needs.

He devours you like he’s starved for it.

Like he’s been thinking about this—you—for longer than he’s willing to admit. Tongue slow but deliberate, savoring every stroke, every gasp you give him. He doesn’t speak now, doesn’t need to. The sounds alone—your moans, the wet suck of his mouth, the way your breath stutters every time he flattens his tongue against your clit—say enough.

But it’s your reactions that do it. The way your body jumps every time he moves just right. The way your hands scramble for the couch cushions, for him, like you don’t know what else to hold onto. The way your thighs clamp around his head when he groans into your cunt.

That’s when he realizes.

You’ve never been eaten out before.

It hits him all at once—in the way you shiver, in the way your body doesn’t quite know how to take the pleasure he’s giving. There’s something raw about it. Uncharted. Holy.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tease. Just lets the knowledge settle deep in his chest like a vow.

So he slows down. Not to drag it out—to care. To guide you through it.

He pulls back just slightly, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another one, lower, softer. You can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, like you are unraveling him just by letting him do this.

He kisses down, worshipful, open-mouthed presses of tongue and lips trailing toward where you’re slick and trembling—until he’s back on you, groaning deep in his chest like he needs this to survive.

He laps at your cunt like a man obsessed. Messy, wet, obscene.

His tongue flicks fast over your clit, sloppy and relentless, and when you whimper—high and panicked—his hands tighten on your thighs, dragging them wider, pushing you open like he can’t get enough. His nose presses into the soft swell of you and his mouth won’t stop.

And god—god, the noises.

The slick suck of his mouth, the soft wet licks between your folds, the broken, wanton moans he keeps letting out like your taste is fucking euphoric.

Your thighs are trembling against his cheeks, toes curling against the cushions, hands fisting in the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence. Every time you start to come down, he drags you right back up—tongue flicking, then flattening, then sucking.

You’re soaking him. You know it. Can feel the slick mess coating his lips, his chin, now—but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even flinch. Just dives in deeper, grinds his mouth against you like it’s the only thing that matters.

And maybe it is.

You’ve never made sounds like this before. Never felt anything like this. It’s a full-body unraveling—pleasure so raw and high-pitched it’s almost unbearable. You can’t even find words anymore. You try—gasp out his name, maybe a plea, maybe a warning—but it’s just breath. Just noise.

He hears it anyway.

Groans in response, and the vibration shoots through you—tightens every nerve, every muscle. You feel it everywhere. In your spine, in your belly, in your fucking teeth.

He licks through your folds like he’s trying to commit the shape of you to memory, tongue dragging over your clit in slow, hard laps now—intentional, devastating. One hand lets go of your thigh to slide underneath you, to lift your hips, tilt you toward his mouth like an offering.

Like you’re his altar and he’s ready to worship.

You don’t even realize you're crying until the tears hit your cheeks—silent and sudden, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it, the depth of it, the relentlessness of him.

Jisung doesn’t notice.

Or maybe he does and just thinks it’s holy.

Because he’s still moaning against your cunt like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Like this is salvation. Like this is his first time, too.

The warmth is unbearable. Sharp and sweet and all-consuming, climbing up your spine in thick, molten waves that won’t stop—won’t let you go. Your muscles are locking up, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers cramping from how tight you're clenching the cushions.

You’re going to break.

You know it.

You want to.

And he just keeps going—tongue pressed flat and firm against your clit now, dragging in slow, filthy circles while his lips suck softly, reverently, like he’s trying to love you apart piece by piece.

You feel it snap somewhere deep inside you.

The heat—the ache—the need—it peaks.

And then it bursts..

Your thighs clamp around his head, your hips jerk off the couch, your moan rips loose from your throat like you’ve been silenced your whole life and this is the only language your body ever needed to speak.

You’re cumming. Hard. Helpless.

Everything pulses—your cunt, your chest, your fingers. Every nerve is alight, every inch of you clenched and shaking, your whole body seized in the grip of something so big you can’t name it.

And Jisung doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs twitch.

Not when your body tries to squirm away.

Not even when you sob his name, high and wrecked, too sensitive to breathe.

He eats it up. Literally.

Groaning low in his throat, nose pressed to your mound, tongue still working your clit like he wants to wring another orgasm out of you before this one’s even ended. You try to stop him, legs trembling, fingers pushing at his hair with barely any strength behind them.

But he just moans again, long and loud and ruined, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“H-Han—” you gasp, voice cracked and teary.

But he can’t stop. He won’t.

You’ve broken open for him—shattered for him—and it’s like something inside him snapped too. His mouth keeps moving, lapping through your folds like he’s addicted, like he needs the taste of you to live, sucking every drop from your body like he’s trying to memorize it.

You try again to push him off. This time with real effort. A desperate shove, your fingers fisting in his hair and yanking—not hard, not mean, but urgent.

“Han, please—”

He finally pulls back.

Gasps.

His chest is heaving. His mouth is slick and swollen, the lower half of his face soaked in your release, and he blinks up at you like he forgot where he is.

“Shit—fuck, I’m sorry, I—” he pants, voice wrecked, dazed.

Then he looks down.

And groans.

Because you’re still dripping.

Slick pooling out of you, slow and obscene, catching the light as it runs in glistening streaks down the curve of your pussy and the swell of your ass, soaking the couch beneath you.

And he can’t help himself.

His hands slide up your thighs again—possessive, reverent—and before you can stop him, he leans back in.

One long, filthy lick—from your entrance to your clit—slurping up everything you spilled. He moans as it hits his tongue, deep and satisfied, and swirls it around like he’s tasting honey.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you.

Face flushed, lips swollen and slick, chin glossy with your release. His eyes are glassy—fucked-out and starving and soft in a way that shouldn’t match the filth of what he just did to you. But somehow it does.

Somehow, it makes it worse.

He’s panting like he just ran miles. Sweat dampens his curls, his hoodie clings to his chest, and his cock is still straining hard against his sweats—visibly aching. But he doesn’t even look at himself. Doesn’t even care.

He’s still looking at you.

At the mess he made.

At your cunt—pink and soaked and fluttering with aftershocks, spread open on the couch like he carved you out just for him.

And he fucking smiles.

“Jesus,” he breathes, dragging his thumb along your inner thigh, slow and lazy, eyes still locked on the slick between your legs. “You’re unreal.”

You’re still trembling—wrung out, flushed, completely silent now except for the shattered sound of your breath.

But he isn’t done.

Not really.

Because then his thumb moves—trails closer, closer, until it’s swiping through the slick seam of you, collecting it, spreading it.

You flinch, hips twitching, breath hitching on a wrecked little gasp.

He freezes.

“Sorry—shit, sorry,” he murmurs, voice gone soft in the edges. “You’re probably so fucking sensitive right now.”

You nod, dazed. Barely. You’re not even sure you meant to.

But his eyes drop back down—and the sight of your cunt twitching under his touch, the way slick is still dripping out of you, slow and shiny, pooling where your thighs meet—

It short-circuits whatever restraint he had left.

“Can I…” he starts, already leaning in again, lips parted, breath ragged. “Just—one more taste, baby. Please.”

And before you can answer, he’s there again.

Licking into you.

Tongue flat and greedy, slow and deep, sliding through the wreckage he left behind like he needs it to breathe. He moans—loud—when it coats his tongue, when it drips down his chin, when he presses another kiss to your clit like he’s thanking it for everything.

You can’t stop shaking.

From how tender he’s being while still devouring you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. From how overwhelmed your body feels—stretched between too much and not enough, oversensitive but still wanting.

He doesn’t rush now. Doesn’t try to make you cum again.

This is different.

It’s reverent. Like he’s cleaning you up with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every slick drop, pressing soft kisses into the mess like he’s trying to soothe the tremble in your thighs.

You whimper, just once—raw and hoarse.

That’s when he stops for real.

You sigh into his mouth, quiet and trembling, the kind of sound that only comes when everything inside you is raw—peeled back, exposed, open. He swallows it like it’s precious. Like it matters.

His hand at your waist shifts, pulling you gently forward until your chest brushes his. You’re still bare from the waist down—thighs sticky, breath uneven—and he’s still clothed, still hard, still aching beneath his sweats.

But he doesn’t grind against you.

Doesn’t ask for anything.

He just holds you.

Your knees fall around his hips, lazy and loose, and his thumb strokes the hinge of your jaw—slow, absent, like he needs the contact to stay calm.

The kiss deepens. Not with hunger. With heat. With reverence. His lips move against yours like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, your breath, the taste of your tongue mixed with your own arousal.

You break first—pulling back just a fraction to breathe, eyes fluttering open.

He’s already looking at you.

And there’s something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something stunned. Struck. Soft.

He whispers, “You okay?”

You nod. Maybe too fast. You feel stripped down to something small and shaking, something new—but his hand doesn’t leave you. His thumb still brushes your cheek. His chest still rises and falls like he’s feeling everything with you.

You whisper back, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Jisung exhales a laugh—wrecked and wrecking.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning forward again to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “Then I guess we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until he kisses it. Presses his lips right there, at the corner of your mouth, so gentle it makes your eyes sting all over again.

There’s a beat of silence—thick and golden, warm between the ruined rhythm of your breathing.

Then he asks, quieter this time, “Can I hold you for a while?”

And god. You’ve never wanted anything more.

______________________________________________________________

The crowd pours out of the auditorium like a tide—caps slightly askew, diplomas clutched tight, families gathered in little clusters of congratulations and cameras. Laughter. Shouts. The click of heels and the flutter of gowns. You scan the crowd, heart racing, eyes darting.

And then you see him.

Leaning awkwardly against a tree, holding a slightly crumpled bouquet of grocery store flowers and dressed in the nicest outfit you’ve ever seen him wear. Still a hoodie—because he’s him—but it’s black and clean and zipped halfway up over a plain white tee. His hair’s been pushed back, curls tamed, face soft in the sunlight.

Like he wanted to look good.

For you.

You run.

Full sprint, no hesitation. Laughing, radiant, the hem of your gown flying behind you. And Jisung barely has time to react before you crash into his arms—legs wrapping around his waist, face buried in his neck.

He catches you without thinking. Arms locked tight around your back, holding you like the whole world could fall away and he’d still have you.

“Jesus—hi,” he breathes, stunned, grinning into your shoulder. 

“You came,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy and sunlit.

“Of course I came,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this.”

You swallow, smile trembling just a little. You’re still holding your cap too tightly. Still searching the crowd behind him, over his shoulder, behind trees and between cars—hoping.

And Jisung sees it.

Sees the flicker in your expression when you realize no one else is coming. No familiar voices calling your name. No parents weaving through the crowd, late and disheveled but here. Nothing.

Just him.

You try to play it off—force a smile, tilt your head.

But Jisung just exhales, jaw tight, eyes warm and sharp.

“Hey,” he says softly, tipping your chin up. “Fuck ‘em.”

Your breath hitches—more from the way he says it than what he says. No apology. No pity. Just truth, blunt and biting and yours.

“Fuck ‘em,” he says again, firmer this time. “They don’t get to take this from you.”

And something in you cracks. Not the kind that breaks—the kind that lets light in.

Your cap slips from your hand to the pavement. You don’t even notice. You just lean forward and let your forehead rest against his, eyes fluttering shut as the noise of the world fades away.

“I thought it wouldn’t matter,” you whisper. “That I didn’t care.”

He nods like he already knew. Lets his hand fall to the small of your back, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your gown.

“But it does,” you admit.

“Of course it does,” he murmurs. “You deserved more than this.”

You pull in a shaky breath. Exhale. Nod against him.

And then you laugh—quiet, almost startled. “God, you look nice.”

He pulls back just enough to give you a crooked smile. “You noticed?”

You sniffle, wiping under your eyes. “You did your hair.”

“I used product and everything,” he says solemnly, and that makes you laugh for real this time. His face lights up at the sound. Then, like he remembers something, his eyes go wide and he fumbles for something in his pocket.

“Wait—here. Got you something.”

You raise a brow as he pulls out a pair of slightly beat-up white AirPods and holds them out like they’re wrapped in silk.

“Your... earwax?” you tease, voice still thick, but lighter now.

Jisung groans, face going red. “Just put them in, smartass.”

You give him a look, lips twitching like you’re holding back another laugh, but you take them. Slip them in with practiced ease, still smirking, still sniffling a little.

And then—

You hear it.

Soft at first. A low, warm hum of synth. That familiar piano progression you’ve heard a hundred times echoing from his bedroom speakers, half-finished and always evolving. A quiet heartbeat of static underneath, the sound of something personal, unfinished—

But not this time.

Now it’s whole.

The bass comes in slow. The melody rises. The rhythm finds its footing like it’s been waiting for you.

Then his voice.

His voice.

Low. Raw. Stripped back and unfiltered, like he recorded it in the middle of the night, barefaced and half asleep. It’s not polished. It’s intimate. Each lyric laid out like a confession, like he’s pressing it directly into your chest.

You freeze.

Your mouth parts, but no words come out. You just stare at him—eyes wide, breath caught, the world suddenly nothing but him and the song in your ears.

Jisung watches you closely, fidgeting, clearly trying to read your face.

“I, uh… I finally finished it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Track 12. I—kind of stayed up all night working on it. Wanted you to be the first to hear it.”

You swallow hard. “You—wrote this… for me?”

He nods, sheepish. “Well, yeah. Who the fuck else would it be for?”

You blink at him, still stunned, still half-floating somewhere between the melody and his smile.

The music wraps around you like a secret, like sunlight through a window. His voice in your ears. His eyes on your face. His hands fidgeting at his sides, picking at the edge of his hoodie sleeve, suddenly nervous like he didn’t just lay his heart bare in a three-minute track.

And then he says it.

Quiet. Almost like it slips out.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your breath stutters.

He panics a little, eyes going wide, hands gesturing now like he’s trying to physically catch the words and shove them back into his mouth.

“I mean—not in like, a weird, ‘I wrote you a song and now you have to marry me’ way. I just—I’ve been in love with you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it. And then I kept not saying it, and then you let me eat you out on your couch and I was like, oh cool, guess I’m definitely in love with her—”

You stare at him.

Mouth slightly open. Ears still ringing with his voice from the track. Face flushed from the heat of him and the way he’s unraveling in front of you, hands flailing, words tumbling out too fast, too honest, too him.

“And now I’m saying it,” he rushes on, breath hitching. “And maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s stupid but—fuck, I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t just mean in the afterglow, post-head, 'wow-she’s-so-pretty-when-she’s-cumming' kind of way—which, like, you are—but I mean in the real way. In the way where I think about you all the time and you’re in my music and my coffee and my fucking laundry detergent because you smell like it now—”

You cut him off with a laugh—soft and stunned, the kind that comes from something blooming too fast in your chest. Your hands reach for him instinctively, palms pressed to his chest like you’re trying to slow his heart down, or maybe match yours to it.

Then lean up and kiss him.

He melts into it—hands landing on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll float off if he doesn’t hold you down. His mouth is soft, a little shaky, like he still can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s kissing you with both hands behind his back, offering up his heart like a truce.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his.

You’re smiling. He is too, in that breathless, stunned way—like you’ve both finally exhaled.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whisper.

He chokes out a sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “No shit?”

You nod. “No shit.”

Jisung blinks, then grins—slow and wide and boyish.

He just stands there, still holding you, like his body hasn’t caught up with what just happened.

Like he's trying to memorize this moment—your smile, your closeness, the soft heat of your hands resting over his heart.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else. Closes it again.

Then settles for a quiet, breathless, “...Okay.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Okay?”

He nods, dazed. “Yeah. Just… okay. Everything’s okay now.”

You lean into his chest, let your head fall to his shoulder. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. His arms wrap around your waist again, this time more certain. More steady.

And for a moment, neither of you says anything.

The crowd is still bustling in the background. Cameras flashing. Tassels swinging. Parents calling names that don’t belong to you. The sound of it used to sting—but not now. Not with him holding you like this. Not with the song still echoing in your ears, a private chorus written just for you.

You glance up. “So what now?”

He looks down at you, still smiling like he doesn’t know how to stop.

“We go home,” he says. “Order too much food. Fall asleep on the couch. Pretend we’re not both crying during The Office reruns.”

You snort. “That’s your big plan?”

He leans in, nudges your nose with his. “No,” he murmurs, softer now. “My big plan is to love you for a really, really long time.”

Your heart stutters.

And it’s so simple—so quiet, so uncomplicated—but it wraps around you like warmth, settles deep in your bones like something you forgot you were allowed to want.

You tip forward and kiss him again, just once. Just enough.

“Sounds like a good plan,” you whisper.

He grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eventually, your fingers find his, threading together as the crowd begins to thin. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, grounding and sure.

You glance down at the flowers, still clutched in your other hand—slightly crushed, petals soft and folding in from the heat. But they’re yours. Someone showed up. Someone stayed.

You’re walking away with his hand in yours, the sun dipping low behind you, the final track still playing softly in your head.

It ends the way all good songs do.

Quiet.

Certain.

Yours.

[abbotjack]

I Can’t Protect You From Everything

pairing: jack abbot x nurse!reader (fem!reader, no physical description)

summary : You’re assaulted in the ER. Jack sees red. But it’s not just the rage—it’s the fallout, the quiet after, the grief, the guilt, the way he holds you like his own body can bring you back to life.

content: medical trauma, assault aftermath, blood, concussion, strong emotional themes, PTSD undertones, canon-level violence, smut (established marriage), soft dom!Jack, comfort sex, hurt/comfort, healing arc

word count: ~3K , not beta read (this is just a hobby <3)

18+ ONLY

You hear the voice before you see him.

Low. Sharp. Controlled like a lit match held too close to a fuse.

“Move.”

The nurses part without a word. Not because they recognize the attending. But because they feel the shift in the air.

Jack Abbot is in motion. And he’s not stopping.

You’re still on the floor of Room 12. Head spinning. The tile’s cold under your cheek, but everything else burns—your skull, your vision, the jagged pulse in your throat.

The patient—drunk, belligerent—just laughs.

“She got in my face, man,” he slurs to no one. “Shoulda stayed outta it.”

The next sound is a crash. A metal tray sent flying.

Jack doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. One look at your body on the ground, your hair matted with blood—and he’s on the guy in seconds.

“Jack—Jack!” Robby grabs him from behind, arms locked around his chest. “She’s down—she needs you, not this.”

“Let me go,” Jack growls, low and lethal.

“You touch him, you’re done. You hear me? She’s bleeding. Focus, man.”

Jack’s breathing hard, jaw clenched so tight you think it might snap. But his eyes are locked on you now. Not the patient. Not the shouting.

Just you.

He drops to his knees beside you. Gently turns your face toward him with trembling fingers.

“Hey,” he says, soft. Too soft for a man who just looked ready to kill. “Stay with me, sweetheart. C’mon.”

You try to smile.

“Didn’t like that, huh?” you whisper, lips barely moving.

His eyes go dark. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you’re not.”

“He touched you.”

You blink. Everything spins.

“Jack—my head hurts.”

His breath catches. All that fury folds into fear. And you know—if your heart stopped right now, his would go with it.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He always says that. And you always believe him.

Your fingers twitch weakly against his scrubs, barely a brush.

"…Don’t go anywhere,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut.

You're out before your head even hits the pillow of the gurney.

Jack doesn’t move from your side. Blood—your blood—dries tacky and rust-colored on your temple.

“Let’s go,” he barks at the transport tech. His voice is too sharp, but no one challenges him. Not now. Not when the calm, collected attending has cracked.

Robby walks beside him, clipboard clutched tight. “She needs a non-contrast head CT, stat. LOC, blunt force trauma, disorientation. I already paged neuro.”

Jack doesn't respond. Doesn’t blink. His eyes are fixed on your face as they wheel you through the fluorescent-lit hall.

In the CT bay, he’s forced to stop outside the radiation line.

“I’ll be five minutes,” the tech promises. “You can see her again once she’s cleared.”

Jack doesn’t nod. Just stands there, like a soldier on post, watching through the glass as your body is slid into the machine like it’s a coffin.

Later.

“Concussion,” Robby says quietly, handing Jack the annotated imaging results. “No hemorrhage. No skull fracture. She is lucky.”

Jack doesn’t feel lucky. He feels like he's going to throw up.

Robby gives him a look. One Jack doesn’t like.

“Maybe don’t start a war in the trauma bay next time someone touches her.”

You wake slowly, brain fogged, heart pounding. For a second, the disorientation pulls you under—you're sure you're still in the trauma bay. The smell of antiseptic, the beeping, the chaos.

But then you feel it.

A warm hand curled around yours. The scent of Jack’s cologne. The distant hum of your house’s old heating unit.

You’re not in the hospital anymore.

You’re home.

The small home you share with Jack—the one he remodeled himself, every corner touched by his hands, from the creaking floorboards to the stubborn cabinet hinges. Medical journals are stacked high on the coffee table, dog-eared and covered in notes, like neither of you quite know how to leave work behind. It's lived-in and quiet and yours—built like a fortress to keep the world out.

Jack’s sitting beside the bed, one hand cradling your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse point.

“You’re awake,” he says.

You blink slowly. “Am I supposed to be?”

He exhales like it hurt to hold in. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You smile faintly. “Don’t I always?”

He doesn’t laugh. His eyes are rimmed red—and it kills you to see it.

“You didn’t say anything when I went down,” you whisper.

“I couldn’t,” he says, voice cracked and raw.

You reach for his face. He leans into your touch like he’s starved for it.

“I was going to kill him,” he murmurs. “If Robby hadn’t pulled me off—I was gone. I saw red.”

You stroke his hair. “You didn’t. That’s what matters.”

He shakes his head. “No. What matters is that you were hurt because I wasn’t there.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care.”

“Come here,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You never do.”

He slides into bed, quiet and heavy beside you.

“Why’d you marry me?” you ask.

Jack flinches. “Because no one’s ever looked at me the way you do. Like I’m not broken.”

“You’re not.”

He kisses you then.

And when you say, "Show me I’m still here," he pulls back just enough to search your face. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, like he still doesn’t trust what he sees.

Then he nods, just once. Like he’s made up his mind.

His hands shake as they trail down your sides, memorizing the feel of you again. He looks like he’s on the edge of breaking open entirely.

Still half-dressed, the soft stretch of sweatpants low on his hips, he leans down slowly. His shirt’s already gone. His breath is warm against your collarbone.

He shifts his position like he’s not sure he’s allowed. Like he’s still that eighteen-year-old kid who enlisted too young, carried too much, and learned how to weaponize silence before he ever understood how to ask for comfort. Still moving like he’s made of edges—too strong, too fast, too sharp.

He’s always been gentle with you. But tonight, he’s something else entirely.

He kisses you like it hurts. Like every inch of skin he touches could vanish. His lips are hot and searching, pulling at yours with need, like he's starving and you’re the only thing that will bring him back.

You reach for his waistband and push his sweatpants down, his breath catching when your fingers graze him—thick, heavy, already hard.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need to feel you. All of you.”

He exhales harshly, like it’s killing him to take his time, but he does.

Jack kisses his way down your neck, slow and reverent, his hands now slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. He peels them down with slow, careful movements, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. Only when they’re off does he lower himself between your thighs. His breath ghosts across your skin before his tongue follows—warm, wet, devastating. He licks into you like he’s memorizing you all over again. Like this is the only proof you’re still here.

Your hips buck, but his hands pin you in place, steady on your thighs. The stubble on his jaw scrapes softly against sensitive skin, the contrast enough to make your vision blur.

"You taste like home," he groans, eyes dark. "I needed this—needed you—more than I want to admit."

He cuts himself off with a moan as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

Your climax builds fast. It feels too good. Too much. You try to warn him, but he groans against you, and it tips you over—your whole body arching off the bed as you cry out his name.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and you’re panting for air.

Only then does he crawl back up, mouth slick, pupils blown wide.

You pull him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips, and reach between you to guide him into place.

He lines up, breath ragged, and you feel the blunt pressure of him at your entrance.

“Look at me, Y/N”.

You do.

And then he pushes in.

Slow. So goddamn slow. Stretching you inch by inch until he’s buried deep, forehead pressed to yours like the contact is the only thing anchoring him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. “More than okay.”

Then he starts to move.

Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, like he’s checking your pulse with his body. The slide of skin on skin. The soft drag of his mouth along your throat. The way he groans when your nails rake down his back.

“I missed this,” he chokes out. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here.”

“You scared the shit out of me.”

You grip his face. “So fuck me like it matters.”

Something in him breaks.

He shifts, grabs your hips, and starts to thrust harder, deeper. The bed creaks under the rhythm, sweat building where your bodies meet, breath punching out of you with every stroke.

You meet him thrust for thrust, your gasps syncing with his groans until you’re both unraveling.

When you come again, it rips through you—louder this time, body shuddering beneath him. He follows with a hoarse shout of your name, hips stuttering as he spills inside you.

But even then, he doesn’t let go.

His arms stay locked around you. His face buried in your neck. His chest rising and falling against yours as he stays inside you, warm and still.

After a moment, he shifts—just slightly—and you feel him stir again. Still hard. Still aching. But this time, there’s a tension in his body that feels less like hesitation and more like possession.

He doesn’t speak. Just kisses you—rougher now, teeth grazing your bottom lip, hand sliding down your side to pull your leg around his waist. You feel it in the way he grabs your thigh, in the low growl that escapes when he sinks into you again without warning.

The pace is different this time. Less reverent. More raw. His thrusts are deeper, heavier, his body pressing you into the mattress with every stroke. You whimper his name and he groans—head falling to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin.

It’s all slick heat and friction. The sound of skin meeting skin, the rasp of his breath in your ear. He fucks you like he needs to burn out the fear, chase away the image of your blood on tile. Like your body is the only thing tethering him to the present.

Your nails rake down his back. He hisses, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Jack—”

“You’re mine,” he grits out. “Still mine.”

He leans in, kissing you hard, sloppy, teeth clashing. His hips piston into you harder, faster, building to the edge with brutal precision.

You come with a cry, your entire body curling around him as your walls clamp down, trembling and wet and perfect.

He follows with a low, broken moan, collapsing into you as he spills deep inside, every inch of him wrapped around you like a shield.

And when he finally stops shaking, he doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t move.

Just holds you there, sweat and heat and breath shared between you.

This time, when he whispers, “You’re okay,” it sounds less like a question.

And more like the truth.

He kisses the corners of your eyes. Your jaw. The inside of your wrist.

"I’m here, Jack.”

You wake up alone.

The panic is immediate. But then you hear the soft clang of a mug in the kitchen.

You find him by the stove, shirtless. Dog tags dangling against his chest.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t turn. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You come up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist.

He sinks into it. Finally exhales.

“I keep seeing it,” he murmurs. “The blood. Your eyes. I thought I lost you… I felt it. Just like I did overseas. That second where it all slows down, and you just know."

You press your cheek to his back. "You're here. I'm here. That's what matters."

He turns then. Cups your face. And this time, when he kisses you, it's not frantic. Not heavy.

It's soft.

And finally—it's peace.

The peace doesn’t last.

By 7:03 a.m., Jack’s badge is clipped back to his scrubs, his jaw freshly shaved, and his eyes—still bruised at the edges from lack of sleep—are locked on the hallway leading to trauma intake.

You’re behind him. Walking slower than usual, sure. But walking.

The minute you swipe into the main ER pod, it’s like someone hit pause. Heads lift. Conversations stop. A nurse stops mid-sentence and stares at the dried red line still barely visible at your temple.

Jack says nothing. Keeps walking.

You’re used to the way the ER stares. What you’re not used to is the way they stare at him.

Whispers follow.

"Did you hear he nearly decked that guy?"

"Dr. Robby had to physically restrain him."

"Jack's lucky he still has a license."

Jack doesn’t flinch, but you see it. The way his knuckles go white holding the patient chart. The way he refuses to make eye contact with anyone.

Robby catches up to Jack just outside the nurses station. He leans against the wall beside him, quite a beat before he speaks.

"You holding up?"

Jack huffs out a breath. "Define 'holding up.'"

Robby studies him. "Everyone’s talking. You know that, right? About what happened. About you."

"Let them talk."

Robby nods slowly. "They will. But for what it's worth, people know you didn't lose it. Not really. You stopped yourself. That matters."

Jack doesn’t say anything, but the line of his jaw softens—barely. He looks over at you down the hall, where you're laughing quietly with another nurse, a clipboard in your hands.

Robby claps Jack gently on the back. “Get back out there. But maybe… don’t take the guy in Room 9.”

Jack stiffens.

He knows who’s in Room 9.

It’s another combative drunk. Came in swinging at EMS. Male, mid-40s, belligerent as hell, already yelling at a med student for trying to take vitals. It’s not the same guy—but it’s close enough. Same profile. Same energy. Same trigger.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Jack mutters, voice low.

Robby just nods. “Didn’t think so.”

You head back to your rounds, trying to pretend like it’s a normal day. But you feel Jack’s eyes on you like a second shadow.

Every time you so much as check a patient’s IV or lean in to auscultate a chest, you can feel the weight of his stare across the room.

By the time you step out of Room 4 with a vitals chart in hand, Jack intercepts you mid-hallway and drags you to the nearest supply closet.

“You’re done,” he says quietly. “For today.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not ready to be back. You shouldn’t even be on the floor. Let me talk to–.”

You cross your arms. “I passed neuro eval. Twice. I’m cleared.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

His voice is low but firm, eyes darting toward passing residents. You pull him into the side med supply closet before someone catches the tail end of his tone.

Inside, it’s quiet. Fluorescent lights buzzing.

“I need to be here,” you say. “For my own head. I need to prove to myself that I’m okay.”

Jack leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looks at you like it’s killing him to hear that. “I almost lost you on the floor you’re walking back into like nothing happened.”

“I’m not walking in like nothing happened,” you snap.

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “What if it happens again?”

“Then it does. And I deal with it. And you deal with it. But you can’t wrap me in gauze and keep me behind the nurses’ station just because you’re scared.”

He closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, his voice is softer. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever cared about more than this job.”

You step toward him. Let your fingers hook in the front of his scrubs.

“I’m not asking you to stop caring,” you whisper. “I’m asking you to trust me. The same way I trust you every time we walk into the emergency room together.”

His jaw works, eyes closing again. He leans forward, rests his forehead to yours.

“I’m trying,” he murmurs. “I’m really fucking trying.”

And you believe him.

But when you step out of the closet and head toward your next patient, you don’t need to turn around to know he’s still watching you. Still waiting for the worst.

Still holding his breath.

That night, you don’t talk much on the drive home.

The hospital faded in the rearview, but the weight of the day hasn’t.

You both pretend to wind down—but everything feels like if either of you speak too loudly, you both might crack.

So you turn off the lights.

You crawl into bed.

And Jack follows.

It’s only when you’re curled together under the covers, his chest to your back, that he finally says it:

“I can’t protect you from everything.”

You nod, fingers wrapped around his. “I don’t want you to. I just want you to be there. Like you always are. That's why I married you.”

“I was scared,” he murmurs. “Like full-body, I-don’t-know-who-I-am scared. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. He exhales, the air leaving him slow and steady.

He holds you closer.

And for the first time in two days, he sleeps.

And so do you.

[eddiesfaerie]

who you let in

Summary: Jack has a soft spot. He didn't expect you to be the one to find it. (6.9k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, porn with plot (the storyteller within me can't help it), unspecified age gap, hurt/comfort for both of them LOL, canon typical gore? medical stuff? idk, panic attacks, trauma, angst, power dynamics (reader's a med student), suicidal ideation, Jack being flustered, oral (m receiving because he needs it), big dick Jack, fingering, rushed sex despite how long this fic is i'm sorry, unprotected PIV sex, Jack's sort of a soft dom, semi-public sex, praise kink, competency kink, lots of fleshy bodily words in here to describe lust idk

AAAAA i just spent all day writing this yes i'm embarrassed <3 also haven't posted my writing in like actual years at this point.... anyways be nice to me

It’s unlike you, Jack thinks to himself, to look so out of it. 

GSW to the chest. A young girl in her early twenties maybe. She’s lost a lot of blood. Her blonde hair somehow already matted with it, so much so that she could pass as a natural brunette. It’s gone dark with oxygen and coagulation. 

Your team huddles around her, as do the other units around the dozens and dozens of gurneys being brought in one after the other, unrelenting and without promise to end soon. 

All protocols you’ve learned in the last year are out the window. Disregarded for the mass casualty event that was PittFest. None of the residents had ever seen anything like this, you’d never seen anything like this. This was the most action you’d ever witnessed and suddenly you felt like there was a balloon in your own chest, compressing air flow or blood flow or something to your head. 

All the blood, the smell of metal inescapable no matter which section of the ER you were suddenly rushed to. 

Your knees go weak, they shake, your hands shake. Everything’s wrong- 

“She’s going white Abbot pull her out.” 

You hear your attending huff from right behind you before his hand finds your bicep, curling around it and pulling you from where you leaned over the patient. You can hardly protest, your mind elsewhere and your feet blindly follow Dr Abbot who leads you to the family room. 

“Robby I need you to cover over on the GSW to the chest for a sec.” He calls over, his voice ringing in your ears, your mind trying to focus on one single thing but everything’s registering all at once. His hand on your arm, all the beeping, the cries of agony, tubes being intubated and balloons being puffed into chests. It all seems a lot further away when Abbot closes the door. 

You never thought you were particularly his favourite. You’re much younger and typically too upbeat. You clash naturally, he’s not drawn to you and you’re not drawn to him.

Dr Abbot is unafraid of correcting you in front of your peers. After a year now of him being your attending you’ve become familiar with his ways but that doesn’t mean you’re any more appreciative of the public humiliations.

There’s something about these older ex military men, the ones who joined too young and have been in the system ever since, climbing up and up the ranks, hardening at each level to a point where disassociation is expected. Hold it in, hold it together. There’s is no I in team. All for one and one for all. All that bullshit. 

Dr Abbot wasn’t really that guy to a T but hell was he uncrackable, unshakeable, hard as stone. No doubt it’s helped him here in the ER, you’ve never seen someone as laser focused and capable as Dr Abbot. It’s almost effortless for him, it seems. Like he doesn’t have to think twice about anything. His confidence is unmatched and you’d always admired that, no matter how much you thought he disliked you. So yeah it was kind of surprising when he was the one to pull you away for a time out. 

Jack never meant to become so attuned to you. He didn’t do it on purpose. He blames it on being your attending for a while now, he’s worked with you the closet over this past year and he knows how you work, how you operate. He didn’t mean to but it happened. He feels like he can read you like an open book, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, on your face. You’ve never been one to conceal how you were feeling, unlike him. So when you stopped talking, stopped making little remarks and little jokes, nearly frozen and clearly dissociating, he knew what was happening long before the resident called for you to be pulled out. He wanted to give you a moment to bounce back as you usually do. 

Dr Abbot closes the curtain to the family room, shutting the door. He turns around and finds you still awkwardly standing there, eyes far off, elsewhere. He had expected you to take a seat immediately, he doesn’t know what you’re still doing up considering how close you look to collapsing. 

“S-sorry I don’t know what’s happening, I-” You stammer, embarrassed yet not in control of whatever’s taking over your mind and body. 

“Hey, hey stay with me, kid. Don’t go to that place.”

Abbot puts his hand softly on the middle of your back, guiding you to the chair. You sit down reluctantly, unable to move your body in a coordinated way for some reason. He kneels in front of you, groaning as he goes down and his knees cracking. 

“Listen, don’t tell anyone but I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, okay?”

“Is that- is that what’s happening?” You ask dumbly, squeezing your eyes shut. You suddenly feel dizzy. Not enough oxygen to the brain.

“How does your chest feel? Can you breathe?” 

“I feel like I can’t.” 

“Then yeah, that’s what’s happening.” 

Your lip wobbles despite how much you’re still trying to hold it together, that much Abbot can tell. You’re fighting like hell against this panic attack which might only threaten to make things worse. He grabs your hand in his, squeezing lightly. You’re barely able to return it. 

“What are five things you can see?”

“W-What?” You sniffle.

“Tell me five things you can see, come on.” He squeezes your hand again, reassuringly. 

You try to take a deep breath but your diaphragm spasms and it comes in all shaky, causing you to hiccup like a child. 

“Y-you.”

Against all odds, Dr Abbot smiles. Incredibly small but you see it. 

“That’s right. What else?”

You try to take a deep breath again. “Uh, the paintings on the wall.”

Abbot nods. You continue. 

“The curtains. The chairs. The door.”

“Good. That’s good. What about four things you can touch?”

“Your hand.” You say most obviously, since he’s still holding your clammy hand in his. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so shaken up. 

Dr Abbot squeezes your hand again and this time you squeeze back, a silent thank you of sorts. 

“Um, my scrubs, my hair on my neck, the wind from the fan.” 

“Okay, now three things you can hear.” 

“Your voice.” Dr Abbot chuckles, like he was expecting it. 

“Sure.” He nods.

“You’re breathing.” You take a deep breath now, as if it reminded you. Abbot breathes deeply with you. 

You try to motion lazily to the door, “The doctors outside, I can hear them talking.”

“That’s right, and they’re being pretty loud, aren't they?” He tries to joke, to lighten the mood. 

You nod your head, yeah. 

“What about two things you can smell?”

You go to open your mouth but Abbot cuts you off again. 

“And don’t say me, we’re about an hour into this shift and I know I’m not smelling too pretty right now.” 

You laugh, you actually giggle a bit, albeit a bit breathless, your body still trying to catch up to your more relaxed mind. Jack smiles. 

“I can smell metal and disinfectant.” 

“Okay and one thing you can taste.” 

Your cheeks burn a bit. You know it doesn’t mean anything but when you started each sentence with something relating to him… You can’t help but think. 

“My stale gum.” 

Jack chuckles a bit, shaking his head. What were you doing with mouth in your gum. It’s not allowed on shift but everything had started so suddenly you hadn’t had a moment to toss it and you got scared on choking on it if you swallowed it. 

Abbot clicks his tongue at you in disapproval, holding out his open hand near your mouth. You look at him confused, but he just gestures to his outreached hand. 

“Spit it out, let’s go get you a new one, hmm?” 

Your face burns again, but you do what he says for some reason. 

Because he asked. 

He closes his palm around your gum for a moment before easily tossing it into the trash can in the corner of the room. 

Dr Abbot stands back up, knees cracking again. He helps you up, holding your elbows in each of his hands. You’re still a little wobbly, weak in the knees from your body’s sudden breakdown. You haven’t yet regained all your strength. 

You try to steady yourself, your hands gripping his forearms, trying to concentrate on the strength of him holding you up. 

You suddenly feel oddly close to him. Not just physically seeing as how close you two are standing but in the air, it feels like something’s shifted, like something’s irreparably been changed between you two. He’s just seen you at your most vulnerable, talked you through your first panic attack and even admitted to having experienced them himself. How many people in the ER can say they know that much about Dr Jack Abbot. 

Maybe you’re just over analyzing what’s transpired. 

“How you feeling?” His voice sounds out and you realize you had your eyes squeezed shut, when you open them Jack’s peering down at you, trying to give you the softest look he can muster. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Yeah? You don’t have to be.” You shake your head no. 

“No, no I’m good. Promise.”

“I’ve got my best med student back?”

You can’t help but look at him quizzically, laughing a little. 

“I don’t think I’m your best med student but sure, I’m back.” 

“Come on, take the compliment.” He quips and it surprises you. You didn’t think he’d press your objections. 

“I actually thought you-” Hated me, you want to say.

“I know.”

Oh. 

“I know I’m hard on you. But I only do it because I know you can take it. I think it makes you better.”

Your lips go into a hard line, you nod. Right….

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt to be told I’m doing good every now and then. I do think I’m tough, you’re right, but I don’t know… I like this side of you.” You admit before you can stop yourself. 

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. His cheeks go red in that boyish way and it blossoms all the way to the tips of his ears. Your heart leaps a bit. 

If you weren’t back to yourself before, you were now. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing even though you’ve both let go of each other. It was sobering. 

“Alright kid, as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He winks. 

You burn. 

“Promise.”

/

Things did, in fact, change after that.

Dr Abbot pulls you for huddles, just you and him now for feedback, no longer doing it in front of the other med students, doctors or attendees.

You stand closer to him, he stands closer to you in general. 

He’s not afraid to grab your hand and stop you from doing something. Or start something. The amount of times he’s guided you through a procedure you’d never done before with his steady hadn’t engulfing yours, guiding a blade smoothly through a patients skin or a thin tube through an incredibly small incision. 

You wondered if anyone noticed. If anyone had become attune to the fact that you followed each other around like each other’s shadows. Never one without the other. You could see Princess and Perlah whispering to each other whenever you stood close to Dr Abbot, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that at least someone noticed how he’d picked you as his favourite and warmed up to you. It made you feel special, all girlish and giggly even though it absolutely shouldn’t. 

A new unusual sound had started to fill the ER. Jack Abbot’s laughter, even quiet giggles fuelled by none other than you. Not even Robby, once his rival now best friend in the ER, could get that sound out of him as often as you do. 

Jack gets you sandwiches, juice boxes from the cafeteria when you look particularly out of it or if the moment granted a quick escape for food. He’d find a chocolate bar or anything to perk you up on days where you weren’t doing so hot, or had a particularly anguishing patient. Death was inescapable in the ER, everyone knew that but not everyone handled it well, it didn’t matter how well versed or experienced you were in the medical industry. 

Not even Jack himself. 

The night shift was now coming to a close, meaning the clock was close to striking 7am. That awkward time before the day shift shows up and the night team goes home to sleep through the day, all to start again in 12 hours. 

It was weird working in the off hours, you felt like a vampire or a bat, you thought to yourself as you climbed the steps to the roof, trying to find Jack. You knew him well now, and you know where he goes to run away when he can’t handle the weight of the shift anymore. 

You open the door, it creaked open annoyingly loud, announcing you rather ungraciously. 

Jack drops his head low at the sound of the door opening. He knew it was you coming to find him. He leans back against the railing behind him. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, calling out to you without turning his head. The wind carries the sound of his voice to you. 

The sun is threatening to come up over the city line, light only beginning to spill upwards into the sky, painting the clouds all pretty shades of light blue, pink and orange. You struggle to take in the beauty due to the night that just transpired. 

The vet hit and run. It was a hard one on Jack. He’d known guys like that in the military. They seemed untouchable, surviving tour after tour. It was never easy to watch one go, especially the ones that made it home and get taken out in some seemingly avoidable way. 

Some church bell tolls in the distance. You approach him, unsure how to answer what you’re doing up here. Checking on you, wanting to make sure you’re okay, everyone’s worried but the reality was no one batted an eye at him escaping after spending the last two hours coding this guy into the system. This was how Jack operated. Disassociate, dissociate until he couldn’t anymore and his feet carried him up to the roof. Contemplating. 

So you don’t say anything, you just stand behind him. 

Jack’s skin looks golden up here. The light passing through his curls, catching the greys. Your heart tightens. 

“It’s always a rough way to end the night.” You offer, unsure of what else to say. 

“I must’ve had a reason at one time to keep coming back but… I can’t think of it right now.” Jack grips onto the railing, leaning forward and looking down below him. 

You instinctively reach out to him, your hand going for his bicep, it’s closest to you. Despite the cool early morning air, his skin was still hot to the touch, still coming down from what had just gone down in the ER room. 

“Jack…” You can’t help but sigh, silently pleading with him to stop. 

His head turns, dark eyes meeting yours. God he looks so sad, a man worn down. 

And you realize you’ve never called him by just his name. Just Jack. 

“D-Dr Abbot, I mean- sorry.” 

He doesn’t correct you. He doesn’t particularly care right now. And the way you said it makes his heart tight like your hand is on his arm. Palms clammy with being so high up and so close to a ledge. You never liked heights and you hate that he’s always flirted with them. 

He clicks his tongue, sighing before crouching down and reeling himself back over to your side of the railing. You sigh in relief, you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. 

Jack is completely distraught. He looks wrecked, broken. 

Your hand still on his arm, he comes to face you, standing so close but you can’t find it in you to step away from him, not when he’s like this. 

Jack drops his forehead to your shoulder, you try not to freeze up at the sudden extreme closeness.

“Are you okay?” You ask dumbly, voice gone quiet because of how close he is. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, plush flesh on soft cartilage. Jack shivers, turning his head slightly and his nose pushes into your neck. 

What else is there to say to such a quiet man, lost in his own solitude of reflection. 

“No.” He says simply, plainly. 

Your heart aches for him. 

Your hand is still on his arm, you flatten it and trail it up to his shoulder, squeezing him there. 

He presses himself closer to you. You hold your breath, your heart threatening to leap up out of your throat. You swear he must feel it beating through his own chest. You think you can feel his. 

He trails his nose along your neck, up your ear. You can feel that subtle white beard that carves the angles of his face so sharply, so perfectly, colour so soft and white it nearly blends into his skin seamlessly. They catch at your skin in that scratchy way and its almost too much. 

His hands, they move and suddenly they’re on your waist, sliding around the circumference of you until he’s enveloped you in his strong arms. You can feel how sturdy he is, how solid and strong from years of exertion and force and yet you feel like you could blow away at any moment. This cannot be real. You can smell his hair, the remnants of his cologne peaking through the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant. You can smell him. 

He knows this shouldn’t really be happening. You both do. You’re both very much aware of that fact. Even though its just a hug its just a hug. Jack had been aware of it ever since that day in the family room when he first worried about you. Because that’s what friends do… they worry about each other, right? Friends….

Jack lets his nose travel higher, along your hairline behind your ear, relishing in the closeness of  another living, breathing human being. Warm flesh against flesh, closeness of muscles and organs. Hearts, beating. When was the last time this happened? When was the last time he let his walls down like this? You both wondered. 

“I’m sorry.” He offers lamely, voice quiet and matching yours. He tries to pull away from you but his body doesn’t get the memo, he stills clings to you. He’s afraid of what would happen if he were to let go now. Surely he’d crumble into nothing off this roof. 

He moves his head, nose against your cheek as your hands move to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your palms. You don’t want him away either. You need him close, suddenly very close. Despite your breathlessness at the closeness, you think you’d stop breathing if he were to pull away now. You wouldn’t bear it. 

You shake your head no, “Don’t be.” You reassure him, voice still quiet. 

Something posses you and you nudge your nose with his, Jack sighs loudly, arms tightening around you and you sigh too. Your mouth opens in an innocent way, trying to get more oxygen to your brain. But you can feel his breath on yours, feel it fanning against your lips and you lean closer, pushing your nose into his again and he has to use every iota of strength within him to not lunge into you. 

This shouldn’t be happening, he reiterates to himself. All the alarms are going off in his head. He shouldn’t be touching you like this, he shouldn’t have grabbed you, you shouldn’t be letting him. You could both get in serious trouble for this. 

But you fist at his shirt, hands trembling against his chest, feeling him, muscles under supple flesh. Your lips part, small breath fanning against his lips and he breaks. He’s just a man. 

Jack presses his open mouth to yours, and you let him again for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. It’s sloppy in a desperate way, passionate and sad. You could cry if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feel of being completely encompassed by him, his soft lips on yours. 

You open your mouth wider, your hands moving from his chest to wrap your arms completely around his neck, hauling his body into yours as if you couldn’t get any closer. You wanted to meld into him. Bone fusing to bone. You let your tongue poke out and suddenly he’s right there with you, his tongue going as far into your mouth as it possibly can, trying to get to every inch of you. Jack whines and you burn at the pathetic sound. A grown man, whimpering for you. Your knees threaten to buckle. 

His body flush with yours, you can’t help but feel how his body reacts to you. Hard and solid against your hip, your leg as your bodies writhe against the other, pleading to get closer. 

“Jack,” you whimper into his mouth, unsure, testing. 

Jack lets his lips travel to the corner of your mouth, kissing every inch of you that he possibly can, your teeth as you say his name, your cheek, earlobe, the spot underneath your ear. 

“Tell me to stop.” He groans, hands moving back to their spot on your waist, trailing down to your hips where he grinds you against him, making that aching part of him known. 

You whimper again, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head like the sun threatens to come over that edge and catch you both where you ought not to be. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” You admit, face burning even though you’re both as debauched and pathetic sounding as the other.

Boldly, you let one hand travel down from his neck, down his body to softly touch in between his legs, feeling where he’s hard, aching between his legs. He groans again, this time absolutely pained, his forehead dropping to yours. 

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” He admits, like you both don’t know that already. He’s practically begging you to give him a reason to stop this now, even though he knows he’s already too far gone to do anything at this point. You’re too warm, too welcoming and soft and willing. Salvation. 

“Especially not here.” You manage to laugh a little. Suddenly you pull away from Jack and he thinks that’s it, you’re calling it. His instincts propel him to check his watch to check the time. T.O.D. Time of death. He’s being dramatic. 

You pull him to the opening of the stairwell, creaking open that squeaky door once again and you lightly press him against the wall furthest away from the stairs.

It’s an enclosed space, a room up on the roof. You have to open another door to get to the stairs which lead all the way down to the ER, blocked by another set of doors. If someone were to go into the stairway, you’d hear them from a mile away. At least that’s what you hoped.

Jack let’s you move him, lets you press your body against his and kiss his tanned, freckled neck. Your hand finds its spot on his crotch, feeling him through his pants. God he hasn’t gone down an inch. He feels huge, painfully hard. You can’t believe you’re feeling him like this. You can’t believe The Jack Abbot is letting this happen, you can’t believe he wants it. With you. 

“Can I?” You ask, already lowering yourself to your knees. 

Jack just looks at you in complete and utter disbelief, mouth agape as he watches you get down on your knees, pressing your face to his clothed dick, kissing him through the fabric. Kill me now, he thinks. If anyone were to find you both like this… 

He feels like a dirty old man as you pull his cock from his pants, watching it spring up and slap his belly with wide eyes, like you need it, like you’re suddenly starving. 

His cock is huge. You don’t know what you expected but it wasn’t this. You try not to look frightened by it, by the prospect of shoving it into your mouth and hopefully, your cunt. 

He’s your attendee, you try not to think about that. Try not to think about how you’re his subordinate and he’s so much older than you, experienced, well versed. This is all completely wrong, incredibly fucked up but fuck if it doesn’t turn the both of you on just a little more in the worst way. 

His dick is hot in your hand, skin like silk and you salivate at the pure sight of it. You look up at him, his face flushed all the way up to his ears and down to what you can see of his chest poking out through the small v in his shirt. Skin on fire. 

You give him a sort of inquisitive look and he realizes he never answered you. You looking up at him with those big, needy eyes. He can only bring himself to nod his head, at a lost for words. 

You smile up at him, hand already gliding up and down his thick length. Jack hisses at the near foreign sensation, in this moment he can’t bring himself to remember the last time this happened, let alone a time when it wasn’t his own hand. Yours is much smaller, more delicate than his, you can barely wrap it around the entirety of him and suddenly he feels dizzy. 

You lean forward, kissing the tip of him and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, they open and close into fists at his sides. God does he want to touch you, to have you let him take what he wants but he’s afraid. Afraid of over stepping, afraid of scaring you. 

Suddenly you’re opening your mouth and kissing at the head of him, licking at his slit, collecting whatever’s pooled there and humming to yourself at the taste. You’re worried you’ll become addicted to this.

More of him slides into your mouth, all the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat. Suddenly his hands are flying to the side of your head, holding you there. His eyes open and he looks down at you, eyes intense, mouth set into a hardline like he’s barely hanging by a thread. You make eye contact with him and he groans, loud. You’ve only ever seen him like this leaned over a patient, intense focus, blinders on to anything except the task at hand. But this time its you. Your pussy throbs. 

Jack let’s himself thrust into your mouth a couple of times, eyes squeezed shut again, head leaned back against the wall behind him in complete surrender to you and your mouth. He says your name so broken, like its the only thing he can remember, the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You wonder if he’ll let you fuck him. 

A few more thrusts and suddenly Jack is pulling you off of him, looking back down at you again and hauling you back up to your feet. You give him the saddest eyes and he swears his heart breaks. 

“I’m- I was gonna cum if you kept that up.” He sort of laughs to himself. Jack’s never felt more out of practice than he does now, pants down around his ankles, cock heavy and begging still in your hand, and a young, pretty girl looking at him with wet eyes, hungry for him. 

What did he do in a past life to deserve this? 

“That was kind of the idea.” You smile, bitting your lip and your hand continues to move up and down on his aching length. 

Back face to face now, Jack can’t believe he has you like this, lips plump and swollen with exertion and slick with spit. Your eyes are dark with greed, hunger for something else. He never though this would happen, not between the two of you. Not that he ever explicitly thought about it but there were moments of weakness. Moments where he let his mind wander as he held your hand in his, guiding you through a procedure, noticing your body and its proximity, its warmth, that girlish smell you carry around you. You’ve always been intoxicating, a temptation just begging to be indulged in. Had he mentioned how wrong he thought all of this was?

“Jack?” You ask, pulling him out of this thoughts. 

“Hmmm?” He basically slurs, distracted by the continuous movements of your hand on his cock, it was on the verge of turning painful. 

“I asked you if you’re gonna fuck me.” You ask, devilish grin plastered on your face like you’re the cat who got the fucking cream. Or is at least trying to.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, voice cracking from your particularly harsh grip on him. 

“Is that- Is that what you came up to the roof for?” He jokes but suddenly you think he’s being serious. 

You worry thats all you thought of him, of this. A quick fuck, a need for release, a need to forget what happened tonight. 

“No, Jack that’s not- I swear-” You struggle to find your words. 

Jack smiles at you, it alleviates some of your worries. His hand moves and finds the waist band of your pants, he shoves it down until he’s cupping your sex. You gasp, his hand hot, feeling your hotter core and whats embarrassingly seeped out of you ever since you pulled him from the railing. 

Jack clicks his tongue at you, like he always does. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to fuck you, alright. You’re soaking for it.” 

Oh fuck. 

You whimper, leaning easy into his touch, letting him feel you. 

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, his fingers gliding easy through your glossy folds, playing around in the mess you made. Its embarrassing. So much so that you almost miss him calling you baby. 

Jack doesn’t fight the temptation long, no matter how much he wants to tease you about it. His two fingers find your hole and push in steadily, afraid to hurt you. You gasp, body falling into his, letting him hold you with his other arm. Your hand on his cock stutters but is determined to keep pleasuring him. 

You moan when he pushes his fingers all the way in, crooking them to press up against that spongey spot inside of you, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. 

“Fuck-” You choke, head heavy on his shoulder, your lips grazing his neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, switching it up between that and toying with that fucking spot inside of you. 

“Jack, I’m-”

“Oh I bet you are.” He chides and you burn. 

This could have been so humiliating if you chose it to be. How quickly you folded for him, how badly and desperately you needed him. As if he hadn’t folded just as quickly, if not faster, for you. 

Suddenly his fingers are ripped from your core and he’s ripping your pants down along with your underwear. You step out of them quickly, letting him manhandle you around to get you were you wants you. 

“Look at you listening to me so easily now.” Jack remarks, turning you around and pushing you up against the wall. 

“I always listen to you.” You admit, voice breathless and breaking and sounding completely debauched. 

You feel him step in to your space, you arch your back instinctively and Jack basically purrs all soft for you. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance, threatening your folds. You whimper, shiver. You try to push into him but his hand flies to your neck, holding you still where you are. 

He leans over your back, rucking your shirt up with the hand that was holding his dick. He hadn’t meant for this to happen like this, all dirty and rushed and in his fucking workplace. He thinks about the rest of you, hidden under your scrubs, how he’d kiss every inch. Maybe that was for another time. Hopefully. 

“I know you do.” He praises, kissing the back of your neck and pushing into cunt in the same breath. You both groan way too loudly, pure relief coming over the both of you. 

Jack breaches you slowly, he knows he’s big. He’s not even being any type of way about it, he just knows its a lot from past…. flings. But God do you take him like a champ. You push your hips back into his, needing him to fill you completely you’re fucking whimpering for it. 

But Jack’s still got his hold on you, pinning you down so he can work you onto his cock slowly, at his own pace. He’s in control here. 

You both moan again once he reaches the end of you, fully seated in your velvety pussy. His head falls onto your back, his arms wrapping around you to hold you to him, anything to get closer. You scramble to gain purchase on anything, the wall, his strong arms, anything. You feel dizzy, you feel full, you feel drunk. 

“Always so good for me. Such a good girl” He moans, hips pulling back to just thrust back in punishingly. It punches a moan out from your gut. 

You nod your head, unable to speak. I try to be good, I try to be.

Jack doesn’t wait, this has to be quick anyways, you both have been gone for far too long, he’s suddenly reminded that the day shift will be showing up in a matter of minutes and God knows Robby will be looking for him up here. His dick throbs at the thought of being caught balls deep inside of you, his little med student. 

He pulls you back by the ass to meet his hips, pumping himself in and out of your creamy pussy at a brutal pace, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. He says your name, you’ve never heard him say a name quite like that and it breaks you. 

“I-Is this good?” He asks, trying to be sexy but it comes out broken, desperate and pathetic.

You nod your head frantically again, trying to turn your head to look at him and Jack’s heart soars at the sight. Your pupils blown black, eyes big and watery from the feel of his cock filling you up to the absolute brim, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. He wants to lick the sweat from you. Next time, next time. 

Jack leans closer, kissing you on the open mouth and you moan debauchedly into him. As he moved closer to you to keep kissing you it pushed his cock that much further into you, his hips grinding into your ass and his cock into the absolute end of you. You can barely keep yourself standing, you’re thankful for Jack’s strength keeping you up, you could’ve had both feet off the ground and you’d have no idea. 

His cock pummels into you, moan after moan being punched from your chest, your gut, the deepest part of you. 

You whimper into his mouth at his sweet kisses in contrast with his harsh thrusts, it was enough to make your head spin, your pussy clench, threatening to burst. 

“Tell me it’s good, need you to say it for me.” 

“S-So good, Jack. You feel-”

“Yeah?” 

You cry, you think a lone tear falls from your eye and maybe Jack kisses it away or licks it but his cock doesn’t stop and suddenly you’re cumming, completely surrendering your body to his. You shudder and twitch and your pussy squeezes his dick so tight he nearly sees stars, it takes everything in him to not blow his load inside of you in that instant. 

That would be bad, that would be really bad, that would be messy and irresponsible and fuck he’s not wearing a condom how could you both have been so stupid and drunk off each other to not grab a condom. It’s not like you have them in your scrubs but theres a dispenser in the bathroom and - 

“Jack please,” You beg, voice so small and worn out. Your hand reaches out behind you, grabbing for him and suddenly he’s pulled back to the very real reality where he is fucking the shit out of you and he’s about to cum about it. 

“Please what?” He asks, needing to hear you say it. 

“Need you- need you to cum for me. Please Jack.” 

Fuck, he doesn’t want this to be over, he needs this to go on forever, needs you to suddenly be his salvation, he’s not quite sure how he’s gone on this long without you but he knows he can’t go forward without it. 

Jack’s body tenses, his cock somehow gets impossibly harder, you feel it thicken inside of you and you moan again, another orgasm threatening to rip through you. 

But suddenly he’s pulling himself out of your greedy hole, his voice breaking as he spills himself onto the concrete floor beneath the both of you. Your cunt pulses, desperate to have him fill you again. Before you can protest his fingers lunge up into your abused hole again and he grating at that spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars. 

“Need another one, yeah?”

“Jack- fuck!” It complete takes over you. 

Somehow without having to even tell him, he felt the way your pussy spasmed and cried around him right before he pulled out, he knew you were close to cumming again. And ever the gentleman he is, he’s going to give you another one. 

He’s unrelenting, just like he was with his cock. His two fingers crook up against that spot again and suddenly you’re seeing stars. 

Jack’s arm wraps around the front of your shoulders, hauling your back straight against his chest, holding your trembling body to his. You can feel his slowly softening cock against your lower back, cum still dripping from it onto your ass. 

“Do it, please.” He begs of you this time, the muscles in both arms trembling from his own orgasm. 

Jack feels your pussy spasm again, feels the way your chest quickens its breathes, the way your feet nearly kick out from under you with the strength of it all and your cumming on his hand, your eyes going black and blind from the force of it. 

You slump back against him, letting him hold you once again. Jack wraps both his arms around you, swinging you around so that his back is pressed against the wall so he can lean on something. You both try to catch your breath, clinging to each other with leftover desperation. 

Greedily, he lets a hand swipe through your abused folds, collecting what you’ve given him. You whimper, leaning your head back to hide it in his neck, embarrassed. 

“Jack,” you whine in a pathetic attempt at protesting. 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Let me.” He tells you, plainly. 

His fingers linger, scooping up what he can and bringing it to his lips. He licks everything, groaning at the taste and letting his eyes close. You whine, pushing your face further into his neck, smelling him. He smells manly, like sweat, cologne and sex. You let it envelop you. 

Jack holds you like that for as long as he humanly can. Before the thoughts of getting caught inevitably come crashing down upon him again. 

“We have to move, kid. Can’t stay like this forever.” He tells you in a sad tone. You press a final kiss to his neck, breathing him in before pulling away. 

“I know.” 

You both pull yourselves back together. Jack puts his own pants back on as he watches you pull your underwear on slowly. Mindlessly, he reaches for your pants and holds them out for you. You put your hands on his shoulders while you step into them. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, voice gone quiet again, like you already have to be hush hush about this. 

Jack kisses the top of your head sweetly. You wonder what’s to come after this. You look up at him and he gives you that slick side smile you’ve only seen him throw Robby or Dana. 

“Didn’t know you could make noises like that.” He smiles and you push him back against the wall you were both just fucking up against, your face absolutely burning. This motherfucker likes making fun of you. 

“Jack I swear to God-”

He grabs you and kisses you again, holding your face to his. You let him kiss you, fighting the want to just melt back into him and stay here. 

Jack pulls away first. His anxiety getting the best of him. 

“Can I drive you home?” He asks, unsure of what else to say. He needs to get you out of the workplace and have a normal fucking conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around grief and dying kids and elderly on life support. 

And besides he knows you take the bus. 

“Yes please.” 

/

okayyy i literally had to cut it short because this shit was getting too long LOL, i had a full final act outlined but maybe that could be a shorter part two if anyone's interested..... lmk <3

[prkhaven]

DAD AND DOLLARS -p.js-

The hot rich dad next door needs a babysitter? Sign you up

pairing— dad!jay x money struggling fem!reader

genre: smut minors do no interact, dilf au, slight age gap (jay is in mid 20s while reader is in early 20s), p with plot, p with feelings

wc: 12.9k

warnings: slight jealously, profanity, kissing, alcohol consumption

smut warnings: unprotected sex (be safe), p in v, dirty talk, praising, oral (fem rec.), fingering, squirting, breeding kink, creampie, usage of nicknames (doll, good girl, sir)

You looked dead center at your laptop to see the ridiculous total number summed up. Over thousands of dollars of student debt is yet to be paid off and you’re not even halfway done.

You closed your computer shut because if it was out of sight it was out of mind, at least for the time being. You sighed, rubbing your temple hoping to soothe the ache forming but the sudden loud beeping of a truck backing up disrupted your train of thought.

The annoying blaring sound only worsened your headache that it felt like it was going to explode any second. Your eye twitched, you were already running on 2 hours of sleep, you hoped to at least get some sleep in before working until late in the night.

Standing up from your table, you walked over to the small window that allowed just enough space to see outside but your eyes narrowed seeing someone’s back quite literally blocking your view. You quietly mumbled under your breath before wacking open your door.

You currently were in no mood to deal with any solisticing today.

“Look-” You began but quickly stopped when you see the scene before you, a man—a hot man at that, not much older than you or at least you assumed carrying a little girl who resembles him

His hair perfectly combed back showing off his forehead and neatly done undercut with his sharp jawline that looks like it could quite literally cut you in half, a nose bridge all tall and mighty as he wore a simplistic nude pink button up that managed to make your knees weak.

Not a lot of people can’t pull that color off but he sure as hell can.

What stood out to you the most was the jewelry that shone in the sunlight blinding you. Just from the mere pieces of jewelry alone, you could practically feel the success flowing through and out of him.

The jewelry the little girl wore outcompeted each and every single one you could ever own. And yet, that wasn’t enough to make you peel your eyes away. You hadn’t realized how long you’ve been staring until the said little girl pointed it out.

Embarrassed, you finally looked away and the mysterious man cleared his throat. “Ah, if you'll excuse my daughter”

Wait what. Daughter?!

You held yourself back from dropping your jaw. Even though you were assuming he wasn’t much older than you, he already has a daughter, a young one at that and you’re over here stressing over student debt. What stressful time you must be having.

“We’ve been up since this morning moving in, so she is a little antsy. Please do forgive us for disrupting you”

Anyone would be if they’ve been up since morning to mo- Wait Moving in?

It must’ve shown on your face because the male in front of you lightly chuckled but it wasn’t like the usual chuckles that you hear from other guys. It was rather deeper, more mellow and rumbled out of him and it twisted your insides out.

“We’ve just moved in next door” He adjusted his daughter into one arm hoisting her up with ease while his free hand extended a hand to shake with yours, “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Park Jongseong”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Another exhausting day, another terrible pay.

You’re genuinely wondering how you’re going to manage to just make it by this upcoming month without falling into a hole and never coming out of it.

Your current job isn’t nearly enough to cover all your expenses in the slightest but there’s such a shortage of job opportunities that you’re stuck there until some miracle falls into your lap and presents you with all the answers to your prayers.

Rubbing your shoulders, you twist your head side to side to feel the crack of your neck relieving you from the tension in it but that’s when you hear the deep faint voice that’s been taunting your mind ever since you’ve heard it.

Before you could even prepare yourself or more like jam your keys into the lock to rush in before getting caught you hear the small greeting for you, “Hi miss!” You nervously gulp before turning around replacing your mumbled breath with a sweet smile towards the little girl holding her dad’s index finger with her small hand

“Well hi there!” You cheerily returned her greet with a fast wave, your eyes remained trained on her not daring to look up to her father hoping there would be no interaction between but the universe was not in your favor today

“Coming back after a long day?” His voice filled your mind again and you held back a nervous smile not trusting yourself to speak only left you to nod at his words

Your eyes rose higher until you caught him and he gave a tight smile and you swore your heart might’ve exploded right then and there. It was something so simple yet it had your mind reeling.

You awkwardly touched your neck making it seem like it was sore when in reality you were making sure you still had a pulse.

“Say goodbye honey, she’s had a long day at work. I’m sure she needs some rest” Jay softly spoke to his daughter who looked up to your shaky eyes and raised her hand to wave goodbye to you

Your heart melted as you happily waved goodbye to her.

Too caught up in the moment, you seemed to have forgotten the very man you were successfully ignoring for those few seconds his daughter had your attention, “Make sure to rest well”

Before you could register the words, they were already walking past you in hushed whispers. Your mouth hung open trying to figure out a response that didn’t embarrass you.

“Thank you Jongseong. Same to you” You opted to say through the few second turmoil and when he turned around hearing your voice, it’s corny to admit but it was like slow motion

Everything seemed to be forgotten about as you were solely focused on him. The earrings that hung from his ears, his folded up sleeves exposing his forearm and watch until you saw his beautiful smile. A warm genuine smile.

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“Woah- Hold on. You mean to tell me that good looking man I saw on my way here was your neighbor?!” Your friend shrieked once you broke the news to her

Supposed to be an important study session for your upcoming exam somehow turned into a 3 hour talking session, laptops and papers discarded.

You groan at your friend's words, hate having to be reminded that he was indeed your neighbor. So close yet so far from you.

“He dresses so damn good, looks like he has a lot of” Your friend rubbed her fingers together with raised eyebrows making you roll your eyes, ���Plus I saw him with his little sister, he’s such a good brother”

“That’s his daughter” You unconsciously said and you didn’t realize until you took notice of the silence from your friend who stared at you like she had just seen a ghost

“You mean to tell me that was his daughter with him..?” You nodded your head and your friend nearly fell off of her chair at the sudden revelation, “Holy shit… You’re living next door to a dilf!” Your friend screech as she stumbled in her seat over to you

You jumped when she clasped your hands into hers, hopeful eyes staring directly into you with a certain mischievous gleam you knew far too well.

“So when are you getting on that?” Your friend raised an eyebrow and you shot her a confused look

“Getting on what?”

Your friend had to take a minute or so to just look at you in amusement but not in a good way.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t even thought about getting together with him ever since you saw him?!”

You yanked your hands away before lightly pushing her away shaking your head. “He’s either married or at least seeing someone” You said trying to make it believable for yourself more than for her—but you always noticed the lack of band on his ring finger every time you saw him or any sign of anyone else living with him besides his daughter

“I didn’t see any ring on his finger” Your friend shrugged her shoulders, tilting her head to the side

So he must be seeing someone. Because there’s no way that he is single and roaming the streets just like that.

You quickly went to grab your discarded laptop to move on from the topic. This was enough talking for today about your undeniably hot neighbor who just so happened to be a dad.

Your friend suddenly slammed your laptop shut. “What are you doing?” You asked but saw her finger pointed directly towards you

“No bigger question is what are you doing” Emphasizing the you in her sentence

You stared at her dumbfounded, making her groan in annoyance.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” You opened your mouth to respond, “I mean an actual date” You closed your mouth right up

“Exactly! It’s been so long since you’ve been treated, why not indulge in this nonsense just a little” She squished her thumb and index finger together showing basically no space in between them

“In case you forgot, I’m a broke student trying to get by till the end of this month. I don’t have ti-”

“Yeah yeah I know. You don’t have time. You don’t have the money. You don’t have new or fancy clothes” Your friend cited the same excuses you’ve given to excuse yourself from anything thrown your way, “But don’t let it stop you this time. I have a good feeling about this one” She softly hummed with a soft smile hoping you take her words truthfully

“He’s most definitely seeing someone” You softly muttered

“And if he’s not?”

The question made you think. Even if there was the slimmest chance that he was in fact single and was not seeing anyone, why would he look your way? You don’t have much to offer.

“He’s a dad” You reminded but her soft smile dropped into something more menacing

“Well that’s just the cherry on top, no?”

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“What would I do without you?” Your friend chimed, wrapping your sweater over her, it was well past midnight and you finally concluded your study session after all this time and you couldn’t wait to fall asleep

“You’d be walking yourself out in the freezing cold” She chuckled at your response knowing it was the truth but she happily skipped ahead but stopped in her tracks raising and hand up to stop you

Before you could ask anything, she pulled your arm to where she is and that’s where you see Jay. His little girl fast asleep in his arms, her puffy cheeks squishing against his broad shoulder as he carefully closed the door shut wanting to make as minimal noise as possible.

He locked the car and stuffed his keys into his trench coat and right when he turned he caught sight of you and your friend looking, he furrowed his eyebrows immediately noticing how you weren’t wearing a sweater even though you were clearly cold from the shiver you let out.

Instantly you gave a quick smile to him not sure why he furrowed his eyebrows towards you but he kindly returned your smile with his own before walking past you and your friend still making sure his daughter was still fast asleep.

As he walked past you caught a whiff of his musk cologne and you wholeheartedly wanted to delve straight into it. It made your head woozy, it wasn’t strong enough that it was overbearing but it was strong just enough that made sure his presence was embroidered into your mind even when he was long gone.

“Oh” You heard your friend murmur and you turned to look at her dazed expression staring at where he once stood at the side of his car, “You actually got a double D living next door”

“Double what?” Pure confusion written over your face and she rolled her eyes as if it was the most known thing in the whole wide world

“Hello, a double D! A father who has money. Dad and dollars!”

You’ve just had a revelation.

“You my friend have a hot and rich double D living next door to you”

“You’re unbearable” You scoffed but you gasped when she lightly hit you

“That’s you”

“But I am being so serious right now, you better get on that man before I do” Before you could retaliate her sentence you heard faint shuffling coming towards your direction and to your surprise, you turned to see Jay coming back minus his daughter

“Oh” He stopped in his tracks seeing you and your friend, “You’re still here?” It easily could be mistaken as a harsh slap to the face but his tone was soft and gentle that there was nothing to it besides true curiosity

You opened your mouth praying that something coherent would come out but your friend knew better than to trust you and let you figure it out on your own. Especially when he was right there.

“She was just being such a kind friend and walking me out” Your friend softly patted your back and you mentally cursed at how cold her hands were against your thin covered back

“What about you? Coming out again?” Your friend tilted her head and you had to hold yourself back from dragging her away

“Have to bring the grocery up” Jay lightly waved the car keys before unlocking his car as the trunk slowly opened

“We can help you!” Your friend suddenly chimed in and you felt all color drain from your face, you just weren’t sure if it was from the cold finally getting to your numb face or how he stops walking and turns around

“You want to help?” He raised an eyebrow and your friend eagerly nodded and threaded closer to him, when his eyes moved from her onto you wanting to see if you were coming along you remained frozen in place

All the time you were merely in his presence, your body shut down on you as you became just a hollow vessel. He expected a response—any response from you but when he was received with nothing his lips formed a thin line and nodded his head.

“W-wait of course she’s going to help” Your friend awkwardly chuckled before walking back over to you, “It must be the cold getting to her. Silly her for not wearing a sweater”

You came back to your senses when your friend smacked your arm and you winced feeling how your spiky skin was far more sensitive to touch from how long you’ve been out there.

Yet, you didn’t have any chance to collect yourself as she dragged you with her in front of him as she gleamed with a smile. He blinked at the sudden appearance of you in front of him while you gulped harshly trying to keep your thoughts sane.

Even up close, your eyes looked over his face, never able to settle on a single feature until you landed on the slightly chapped lips but moved your eyes up to catch his eyes. Under dim lighting he looked phenomenal.

“Alright let’s get those groceries” Your friend peeped

You looked away from him down to the ground before softly nodding your head. You were going to help gather some bags but you stopped when you felt a weight place around your shoulder. You looked down to see the trench coat over your body.

Turning to face Jay, he gave a gentle nod. “You need it way more than me” His voice rumbled throughout your mind earning the gears to shift inside you by his voice and gesture alone

His eyes examined you in his coat before softly smiling to himself at his thoughts, “Next time make sure to bundle up before going out. You can catch a cold easily”

The cold that was once lived in your body faded away into pure warmth and it was all thanks to your neighbor living next door.

It hadn’t taken long until all the groceries were brought into his place in one trip. Your friend huffed, shaking her head as if she had run a marathon.

You softly chuckled at her state and softly padded her back to help regulate her breathing again. Underestimating her energy after hours of studying finally caught up to her.

“Who… Goes grocery shopping at this time?” Your friend pants

“I guess that’ll be me” Jay chuckles earning a curious look from you which he catches, “There’s not enough time in the day that allows me to properly shop and get everything I need, especially when I’m with my daughter”

“Sounds like you need a babysitter-” Your friend starts but abruptly stops, you looked over to her and saw the same mischievous look on her face and it sent unease to rest in your stomach

“A babysitter would be nice” Jay lowly sighed but waved it off, grateful to spend time with his daughter despite his busy schedule, “I just haven’t had the time to properly look into that”

“Well look no further because I know the perfect babysitter for you” Your eyes widen and you’re suddenly pulled forward once again and stood in the middle of Jay’s place looking like an animal caught in headlights staring right at him

“W-wa-Wh” You tried to speak but nothing came out as you tried to adjust to what your friend just offered, who she just offered which was you

“You?” Jay sucked his teeth as he looked at you noticing how his trench engulfed your body and unconsciously you straightened out your posture, “Just for uhm precautions… Why would you be a good babysitter?”

The sudden light hearted demeanor from him changed instantly and you couldn’t blame him. Two random girls—one of them your neighbor who you barely speak to, was just offered to take care of your daughter just like that. You’d be surprised if he didn’t do this even if it’s late at night and he’s still yet to put the groceries away.

“I-I won’t mind looking after your daughter” You explained as best as you can as you felt Jay’s piercing gaze on you. Adjusting his jacket over you, your eyes flickered around, “I live right next door so I’ll never be far- Plus my schedule is pretty flexible even with schooling”

“And I mean it’ll benefit you in the end right? I’ll do everything I have to do to properly take care of her”

“I'd like to help you out” You managed to give a smile the moment you made eye contact with him which you hoped didn’t creep him out, “I mean- You know to make sure you don’t get burned out so quickly and have time to focus on yourself! Trust me I know how it feels and it’s not fun” You awkwardly chuckled and you could hear your friend smacking her forehead behind you

His eyes never left yours and it felt like he was able to read every thought in your head. There was a moment of silence and you wanted to lay down in a hole and never show your face again. You nibbled on your lip as you watched Jay’s hard gaze on you.

He let out a sigh nodding his head, “Alright. When can you start?”

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Running around gathering your belongings into your bag still making sure to be as quiet as possible in order to not disturb the sleeping child in your bed.

You picked up a sudden dropped shift with the expectation of receiving a higher pay for the unexpected inconvenience. You could really care less for the ungodly hour you’ll have to work, money is money and you desperately need it.

And right on time, you heard the faint knock at your door and you knew it was none other than Jay picking up his daughter.

This was only your first week babysitting her, the first time awkward but easy but after the 4th day it was better than the first time—much better or at least you thought it was.

At your door, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath before carefully opening it to reveal Jay on the other side of it. A striking simple black suit that pierced your heart like an arrow as he adjusted his watch.

He raised his head to the sound of the door opening and gave a gentle smile making warmth spread across your chest. The silly little infatuation is driving you mad.

“Hi Jongseong” You greeted him, moving to the side just enough to welcome him in, “She was a little more tired today. She’s sleeping right now, just give me a second and I’ll go get her”

Without even being able to say a word, he watched as you disappeared. Normally, his daughter would be full of energy ready to greet him at the door when it was time to be picked up.

Keeping his lips in a straight line, he looked around your place noticing it was simple but homey. It spoke loud of who you were as a person which he’s come to realize, he doesn’t know much of.

He only knew the basic things about you but nothing in depth that could make him stand out in your life. He let out a deep sigh at the thought and rubbed his nape but stopped seeing you carefully carrying his daughter.

Her head rubbing against the juncture of your neck, her small arms wrapped around you and the fondness you looked at her with when she let out a small whine when you tried to hand her over to him.

Jay isn’t one to think of anything when seeing someone more specifically a woman holding his daughter but something bloomed in his chest as he watched you whispering in her ear making his daughter pull her ahead away from you to him.

He opened his mouth with a smile and extended his arms which his daughter easily slipped into from yours to his. “Hi sweetheart” He gasped as she quickly knocked her head into his chest and curled into her father’s embrace

You handed over her sparkly pink school bag towards Jay which contrasted his attire but you think it suited him quite well and found it more cute.

“Thank you so much for looking after her” He softly said and just hearing his soft voice made your knees want to buckle but stuck with just waving it off as nothing

His eyes looked you up and down and took notice of your clothing. Rather than the comfy clothes you wore the first time he came to pick up his daughter, you wore more formal clothing this time a jacket wrapped around you with your bag hanging off your shoulder and phone in hand.

Your phone vibrated and you looked at it to silently curse under your breath which didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Is everything okay?” He asked and you forgot that he was still there for a second

You replaced your frown with a quick smile, “Yeah, I just have to head out soon for my shift”

Jay’s eyebrows knitted together, “A shift? This late?”

“Whatever can pay the bills” You sadly chuckled and shrugged it off not noticing how Jay stared at you perplexed, he just got off his shift and here you were going to yours

“How are you going to get there?”

“Walking but if I’m lucky I can catch a bus” You explained but noticing time passing by you don’t think the chances are high

Jay remained silent, contemplating something as you walked them out. His daughter stirred awake when you locked your front door. You quickly apologized and tried to soothe her back to sleep but she looked between you and her dad with sleepy eyes. “Where are you going?” Her voiced slurred with sleepiness

“I have to go work” You softly explained but she tried to reach out to you shaking her head

She mumbles something ineligible and you softly giggled before stroking her head leveling with her whispering a soft goodbye again. Jay watched all of this unfold between his daughter and you, the same bloom in his chest forming all over again.

“I can take you there” Jay spoke before being able to comprehend his own thought process,

Your hand dropped to fall to your side. His eyes widened as he stared at your shocked expression

What the hell is he saying? His mouth opened and closed trying to follow up his statement but nothing came out. But his daughter seemed to understand him better than he understands himself. “Yes!” Her energy suddenly boosted up at the thought of being able to spend more time with you

Jay stared at his daughter, shocked at her quick interest, he looked over to you and saw the shake of your eyes before letting out a strained laugh. “I don’t want it to be an inconvenience” You said

“Ridiculous” He chuckled not realizing how it made the harsh thump in your heart hard to ignore, “Please” His voice softer than the first time

How could you say no to him? Well easy. You couldn’t.

Jay’s car reflected his personality perfectly. Nice and sleek, the black shining leather—Real leather—not some fake leatherette to taint his car. His daughter and your happy chatter filling the car as he follows the GPS to your job.

One could easily mistake the dynamic. Easily. His foot slowed down on the brake pedal coming to a stop in front of the shops that illuminated in bright colors, 24 hours.

“24 hours?” He softly muttered not thinking you’d pick up on it but hearing your light sigh he moved from the sign to you who had a small smile

“Like I said. Whatever pays the bills” You said, “Thank you for the ride I really do appreciate it” Your smile growing before turning your body in the seat to reach out your hand to the little girl in the back

“Don’t give your dad a hard time mhm?” You hummed which caused her to pout her lips, trying to reach other to grab your hand to keep you longer but the restraints of her car seat kept her in place

You shot Jay a different smile. Something warm and tense before stepping out of the car, waving goodbye to them before heading into your job with slack shoulders.

How could’ve he have been so naive, selfish, just so stupid. You’ve been taking care of his daughter while he’s been at work. Picking her up, cleaning up after her, making sure to give the proper meals needed all whilst welcoming her into your place easily, allowing her to sleep in your bed even holding back from taking regular scheduled hours to look after her just to end up working ungodly hours just to get money.

Money that should’ve been in your bank account from the first hour you looked after his daughter and yet, he hadn’t paid you a single dime.

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At the same time you heard the knock of the door. “Right on time” You said while standing up and making your way over to the door which you expected her to follow suit

You opened the door just enough, “Hi Jong-” But it slammed shut in front of his face

Your jaw dropped letting out a loud gasp to see his daughter’s hand on the door, a deep frown on her face before clinging onto your leg, shaking her head. “Don’t want to see him” She huffed

Knitting your eyebrows you crouched the door peeling her off your leg to hold her arms. “Now that wasn’t very nice to do but why don’t you want to see him?” You softly asked but you let out strained a yelp when she launched her arms around your neck

You wrapped an arm around her, hoisting her up. “I’m going to open the door okay?” The lack of response from her made your lip tug to the side before opening the door again

Jay rubbing his creased forehead stopped. You gave an apologetic confused smile but he gave a tired smile in return almost as if he expected it. “It’s time to go back home” You whispered into the little girl’s ear but she let out a whine, roughly shaking her head and only held onto you tighter

Confusion written over your face as you tried to peel her off her body into Jay’s but she wouldn’t budge.

Letting out a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his neat hair. The locks slotted through each crack easily, messily ruining the sleek style into something far more loose.

Awkwardly shaking your head from that thought to look at Jay. “Why don’t you come in?” You motioned him inside just like how you always did

How you welcomed him so easily when he hadn’t welcomed you like that showed the constraint he held himself up to. Sighing heavily as he walked in, you closed the door behind him—rocking the girl in your arms who hadn’t looked at her father once.

“Make yourself comfortable Jongseong”

“I feel like we’ll be here for a while”

And after hours of quite literal utter silence in your place, Jay’s daughter finally fell asleep in your arms.

“She’s asleep” You softly whispered to Jay who immediately perked up from the chair, sleepy eyes seeing his daughter happily laying against your body, a content smile on her face while in your embrace

“Oh I didn’t know you were sleeping-”

“No, it's fine. I’m sorry I fell asleep” Jay tried rubbing his hands over his eyes to wake himself up

“Stressful day?” You softly questioned, it was a little invasive but the lack of sleep infiltrated your regular thought process that you spewed anything that came to mind

Jay stayed silent for a moment, his hands moving away from his eyes to look over to your droopy ones. You still managed to have a smile plastered on your face, especially to him.

There weren’t many times he could be vulnerable, not when he has to prioritize his daughter over everything, to make money which is never an issue for him just to make sure his daughter could have anything and everything she could ever want.

A need to fill the void that no material could ever fulfill.

“Just a little” He deeply sighed, his back sinking into the seat again, his arm resting against the armchair

You nipped at your lip, “Want to talk about it?” Each word smaller than the last not wanting to overstep a boundary with him but it was an invisible opportunity that he’s been wanting, waiting for so long

“That’ll be nice”

As you laid Jay’s daughter into your bed, he stayed next to you the entire time. He knelt to the ground, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, mumbling something inaudible for you to hear before stroking his cheek with a saddening gaze.

He tugged at your sheets making sure she was fully covered before turning to face you. You looked at him with complete utter fondness and he stopped his movement. His gaze remained on you for a split second longer than he wanted trying to pull back his wandering thoughts from going deeper.

Clearing his throat, he knelt up from the ground which brought you out from the haze that you were. Your eyes widened as his eyes never left yours and you quickly turned a heel, “I-I have some wine, do you drink wine? Is wine good?” You rambled

Jay stared at your figure. He let out a deep sigh which soon grew into a small smile when you turned around to face him. The light behind illuminating your figure. “Wine is perfect”

Jay sat across from you, his usually strict attire now messed up. Three unbuttoned buttons from his shirt. Sleeves rolled all the way up to his elbow, his hair out of his slicked style to a messy middle part. Legs barely spread open, his lower body pushed forward as he twirled the wine left in his glass.

“She’s upset with me today” Jay sipped drops of wine out of his glass before resting it onto his lap, “I mean I don’t blame her. I promised that her mom and I would take her out but…” He sighed heavily

The mention of the mother made you suddenly tense. The first time you ever heard anything about her, neither did Jay or his daughter ever speak of her in your presence.

You gulped harshly, shifting on the couch. The material under your body is clinging onto your skin somehow. It’s a normal reaction right or maybe you’re overthinking. It must be the alcohol seeping into your system already even though you hadn’t taken a sip yet.

“We both got caught up in work so we had to reschedule but I had to be the bearer of bad news and when I had to break it to her, of course she was upset”

“I’m actually surprised she didn’t complain to you about it. She made it very known that she was upset at me and her mother” Jay sadly chuckled to himself, his eyes trained on the wine glass

“It’s not your fault” He quickly looked to you surprised to see the disagreement of opinion, “I mean- There’s some things that we can’t control”

“Especially when you and your wife work-”

“She’s not my wife”

Defying silence surrounds you and Jay. He was quick to rebuttal the assumption and it tingles something in your gut.

“Me and her mother co-parent. We were young and reckless and everything just happened before we even realized it and now we have our precious little girl” Jay chuckled looking up from the wine glass to look at you, a certain glint in his eyes.

“But we’re not- I’m not married”

You couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were enticing, captivating you deeper into the very thing you were holding yourself back from. Jay’s eyes never faltered from yours and you wondered how.

Trying to snap yourself from the moment to ground yourself in reality because even if he wasn’t married—Just co-parenting, he has to be seeing someone.

“O-Oh I see” You said, his eyes boring straight into yours

You harshly gulped while trying to ignore the bubbling warmth of hope soaring through you. A voice deep inside your mind voicing out your deepest desires.

Feeling as if Jay could see right through you and hear these thoughts made you shift in your spot again. What if he could hear them? What if he thinks it’s strange?

Through the slimmest possible lens, what if he felt the same way.

“Still don’t blame yourself for it… I’m sure she’ll understand sooner or later. Maybe take her out to help somewhat ease the situation until you and uhm her mother can take her out” You offered some advice as best as you could

Jay remained silent listening to you. His eyes finally look away from you and you let out a silent sigh of relief from the release of his hard gaze.

“Taking her out…” Jay’s voice was barely above a whisper, he twirled the wine once again deep in thought

You stared at him, anticipation slipping deep into each crevice as possible in you until he spoke up again with his eyes looking back up to you, “Definitely will have to do that”

There felt more to his words than the surfacing original topic of it yet, you couldn’t place your finger on it.

“You know she talks about you a lot” You were the one to look at him in shock

“Really? I hope it’s good thi-”

“Always” He interrupted taking another sip of the alcoholic drink to slip past in his throat, “It’s always good things” He smiled towards and there was the same warmth you felt whenever you with him grow 10 folds

“I’ve been meaning to give this to you. I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long please forgive me” Jay shuffled through his discarded jacket before pulling out an envelope leaning over to slide it over to you

“Wha-” His shirt fell just enough that if you dared to look longer you could see the necklace dangling and past it was his sculpted chest

You pulled your eyes to the envelope and grabbed it with shaky hands trying to hold back from showing the burning of your cheeks. Your palm clammy trying to open the envelope but slipping every time.

You continued to try opening the envelope but soon Jay’s calloused warm hands engulfed yours. You jumped at the sudden contact but not enough to pull your hands away. Looking up to him, his face is daringly close to yours.

Able to feel his breath brush against yours, you smelled the hint of wine but it made your insides churn in a rather dark way instead.

“Slow doll” His voice slurred and fluttering, “Take it nice and slow”

His fingers clasped over yours, guiding your movement in carefully opening the envelope. Holding your breath as he made your fingers slip into the envelope slowly slotting your fingers to grab the thin paper inside to pull out.

There was a slight shudder rumbling out of your breath causing him to slip up a smirk. Your eyes widen in pure shock as you read over the words on the paper or more like check.

A check written out to not even a hundred dollars but instead 2 thousand dollars.

“I-I- Jong-Jongseong”

Your mouth fell slack as you tried to find any words that could form at least anything in the slightest but nothing came out. “When are you free?” He whispered, his nose bumped against yours, his eyes looking deep and searching in yours

Your hands fell down with his on top, “I’d like to take you out”

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An all black outfit. The button up something you hadn’t seen before. It accented his shoulders that screamed to you, his daring built back that your fingers itched to claw at. His more relaxed but styled hair with the singular strand falling in front.

Jay looked so good but he wasn’t staying. Instead he was going out while you were staying at his place to babysit his daughter like you always do.

And yet, selfishly you should’ve made some lie that you were busy and wouldn’t be able to babysit his daughter.

But the look in his eyes swooned you and the silent hidden excitement from him landed you right on his couch with his daughter plastered against your side having to watch her dad finish getting ready.

“Please call in case of anything. It’s just some job party, nothing important. They always host them” He rambled trying to diminish the past excitement he had, “Actually you know what? I’m not going anywhere, I’ll just stay with you both” Jay said beginning to take off his watch

“Jay” You simply said which made him stop, he looked over to you letting out a deep sigh, “Go to it. When was the last time you were able to enjoy yourself?”

Two weeks ago when I took you out is what he would’ve said if he had the courage to.

That day two weeks ago had been the highlight of his social life that he’s had in years. Always being so focused on working and taking care of his daughter, he never paid attention to anything outside of it until you came into the picture.

He can remember it so vividly almost as if he were to be reliving it again. Your sweet smile greeting him and his daughter. “Hi” He breathlessly let out seeing you

He awkwardly fumbled with his suit as you took notice of his different style of hair different from the usual one you see him in. Instead of the usual strict sleek hair, it was loosely done, his hair moved to each side to expose his forehead slightly.

“Hi miss!” You looked down to see his daughter dressed up as she crashed her body onto your body in a bear-like hug looking up to you with sparkly eyes

Letting out a heartfelt chuckle, you stroked her head before looking up to Jay with a gentle expression. He’s never been bothered with seeing others with daughter and yet, everytime with you, he feels a twinge twist in his chest watching you and his daughter.

“Daddy give her your gift!” His daughter chirped making him flinch at the sudden spotlight on him, you tilted your head in confusion and he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck before straining out a laugh

He pulled a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and your smile dropped before quickly growing into a bigger one. You nipped at your lip to hold it back anymore but it was near impossible.

“Guess the surprise is ruined” He softly murmur but you shook your head at his words and grabbed the bouquet

“It caught me off guard so I think it’s a success” You chuckled before grasping the bouquet, “They’re beautiful” You admired the flowers while he only looked at you

Jay was floored. “Yeah I know” He mumbled under his breath going unnoticed by you

“Thank you Jay” You looked up to catch him staring at you with a certain sparkle as he looked at you, he let out his own smile and if it wasn't for his daughter tugging at his hand, he wouldn’t have gotten out of the daze he was in any time soon

Instinctively looking at his daughter, he gave two fingers for her to hold and she looked over to you with her hand open. Instantly you knew what she wanted and allowed her to grasp your fingers.

“Let’s head out shall we? Our reservation is soon-”

“Daddy worked hard!” His daughter chipped in cutting him off, “Always on the phone talking to people for it” His daughter spoke making the tips of Jay’s ears turn bright red as you stifled a laugh

“Oh did he now?” You raised an eyebrow looking over to Jay who hadn’t said a single thing to rebuttal the accusation, it was true, he wasn’t going to deny it

He wanted everything to be perfect and by the end of it, it was indeed perfect. Jay held his sleeping daughter in his arms, your hand wrapped around his bicep able to feel the slight bulge of it as he walked you to your front door.

Jay felt accomplished. The day was filled with nothing but laughter and chatter minus the exception of sudden silence when many people mistaken them as a beautiful loving family out to dinner which always left Jay in a ringing frenzy until you snapped him out of it everytime.

He didn’t know why the usage of family with you, to have you be mistaken as the mother of his daughter or as his wife left him hot and his heart pattering against his chest.

“Thank you Jay for today. I had such a wonderful time” You smiled brightly and he was growing too accustomed to see your beautiful smile towards him

“It was my pleasure” He gave a tight smile as he felt sudden jitters all around, “I’m sure she enjoyed it too” He gestured towards his sleeping daughter

You nodded your head, a look of contemplation in your eyes before unlocking your door but right before you opened it, you quickly spun around and planted a peck on his cheek before fumbling with the door behind you.

Jay froze for a moment and just before you could slip through his fingers he strangled out a sound to stop you. You turned around, a faint dust of blush heating your cheeks as you lowered your gaze.

He gulped harshly not thinking this far ahead but knowing he had to come up with something, “I-I uhm if you want to of course- I’d like to take you again” He jumbled his words together until some sentence was formed

He anxiously looked at your dropped expression as you raised your head to look at him and he’ll never be able to forget the chuckle you let out as you nodded your head softly biting back your smile.

The beating of his heart reminded him of what it was like to feel like a little kid having their first crush ever all over again. It never bothered him not feeling this in a long time but now being able to experience it again, it felt nice.

And yet, somehow he never managed to gain any courage to see when you were free. Excusing it to be poor scheduling with his working hours and you taking care of his daughter and schooling hours with the very few work hours you snagged just for extra pocket money even when he offered to pay triple the amount he’s been already paying you—Which was nearly 3 thousand dollars daily.

Money is not an issue for Jay, never has been and never will be and he’s more than willing to cover all and any expenses you may have. His only issue is not nearly having enough courage to ask you again.

“Don’t worry about us, you know we always have our own fun here. Go have yours” Your reassuring voice reminded him of reality as you smiled through a fake smile

As wonderful the idea was if Jay stayed in that exact same outfit and didn’t go out for everyone to throw themselves at him. You knew it was unreasonable, these job parties are probably hosted in the first place with hopes that he shows up to at least one of them.

Ignoring the bubbling gnaw in your stomach twisting your stomach inside and out, Jay lets out a defeat sigh, clicking his watch back on and dusting off the imaginary dust off his clothes.

“Say goodbye” You whispered and Jay’s daughter smiled widely waving goodbye to her dad who stared at her and you in complete awe

He walked over, his hand resting on the armchair and leaning down to kiss his daughter on the forehead. In the process the same musk cologne filled your nose making your head dizzy and having him in closer proximity made your heart thump out of your chest.

His side profile was nothing but sheer perfection. You nibbled at your lip as you examined his features up close, always finding yourself in this very position. And yet, he was beyond reach.

Your lips tugged downwards but tried to replace it with a smile when Jay pulled away and looked over to you. His eyes boring into your wavering ones like usual, there was a split moment of hesitance. You gulped trying to ignore the patter of your heart.

Instead of saying goodbye, Jay’s breath shakily fanned yours with a staggering thing smile plastering on his face, “See you soon”

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He expected the party to loosen every fiber in his body but instead his emotions were only heightened ten folds. Every passing second he’s looking at his watch counting down the milliseconds waiting for what seems like a reasonable time to leave.

Sighing heavily, he shakes his head. He shouldn’t have listened to you. He’d rather spend tonight with you and his daughter watching whatever you guys put on.

Swashing the drink in hand not having taken a single sip from the moment he arrived, his arms resting against the rail as he overlooked to see everyone enjoying themselves. He let out another heavy sigh just to check his watch again.

“Mr. Park you look tensed” He looked up to see his employee leaning against the rail next to him giving him a sly smile

Being the boss he is, he dropped his sullen face to give a professional smile. “Do I?” He sucked his teeth letting out a quick stifle laugh

She giggled at his remark like it was the funniest thing ever said, “Is it perhaps about your daughter?” She tilted her head and Jay didn’t like the fact she carelessly mentions his daughter

However, giving the benefit of the doubt, he assumes it must be the alcohol in her system noticing the nearly empty glass at hand.

He lets out an awkward laugh and tilts his head to the side giving no response. “Or is there stuff happening at home? Y’know I would love to help out in anyway I can Mr. Park” The employee rubbed her hand up and down his arm slurring her words together

His eyes followed her movements and carefully pulled his arm away checking the time, “Will you look at that I have to get back home to my girls”

“Your girls?” The employee muttered to herself in confusion but she wasn’t able to dwell on it anymore when Jay took away the glass with a small smile

“Don’t drink anymore tonight. Make sure to rest properly and take some medicine in the morning” Jay nodded his head and easily turned his heel walking past the other employees who all wondered where he was going but none dared to ask

It didn’t take long for Jay to get back to his but on the drive home, he was in pure contemplation. His elbow resting on the open window, feeling the night breeze fanning his face as his fingers played with his lips.

He possibly couldn’t. He shouldn’t even be thinking about you in this light and yet every time he sees you, he feels like he’s experiencing his first crush all over again.

Jay rushed out of his car once he parked it. Standing outside his front door, his hand raised to softly knock against it. After a few seconds of waiting which felt like an eternity. The door opened with your soft voice. “Jongseong?”

Right when the door was opened wide enough, Jay stepped in not forgetting to lock the door behind him. He knew his daughter was fast asleep considering the time. It was just you and him.

You stared at Jay confused at the lack of response from him but you gasped when he suddenly grasped your hands, feeling the familiar calloused feel of them scratching your skin.

He looked deeply into your eyes and you nearly felt your heart burst out of your chest. There’s always been an underlying feeling that’s been infiltrating him from the moment he first met you.

A pretty, money struggling woman that he wants as his to bask away into the sunset and take care of forever.

Jay’s hand held your lower back, his other hand holding the middle of your back flushing you against his. You let out a small squeal the moment your bodies clashed. His breath fanned over yours and the very faint smell of the musk cologne caused a shiver to run up your spine.

You’ve never seen him like this. So raw with emotion, yearning eyes, a tug at his lips. “Ja-Jay?- Jongseong?” You stuttered not knowing how to address him in this moment, your heart thumping out of your chest

He drew in closer, his lips closing in on yours, “Call me Jay. Call me Jongseong. You can call me whatever you want”

“Just call out to me” You felt his lips grazing yours before he softly planted them against each other

Your squished hands shivered but they carefully climbed higher until they reached his sharp jaw as you pushed further into his lips. Jay let out a pleased sigh feeling the reciprocation. His hand on your mid back traveled to grasp the back of your head.

His hands turned your body, his body filling in any empty space that dared to be left behind. Your hands squeeze in between under his arms, grasping onto the behind his shoulders in a desperate need.

Your mind was reeling, not a single thought in it besides the dad—The hot dad next door, Park Jongseong.

His tongue gilded against your lip, begging for entrance. You easily allowed him to explore your mouth. His teeth tugging at your bottom lip in a haste making your squeal.

“Going to have to be a quiet doll” However, he wasn’t sure if he could keep up with his own words, Jay felt drunk when he was kissing you

Your lips grew swollen from how long he’s been kissing you but not once did he stop, the lack of oxygen would never stop him from kissing you.

The tips of your fingers dug deeper into his shoulder causing him to let out a loan groan at the feel. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was how badly he wants to make you his.

Jay’s arms loosened around your body enough to make his hands land on your hips to carefully guide your body deeper into his home that now always welcomes you in.

You allowed yourself to melt in his embrace. Every touch felt like fire against your skin, your arms flailed to wrap around his neck making sure not even for a second did his lip ever leave yours. Your teasing fingertips entangled in his hair.

Jay bit your lip to keep himself silent through the dizzy feeling of your tugs. The moment you reached his bedroom, the door closed shut as he quickly pushed you onto his bed, never detaching his mouth from yours.

His body slotted between your legs, as you wrapped around him. Holding him to keep him close—daring for him to get farther than just a few centimeters away only to drag him back in.

The feel of lightheadedness was finally catching up, through the few milliseconds that you both stopped to change positions were you able to properly breathe but it was taken away when Jay crashed his lips back onto yours.

The same repeated motions felt like an eternity that you never wanted to escape from. Jay’s hands holding your waist tightly while yours traveled playing with the back hairs loving how they run perfectly in between.

Jay’s been kissing you like a starved man who has been deprived of any sense of touch for so long which wasn’t far from the truth. One final tug at your lips before the wave of air filled your lungs through a loud pant.

Gasping for air contrasted the pucker of your lips ushering more kisses. Jay let out a deep chuckle, his thumb rubbing at your sides now planting softer pecks on your lips with a side smile tugging at his lips.

“More” Your voice slurred, “Please”

Your breathless pleas only fueled him further. Who was he to deny your desperate pleas.

“Talk to me. What do you want, doll?” He hummed in the juncture of your neck, his mouth leaving feathering kisses in its wake

The simple nickname leads to the attempt to squish your legs together, forgetting how Jay rested in the middle. He caught your attempt and let out a chuckle.

“You like being called doll or do you like the fact that you’re my doll? Which one is it, mhm?” An unexplainable courage taking over him that he couldn’t remember why he didn’t ask you out from the moment he knew what he wanted

You could feel the smirk radiating off of him and you rolled your eyes which didn’t go unnoticed by him. He sucked in his teeth, his hand grabbing your chin with force to make you look at him.

“Now don’t be a brat” He tooted before letting out a smirk, “Use your big girl words, which is it?”

Already have succumbed to him and his words from the moment you saw him standing at your front door. “Your doll” You softly said

Pleased with the words, he let go of your chin to capture your lips with his, the kiss softer than the first one. His hand gilded higher up your side. You moaned in the kiss, happy to feel his lips on yours again.

Your hands wrapped around his neck to keep him in place, “Let me spoil you” He murmured, your lips grew in a smirk which he felt, his hand tightened on your waist as if in a warming

Pulling away with a heavy pant, you looked up to him with curious eyes which captivated him, “I spend a lot of money you know” You snapped your fingers, “Just like that…” Your voice becoming lower than the last

Jay let out a laugh, his head dropping, “Well can you waste my money as quickly as I earn it?” His head raised when he questioned you

You froze at the retaliation. You nervously gulped before letting out a shy smile. You shook your head. Jay hummed in satisfaction at the response before planting kisses at the side of your neck. “Didn’t think so”

Closing your eyes, you lose yourself in the sensation. Your body contorted with each of his feather kisses, you bit your lip loving each second of his mouth on your body.

While they moved lower and lower while his hands managed to slip under your shirt feeling your burning bare skin under his touch. You let out a louder gasp than intended when you felt his hand cup at your breast through your bra.

Your eyes shot open only to see Jay looking up to you with a gleam and smirk written all over his face. His hand dragged from under your shirt to your legs, his fingertips gliding until he reached the waist of your pants.

You let out a shaky breath, his eyes pleading for permission. You slowly nodded your head. “What a good girl” He whispered the praise before dragging your pants down

The air caught in your throat but quickly noticing how he was leaving the sticky undergarment clinging to you, you stopped his hands from moving any further.

Jay immediately stopped and looked at you with worried eyes. He retracted his hands away and began to pull away but right when he was going to speak, you engulfed his hands to bring them back.

Stretching out his fingers, you looped them under to grab everything. Jay froze feeling the fabric of your underwear at his fingertips. He looked away with wide eyes to you but you gave a reassuring smile before allowing yourself to melt back into his bed.

“Don’t be so shy” You whispered loud enough for him to hear, he let out strained chuckle before nodding his head

He pulled down every piece of fabric in one motion. You unconsciously squished your legs together, “It’s okay. You don’t have to do a single thing. I’ll take care of you” He softly reassured as he pried open your knees to expose you to him

You closed your eyes shut while your hands fisted at his sheets. Jay’s eyes zeroed in on the glistening entrance that invited him to devour. Opening his mouth with a big breath, he went in and placed an open mouth kiss on your core.

You squealed and jumped from the contact but Jay hooked his arms under your legs before you could fully pull away from him. He groaned at the taste of your captivating arousal on his taste buds. His tongue glided over your folds lathering and mixing his saliva with your arousal.

“Jong-Jay” You breathlessly let out as one of your hands grabbed a fist full of hair, tugging at it while Jay’s mouth sucked and sucked practically all wetness from you

Jay’s groan vibrated from your core all the way to your head, infiltrating it with ease. No response to your calls of his name as he continued to lap at your pussy. Shivering with each kiss and suck, you let out a loud gasp when you felt the intrusion of his tongue teasing your gaping hole.

Jay immediately pulled away, the string of saliva connecting his mouth to your soaked smeared entrance, you nearly came to the scene.

“Shhh, you have to be quite” He brought a single finger over his mouth, a smirk played on his mouth seeing the fading string on his lips, his finger glided over his swollen mouth

It collected all that was left over and Jay brought the finger into his mouth, tasting the lovely essence of you. He lightly hummed before bringing his finger out and gliding it over your mouth. “Open” The tone stern made you listen without hesitance

Seeing how easily you opened your mouth to welcome the singular finger in without any resistance had his pants grow tighter. Your tongue swirled around his finger, your eyes never letting go with his. He smirked wildly as he pushed his finger further down your throat.

A dark cloud consumed his mind. The rationality he tried to maintain drifted further away. You tried to take as much as you could, feeling how his fingers went further down.

“Looks like you can take stuff well” Jay sneered, a crazed looked in his eyes before you began choking on his finger, feeling the flesh reaching the back of your throat

Pulling his finger away, your mouth closed in on it, letting it out with a pop when his finger left the warmth of your mouth. His finger now covered in your saliva, he admired it.

Looking back at you only to see the wide hopeful eyes you stared at him with a loopy smile. “Beautiful” He whispered softly to himself before lowering his head back down

Expecting or more like anticipating the feel of his mouth again, you let out a louder gasp at the slip of his two fingers into your gaping hole. “Was just calling to be filled. I couldn’t ignore it” Jay muttered breathlessly as your walls clenched around him, “I promised to take care of you, didn’t I?”

“J-Jay” Your hand tried to grappled with his wrist but the drag of fingers near lying slipping out just to slip back him made you stop

Knuckles deep into you, he pulled out again just to shove them back in, repeating the same motion over and over again. The squelch of your arousal and the quiet pants let out, your mind became hazy quickly, “Quiet doll” Jay whispered

Before you could retain a sense of awareness to respond, his mouth attached to your swollen begging bundle of nerves and the first suck made you let out a loud moan.

Your hand flew to cover your mouth and with wide eyes you stared at Jay who froze. The single beautiful noise he heard made him smile against you.

He looked to see you covering your mouth, worried filling your eyes. Your chest rising and dropping. His freehand traveled up to replace your hand with his own. His thumb stroked your cheek, a sharp look in his eyes.

Maintaining a good pace, his fingers pumped into your welcoming entrance, never forgetting to curl and scissor you open. You let your moans fall into his hand, muffled more and more, the more he pressed down harder.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head feeling the flick of his tongue on your clit as if it were the sweetest treat to ever exist. The stimulation made you shake and back arch just for him. Breathing as best as you could through your nose with each calculated and careful rub to the nerves had you fisting fisting at his hair while your legs wrapped around his head latching him onto your pussy.

“So fucking sweet” He murmured to your muffled moans, “Give it to me. Be a good girl” He knew you were on the edge, the pulse of you around his fingers was the near indicator, sucking him more and deeper into you

“Jay” You wail in his mouth before lightly biting on his palm to keep quiet as best as you could, “Ja-Jongseong!” You let out louder when suddenly a gush of release shot out of you as you came over his fingers with a tight clench that forced his fingers out of you

Jay moved his fingers over your folds encouraging more of your juices to be released as he slurped as much out of your leaking entrance as he could, not wanting a single thing to go to waste. His tongue only add more to your sensitivity as you body contorted even after it finally came to a stop, “Helping you out” The kisses were only constant while your whines and heavy pants continued, combining together

He stopped with one final kiss before finally pulling away and releasing your mouth from his hand. Your mind trying to comprehend and come down from the new height of pleasure, you let out a loud relieved sigh with a hidden shudder of satisfaction.

Seeing his smeared cover chin and loopy smile he had on his face made your chest flutter, “You okay there?” Jay lightly chuckled at your weak nod, “Big girl words doll. You know how to use them” Jay rose to hover above you

“Fuck me Jay”

Jay smirked letting out a hiss “Wasted no time and used such nasty words”

“Think you can be quiet for me?” Jay hummed trickled down your mind straight to your pulsating hole waiting to be filled

Nodding your head quickly and covering your mouth with your own hands made Jay’s lips tug to the side in pleasure. Jay fumbled with his belt, his eyes never leaving your lingering one and managed to free himself from the restraints of his pants with a strained sigh.

Your eyes widened zeroing in on the prominent bulge that was daring to burst any second, “Let me help you” He whispered replacing your hand with his

Titling his head to the side admiring the scene beneath him. Sprawled onto his messed up sheets that he’ll have to change after this, a daze filled look in your eye and his hand lightly covering your mouth.

Jay used his freehand as best as he could to free his raging hard-on that’s been deprived for many years. Your eyes watched his every move to see how his cock sprung against his abdomen, having your jaw drop. A very much leaking tip and small twitches at the freedom and something that was big—very big.

He felt the slack of your mouth and chuckled to himself feeling the pride swell his chest. “What’s wrong doll?” He murmured when removing his hand waiting for some type of response

Your mouth opened and closed trying to form some type of articulating thought but nothing came out. “Think you can handle all of it? Can you think of taking me all in here mhmm?” Jay’s hand rubbed over your stomach in a slow manner

“Think you can be a good girl and stay quiet while I fuck you senseless?”

You were able to feel the thumping against your chest that you feared he would be able to hear. You don’t think in your wildest dreams would you be able to take someone like Jay. Yet, now in your wildest reality, you’ll try—well more like you will.

You tugged at Jay’s forearm whilst maintaining eye contact with him. The soft tug at your bottom lip as you threaded his hand to cover your mouth. You nodded your head as your eyes looked at him with greed. “Why don’t you find out?”

To your shock, Jay softly tugged his arm away from your hold. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tapped at your leg, “Turn around”

Seeming getting used to your jaw falling slack, you looked at him in shock but didn’t hear an ounce of sputter in his tone. Not wanting to risk being left all hot and bothered even though you knew Jay wouldn’t dare. You were not testing his patience today.

With a harsh gulp, you flipped your body over. Jay’s hands hovering over your hips before tugging them up before you could fully lay them onto his bed. Your upper body pressed into the mattress, feeling the messed up sheets sticking to the side of your face.

Your hands fisted at the sheets at the new exposure you had for him while your cheeks burned in shyness. He rubbed your hips in awe, pulling one of your cheeks to the side to get a glimpse of the arousal covered crevice. “Is this all for me doll?”

“A-All for you. Just you”

His other hand grabbed the heft into his palm before aligning at your entrance. “Remember to keep quiet” He reminded, “Take a nice big deep breath for me”

You followed his instructions but before you could fully respond you felt the larger intrusion of his tip to your gaping hole making you silently gasp. The stretch compared to nothing you’ve ever felt before and would possibly never.

“Fuck” You breathlessly let out as Jay continued to sink himself deeper

Jay tried his best to not ram himself entirely into the delicious confinement you provided but it called for him—while sucking and welcoming him inside.

“S-shit taking me so good” He muttered as quietly as he could, “Could stay inside you forever”

You felt like you were being split in half just by his cock alone. Your ragged breaths followed after another trying to remember Jay’s advice and not get lost in the sensation.

You peered over your shoulder as best as you could to see how Jay’s looked to where he entered you. The sheer concentration and control made your mind stutter.

Without a warning, in a single thrust, your body jolted forward and you felt full. You gasped loudly, the sheets crumbling more under your clamped hands and body. Your lip shivered as you tried to keep your noises to a minimum.

“J-Jay” Your voice cracked trying to get adjusted to your walls being so stretched out by him

“It’s okay, I got you” His reassurance filled your chest with warmth, taking a few breaths to regulate your body, you weakly nodded your head as you dug your head into the mattress to muffle yourself, “So good for me” He uttered softly tracing your back

Moving his hips once, he quickly got lost in the sense of you wrapped around him. His thrust left you nearly empty only to be filled the next second. Each precise move was calculated to each maximum pleasure possible for you. Nearly able to feel his tip already hitting deep to your g-spot, poking to your insides in a teasing manner.

Your muffled moans fueled Jay further to the edge. He gripped at your hips, his slow pace now picking up only slightly. You were taking all of him and he never felt prouder. “Taking me like such a good girl, so damn proud of you”

Feeling like your head was submerged in water, you relished in his praise. The senses that were always on high alert whenever he was around came crumbling down and became filled with him.

“F-for you” You blabbed against the sheets and Jay managed to hear it making him tap at your lower back as he carefully placed his body onto of yours to melt as one

Each thrust led you further into the mattress, your mouth opened leaving small moans in its wake, leaving your mind blank to only focus on the fulfillment you had inside.

Turning your head to the side, you let out whined filled pants. “Take it doll- Not a fucking sound” Jay grunted darkly into your ear

Your mind tried to recall the words just said to you. But deeper and stronger was the desire to let Jay know how he was making you feel. Feeling you clamp around him harder and the silent pants soon became quiet moans.

“T-Too good. ‘m sorry” You mewled as he continued to thrust into you, “So good, can-can’t help it” Your body meshed as he continued

You took a loud deep breath while a whine rumbled out of your chest when he suddenly stopped his thrust, “As much as I would love to hear you” Jay’s sudden harsh thrust caught you off guard with a yelp, “You need to be quiet” Each word followed by another harsh thrust that touched nearly every thing imaginable inside of you

Your broken wails were muffled by the bedding once again. Seeing the recoil of when he and you meet only fueled a carnal desire in him more. “Gonna breed your sweet pussy doll”

“You’ll be so full of me…Will you like that?” Jay grunts having the calculated thrust embodied your mind and body just for him

His words added to the fire that was consuming your body whole. You nodded your head roughly. “Remember what I said. Big girl words” Jay’s voice lulled into your ear, “Want me to fill you up that’ll you feel it inside of you? Until it’s moving around in you with each step you take?”

The obscene noises only grew louder against his bed as you tried to form a proper sentence to please Jay. “Y-yes” You pleaded as best as you could, “Please Ja-Jay”

“Whatever you ask for doll” Jay snapped his hips harsher, as you clawed at the sheets for support, “Taking me so fucking good- Bet you’ll take everything I give you”

You weakly nodded your head, “Will- F-For you” You murmured

His thrust grew frantic and irregular, his constant grunts filled your ears. The more you clamped around him, not daring to let him go of the welcoming embrace you had around him drew him nearer his organsm.

“Doin’ so good for me” His hand held onto your body when he felt you tightened as you let out the loudest moan of the night as you came all over his cock

Your body shivered as you entered a state of pure bliss. “Take it- Just a little more for me- C’mon doll” His praises slipped passed your gaze and deep into your heart making the clench you had on Jay limit his range of motion but it was enough to have him snap and paint your pink velvet walls white of him.

A low groan slipped his mouth as he halted his thrust to properly fill you to the brim just like how he promised. He watched how you pulsed around him but none of the cum dared to fall out as you took everything he split into you.

Jay’s chest rose up and down, softly pulling out his semi hard cock out of you hearing the small hiss you let out at the sudden emptiness. Your body laid face first on his bed, your body rising and falling with each heavy pant. He smiled softly as he helped you turn your body around to face him.

There he realized his biggest mistake as he saw you masked in an afterglow. Your mouth was slack slightly opened, quiet whines fell out every now and then, your half lidded eyes staring up at him.

His eyes traveled to where he once was inside of you to see the few clumps of cum that spilled out. He cooed before quickly scooping whatever he could to sleek it over your folds before pushing it back in where he left it.

You whined loudly and slightly jolted at your sensitivity being tested when his fingers entered you again. “You did so good for me- Such a good girl for me fuck… I’m so proud of you” Jay planted a messy peck against your cheek, “Let’s get you cleaned up” He whispered

As he was going to remove his fingers out of you, you consciously tightened around them. You lazily shook your head unable to articulate proper sentences that wouldn’t lead you back on his cock again which ultimately failed, “Want your cock” You slurred catching Jay off guard as he let out a strained cough

“Wha-What was that doll?”

“I want your cock again sir”

Like a switch went off in his head. Jay’s demeanor changed. Never knowing the single usage of sir could alter his mind forever. Instantly needing to give you more—more than anything you could ever ask for, wanting to spoil you rotten until you grow sick and tired of him.

He needs to fill you up until you possibly couldn’t hold any more of his cum in you. Softly prying your legs open, he aligned himself at your entrance again gaining your attention at how he easily complied to your request. “No need to ask me twice doll”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The faint bristle of wind coming in through the slightly ajared window, the direct sunlight shining through caused Jay’s face to flinch before groggily opening his eyes with a low groan.

Normally, his daughter jumps on his bed to wake him from dreamless sleep during the weekends. Yet, it was different this time. He managed to wake up on his own to no ruckus but instead a peaceful morning.

Attempting to stretch out his limbs to release some of the tension and drowsiness from it, he stops when he hears the muffled grumbles and faint sound of crinkling sheets. Tilting his head to the side, there he saw you and his daughter basked in the sunlight right next to him.

His daughter coddled in between while you laid against his numb arm, both sound asleep. He fondly smiled to himself before placing soft kisses on each of your foreheads, careful to not stir either of you awake. This was all he could have ever dreamed of.

“My beautiful girls”

——

[cayleeuhithinknott]

— dom!matt puts his camera to a different use. . .

“holy fuck…” matt hisses, voice raspy as he tips his head back in ecstasy. he knows if he looks down into the viewfinder of the camera, he’s absolutely fucked.

it was his idea in the first place. to record you while you sucked him off. said he wanted you to know sexy you looked on your knees with his cock in your mouth. and who are you to turn down an opportunity like that?

so, here you are, on your knees, lips stretched around matt’s length. he’s already cum down your throat once, hence the tear stains on your cheeks and the abundant amount of drool seeping past your lips.

matt’s got one hand positioned on the back of your head, the other shakily holding the camera peering down at you. both of your hands are firmly planted on his thighs for support.

he thrusts his hips forward at a faster pace now, tip hitting the bruised spot in the back of your throat again and again. this elicits a deep groan from matt and a pathetically strangled, garbled noise from you.

“shit—take this cock so well, hm, baby?” matt mocks, his voice shaky with pleasure. “yeah, you do…little cockslut,” he adds, earning a choked whine from you, which is cut off when his tip bumps the back of your throat once again. matt chuckles, “knew you wouldn’t turn down my idea. i know how—fuck—how much you love having my dick stuffed down your throat.”

your face burns to the hue of a cherry, and your eyes fleet up to the camera, then up to his face—which is turned away. he knew if he took one look down at you, he’d cum. and he wanted this to last a little longer.

matt brutally thrusts his hips forward, to which you choke on a whimper. “shit. i-i’m sorry, baby, i just gotta—fuck,” his hips stutter momentarily, before he picks his pace back up, “just tap my thigh if s’too much.”

and that’s when you knew he was gonna start getting rough.

he holds your head still, forcefully jamming his cock in and out of your mouth. and you were loving it. “such a slut…gettin’ your face fucked for the camera.” he growls raspily. more saliva drips down your chin, mingling with the tears streaming down your face, dripping down onto your bare chest.

you’re completely soaked, feeling yourself throbbing as matt brutally face fucks you. “fuuuck, gonna cum all over that pretty face, baby,” matt pulls out, and before you can take a breath, “tongue out.”

you do as your told, sticking your tongue out and looking up at his face. matt’s eyes finally land on you as he tilts the camera down at your face. he jerks his cock a few times before feeling his balls draw tight, spurts of cum landing mostly on your face, very little of it actually making it onto your tongue. you swallow what you can.

“so pretty with my cum all over your face,” matt comments in adoration, making you giggle. “smile for the camera, baby.”

and you do, your lips curling up into a cheeky smile as you stick your tongue out once more and hear a click from the camera, followed by a soft beep.

author’s note. . . hi enjoy this short nonsense while i write some other stuff! i have written so much sub!matt that im really bad at writing dom!matt now…thanks to bae @strnilolover for the idea!! sorry this sucks and is literally so short

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