#client: (says nothing for the next DAY)

[kibibarel]

clients love not reading the emails you send them, it's their favorite hobby

[thbbie]

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who finally, after countless conversations, quits his soul-sucking job

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who quickly adjusts to his new life but still keeps some of the habits the have cemented in him over the years

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami finally has the time to read the books he's been collecting over the years, sitting comfortably on your big leather couch with his glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose and his hair natural

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami likes to talk about the books he's read over dinner with you, but really, he loves to talk about anything with you. your day at work, the next bread recipe he wants to try, the couple you saw arguing on the train. nothing could ever bore him if it was coming from you

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami makes sure that he wakes up before you everyday to make you a good breakfast (and make sure you eat it) and to pack your lunch

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami comes back to the bedroom to find you still resting, he glances at the little clock on your bedside and sees that your alarm is set to go off in a few minutes

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami cancels it and lays on his front in between your legs. caressing them softly as he spreads them to slip you pj bottoms off

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami always makes sure your day starts with a good orgasm. his tongue working on you gently coaxing you into waking up

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami starts to feel you stirring awake so he slips two fingers into your drippy pussy and moves to hover over you. pressing sweet messy kisses all over your face. "good morning, my love"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami doesn't speed up his fingers, he needs you to really feel this. he knows, better than anyone, how fast passed the rest of your day will be until you come back home to him.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who sends you out the door with a loving kiss to your lips and a sweet handwritten note in your lunch.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami spends his time alone taking care of as much as he possibly can so that when you get home he could focus on you completely

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami dresses much more casual now, but still he never looks underdressed or any less put together, somehow making old band t shirts and ugly sweaters look like the most elegant thing

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who never, never misses any of your work events. always showing up as the best dressed, not in the slightest because he cares for them or their opinion but because he never want you to think he's letting himself go or have you feel embarrassed of him (also because he likes the heart eyes you throw his was when he's all dressed up for you)

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami can feel the veins in his forehead when the both of you arrive and he's approached by some smug looking guy. you're snatched away by some colleagues to talk to some executives or clients or whoever . and the man that approached him extended hand introducing himself as your 'work husband'. now how crazy is that

pathetic as it maybe be ·˚ ༘ househusband nanami is still irked by him as he goes on and on about he good he is to you at work, "listen man, you've got nothing to worry about. when she's here i'm taking such good care of our wife. we make a good team taking care of our girl" he says it so casually; our wife. like it's the truest statement ever. who is our? team?? we?? girl?? what?

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami simply walks away from the conversation as the forgettable man blabs on, not dignifying any of nuisances words with a response or reaction — that would mean they meant something, and they do not. they meant absolutely nothing

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who knows you've told him about the insufferable coworker but he would've never guessed his sweet wife would have to deal with something this bad

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami finds you wrapping a up what is now doubt an important conversation. he comes behind you one of his hands resting on your lower back, the touch is polite but meaningful. symbolic

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami is seething but remains composed, watching with fond eyes as you excuse him and yourself from the conversation politely. it's no wonder you're doing so well at work . his chest swell with pride that he even gets to know you, to love you.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who leads you into the elevator without a word, not saying anything until you reach your destination; the roof. you could tell he wasn't mad (at you at least) simply assuming that maybe he needed some air, overwhelmed by the event.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami ever the gentlemen, leads you out into the open air, finally in the privacy of the roof, his lips come crashing into your own. reverent and needy, he's marking you, his woman. nanamis hands coming under your butt to carry you

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who takes you right there, right then, right on the open air rooftop. strangely the night sky, dirty roof, and lights form busy traffic somehow seeming like the most romantic thing but nanami just has that effect

"theree's my girl. always so hard working aren't you darling? so hard working for me and yet you still have to deal with idiots left and right. there you dove let go for me."

"mhmhm that's a good girl, nice and loud for me beautiful, nothing to be embarrassed about. i'm just making my lovely hardworking wife feel good"

"hah~ so hmmm~ so tight for me always. so good for your husband aren't you, allll for me."

"mmhph~ god, you take such good care of sweet thing, such such good care of me. always spoiling like the darling that you are. i take good care of you too don't i? yea? better than anyone else? mmm~ mhmm~ how good baby, i need you to show me."

"that right, my filthy girl. take it, allll for you. just for you. no one could ever make such a clever thing a leaky whiney mess hmm. my genius little dummy.♡"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami makes a mess of you, your clothing and hair disheveled, mascara smeared beneath your eyes and you're nodding along to everything he says "mhmhm ahhh~ all yours ken 'm hahh~ alll yours baby"

" g-good, so so good to me ken! you take the best ca-aghh~ f'me. the very best ken~ "

"no one else ken, j-just you. only you. alll f'you kenn~ ken im- im close."

"oh~ ken im~ mmmhm~ iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouilov-"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami fucks you gently through your high and his own, his head no longer tucked in the curve of your neck but holding your gaze now. panting into each others mouths as reassuring words mumbled into your skin. he's slowing down from the rough fast pace that had your insides churning and your toes curling in your heels with every thrust. the speed of the switch giving you whiplash

"i love you too dove. so so much"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami helps you fix up your disheveled appearance as best he can, kissing you gently as he does and helps you with the walk over to the elevator

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami is the one who politely excuses the two of you this time, your body slipped into his and your faced still flushed. when they ask he casually responds that you must've come down with something

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who leads you out to the car, one of his arms never leaving your side, holding your body that rests against his firmer one for support

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami catches your so called 'work husband' watching as the two of you are leaving, a stunned expression on the man's face. does he not know that husband and wife have sex?

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami only takes that as confirmation that clearly, he was never qualified to even be considered or think of himself as a possibility of being your 'husband', work or otherwise (no one is)

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami meets his gaze as he leans down to kiss your hair but his stare is unmoving, a sharp glare formed from his pretty brown eyes; one that says, this is my wife. my woman. you could never dream of reaching her level or having the absolute privilege to be calling her your girl.

[gifti3]

today i was losing my mind during work

[luvcaleb]

EYES ON ME.

nsfw (18+). i really did not mean for this to be a whole fic but i just kept typing. and typing. and typing... anyway, here are the usual cws: blowjob, cunnilingulus, corruption kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, marathon sex (sylus is starved), more yearning than you'd expect from a sugar daddy fic, and side note that sylus is older than you here (you decide how much lol). likes and reblogs will be very appreciated!

pov: you're a barista at the cafe sylus usually orders at and he overhears you saying you want to try being a sugar baby to make more money.

sylus generally avoids interacting with ordinary citizens. for one, they live in a separate world from him, and two, he'd rather not drag other people into unnecessary trouble.

you are no exception to this rule he placed upon himself. or at least, you should be.

but he can't help being drawn to your sunny smile, undeterred despite his intimidating appearance. he can't help but relax his shoulders when you greet him “welcome!” in a warm, gentle voice. he can't help but ask you how your day went, listen to your complaints, and chuckle fondly when you say something particularly funny.

and he can't help but notice how your sunny smile has diminished the past few weeks, weighed down by late nights and endless work juggling several part-time jobs to get by and pay the debt your father left behind.

so when he overhears you saying you want to try having a sugar daddy, he moves against his better judgment.

it's not hard to track you down in a shady site. even easier to lure you with an enticing price, better than any old, rich fool can offer.

and really, sylus doesn't plan on doing anything to you. this is somewhat like a donation, he convinces himself. that's all there is to it. he's not being possessive.

he pays you for your time. feels amused seeing you sit beside him with an almost visible question mark on your face, not knowing what to do. sure, you have a general idea what sugar babies do, but it was probably not simply watching an old romance movie while snacking on finger foods.

you think it must be some sort of foreplay, but he drives you home. the next time he calls you over, you eat together in a who-knows-how-many-stars restaurant in a tall skyscraper overlooking the city, which ends in a similar fashion. in the next, he takes you shopping and fills your closet with luxury brands, yet again ending the day with a drive to your shabby apartment.

and it's nice. it's really nice. to the point it's too good to be true. from the very beginning when you learned your client wasn't going to be an old geezer, you already thought you lucked out. but with sylus practically treating you as his girlfriend, leaving nothing to be desired, things couldn't be better. you can't even consider the possibility of being sylus's side chick that he's cheating with because there's nothing for him to gain from this arrangement. if you really think about it, sylus is basically throwing you all his money.

you think you can leave things like this. after all, you have nothing to complain about.

but on one of your gigs taking up a friend's waitress shift at a fancy restaurant, you see sylus with a woman.

they're both well-dressed. sylus always is, but now even more so with his styled hair and clean, crisp suit. the woman looks gorgeous in her champagne dress, all smooth silk and beautiful curves. the men around her can't help but stare.

he leads her to a table. pulls out her chair for her. smirks at her as they exchange friendly banter, looking like the picture-perfect couple.

a cold settles deep in your chest, even if you have no right to feel bad. you don't have the right to feel upset because it isn't like you're bound by any serious relationship.

but for the rest of the night, you try to avoid their table. you hope he hasn't taken notice of you, but that's probably wishful thinking considering you've felt an intense gaze on your back all this while.

eventually, they leave, and so do you. as you walk home, you try to dissect why you felt so awful. is it because he might cut you off now that he's interested in another woman? it must be. once he breaks off whatever you have, you're going to have a hard time finding someone else to mooch off of. you'll be back to the same old dreary lifestyle; the magic has worn off, and cinderella has to be miserable again.

but it isn't just that, even if it should be. you shouldn't feel so shitty seeing him with another girl if you only saw him as a client. somewhere along the line, you've started appreciating his quiet smiles, his teasing smirk, his kind gaze. there's something soft about his innocent touches, tucking your hair behind your ear or his thumb wiping away cake frosting on your cheek.

and you hate the idea of him doing all of that to that woman he was with.

“you should pay more attention to your surroundings, sweetheart.”

sylus interrupts your thoughts. you turn to look at the street beside you where you find sylus leaning against his car. waiting.

you hesitate only for a moment. you get in, and he drives you home. the silence is unsettlingly tense, so different from the comfortable quiet you've grown used to in your past drives.

eventually, you bring yourself to speak. “let's go to your house.”

sylus says, “i haven't asked for your services tonight.” it's soft, teasing, and most importantly, it's not a no.

the familiar manor comes into view, grand and imposing as always. he opens the car door for you. asks to carry your bag. unlocks the front door.

he drops it when you push him down the plush sofa, catching him by surprise. you've never quite seen him as stunned as he is now, stock still as you press your mouth against his. clumsy. unsure. yet eager. his fingers tangle in your hair, unmoving for just a moment, but soon he manages to tear himself away.

“i didn't ask for you to do this.”

he hasn't. he probably never intended to do this sort of thing in the first place.

but it isn't like he doesn't want to. his voice is strained. he's still holding you, as if afraid you'll pull away once you realize this is a bad idea. he's staring at you like you're the only thing that matters.

and you realize that you enjoy this attention. you like having his hands around you. you like him doting on you. you like him looking at you.

you don't want him to look at anyone else.

and, you come to realize, you want this just as much as he does.

---

there's a sense of clumsiness when you wrap your hands around his cock, hesitant and unpracticed. you seem as if you've never done this before. sylus should not be as thrilled as he feels at this discovery.

perhaps he should be a little turned off. but his dick feels the hardest it's ever been when you start giving kitten licks to his tip, innocently looking up at him through your lashes like you're asking for praise.

he murmurs filth under his breath when your lips close around his head, sucking at a spot that makes him shudder. he forces his hips to stay absolutely still even if he wants to destroy your throat. he can't afford to scare you away now. not when you're finally within his reach.

yet sylus can't help but run his hand through your hair, pulling you closer. making you take him in deeper. guiding your head as you bob up and down. you're gurgling around his cock, spit dripping from your mouth, tears in the corner of your eyes. so obviously struggling but still sucking more of him in, eager to please. you choke when his cock hits the back of your throat, and still, you hollow your cheeks, licking everywhere you could.

and that does it for him, making him finish much, much quicker than he means to. his cum fills your mouth, warm thick streams that overflow from your lips. he doesn't expect you to swallow, ready to catch with his palm, but you gulp it all down like a good girl.

sylus's chest fills with deep satisfaction. he tells you well-deserved praise as he showers your face with pecks, capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes bitter but oh so nauseatingly sweet.

he wants to reward you for being a good girl, you he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, pressing down on your thighs as he digs in. the first lick on your pretty pussy makes you yelp, legs kicking out in surprise. he gives your thighs a warning squeeze, and by the second, you're obediently staying as still as you can, whimpering to your palm.

you taste as sweet as you look, and sylus hums contently as he licks up all your slick and it never runs out. you moan so nicely for him when he laps at your clit, continuously flicking his tongue at the small bud, and you all but scream when he sucks it hard, tangling your fingers in his hair and jerking up your hips.

he doesn't complain when you ride his face, staring intently at your expression twisted in pleasure. your mouth is shaped around an ‘o’, eyes rolling back as he dares to slip his tongue inside your hole. he rubs your engorged clit with a rough thumb, fucking in and out your pussy with his tongue, groaning amidst the lewd symphony of squelches.

he hasn't planned on touching you, no. but he's thought of it countless times on nights he felt especially lonely after you left. imagined you on his lap, fondling your soft chest, playing with your cute pussy. he wondered what spots made you feel good, where you'd be sensitive. what faces you'd make when he touched them.

sylus doesn't have to wonder anymore, committing the sinful sight to memory. you've always been cute, but he thinks you're even more adorable now, squirming as he gently eases a finger inside you. you're wet enough to fit two, but it's still quite tight; it might take a while before you can take him in. he presses a reassuring kiss on your inner thigh when he finds your g-spot, telling you to stay still and be good.

so sylus spends a bit of time between your legs, adding more fingers as he laps away at your clit. at your first orgasm, he fucks you through it, not stopping his hand until the spray of cum has ceased. by the second, you've drenched his sheets and his arm, but by the way you're moaning his name almost incoherently, you don't want him to stop.

on the verge of a third, a fourth finger teasing at your entrance, you're begging him to fuck you. sylus has felt close to bursting for a while, so he doesn't complain. he rubs his cock between your wet folds, tapping at your clit with the head. slicking his cock with your juices as he marvels at how tiny you seem under him, the length of him intimidatingly massive laying on your stomach.

when he pops the tip of his cock inside, you clench around him immediately, warm and so goddamn tight. he can't slide it in one, smooth thrust; he fucks it inside bit by bit, observing your face for any signs of pain, but all he sees is a dazed, drooling slut, crying out his name and for him to put it all inside her. he shushes you, reasoning he has to be slow, but he's very well on the edge of his patience.

when his cock is halfway in, you turn into a shuddering, sobbing mess. his tip has poked somewhere sensitive, and when he grinds against it, you squirt hard, spraying cum on his abs. he laughs in disbelief, meanly rubbing tight circles on your clit to make your orgasm last longer.

once sylus has finally bottomed out, he whispers endless compliments to your ear, hands roaming around your skin. he can't stop his hips from thrusting, tirelessly fucking in and out of your soaked cunt with vigor he hasn't had in years. sylus doesn't consider himself the vocal type, but now he can't shut up about how pretty you are, how good and sweet you are for him. how nice and tight your cute pussy feels, how you're made to take in his huge cock.

he uses you the way he imagines in his dirty fantasies, like a whore he pays to bed. yet at the same time, you're his precious little princess, the one person he shouldn't hurt. the one person he should treat with utmost care. the one person that should stay untainted by the filthy world.

but you're moaning so loud, enjoying being his little slut. you want to be fucked hard and fast, fingerprints on your hips and waist. you want to be bred full of his cum and do it all over again. you want to be his.

so sylus takes you in all the ways he knows how. on your back. on your knees. on his lap. he lets you ride him, fucking up into your cunt when you get tired. he takes you against the wide, clear window panes, uncaring if someone might have seen. he fucks you while standing, holding up all of your weight, making you watch yourself on the mirror as he thrusts inside. he never once pulls out when he cums, your pussy crammed with his hot, milky loads.

you make a mess everywhere, but you don't have time to worry about it. you don't even worry about the chances of getting pregnant, being pumped full of sylus's cum. even if you did end up pregnant, sylus keeps going on and on about wanting you to be his pretty wife, that he won't let you want for nothing, that he'll provide for your every need if you'll just stay with him.

and in the face of his love, bordering on desperate obsession, you don't even know why you were ever worried about him falling for anyone else.

from the moment he laid eyes on you, he couldn't look away.

[monstersholygrail]

Rushing Rapids

Merman x fem!reader— teasing, wild sex, creampie, aftercare, and a little teasing of cumplay

You could count on one hand the number of times your Merman Boss has let you see his Merman form. Far too busy running a highly successful company, the man doesn't often have time for a dip in the water to let his true self out to shine.

In fact, it was your job as his bodyguard to make sure he didn't come into contact with any source of water. Even the slightest drop ends up triggering his tail and he's left stuck like that for hours. And while your boss has gone through countless bodyguards to fulfill this task, you've been by far the best.

And you've lasted the longest too. You often hear his workers whispering to each other, secretly teasing him about how he must be in love with you to keep you around so long. While you didn't want to believe it, you couldn't ignore the way your heart flutters whenever it greets your ears.

But after today you're sure any feelings he has toward you are long gone. You half expect him to fire you on spot.

Today had been an important day for him as he had a lunch scheduled with an important client. All was going well until the waiter tripped, sending an entire pitcher of water to crash over him. You had been too slow, hadn't noticed the waiter fumbling nor the trajectory of the pitcher.

For a moment the world went still until your Merman Boss looked up at you with wide horrified eyes. While you were sure the horror was aimed at you, your boss was too busy wondering where he was possibly going to go. Luckily it just so happened that your place was nearby.

Now here you are, sitting on your toilet as your Boss' ginormous frame squishes into your tiny bathtub, his tail even falling off the edge and onto your floor. An adorable little pout marks his lips as he flicks at the water like he's this close to personally trying to fight it.

A part of you fears he's not only angry at the water but at you as well. Sure, you haven't been perfect at your job. You've made small mess ups here and there. But nothing like this.

"You seem upset."

Your Boss snaps his head over toward you, his pout growing impossibly bigger. If you didn't already know the question was ridiculous, his following scoff and the look on his face was plenty enough for you to get the message.

"Of course I'm upset. I just had a very important meeting fall through because a clumsy waiter forgot what even a merperson can do. Walk. And most don't even have legs."

His response stops you in your tracks, jaw dropping a little. He wasn't blaming you at all. The more you look at him the more you realize he isn't mad at you about it at all. Relief blooms in your chest, making you sit a little taller. You internally thank your boss, he should feel some of this relief too.

Without responding to his sarcastic reply you look around the bathroom in search of something that will help uplift the mood for him. As your eyes catch onto a bin in the corner your eyes light up.

Your boss is jolted from his thoughts as you suddenly dump a whole bin full of rubber duckies into the tub. All in attempts of making this feel more like a fun bath and less like a trap. But by the flat look on his face your boss is less than amused. Which you probably should've been expecting.

"Really? Rubber ducks?"

His voice shows his clear disdain for the toy but he hesitantly reaches out a hand and begins pushing it around. Almost... playing with it. Although he'd never admit that to you.

"Well, what else is there to do besides wait it out? There's not any other way to turn you back sooner?"

Your question settles between you two before something sparks in the depths of Merman Boss' eyes. His finger stills on the yellow duck toy but it drifts away in the water and it's impossible to know where it'll end up next. Something unsettling churns in your belly and you get the feeling you're not about to like this.

"Ok, so there may be something... But I can't say it out loud. Come in closer."

A lick of suspicion curls around you and your eyes narrow, appraising your boss. Though with one impatient look from him you know you won't be putting up an argument with him about it. He always ends up getting his way anyway so why not skip the foreplay?

"W-what is it? What can't you say out loud?"

The toilet rattles beneath you as you shift closer. It's the only real sound in the quiet bathroom aside from the swishing of water. Your breath hitches once you reach a certain closeness to your Merman Boss. This being officially the closest you've ever dared to be with him.

"Closer—“

"I'll do anything just tell me what you need," you interrupt, both not wanting to lose your job and giving any excuse you can to be near your boss.

Suddenly his hands are splashing out of the water and gripping onto your soft round hips. A shriek tears through you as one minute you're dry and the next you're soaking wet. And not in the good way either. You smack against a hard chest, your legs straddling the thick width of a tail, and it takes you a second to fully realize that your boss had just pulled you in.

Before you can lift your head to yell at him, his fingers pinch your chin and force you to meet his gaze. What you see in his eyes immediately silences you. The hunger burning in them leaves you gasping, sparking arousal deep in your core.

He leans in, stopping just short of your lips as they brush against each other. Your breath mingling and making you squirm on his slick tail. While you watch him stare down at your lips, waves of arousal continue to build within you.

"A human's kiss can turn me back much faster than simply waiting," he whispers softly like he doesn't want to break the tension between you.

Your body tingles with need as every fantasy you've ever dared to have about your boss dares to come to life. Every inch of you is overcome with impatience as you wriggle on his lap some more, gasping when something hard pops out from a slit on his tail.

"So why don't you kiss me?"

If possible, your Boss' eyes grow darker, the hunger inside them roaring to life as if trying to consume even him. His hold on your chin tightens like he's the one who needs to keep you still while he's shaking from his own restraint.

"Because once I start I won't be able to stop at just a kiss."

You go to ask what he means he bucks up his hips, intently brushing his rock hard cock along your clothed slit. And you immediately moan, totally unprofessional by the way, eyelashes fluttering briefly till you manage to look at your boss again.

You consider his words and what they could mean for you after this. But you want this, you've always wanted this since you first started working for the mysterious man. And it seems like he wants you just so much. So there's no need to fight it.

"Then don't stop," you reply.

Merman Boss surges forward before the words finish falling from your lips, his mouth clashing against yours. Mirroring moans vibrate between you like you're the sweetest damn thing he's ever tasted.

He presses into you as if trying to devour you, kissing you hard. Tongues fight for dominance and teeth knock together in your sheer desperation to make up for all the time you spent together not doing this.

His hand moves from your chin, caressing the skin of your cheek, and threading itself inside your hair. Ensuring you're real and that this is actually happening. Using his hold on you he molds your plump frame against his and starts rocking your core against his hard length.

"Get these off," he pants heavily, only breaking away from the kiss long enough to say that and then he's right back on you.

With a shocking amount of skill, the two of you manage to peel off your wet clothes in record time.

Both of you release strong powerful moans as your dripping cunt first makes contact with his thick girth. Every nerve in your body pulses as he takes hold of his cock and drags it through your folds, coating his length with your essence.

"You have no idea how long l've wanted this. Wanted you,” he breathes, his eyes shining with a longing that reflects your own.

"I have some idea."

Then you both moan as you sink down on his long pulsing cock, your hips buckling down on his length, taking him in hard and fast. Something ignites in your boss’ eyes and you shiver as his hands curl over your plush waist to help guide your movements.

But he has no idea how long you’ve been needing this, and it’s clear by the way his eyes widen as you start to ride him like your life depended on it. Your fingers dig into the scales on his shoulders to ground you and he hisses, his cock twitching and sliding against that special spot inside you.

With a fierce cry you start riding him even harder, every hard wet slap of your bodies meeting is aimed right for that spot, making you see stars. The water sloshes around in the tub like it’s in the midst of a raging storm when in reality it’s just you and your boss fucking each other’s brains out.

“Look at you, so perfect f’me. More than I ever realized,” your boss purrs, sounding as if he’s found the oceans most greatest treasure.

You moan loudly, your head rolling back as waves of pleasure rock through your body with every hard pump of his cock, his words only turning you on even more. Your body begins to buzz, on the precipice of something huge.

It only takes a few more pointed thrusts before you’re coming all over his cock with a ragged gasp, your body tensing before you sag against him, letting him take what he needs. And feeling your slick gummy walls clamping so deliciously on his length drives him nearly feral, his fangs flashing and his claws digging into your skin.

He moves your pussy up and down his cock, spurred on by every whine and whimper that falls from your mouth. Piercing growls slip from his own as your cunt drives him absolutely insane, he’s never felt anything better.

And he proves just that as he drives in as far as his cock can go and releases buckets of cum right into your depths, having never cum so hard in his life.

You both fall back to rest against the back of the tub, the only sound in the room being your harsh panting breaths. His hands smooth the tremors from your body, brushing up along your spine and holding you close. It’s nice and peaceful. Or is it the calm before the storm?

Because the longer he does it the action goes from soothing to arousing. And you know he can feel it too, just how much it’s affecting you. Your pulsing walls already trying to milk more from his spent shaft. And sea gods help him but it’s working.

“You know… it’ll still be some time before my tail fades. Why not make the most of it?” Your boss asks, hands sliding down to grab handfuls of your fat ass, and flexing his stomach as he rolls his hardening cock into your cum-filled cunt.

[sadagios]

GIGGS Immortal Company AU

"Nothing in the world is more precious than one’s life, and sometimes, we have to deal with forces that threaten to cut it short. Ghosts, monsters, and sometimes, even people. This fear prevents us from enjoying our short time in this world.

"But what if I tell you that you don’t have to worry about your life falling into danger? What if I tell you that there are people willing to let go of their lives so you don’t have to?

"Ghost busting? Monster journalism? Creature Handling? Cryptid hunting? Property retrieval in ominous places and planets? There is no job we can’t handle!

"Throw your worries away and let GIGGS handle your dangerous affairs. Give a grand to GIGGS and your life will be nothing but grand."

aka A GIGGS AU where the five of them are broke immortals trying to capitalize on their inability to die by taking on life-threatening jobs.

more under the cut!

Impulse and Skizz founded the company. Skizz had the idea and persuaded Impulse to pursue it. Impulse has extensive experience in ghost hunting and prioritizes on-site jobs, while Skizz’s expertise is in handling clients and paperwork. They started as a duo and received mostly ghost-busting jobs. Years into their business, the jobs became more demanding and dangerous, and despite their immortality, it was still a bit much for two people to handle.

Their first recruit was Scar. They never talked to the man, but they often saw him in the city; each time they saw him, he always sat near the lake with a journal and pen in his hands, and a cane rested on his chair. They have been working as IMP n’ SKIZZ for a few decades at this point, and Skizz pointed out to Impulse that the man doesn’t seem to age despite seeing him every week or month. When they talked to him, they found out that Scar was an immortal as well. He agreed to join the company, and although he was clumsy most times and he died so often, it helped out the duo’s workload a ton. Especially with clients. It felt like they accidentally hired themselves a top salesman and a PR guy.

Their next recruit was Grian… well, more like their first applicant. He suddenly showed up one day in their company building asking they need one more employee. Impulse thought it was a good idea as they started to receive jobs that required them to go off-country, or even off-planet. Grian served as a great addition to their team with the way he strategizes and how quick he get things done. Though he’s a very unsettling person. They’re not even sure if he’s human. Each time he died, his corpse stayed on the ground, and he suddenly pops up somewhere.

Their last official member is Gem, who was neither a recruit nor an applicant. She was a hitman paid to kill Scar. She sabotaged a lot of their jobs just to get a swing at Scar, who never seemed to die even when she ripped his heart out. When Grian tried to kill her to get rid of her, her wounds instantly healed. After a while, she realized that her attempts at killing the old conman were futile. Skizz and Impulse tried to recruit her, seeing that her abilities can help the company, but she refused. They didn’t see her for a few years, and she showed up one day saying she’s sick of killing people for money and wants to go on (creepy) adventures.

The five of them made a perfect team, and thus IMP n’ SKIZZ was renamed to GIGGS after a few years.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

IMPULSE

When he dies, his body tries to repair itself back together, and if his important organs are still intact, he goes back into consciousness.

The cause of his immortality is unknown.

Before falling into an existential crisis and state of depression and hopelessness thanks to his immortality, he was a ghost hunter.

SKIZZLEMAN “SKIZZ”

His immortality is the same as Impulse’s, but his consciousness never leaves his body.

The cause of his immortality is unknown.

A few hundred years ago, he was a radio host who was known for his ghost stories segment. The station eventually fell into obscurity before it completely stopped its operation.

He joined a ghost hunter services company a year later, and that’s where he met impulse.

MR. GOODTIMES "SCAR"

He gets scars and can bleed, but doesn’t feel pain. He can also get his heart ripped off and still be able to live. No part of his body can die, and even though he can’t regenerate a whole new organ, his organs can live apart from him.

However, once his body parts or organs reattach to him, it connects with gooey gold which harden after a while, making it harder to remove the next time. Though, this also causes problems sometimes and makes it harder for Scar to move. This is why he uses a cane for his leg.

He gained immortality from a golden cat statue after he repaired it. Some of its shards are missing, so he’s unsure whether this immortality was a blessing or a curse.

He used to be a con artist. He once tricked a billionaire into investing in his fake business. After he got some hundred million, he booked it and lived comfortably in hiding.

GRIAN

His corpses stay dead, but he pops back into existence randomly.

Beneath his glasses, his eyes are hollow and hold a deep abyss inside them.

Sometimes, his new body doesn't express emotions well, so the team rely on his voice and actions to tell how he’s feeling.

The cause of his immortality is unknown. It’s also unknown what kind of creature he is.

AGENT GEMINI "GEM"

She can die, but only if every single one of the cells explodes. She can grow old, but her regeneration is so fast that her aging is incredibly slowed down. She calls herself a “Pseudo Immortal”. Her skin is difficult to slice apart with how fast it connects back together.

Her immortality’s cause is a secret.

Her life before being a hitman is also a secret.

[deandoesthingstome]

Imagine being a reputable dog walker and having a last minute client added to your route with a note of urgency. Imagine knowing the company is getting triple-rate, not due to timing but rather the extra care required for the service, and that a predetermined (and genrous) tip was already waiting for you, too.

Imagine learning the initial behavior command to be stated upon entry, insistently identified as the "one thing you do not want to fuck up" since it's the only thing that will prevent bodily injury to you. Imagine the intricate and highly detailed, medically necessary feeding plan consisting of three separate course and plenty of ingredients to measure and mix ('no bone dry, over processed, burnt brown kibble for this magnificent beastie' you say to yourself as you tap through to the pet photo of what has to be the goodest boy ever) and list of walk cues that include "step" for the 14 year old, blind German Shepherd named Riley.

Imagine clocking the true the size of the dog ('ooh, beastie doesn't quite do it justice, does it?') whose initial measured snarling has quieted as you repeat the ally-introduction command to be sure he heard it before you stand still and wait for him to find you, sniffing around your shoes and pants and fingers as he scents the other animals you've walked already today. Imagine not having to bend at the waist at all to get your fingertips into the fluffy coat along his back for some hello scritches.

Imagine noting the meager furnishings in the one bedroom apartment. No wall art, one dining table chair, a well worn sofa with a milk crate in place of an end table, heavily pad-locked military trunk as coffee table, practically nothing in the fridge besides the non-shelf stable feeding ingredients. All in stark contrast to the Maserati of dog beds in the corner by the window, surrounded by a pile of chew toys. An expensive looking custom made crate along the other wall, next to a raised water and food bowl stand.

Imagine the chat from your employer as he asks almost as soon as you're done with the service if you're free to take the job on full time at twice your normal pay for the next week.

We've gone through six walkers already and cannot lose this new client. You're the only one who hasn’t immediately noped out after the intro walk and he's delayed returning from service.

Imagine meeting Riley's owner five days later when he returns home earlier than expected, just as you're cuing his best friend up the stairs at the end of your last walk of the day. Brain short circuiting as you calculate that 'yeah, this masked man is definitely Riley Riley's owner'. They do say pets and owners tend to end up looking alike.

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me��� really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that and licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly wish you didn't overshare, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you��ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

click here for part 2! also here's my masterlist if you're interested!

[pseudowho]

Yuuji's hand hovered over the receiver, paralysed. His universe zeroed in on the little plastic bubble around him, and the payphone, with the chatter, ringing, beeping and bustling of the Police Station behind him. The cuffs chafed on his wrist. He thought and thought, reaching for the receiver again, before freezing.

The police officer behind Yuuji tapped his foot. "Get on with it, kid." Yuuji shrunk in on himself, smaller than ever.

"Uhh...I'm really sorry. I don't think I'm ready for my first call yet. Can I have a bit longer?"

A huff from the officer. Yuuji's wrists clanked as he was grabbed by the upper arm, a heavy clang as he was pressed back into the cell, locked in. There was a drunk on the perpendicular bench. Some big guy with a kill you stare, the other side.

Yuuji tried not to cry as he hunched down towards his knees.

He had never felt so orphaned, as he did in this moment.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento hummed to himself, outwardly upbeat, and happy to be so in the absence of observers. He grabbed his travel mug from the desk; his paperwork was completed. He was advised he wouldn't be needed for the rest of the day, so why don't you just head off early? We'll just call you if we need you.

Words like syrup. Kento's metaphorical sweet shop. He lapped it up. He dropped you a text; home soon. I'll make dinner.

Making himself a fresh coffee, Kento felt his pocket buzzing. His humming stopped at the Unknown Number on screen, eyebrows pinching together. He answered, stirring his coffee.

"Nanami Kento speaking."

Initial silence. An awkward rustle. Kento waited.

"...Nanamin. I'm sorry, I...I didn't know who else to call. I'm in trouble." Kento turned his back on his coffee, pacing in front of his desk, a prickle of fear up his spine.

"Itadori-kun. Where are you?"

"I'm...I'm downtown. I was arrested. I was only trying to help--"

"I'll be right there. Don't say anything. You're safe. I'll be straight there."

Kento put the phone down, concern clipping his movements. He looked down at his phone, thinking. He tapped out two more text messages, grabbed his travel mug, and headed out to his car in long, purposeful strides.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

By the time Kento arrived, guided into the station by a receptionist, he scowled to see Yuuji being interrogated at a desk by an officer.

"I swear, I was just checkin' the place out, just--just bein' stupid, I didn't mean--"

"--didn't think the "No Entry" signs were for you, huh? What was the plan, go in and wreck the place? Damn kids--"

"Excuse me for interrupting. I don't believe you're supposed to be interviewing minors without a chaperone."

The police officer stopped, bristling as he looked up at Kento, looming down over him. Kento silenced Yuuji with a heavy hand on the shoulder. A travel mug of hot coffee was gently pressed into Yuuji's hands.

"Don't answer him, Yuuji. We're waiting for your lawyer."

Yuuji looked so small and tired, folded over on himself, that Kento felt a prickle of cold rage frost through him at Yuuji's treatment.

Kento's eyes flicked across the desk. He noted paperwork, with Yuuji's name. He noticed the 'Next of Kin' section...empty. Kento's stomach clenched, and his grip on Yuuji's shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. The police officer shivered under a chilly gaze.

"Nanamin...I'm sorry--"

"I'm sure you have nothing to be sorry for. This man, however--" the officer's blood ran cold when Kento's eyes swung to him again, "--should know better than to bully a child."

A rustle and a clatter sounded behind Kento and Yuuji. Yuuji heard a deep voice, apologising for knocking something off a desk, before another hand landed on his other shoulder. Yuuji gaped up.

"...Higuruma?" Hiromi glanced down, coal-soft eyes belying a little smile. The police officer sputtered into his coffee, looking frantically between the two men, now.

"Higuruma? Shit. I don't get paid enough for this."

"I assume you're charging my client with something." Hiromi sat, crossing his legs, hands clasped on his lap.

"He broke into an abandoned hospital--"

"Was it locked?"

"...ahhh..."

"Did he cause any damage?" Total silence. Hiromi cleared his throat.

"Did my client come with you willingly?" The police officer's face twisted, bitter and snide.

Hiromi blinked once, slowly. "I see. So, simple trespass really? With a minor, first offence? A caution at most, really, isn't it."

Yuuji looked over to Kento, who was busy scribbling something on Yuuji's paperwork, while Hiromi ground the police officer into the dirt on the other side of him.

"I assume you felt something inside the hospital. You weren't investigating just for fun?" A stern gaze through tinted lens.

"No, I...I think there's a Curse in there. Didn't get to it before I ran into the cops."

A hum. "Ah. I'll get Ijichi onto it." Yuuji nodded, his eyes prickling with tears. Kento's hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him, a flood of warmth down through his body.

"How long were you here for? Before you decided to call me."

"Uh...four or five hours." A pregnant pause from Kento. A sigh, Kento's voice softening.

"You can always call me, Yuuji." Kento stood, straightening his cuffs. "You'll come home with me for dinner. You're hungry." Yuuji's belly rumbled in response. Kento's lips almost quirked at Yuuji's sunny grin, reminded of another boy he once knew.

In due time, Yuuji was released with a caution. Hiromi clapped him on the shoulder with a lopsided smile, giving Yuuji's jaw a pat, before leaving for home. Yuuji stood, glancing at his paperwork on the desk.

In the previously empty "Next of Kin" section, in neat block capitals, with a phone number and address, was listed: NANAMI KENTO.

[shortnspidey]

PERILOUS SKIES

Bob Floyd X Fem!Seresin!reader || WC: 6.9K

SUMMARY: Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.

WARNINGS: Established relationship, cursing, talks of minor injuries, minor talks of violence, overall fluff, steamy kiss, slight angst, typical Hangman behavior, incorrect military details (sorry)!

A/N: Ugh! I need a man like Bob! 😫 I have been sucked back into my 2022 Top Gun era and Lewis Pullman has me in such a chokehold which is why this was written. Hope y’all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob floyd masterlist

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d fall for a military man. Not because you didn’t respect them, you did. You’d seen what that kind of life demanded: the discipline, the bravery, the sacrifices. But you'd also seen the ego, the recklessness, and the emotional walls that seemed to come with the uniform. You knew their type, inside and out. Especially because you were raised right alongside one.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin wasn’t just your older brother. He was a force of nature, sharp smile, sharper jawline, and enough swagger to make heads turn before he even stepped foot in a room. He’d always been that way. The golden boy. The daredevil. The protector. And as his little sister, you were someone he guarded with his life. Especially, when it came to men.

Every birthday party, every school dance, every casual dinner date you attempted growing up had been intercepted by Jake. Sometimes he scared them off with a pointed glare. Sometimes it was a not-so-subtle, “I’m watching you.” And sometimes it was just his mere presence, standing a little too close, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for an excuse to break someone’s nose.

At first, it had almost been sweet, he was simply looking out for you. But as the years passed, it became suffocating. You weren’t fragile. You didn’t need saving. And yet, he treated you like some porcelain doll that might crack if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way. God forbid it was someone in the Navy. It was safe to say that you had grown so tired of flight suits.

That’s why you built a life as far away from that world as you could. Your work meant everything to you. You were a licensed therapist, specializing in trauma and stress-related disorders, an emotionally demanding job, but one that gave you purpose. You spent your days helping others unpack the things they carried, offering a safe space for people to speak their truth, even when it broke your heart.

You had your own small private practice just off base, tucked into a converted bungalow with soft lighting and calming artwork on the walls. It smelled faintly of lavender and worn paperbacks, and your bookshelf overflowed with psychology texts, handwritten notes, and dog-eared poetry collections. Your life was rooted in listening. In feeling. In forming connections.

And if, some nights, the weight of everyone else’s pain lingered in your chest, well, you’d made peace with that. You had your quiet apartment, your plants, your routines. You knew how to breathe through the noise. You were proud of what you’d built. Which made what happened next was all the more unexpected. You weren’t planning to go out that night.

It had been a long, exhausting week, three new clients, a crisis session, and a war veteran who hadn’t said a single word until your fifth session together. You were mentally and physically drained, emotionally raw. You had planned to stay in, maybe order Thai food and watch something mindless just to silence your thoughts. But your phone lit up with a message from Penny.

Swing by the Hard Deck tonight. First drink’s on me! 🍹

You almost said no.

But, surprisingly, something pushed you to say yes. So without thinking too much, you slipped into an orange sundress, threw on your favorite sandals, and drove the familiar road to the beach. As always, the Hard Deck buzzed with music, laughter, and the sound of boots hitting the wooden floors. The scent of sea salt and beer filled the air, and the jukebox was already playing something classic, probably something from Maverick’s rotation.

You knew half the faces there. A few pilots you’d grown up around. Some you had met through Jake. Speaking of Jake, of course he was already there, was holding court by the pool table, cue stick in hand, that ever-confident grin on his face. Same old scene. Same old bar. Penny spotted your first, waving you over as she started making your go-to drink. You smiled, walking over and giving her a hug behind the bar.

“Here, looks like you need it.” You smiled, accepting the fruity cocktail from her hands. As she attended to the other bar patrons, you sat in a nearby stool, fully intending to linger just long enough to be polite before heading back out so that you could crawl into bed by 10PM. Only, the universe seemed to have different plans, because that's when you saw him. He was tucked away in the corner of the bar, half-shadowed by the low glow of the neon beer signs above.

He sat with a bottle of beer in hand, long fingers loosely curled around the neck of it, his posture slightly hunched like he was doing his best not to take up too much space. His glasses were a little fogged from the humidity, slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. He reached up now and then to adjust them, eyes flicking around the bar like he was trying to blend into the furniture.

Not hiding, exactly, just keeping to himself. He wasn’t laughing with the others, wasn’t showing off at the dartboard, and he definitely wasn’t trying to flirt with anyone. In a room full of men with too much confidence and not enough subtlety, he was different. You couldn’t look away. There was something almost disarming about how awkward he looked. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands or where to rest his gaze.

But even in all that quiet discomfort, there was something gentle about him. You were too far in your head when he looked up, and caught you staring. Your breath hitched, just slightly. But instead of looking away like most people would, he offered a sheepish, crooked smile. And you smiled back, because how could you not? He dropped his gaze immediately, taking a sip of his beer like maybe he was embarrassed by the brief moment of eye contact.

It only made him even more endearing.

You turned back toward Penny behind the bar, trying to play it cool, but your voice betrayed your interest. “Hey Penny, who’s the guy in the corner?” Penny followed your gaze, then gave you a knowing little smile. “That’s Bob.” You hummed, faking interest, taking a sip of your drink. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd. WSO. Flies backseat for Phoenix.” She added casually, wiping down a glass. “One of the good ones. Real quiet, but sweet as hell. Kind of Jake’s opposite.”

That earned a short laugh out of you. “So, he's not a pilot?” You smiled behind the rim of your glass. “He is, technically. But he’s the kind that listens more than he talks.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you interested?” Instead of responding, you glance over your shoulder again. Bob was staring down at the condensation on his bottle, idly tracing circles with his fingertip like he’d rather be anywhere else, and yet, somehow, he didn’t look miserable.

Just… out of place.

“Maybe.” You murmured, trying to sound nonchalant, but the truth betrayed you in the form of heat creeping up the back of your neck. You lifted your drink to cover the slight twitch of a smile you couldn’t suppress. Penny leaned in with a smirk, wiping down the bar like she wasn’t studying your every move. “Then don’t wait too long,” She coaxed under her breath, voice teasing. “Use that Seresin charm. Guys like that don’t usually make the first move.”

You glanced back at him. He was still in the corner, tracing the rim of his bottle with his thumb, eyes low, posture slightly slouched like he was trying to shrink himself into the background. But something about him, it tugged at you. Maybe it was the way his eyes had flicked toward you moments ago, a little wide, like he couldn’t believe someone like you had noticed him. Like he wasn’t used to being seen.

Or maybe, just maybe, you were tired of playing it safe. Tired of living under your brother’s ever-watchful gaze. Tired of waiting for permission you never needed in the first place. Your fingers tightened around the glass as you made your decision. You slid off your stool, smoothing down your dress like it could steady your nerves, and crossed the bar, each step quickening your heartbeat. “Mind if I sit?” You asked, voice smooth, chin tilted ever so slightly in confidence, fake or not.

He looked up at you, caught off guard. His expression flickered,first surprise, then something gentler. He cleared his throat, straightening a little. “Uh—yeah. I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You smiled and took the seat beside him, the wood cool against your skin as you eased into it. “Thanks, I’m Y/N.” You extended your hand across the small gap between you. The contact was instant, his larger palm warm, slightly rough from flight gloves, his grip unsure but respectful nonetheless.

“B-Bob,” He mumbled out. “Well, Robert. But, um… everyone calls me Bob.” You smiled, loving how blush dusted his cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Bob,” You let his name linger, giving it weight as your gaze swept over his face, softer up close, his features earnest and boyish beneath his glasses which hid his captivating cerulean blue eyes. “So… you always hang out in dark corners, or is tonight a special occasion?” The edges of his mouth twitched with a quiet, amused smile.

“Just trying to stay out of the way.” You raised a brow, slightly leaning into him so your shoulders were touching. “Of who?” You teased, head tilting. “The loud ones? Or the terrifying older brothers?” That made his eyes widen slightly behind his lenses, and you didn’t miss the way he stiffened, the realization hitting like a gust of wind. He blinked once. Then again. “Y-You’re… Hangman’s sister?” You sipped your drink, nodding slowly. “Guilty as charged, Lieutenant.” You winked as Bob stared for a moment.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, fast, nervous, cautious. “You gonna run, Bob?” You asked, eyebrow lifting, lips curved just enough to keep it playful. You wouldn’t have blamed him. You were used to that look. You’d seen it before on a dozen other faces. Guys who decided no girl was worth catching hell from Jake Seresin. But Bob surprised you. He didn’t bolt. Didn’t stammer out a goodbye or glance over his shoulder like he was looking for an exit.

Instead, he just smiled, really smiled, and for the first time, something inside you fluttered. His whole face shifted when he did, gentle and sincere, like the smile had been waiting for the right moment to be let out. His shoulders dropped, and the tension in his spine eased as his nerves melted into quiet warmth. The corners of his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and the golden bar light caught the faint dimple in his cheek, softening his whole demeanor.

Something about it, about him, felt honest. “Not unless you tell me to.” His voice was low, laced with a touch of humor, but no hint of fear whatsoever. And that was it. And you knew then… you were in trouble. Of course, right on cue, nothing good in your life ever slipped past Jake unnoticed. And the moment your brother spotted you talking to someone, especially someone in uniform, he made a beeline across the bar like a guided missile.

“Seriously?” He muttered under his breath, then louder. “She’s off-limits.” He slung an arm around your shoulder, the heavy weight of it both familiar and infuriating, while his eyes narrowed at Bob like he’d caught him trying to hack into the Pentagon. His voice was low and sharp. “I mean it, Floyd.” To Bob’s credit, he didn’t bristle or shrink away. He didn’t puff his chest or try to argue. He just gave a small, respectful nod, calm, measured. “Understood.” You expected him to walk away after that.

Hell, Jake even expected him to.

That was usually the part where most men retreated, tail between their legs, deciding no woman was worth facing down a protective older brother with a reputation like Hangman’s. But Bob surprised you. Later that night, long after the initial rush of aviators had moved on to games of pool and darts, and Jake had wandered off to trash-talk some poor soul at the dartboard, you found yourself by the jukebox, flipping through the cracked plastic covers of old CDs. Then, a quiet voice spoke up from behind you.

“I know your brother’s... protective,” Protective was one way to put it, you thought to yourself. You glanced up from flipping through the CD’s as Bob shifted his weight from one foot to another, hands in the pockets of his khakis, standing just far enough away to give you space, but close enough that you could feel the sincerity in his tone. “But I’d still like to buy you a drink and maybe talk some more. I-If that’s alright with you of course.” You looked up, surprised and maybe a little impressed.

It was more than alright.

You gave him a nod, and the two of you sat at the end of the bar, away from prying eyes and Jake’s over-the-top dramatics. Conversation flowed easier than you expected. Bob wasn’t flashy or performative, he was thoughtful. Funny in a dry, unexpected way. A little awkward, but charmingly so. That night turned into another. Then a real date. Then two. Then weeks of texts that made you smile at your phone like a teenager. Things didn’t move fast, they didn’t need to. With Bob, it was steady.

He remembered your favorite drink after the first time you ordered it. He walked you to your car every time, even if it meant doubling back on his own route. He asked about your day and actually listened, not just to respond, but to understand. He never interrupted. Never made you feel small. He laughed at your jokes, even the bad ones. He offered his hoodie on breezy beach nights without saying a word. And even had this quiet habit of checking on you.

Whether it was a text at the exact right time. A glance across a room that grounded you. And maybe most surprising of all, he made you feel safe. It didn’t matter that he flew backseat for one of the Navy’s best pilots. That he was part of a squad who took down a nearly impossible mission. That half the base jokingly called him “baby-on- board.” None of that defined him.

What mattered was that when you were with him, for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like someone’s little sister. You didn’t feel like someone to be guarded or shielded or spoken for. You just felt seen. Of course, that didn’t mean you were ready to throw it in Jake’s face. For a while, you and Bob kept things quiet. It wasn’t that you were ashamed, far from it. But you both agreed: Jake didn’t need to know just yet. You liked the way things were. Soft. Sacred. Yours.

Besides, the moment your brother found out you were seeing someone, especially someone on his squadron, he’d lose his mind. So you kept your dates discreet. Stolen kisses in parked cars. Quick coffee dates before his briefings. Whispered conversations during beach bonfires where no one was paying attention. And on one particularly slow afternoon, he stopped by your office. Your practice had just closed for the day. The soft hum of the white noise machine still filled the room, and the late sun poured through the windows.

Bob was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, pretending to read the spines of your books, psychology texts, self-help, a few novels tucked in like secrets. “I still can’t believe you keep a weighted blanket in your office.” He teased lightly, eyes glued to your legs as you reached for your laptop. “Trauma work, remember? Nervous systems love pressure. Plus, it’s cozy.” Bob stepped closer, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re cozy.” You mirrored his smile, letting out a lovesick giggle before you could stop it.

“Are you trying to flirt with me using therapeutic language?” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief stepping closer. “Is it working?” You laughed, and before you could answer, his lips were on yours. It was supposed to be just one kiss. A quick goodbye before he headed back to base, enough to hold you off until you could get your hands on him later that night. But then your back hit the wall, and his hands cupped your jaw like he was memorizing every curve of your face.

You instinctively melted into him, fingers curling into his fitted white t-shirt that had no business making his biceps look that good. His lips pressed to yours, slow at first, soft and searching, but it deepened quickly. His hands found your waist, sliding over the thin fabric of your blouse, fingers splaying wide as if to anchor himself in the feel of you. Bob groaned quietly into your mouth, the sound low, needy, almost reverent. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, tentative but eager, and you welcomed him in with a soft, breathy moan.

Your hands fumbled for his collar, pulling him closer, grounding yourself in the way he tasted. One of his hands slid up your side, fingers brushing under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips grazing the bare skin of your ribs. You shivered at the contact, arching into him instinctively. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking just below your ear as his mouth moved with yours, deeper, hungrier.

Your nails scraped lightly through his hair, mussing it from its neat comb, and that earned you another quiet groan that vibrated against your lips. The air between you felt heavy, time blurred. Nothing existed beyond the feel of his body against yours, the way he kissed you like he was starved for it, like he’d been holding back for weeks. Maybe he had. Your hips shifted, a little too eager, and you felt the subtle hitch of his breath as his hand gripped tighter at your waist, holding you there.

Which is how you didn’t hear the office door creak open until: “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You both froze. Your lips were still tangled. Bob’s hand was still under your shirt. And Jake Seresin was standing in the doorway of your office, expression stuck somewhere between outrage and horror. You sprang apart, your heartbeat plummeted. And Bob, poor Bob, froze in place like someone had pulled the eject handle. Jake stood in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched, face unreadable.

A vein twitched in his temple. “Jake—” You started, breathless, smoothing down your blouse. “It’s not, well, it is what it looks like, but—" Busted. “Of all the people,” Jake let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, dragging a hand down his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose like it physically pained him to witness what was happening. “Baby-on-board? Seriously, Y/N?!”

You instinctively stepped in front of Bob, shielding him with your body like your brother might actually tackle him through your office window. “Jake. Don’t.” Bob, didn’t move. His back was straight, blue eyes wide behind fogged-up glasses, lips parted as if mid-apology. His cheeks were flushed, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled from where your hands had just been. “I, uh… hi, Hangman." He offered awkwardly, pushing his glasses up with a shaky hand.

Jake stared at him, hard. Like he was cycling through a mental list of disciplinary actions and weighing the pros and cons of each one. “I told you once,” He growled slowly, voice like ice cracking. “My little sister is off-limits.” You stepped in again, squaring your shoulders, chin lifting. “And I told you I’m not twelve.” There was a beat of silence. Then Jake turned to you, jaw tight, mouth slightly open like he wanted to argue, but the fire behind his eyes dimmed.

You saw it, the shift. That split-second of hesitation. The realization. You weren’t his kid sister anymore, sneaking candy into movie theaters or crying over scraped knees. You weren’t some fragile thing he had to wrap in bubble wrap and keep hidden from the world. You were a grown woman. And you’d made your choice. “I’m your big brother,” He muttered voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “I’m supposed to look out for you.”

Your expression softened, shoulders dropping. “You always have. Better than anyone, but you don’t have to protect me from Bob. He'd never hurt me.” You glanced over your shoulder, eyes meeting Bob’s. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose and looked between the two of you. At Bob, still standing there like a soldier awaiting his court-martial. And at you, arms folded, gaze unwavering. After a pregnant pause, a long, reluctant sigh left his chest. “Are you really into him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.” Jake stared at him for another long second, then finally, finally, cracked the smallest smirk. “Jesus Christ. If this is happening, I don’t want to hear about it and I definitely don’t want to see it.” He turned toward the door, muttering under his breath. “Shit, I need bleach for my poor eyes.” Then, he paused and glanced back “If you break her heart, Floyd, I don’t care how good of a WSO you are, I will make you wish you had ejected mid-flight.” Bob swallowed visibly and nodded.

“Understood.” You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lifted. It wasn’t exactly a blessing. But from Jake Seresin? It sure as hell was close enough. You smiled at the memory, lips curling as your thoughts drifted back. Since then, Jake had slowly eased up, still overbearing at times, but less of an asshole, finally starting to accept the reality that you and Bob were together. It wasn’t instant, but it was progress.

Maybe it was the way Bob never rose to Jake’s bait, or maybe it was how he treated you, with a kind of quiet reverence that left little room for protest. Because Bob was nothing but attentive. The kind of man who remembered how you took your coffee, who sent midday check-in texts just to ask how your sessions had gone, who looked at you like you were his entire goddamn universe. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, seen, cherished.

Which is why, when your usual Thursday night rolled around, the one night you always carved out for each other, and Bob didn’t show… something inside you spiraled. You’d cleaned the apartment, lit one of your favorite candles, even queued up Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith knowing it was one of his favorites. His favorite hoodie was draped over the back of the couch, the one he always “forgot” to take home because he liked the way it smelled after you wore it.

The popcorn was in the bowl. The wine was chilling in the fridge. Take-out menus were on the coffee table. Everything was ready. Except him. You glanced at the clock. Once. Then again. Then again, your eyes flicking to the screen, then to the door, like maybe he’d appear if you wished hard enough. Each time, you brushed it off with a quiet, He’s probably still at the hangar. You knew the drill. Sometimes they got grounded late, schedules shifted.

But the minutes stretched into an hour. Then two. Still no text. No call. Just eerie silence. And Bob? When it came to date night, Bob was never late. When your phone finally rang, the shrill tone sliced through the stillness, making you jump. You scrambled for it, heartbeat thudding against your ribs as your thumb slid to answer without even checking the caller ID on the screen. “Hey, handsome,” You breathed out. “Are you on your way home yet?” Only, it wasn’t Bob’s voice that answered.

“Aww, Y/N,” Came the familiar, cocky drawl you had grown familiar with. “I knew you were lying to me all those times you called me ugly.” Your jaw clenched. Your eyes rolled before your brain could catch up. “Jake,” You snapped, already pacing. “What the hell, where’s Bob? Why are you calling me?” Your brother’s voice cut through the line, irritatingly casual. “Sorry for the late notice, but your beau isn’t making it to date night.” The floor practically dropped out from under you.

“What?! Why? Jake, what happened?” You barely heard yourself over the rush in your ears. Your pulse kicked up, adrenaline beginning to surge. He ignored the edge in your voice, brushing off your panic like it was nothing more than static. “Just come to base. I’ll be waiting at the gate to escort you inside.” Then the line went dead. You stared at your phone for a second, willing it to light up again, to clarify, to make sense. It didn’t.

Just the reflection of your stunned face in the dark screen. “God, I hate when he does that.” You muttered, voice low and sharp as you shoved the phone into your back pocket. Without wasting another breath, you yanked Bob’s hoodie over your head, feet shoving into the nearest pair of sneakers, fingers scrambling for your keys. Your heart thudded in your throat as you raced down the stairs, and out the door.

The base wasn’t far, thankfully. About a twenty-minute drive. You didn’t floor it, but your foot stayed heavy on the gas, knuckles white around the steering wheel. Your thoughts circled and twisted with every mile: Was he hurt? Why didn’t Bob call you himself? Was Jake just being dramatic, or worse, trying to protect you from something serious? By the time you reached the gate, your nerves were all over the place.

True to his word, Jake was waiting just past the security checkpoint, casual as ever, like this was a run-of-the-mill errand. You flashed your ID to the guard, who barely glanced at it before waving you through. You didn’t even bother straightening the car when you parked. The engine had barely cut before you threw the door open and leapt out. “Jake,” You barked, striding toward him with a glare. “You have one minute to explain yourself before I kick the shit out of you. Where’s Bob?”

Your brother slung an arm around your shoulder like this was all completely normal. The audacity of it made your teeth grit. “Relax, baby-on-board is fine.” He muttered, steering you forward. “Don’t call him that. How many times do I have to tell you before it sticks?” You snapped, elbowing him lightly. Jake lifted both hands in mock surrender, grinning like this was all part of a joke only he found funny. “Alright, alright fine. Just… follow me.” And without another word, he led you deeper into the base.

Your steps faltered, just slightly, as dread started to pool low in your stomach. Because something wasn’t right. You could feel it. Your suspicions were confirmed the moment Jake led you down the familiar corridor toward the medical bay. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the air, too clean, way too quiet. Your heart pounded harder with every step. Then you saw them, Maverick and Bradley, standing a few feet away near the nurses’ station, mid-conversation.

Or they had been. The second their eyes landed on you and Jake, their voices cut off like a switch had been flipped. “Mav,” You rasped, your voice laced with urgency as your eyes locked on his. They both turned fully now, posture straightening. Bradley offered a tense smile as he stepped forward to greet you, arms opening automatically. You didn’t hesitate, letting yourself fall into the hug, if only for the brief comfort of familiar arms and the steady heartbeat beneath his civilian clothes.

“Where’s Bob?” You asked again, for what felt like the hundredth time. The question burned now, raw and desperate, clawing up your throat. Maverick moved closer, his expression calm but lined with concern. “He’s alright,” He began, voice steady, measured, but the silence that followed said otherwise. The look, the flicker of shared worry between him, Bradley, and Jake did nothing to settle the growing storm in your chest. You could feel it building, pressure against your ribs.

Maverick exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to alarm you but knew sugarcoating it wouldn’t help.“During today’s training, Phoenix and Bob suffered a bird strike. The impact triggered an engine fire, which spread fast and caused a total systems failure, both engines, and hydraulic controls.” Your breath hitched. “They had no choice but to eject,” He added, quieter now. “The medics brought them in immediately. They’re stable, conscious, and mostly okay. The doctors are keeping them overnight for observation.”

The words tumbled in slowly, too slow to process all at once. Bird strike. Engine fire. Ejection. The air felt thinner. The hallway longer. Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. “C-Can I see him?” You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. Maverick nodded, but you were already moving. Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you bolted down the hallway, weaving past a nurse and ignoring the muted “Miss, wait—” that came from someone behind the desk.

When you spotted the door at the end of the corridor with Seresin scrawled hastily on the visitor clipboard and Floyd, R./Trace, N. listed beneath it, your chest constricted. You pushed the door open. You spotted Natasha first. She was reclined in the hospital cot closest to the door, propped up slightly by a pair of thin, starch-white pillows. Her skin looked pale under the sterile fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the deep purpling bruise blooming along her cheekbone.

A butterfly bandage held a small cut together above her eyebrow, and her arm, though not in a cast, was wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow. Still, she was awake. Alert. Breathing. “Nat,” You exhaled, already moving toward her. Her head turned at the sound of your voice. The split-second surprise in her expression melted into something warmer, despite the lingering pain behind her eyes. She pushed herself up with a small wince, the thin hospital blanket slipping off her shoulders.

“Y/N, hey,” She murmured, voice raspy but steady. Your arms were already wrapping around her before you could stop yourself. Your movements slowed as soon as you felt her body tense slightly, stiff from the impact, from the adrenaline still likely fading. She let out a breathy laugh against your shoulder, one arm curling weakly around you. “I’m glad you're here.” She murmured, voice muffled against your sweatshirt. You leaned back slightly to look at her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, careful not to graze the fresh scrape on her temple.

It was safe to say that ever since you and Bob had started dating, you and Natasha had become inseparable. It started with casual conversations at the Hard Deck that turned into late-night wine nights, venting sessions, and a friendship built on fierce loyalty and shared eye-rolls at the men in your lives. Part of it, no doubt, came from the fact that she and Bob were more than just teammates, they were a crew. They trusted each other with their lives, and somewhere along the way, that trust naturally extended to you.

“I’m just glad you’re both okay.” You whispered. Natasha gave you a faint, lopsided smile, tired but genuine. “Yeah, well, Bob took the worst of it. I was lucky.” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even seen him yet. The cot next to hers was shielded slightly by a privacy curtain pulled partway across, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe fast enough. Your eyes darted toward the edge of the curtain. “He’s awake. A little banged up. But, he’s been asking for you since we were brought in here.”

That was all it took. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze and whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Then, without hesitation, you stepped around the curtain, ready to face whatever was waiting on the other side. As soon as you rounded the curtain, your eyes found him. Bob was sitting upright, well, trying to. He winced slightly bracing himself on one elbow as he straightened in the cot, ignoring the tight pull of gauze around his ribs and the IV in his arm. Sensing the presence of someone in the room, he stopped fidgeting, blue eyes meeting yours.

You moved without thinking. The world blurred as you rushed across the room, the cool floor beneath your sneakers giving way to the warmth of his outstretched arms. He barely had time to brace himself before you collided with him, sinking into his chest, arms wrapping around his torso with desperate urgency. He winced, but his hands immediately came up, one cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, the other wrapping tightly around your waist.

His grip was firm, steady, anchored, as if the contact itself might undo the fear that had rooted in both of you. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin beneath the sterile tang of antiseptic. His heart was pounding hard beneath your cheek, fast and erratic, matching your own. “Shit, Bobby,” You whispered, voice trembling. “I thought—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I know,” He murmured into your hair, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m sorry I scared you, sweetheart.” Then, more softly, almost sheepishly, he mumbled into your shoulder. “I’m also sorry I missed date night.” You nearly scoffed, half a laugh, half a sob, as you pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt. “Date night? Bob, I could care less about date night right now. I’m just glad you’re alive.” Bob’s selflessness never ceased to amaze you, how even through the haze of pain and adrenaline, his first thought had been about you, about letting you down.

As if your heart hadn’t broken in half the moment you realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. You clung to him tighter, your arms curling around his back, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt like letting go wasn’t an option. Bodies wound tightly around one another, like you were trying to climb inside his chest and stay there. Like the only way to be sure he was real was to feel every inch of him pressed to you. He exhaled shakily, lips brushing your temple.

“All I kept thinking was that I had to get back to you.”That made your throat tighten even more. Your hand moved instinctively to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb grazing over a scratch along his jawline. His glasses were still slightly askew, and he hadn’t even bothered to fix them, too focused on you. “I’m right here,” He reassured, almost as if sensing your inner turmoil. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” In that moment, he held tightly in his arms, everything faded away.

There was only the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm and the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. You didn’t want to pull away, but when you finally did, it was only to take in his face. You brushed a thumb gently beneath his eye, tracing the faint bruise that had bloomed along his cheekbone. He looked a little beat up, but to you? He was perfect. Alive. And most importantly, breathing. His eyes met yours, impossibly blue beneath the smudged lenses of his crooked glasses.

They searched your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were here either. Like he was afraid if he blinked, you’d vanish. You leaned in again, this time slower, gentler, your hand cradling the side of his face. His breath caught just before your lips met, as if even now he was asking for permission without words. The kiss that followed was soft. No heat. No urgency. Just a lingering press of your mouths. You could feel the tremble in his shoulders as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you there like he needed it as much as you did.

His lips parted slightly against yours, letting out the faintest sigh, and you melted into it, into him, feeling the world finally slow down. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “I love you.” You whispered, the words weightless, certain. He smiled, eyes closed, breath warm against your cheek. “I love you more.” Just as you were about to lean in for another kiss, the door creaked open behind you. “Fucks sake, not this again.” Came the dry, unmistakable voice of your older brother.

You groaned softly, forehead dropping to Bob’s shoulder as he stifled a wince and a laugh at the same time. You were so close to murdering Jake and becoming an only child. “Do you have some kind of built-in radar for whenever we kiss?” You muttered into Bob’s shirt as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. “Apparently,” Jake scoffed, stepping fully into the room, arms crossed, brow raised in brotherly disapproval.

“I give it ten seconds and you look like you’re ready to climb the guy like a tree.” Bob straightened awkwardly, almost like a cadet caught doing something wildly against protocol. His cheeks flushed deep red, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and his hands instinctively loosened their hold on you. Before he could scoot even an inch away, your fingers curled gently but firmly around his bicep, grounding him right where he was as you shot Jake a glare. “What do you want now?”

Jake gestured vaguely at the two of you. “Don’t mind me. I’m just checking in on the critically injured WSO who, last I heard, had survived an emergency ejection, a bird strike, and now looks like he’s about two seconds away from a very different kind of cardiac episode, caused, I assume, by my little sister sticking her tongue down his throat.” Bob gave a tiny, nervous cough, his gaze flicking toward the heart monitor as if it might start blaring just to spite him. He wisely chose not to answer.

You smirked, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to Bob’s temple, just to be petty. You felt the way his breath hitched beneath you, the way his fingers curled gently at your waist despite himself. Jake rolled his eyes so hard you were genuinely concerned they might get stuck that way. “I figured you’d be staying the night, so, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But don’t get any ideas. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early, and I better not walk in on a repeat performance, especially not with Phoenix two feet away.”

From the other side of the curtain, Natasha’s dry voice floated through like a dagger dipped in disinterest: “Fuck off.” You bit your lip to stifle the laugh that almost broke through. “There’s the door, Bagman.” You shot back, raising your middle finger without even looking at him. With one last grumble and an eye roll that nearly cracked his skull, Jake pulled back the curtain dramatically and disappeared down the hall, muttering something about needing a drink.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Bob let out a soft breath, his entire body seeming to relax now that Jake had exited the room. He didn’t even need to ask. With a quiet grunt, he shifted on the narrow hospital cot, careful but determined, wincing slightly as he adjusted his IV line and tugged back the scratchy blanket with his good hand. It wasn’t much, but he made space for you like it was second nature, like your place had always been beside him, no matter the circumstances.

Without a word, you discarded your shoes and climbed in next to him, moving slowly, mindful of the bruises you couldn’t see and the ones you knew would surface by morning. The cot creaked under the added weight, but neither of you cared. Your head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, your hand drifting under the soft fabric of his t-shirt, fingers resting on the soft skin of his abdomen, like you just needed to feel he was real.

His arm slid around your waist, drawing you in with a familiarity that made your heart flutter. The other hand found its way into your hair, combing through the strands slowly, rhythmically, like he was soothing both of you at once. His thumb brushed absently along your spine in lazy arcs, and he let out a content when your legs tangled with his beneath the thin blanket.

The room had gone quiet, the soft beeping of monitors fading into the background like a lullaby. Wrapped in his arms, you tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Still worth it?” You whispered, the question edged with lingering fear. Bob didn’t miss a beat. His smile was the same one he’d worn eight months ago, the first time he saw you across the bar. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Every single second.”

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[hatussy]

starving | j.a

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], touch starved!jack, loneliness, slight sub!jack, clingy!jack, call girl!reader, male moans/whimpering, dry humping, making out like handsy/horny teenagers, jack's a mess and makes a mess of you, cowgirl, jack begs, dirty talk, desperation, squirting, word count: 5585

summary: in which jack's loneliness causes him to reach out to someone he's surprised is very understanding

author's note: further continuation of this piece. i took so long to write this because i didn't want it to be rushed. i wanted to do his character justice and i hope i achieved that. i hope y'all enjoy

oneshot | masterlist

It started with a phone call, like always. New clients had to be screened, they had to form a working relationship with you. 

You’d had your fair share of sketchy clients. Some who had tried to push you past your limits, others refusing to pay. You’d made a new rule that they always had to pay half upfront, and show they had the rest of the cash on them when you met them. If they wanted to extend the booking, they had that option, but the charge always varied depending on what they wanted to do. 

Some wanted to cuddle, engaging in pillow talk. Some wanted to prove they could make you finish again, if only to gloat. Some simply wanted the time to shower together, helping you to clean up. 

Nothing was ever free. 

There was one client you had who simply liked to talk. The company of watching a movie together, of talking about his day. 

Needless to say, Jack had become one of your favourite clients. You looked forward to his texts, asking for your availability. You always made sure to get a nice hotel. Somewhere with a comfy sofa, a huge bed, and a spectacular view. 

Jack always praised the view. 

At first, you’d assumed it was a compliment for you. He’d said it while staring out the window, watching the sun set over the city. Still, he’d looked at you—looked through you—in order to stand in front of the window. 

You stood alongside him. Muttering something about the city and the night, the peace it brought you, and the smile that had tugged the corners of his mouth had been worth it. 

One of the first things you’d noticed about Jack was that he wore a wedding band. Most of your clients weren’t as obvious with their cheating, opting to take it off, but the tan line was still there. Jack had seen you staring. Hell, he saw everything you did. He was always watching, always paying attention. He hadn’t mentioned it, but you had. 

“She passed away a few years ago,” he had confessed quietly, voice thick and gravelly like he wasn’t used to talking about her. “Can’t bring myself to take it off.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” you had assured him softly. 

Something about him told you everything you needed to know. The faraway look to his eyes, the weight he carried on his shoulders. From the initial phone call, you hadn’t been sure what to make of him. Now that he was in front of you, it looked like he needed a friend more than anything else. So you’d suggested a movie, something easy to watch, and he’d joined you on the bed. 

Jack had sat upright for most of the movie, and you’d made yourself comfortable lying beside him. Head near his lap, his hand aimlessly playing with your hair—like it was muscle memory. His fingertips had scratched your scalp and you’d sighed, enjoying the feeling. The comfort. The familiarity. 

Over the next few months, your meetings had been much the same. Sometimes he made a few comments, thinly veiled jokes to break the tension. Most of the time, he preferred the quiet. Knowing someone was there with him when he was stuck in his head. 

You never pushed for him to talk. Never made him feel guilty for needing a friend to sit with him, even if that friend was being paid to spend time with him. 

You enjoyed it. The break from the norm. The ease you settled into once he picked a movie to watch. 

One time he brought dinner. Something he’d made earlier in the day. He’d been chatty that day, something you noticed he did when he didn’t know how to process what was going on in his head. 

“It’s her birthday,” he’d told you. The weight of his words, the anxious fiddling with his wedding band, the meal. It all made sense. 

He’d watched you pick up the phone to call room service. You’d ordered a bottle of bubbles with three glasses, as well as three slices of cake. You did it so effortlessly that he got a little choked up. No hesitation, no awkwardness, just a patient understanding. Acknowledging the woman he was still in love with, with grace and poise. 

He’d seen you in a new light that day. Over the toast you’d made to his wife, and the care you’d shown him. The understanding that grief was a process. Healing was a process. That you saw him as a friend, not just a client. 

Jack started to talk a little more with each meeting. About his day—you’d learned he was a doctor. About his wife—his smile was always a little brighter each time. About your day—you tried not to reveal too much, but talking to him was easy. He didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Didn’t push for details like some men did. He let you tell him what you were comfortable revealing. 

Hell, you’d even told him how you got into your line of work. He’d never passed judgement, or made you feel like you deserved better. He never suggested a change in career, but you’d told him you were taking classes and hoped one day to become a licensed child psychologist. 

“You’d be good at that,” he’d said with a smile. “There’s something about you that puts me at ease. That’s not an easy thing. Those kids would thrive with your guidance.”

“You really think so?” You’d asked. 

“I do.”

There was no doubt in his voice. It was firm, assertive, reassuring. Something you’d needed to hear but didn’t know how to go about getting it. And the fact that it came from Jack meant a lot more than you were willing to admit. 

Your body ached as you lowered yourself into the bath, iPad sitting on the tray hooked over the sides, along with a large glass of wine and some snacks. You pressed play on the screen, the intro to your comfort show starting within seconds. 

You didn’t have much time for simple pleasures these days, so you basked in the opportunity. Bubble mixture and rose oil added to the tub, the hot water soaking your aching muscles. The wine going down a treat, and the snacks curbing your hunger. 

The second episode had just started when you got a message from Jack. 

I know this is late notice, but can I see you tomorrow morning when I finish my shift? I need something to look forward to. 

I don’t have anywhere booked. Is a café okay?

You’re comfortable with that?

Absolutely, are you?

I finish at 7am. Will you find us someplace nice? 

I’ll have coffee and breakfast waiting for you. 

You sent him the name of the café you liked to frequent. You knew he worked at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, and it was only two blocks away. It was also nearby your campus, and you had two classes tomorrow with the first one starting at 10. You didn’t think meeting Jack would be that long, but you’d at least be able to get some study done for a paper you had due. 

The bath worked wonders. You felt relaxed, a little tipsy, and had something to look forward to in the morning. Setting an alarm for six, to give yourself enough time to get ready and pack your study bag. 

By the time the morning came around, your alarm pulled you from your sleep, and you made an effort while getting ready. A little touch of makeup to feel put together, hair styled just the way you liked, and a comfy coat that tied your outfit together. You packed your bag, and then you were off. Making your way to the cafe with a few minutes to spare, knowing Jack sill hadn’t finished work yet, but that he would be there shortly.

Coffee and food was ordered, and you took up a seat at a comfortable little table near the back. Grabbing your phone to see if there were any new messages from Jack, and being delighted to see a text he’d sent half an hour ago.

Might be a little late. Had a rough night. Looking forward to seeing you.

Take your time, I’ll see you when I see you.

You sipped your coffee when it arrived, having put a hold on the food for the time being. Waiting until Jack said he was officially on his way to the cafe before you asked the staff to start on breakfast.

Jack walked through the doors a couple of minutes later, backpack hanging off one shoulder, still dressed in his dark scrubs from the hospital. He wore a soft smile when he saw you, one you easily reciprocated.

“Hey,” he greeted easily, looking like the night had tested him one too many times. Still, he dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat opposite you. 

“Hey,” you replied. “You’ve looked better.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled. “Thanks for meeting me, I know you don’t do this.”

“I had time,” you said simply. “You need a friend or a therapist today?”

Jack exhaled heavily, shifting in his seat and reaching for his coffee. “Neither. Both. I don’t know.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not about me,” he admitted. 

“You can be my sounding board for my research presentation later this week,” you decided, pulling your iPad out to flick through your notes. 

Jack looked more settled opposite you, and thanked the waitress for your meals. You gave her a polite smile, picking at a tomato before wasting no time starting your speech. 

You showed different graphs on slides to reiterate your point. Every now and then, Jack gestured to your plate, prompting you to pause and eat, but otherwise listened completely. He nodded along with facts and statistics, asked the odd question to continue along with your line of reasoning. 

When you were finished with your speech, he clapped politely, a smile gracing his face. 

“Any pointers?”

“Look more at whoever you’re giving the speech to,” he said. “Otherwise it was very good.”

You grinned as you packed your iPad away, reaching for your coffee and finishing it. Jack gestured to the empty mug. 

“Another?”

“Please.”

The remainder of your omelette had grown cold, but it was still good. When Jack rejoined you, you were finishing up your last bite. 

“So,” you started. “Bad night, huh?”

Jack sighed, scraping at the dusting off stubble along his jaw. “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed with a half-smile.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you replied, giving him a pointed look.

He sighed. “No. We lost a vet. Young guy, did two tours overseas no problem, then gets hit by a drunk driver when he comes home. Just…hit a little too close to home.”

You nodded. He hadn’t told you much of his time with the army, but you knew that he had a history serving.

“Shit,” you cursed.  “I’m sorry. That must’ve been pretty early in your shift?”

Jack nodded. “Spent a few hours trying to contact the family. Eventually got in touch with his sister. It’s just…the worst news to receive over the phone, you know? It’s supposed to be done in person, but she won’t arrive until later today.”

“Will you be going back to speak to her?”

Jack shook his head. “I wrote a letter instead. Gave it to the dayshift to read on my behalf. That’s why I was running late; contemplating life and existence from the roof of the hospital.”

“Just don’t jump, yeah?”

He cracked a smile at that. “Would be rude, wouldn’t it?”

“That, and I don’t really have time in my schedule for a funeral,” you said, earning a genuine laugh.

“Robby said something similar.” He wore a smile. “Dayshift attending.”

“A friend?”

“A brother.”

“I’m glad you have someone who gets it,” you told him. “Thank you,” you said to the waitress who brought your coffees over. “How’s everything else going? I haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “It’s been a bit existential.”

You didn’t say anything, giving him the time to decide if he wanted to. Instead, you sipped your coffee and watched him spin his in the saucer.

“Had a breakthrough with my therapist,” he said. “I guess I’ve been a little caught up in it.”

“You’re allowed to be,” you replied. “You look tired, Jack. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Just a crazy shift, is all,” he told you. “I’ll go home and sleep soon.”

“Good.” You smiled. 

“Are you free tonight?”

“For you, I can be.”

There was a slight tinge of colour that blossomed on Jack’s cheeks. “If you already have plans, I get it.”

“Jack, I don’t have any plans,” you assured him. “Go home, get some sleep. I’ll book the usual room, but I’m not watching Mission Impossible again.”

“Understood,” he said, chuckling softly. 

Your day had been busy. Between your two classes, you’d attempted to record your presentation to see how long it actually was. You’d done some shopping for this evening, a little care package you’d decided to put together for Jack. 

It was what friends did, right? Something nice for each other when someone was feeling down? 

You hoped he’d appreciate it. Some nice skincare products, nothing too extraneous. Something soothing, for the days his leg hurt. Something hydrating, for the excessive hand-sanitising he does working at the hospital. Some nice chocolates from the bougie shop in town, since you knew he had a sweet tooth. A knife, because you could never have too many. Lastly, a set of cotton pyjamas. Something soft that wouldn’t irritate him, or get too hot in the warmer months. 

The basket sat on the bed of the hotel, all ready to give to him when he arrived, as you watched the news, waiting to hear back from Jack. He’d gone back to the hospital, despite it being his day off, to help with the shooting that the news was reporting. Several casualties had already been reported, with a lot of critical patients being routed to PTMC. 

From the coverage you knew it was bad. You knew he was doing the right thing by going in to help. His friends, his colleagues, would need the extra set of hands. 

So you waited anxiously, already a glass of wine deep amidst the devastation being reported, and hoped everyone who made it to the hospital survived. 

Sorry to make you wait. Have you eaten? I’ll grab something. On my way. 

Food is a good idea, grab anything you feel like. In our usual room. Did you think of a movie to watch?

No, but I need something lighthearted or funny. Your choice. I’ll see you soon. 

The School of Rock was waiting for you to press play by the time Jack arrived. For the second time today, he looked exhausted, and was still dressed in his dark scrubs. 

Surprisingly, he brought you in for a hug, holding you tightly, as if he needed to know you were real. You rested your head against his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Not thinking twice about the unexpected hug, or that he took a few shaky breaths. 

“Hey,” you greeted softly, only pulling back when he did. You didn’t notice he’d been balancing a pizza box in one hand, too wrapped up in the hug to register it. “Come in.”

Jack excused himself to the bathroom. He left the door open, splashing some water on his face, while you sat back on the bed and flipped the pizza box open. You were halfway through a slice when he joined you, dropping his backpack by the door and taking his shoes off. 

“Got you something,” you told him, gesturing to the basket you’d moved to the desk under the tv. Jack turned his attention to it, pulling it towards him. “Felt like you needed a pick me up, and that was before you went back into work.”

He chuckled softly. “Are those pyjamas?”

“Yeah. It was that or a teddy bear with some corny phrase embroidered onto the stomach,” you replied, earning another laugh. “You can shower if you want…change into them?”

“Later,” he promised, the smile still on his face. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He doesn’t judge the movie you picked. In fact, he’s grateful for the choice. Settling in beside you on the bed, the pizza box between you. Slices slowly disappeared while it was still hot, and silence washed over you as the movie played. 

Jack shuffled around to move the near-empty box, and you watched him remove his prosthetic and massage the stump as if it pained him. Brows drawn together, eyes closed, as if he did this all the time. 

Of course, it was the first time he’d done it in front of you. 

You reached for his free hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it—”

“Leave it off,” you told him. “If it’s bothering you, leave it off.”

He stared like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Like he was in over his head. Out of his depth. And maybe he was, just a little bit. It was you, after all. Always understanding. Always supportive, never judgemental. 

Maybe he did see you differently. Maybe the months of friendship had caused something to build—something real. He certainly felt like it, but the nagging voice in his head told him this was your job. That he was only a client to you. 

He hadn’t seen you for two months because the last meeting you’d had, you’d refused to take his money. 

“We’re friends, Jack. Friends don’t charge each other for their time,” you’d told him. 

There’d been no mention of money this morning. No talk of what tonight would cost him. You were throwing him off his rhythm. He felt uneasy, but not in a bad way. In a way that had his heart rate spike whenever he thought of you. 

The same way he felt when he first met his late wife. 

Jack swallowed thickly, trying to overcome the lump in his throat. “Okay.”

You smiled that sweet smile and patted the spot on the bed next to him. The spot that he shuffled towards, leaving no space between you. And still, you moved his arm to drape it around your shoulders, hand settling on his thigh, just above his knee. 

His pulse thundered in his ears, and he was looking at you. Still. Like you might disappear in front of him at any second. Like this was easy for you, comfortable, and yet you weren’t anywhere near as nervous as he was. 

Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it had been too long since he’d held another person, that he was seeing signs that weren’t there. 

The thoughtful gift—he was a client after all. Maybe you did that for everyone when they were having a tough time of it. 

The ease you displayed physical affection—again, maybe he was still only a client to you. Maybe this was all just part of the services you offered. 

Jack was tense. He felt like he couldn’t relax, couldn’t enjoy this for what it was. His brain was telling him to be reasonable, to not make this a bigger thing than it was, but his gut told him to take the leap. Even if it didn’t pay off, he would then have a definitive answer. 

The tapping on his leg was distracting, but it was working. You knew what he needed and did something to distract him. To pull him back to the present after getting lost in his head. 

“Is that Morse code telling me to breathe?”

Jack’s bewilderment was genuine and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

“Yeah. Figured talking might spook you,” you replied. “You went all tense and stopped breathing for a second.”

“Really? Sorry,” he replied, making a point to exhale loudly. “Army brat?” 

You hummed. “High school wasn’t challenging enough, so I taught myself to read braille and communicate in Morse code.”

“Nerd,” he commented, earning a small laugh. 

“Shut up and watch the movie,” you muttered, playfully pinching his leg. 

You saw his smile soften in the corner of your eye, but he didn’t immediately turn back to the tv. You tapped out w-e-i-r-d-o on his leg, only for him to tap back on your shoulder I-k-n-o-w. 

He only turned his attention back to the tv when you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, his fingers trailing aimlessly up and down your arm. It was comfortable. It felt good—natural. It made him feel warm inside. And that wasn’t something that happened often, so he allowed himself to enjoy it, if only for a moment. 

Jack’s hand found its way to your head, fingertips lightly scratching at your scalp. 

“Keep doing that and I’ll start panting,” you mumbled. “It feels good.”

He hummed, making no sign of stopping. You sighed softly, contently, and snuggled a little closer to him. Hand flexing against his leg as you shifted. 

He smiled at you cuddled into his side, and was pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he did it all the time. 

“You always smell so good,” he spoke softly, resisting the urge to take a huge, obvious whiff. 

“You smell like hospital.”

“What’s that smell like?”

“Sanitizer. And sandalwood, but I think that’s just your cologne.”

He tucked his chin, sniffing his chest. “That’s sandalwood?”

“That’s delicious,” you replied with a laugh. 

“Delicious, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tsk’d, fighting back a smile. 

Jack hummed. “Too late.”

He was tapping out a message on your arm before he lost the nerve. 

I-w-a-n-t-2-k-i-s-s-u

You were turning to look at him before he finished his message, hand cupping his cheek and turning his head towards yours. Your gaze dropped to his lips, gasping as he cupped the back of your head and met your lips with his own. 

There was an urgency to his kiss, a desperation that leached into you. Your hand on his thigh gripped it a little tighter, your eyes closing at the rush that washed over you. The relief. 

You twisted a little more, trying to get a little more comfortable. Swinging your leg over his waist, his hand settled on your hip, aiding your movement as you straddled him. 

He groaned appreciatively, sinking deeper into the kiss. Into you, like you were a lifeline. You gasped as he tugged your hair, a sultry moan rumbling in your chest. His lips turned up, smiling against yours, only for him to gasp as you rolled your hips. 

Wicked, he thought. Struggling to gain composure as you did it again, nipping at his bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, parting his lips so his tongue could meet your own. 

You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed you like this. Like the tension had built so much—grown so hot—that you felt frantic. Kissing Jack was as thrilling as you thought it would be. The way he cupped your head, tugged your hair. The way he gripped your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh as he guided your movements.

And he was just as into it as you were, his erection pressing against your core, straining against his scrubs.

You wanted him to be the one to initiate things further. He hadn’t mentioned any specifics, but from how raw his grief was about losing his wife, you assumed this was the first time he was even kissing another woman. You didn’t want to do anything to spook him—he deserved to be comfortable—to not be pushed, even if your body was begging your brain not to listen to itself.

“I want this to last,” Jack mumbled. “Fuck, it won’t if you keep this up.”

You giggled, cupping his face as you kissed him slowly. “We have all night, Jack.”

You slowly, deliberately, rolled your hips, watching his eyes screw shut as he groaned. Both hands settled on your hips, anchoring you in place, stopping your oh-so-sweet torture.

“God, you’re the devil,” he said breathily.

You hummed, sliding your hands down his chest until you were tugging at the hem of your own shirt. You were more than comfortable being the only one naked—or semi-naked. Jack watched with hooked eyes and bated breath as you pulled the material over your head, throwing it somewhere across the room.

You’d find it later, or you wouldn’t. Maybe Jack would take it home as an excuse to see you again. That thought made you almost giddy.

Jack moaned your name, hands skimming up your sides. Thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

“Jack.” You sounded desperate even to yourself, but he looked at you so hungrily, so ready to devour, that you lost your train of thought. 

“Say my name again,” he pleaded.

You slowly rocked your hips, placing your hands on his and moving them to cup your breasts. “Jack,” you repeated, feeling your nipples harden under his palms. He looked like he was going to pass out, fingers squeezing your breasts, head dipping to capture a nipple in his mouth. “Oh, fuck. Jack.”

He growled lowly, the vibration sending shivers to your core. You stilled, legs squeezing either side of his waist, hands flying to his hair to tug it as his teeth grazed your nipple.

You hissed as he lightly bit down, back arching your chest further towards him. He closed his eyes and hummed, lightly raking his nails down your back. You shivered, skin prickling at the sensation.

Jack smiled as you tugged his shirt, hitching up the black scrub tee, as well as his pale undershirt. Your fingers trailed over his abdomen, his lips seeking yours once more as you worked his shirts higher. Jack groaned, briefly breaking the kiss to tear the shirts over his head.

His chest was spotted with freckles, a mixture of dark and light. You trailed your fingers over his collarbones, fingertips tickled by the hair covering his pecs. He leant back against the pillows, watching you curiously explore every protrusion, every defect. Evidence of his time in the military was more than just the prosthetic leg, but also the shrapnel scars and muscles.

God, he was magnificent—so fucking beautiful.

Your breath hitched as you felt his hips flex, cock straining desperately against his scrubs.

“Tell me what you want, Jack.”

It was a simple request,  yet one you weren’t sure was going to be answered. You thought for sure this was all that would happen, that his mind would win out and put a stop to this. You desperately didn’t want that to happen, but the ball was in his court—it had to be.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to process your words. Your hands settled around his head, fingers twirling his hair, scratching his scalp.

“You,” he eventually breathed out, like he was afraid of his own answer. “I want you.”

He sought your lips, slower this time—more calculated, like he wasn’t afraid to want. The desire still burned beneath your skin, one that was more intense, yet every bit as frantic—as dangerous.

The temperature in the room felt like it had been dialled right up. Perspiration dotted at your temples, Jack’s body just as hot beneath your touch. You rocked your hips slowly, gasping as he pinched one of your nipples, his hips rocking up to meet yours. 

“Jack.” 

Sinful, that was the only way Jack could describe it. The way you touched him, the way you kissed him. God, he was in over his head and about to cum in his pants like a starving teenaged boy. 

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, watching you put distance between the two of you. 

“I’m not,” you assured him, taking a second to tenderly cup his cheek. “I’m getting a condom.”

Jack felt stupid, laughing deliriously as you grabbed a condom from your bag. His chest rose and fell heavily, watching your tits sway with each step. How they hung when you bent over, and how good your ass looked in your pants. 

The foil packet was taunting him as you walked back to the bed. His cock strained agonisingly against his pants, desperate for relief. He lazily palmed himself, watching your eyes drop to his lap. 

You bit your lip and he groaned as he watched you tuck your thumbs into the side of your pants, slowly wiggling them down your body. 

“You’re killing me,” he panted. 

Jack watched you crawl towards him on the bed, hand roughly squeezing his cock as he took in your soft, supple body. Each dip, each mark, all signs of a life lived. 

You reached for his pants, untying the drawstring that kept them cinched tight at his waist. Jack exhaled heavily through his nose, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Any sign that this wasn’t something you wanted. 

He didn’t see it. 

He felt your soft touch ghosting over his pelvic bone. He lifted his hips, helping you remove his pants, before he was pulling you into his lap again. You grinned as you straddled his waist, nothing between you now as you rolled your hips. 

Jack was a goner. The heat of your cunt wrapped around him, the way you kissed along his jaw. His fingers flexed against your waist, digging into your flesh, as your arousal coated his hard length. 

“Fucking hell,” he cursed lowly, desperately trying to gain some self-control. He felt way too close to the edge, too far gone, but you were everywhere. You were everything. “Please.”

“Please what, Jack?” You asked softly, nipping at his ear. You hummed as he gripped your hips a little tighter, an arm snaking around your lower back and holding you still. Body flush against his own. 

“I need you.” 

His voice sounded foreign to him. So husky, so distraught, so wildly aroused, but you looked exactly how he felt. Horny, needy, desperate. God, and here you were, sitting in his lap, bare pussy sliding against his cock, and he couldn't think—couldn’t breathe. 

Your lips found his, frantic. Teeth clashing, mouths bruising, tongues tasting like there was no time left. Like this was the pinnacle—the crux—his be all or end all. 

You fumbled with the foil wrapper, Jack’s arm snaking around your waist to keep you still–pinned against him.

“God, listen to you,” he said. “So fucking wet.”

Sinful. Jack couldn’t even think straight. 

“Jack,” you whined. 

He took the condom from you. You shuffled back, drawing him in for a kiss as he rolled the rubber onto his length. 

His fingers sought the spot between your legs that was drenched. The sloppy wetness was like music to his ear, reiterating that this wasn’t just one-sided. That you were as far gone as he was. 

He raised you, hands firmly gripping your ass as he held your gaze. Your hands locked behind his head, bottom lip taken between your teeth as his tip nestled at your entrance. 

When you lowered yourself onto him, neither of you dared breathe. The air felt electric, your bodies anchored together. 

Jack’s groan rumbled in his chest, rippling up his throat. “Fuck, baby.”

Your head was swimming. You inhaled raggedly, pressing your lips to Jack’s in an effort to ground you. But he was moaning, a delicious sound that had you clenching down around him. 

“Fuck, move. God, please,” he begged, voice strained as he desperately tried to hold his orgasm at bay. “Baby.”

You rocked your hips, pushing him back further into the pillows so you could raise your hips and sink yourself down onto him again. Hand splayed against his throat, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. He cupped the back of your head, the other arm still wrapped tightly around your lower back. His own hips bucked, desperately seeking your thrusts. 

You gasped, cradling his head to your chest as you rose to your knees and he fucked up into you, the sound of his balls slapping your slick cunt flooding the room. 

“Ja-aa-aack,” you moaned, a desperate giggling falling past your lips. “I’m so close.”

“Shit,” he cursed, hips stilling as the hand that cupped your head slid between your bodies. Thick fingers circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come for me, baby.”

You were there. You were seeing stars, and Jack was relentless. His fingers, his cock, his words. Your head swam as you moaned, as your body reached its breaking point and he pushed you over the edge. 

Your body was a cacophony of euphoria. The tightness in your abdomen that snapped. The moans rippling from your chest from the man you cradled in your arms. The way he held you, even with your tidal wave of arousal surged from you. Unprepared. Unrelenting. Unwavering. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he held you tight, bodies joined together. And still, you throbbed around him. Body overcome with aftershocks—convulsions. The way you squeezed him just right as he spilled inside the condom, clinging to you desperately like he could lose himself if he dared let you go. 

It took a minute, maybe a couple, before your breaths calmed. Synchronised. His hand tenderly stroking your hair, bodies completely spent. 

B-a-t-h you tapped on his shoulder. 

Y-e-s he tapped back, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but neither of you making the effort to move just yet. 

[satoruan]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN — GETO SUGURU

✧･. on vacation with your family, you discover that your biggest fan may not be a mystery after fall.

( TW ) f!reader. camgirl!reader. stepbrother!Geto (in a plot device way, no nii-chan and stuff.) unprotected sex. cream pie. phone sex. squirting. fingering. mutual masturbation. cunnilingus. deception. mentions of bullying. misunderstandings. hurt/comfort. explicit content.  

word count - > 6.6k

authors note. can you see I wasn’t creative with the username? I have a love-hate relationship with this fic because I feel like it goes from 0 to 100 real quick lmfao. This is heavily inspired by the book Eyes on Me! 

“I bet you look handsome.” You smile at the black screen with the default profile picture floating in the middle. 

‘Nah.’ User @Sssman72  types into the chat the takes up the left half of your computer. 

“Stop! Don’t say think bad things about yourself,” You laugh, making sure your tits jiggle in the flimsy red lingerie you're wearing. “I know your handsome baby.” You reassure your favorite client. The man who alone gives you 50% of your income. He’s the one who bought you this pretty lingerie set you're wearing.  

‘You look tired babydoll...how was today?’ He types. 

“I’m fine, I promise, just had a long day, was on a few other private chats with some other customers the entire day.” You confess. In all honesty after this call you were planning to pass out and try to get a few hours of sleep before you had to fly out to your family's vacation home. Today on your live stream, you told your followers you were going on vacation for the next two weeks and wouldn't be online. You didn't plan to get on a call with @Sssman72 but he had texted you as you were getting ready to go to bed that he had a bad day and wanted to see you. Before you had a chance to protest, he spent you 500 and said it would only be 30 minutes. You gave in because first he was your biggest supporter and you wanted to be there for him in some way with all the money and gifts, he sends you and second, you didn’t mind chatting with him, you thought he was the sweetest and you struck lucky the day he joined one of your lives.  

‘I’ll let you go then, I want you to get some rest before your flight, sorry for keeping you up beautiful just needed to vent about my ass job.’ 

“I’m always here for you handsome, I'll make sure to send you those pictures you requested through the week.” 

‘Make sure you enjoy your break babydoll, don’t gotta worry about me. Goodnight.’ 

You say your goodbyes and end up falling asleep in the lingerie bought you as soon as you shut your laptop. 

— 

“How’s college y/n?” Your stepfather asks when you slide into the back seat of the car. Your mother fitting the last of your luggage into the trunk.  

“it’s fine, some of my classes are difficult but nothing I can't manage.” You answer as you buckle in. 

“Oh yeah? Thats good. You mom tells me you started a job a few months ago, how's that working out for you?”  

You tense under the small blanket you’ve thrown over yourself. 

“u-uhm yeah its good—yeah it’s been fun.” 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I don't remember what you mother told me you did again.” He chuckles. 

“Uhm—I'm a bartender, m-my friend works there and got me a position.” You tell him the lie you've rehearsed hundreds of times. You start to sweat under the blanket. Did he buy it? What if he and your mom found out what you did? Are they planning to ambush you when you get to the house? They're going to make you drop out and chain you up in the basement when they find out. You throw the blanket off, suddenly too hot and alert. Guess that nap you were planning on taking during the drive wasn’t happening. 

“Oh, that’s fun sweetheart, I remember I bartended awhile when I was in college, got fired for stealing the alcohol though,” He laughs at the memory before turning to look at you. “You wouldn’t do that though, you’re a good girl.” 

You nod, thankful that your mom decided now to take your stepdad's attention away and get in the car. 

“Alrighty were good to!” She cheers. Your stepdad turns back around in his seat before starting the car. 

“Finally, thought we were going to get a fine parked here another minute.” 

“Oh, shut up! Y/n are you excited to go back to the vacation house? You haven’t been in years!” You mom asks as you guys pull out of the airport.  

“Yeah, I can’t wait to, I missed the hiking trails and the waterfalls. None of that in the big city.” You answer truthfully. You did miss the silence of the secluded house you vacationed at every summer since your mom married your stepdad. It was the company that you hated. As if your mom heard your thought, she says something that makes your heart drop. 

“Suguru feels the same way, we didn't even have to blackmail him to come! That boy...” 

“Suguru is coming?” You scream.  

“Coming? Sweetie, he’s already arrived this morning. I’m so excited were all together as a family again.” 

“Are you fucking serious mom? Turn the car around and bring me back to the airport!” You screech. You were not going to spend the next week with your bully of a stepbrother.  

“Y/n!” You mom gasps. 

“Sweetheart, he’s changed.” Your stepdad tells you as if that's going to make it better. 

“That’s what he wants you to think! He’s the worst human being on planet earth, please don’t make me spend the next few weeks with him, please mom,” you lean over the consul. “Please dad.” You pout at your stepfather. You know he gets weak whenever you call him dad. 

“Sweetheart...” 

“No! You aren’t sweet talking your way out of this, he’s changed. He isn't the same teenager with a chip on his shoulder, he’s matured. He even told me the reason he’s coming is to apologize and bond with you y/n.” 

“He’s lying mom! He doesn't care about me; I wouldn't be surprised if he told you that just so he could drown me in the lake. You guys own the land so nobody would find my body!” You start to tear up. You were going to jump out of the car if your parents didn't turn back around. Your stepbrother was your biggest tormentor since the day you met him. From picking on you at home to getting the girls to bully you at school. He made your life hell for four years. The day you left for college you screamed how much you hated him and told your parents that the four of you would only be in the same room again when you lay in a casket. 

“Oh, don’t cry sweetheart. Your mother is right, he’s changed, I wouldn’t have allowed him around you if he hadn’t. Give us a week and if you want to leave, I promise I'll drive you back to the airport and you’ll never have to see him again, please?” 

“No.” You cross your arms and look out the window despite knowing that they’ve won. You can’t jump out of the car now that you are on the highway, and you didn’t bring your own car to drive yourself back to the airport. 

“We’ll give you the master suite, the whole attic floor to yourself.” They bargain. You act like you’re thinking of accepting the offer. With the master suite taking up the entire third floor you could lock yourself up there and ignore Suguru. You could also film videos and even go live because the room is soundproof. You perk up at that. You could just spend your vacation on stream and chatting with @Sssman72. He’s somehow always free for you and told you that if you get bored you could call him. He’ll make up for your stepbrother’s awful behavior. 

“Fine, I’ll take the master suite.” 

— 

“Okay that's the last of your luggage, we’ll be having dinner in a few hours on the dock.” 

“Kay, thanks.”  You watch your stepdad shut the door. Once he does you release the tension in your shoulders. You lock the door before running to throw yourself onto the huge king bed. You sink down. You didn’t see Suguru when you arrived, you mom told you he was probably in town. You hope he stayed in town for the next two weeks.  

After laying it bed thinking about how much you hate Suguru with a passion you pull out your phone and open the porn app. You click on messages and open your chat with @Sssman72. 

‘Hey...I know I told you I was on vacation but I already wanna go home. You don't have to answer lol.’ You send. He immediately starts typing.  

‘Of course, I'll answer you babydoll. What’s wrong?’  Your face heats at the pet names. You wish you knew what he looked like, all he told you about himself was that he was in his twenties and worked for his father's company. You want to know more, what he looks like, what he sounds like. If the messages he sends make you sweat, you wonder what’ll happen if he spoke to them to you. In your head he’s a handsome bachelor who just so happened to find you and deem you worthy of his time and money but hell, he could be lying. He could be some old rich man in his eighties who likes young girls like all the rest of your viewers. The romantic part of you ignores that and is convinced he is who he says he is and that one day you’re going to meet in person and fall in and have a bunch of his babies. 

‘You know that stepbrother I told you about?’ 

“Mm, that asshole who bullied you?’ 

‘Yep, that asshole. Anyways I bet you won't guess who's here on vacation with me?’ 

‘Are you serious?’ 

‘Dead serious...my parents didn’t tell me until I was already trapped and now, I have to spend my vacation away with a man who hates me for no reason.’ 

‘Wow that’s crazy lol. Did your parents tell you why he chose to vacation with you if he doesn’t like you?’ 

‘Apparently he’s here to make amends...he’s probably here to kill me so he gets all the inheritance.’ 

‘Well, what if he’s really there to make amends baby?’ 

‘You should've heard the groan I just let out. I can’t believe you’re on his side babe. When I tell you that he too evil for that I mean it.’ 

‘Hey, you know I'm always on your side babydoll, I'm just giving you a man’s perspective on it. Maybe he realized he’s fucked up and he feels back so he wants to apologize for all the wrong he caused you’ 

‘Yea well from a women's perspective he’s an asshole who doesn’t care about anyone else but himself!’ 

‘Don’t say the baby...hypothetically what would he have to do to get you to forgive him?’ 

‘Hypothetically he's going to have to get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness every time he sees me until I deem, he's forgiven. And he’s also gonna have to send every dollar in his bank account to me AND be my slave for the rest of his life...hypothetically.’ 

‘Lol you never know babydoll, he just might be willing to do anything for your forgiveness. I know I would.’ 

‘That’s because you’re perfect and care about my feelings...now I'm gonna go get some sleep before having to eat with the devil. Pray he doesn’t poison me and I survive the night.’ 

— 

You sit at the dinning room table waiting for Suguru. Of course, he’s late, he doesn’t care about anyone's time but his. You say so to your parents. 

“Y/n stop being so harsh and give him a chance please.” You roll your eyes and go back to scrolling on social media.  

“Sorry I'm late.” You jump at the deep voice before whipping your head to the left where your stepbrother stands looking so...so different. 

“Suguru! No need to apologize! Come sit.” Your mother points to the empty seat opposite you. Suguru glances at you and smiles before walking to the seat. You gasp. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile at you or anyone else. Actually, you know he hasn’t smiled at anyone, he was know for being so stoic. You watch intensely as he pulls out the chair and sits. He looks like a different man, his hair is long, down past his shoulders, the black shirt he's wearing stretches around a huge chest. He looks like he spends half his day in the gym. And those eyes—those eyes that always had heavy eyebags and glared at everyone that looked his way, look at you with gentle look you can’t place. They even crease with the smile that he’s wearing. Your eyes widen, he has a fucking dimple. He looks like a gentleman, he looks handsome. You can't stop staring at his smile. 

“Y/n? You alright?” You Stepdad breaks through the haze you were in. You look at your parents and back to Suguru who all have concerned expressions on their faces.  You feel your entire body heat in embarrassment.  

‘Uhm—yea I'm fine.” You look at your parents, refusing to look back at that smile.  Suguru has different plans. 

“Hey y/n, it’s been a long time yeah?” Suguru says in that deep voice that has your heart beating faster.  Out the corner of your eye you watch as Suguru reaches over the food, holding his hand out. Does he really think you’re about to give him a damn handshake?  

...Are you seriously thinking about shaking that huge hand? No, you won’t. 

You purse your lips and cross your arms over your chest. You swear you see him glance down at your cleavage but the next second, he's holding eye contact. You blink and look away with a ‘hmm’. He lowers his hand.  

“Alright guys let's eat, okay?” You mom breaks the tension. Everyone grabs their share, and you eat in silence for a while, nobody brave enough to speak and you simmering with anger at Suguru. You throw glare at him every time you look up from your plate which happens more times than you’d admit.  

“You got something there.” Suguru points the sharp end of the fork at you. 

“What?” You ask. 

“There,” He grabs his napkin and starts to reach for you. You tense suddenly locked in place. Suguru brings the napkin to the corner of your mouth and wipes it. “There you go.” 

You stare at him like he's grown three heads. Maybe he’s dying and wants to make amends? Why else would he be treating you like this. Maybe someone took over his body? That has to be it. 

“Uh thanks?” You mummer, unsure what to say. 

“You're welcome little sis.” You choke on your spit. What the hell did he just call you!? He must be messing with you; you’re suddenly filled with rage. You glare at him, hoping he disintegrates with the sheer force of your stare. 

“You’ve grown up.” Suguru says after another blinking contest, you lost. 

“Yea, have you?” You snarl. He stops smiling. 

“I have,” he says seriously, setting his fork down. “I want to talk about—” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Please—” 

“No!” You slam your hand on the table, and he goes silent. You’re overcome with guilt before you remember that he bullied you for a year, that he told the entire school to bully you after he graduated. Fuck him. 

— 

You slam the door the door of your room speed walking to the bathroom. You strip your clothes before turning on the tub. You finally breathe when you settle into the scolding hot water. You needed to wash his gaze, his touch, off your body. The entire dinner after your conversation was awkward, your parents didn't really speak, and you refused to glance back up at Suguru who wouldn't stop staring.  

You hated him. You hated him. You—you can’t bring yourself to hate him. For some unknown reason you can’t bring yourself to hate him despite everything he's put you through. Why? You shake your head. You don’t want to think of Suguru while you're trying to relax. You phone dings. You pick up and a smile replaces your frown. @Sssman72. 

‘How are you babydoll, you alive?’ 

‘Yes, wish I wasn’t though.’ 

‘Why what happened during dinner?’ You sigh and send him voice message detailing everything that happened. 

‘Oh wow.’ 

‘I know.’ 

‘You gonna give him a chance to explain?’ 

‘I don’t know I don’t want to but also, I want to hear his explanation...can we call I really don't want to type all of this out?’  

‘Course, give me a second. I'll call you.’ You wait a few minutes before you hear the familiar ring. 

“Hi handsome.” you smile at the blank profile. Right now, you’d do anything to see him, to hear him comfort you, to be in his arms. He could be the ugliest man in the world, you wouldn’t care. 

‘HI beautiful. Talk to me.’ He types into the chat box. 

“I don't know. like I said I want to hear him out but also, I don't want to hear it because what it it’s bad, what if it doesn’t excuse it? But also, what if it does and I feel like shit for being mean back—it's just so stressful.” 

‘I know babydoll. I wish I could be there right now and hold you. I would do anything to take that hurt away. I'm sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.’ 

“Stop, don’t apologize you didn’t do anything. If anything, I should apologize for using you as a therapist when you paid to see me naked.” You laugh. 

‘Beautiful girl—I would rather pay to hear all your problems and be able to comfort you than see you naked again.’ 

“Wow you don’t want to see me naked, I'm hurt. Just kidding, thank you for saying that handsome.” You feel your heart skip a beat at his message. Maybe you can convince him to turn his camera on tonight. 

“I kinda wanna take my mind off everything right now.” You murmur into the phone before turning on your camera. You hold it above you and smile so he can see everything.  

‘So, fucking beautiful, prettiest girl in the world. You gonna give me a show?’ 

“hm,” You use your free hand to tap your chin. “Only if you do something for me.” 

‘And what is that?’ 

‘Can you turn your camera on? And before you say no, you don’ have to show your face—maybe you can just show your dick or something else. We can masturbate on the phone, please handsome please.” You whine giving him your best puppy face. You watch as the chat bubbles disappear and reappear. You’re about to back out but all the sudden you’re looking at a dim lit room and a huge cock between a big hand. Your eyes widen and the sight. 

"Y-you probably won’t be able to type and jack off at the same time” You suck in a breath. Please turn your audio on please... 

‘I’m gonna turn my audio on but I won’t talk, okay? Think you can get off on my moans babydoll?’  

You nod. 

‘Good girl now show me that pretty pussy, make it squirt for me.’ 

You lift yourself up to sit on the corner of the tub, propping one leg on tub and spreading the other that rests in the water. You flip the camera so your mystery man can watch you finger yourself. You hear him groan and spit onto his hand. 

You moan softly at the sound, teasing your entrance. You wish he was talking to through it, but you’ll settle for this for now. One day... 

“Mmm, wish you were the one fingering me right now,” You circle your clit before gliding your fingers out your cunt. 

“Wish you were here, holding me n' fucking me.” You curl your fingers into your g-spot and moan. You look back at your phone, watching your stranger play with the tip of his long cock. It looks so big compared to his hand, you know you’ll struggle to take it. Your pussy clenches around your small fingers that do close to nothing compared to your dildos at home.  

“Wan’ your cock in me so bad, it looks so big you’ll have to force me to take it, you’ll have to hold me down and make me take it.” You cry out. You watch as he squeezes his hand up and down his cock. It looks painful. He grunts louder. 

“M’gonna cum for you handsome, m’gonna give you what you want and make a mess,” You speed up your fingers to match how fast he slides his fist up and his cock. You moan louder, thankful that you got the suite and aren’t in the room next to your stepbrothers, how embarrassing it would be if he could hear you pleasuring yourself.  

You clench harder around your fingers. Your stranger starts to grunt and groan louder. You shiver at his deep voice on the edge of cumming. 

“Please please let me cum please! Can I come for you please?” You cry, your pussy starts to squelch, spurts of liquid coming out. 

“Yes, cum for me.” Your mystery man groans in an all too familiar voice but before you have time to think about it, you’re squirting, the grip on your phone loosening and falling into the water. 

“N-no!” 

— 

“Yes, this phone is done for, your mother and I are heading into town we can try to find a company that sells phone, but you know how small towns like this are.” You stepdad stares at your phone that’s been sitting in a container full of rice since last night.  

“Fuck, I need it for work! What am I going to do?” You look up at him in distress. 

“What do you need your phone for bartending?” He looks down at you incredulously. 

“My boss is sending me some important email and I didn't bring my computer.” You lie. 

“Well, you can use Suguru’s laptop, I saw him using it this morning in the sitting room. Think he left it there before he went on his run.” Your stepdad points down the hall as your mother rounds the corner.  

“Ready to go honey?” She asks your stepdad. 

“Coming! Use Suguru laptop to check your email, if we come back and you haven’t got the email you can use my phone. Bye! Have fun and be nice!” Your stepdad waves before following your mother. You wave back. 

 Of course, you had to use Suguru’s laptop. Maybe you can just log in, tell your stranger that you’re okay and that you won’t be able to contact him until you get a new phone and then delete the history before Suguru comes back from his run. It’ll only take a few minutes...you hope he doesn’t a password.  

You run to the sitting room, but you don’t see a laptop anywhere. Dammit, he always has to make things hard for you. You walk up the round staircase and down the hall until you're standing in front of Suguru’s room. You look around, as if Suguru's gonna pop up out of nowhere and attack you from going into his room. You shake the thought off and open his door. You stop and stare at the bed, you feel like you've seen that duvet. You chalk it up to a bunch of man having the same bedding before turning to scan the room for a laptop. You quickly spot the laptop on his desk and run to it. You sigh in relief when it opens to the last tab he had opened. Thank you Suguru for not caring about who gets into your shit. You click new tab and start to type in the name of the website you use before you freeze.  

You only need to type in three letters before the website popped up in top hits. You stop breathing. No... He couldn’t know what you do. Is that why he came here? Was he going to expose you to your parents? Was he acting nice to butter you up before crushing you? Your vision starts to blur. All boys watch porn, maybe he just happens to watch porn on the same website you film on. You can block your account from him so that he never finds you. You swallow before clicking the tab. You shakily move they pointer over to the search bar before you spot something in the left corner that makes you dizzy.  

Right where the username of the viewer is supposed to be is the username @Sssman72. Your heart stops and you feel wetness hit your hands. This can’t be real. You move to chat and cry out when you see your username. The last text he sent was asking what happened. No—this is a dream; you’re going to wake up and this is going to be a bad nightmare. You refuse to believe the man you’ve been slowly falling in love with over the last six months is your stepbrother, your bully. The man you confessed all your darkest secrets is the man who never showed you an ounce of kindness. Is this a part of his master plan? Is he going to blackmail you and hold all the nudes you’ve sent him and all the secrets you’ve told him over your head. You’re going to become his slave, doing whatever he wants of you until you die. You curl into yourself and cry harder at the thought.  

“Y/n? What are you do—” Suguru stops when he sees what's on the screen. “Let me explain please baby.” He reaches out to touch your shoulder. You flinch away from his touch.  

“D-don’t call me that,” You sob staring at him with such heartbreak in your eyes he wants to drop and beg for your forgiveness. “You-you, it was you the whole time.” Your voice breaks. 

Suguru nods slowly trying to reach out for you again. You take a few steps away. “Was this some masterplan to hold me under your thumb for the rest of my life!?” You scream at him. 

He’s grateful your parents went out of town; this would be an absolute shitshow if they were here.  

“No babydoll—” 

“I said don’t call me that you asshole! Stop pretending. I hate you Suguru! You win okay, you win!” You tell him before you run out of his room. He curses before running after you, you run up that stairs and into the suite but before you can shut the door Suguru shoves it open. You drop to your knees to pull your suitcase from under your bed. 

“Please listen to me y/n. I wasn’t faking—stop packing and let me explain.” Suguru pleads as he watches you throw your clothes into your suitcase. 

“Y/n, baby, please listen to me please” He grabs your arm, and you try to fight him, but he pulls you down onto the bed with him. He hugs you around the waist and you push in this chest trying to break free. His heart aches. He hates seeing you hurt, he hates that he was the one who made you cry like this. He hates that you only associate him with the version of himself that he created to stop anyone from seeing what he was truly feeling. He hates that you won’t accept the real version of him now that you know it was him. He holds you tighter as you scream and cry. He whispers sweet nothings as you whisper how much you hate him. At some point you stop fighting and wrapping your arms around his neck. You sniffle into his neck, and he rubs your backs and rocks you.  

“Why?” You ask hoarsely after all the anger leaves your body. Now you feel numb, like you're watching your life from a third perspective.   

“I never hated you, I never lied, and I never planned to blackmail you—I know you don’t believe me baby but everything I've ever told you on that app was real. Everything I feel for you is real.”   You pull your face out of his neck and stare up at him. You don’t believe him. 

“I have never hated you y/n. I swear it. I hated the fact that my father replaced my mother with yours not even a year after she died. Baby, I never fucking hated you. I was just a teenager who didn’t know how to express my emotions so I took them out of the person I knew I could hurt the most. It was bad I know; I feel like shit to this day. When I graduated and got away from my father, I realized how bad I was to you, and I got into therapy. I wanted to be better for myself, for you, for everyone around me. I didn’t know that the bullying continued when I left. I didn’t know how bad people had taken it until that day I came back home. When you told me off about it, I was so confused. I’m so fucking sorry. I want to reach out and apologize for everything and the day I planned to do it Satoru—my best friend, you remember him—well he sent me the link to your account and so I made an account and it all just spiralized out of control after that. I was too embarrassed to tell you it was me and then we started to form a connection, a real connection, and I didn’t want our conversations to end so—fuck I'm sorry. Everything I told you; I meant it. I fucking meant every word.”  

You sit there stunned, trying to comprehend everything he said. You never knew about his mother. You thought she had passed away long before your mom and his dad had met. But you remember when your stranger told you that. God, you remember when your not so mystery man told you about his family the seemed so familiar to yours. And he didn’t tell all those people to bully you after he left? Did he mean every word? Every word of affirmation he gave you. Those times when he told you that you were capable of being loved and that you were going to find someone who would love every part of you, the good and bad. Was that the same Suguru? You try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man you love is your stepbrother. 

“I know it’s a lot of information.” 

“It is.” 

“Do you believe me?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. You do. Despite everything you find yourself nodding. He sighs and you feel the tension release from his shoulders that your arms are wrapped around. You suddenly realize the position you two are in and feel your face heat. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and your legs are on either side of his thick thighs his cock, the cock that you saw last night, is right underneath you, if you lower yourself an inch, you’d be sitting on it.  

Suguru grips your waist with one hand, the other cupping the right side of your face. You look up at him and sniffle. He leans down until your foreheads are touching.  

“If you give me achance, I'll treat you like the queen you are. I’ll love you the way you’re meant to be loved. One chance is all I ask for.” He mummers rubbing your noses together.  

You hesitate, one part of you wants to run away with him because he’s the man you’ve wanted for the last six months. The other part of you wants to run away from him, he’s your stepbrother, he lied, and you don't know if he would’ve ever told you the truth. But isn’t that what he came here to do? Can you blame a little boy for being mad at the people who replaced his mother?  

You give him his answer by grabbind his neck and push his lips towards you. If this does go to hell at least you’ll have a story to tell your feature children.  

Suguru kisses back before standing and pulling you off him. “What—” 

“You said you wanted me on my knees, didn't you? I’m ready to serve you in any way you want. I can have my savings transferred to your account by tomorrow night.” He says as he drops to his knees. You stare at him with wide eyes as he holds your legs and starts kissing from knee to right where your pussy starts.  

“Suguru—” 

“Shh babydoll let me take care of my girl, show her how sorry I am for hurting her.” He mummers before dropping your leg and picking up the next one. He repeats this a few more times before finally asking you to lift your hips so he can pull your leggings and panties off. Suguru throws your pants behind him before standing up to pull your tank top off. You reach behind to unbuckle your bra and toss it on the floor with your other clothes. Suguru chuckles, reaching up to kiss all over your face. 

“Take your clothes off too Sugu.” You giggle, reaching for his sweatpants. You get a firm grip and yank them down. His thick cock bounces out. Your mouth goes slack. The phone call didn’t do it justice. It somehow looks bigger than before and if you weren’t wet before, you are now. That thing is going to be inside you soon.  

“Like what you see beautiful?” You nod dumbly as you watch Suguru step out of his pants and take his shirt off with one hand. He’s so fucking sexy.  

He drops back down to his knees and pulls you until your ass is hanging off the bed. “Lay down and let me please you.”  You comply and watch as Suguru lifts your legs up and buries his face in your cunt. Your hands fly down to his long shiny hair. 

“Suguru!” You moan as he licks you from asshole to clit. He sucks on your clit before biting both lips. Your pussy clenches. “Feels s’good Sugu!” You grind down on his talented tongue. Suguru hums into your clit before setting one of you thighs in his shoulder and bringing his fingers to your entrance. He teases you, only pushing his fingers into the joint before taking them out. You cry out in frustration before pulling on his long hair when he finally slides two big fingers into you. 

Yours definitely don't compare to his long thick ones. Your back arches off the bed as Suguru fingers jackhammer into you all the while his mouth sucks on your clit.  

“S’good Sugu! Don’t stop!” You scream letting go of hair with one hand to cover your loud mouth.  

“Don’t hide those sweet moans from me babydoll. If you want my cock, you’ll let me hear you scream my name as you cum on my fingers and mouth.” 

You bring you hand back to hair and grind hard as you get closer and closer to orgasm.  

“Gonna cum! M’gonna come!” You cry, as you release all over Suguru's face. He moans and sucks even harder before adding another finger. You cry at the sudden intrusion. It doesn't take long before you’re coming all over again, this time liquid shooting out of you and onto Sugu’s chest.  

“Yes baby, that's it—what a good girl,” He praises as he slurps up all your juices. “Such a fucking good gril f’me.” 

“Gimme a kiss.” You say between heavy breaths.  

“Does the pretty girl want kiss?” You nod, pulling Suguru down with you by the shoulders. 

“Want you to kiss me while you fuck me for the first time. Want it to be special,” You confess shyly. Suguru leans down and pecks you on the forehead, then the nose, and then both of your cheeks. 

“Don’ tease meanie!” You laugh when he kisses the corner of your lips. 

“M’sorry baby, can you forgive me?” He pouts.  

“Hmm—I’ll forgive you only if you kiss me right no—” You don’t even finish your sentence before Suguru shoves his tongue down your throat. You kiss him back and your tongues fight for dominance. Suguru wins and smiles into the kiss. You can’t believe this is happening. Your bully, your stepbrother, your mystery man is kissing you right now. Your about to make love with said man. 

“You okay babydoll?”  

“Mhm, just can’t believe this is all happening.” 

“Me too beautiful, you sure you want to do this right now? We can always wait.” 

“No, I want to. I want you.” You raise your hand to tuck his hair behind his ear. He smiles, showing you that adorable dimple. You kiss it.  

Suguru kisses your lips once more before he grabs his cock, rubbing it up and down your cunt. 

“Fuck—I don’t have a condom.” 

“I’m on the pill—please Sugu.” You beg, frustrated from all this foreplay. You’ve been on edge since last tight in the tub.  

“Alight beautiful,” He pushes the head of his cock into you. “Fuck me—you feel so good. Always knew you would.” You feel his fist guide his long cock into you. You moan. He fits you perfectly.  

“Sugu—feel’s s’good, want more!” You cry, fisting the blanket’s underneath you.  

“Does my baby want more—does she want to orgasm on my cock?” You nod watching Suguru lift your legs to his shoulder. He leans down, bringing your feet to the side of your head. You whine at the stretch. 

Suguru groans as he pulls his cock in and out of you.  

“S’too much!” You moan into his shoulder. He just laughs and picks up his pace. The fancy headboard above the bed starts to slam against the wall. You watch with blurry eyes as the stock photos hung on the wall shake.  

“Said you wanted more baby, ‘m giving you more.”  he says before biting into your neck. Hard. You scream, back arching at the pain. Your hands fist the sheets even tighter, knuckles turning white. Suguru unlatches his jaw. Lifting his head to admire his mark. Now all your customers will know you belong to someone. To him. He kisses the mark. 

“Sugu, It’s too much. Hurts! m’gonna cum!” You cry, tears soaking the blanket breath you. 

“Oh, don't cry baby—shhh—you’re so beautiful y/n. So damn pretty.” He whispers, coaxing you to orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You stop breathing for a second as your pussy contracts around Suguru's cock. Suguru follows in suit, spurting his cum deep inside your pussy. 

“Fuck,” he draws out, collapsing onto you.  

“T-that was—” 

“The best sex ‘ve ever had.” 

“Same.” You smile before wincing. 

“What’s wrong babydoll.”  

“You're about to break my damn hip if you keep my legs up any longer,” Suguru lefts himself enough to bring your legs to his sides. “And you probably ripped a chunk of my neck off with that little trick of yours.” You grumble. 

“It’s not bad, promise.” He kisses the bite mark softly. 

“And all the pictures fell of the wall.”  

“I’ll put ‘em back up baby,” He laughs into your ear. “Just let me hold you for a second.”  He kisses your cheek before snuggling deeper into you. You throw your arms around his shoulder while you both try to wrap your head around everything that happened.  

[miserycanary]

TAKE IT OR LEAVE HIM ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader

synopsis: Ghost forgets your birthday

tag: slight slight angst

Hectic doesn’t begin to describe Ghost’s schedule, yet you accepted him with open arms. He needs to cut your dinner short because he’s needed back at the base? You nod with a smile full of understanding. He forgets a few chores and groceries because he’s piled up with tasks? You kiss his forehead and tell him it’s fine, and you just work around it and rush during your office breaks to do those tasks on your own. You’re exhausted from being held back at the office because the client changed their mind during the finalization, but you come home to a pile of dirty dishes and no dinner? You say you understand, washing up and going to bed while feeling your stomach grumble and waking up to wash the previous night’s dishes just to lessen Ghost’s worries.

You had no problem bending backwards just to accommodate him. You entered the relationship knowing about his schedule, so… were you really in any position to complain? 

A few insignificant tasks and miniscule adjustments to your schedule were nothing; never once uttered a complaint because you understood. Why? Because Ghost always finds a way to make it up to you. Sending bouquets when you close a big deal, treating you to a fancy restaurant during your birthday (though he’s mostly never there to celebrate until the end), and gifting you branded things during your anniversaries… so, it was all okay….. ?

Yes, it’s fine if he never shows up for your dinner date because of work. 

Yes, it’s fine that you spend most nights alone. 

Yes, you can clean the house, shop for groceries, do the laundry, and cook for the both of you. 

It was all okay. You were okay with it. You accepted it. You understood. You can do it. You’re fine. It’s all worth it. It’s not worth any trouble. It’s fine—

You snap back and all thoughts stop rushing into your head. Your phone blares an alarm with the words, ‘DATE NIGHT’, flashing on the screen. Right, it’s your birthday and Ghost promised he’d finally make it this time. So, you wore the prettiest dress, applied the most gorgeous (and time-consuming) makeup, and put on the cutest heels (your feet are getting blisters) because you wanted to spend this night with the man you love most on your Earth… who wasn’t by your side right now, but it’s fine. 

The waiter approaches the table, asking you for what seems to be the 6th time that night if your company is coming because they’re about to close. Giving up, you offer an apologetic smile and gather your things. The walk out the restaurant was embarrassing to say the least. Harsh winter air greets your face, your legs and arms trembling as you try to seek warmth from the take-out bag. You didn’t bring a jacket because, well, you thought Ghost would be there with you, but it’s fine.

The apartment door clicks open and a dark hallway awaits you. ‘Ah, he’s not here yet,’ you think to yourself, a pang of disappointment piercing your heart that raised its hope for one night. With a wince and a pained gasp, your heels come undone. Muted footsteps along the wooden floorboards as you strip out your clothes and wash up. You resign the night with your lover nowhere to be found— once again, but it’s fine. 

Morning dawn cracks through your curtains with a familiar arm around your waist and familiar dip on the mattress. You blink your sleepiness away, taking in every detail of your Simon’s face in the morning. Like he has a third sense, he wakes and stares back at you. First smiles of the day are shared between you two but you expected more. Nothing too grand. Maybe an apology and a greeting? Yet the day goes by with receiving neither, but it’s fine. Maybe the next day’s the charm? 

Nothing.

Irritation towards your lover is a rare occurrence with your endless patience and never-ending understanding of his situation. You still held hopes that maybe he’d finally realize his slip-up, but what did you come home to? Dirty dishes. A pile of them. 

“Ah, sweetheart. You’re home,” he kisses your cheek and presses your waist close to him like usual. The scent of whiskey and cigar lingers on his clothes— a scent you usually adore but now only fuels your anger. “Si, what’s this?” you ask, trying to keep your frustration at bay as you point to the sink. “What? Oh, noticed ‘ya didn’t make dinner so I ate what’s ever left,” he answers cooly like there’s nothing wrong.

“... do you mean you ate my lunch for tomorrow?” 

“That yours? Sorry, baby. ‘Ya can jus’ make another one, and one for me.”

You pull away, slapping his face with tears rushing down your face. Ghost looks at you with shock and confusion which angers you further. How can he not realize why you’re mad?

“Woah, woah. What’s wrong, doll?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT. Oh, my fucking God, Simon. You’re really asking me that?” you run your fingers through your hair, screaming at his face and throwing your purse at him. “What’s wrong?? You tell me! I slave away at this goddamn house. I go to bed with my bones feeling like weights because I keep cleaning after your mess, but it’s fine! Because you were busy, I understood.”

Tension builds in the air as everything you’ve held back poured out of you. “I never complained because I told you I was fine with your schedule when we first started dating. I fucking bend my body backwards and did everything for you LIKE A MAID. And you have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong? You don’t even ask me how my day went. Asking me to cook for you like I’m just a housekeeper? YOU DON’T EVEN DO ANYTHING FOR ME.” You stomp over to his face, glaring with hatred as you spat out your next words. “Just a fucking reminder that I am your girlfriend. I am not here to clean up after you.”

“Did I ask you to?” he snaps back, returning the same vile stare. “You’re whining about working around the house like I asked you to. Let’s be clear that I never forced you to do these shits around the house.”

“You didn’t have to! You just kept piling up dishes and clothes, leaving a messy trail behind you because you know you expect me to do it for you!”

“And did those come for free? I buy you everything you want on anniversaries and birthdays. You act as if you come for cheap,” he scoffs.

"WELL, GUESS WHAT? YOU FUCKING FORGOT IT THIS YEAR,” you finally confess through sobs. Realization dawns upon your lover, evident on the way his face drops. He tries to approach you but you step back.

“I waited for you like a fool because you promised. I-.. I.. had to tell the waiter 5 times that you were coming because they were on the verge of throwing me out. Did you know how embarrassing it was for me? I… I know I shouldn’t have kept my hopes up but I wanted to believe in you, but.. I’m tired.”

Silence blankets you both as every emotion rushes through your heart. Your throat felt raw and your head was getting heavy from all the crying.

“I’m done, Ghost. I’m tired," you whisper. Those words were simple but Ghost knew what lies underneath. You weren't tired of what you did for him. You were tired of him.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: woah, angst again? Anyone surprised? This request has been sitting on my inbox for a while but I have enough free time to answer them, so here we are. I will make a König version if this gets attention. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[sixeyesonathiel]

01 | kill switch

pairing — target!satoru x assasin!reader

synopsis : a professional assassin accepts a job to eliminate an ordinary high school teacher—only to find her target is gojo satoru, a man who eats gas station sushi with religious devotion and nearly dies walking to work. as days pass, she finds herself less concerned with completing the job and more preoccupied with why someone would want this disastrous man dead. or: when your target's worst enemy is himself and your professional detachment keeps slipping every time he almost gets hit by a bus.

tags — no curses au, crack treated seriously, dark humor, fluff for all the wrong reasons, assassin & target dynamic, self-destructive disaster man, implied nerdjo, satoru is a great teacher, moral ambiguity, reluctant caretaking, food aggression (affectionate), chaotic neighbors, near-death hijinks, emotional constipation, eventual smut, happy ending. art by @Leimiruu.

a/n : reposting this officially as a series now because im too lazy to edit the original and tumblr mobile is shit <3

series masterlist. | next.

you’ve killed men for less.

and yet, something about this one already irritates you before you've even scoped him out. the client was anonymous, the job listed in the familiar red-font message board you frequent, tucked beneath a refreshingly high bounty. no attached reasons, no requests for theatrics, just the face of a pretty man with white hair and an offer large enough to retire your gear for a year—maybe even two.

your first thought when you read the numbers is that this man is either an international war criminal, an ex-boyfriend who slept with someone’s sister, or a cheating piece of shit whose dick broke a heart so bad it now wants revenge and closure via sniper rifle. all fine reasons to die. you accept it out of habit, maybe greed.

you regret it by day three.

day one.

you stake out his apartment the way you always do. quiet, efficient, professional.

the blonde wig itches against your neck, but you’ve worn worse disguises. the oversized sunglasses and loose blouse make you blend in with the other young professionals in this upscale neighborhood. you look like any other woman waiting for a rideshare, scrolling mindlessly through your phone—except your phone is transmitting thermal readings from his apartment and the binoculars disguised as a compact mirror in your hand are military-grade.

and then he stumbles into frame through your binoculars in a stained hoodie and mismatched socks, trying to unlock his front door with a banana. not a burner phone, not even keys. a banana.

your lips part slightly in disbelief.

it takes him five minutes to realize it, and another two to drop his bag and just sit on the hallway floor, staring at the wall like it just told him bad news. his shoulders droop forward, his expression blank. he eventually eats the banana, chewing mechanically, gaze fixed on nothing.

you lower your binoculars and blink.

“the fuck?” you whisper to yourself, the words escaping between barely parted lips.

day two.

you follow him to work. he’s a high school teacher, apparently.

your outfit today is casual—light summer dress, different wig (auburn this time), sensible shoes. you’ve prepared a story about being a substitute at the neighboring elementary school if anyone asks. no one does. you trail him discreetly, prepared for a twist—maybe a shady meeting, some dark past, some slip.

instead, he offers a student his umbrella when the sky cracks open unexpectedly, rain pouring down in sheets. you duck under a shop awning, watching him through the downpour.

“take it,” he says to the wide-eyed student, voice carrying just enough for you to hear. “i’m already soaked anyway.”

he walks in the rain with a box of graded papers under his arm, making a half-hearted attempt to shield them with his body. you note the detail, even as you wince watching him step into a deep puddle with sneakers and just sigh, like he expected it. water soaks his pants up to mid-calf. he doesn't even attempt to avoid the next puddle.

his students like him, and worse, he’s good at what he does. you observe his class from the courtyard, pretending to read. through the window, you watch him explain complex concepts with surprising clarity, his hands gesturing expressively, occasionally running through that shock of white hair when students ask good questions.

“he’s a teacher,” you mutter to yourself, perched on the rooftop across his school during lunch break, scanning through the lens. your fingers tap an agitated rhythm against the concrete ledge. “he’s a good teacher. the hell did you do, gojo satoru?”

day three.

you almost blow your cover today.

he’s at a convenience store, standing in front of the refrigerated section. you’re pretending to browse magazines, peeking over the top of some celebrity gossip rag. he stares at the drinks for seventeen minutes—you counted—before selecting what appears to be the most sugary, caffeinated option available.

then he walks to the counter, places his energy drink down, and adds three packages of aspirin.

your stomach drops.

the cashier doesn't even look up, just scans everything with bored efficiency.

you abandon your post, slipping out the door and around the corner, heart hammering uncomfortably against your ribs. you’ve seen enough suicides to recognize the signs. but when he emerges five minutes later, he's downing the energy drink and the aspirin is nowhere to be seen.

it’s only when you follow him to his next stop—a pharmacy—that you realize he's delivering medication to an elderly neighbor. she greets him with a trembling smile, patting his cheek with paper-thin hands. he stays for twenty minutes, fixing a loose cabinet door before leaving.

you lean against the building across the street, exhaling slowly through your nose, suddenly aware of how tightly you've been gripping your fake shopping bag.

“what the hell am i missing?” you whisper to yourself.

day four.

by day four, he has become your most infuriating subject to date.

he lives like a man who lost a bet with life and is now doing his best to make death easier.

your perch today is a cafe across from his apartment. you've rotated through three different outfits already, your current disguise featuring dark hair cropped short, glasses, and a conservative button-up. you look like an accountant on lunch break, nibbling at a sandwich that tastes like cardboard in your mouth as you watch his apartment through the window.

through your high-powered lens, you witness him eat an entire strawberry shortcake for dinner and wash it down with a can of expired soda—you can see the bloated sides of the can from here, for god's sake. your fork pauses halfway to your mouth, appetite suddenly gone.

“that can’t be your dinner,” you murmur, annoyed, brow furrowing. “where's the protein? vegetables? anything?”

later, you trail him to the grocery store, hoping—praying—he’ll buy something resembling actual nutrition. instead, he fills his basket with instant ramen, more energy drinks, and another cake. you find yourself in the produce section, hand tightening around an innocent apple as you watch him bypass every single vegetable without a glance.

on his walk home, he crosses the street disassociating, eyes unfocused, headphones in, not even looking both ways. your heart leaps into your throat as a car swerves toward him, horn blaring. he barely dodges, the vehicle missing him by inches.

you almost scream when the car swerves and he barely dodges. instead of panic, he just offers the driver a lazy two��fingered salute and keeps walking, shoulders relaxed as if he hadn't nearly become roadkill.

“what the fuck is wrong with you,” you hiss into your sleeve, nails digging half–moons into your palms. “do you have a death wish or are you just naturally stupid?”

your fingers are trembling slightly when you lower your hand. professionals don’t get emotional about targets. professionals don’t care if their target eats cake for dinner. professionals don’t feel this strange, twisting sensation in their gut when they watch someone court death so casually.

you are a professional. you remind yourself of this fact three times before continuing your surveillance.

day five.

by day five, you realize you are stalking a man trying to die before you can kill him.

he has no sense of self-preservation. none.

you’re positioned in the building opposite his apartment again, this time with a camera set up to look like you're a photographer working on a project. your hair is tucked under a cap, face partially obscured by the equipment.

through your lens, you watch him microwave aluminum foil and then eat the food anyway when it doesn't immediately burst into flames. sparks fly inside the microwave; he doesn't even flinch, just waits for it to finish with dead eyes.

“are you kidding me right now?” you whisper, fingers tightening on your camera. “that could have electrocuted you or started a fire!”

he leaves his door unlocked when he goes for a run. he clicks on pop-up ads on his laptop without hesitation. he buys sushi from a gas station—the one with the flickering lights and questionable health rating that you'd never even walk into—and winces mid-bite but finishes it anyway.

you almost cry when you see him with it again the next day.

“that’s food poisoning waiting to happen,” you mutter with a grimace, stomach churning in sympathetic nausea as you watch him poke at the discolored fish. “please, please don't eat that.”

he eats it.

you’ve planned this assassination like a professional—timed his routes, noted his blind spots, patterned his movements—and he’s just... walking into open traffic without looking. staying up until 3 AM watching what appears to be Digimon marathon reruns, blue light washing over his exhausted face. drinking straight from a milk carton that expired last week.

you start tailing him less like a killer and more like a babysitter. every time he trips over nothing, you flinch, body instinctively moving forward before you catch yourself. every time he shrugs off something dangerous, you scribble angrily in your notes, pressing so hard the pen nearly tears through the paper.

“at this rate,” you mutter through gritted teeth, crouched behind a newspaper stand, watching him nearly walk into a construction pit while texting, “i won’t get paid because he’s going to accidentally electrocute himself trying to toast frozen pizza.”

your hand tightens around your pen until your knuckles turn white.

day six.

you break protocol on day six.

it’s raining again, a miserable drizzle that seeps into bones. you’re in a dark peacoat, hair hidden under a fashionable hat, makeup subtle but effective in changing the structure of your face. anyone looking would see just another commuter hurrying through the weather.

he’s at the park, sitting on a bench, getting soaked. just... sitting there. not reading, not on his phone. sitting and staring at nothing, letting the rain plaster his white hair to his forehead, droplets running down his face like tears—or hiding them.

thirty minutes pass. he doesn't move.

forty–five minutes.

an hour.

your fingers are numb around your umbrella handle. you shouldn’t care. you should be calculating the perfect moment to complete your job, not wondering if he’s going to catch pneumonia.

when his shoulders start to shake—from cold or something else, you can’t tell—something in you snaps. you approach from behind, making your footsteps deliberately loud on the wet pavement.

you hold your umbrella over his head, not saying a word.

he looks up at you, startled, blue eyes wide and rimmed with red. for a split second, his expression is so vulnerable it makes your chest ache.

“you’re getting soaked,” you say, voice carefully neutral, face deliberately unremarkable. forgettable. “take it.”

you place the umbrella in his unresisting hand and walk away before he can respond, rain immediately soaking through your coat. you don't look back, even when you feel his eyes following you.

that night, in your temporary apartment, you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, water dripping from your real hair after a hot shower that couldn't seem to warm you.

“what the hell are you doing?” you ask yourself angrily, voice echoing against the tile. “this isn’t the job. this isn’t who you are.”

but even as you say it, you’re already planning tomorrow's surveillance route, already wondering if he'll eat a proper breakfast.

day seven.

day seven is a monday. it starts, as many do, with him almost getting hit by a bus.

you’re across the street, dark sunglasses shielding your eyes despite the overcast sky, a fitted blazer and pencil skirt making you look like any other office worker heading to their cubicle. your hair is your natural color today, styled differently than you’d normally wear it—a calculated risk to blend in better with the morning crowd.

he doesn’t even flinch as the bus screeches to a halt inches from him. just raises a hand in apology, earbuds in, music blasting, hoodie hoodied. he smells like gas station teriyaki sticks and failure, you can tell from the crumpled wrapper sticking out of his pocket. your nose wrinkles involuntarily.

you’re watching from the shadows again, jaw clenched, heart tight for reasons you refuse to name. one hand grips the strap of your messenger bag so tightly the leather creaks. it’s the bento in your bag that does it. you made it without thinking last night, slapping it together like some fevered instinct. rice, miso, actual vegetables. protein. things humans need to survive.

he's digging into his hoodie pocket for change when you stomp across the street, dodging morning traffic with the precision you usually reserve for more lethal tasks.

“what the—” he starts, blue eyes widening behind those ridiculous glasses he sometimes wears.

you shove the warm box into his chest, the heat of it burning through your gloves. your expression is murderous, brows drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line.

“eat it.” you snap, each syllable sharp and distinct.

he stares at you. your face is neutral except for the slight flush of exertion climbing your neck. he doesn’t recognize you. of course he doesn't. you’re a professional. the wind rustles his hair, the corner of his lips twitch like he’s about to laugh, revealing a dimple you hadn't noticed before.

you turn on your heel and storm away, shoulders stiff, steps measured despite the urge to run.

he watches you go. the box in his hands is still warm.

he blinks once. twice. looks down at it. looks back at your retreating form.

“huh,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, voice rough from too many sleepless nights. “figures. i fall in love at first sight with a pretty girl the same week i hire someone to kill me.”

he looks down at the warm bento like it personally insulted him.

“timing really is a bitch.”

[hqwkeyes]

Falling for the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.6k+ Warnings: swearing, uhh fluff, slight angst?, matt is a flirt, i edited this while fighting 6g melatonin Summary: Matt Murdock is a known flirt, and a successful one, at that. You've seen him work his magic on women dozens of times. But one night, he attempts to use that Murdock charm on you. He might've fallen first, but you just might fall harder... maybe.

Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

Matt Murdock is many things: a great lawyer, a great friend, but most of all, he's a flirt. A merciless flirt, at that. A charmer and a tease. He has a way of making people, specifically women, feel special. It comes naturally to him, much to Foggy's dismay in his pre-Marci days.

You've been working at Nelson, Murdock, and Page for a while now, and you just sort of clicked with the group early on. There have been several occasions when you were all out at Josie's and Matt would work his magic on a woman. You would all watch as he'd flirt with them, charm them, and often times leave with them. It was a running joke in the group, at this point, that Matt was sort of a...philanderer, if you will. He didn't lead these women on, though. Matt was still pretty much a gentleman.

Although he keeps to himself more than the others, you've always been pretty close friends with Matt. He looks out for you the same way he does for Karen and Foggy, and you trust him—like really trust him. Was there a vibe you got from him sometimes? Sure, but you were also well aware that Matt could probably charm a brick wall if he wanted to, and you generally try not to fall for antics like that.

It's been a long week, and this case you were all working had dragged on for weeks in court. You all had done your best work for your client, but you weren't sure how the verdict would pan out. In the end, you guys won the case, and now it was time to celebrate.

Josie's is fairly busy. Foggy brought Marci tonight, and you all get yourselves a drink before claiming the pool table, which is thankfully free. The five of you toast to the big win in court before cutting loose a bit and playing a few games.

You're sitting at a table nearby with Karen, chatting a bit while Foggy plays against Marci—which is incredibly entertaining. Matt is by Foggy's side for emotional support, which he definitely needs. When both your drinks are empty, Karen gets up to get the two of you another round. After a few minutes, you peek over at the bar, wondering what's taking your friend so long. You're only a little surprised to find her talking it up with a guy. She's the friendly sort, but this seems like a bit more than just friendly. He's handsome and very much her type. Another minute later, Karen pops back over with your drink, and asks if you would mind if she stepped away to talk to Evan. You give her a suggestive grin and shoo her away before calling out to your friends that you're playing the winner in the next game.

In a shocking twist, Foggy beat Marci in the last game. Unfortunately for you, that just meant that she was on his side, cheering him on and distracting him from the game. Matt is sitting at the table you and Karen had been occupying, and you call him over.

"Come on, Matt, I need someone to root for me too," you tell him, and he laughs as he joins you by the pool table.

The two of you chat as you play, but after the next few shots, you lose Foggy to Marci's attention. He's practically drooling over her, and you would think it's adorable if it wasn't his turn.

"Earth to Foggy," you call out, but it's no use. You'll have to wait for him to turn his attention back to the game.

"Can you believe this?" You ask Matt, shaking your head in disbelief, and he laughs at your mild distress.

You lean against the table, grabbing your drink you'd left on the edge of it.

"You know, you really pulled through for us on this case," Matt says suddenly as he leans against the table beside you.

"Thanks, Matt. It was nothing though."

"No, really, I don't think we could've pulled it off if not for those documents you found."

"I'm just happy to help," you tell him.

"And we're very happy to have you," he says with a smile.

Matt holds out his glass, and you clink yours against it before taking a sip. You glance over to where Karen is to check on her, and she seems to be having a great time. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a big smile.

"This is nice," Matt says, drawing your attention back to him.

"Hm?"

"We haven't spent much time together like this lately."

"Well, we've been so busy with the case, it's been hard to find time outside of work. And we all know you're always busy," you say, nudging him with your elbow.

"That's true," he says with a chuckle. "So what have you been up to outside of work?"

"Oh." You weren't expecting that.

"Um, well I've been watching this show lately." You explain the plot of the show before telling him about this new hobby you have. He listens attentively with a small smile. He shows genuine interest in what you're saying, asking questions here and there. After a few minutes, you realize that you've been babbling on.

"Jeez, I'm sorry. I've been rambling."

"Don't apologize," he says, leaning a bit closer. "I like listening to your voice." You recognize his tone. It's that seemingly innocent one he has when he's trying to charm someone. Something bubbles in your chest, and for a moment, you understand why so many women fall for his flirtations.

"I bet you tell all the girls that," you say with a laugh before taking another sip your drink.

"Hey, I mean it," he says, feigning hurt before finishing off his drink.

"Sure you do," you say, voice laced with amusement.

"I do, really. I could listen to you talk all day."

"You do listen to me talk all day," you joke, earning a chuckle from him, though his pride is a bit wounded.

Trying to keep his composure, he casually snatches your drink from your hand and takes a sip.

"Do you want me to get you another drink?" You ask with a laugh.

"I thought maybe we could share." His reply is quick, smooth, and it comes with that signature smirk again.

You roll your eyes. You know Matt and how he is. This case was tough and he's probably looking to blow off some steam, which is fine, but you're not sure why he's looking to you. Being friends with your bosses/coworkers can be difficult enough. Sleeping with Matt would likely complicate both of those relationships. You wouldn't want to risk it all over a one night stand, although, once again, you can see how he manages to captivate all these women.

You play it casual. "Sure, we can share if you want."

At that, you can see the twinge of frustration in Matt's expression. His brows draw up in what looks something like confusion.

"I heard Karen say she was talking to a guy at the bar?" He asks after a moment.

"Oh yeah, she said his name is Evan."

"Nice, nice."

A moment passes. You take your drink back for another sip as your eyes dance over the small crowd to check on Karen again, who still looks like she's having a great time.

"So, are you seeing anyone new?" And you almost spit that sip straight onto the floor. Josie would probably make you clean it yourself, or it would stay there until the sticky puddle dried.

You clear your throat from nearly choking. "No, I'm not." Matt's grin returns. He fumbles with his fingers.

"Oh, no?"

"Nope. You?"

"No, not lately." he says, taking your drink back again and draining half of what's left. He lets out a sigh after. "There's someone I've been interested in for a while, and I just can't quite get over my feelings," he says.

You freeze, your heart kicking up a fuss. Matt smiles at the floor. You try to maintain your composure.

"Oh, really?" you say, trying not to sound too interested. "Who's the lucky lady? Do we all know her?"

"Yeah, you do actually." He finishes off your drink. "Can I get you another?" He asks, holding up your glass.

"Umm." You glance at your watch. It's a Friday, but you don't want to go home so late that you have to call a car.

"Just one more? To celebrate our win." He plays it cool, but there's a slight edge to his voice, almost pleading.

"By one more, do you mean one of my own or one to share?" He laughs at that.

"What's wrong with sharing," he jests with a grin, then heads to the bar before you can reply.

He returns a couple minutes later with a drink for each of you, but his smile deflates when he finds that Foggy's attention has returned to the game you were playing.

"Thanks, Matt," you say passively as you take your drink and set it on the edge of the table before lining up your next shot.

You end up pocketing two balls in one go, letting out an excited shout.

"What's happening?" Matt asks.

"She just pocketed two balls," Foggy says, exasperated.

"My last two. And now I can go for the winning shot," you tell him. He smiles.

"Nice," Matt says, trying not to seem dejected.

"The odds of you making that shot are slim to none," Foggy says. He's right. Based on the placement of his remaining balls, it's unlikely that you'll make the winning shot in this turn, but you get competitive when people doubt you.

"Wanna bet?" you say.

"On you not making the shot? Hell yeah."

"How much if I do?"

"Twenty bucks."

"You don't sound too confident," you say, goading him.

"Fine, fifty." Marci lightly smacks his arm. Honestly, you shouldn't have pushed it with how slim your chances are, but you're feeling a little lucky tonight.

"Deal."

You call your pocket before taking a moment to line up your shot. You inhale deeply, hold it a second, exhale. Shoot. The 8 ball knocks against one of Foggy's, then against the edge of the table before slowly rolling toward the pocket you called. And it's in.

"Holy shit!" Foggy yells. You're cheering for yourself and Marci joins in the excitement.

Foggy comes around to your side of the table to give you your fifty dollars. "You definitely earned it," he says with a laugh. "Wanna go again?"

"I'm good," you tell him. "That was more than enough excitement for me."

You walk over to Matt, who is standing near the table you had shared with Karen earlier.

"I take it you won?"

"I did," you say, your voice oozing with pride.

He chuckles. "Of course you did."

He holds out his glass to toast to your win, and you clink yours against his, a bit spilling on the floor.

"So, what are you gonna do with the money you won?" he asks, setting his drink down on the table.

"Hmm, I'm not sure. Maybe I'll treat myself to dinner tomorrow night."

You go to step closer to the table to set your drink down, but slip on the puddle you'd left, falling forward. Matt catches you against his chest, his arms falling around your waist to steady you.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you say, removing your hands from his chest once you regain your footing, but Matt's arms don't move.

"You're finally falling for me, huh," he says with that smirk. Your heart skips a beat. Or maybe several. Actually, it feels like it might burst right out of your chest. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks growing hotter by the second.

"I– um, I–" you stammer, unsure of what to say.

"How about instead of treating yourself to dinner tomorrow night, you let me treat you."

"But what about–" you pause as the realization hits you. You were the woman he had been talking about. "Oh." You feel the tips of your ears reddening.

Matt lets out a soft chuckle at your reaction.

Now that you think about it, it's been more than a few weeks since Matt has flirted with anyone here at Josie's. Women have approached him, as usual, but he hadn't left with any of them or even accepted any of their offers to buy him a drink. He was still charming, but that's just natural with him. At the time, you attributed it to him being busy, as you all were with work. Matt had a way of really locking in on work when there was a heavy caseload, so it didn't seem unusual then. You would all just stop in at Josie's for a quick drink before heading home.

You're pulled from your thoughts by Matt tugging you a little closer to him.

"So how about it?" he asks quietly once he has your attention again. "We can go to that little Italian place you like near the office?"

Have you, at some point, considered what it might be like to be with Matt? Admittedly, yes. He's a sweetheart of a guy, always kind and courteous. He's a fierce lawyer—you're constantly impressed by his ability to captivate a jury and spin a narrative. And he and Foggy are always looking out for the little guy, taking on clients that don't have much—or anything at all, sometimes—but need help, and so they do just that. But at the end of the day, you're friends, and he's also your boss.

Your heart is in your throat.

"Um, as friends?" you ask.

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, I was hoping it could be a date if you're comfortable with that."

You bite your lip. "I– I just don't know if I want to risk what we already have," you admit.

"Understandable," he says, and one of his hands comes up to rest on your cheek, the other remaining firmly on your waist. "But what if we could have so much more?"

Well, the joke's on you for trying to argue with a lawyer.

"You can think of it as a trial run if you want," he offers, his hand coming down to your jaw. "If it doesn't feel right to you, we can just go back to how things were."

It might not be that simple, you think, but maybe it's worth the risk, like he said. And besides, Matt is someone you love having in your life. If things didn't work out romantically after a date or two, you're sure you could still be friends.

"A trial run, then," you say with a small nod. Matt's smirk blossoms into a smile.

"Perfect," he whispers, his hand finding it's way back up to your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. Your eyes flutter closed.

And then they're shooting back open as Foggy's voice cuts across the room.

"Look at all this love in the room tonight!" The volume of his voice makes you wince, and Marci bats at his arm, scolding him for ruining the moment. Both you and Matt burst into laughter at the pair.

You finish off your drink before getting ready to head out with the others. Karen bids Evan a good night as she readies herself to leave with the rest of you, but not before she gets his number. You link your arm through hers as you move toward the exit, asking about her night. She gives little away in the short walk to the door, but promises to catch you up at work on Monday.

"You had an eventful night too, didn't you?" she says with a grin.

"Oh yeah, I won fifty bucks off of Foggy."

"Wait, what? I was talking about with Matt. I saw the two of you over by the table," she says, nudging you playfully.

"Oh, you saw that?" You wear a bashful smile.

"Yes, and I expect to hear about that on Monday too," she says with a laugh, and you agree.

The cool night air greets you as you exit the bar, leaving goosebumps on your skin. Foggy and Marci get a cab first, calling out their "goodnights" as they get in the car. Karen calls another cab over, and she offers it to you, but you insist she takes it as she lives further than you.

And now you're left here with Matt.

"I don't see anymore taxis," you tell him. "I can call one for you if you'd like?"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine to walk," he says, tapping his cane against the pavement. Neither of you live far from Josie's. It's about a ten minute walk from you.

"I was going to walk too," you say.

"Then, can I walk you home?" he asks.

"How about I walk you home? You're not far out of the way."

He shakes his head. "I don't want you walking alone if you can avoid it. It's late."

"Fine," you say. Then, "thank you."

He smiles at the ground before taking hold of the crook of your arm. "Of course."

The two of you walk in silence for a moment before he speaks.

"You know, I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night," he says.

A small smile makes its way onto your face. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he says. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I know you might think I'm some kind of... I don't know, playboy or something, but I'm– I'm serious about this—about you." Your cheeks burn hot at that.

"I don't think that about you," you say quietly.

"You don't?"

"No. Although, I do think you have an uncanny ability to charm pretty much any woman." He smiles again. "You're a flirt and a tease, but I wouldn't go as far as to call you a playboy." His smile falters a bit at that.

"I believe you, though," you tell him. "Admittedly, I'm a little hesitant to, but you've never given me a reason not to trust you."

"Then, I'll just have to keep proving that you can trust me."

You smile. "I'm looking forward to that."

The two of you walk together in silence for a bit.

"The moon is so bright tonight," you say as you look up at the sky.

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it is. I can see it shining through the clouds, but there are too many to see any stars."

Matt sighs. "I'd give anything to see that one more time." Your heart constricts at that.

"I– I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "I like that you describe things like that to me. You do it more often than you might think. It feels like you want to share it with me, and I enjoy hearing how things look through your eyes. I remember what it was like, you know, seeing the night sky, all the stars up there—or at least what we could see from the city. When you tell me about it, it helps me keep those memories alive." You tear up just a little bit, smiling sadly.

"I'm glad I could do that for you."

A few moments pass, and you come up to your apartment building.

"This is me," you say with a sniffle, coming to a stop.

Matt turns to face you, bringing his hand up to cup your face once again.

"I take it back," he says softly.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"I take it back," he says again, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "As much as I wish I could see the sky again, I'd do anything to see you just once."

"Oh, Matt," you breathe, and a tear slips free. He brushes it away as he closes the gap between you, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. And then he's pulling away, but your hand comes up to gently tug him back by his tie. His hands find their place on your hips as you pull him into another kiss, this one a bit deeper. One of his hands comes up to rest at the nape of your neck, and his glasses bump against your nose as he angles his head. The two of you break apart in a laugh, and his hand comes down to take hold of yours.

"I wasn't planning on kissing you tonight, just so you know."

"Oh, no?"

He shakes his head, a small grin on his face. "Nope."

"Well, I guess you can just try not to kiss me tomorrow night," you say with a small smirk.

"Oh, I don't think so," he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest as he leans in to press one last kiss to your lips.

"Until tomorrow," he says once he pulls away.

"Goodnight, Matt," you say as you take a step towards the stairs to your building.

"Goodnight" he says, finally releasing your hand.

He waits until he hears you get safely inside your apartment to start his walk to his own, a smile on his face the entire way home.

You're practically giddy as you ready yourself for bed. There's a good chance you won't be getting much sleep tonight, not with the anticipation of tomorrow night lingering.

Matt feels it too. Despite the late hour, he's wide awake, his heart thumping wildly as he recounts the past hour or so. As he lies in bed, he can't help but miss the way you felt in his arms, like the piece he didn't realize he was missing. Some would say it's too soon to tell, but to him, you already felt like home.

Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

If you want to be added to any of my taglists, check out this form

Matt Murdock taglist: @xoxabs88xox @echo-dreams-of-recs

[uppersidedreaminnn]

ENOUGH FOR YOU ★ S.JY

SYNOPSIS: jake has been on tour for two months now. awhile you should feel happy for him. your boyfriend living his dream, performing in front of thousands, city after city—there’s something else growing inside you. a quiet, creeping insecurity that he’s slowly slipping away.

PAIRING: idol!sim jaeyun x reader

GENRE: angst, hurt & comfort, feelings of insecurities, long distance relationship.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. let me know your thoughts!

the soft breeze brushes against your skin as you make your way home, the sky above dipped in rich pinks and oranges. it’s a beautiful afternoon—the kind that should make you feel at peace. and in some ways, it does. you smile to yourself, still floating from a client meeting that went surprisingly well. for once, the day felt like a win.

but just as you reach your apartment building, something stops you in your tracks.

a dog. a golden retriever, chasing after a ball that rolls to a stop right by your feet. his golden fur gleams in the light, tail wagging, tongue hanging out joyfully. you chuckle and crouch down, picking up the ball and tossing it again. the dog watches you intently before dashing after it like a bullet.

you pause, watching him go.

the golden retriever reminds you of jake.

that same playful energy, that same affectionate sparkle in his eyes. that warm, golden presence that always filled up any room he was in — and lately, one you’ve been missing more than you care to admit.

still smiling from the interaction, you make your way upstairs to your apartment, the image of the retriever lingering in your mind. as soon as you’re inside, you settle into the couch and reach for your phone almost instinctively. jake.

your fingers hover above the keyboard, wondering if he’ll even have time to read it. but you decide to text him anyway.

"hi, baby."

you pause, taking a moment to type your next words.

"you’re probably really busy... anyway, i had a good day today—something went right for once."

you add a smile emoji. then:

"oh, and i saw a golden retriever on my way up. he reminded me of you."

you chuckle softly at yourself.

"the universe keeps finding ways to remind me that you’re not here."

then, after a pause:

"don’t forget to rest, okay? and eat something before the show. i can’t wait to see you perform tonight. good luck, baby."

you stare at the screen for a second before sending it. you were about to get up when another thought strikes you, and you add:

“i’m proud of you.”

it’s been over six hours.

three since enhypen’s concert ended.

you’re in bed now, phone on your chest, the quiet glow of your room doing nothing to calm your nerves.

you know firsthand how busy jake is.

you know this is what dating an idol looks like—crazy schedules, endless traveling, demanding rehearsals.

you know.

but it doesn’t stop the ache from building in your chest. because it wasn’t just this text. it hasn’t just been today. it’s been happening a lot lately—short replies, late responses, sometimes none at all.

out of instinct, you grab your phone and open social media, hoping to feel some sort of presence from him. you scroll through the fancams and concert clips from today. you pause when you see jake. your heart swells at the sight of him on stage, glowing, confident, ethereal.

you continue scrolling until an upload catches your eye.

a video. a fan holding their banner that reads: “jake, i love you. say it back.”

and jake... he reads it. smiles. winks. says it back into the mic with that playful charm you fell in love with.

"i love you," he says, voice soft and flirty, the crowd screaming in return.

you try to brush it off.

but then you keep scrolling through the account. her videos are full of clips— him smiling in her direction, glancing her way multiple times.

your chest tightens the longer you watch. it’s not like this is new. you know it’s part of the job. fanservice. it’s expected.

still, something in your chest twists cruelly.

you open the comments, something you knew would do nothing to make you feel better.

"no bc he wants you," the top comment reads. you frown at the remark, but continue scrolling.

"i'd risk it all for jake," another person writes.

"girl, jake was looking at you all night."

you close the app.

you stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. you realize it’s not just that fan interaction that hurt.

it’s the silence from him. the long stretches of not knowing what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, or even if he misses you as much as you miss him.

at first, you were sure you and jake would never be the couple that drifts apart just because you’re physically apart, but now? doubt has crept in, gnawing at you.

you roll over, burying your face in the pillow.

why hasn’t he texted back?

you sink deeper in your bed, your emotions consuming you. you hate feeling like this— clingy, overly sensitive.

you try to remind yourself that you’re his girlfriend, that you matter. but right now, it just feels like you’re fading into the background of his world. like some quiet afterthought.

the night passes with no reply.

the next day isn’t much better. you decide to distract yourself with work, smile when needed, pretend like you’re not checking your phone every twenty minutes. pretending you’re not crumbling a little more inside, as you see your last messages to him.

it’s late in the evening now. you’re on the couch, laptop open, busying yourself with work, when your phone rings faintly from the other side. you reach for it instantly, eyes reading who the caller is.

jake.

your heart leaps, your thumb freezing just before answering. you take a beat too long and the call ends before you could even answer. you stare at the screen, waiting for another call.

minutes pass.

no call back.

you slump into the couch, your chest heavy with disappointment.

you don’t even know how long you sit there—just watching the screen like it might somehow blink to life on its own.

eventually, you open your messages app and text him.

"hey… just checking in. why didn’t you call back?"

you don’t expect a response, already in the motion to closing your phone.

but then—he reads it. and a few seconds later, three dots appear on the screen, a reply.

"hi. i’ll call back now, baby."

and he does. his name flashes across the screen again. you answer this time, even though your heart is beating painfully in your chest.

"hi," you whisper.

"hey," jake says, his voice soft.

you take in his appearance. his tousled hair, plain shirt draped on and glossy eyes.

he smiles. "i’m just leaving the hotel now. we’re headed out again, so i might not have long."

your smile falters a little.

"oh," you manage to say.

"how have you been?" he asks, eyes lighting up. "did you get that client? what’s her name again?"

you nod slowly. "catherine," you respond. "yeah, we got her."

jake grins at you. "that’s amazing. i knew you would."

you shift slightly. you know now’s the time to express to jake how you’ve been feeling the last few days. who knows when you’ll next be able to talk to him like this. so though the words are heavy on your tongue, you force yourself to speak them.

"jake," you begin, taking a breath. "why haven’t you texted me back?" you ask softly.

his face drops as he registers your words. he bites his lip, clearly caught off guard. you know that habit—it’s what he does when he’s trying to find the right words.

"i’m sorry, y/n," he finally settles on saying. he’s looking at you intently, eyes filled with guilt as realization creeps up on him.

"i got caught up with the guys after the concert. i didn’t even think to check my phone. i didn’t see your messages until just now," he murmurs, almost ashamed.

you nod again, but something in you cracks open, and you don’t have to force the next few words out anymore.

"we’re supposed to be a team, jake," you whisper.

his eyes widen, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right thing to say.

"i’ve been waiting for you to reach out lately," you breathe out, your voice shaking, but you continue.

"it feels like i’m always the one reaching out. like… like i’m the only one trying sometimes."

"y/n…"

before he can continue, someone off-camera calls his name.

"jake, come one. we gotta go!"

he swallows hard, turning his head to the voice.

"y/n, i promise i’ll message you, okay? please wait for me. just—please?" he says firmly, pleading.

and the screen goes black. the call ends.

you stare at the empty screen, whispering to nothing, "okay."

hours pass, and you’ve already gone to bed for the day.

when you wake up the following morning there’s a string of messages waiting for you, a stark contrast to the lack of messages lately.

"y/n, i know you’re asleep now, but i can’t stop thinking about what you said during the call," the first text reads.

"i don’t even know what to say. i’m so, so sorry. i never meant to make you feel like that."

"i should’ve been better. you’ve always been there for me, and i’ve been letting the distance win. but i never stopped thinking about you."

"you’re right. we’re a team. and i’m going to do better. i need to do better."

"i love you more than anything. please let me prove that."

finally, your eyes read the last message he sent.

"wait’s over, sweetheart. i’m coming home to you."

there’s a photo attached: a blurry photo of a plane ticket, jake’s face peeking in, smiling gently.

your heart stirs—this time not from pain and uncertainty, but from appreciation. you let out a deep breath. he’s making it up to you.

maybe this ache won’t last forever. maybe, just maybe, it was worth waiting for someone like him.