#she's lying next to my chair now
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| thinking ab the look on sukunas face when she says “dada!” 1st !
the competition starts off as a joke. mostly.
you’re lying on the floor one afternoon, baby between you and sukuna, all squirmy limbs and drooly grins. she’s nearly one now — chubby cheeks, curls in every direction, her favorite hobby is throwing expensive things off tables and laughing like she’s done something groundbreaking. she’s also been babbling nonstop for weeks: ba ba ba, ga ga, ahh!
“any day now,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of her face. “come on, sweetheart. say mama. you know you love me more.”
sukuna snorts from the other side of her, one hand propped under his chin. “in your dreams. she’s a daddy’s girl. always has been.”
“she literally bit your finger this morning and laughed.”
“because she’s my daughter. feral and mighty.”
you roll your eyes, but your heart’s too full to argue. especially when your daughter blinks up at you both, fists curled tight, mouth opening and closing like she’s almost got it.
from that day on, the war begins.
it’s ridiculous. every spare second, one of you is whispering sweet nothings into her ears like she’s a tiny, impressionable oracle.
“mama,” you say sweetly as you rock her to sleep. “say ma-ma, baby. you can do it. ignore the big scary man.”
“dada,” sukuna whispers like it’s sacred, holding her in one arm while pouring juice with the other. “you wanna say dada, don’t you? you love your old man.”
he even cheats — you catch him once holding her favorite stuffed animal hostage until she says something even vaguely “da”-adjacent. she just smacks him in the face with it and shrieks.
score: baby 1, sukuna 0.
but then—one lazy sunday morning—everything changes.
you’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself, trying to pour cereal with one hand and not burn toast with the other. your daughter is sitting in her high chair, hair wild, cheeks puffed out like a tiny chipmunk, watching sukuna pace around the room shirtless and still half-asleep.
he stops to lean against the counter, eyes still heavy-lidded, and yawns out, “hey, gremlin, what do you want? you hungry?”
and then—
“dada!”
the spoon in your hand clatters into the sink.
sukuna blinks. straightens. turns to her like she’s just summoned a divine prophecy.
“…what did you say?”
“dada!” she squeals again, tiny hands smacking the tray. “dada dada dada—!”
and sukuna — sukuna, the king of curses, the war god with enough arrogance to swallow cities — makes the most inhuman noise in the back of his throat. and you see him smile like never before.
he grabs her from the high chair, lifts her high into the air like she’s made of gold and sunlight. “say it again,” he begs, spinning her in a circle as she giggles, squeals, clutches at his face. “again, princess. say it again for dada!”
“dada!” she shrieks, absolutely thrilled with herself.
“that’s my girl,” he breathes, cradling her close and pressing his forehead to hers. “that’s my girl!!”
you’re watching from the doorway, arms crossed, heart squeezing painfully.
you should be annoyed. you should tease him, remind him how smug he’s going to be for the next forty years. but you can’t. not when he looks like that — glowing, flustered, borderline emotional. his hands are so gentle. his voice is just a whisper.
he turns and sees you watching. freezes.
“…don’t,” he says quickly, brows furrowed. “don’t make that face.”
“what face?”
“that face.”
you smile. “not my fault you’re a big softie.”
“shut up.”
“you’re blushing.”
“it’s warm in here.”
he’s still holding her like she’s the world’s most precious artifact. she’s started chewing on his shoulder now, drooling through his shirt.
“dada,” she says again, this time softer. like a secret.
and you swear you see his throat bob.
“…you win,” you admit quietly, walking over to kiss the top of her head. “but only because that was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”
“damn right i win,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her tiny knuckles. “she knows what’s up.”
“guess we both do.”
you press a kiss to his cheek this time, and his ears go pink.
—
perm taglist : @whorishminds @throatgoatgeto
#fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen#junkuna#jjk x reader#fluff#jjk fluff#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna fluff#sukuna x reader fluff#baby daddy#ur married#idk what else to tag#ok bai
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simon “ghost” riley x girly!reader — love island reality show headcanons (early episodes)
☆ when he first arrives on the show:
comes in quiet. big. black t-shirt. combat boots. everyone else is glammed up and he looks like he just finished a hit job in manchester.
producers try to play it up like he's the "mysterious bad boy" type, but he’s not even trying. he just doesn’t speak unless he has to. sits in the shade. watches.
first confessional he says:
“don’t really care to be here. cameras are fuckin’ annoying. someone already touched my toothpaste.”
the internet is immediately obsessed.
☆ the other girls try to flirt and he’s just?? not into it??
one girl bites her lip and says “you look like trouble” and he goes:
“i’m not. i’m worse.”
walks off.
one of the gym girls sits next to him and touches his thigh and he just stares at her hand. no words. just… disappointed dad energy.
in his confessional later:
“they’re all loud. they want attention. not my thing. don’t like the fake lashes.”
☆ then you walk in. soft voice. pink sundress. hair all pretty. a little nervous.
he notices you immediately. not in a wow she’s hot way. in a why do i wanna fold her up and put her in my pocket way.
watches you talk to the other girls. listens to you say “i made everyone iced tea!” and for the first time since arriving, smiles a little. just a twitch of the mouth. blink and you miss it.
someone calls you “bambi” and he thinks it fits. soft eyes. gentle steps. heart too easy to bruise.
☆ and now he’s just… following you with his eyes constantly.
doesn’t say much. just appears near you. always.
you go to water the plants? he’s suddenly outside too.
“was hot in there,” he mutters, lighting a cig.
he’s lying.
you sit at the pool? he moves his chair.
“sun’s better over here.”
it’s not. he just wants to see your legs.
☆ in the confession booth he’s so blunt and lowkey perverse without realizing
producers ask “so what do you think of y/n?”
“pretty little thing. voice like honey. tits look good in that top. makes me wanna do things.”
sips water. completely deadpan.
“don’t want her around the other lads. they’re all smilin’ at her. makes me want to bury ‘em.”
☆ the girls talk about him and you’re just like 😳
“he’s scary. doesn’t even blink. i swear he was staring at the kettle for twenty minutes.”
“i saw him sniff your shampoo bottle when you left it by the sink.”
you’re like… he’s just misunderstood (no babe he’s pervy and weird but it’s hot.)
☆ when you’re paired for a game, he goes dead serious.
“don’t drop her,” he mutters to the other guy.
“she’s too easy to break. be gentle or i’ll fuckin’ break your hands.”
it’s supposed to be a fun, flirty competition. he’s ready to throw hands. for you. a girl he’s said 4 words to.
☆ when you finally talk to him, he’s awkward but kind of charming?? in a dark war criminal way??
you: “do i make you nervous?”
him: “not nervous. distracted.”
you: “by what?”
him: “mouth. skirt. thighs. that little laugh you do. i could go on.”
☆ and suddenly twitter’s in shambles like
"ghost is so hot he’s like if PTSD wore cologne”
"he hasn’t smiled once and i want him to spit in my mouth"
"the way he looks at her like he’s gonna ruin her life and then build her a bookshelf"
#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley headcanons#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon riley x reader smut#simon x bimbo! reader#simon ghost fluff#simon ghost x you#simon ghost smut#cod smut#cod x reader#cod mwii#call of duty x female reader#call of duty x y/n#call of duty x you#call of duty x reader#call of duty smut#call of duty#simon “ghost” riley ♡
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Margaritaville
For days now, you’ve been seeing the same broad-shouldered man lounging around the resort. Or: the knocked up on vacation au Part 3 masterlist
-
A shower and thorough scrub after the fact washes away most of the more damning evidence, but paranoia still buzzes under your skin when you rejoin your friends downstairs. They’re sitting beside each other in a row of lounge chairs by the edge of the pool when you reappear, beach bag in hand, waving at you from across the way. You hurry over to join them.
“What—did you fall asleep up there?” one of them asks you, and it takes a second for you to recall the excuse you gave them about going upstairs to look for a book to read.
“Yeah,” you lie. “I wasn’t feeling too good, so I lied down for a bit.”
“Oh no,” one of them says with a frown, sitting up on her elbows to get a better look at you. “You feeling better now? We can go back to the hotel room if you want.”
“Nah, I’m alright now. I had a shower too, so I’m feeling much better.”
You might’ve been better off pretending that you just fell asleep upstairs rather than lying about feeling sick.
Though still hours from sundown, the sun isn’t anywhere near as thick in the sky anymore; a cloudless expanse of blue as far as the eye can see, stretching from zenith to offing. Despite the slight breeze and the UV index starting to inch back down, you still slather on a fresh layer of sunscreen.
“So what’d you get?”
You look up from your legs and a glob of sunscreen slips down your calf and onto the chair. “Huh?”
“Your book,” she repeats, looking at you like it should be obvious. “What book did you go get?”
Your hands freeze over your bag, a cold sweat leaking through you. All that just for you to forget to bring back a fucking book.
“Oh, I, uh,” you stammer, looking in your bag helplessly like a book might suddenly appear out of nowhere. “I must’ve left it back upstairs. Damn.”
Lucky for you, no one has the energy to care or look past the obvious stutter in your voice, accepting your words as gospel. Your friend closest to you rolls her eyes and pushes her sunglasses back up her nose. “It’s alright—here, I’ve got another in my bag. It would be such a waste of time to go all the way back upstairs.”
“Yeah,” you say, swallowing when you think about heading back into the resort and taking the elevator to the next floor up from your room, following the long hallway back to John’s room, where he’d be waiting for you with a wry smile and open arms, towel still cinched around his waist. “That would suck. Thanks.”
For one singular day, you actually make a concerted effort to steer clear of John.
That means: no surreptitious glances or orchestrating accidental run-ins. You keep close to your friends the whole day, never more than a couple feet away.
And for the most part, it works. You’re mostly successful that first day. For a while after your little hookup, you don’t see hide nor hair of him anywhere around the resort. Where before John was seemingly everywhere, now he’s nowhere to be found.
It’s almost infuriating. Had he been this elusive in the days since you arrived at the resort, you might not have felt as tempted by his constant presence. It was the proximity and blatant invitation that gradually wore away at your resolve.
You keep deferring responsibility for your actions. That belongs to a future, stronger you, whether or not she’ll ever come to fruition.
“Looking for someone?” your friend asks when you glance around the poolside for the umpteenth time. Her words are laced with a subtle kind of humour, some inside joke that you haven’t caught on to just yet.
You shake your head. “Nope. Just people watching.”
“Right,” she drawls, only burying her nose in her book again after sending you a sceptical glance.
When her attention is back on her book, you peek around again, searching for any sign of someone in pin-stripped swim trunks. Disappointed when you find nothing.
The girls insist on going down to the beach and renting jetskis in the afternoon, guaranteeing that you won’t see John for the rest of the day, but at least it gets you out of your head for a while. Air whips by your ears and you scream in delight, your arms cinching around your friend’s waist as she guns the engine.
Afternoon melts into evening, which melts into night. At supper, someone mentions taking a dip in the hot tub and you pounce on the thought, the four of you giggling and tumbling down the stairs on your way back to the pool area.
The hot tub lights oscillate between purple, pink, and blue at a timed interval, keeping the water bathed in a cool, dark colour as night falls. Dusk ushers in a changed world. Large snails leave slimy trails as they creep out of the potted plants and slither across the furniture. Spiders and moths emerge from dark corners as well, the nocturnal world coming to life around you.
The three of them get out of the hot tub around nine, someone complaining about still being hungry. As tempted as you are to join the girls for a late bite to eat at the restaurant, the hot water and jets are doing wonders for your sore muscles, especially after the previous day. You can’t exactly explain that to the others though, so when they try to cajole you out of the water, you brush them off and promise that you’ll join them in a few minutes.
Besides, you’re overdue for some alone time. The more you have, the less likely you’ll be to start fights over nothing, cabin fever finding no foothold in a person aware that it hovers on the periphery.
Around the complex, the pools glow cyan like bioluminescent glowworms, the floodlights on to keep drunk tourists from falling in on their way back to their rooms. Some angelic-voiced eighties singer croons over the speaker, music still playing around the pool area until it abruptly cuts out and silence rushes in like a wave to fill the emptiness. The silence doesn’t worry you though; it’s almost serene sitting alone in the dark and gazing across the way at the buildings still brightly lit from the inside.
You don’t realize that you aren’t actually alone until someone joins you in the water.
The loud splash of his feet entering the water is what alerts you to his presence, the sudden noise causing your heart to jump up into your throat, head snapping to the side when a large body sits down beside you, displacing the volume of the water in the hot tub.
“Oh shit,” you gasp, heartbeat going wild for a second. You scoot away instinctively and hit the low wall to your left.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, honey,” John apologizes, settling in beside you. “You seemed lonely all by yourself, so I thought I’d join you.”
His body inadvertently crowds you up against the pool wall. Or at least, it feels inadvertent, like he just sat wherever happened to be free, notwithstanding the fact that by doing so, he had trapped you at the edge of the bench.
John rests an arm behind you, almost tucking you into his side when he slides over a bit more, thigh pressed against yours under the water. Spreading his arms out along the edge of the pool forces his chest to stick out and his shoulders to broaden.
“Where’d you come from?” you ask, glancing around behind you.
“Around.” He cocks a thick, dark eyebrow, studying you. “Were you looking for me?”
“No,” you deny, almost vehemently. More to yourself than to him. “You just caught me off guard. I thought I was alone.”
“Noticed that. Why aren’t you with your friends?”
“I am,” you object. “…I just wanted to be on my own for a bit.”
“Needed some time apart? They give you a hard time for what we did earlier?”
Heat rushes to your cheeks at that. “No,” you hiss, teeth clenched, pitching your voice lower to keep anyone from overhearing. “I didn’t…tell anyone. And we aren’t fighting. They’re getting something to eat and I wasn’t hungry.”
“Seems like I’m always catching you on your own.”
“I like being by myself.”
Your breathing is a little quicker than usual. His presence now is different than the times before, back when he was nothing more than a pretty face to you. You know what his mouth tastes like now, what the bristles of his beard feel like on the delicate flesh of your inner thighs and how deep his fingers can curl inside of you. He isn’t just a stranger across the pool anymore, but a man that knows you intimately. Biblically.
You wrap your arms around yourself to shield your breasts from his eyes. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. Maybe you cross them to make sure that you keep your hands to yourself.
“Why come with them at all then?” John asks, breaking the silence.
“…I’ve never travelled on my own.”
He nods approvingly. “Good. Smart girl.”
That pisses you off for some reason. Probably the insinuation that there’d be something wrong with you travelling by yourself. Like you couldn’t take care of yourself. “I could if I wanted to.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t, but it’s smarter that you don’t. Safety in numbers.”
If he wasn’t so handsome, you’d probably be mildly off-put by the condescension in his voice. It’s part and parcel of him though, that slight arrogance that clings to his skin like the smell of smoke, like dirt wedged into the grooves of his fingers. Old and lived in.
“Maybe I’ll just ask my husband to come with me the next time I feel like going somewhere,” you say snarkily.
He doesn’t respond right away. When the weight of his stare gets a bit too heavy, you glance up at him to find his pupils blown wide.
“Maybe you should,” John rasps.
The sound of his voice, rough as tire over gravel roads, makes your nipples bead in your damp swimsuit.
For a moment, it feels like there’s nothing else in the world except for the two of you. All of the chatter and music from the nearby buildings drop to a hush. If you shut off your mind, you could almost trick yourself that it’d always been this way.
Damp, calloused fingers pinch your chin and hold you in place, rooting you in that moment like his hold is the only thing tethering you to the world.
“I should get back to my friends,” you say. Even though you practically whisper the words, they pierce through the silence, a little nearby lizard scuttling across the damp concrete floor towards a tree, where it disappears into the darkness.
“They can wait a little longer,” he murmurs, leaning forward until your lips slot with his and your sigh makes your whole body tremble, lips parting when his tongue slips in and he slides a hand in between your thighs under the water.
It’s torturous to see him around the resort and not be allowed to touch.
Another day in the scorching heat and you’re on the verge of defeat. You sweat and you sweat until the only thing left to give is your will. It bends like straw, chaff breaking off the closer it comes to snapping.
At a certain point, you have to accept responsibility for your own actions. You’re a big girl after all. Old enough to understand the weight that each of your choices bear and the consequences they’ll inevitably bring about. Disappoint your friends or disappoint yourself. Simple a choice as has ever been put in front of you.
And, selfish as you’ve been this entire trip, the choice is easy enough to make in the end.
In the early morning before the rest of your friends have woken up, you quietly slip out of bed and take the elevator up to John’s floor, knocking twice before he opens the door and pulls you inside with a growl.
“John—John, fuck, please—”
“I know, honey, I know,” he murmurs into your neck, exhaling heavily when he drops you back down onto his cock, juices running from the base of his shaft to his balls. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
Your thighs burn with the effort to bounce on his dick, John having to do most of the work once your muscles begin to give out.
Not even the pretense of a condom this time. You didn’t say anything when he didn’t make a move to take one out and now it feels a bit too late to bring it up. It’s not the end of the world though; you’ll just tell him to pull out when he’s close to coming.
“Fuck, honey, Jesus Christ—”
“Sorry,” you whimper, inner muscles suddenly clenched so tight that you nearly come right then and there. Just the thought of him coming in you raw sends a sharp spike of pleasure through your body.
All you can think of is sticky, messy cum leaking out of you. Thick strands ribboning between your fingers when you pull them apart. It’s a dangerous thought; you’re playing fast and loose with the most dire of consequences.
“Ohmygodohmygod—” you whimper, tears building on your waterline and spilling over. “Oh f-fuck, I’m gonna—come, John—”
“Yeah, you are,” he grunts, brow furrowing in concentration, the vein in his forehead more pronounced than ever. “C’mon, honey, give it to me—give me it—”
It rushes over you all at once, inner walls tensing and squeezing around his shaft. Eyes rolling back in your head when you feel him come inside you, a rush of heat flooding against your womb.
He doesn’t make you wait long after pulling out, immediately ducking his head down to burrow his face between your thighs, running his tongue up the seam of your sex and huffing out in pleasure. Hot breath blows over your clit, and your whole body jolts at the sensation. Your clit is too sensitive, puffy and engorged. Your walls squeeze around his fingers when John shoves a couple in and busies himself with laving his tongue over your clit and sucking it into his mouth.
“Wait, wait—” you squeal, threading your fingers into his hair and trying to pull him off. “I can’t—I can’t—”
His own cum trickles out down his fingers as he plunges them in and out of your hole, feeling the mess he left inside of you. Heat floods to your cheeks at the lurid squelch of your hole when he presses his fingers back in.
“You can,” John says unsympathetically, the fingers pistoning in and out of your hole punctuating his words.
And, true to his words, you do.
When you limp back down to your room an hour later, you turn the knob extra carefully lest someone wake up to you doing the walk of shame.
You were stupid to ever think this could be a one time thing. That you could have him once and then move on like it never happened, like it scratched that itch of yours permanently instead of waking it up from its slumber.
Now it buzzes under your skin morning, noon, and night. Insatiable—libido ramped up by a factor of ten and no matter how many times he fucks you senseless, you’re always desperate for more. When you see him from across the pool, it’s all you can do not to swim across and crawl into his lap, wedging his thigh between your legs and grinding down until the pressure tips you over the edge.
From the looks of it, your friends don’t suspect a thing. How could they after all? You leave the hotel room at the crack of dawn and come back before they’ve even turned over in bed.
John is as subtle in public as ever. A thousand times more discrete than you. He’s so good at ignoring you around the resort that it’s almost infuriating. It’s your own fault, seeing as how you begged him to keep a low profile. You have no one to blame but yourself for his inattention.
In the privacy of his hotel room, it’s a whole different story.
Sometimes he says weird shit when you fuck. The pet names you can excuse because they get you all hot and bothered, but it’s harder to ignore the way he laces your fingers and looks deep into your eyes while rocking into you, patting your cheek roughly when you try to close your eyes. It’s too intense. Too intimate. Not the kind of thing you do with a vacation fling.
You’re speaking from limited experience though. A small sample size, if you can even call your love life that. Maybe this is something people do with their flings, the rules of intimacy eschewed with an established understanding of finitude. You are going home at the end of this, after all. Whatever you do in between then and now doesn’t matter.
You could say or do anything and it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again.
On the pet name front though, you do test him on the off chance that he actually just forgot your name entirely. It catches you off guard when he remembers not just your first name but your last name as well, murmuring it back to you like he’s memorized it when you ask.
“Oh,” you reply, unsure of what else to say. “…Sorry. I thought…”
His thumb brushes over your cheekbone when he cups your face in one hand. “I know what you thought, honey. Never had anyone pay enough attention to you, have you?”
You don’t know what to say in response to that. He pops his thumb into your mouth when you gape at him for too long, letting it rest on your tongue. The weight of it holding your tongue down is almost soothing and the thoughts in your head fizzle and pop like stars when you close your mouth around it and suck.
Sometimes though, you’re the one that makes things weird.
“I wish I came here with you,” you admit in a hushed whisper when you’ve been backed into his bed.
“Would’ve been me if I’d found you first,” John grunts, gripping you by your calves and yanking you towards the edge of the bed.
Big hands scoop up under your ass and lift you into the air to get the angle right. He impales you on his dick inch by inch, the stretch familiar now even though it still takes your breath away.
“Yeah?” you breathe.
John doesn’t answer at first, eyes going blank as he draws you off his dick and then plunges back into you. His stare is blank and yet it doesn’t waver. Locked on your face even though he almost stares right through you.
“Yeah,” he rumbles, snapping his hips forward. “Could’ve made a baby here instead of sneaking around like teenagers.”
Oh—
(fuck)
You know it’s just dirty talk, but you get all tight and tingly anyway, licking the sweat off your upper lip when you repeat, “A baby?”
His eyes go darker when he hears you say it. Animalistic; mindless. And suddenly all you can think about is the fact that you’ve foregone protection again to let an older, virile man hit it raw. Dirty talk trembling over the edge of make believe and staring down into the abyss because he could
really knock you up right here and now.
His lip curls up almost into a snarl. “Came enough times in you by now. ‘Be a miracle if you weren’t.”
You lick at the sweat beading on your upper lip. “You want that?”
Dumb question. You know there isn’t a shot that a man his age on vacation is looking to knock up the first girl he comes across, but it gets you so hot that you forget about common sense for a second. It’s irresponsible. Selfish. Stupid.
He hikes a knee onto the bed to get some leverage before folding his whole body over yours. All however many pounds, enough to take your breath away and make your heart beat faster. A heavy, suffocating presence punctuated by the way he fucks into you even harder, huffing as he chases after it.
“Would’ve used a fuckin’ condom if I didn’t,” John snarls right in your face, and the pleasure that evokes hits you so hard that you nearly pass out when you come.
Sooner or later, you were bound to slip up.
Your friend catches you on your way out the door one morning on your way to see John, your hand barely brushing the doorknob when her voice suddenly comes out of nowhere. “Going to get breakfast?”
You flinch at the sound of her voice, head whipping to the left. In your hurry to meet up with John, you hadn’t noticed her standing in the bathroom with the door wide open. Arms crossed and already dressed, staring at you like catching you almost out the door isn’t surprising.
“Uh, yeah. What’re you doing up?”
She shrugs. “I slept long enough; been up for a while actually. Mind if I come with? I’m starving.”
You do in fact mind, but short of telling her why you’d prefer she didn’t, you have no excuse for why she shouldn’t join you for breakfast. You acquiesce instead, forcing a smile and nodding before following her out the door and in the opposite direction of the elevators.
Breakfast is awkward, to say the least. The conversation comes strained and stilted, like it’s the first time you’ve ever met the girl sitting opposite you instead of a friend of several years. You can tell that she suspects something, but since she doesn’t bother bringing it up, you don’t either.
All you can focus on is the fact that somewhere upstairs, John is still in his room waiting for you, and that as more time passes with you downstairs at breakfast, the less time you’ll have with him when you finally make it upstairs to his room.
“Hey? Are you listening to me?”
Your head snaps up. “Hm?”
The look she levels you with is thoroughly unimpressed. “I asked if you’d finished your book yet.”
“Oh, yeah. I finished it the other day at the beach. Did you want to borrow it?”
“Yeah, that’s why I asked.” She sounds annoyed, and with good reason. You’ve been flighty and inattentive at best; downright neglectful at worst.
You eat quickly, downing half your plate before a server comes by with coffee, which you very nearly refuse until you catch the way your friend squints across the table at you. Too obvious. Her hackles are already up, suspicions hissing like snakes in her hair.
The terse conversation that follows only further illustrates that. If she hasn’t already figured it out, she’s at least begun to suspect your frequent absences and the perpetual smell of sex on you. She’s just nice enough to not come right out of the gate and say it.
A busser comes by as soon as they spot your empty plate, gathering everything up and piling the cutlery on top before hurrying away to bus another table. When the server comes by again to top up your cup, you politely refuse, finishing the rest in a single swallow.
“What’s the rush?” your friend asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Somewhere else to be?”
“No, I just—” You freeze, half out of your seat, the sound of the chair scraping against the tile underneath abruptly cutting out. Excuses assemble on your tongue but refuse to leap off, choked back by the fact that you just don’t know what to say. “I just…I’m done eating.”
“Right,” she drawls, arms folded on the table, nearly full plate still in front of her. “I guess my conversation was staler than the food.”
“No, look, it’s not—”
“It’s fine,” she sighs, waving you away. “I’ll tell the others you went down to the pool when they wake up. Just be there in an hour.”
You didn’t expect the reprieve. You barely deserve it, as a matter of fact. But her dismissal rings loud and you aren’t about to pass up the opportunity to go up to John, despite the guilt curdling in your belly.
“Yeah, okay,” you promise. “I’ll be there.”
And you really, truly think you’re in the clear until you turn to walk away and she says her parting words. “Give him my best, by the way.”
Full body cringe. You don’t turn back around though, shame finally catching up to you, and the sound of your flip-flops squeaking against the tile on your way towards the elevators mocks you the whole way up to John’s room.
#ceil writing#cod x reader#price x reader#price/reader#john price x reader#price x you#john price/reader#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you
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I like the idea of breastfeeding while doing mundane things. Just casually, doesn't always have to be sexual.
Pulling up a chair next to me while I'm making dinner, gently pulling my shirt up and latching. Softly whining when I have to pull away to get something out of the cabinet and eagerly relatching when I come back. Like it isn't something that can wait, like you need mommy's breast and touch to soothe those big boy thoughts that are just too much right now.
Maybe we're cuddling and watching tv, with you lying between my legs, absent mindedly nibbling and licking on my nipples while I run my fingers through your hair and kissing the top of your head.
Or coming home from a bad day and just needing mommy to cradle you and tell you how much she loves you and what a perfect boy you are while you suckle and calm down.
I think that's so intimate. I'd love to be a man's peace of mind, a safe space with no expectations to be anyway or anyone, just my baby.
#mommy dom little boy#md/lb kink#mdlbmommy#md/lb relationship#md lb#md/lb mommy#md/lb lifestyle#cg/l blog#cg/l kink#bd/sm babyboy#mommy's good boy#breastfeeding kink#nursing kink
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Leather jackets



*pairing: frat gym rat boy Jay x book girl
*trope: sunshine boy x shy girl
*synopsis: What would happen if you were lying to read a slightly "spicy" book and not fit to read in the university library, Jay Park as well as one of the most popular guys at the university find out that you are not so innocent as you want to make believe? between betting, books with jokes cliche, stolen kisses, gym sessions with Jay what could happen to the book girl and gym rat boy of the university?
*tags: Lots of fun, they love to tease each other, the protagonist is slightly shy and a little insecure about her physique, fake innocent girl, needy Jay, touchy Jay, green flag boy, reading books spicy (Twisted Games, The spanish Love And Deception) virgin reader, protected sex,masturbation, fingering, pacifiers, pet names (bookgirl,princess,sweatheart)
14k (🤎)
💌The request and ideas were written by @m3wkledreamy for this story (thanks a lot for your help)
(English is not my native language)

You had just finished writing the draft of your essay for Contemporary Literature and Media. You had spent hours trying to piece together a coherent analysis of how Romanticism had evolved in modern novels, and your brain was now frying. You deserved a break.
Without thinking twice, you pulled Twisted Games out of your bag. Just one chapter was enough to make you escape from the reality of assignments, notes, and presentations. You curled up in the most secluded armchair in the library and began reading, immediately immersing yourself in the forbidden world of Bridget and Rhys.
"You know you shouldn't provoke me, Princess," Rhys growled, his deep voice rough against her skin.
Bridget felt a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t move. "What if I want to provoke you?"
Rhys's eyes darkened, his hand tightening around her waist, and in the blink of an eye, his lips fused with hers. The kiss was everything she had wanted and feared: burning, possessive, unforgettable...
"Burning, possessive, unforgettable, huh?"
A deep, amused male voice suddenly echoed above you.
Your heart skipped a beat, and with fear in your eyes, you spun around quickly.
There, standing next to you with a book in one hand and headphones around his neck, was Jay Park. The Jay Park. The one every girl at school sighed over while he ran a hand through his messy hair after a workout. He was the one who always had that smug grin on his lips. The one who, for some reason, was now looking at you with an amused expression.
"...What the hell are you doing?" you stammered, snapping the book shut as if it were radioactive.
Jay shrugged casually, sitting down on the armchair next to yours. Too close.
"I needed a quiet spot to read," he said, giving you a sly look. "But then I saw you... and, well, I couldn’t resist."
You clenched the book in your hands, your face burning. "Resist what, exactly?"
Jay crossed his arms behind his head, relaxed as if you were just two friends chatting normally. "A book girl so absorbed in her reading that she doesn’t even notice a guy like me right behind her."
She swallowed hard. He had been behind me the whole time?!
"You weren’t... reading out loud, were you?" you asked, a slight note of panic in your voice.
Jay bit his lip as if trying to hold back a laugh. "No, but with a scene like that, I didn’t need to. The blush on your face says it all."
You shot him a glare. "I’m not blushing."
Jay leaned forward, resting his elbow on the armrest of your chair, so close you could smell his aftershave. "No? Strange, because you look about to explode."
You cleared your throat, desperately trying to regain some dignity. "And since when does the gym rat boy care about books?"
Jay raised an eyebrow, the grin widening. "Gym rat boy? Now you’re giving me nicknames?"
"Call it poetic justice," you retorted, crossing your arms to give yourself a bit of confidence. "Since you like to tease people so much."
Jay stared at you for a moment, as if studying you, then shook his head with a satisfied smirk. "You know, you're more fun than I thought." You felt even more embarrassed. You weren’t sure if you should take it as a compliment or a mockery. Jay set the book he had in his hand on the table—a large volume on business management and international tourism. "Anyway, for your information, I do read. Just… more useful stuff." You glanced at the title and wrinkled your nose. "Bleh. Sounds boring." "And you? Do you get slapped by sexy bodyguards and rebel princesses?" You stiffened. "N-Not like that!" Jay laughed, clearly amused by your reaction. Then, as if he had an idea, he looked at you with mischievous, sparkling eyes. "How about a bet, book girl?" You blinked. "A bet?" He nodded, crossing his arms. "You come to the gym with me and do a workout without complaining, no sighing, no running away. I'll read an entire romance novel… the one you pick." You stared at him incredulously. "An entire book?" Jay made a vague gesture with his hand. "Sure. I'm a man of my word." Then he leaned closer to you, his voice low and provocative. "But be warned, if you lose… you'll have to come to the gym with me all week." You felt a shiver run down your spine. Why did it always feel like Jay Park was playing with fire? You eyed him suspiciously. "And if I win and manage to finish the workout?" Jay grinned like a cat that just caught a mouse. "Then I'll read an entire romance novel… and I’ll have to discuss it with you or watch a movie you love, I bet those 2000s romcoms." You stared at him, torn. On one hand, you knew you had no chance of surviving a workout with him. On the other, the idea of actually seeing him read a romantic book and suffer through the cheesy scenes was just too tempting to pass up. In the end, you sighed. "Deal." Jay extended his hand. "Handshake to seal the deal?" You hesitated for a second, then shook it. Mistake. His grip was firm and warm, and the intensity with which he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. Damn it, why was he so good at making you feel embarrassed? Jay squeezed your hand slightly before letting go, the victorious grin still on his lips. "Get ready, book girl. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into."
Three days.
Three days had passed since Jay Park had caught you reading Twisted Games and proposed a ridiculous bet.
Now, sitting exactly in the same corner of the library, you were drumming your fingers on the table, uncertain about what to hope for.
What if he didn’t show up?
That would be a relief. Her, at the gym? Come on. Just the thought of being surrounded by all those athletic guys, with their sculpted abs and ridiculously heavy weights, made her anxious. You weren’t that type of girl. The curves you had always made you feel out of place, too aware of every outfit that clung to her.
You had to admit it: you were insecure.
And Jay... well, Jay Park was the type of guy who seemed born for the gym.
Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe it was just a joke.
"I missed you, book girl."
There, standing next to you, was Jay Park.
Damn.
His hair was soft and slightly messy as if he’d just run a hand through the dark strands. He wore a gray sweater that fit perfectly over his broad shoulders and a pair of dress pants that contrasted with his usual sporty vibe. Casual, but damn attractive.
She immediately looked down, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.
"I thought you had forgotten..." you mumbled, trying to sound indifferent.
Jay casually sat across from you placing his phone and a water bottle on the table. "Forget? Not at all. I came to get my book."
"So... are you really going to read it?"
Jay leaned back in his chair with a mischievous smile. "Well, let’s just say I’m curious to see what’s so special about your book boyfriends."
You stared at him for a moment, then, with a deep breath, pulled a book from your bag and handed it to him.
"The Spanish Love and Deception."
Jay took it and looked at the cover. Slowly, he raised an eyebrow and glanced back at her with an amused expression.
"Colleagues, tension, forbidden attraction..." he murmured, flipping through a few pages. Then he looked at her with sparkling curiosity. "So, tell me... is Aaron your type?"
You stiffened, surprised by the question. "W-What?"
Jay leaned forward slightly, his voice low. "Aaron," he repeated, emphasizing the name. "Is he your perfect book boyfriend?"
You lowered your gaze, biting your lip. You didn’t want to admit it out loud, but yes… Aaron was exactly the kind of guy who made your heart beat faster. Sarcastic, charming, protective, but with a heart of gold.
"...Maybe," you whispered softly.
Jay smiled, amused. "Maybe? You don’t seem convinced."
You pressed your lips together, trying to ignore the way he was studying you. "It’s just... well, he’s the classic guy who knows what to say, how to treat a girl. He’s affectionate, but not suffocating. And romantic."
Jay nodded as if analyzing every word. "I see." He ran a hand through his hair and smirked. "So, you like romantic guys, huh?"
You felt your face heat up. "I-I didn’t say that..."
Jay chuckled softly. "Oh no, you did." He flipped through a few more pages, then looked up at her. "I wonder if Aaron would be man enough to handle a workout session with me."
You stared at him, confused. "What?"
Jay closed the book with a slight thud and leaned in even closer, his voice low and provocative.
"Tomorrow. 4 p.m. Gym."
You felt your breath catch. "T-Tomorrow?"
Jay nodded with a satisfied smile. "Just reminding you, the bet applies to both of us, princess. I’ll read your book..." he paused, his gaze flashing with pure mischief, "and you come with me to work out."
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.
"But..." you desperately searched for an excuse, anything to get her out of this nightmare. "What if I’m not up for it?"
Jay stood up, sliding the book through his hands. "Oh, you’ll be up for it. It’ll be fun." He moved a little closer, leaning slightly toward her. "Who knows… maybe Aaron would even join you."
You shot him a death glare, but he chuckled, shaking his head.
"See you tomorrow, book girl."
And with that satisfied smirk, Jay Park walked away, leaving you completely in a panic.
16:00 – University Gym Lobby
You felt completely out of place. The gym was huge, with mirrors along every wall, rows of exercise machines, and athletic guys and girls lifting weights as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Not your scene.
You pulled your oversized shirt tighter around you, lowering your gaze to your black, form-fitting leggings. At least those made you feel a bit more comfortable; they made your legs look longer and leaner. But the rest of your body? No, thanks. Better to hide.
You fixed your high ponytail and took a deep breath. Come on, you could do this. It was just a bet.
Then you saw him, and you immediately regretted coming. Jay was whistling near the equipment, completely at ease, wearing an absurd tank top that hugged his sculpted physique.
Oh. My. God.
It was worse than you’d imagined. Much, much worse.
His biceps seemed to beg to be touched. His shoulders were wide and strong, but not excessive. And then there were the veins on his arms... those damned veins that stood out perfectly against his golden skin.
And his hands. Oh my god, his hands.
In your books, you’d read hundreds of descriptions of buff guys, but none of those words had prepared you for this. Jay Park didn’t look like he came out of a romance novel. He was the romance.
You felt yourself blush fiercely and desperately tried to look away, but it was too late.
Jay had seen you, and his smirk widened dangerously.
“Book girl.”
His deep voice made you flinch. Jay approached with his usual relaxed stride, holding a folded piece of paper in his hands. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, lingering for a moment on your loose shirt before moving back up to your face.
You bit the inside of your cheek, already knowing what was about to happen.
Jay tilted his head, amused. “Where are your book boyfriends? I was expecting you to have one of them by your side.”
You turned your gaze away, crossing your arms over your chest. “W-Who says they’re not here?”
Jay chuckled softly. “Sweetheart, if Aaron were here, he’d already be working out with me.” He ran a hand through his hair and got even closer until you could smell his masculine cologne.
Damn. He smelled too good.
You stiffened, but he seemed to be enjoying the situation.
“Anyway,” he continued, unfolding the paper in his hands, “here’s your workout plan. I made it myself.”
You stared at him suspiciously. “Should I be worried?”
Jay smiled. “Oh.” Then he leaned in slightly toward you, lowering his voice. “I hope you’re ready to sweat, princess.”
“Lower, book girl.”
You froze instantly, your face was already flushed from stretching, but now it was on fire. You slowly turned toward Jay, who was looking at you with a satisfied smirk.
“E-Excuse me?” you stammered, gripping your knees to keep your balance.
Jay stood next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You need to lean more. You’re not stretching the muscles properly.” Then, with almost provocative slowness, he bent down, demonstrating the correct movement. And damn, did he do it well.
His muscles contracted perfectly under the tank top, and you had to concentrate hard not to stare for too long.
Jay glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s wrong? Are you distracted?”
You quickly composed yourself. “No! I’m just...” You took a deep breath and tried to bend further down, ignoring the way Jay was watching you with amusement.
“Better?”
Jay nodded but then tilted his head with a mischievous look. “Yeah… though you could still go a little lower.”
You eyed him suspiciously. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
Jay raised his hands innocently. “Not. I just want you to train well. You know, maybe Aaron in your books doesn’t need stretching, but here in the real world...”
You huffed, trying to ignore the quickening beat of your heart. “You’re insufferable.”
Jay chuckled. “Thanks, I know.”
TREADMILL – 20 MINUTES OF TORTURE
“Are you sure you can handle it, book girl?”
You shot Jay a glare as he, with absurd ease, ran on the treadmill next to you without a hint of exhaustion.
You, on the other hand, were already cursing every life choice you’d made.
“I’m fine.” You tried to sound natural, slightly increasing the speed. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you collapse.
Jay raised an eyebrow, amused. “Really? Because it looks like you're starting to sweat.”
You clenched your jaw and pushed yourself even harder, refusing to give up. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you surrender.
For a full twenty minutes, you kept the pace, even though your legs burned and your breath got shorter and shorter. When the timer finally stopped, you slowed to a walk and stepped off the machine with shaky legs.
Jay followed you, still completely relaxed, not a drop of sweat on him. Unfair.
“Wow,” he said, walking closer, “I didn’t think you’d last this long.”
You let out a slight gasp, trying to catch your breath. “I told you I wasn’t giving up.”
Jay looked at you with a mischievous smile, then reached out and brushed your face lightly.
You froze. “W-What are you doing?”
Jay gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You had a piece of hair out of place.”
The light touch of his skin against yours sent shivers down your spine. He was too close. Too damn close.
Jay tilted his head, studying your face. “Hey, you’re all red.”
You pulled back sharply, embarrassed. “It’s from the effort, okay?”
Jay chuckled, hands on his hips. “Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed!”
He laughed again, that gym rat satisfaction in his expression. Then he clapped his hands and gestured toward an area of the gym with a nod of his head.
“Alright, princess. Now we move on to legs.”
You stared at him wide-eyed. “What?!”
Jay winked at you. “I promise this will be the most fun part.”
Jay led you to one of the machines and pointed to the seat. “Come on, book girl, sit here.” You hesitated, eyeing the infernal machine Jay was making you sit on.
“Now you have to push your legs out,” he explained, squatting beside you, running his hand along the selected weight. “It helps tone and strengthen your muscles.”
You nodded absentmindedly until your eyes landed on the number displayed. 30 kg.
Thirty. Kilograms.
You stared at it in disbelief. “Are you insane?”
Jay laughed under his breath. “No, you’re just out of shape.” He stood up with a smooth motion, cracking his shoulders. “I do it with 80, so consider yourself lucky.”
You rolled your eyes and adjusted yourself on the seat, positioning your legs against the pads. “Thirty times?” you asked, hoping for some form of mercy.
Jay leaned against the machine, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thirty times.” Then he winked. “If you want, you can stop early, but only if you admit I’m stronger than you.”
You clenched your jaw. “Forget it.”
You inhaled deeply and pushed with all your strength. The weight wasn’t impossible, but it still required a lot of effort. After the first ten reps, your muscles start to burn.
Jay was watching you intently. His expression had changed now. He wasn’t just teasing you… he was watching.
The way your legs moved around the machine, the skin stretched tight under the leggings. How the loose shirt had just risen slightly, revealing a hint of your slightly tanned belly. And then there was the way your chest moved ever so slightly with each push. Jay tilted his head, watching you with slightly narrowed eyes. A full third? Or maybe a fourth? The thought hit him suddenly, and his gaze briefly dropped to your lips. They were a bit fuller than usual… What would it be like to kiss them? You were beautiful, and it was strange that in all the months he had seen you in the halls or at school, you were never walking arm in arm-with a guy. A part of him was glad you didn’t have a boyfriend because deep down, he was starting to be interested in you…
A sudden snap of fingers in front of his eyes brought him back to reality. Jay blinked, bringing his gaze back to you, who was watching him suspiciously. "Hey," you said, a bit hesitant, "are you still with us, or do you need a moment?" Jay cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow slightly to hide the fact that he had been lost in his thoughts. "I was just checking your form." You curled your lips into a grimace. You didn’t seem convinced. You ran a hand over your shirt and pulled it down slightly, lowering your gaze. Jay noticed the movement and your eyes dropping, almost insecure about the small piece of exposed belly. "I'm done," you murmured, avoiding eye contact. For some strange reason, Jay didn’t feel as amused anymore and nodded.
Jay positioned himself in front of you with a relaxed expression, placing his feet shoulder-width apart. "Watch closely, book girl," he said, slowly lowering himself into a perfect squat. "Back straight, weight on your heels… and then you come back up." You nodded, trying to focus on his words and not on how his black tank top stretched over his broad shoulders as he moved. Damn, Jay and his gym rat body. You were about to attempt replicating the movement when a shrill voice interrupted the moment. -Jay! What a surprise to see you here!- You looked up and found yourself facing a cheerleader in uniform. Tall, slim, confident. Perfect. The girl approached with a dazzling smile, positioning herself next to Jay with a self-assurance you could never have. -I always see you training with the guys, but today you've got company?- Her gaze briefly rested on you, almost distractedly, before it went back to Jay. You pulled your oversized shirt tighter, feeling the insidious weight of insecurity settle over you. It was silly to feel this way. But the way the girl’s uniform perfectly hugged her body, showing it off without a hint of hesitation… it was everything you weren’t. You lowered your gaze, taking a deep breath to push those thoughts away, focusing on your feet to avoid looking at the scene before you. Then you felt a light pinch at your side. "Hey!" You jolted, spinning around. Jay was looking at you with an amused grin. "What are you doing, getting distracted?" he asked, leaning slightly toward you. You shot him a glare, and he moved back slightly. "Don’t do that again." Jay raised an eyebrow. "Why? It’s fun watching you jump." "Because I don’t want to be touched." For a moment, Jay looked at you without saying anything. His smile faded slightly, and his gaze became more serious. Then he nodded. "Okay." His voice no longer held the usual lightness. He seemed sincere. With a nod of his chin, he signaled for you to get into position.
"Now, let’s see how you handle the squats." You focused on the movement, trying to ignore the fact that Jay was watching closely as you lowered and rose. Twenty-five regular squats. Twenty-five with a jump. By the end, your legs were on fire, and you were out of breath. Jay reached for a bottle and handed it to you. "Water and magnesium. You need it to recover." You took the bottle and drank a few sips, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat. "Thanks." Jay watched you for a moment, then crossed his arms with a satisfied grin. "I’ll admit it, I didn’t think you’d make it." You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Jay laughed, then added with a tone that was slightly too pleased: "But you know what this means, right?" You looked at him, confused. "What?" Jay stepped a bit closer. "I lost the bet." His lips curled into a mischievous smile. "So, in addition to reading me that romance book, we also have to watch a movie together." You stood there, speechless. "Wait… what?!" Jay shrugged. "You did the whole workout, so I have to keep my end of the bet. But you don’t think I’m getting away with just a book, do you?" He leaned slightly toward you, lowering his voice. "You’ll have to pick a romantic movie and force me to watch it." You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. Okay, maybe this workout hadn’t been torture after all.
Your phone vibrated for the umpteenth time while you were sitting at your desk, trying to focus on studying. The screen lit up with a new message. 📩 Jay: "So, book girl, Aron just pushed the heroine against the wall and whispered in her ear that he would never stop wanting her. Is this guy always like this or does he get even better?"
📩 Jay: "Because I have a feeling you gave me the book with the most tension and bickering in your entire collection?"
📩 Jay: "Anyway, update. I’m halfway through. When I win the bet, I demand the shortest movie possible."
You laughed to yourself, biting your lip as you read his messages. So he was reading it. You had to admit that it pleased you a little that Jay was so involved, even though he would never openly admit it. But you hadn’t seen him in over a week. The baseball team was busy with away games, and the most contact you had with him were those messages where he teased you or updated you on the hottest moments of the book. And then, that evening… The door to your room suddenly swung open, and Giselle stormed in like a hurricane. "Y/N, stop whatever you’re doing right now!" she announced excitedly, grabbing your hands and pulling you up. You looked at her confused. "What—?" "The basketball team and the baseball team won their games!" she said with a satisfied smile. "You know what that means, right?" You squinted your eyes, suspicious. "That we can go do karaoke and eat fried chicken to celebrate?" "No." Giselle stared at you seriously. "It means there’s a huge party at a fraternity, and we’re going." You blinked. "Wait, what?" Giselle ignored your protest and made a beeline for your wardrobe, rummaging through your clothes without an ounce of shame. After a few seconds, she pulled out your nightmare dress. A tight black cocktail dress with tiny sequins and a slight sweetheart neckline. Your worst enemy. "No, absolutely not." You quickly shook your head. "There’s no way I’m wearing that." "Y/N…" Giselle looked at you with her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "It’ll look amazing on you." You crossed your arms over your chest, stubborn. "That’s not the point." "So what’s the point, then?" You bit your lip, looking away. "…That Jay might be there." A sly smile spread across Giselle’s lips. "Ohhh, so that’s why you don’t want to wear it." "It has nothing to do with Jay," you lied shamelessly. Giselle sighed, then grabbed your wrists and started dragging you toward the bed. "No, listen, you’re going to the party, and you’re going to wear this dress. And if Jay is there, even better. It’s time to stop hiding under layers of baggy clothes." "Did you just insult my aesthetic?" you asked, feigning offense. "I’m saying you’re hot, and you need to start acting like it." Despite your protests, after two hours of getting ready and many threats from Giselle, you found yourself inside a crowded fraternity house, wearing the nightmare dress and holding a drink. And, of course, with your heart pounding at the thought of who you might run into inside.
The music echoed in the air, the bass vibrating through the walls of the fraternity house, and the smell of alcohol mixed with sweet perfumes filled the atmosphere. Giselle had dragged you all around the house, giving you a full tour as if she were a tour guide. "And this," she said, pointing to the kitchen transformed into an improvised bar, "is the source of every questionable decision of the night." She handed you a colorful drink that smelled of fruit and alcohol. "Drink, it’ll loosen you up." You looked at the glass with suspicion but took a sip anyway. Sweet, fresh, and deceptive. The kind that makes you forget there’s alcohol in it. A few minutes later, you found yourself outside in the gazebo, where a group of students was playing beer pong amid laughter and cheers. And then… you saw him. Jay. He was casually leaning against a table, a drink in hand, talking lazily with a girl. He almost seemed bored by the conversation, but that didn’t change the fact that he was damn good-looking. He was wearing a slightly unbuttoned black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms and those damn veins you had gotten to know in the gym. And then his hair. A little messy, but in that perfect way that you knew was intentional. Maybe it was your gaze that lingered a little too long because at one point he looked up and caught your eye. And he choked on his drink. Oh. You immediately lowered your eyes, your heart racing, pretending you hadn’t noticed. Maybe it hadn’t been that obvious. "Y/N?" Keeho’s voice made you turn, lifting your gaze. He was one of the guys from your study group, and he was… objectively handsome. Dark, slightly wavy hair, perfect features, and a slightly prominent nose that made him even more attractive. But most of all, he smiled in a way that lit up his whole face. "I didn’t expect to see you here," he said, with a genuine laugh. You lowered your head slightly, already feeling a bit more shy. "Actually, neither did I. It’s all Giselle’s fault." Keeho laughed again. "Well, I’m glad you’re here. That dress looks good on you." You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks. "Oh… thank you."
As you were talking with Keeho, you didn’t notice that Jay had remained still in his corner, the glass still halfway to his mouth, his eyes fixed on the scene in front of him. And he didn’t like it one bit. Seeing you, his book girl, in that black dress that hugged your body… and especially seeing Keeho looking at you that way? No. He didn’t like it at all. So he pushed himself off the table with a barely noticeable sigh and walked toward you, sipping his drink with apparent calm. But inside? It burned. You were still talking to Keeho, who seemed extremely comfortable while making you laugh with some joke. And that smile on your lips, the one Jay usually made you wear when he teased you? Was it now for Keeho? No. That wasn’t right. Jay reached behind you, close enough for you to feel his presence without him touching you yet. "What a sight," he commented with his usual slightly amused voice, but with an undertone that didn’t escape you. "I didn’t know book girls also came to these parties." You stiffened slightly at the sound of his voice, turning toward him. Too close. Too intense. Too… Jay. Keeho raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and him. "See? Even Jay is surprised," he joked, but his tone held a slight challenge.
Jay smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something more dangerous. "Oh, I am." His eyes lowered slightly, quickly scanning over you. "Especially since I didn’t expect to see you in… this dress." You felt your heart skip a beat. Keeho laughed, patting your shoulder. "I just told her, it looks amazing on her, right?" Jay gave a small smile, but his eyes stayed on you. "Oh, no doubt about that." The tension in the air became palpable. You were there, caught between Keeho's relaxed confidence and Jay’s burning gaze, which seemed amused, irritated, and intrigued all at once. And just when you were about to say something, Jay lowered his drink and leaned slightly toward you. "So, Y/N… shall we play beer pong? Or are you afraid of losing your first bet to me?" Your breath caught in your throat. Oh, damn. You took a deep breath, trying to ignore how your heart was racing. Yes, you weren’t great at beer pong. Yes, you’d probably lose. But the urge to challenge Jay was too strong. "Are you afraid of losing, Park?" you said with a smirk, crossing your arms. Jay started laughing, shaking his head. "Me? With you? Book girl, don’t make me laugh." Keeho stepped between you two, throwing you a concerned look. "Y/N, we all know you can’t handle much alcohol. Maybe I should play for you." You scoffed, making a face. "It’s just small sips, I won’t die." Even though, inside, you were slightly terrified by the idea. Jay shook his head with that usual challenging smile of his. "Fine, but what are we betting?" You pouted, staring at him intently. "If I win, you have to watch an entire romantic movie with me. One of my favorites." Jay raised an eyebrow, amused. "You want to force me to watch one of those movies where the protagonist has a sudden transformation and ends up becoming the perfect guy?" "Exactly," you said proudly. "Because even a frat boy has a heart of gold deep down." He laughed, shaking his head. "That’s never going to happen, but alright." Then he suddenly became more serious, and with one step, he moved closer to you. Too close. You could smell his scent – a light aftershave mixed with the warmth of his skin – and your heart leaped into your throat. "And if I win?" he asked in a low voice, his gaze locked on you. You swallowed nervously. "W-what do you want?" Jay tilted his head to the side, studying you closely. Then he let his gaze slide down to your lips, lingering for just a second before answering. "I want a kiss." Your breath stopped. He smiled softly, that cheeky grin that drove you crazy. "But not just any kiss," he continued, lowering his voice, and you felt your stomach flip. Had he lost his mind? "What?!" you whispered, eyes wide. Jay took a step back with a chuckle. "What’s wrong, book girl? Afraid to lose?" You clenched your fists, your face burning. Damn Park Jongseong. "Get ready to watch a whole night of rom-coms," you said in a fake confident tone, even though inside, you were a mess. Jay lifted his drink with a satisfied smirk. "We’ll see."
Jay looked at you with a satisfied smile as you took another sip of your drink. You had already missed five shots, and at this point, half of your drink was already gone. When you lifted the glass to drink again, Jay stopped you, gently grabbing your wrist. "Okay, that’s enough," he said, shaking his head. "I don’t want to have to carry you out of here rolling." You nodded slowly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread across your cheeks. Then you sighed, glancing at the untouched glasses still on the table. "I screwed this up…" you murmured, looking down. Jay stepped closer, lowering his face near yours. "Nah. You just lost badly." You raised your eyes, glaring at him, but he just smiled. "But the fun part," he continued, tilting his head, "is that with your little screw-up, I just won a free kiss." Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. "Wait, what?" Jay smiled even more as if he was enjoying every second of your reaction. "You lost, right? And we made a bet. So…" He paused, letting the meaning of his words sink slowly into your head. You felt your face flush. "You’re impossible." He laughed softly. "And you’re drunk." You puffed out your cheeks. "I’m not drunk." Jay gave you a skeptical look. "Yeah. And I’m a book boy." You crossed your arms, trying to keep the little dignity you had left. He shook his head, amused, then put his hand in his jeans pocket. "Should I drive you home?" he asked, his tone softer this time. You hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay." Jay smiled, as if he had already predicted your answer, and gestured for you to follow him. The cool evening air made you shiver slightly as you walked beside Jay. He led you to the parking lot, and when you saw his car, you almost lost your balance. A Mercedes and not just any Mercedes. One of those that probably cost more than all the rent for your student room put together.
You whistled softly, impressed. "Okay… this is the moment I realize you’re really rich." Jay laughed as he opened the door for you. "Took you this long?" You shrugged, getting in with a bit of hesitation. When you sat down, you immediately felt the fabric of your dress ride up slightly on your thighs. Instinctively, you tried to pull it down to cover yourself more. Meanwhile, Jay got in on the driver’s side and started the car but noticed your movement. Then you heard yourself mumbling something under your breath. "I should never wear stuff like this…" Jay took his eyes off the road and glanced at you sideways, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. "What?" You quickly shook your head, immediately regretting speaking aloud. "Nothing, never mind." But Jay didn’t let it go. He turned off the engine for a second and completely turned toward you, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "Say it again," he said, his voice slightly lower. You felt a lump form in your throat. "It’s nothing." Jay clenched his jaw. "You said you shouldn’t wear things like this. Why?" You lowered your gaze, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Because… they don’t look good on me." The silence that followed was heavy. Jay ran a hand through his hair, taking a second before responding. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. "Book girl," he said, and this time there was no malice in his voice. Just frustration. "Who the hell put this nonsense in your head?" He stared straight into your eyes, his voice lower and more intense. "That dress looks amazing on you. And anyone who ever made you think otherwise is an idiot." You swallowed, feeling your face burn. "Jay…" He tilted his head, studying you. Then he smiled slightly, but this time, there was more than just malice in his eyes. There was something else. "You should wear them more often, especially when I’m around!" You puffed out your cheeks, trying to ignore the warmth that had flooded your body. "Stop teasing me, Jay." He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned slightly toward you, getting closer and closer. You shifted against the seat, trying to create more distance between you, but he seemed determined to not let you escape.
His scent – a mix of musk, sandalwood, and something slightly sweet – enveloped you, making your head spin even more than the alcohol already had. "Can I touch you?" he asked suddenly, his voice lower, almost a whisper. You looked up at him, surprised. Jay tilted his head slightly. "At the gym, you told me you didn’t want to be touched. I don’t want to do it if you don’t want me to." Your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t know how to respond. Or rather, you did, but admitting it out loud was a whole different story. You nodded slowly. Jay bit the inside of his cheek, as if trying to hold back a smile, then smoothly took off his leather jacket and placed it over your bare thighs. "Is this better?" You looked down at the jacket, then nodded again. "Yes…" Jay leaned in even more, this time with more confidence, and his hand slowly traveled up to your cheek. His fingers were warm, a pleasant contrast against your skin. You held your breath when his thumb slowly traced the outline of your face, sliding down until it reached the edge of your lips. He brushed them with his fingertip as if memorizing their shape. Then, with a whisper, almost to himself, he muttered: "Fuck, you’re beautiful." And pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t hesitant. It was hungry, and confident, like it was something he had wanted to do for a long time. Jay’s lips were incredibly soft, and they tasted of expensive liquor with a slightly smoky note. Yours, on the other hand, were sweet, infused with the fruity drink you had had at the party. It felt like you were sinking into the warmth of the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a confidence that made your head spin. You felt his breath mixing with yours, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he tilted his head slightly to kiss you better. Instinctively, your hands rested on his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt cling to the muscles underneath. It was warm, solid, so real that you almost had to hold your breath. Jay smiled against your lips as if your touch amused him. He pulled back for a second, looking at you with those dark eyes that seemed to study every reaction you had. You were blushing, and you knew it. You could feel the heat on your cheeks, the frantic beat of your heart. "It’s the alcohol," you whispered, almost to justify yourself. Jay didn’t answer. Instead, without a second thought, he placed a confident hand on your hip and, with a decisive movement, pulled you back against him.
This time, the kiss was different. Deeper, slower. His lips brushed against yours with overwhelming intensity, leaving you breathless as his tongue gently slid between your lips, exploring you with a languor that made your knees tremble. A sound escaped involuntarily from your throat—a nearly imperceptible moan, but enough for Jay to notice. He smiled against the kiss, his hand on your hip tightening slightly as his fingers traced small circles on the thin fabric of your dress. "You’re dangerous, book girl," he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse and slightly amused. "You’re becoming a drug." Those words sent a shiver through you, a wave of heat traveling from your head to your toes. With a shy gesture, you let your arms slide around his neck, your fingers sinking into his dark hair. You ruffled it slightly, curious about how soft it was. "Oh my god, Jay," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "Your hair is… so soft." Jay chuckled softly, not breaking away from you. "What, did you think I had straw on my head?" You buried your face against his shoulder, embarrassed. But he pulled his face away slightly, tilting his head to look at you. And in his gaze, there was something new. Something warm, something that made you want to kiss him again. You stared at his slightly swollen lips from the kisses you had shared, the small bites you had both given each other and while keeping your arms tight around his neck, you asked if you could kiss him again. Jay stared at you for a moment, then chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Do you have to ask?" he whispered, his voice slightly rough, still thick from the kiss you’d just shared. You bit your lip, lowering your gaze just a little. "I just wanted to be polite…" Jay smiled amusedly but didn’t say anything more because this time, you moved first. You lifted yourself slightly toward him and kissed him gently, savoring every shiver his lips sent through you. It was different, more intimate. You let go, taking control of the kiss for the first time. Jay seemed to enjoy it. His fingers continued to play with the fabric of your dress, barely grazing it, as he slowly increased the intensity of the kiss. When he pulled back, he had a smirk on his lips. "So, book girl? You, who’s an expert on literary kisses… what’s my grade?" You laughed softly, your cheeks still warm. "I’d say a solid 8.5." Jay raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "8.5? Are you serious?" He brought his face closer to yours, his pout hovering just a breath away from your lips. "What should I do to get to a 10?" You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating. You didn’t want to answer, but his gaze was pushing you to. He tilted his head, eyeing you mischievously. "Oh, wait… you’re thinking of something spicy, right?" You immediately shook your head, but the flush creeping up your face betrayed you. Jay laughed, getting even closer. "Come on, tell me. What were you thinking?" You turned your gaze away for a moment, then, in a whisper, you muttered, "Well… I’d need to feel your lips on other parts of my body to see if I can bump your grade…" For a moment, Jay stayed silent. Then he burst into a soft laugh, his chest vibrating against yours. "Wow," he whispered, shaking his head with an incredulous smile. "This isn’t the shy girl I know." You covered your face with your hands, embarrassed. "I didn’t mean to say—" "Shhh," he interrupted a satisfied smile on his face. "I’ll drive you home before you can say anything else that I’ll tease you about tomorrow." You sighed, already knowing he would never let you forget it.
In the days following the kiss, Jay didn’t miss an opportunity to find you in the hallways. Every time he saw you, he’d come up with an excuse to get close—some stupid comment about the book you’d given him, a teasing grin, a hand slipping across your back as he passed by. But his favorite thing? Dragging you into some hidden corner to kiss you without letting you escape. Like that one time in the library, when you were bent over searching for a book on a high shelf and suddenly felt a warm breath behind you. "You should be careful, book girl," Jay murmured, his usual low and amused voice. "You could end up in dangerous situations." Before you could turn around, his hands settled on your hips, gently pulling you back against his chest. He trapped you between the shelf and his body, his lips brushing the side of your neck. "J-Jay…" you tried to protest, but your breath was already shaky. "Mmh?" he responded, feigning innocence as he left small kisses on your skin, slowly moving down. You quickly turned to stop him, but it was a mistake—because as soon as you looked into his eyes, Jay took advantage of your hesitation, grabbed your chin, and kissed you deeply and possessively. "God, you’re a drug," he murmured against your lips before kissing you again, his hands tightening around your waist with more determination. And it wasn’t the only time. In the following days, every hidden corner of the university became your secret refuge. But then, that afternoon, you hadn’t seen him around. It was the sound of your phone that pulled you out of your thoughts. Jay’s name lit up the screen, and the message made your eyes widen: "I finished the book. Looks like you’ll have to spend some time with me at the gym :)" It couldn’t be real. But before you could reply, another message appeared. "Come to my place. Bring a shirt and leggings." Below, is the address of a building you recognized well: a luxury complex in the city center.
An hour later, you were standing in front of what seemed like a private gym on the ground floor of the building. The place oozed exclusivity, and you couldn’t believe Jay lived there. When you greeted him, the first thing you asked was, "Seriously, do you live here?" He shrugged with a cheeky grin. "Being the son of a CEO has its perks." Then, without giving you a chance to respond, he grabbed your wrist and pushed you inside. Jay set himself up at the weight equipment with his usual ease, as if it was his natural habitat. The black tank top clung perfectly to his body, highlighting the muscles in his arms that flexed every time he lifted the barbell. God, Y/n, stop staring. But it wasn’t your fault that every movement of his seemed designed to distract you. "Can you explain to me why I’m here, exactly?" you asked, crossing your arms, trying to maintain some control over the situation. Jay gave a small smile as he continued lifting the weights. "Because I finished the book. And I want to prove to you that I read it. Feel free to ask questions." Frowning, you tried to think of something difficult. "Okay, then… In ‘The Spanish Love Deception,’ why does Aaron offer to take Catalina to the wedding in Spain?" Jay lowered the barbell effortlessly and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Because he’s been in love with her for years and he’s tired of seeing her think she doesn’t deserve someone who looks at her the way he does." Your lips curled into a pout. Damn. He chuckled and moved to the squat area, positioning the barbell on his shoulders. Your eyes inevitably fell on his hips, on how the muscles in his legs flexed every time he squatted down and rose. It was ridiculous how attractive he was even while working out. You decided to try again. "Okay, then… describe the scene where Aaron and Catalina kiss for the first time." Jay paused mid-squat and threw you an amused glance. "Do you want me to tell you or would you prefer I show you?" You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and quickly looked away, pretending you hadn’t heard. After finishing his squats, Jay moved to the leg machine—the same one he’d had you use that one time at the gym. Without a care, he set the weight to 80 kilos and got comfortable, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "So, book girl? Got one last question?" You sighed and tried something even more specific. "What does Aaron say to Catalina when they confess their love?" Jay, without even thinking, answered in a lower tone, almost seriously: "‘I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t know what it’s like not to love you.’" At that moment, you realized: you had lost the bet. You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, and Jay burst out laughing. "What’s with that face? Don’t like losing?" You shot him a glare. "I hate losing." "Good, because I love winning." He shrugged, amused. "I’ve loved it since I was little." You rolled your eyes. "So now I have to train with you every day?"
Jay laughed and then, with his usual cocky air, sat down on the leg machine bench, lightly patting his thighs. "Sit on me." You looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. "What?" "You heard me, book girl. Straddle me." You shook your head, your cheeks already burning. "I can’t." Jay raised an eyebrow, that mischievous grin you knew all too well spreading across his face. "And why not?" "Because… because we’re in public!" He burst out laughing again. "Sweetheart, I’ve booked the gym for an hour and a half. It’s just us here." You quickly glanced around and realized he was right. The gym was empty. You hesitated for a moment, then, with your heart pounding, you slowly positioned yourself on his legs, trying to keep some distance between you. Jay watched you with an amused little grin and then shook his head. "No, no, this isn’t gonna work. You need to move higher, or I can’t do the exercise." You swallowed hard, a little scared, and shifted higher, until you felt something hard and warm press against your center. A small moan escaped your lips, too unexpected to hold back, and Jay noticed it immediately. A flash of amusement and desire flickered in his eyes as he lowered his voice. "Oh? Already got you like this?" You bit your lip, trying to avoid his gaze, but he wouldn’t let you. He leaned in slightly, his hands resting on your hips with a firm grip. "I knew you had a hidden side, book girl." As Jay started pushing the weights with you straddling him, you could feel his muscles tightening under your legs. His hands held your waist naturally, as though you were meant to be there, while his breathing deepened with the effort. You watched him closely, paying attention to every line, every movement. A thin layer of sweat made his skin shine, and without thinking too much, you placed your hands on his taut abs. You felt them under your fingers—sculpted, warm, alive. Jay lowered his gaze to you with a sly smile. "What’s this, you doing a technical assessment now?"
You blushed immediately, trying to retract your hands. "I… just curious." "Curious, huh?" he said in a teasing tone, digging his fingers into your sides to make you jump a little. After a few more reps, he finally set his legs down and sat up with a still-burning look. "So… what do I have to do for that perfect ten in the kiss?" You looked at him confused. "What?" Jay stood up, catching his breath as he slowly made you slide off his legs, still holding you by the waist. "I’ll take a quick shower, then we’ll eat something and watch your movie… and you’ll see, that grade will go up, sweetheart." "Sweetheart?" you repeated, blushing as if you’d just heard a swear word. "Mh-hm, you like it, admit it," he said, winking at you as he grabbed his towel and disappeared into the bathroom. After about ten minutes, you were sitting on his couch in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt—his, by the way—while you tried to find your favorite movie to put on. His apartment was neat but lived-in, cozy with a few luxurious touches that left no doubt Jay was truly "the CEO’s son." When he returned, his hair still wet and wearing a fresh t-shirt, he brought two plates with him. "I did everything, sweetheart. Tonight, I’m spoiling you." He set the plate in front of you and dropped down beside you, making you sink a little into the couch as you nodded shyly. "Thank you…" As you ate, the conversation flowed easily. You, with your usual shyness, he, never miss a chance to tease you. "So, after this movie, can I say I’ve conquered all of your book girl heart, yes or no?" "It depends on how you behave." He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly. "Interesting threat." Then he handed you a small treat, cutting it in half with a spoon. "Half for you." You nodded with a smile, taking the spoon and eating your half while finally starting the movie. "Oh, so this is the infamous movie of your heart… let’s see if it’s worthy of my ten." And as the screen lit up, Jay already wrapped an arm around your shoulders, whispering, "Get ready, sweetheart. Tonight, I’m getting that ten."
His lips crashed against yours with a restrained hunger, almost frantic. The taste of the sweet you had shared just moments before mixed with the heat of the kiss, making it even more indecent, even more overwhelming. You moaned softly against his mouth, your hands sinking into his soft strands as you pulled him closer, nearer, as if just a centimeter of air between you could make everything fall apart. Jay chuckled against your lips, his hand exploring under the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie. "You like wearing my stuff, huh?" he whispered in a low, teasing tone, his fingers brushing the warm skin of your hips. "Maybe because it makes you feel like you're mine." You blushed immediately, but a smile crept onto your lips. "Shut up…" you laughed weakly, without any real conviction. But Jay wasn’t waiting for an invitation: his mouth pulled away from yours and dropped to your neck, leaving slow kisses that became more intense, until he sucked on your skin decisively. "J-Jay…" you stammered, your words trembling between sighs. "I-I have class tomorrow…" "Perfect," he murmured against your skin, "that way you can think of me every time you feel one of these marks burning." He pulled you even closer, as if he wanted to carve himself into you, to claim you silently and viscerally. Then his voice changed, lower, warmer, authoritative but never harsh. "See how quickly you lose yourself for me, sweetheart?" he whispered in your ear. "Don't be shy now. You want it just as much as I do." Then he slowly pulled back, leaving you still gasping, and with that same arrogant, irresistible half-smile, he locked eyes with you. "Alright, book girl… how much are you giving me now?" You stared at him, trying to steady your breath. "N-nine." Jay raised an eyebrow. "Nine?" You nodded, biting your lip. Jay sighed dramatically and leaned back. "What do I have to do for that damn ten?"
He took you to his room without saying anything, but the silence was charged — as if every unspoken second was a shudder tucked under his skin. Once inside, he let you slide slowly onto the bed, the look never detaching from yours. He was above you in a moment, his hands planted on the sides of your head, his body barely touching yours. He kissed you with a slow bastard, as if he were savoring every second... and then he said to you, hoarse and low voice:
"You know you're driving me crazy, right? do you read those books full of dirty scenes and then be shy? Honey, either you stop it, or I'll teach you how to write a scene worthy of that book." Your breath froze for a second, but you didn't look down. He noticed it — and smiled, slow and cruel in the sweetest way. He stroked your hip over the sweatshirt, with a finger, and then added: "Take it off. I want to see everything. And don't try to hide, or I swear I'll rip it off." You looked at him with a timid challenge in the eyes, and obeyed. As the sweatshirt slipped away, his gaze devoured you alive. It lingered on your bra, on your already hard nipples under the fabric. He said nothing for a few seconds. He just looked at you. Then he licked his lower lip, and muttered:
"Fuck. Look at these buds ... so sensitive just for me?" he leaned his face to your chest and began to suck slowly over your bra, but with that deliberate slowness that drove you crazy. Every now and then he looked up to watch your reaction, his eyes full of desire but also of control. You pulled him by the hair, with a choked groan, and whispered: "I want your tongue on my skin..." He laughed, that low, almost cruel laugh. "I knew that under that good girl facade lurked a little perversion. You get excited to read those scenes in the books and then you come to me all red in the face. But now... you're the protagonist, And I'm not here to spare you."
His hands slowly went down your back and unfastened your bra with a disarming naturalness. When he saw your breasts, he barely opened his eyes and then stared at you as if he had found something sacred and forbidden at the same time. "You're gorgeous. And never again dare to doubt how desirable you are. Look what you're doing to me." The tone was fierce and hungry, but full of adoration. He lowered himself again, his mouth a puff from your skin, and whispered: "Do I kiss them so slowly or do you want me to bite them? Tell me, princess of novels... how much do you want me to dirty for you?" Your whisper was lost between the heated breaths. "Kiss me... but I also want you to suck them.» He paused for a second. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin on his lips. "Ah, so now you give orders? The bookgirl gets bold..." He shook his head slowly, as one of his hands lay firmly on your side, holding you steady, possessive and present.
"Honey, you have no idea what you're asking for." He leaned in slowly, his dark eyes pointed straight into yours, and then let his lips close on your hard bud, sucking it with a slowness that almost made you moan his name. You felt him warm, precise, damn confident. With his other hand, he caressed your other breast, first sweet, then more firm, squeezing it as if he wanted to learn it by heart. And you... stutter. «Jay... oh-fuck ... you're ... you're too ... you drive me crazy, I swear..." Your voice was trembling, a mixture of desire and surprise, as your body reacted to his every touch. He laughed, his mouth still on you, then came off just enough to talk, his voice low, scratched with desire. "I'd suck them for hours, you know? You have fucking masterpiece breasts. Full, soft ... they seem to fit in my mouth. And the way you groan when I touch them? That's all I could come for." You looked at him with eyes shining with excitement and pulled a lock of his hair slightly, still unkempt by his heat. "Oh My God ... who reads Spicy romance now? You're dirtier than all my books put together."
He laughed quietly, with that hoarse voice sticking under your skin. Then he stopped, his breath still labored, and he ran his tongue over his lower lip. His hair was a mess, scattered over his eyes, and the way he looked at you was almost animalistic. "Can I get off? I want to kiss you ... really.» You bit your lip, a little scared, a little excited as hell. "Yes..." you whispered. He immediately praised you, with that disarming sweetness that contrasted with the darkness in his gestures. "Good girl... that's how you do it."
But you... inside you felt something squeeze. The panic, that annoying little voice that reminded you that you were not "perfect". That you didn't have that flat stomach, that your body was normal, real, with curves that you sometimes hated looking at yourself in the mirror. You tried to smile, pretend everything was fine, but he knew you too well. He stopped. He really looked at you. "sweetness..." he said quietly,and his voice changed slightly. "What is it? Why are you shaking?" You lowered your eyes.
"It's nothing... just that... I'm not-like those girls you see on Instagram. I'm not sculpted, I don't have a flat stomach and—" he came up, his hand warm on your face. "So what? You know what I see?" He looked at you with a sudden seriousness. "A body that drives me crazy. A woman who knows how to make me lose control. And if you think even for a second that it's not enough, then I'll have to prove you wrong... with my tongue, with my hands, with everything I have.» He bent down again, this time with less irony and more intensity. "And don't pretend to me. I don't want the safe version of you. I want you. All. Your insecurities too. Especially those.»
you smiled. It was that shy but bright smile that made him lose every shred of control. He looked at you as if he had won a battle, and then he bent over you again, lips that began to descend slow, stubborn, kissing your neck, then your chest, your belly... every kiss was a silent statement, slow torture. he slowly sucked your skin to the navel, leaving small marks where his mouth had stopped too long. When he got to the edge of the leggings, he stopped and looked up at you with an expression that made you burn inside.
"May I? "he whispered, but his tone was more of a challenge than a question. You nodded, and without missing a second, he slowly pulled your pants off. When he saw your white panties with the pink rose in the center, he made a low and amused whistle. "But look at that. So innocent outside, so dirty inside. You like playing good girl, huh? With your cute panties and those books full of scenes that make you blush..." He teased you in a low, hoarse voice, as he approached again, leaving kisses on your tight, sensitive skin. "Open your legs for me, honey.»
You did. Your heart pounded into your chest as you watched it move between your thighs. He settled down naturally, his arms firm around your hips, as if he was getting comfortable in his favorite scene. And then it began. His lips, his tongue, his hands ... every part of him seemed to adore you. He would kiss and suck on your inner thighs, slow, methodical, as if he wanted to drive you crazy before you even got where you wanted. Every time you moaned about the contact of his mouth, he looked down at you with those dark, fiery eyes, and spoke.
"Do you like it when I kiss you like that? That wasn't in the book you were reading yesterday, was it? Or maybe yes... the scene on page 267... the one where he only makes her scream with his tongue?» He would bite you slowly, leave marks, and then blow on it to make you shiver. "I bet you touched yourself reading that scene. Now I'm in his place. Now I'm writing your story.» And then... he ran a slow finger over your clitoris, still covered by the thin tissue, and your breath broke into a gasp. Your body just arched and he noticed it right away. He stopped, but did not turn away. He looked at you with a new hunger in his eyes, but also a rare sweetness. "sweetie..." he said quietly, and made you tremble just because of the way he said your name. "May I? Can I kiss you there? Touch every part of you? Worship you as you deserve?» His voice was calmer, but still imbued with desire. No rush, just that uncontrollable urge to make you feel wanted. Not just wanted, loved through every kiss.
"Yes..." you whispered, your voice mixed with desire and tension. He wasted no time. His fingers grabbed the elastic of your white panties, slowly sliding them down your thighs. When he saw the noticeable moisture on the fabric, his smile widened into a satisfied, almost cruel grin. He lifted them up, looked at them, and then gave you a look that made you flare up.
"So wet it left its mark... and I haven't done anything yet. Are you already breaking up for me, little bookgirl?» You tried to close your legs, instinctively, but he opened them to you again with a firmness that admitted no argument. His hands rested on your thighs, holding you wide open for him. "No no ... no shyness now. You wanted it, remember? You asked me to kiss you, to touch you. And look at that show..."
He lowered slightly, his eyes peering at your intimacy with brazen adoration and malice. "Pulsating, shiny... it looks like he's crying for me.» Your breathing became irregular. Red-hot cheeks. "Has anyone ever touched you here?"he asked in a hoarse voice, without taking his eyes off. You shook your head slowly, almost trembling. "N-no ... never.» he bit his lip, evidently impressed by the answer. "Christ..." he hissed. "And all those perfect boyfriends you read in your novels? What do they do to their girls, huh?»
You blushed even more, but answered in a low voice, almost stuttering: "C-there's this scene... he kisses her inner thighs ... and then ... then he holds them still and... passes her tongue ... there. And watch her do it.» he growled quietly, a sound of pure hunger. "Little literary pig ... and then pretend you don't know what you want.» He came up again, his hands always on your thighs, his gaze ravenous. And before you could say anything, he ducked and sank, tongue hot, firm, hungry. No warning. No hesitation. He made you gasp, quietly scream his name, while his face was hidden between your thighs and his breath burned on your skin.
His arms held you still, clasped you tightly against his mouth, while his tongue explored each point with slow and then rapid, deep and ravenous movements. Every time you moaned, he responded with a low, satisfied sound, as if your every tremor was a reward. "You are as sweet as in your books, but much truer," he muttered to you. "And I ... I haven't started yet.»
His tongue was fire and patience. he licked, sucked, teased your clit with precise, hungry movements, which made you squeeze the sheets under you. He was kneeling between your thighs, his face sunk into your skin, as if savoring the scene he had been waiting for too long. "You're shaking," he muttered to you, his voice kneaded with longing. "I'm going to add a finger. Let me hear how much you want me to hear.» When you feel his finger slide in, slowly, he broke your breath. You arched your back, letting out a broken groan.
"Jay ... fuck ... it's... too much, but-well ... oh my God..." He smiled at you. That bastard smile that knows exactly the effect it has on your body. "So responsive ... and I thought you were just a good girl with love books.» As his finger moved inside you, slow but deep, his words struck you more than touch. "You read all that spicy stuff and you've never experienced anything like it, huh? Remember that scene where he fingers her while licking her clit? Well—» And he moved again, his lips back to where he made you lose your breath. You grabbed Him by the hair, almost to anchor yourself to reality as he upped the pace. And he laughed softly at you.
"You're taking my finger so well, Baby, made just for me. Only I can see you so lost. Only I make you shake like that.» He adds a second finger, and the feeling almost made you cry from pleasure. "I ... I'm-I'm going to come..." you moaned, no longer any filter. He looked up, eyes dark and disheveled, lips moist, the face marked by your desire. "So soon?" he teased you in a hoarse voice. "Then come. But do it around my tongue.» And when he came back to you, it was the end. Your body melted under his hands, his words, his mouth. And as you let go, he whispered against your skin: "Good girl ... so sensitive. So mine.»
You were still trying to regulate your breath, your skin moist with heat, your legs mushy. And just then, he took off his shirt. You turned to the side, pretending to look at the ceiling. You could not immediately face the sight of his chest, the sculpted abs that had just made you from prison as you came trembling under him. "Seriously?"he said in that tone that made you shudder. "I just made you come like in one of the scenes in your books... and now you are ashamed to look at me?» You stammered something, embarrassed, clutching the sheets. "N-it's not that I'm ashamed... it's that you're... a little too much to watch everything together, that's it.» He laughed, low and rough, and leaned toward you.
"Touch, then. If you can't look, use your hands.» He took your wrist and steered it slowly over his bare chest. Your fingers flashed on the hard, hot, live abs under the skin. You counted them one by one, in silence, until you rose to your chest, then to your shoulders, then you approached… And without much thought, you began to kiss him. Your neck, easy. Then that spot under his ear that you knew was his weakness. "Mh..." he groaned quietly, squinting. "You already knew where to kiss me, huh? The little bookgirl who learns fast..."
He kissed your temple slowly, but as you continued to explore it with your lips, he came up and began to rub softly against you. Its member, hard and hot, rubbed against your still naked and sensitive intimacy, and you both moaned in unison, a muffled, but powerful sound. You smiled against his skin and gently teased him, he shook his head with a half smile and stared at you, eyes bright and black. "Do you want it?» You looked at him without hesitation.
«You. I want you." he pulled off his pants calmly, never taking his eyes off yours, and when he was left alone with the boer His body, sculpted and taut, was a symphony of control and restrained desire. You looked at him, with a mixture of amazement and desire, without being able to look away. "You're staring," he said with a crooked, mischievous grin, as he reached out to the nightstand to pick up a condom. "Are you sure, sweetie?» You nodded with a small trembling breath, but you looked him in the eye. «You. With you, yes.» His gaze barely changed: from arrogant to incredibly sweet, as if that “yes” had been something he had always been waiting for. "Then ... give me space.» When you took off the boer He laughed softly, that low sound that sent you into a tailspin.
"What is it, princess? Did you expect anything less?" he gently teased you, as she adjusted the condom naturally. You gave him a playful look. «Only... wow. Some books had not warned about this.» You looked at his cock which was long and slightly venous with a slimy pearly white and he stretched out slightly and took a persevative from the nightstand and tore it carefully and you looked a little curious but also embarrassed as he slipped his cock around the condom very well and he giggled, then took a pillow and gently placed it under your hips, his muscles still tense for control. He gently stroked your side, looking a little more serious now. "If you feel something wrong, shake my hand. I'll stop whenever you want, ok» You felt nervous, but confident. "Don't worry. I trust you.» He kissed your forehead, tenderly, and when he began to push slowly inside you, every gesture was a mixture of slowness and respect. His breathing became more irregular, and you held your breath, feeling every inch of him, every accelerated beat. "sweetie..." he whispered against your skin, in a voice so warm that it made you shiver. "You're perfect. Made for me.»
And you, under him, between trembles and breathless breaths, you really felt seen. Want. At the center of his world. When the contact between you finally became complete, the world seemed to hold its breath. A slight discomfort made its way inside you, and instinctively you clasped your legs, looking for stability. she immediately froze, her jaw clenched, but the tone of her voice was incredibly soft. "It's okay... I'll stay put until you're ready. Take your time.» You nod, heart pounding. You stammered hard: "I ... I feel weird. But also full. And alive.» He kissed you softly, his lips on yours like a caress, while with his free hand he stroked your side to calm you down. He whispered small provocations in a low voice, of those that he knew how to send you into a tailspin, until, with a trembling sigh, you told him:
"You can ... you can move.» His first movement was slow, studied, almost reverent. The second, deeper. You both groaned, as if your voices were looking for each other at the same time. Every time he moved, you felt your body adapt to him, as if you were pieces of the same story. "You're taking it so well," he whispered in that low, cheeky, intimate tone. "As if you were made for me.» You gasped, fingers in his hair, and you could no longer hold back. The words came out confused, broken by pleasure: "I ... too much... but also not enough. I want you everything. Don't stop.» He smiled, almost fierce in his rough sweetness. "So lost to me, huh? Just like in your novels. But this time ... it's real.» The rhythm changed. He became more decisive, but always with that care that made you feel safe. Every moan you snatched from him, every caress, every look was a crescendo. It was desire, but also something deeper.
The sheets were now crumpled under you, and the air in the room smelled of warm skin, desire, breath. he was above you, his forehead streaked with sweat, his dark and burning gaze planted on your face. His voice was hoarse, as if he was holding back something too powerful. "God, sweetie..." he muttered, sinking once more into you, more slowly, more deeply. "I'm going crazy. Every time I catch you, you're tighter, wetter. It's like I want to swallow everything.»
He clasped your side with one strong hand, while the other stroked your cheek with a delicacy that contrasted with the gentle brutality of his thrusts. You trembled under him, legs trying to squeeze to contain all that pleasure that made itself feel stronger and more urgent. "I ..." you stammered, your voice broken. "S-I'm going to come again... I can't—" He silenced you with a deep kiss, his breath mixed with yours, then broke away and whispered against your lips: "I know, baby. I can feel it. The way you huddle around me, you're ready to explode. Foul. Show me how well you come for me.» Then, as if that were not enough, his fingers returned to look for your clitoris, teasing it with precise movements. You moaned loudly, almost screaming, and you clung to his arms, to his shoulders, wherever I could find a foothold. "S - I'm going crazy..." you stammered, tears in your eyes at the intensity of the moment. "...it's too much, it's too good—"
"Shhh," he whispered with a crooked, mischievous smile. "Don't say it. I know how much you like it. I know you're mine. No one's ever made you feel that way, has they?» You shook your head, unable to speak, and he looked at you with that look hungry and full of pride. «Exact. Just me. And I want you to come. Hour. Around me.» And you did. Your body bent like a wave beneath him, your back arched, your mouth open in a choked cry, as your skin burned and your sight blurred for a moment. He could still hear your response to his touch, to his voice, and his breathing became heavier. "Fuck ..." he growled. "Look what you do to me. I can't even resist. I want you too much.»
He continued to move within you, a little more labored now, and when you tried to close your legs, sensitive, still shaken, he took you forcefully and opened them to you again, pushing you slowly but firmly. "No, not now. Your fucking pussy is still calling me..." "I... it's too much, I can't do it..." you begged with a thread of voice. He lowered himself on your neck, leaving you a slow, almost reverent kiss. "Yes you can. You're perfect. So surrendering. So mine.» One last push, deeper. Then another. Then you felt him tremble over you, his breath broken. "I'm... I'm fucking coming ..." he gasped against your skin, clutching you as he let go, sinking all the way before stopping, completely shaken. There he stood, inside you, his face tucked between your shoulder and the pillow. Then, gently, he lifted his face and kissed your forehead. "Don't look at me like that..." you muttered shyly, looking back. "So how?"he laughed softly, stroking your side. "Like you are the most beautiful thing I've ever touched? Because you are.» You blushed again, and he took your chin between your fingers. "And now that I've seen you like that, lost under me..." he paused, his mischievous smile returning. "There's no escape, honey. I still want you. And you ... you belong to me.»
Jay slowly got up, his skin still slightly damp, his hair tousled like after a storm, his gaze lowered onto your naked form beneath the sheets. He bent over the edge of the bed with that familiar arrogance in his movements, but something had shifted in his eyes: a kind of tenderness hidden behind his crooked smile. "Don't move," he said in a hoarse voice, almost an order, but with the care of someone who had just read your soul.
Moments later, he returned with a small warm towel. He knelt beside you and began gently dabbing at your skin, as if you were fragile, as if everything that had just happened between the two of you wasn’t an explosion of desire, but a confession. "Your face is still red, baby..." he murmured, passing the steaming cloth between your thighs with disarming gentleness. "What’s the matter, can’t look at me after I made you scream my name?"
You lowered your gaze, embarrassed, absentmindedly stroking his rebellious hair. Your silence was sweet, a little dazed, a little lost. Jay smiled. He passed you his hoodie—huge on you—and lay down beside you. He pulled you close, as if his chest were home. His breath was slow, but his fingers never stopped caressing your back. "Trying to hide in my hoodie?" he said, lowering himself to your face. "Are you avoiding me? Don’t tell me you're embarrassed... after I’ve seen you so lost beneath me."
You lowered your gaze again. "It’s not that... it’s just..." you fiddled with the sleeve’s edge, "I’m not used to... all of this."
He chuckled softly. "What? Post-apocalypse cuddles? Or the fact that I made you come so hard you screamed my name more than you've ever screamed reading a spicy book?"
"Jay!" you whispered, hiding your face against his chest. "What?" he asked innocently. "You have no idea how many times I thought about teasing you after seeing you with those books? And now... here we are. You’re touching my hair like I’m your favorite comfort character."
You pushed him lightly. "You are."
He froze. Then he took your chin between two fingers. "Repeat it." "I said you are—" "No, no, no. Don’t cut me off. Tell me properly. Out loud." His gaze became intense. "...You’re my favorite comfort character."
Jay gave an arrogant smirk. "Damn. This is worse than a 'I love you' in bookgirl code."
"And you’re worse than all the book boyfriends put together," you muttered, but with a smile on your lips. "Yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Better than Aaron?" "Don’t compare yourself to Aaron!" you protested. "Too late, sweetness." He gently pushed you into the pillow and pinched your side. "I already won, and I think I got a nice 10 too. I’m more real, and I make you laugh and moan."
You blushed so hard he laughed heartily, then kissed your forehead.
After a few seconds of silence, you sighed. "Jay… so… us?" He paused. "Us, what?" "What happens now?"
He took a moment, then brought a hand to his chest in a fake dramatic declaration. "Are you telling me that having you all curled up under my hoodie, in my bed, with trembling legs, isn’t enough? You want words too?" You looked up. "I’m being serious."
His gaze softened, becoming calmer, more sincere. "And me?" He moved closer, brushing your chin with his nose. "I like you, Y/n. Like… in a way I hate, because it makes me soft. But also in a way I love, because it makes me yours."
You smiled softly. "So you’re mine?" He laughed. "Only if you’re mine." "I am."
Jay paused, then gently rolled you onto him and hugged you as if he had found home. "Then there’s nothing more to say. Now sleep, little bookgirl. Tomorrow, I’ll bring you breakfast in bed and steal another spicy novel so I can figure out what you want me to do next."

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The Photo In His Wallet ♡ : A Sirius Black Fan Fiction.



pairing : Sirius Black x female!reader
summary : When a picture of his girl falls out of Sirius Black’s wallet, Remus and James seize the opportunity of a lifetime—and Sirius? Well, he doesn’t go down without screaming. And you? You grab the perfect opportunity to tease the shit out of him.
warnings : Fluff overload, Secondhand embarrassment, Sirius Black being a hopeless romantic (and dramatic menace), Mischievous Marauder teasing, Mentions of laminated photos, Light language and chaotic energy, Excessive cuteness and mutual pining. Please let me know if I missed any.
author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.
word count : 2k
main master list <3
banners : @uzmacchiato and @cafekitsune
It started with a perfectly innocent game of Exploding Snap.
At least, that’s what Sirius would tell you later, when he’s lying across your lap dramatically, whispering about “the betrayal of brotherhood” and how “even James turned on me, my dearest heart, the pain—the agony—you can’t possibly understand.”
In reality, it started with Sirius refusing to lose.
“Just give it up, mate,” Remus said, smirking as he laid down a perfect pair. “You’ve only got two cards left, and I can see the panic in your eyes.”
“I never panic,” Sirius huffed, slapping a card down with such force that it ricocheted off the table and nearly set Peter’s sleeve on fire. “I’m Sirius Black. I am the panic.”
James raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Pads? You’ve been weird ever since we got back from Hogsmeade yesterday. You’re not still swooning over her in that new dress, are you?”
Sirius went very still. “I wasn’t swooning. I was… appreciating.”
“You tripped over a display of pumpkin pasties because you were too busy staring at her,” Remus added helpfully.
“Pumpkin pasties are a hazard to us all,” Sirius replied solemnly.
They all laughed, Sirius included. And just when things seemed like they’d settle into a normal rhythm again, Sirius pulled out his wallet to settle a bet—and that was the moment. The moment the earth stopped spinning.
Something fluttered to the floor. James bent down to pick it up.
And then… the silence.
It was too quiet. Dangerously quiet.
James stood slowly, holding something between two fingers. “Sirius.”
Sirius blinked. “Yes?”
“What is this?”
Remus leaned over. His face split into a slow, delighted grin. “Oh, no.”
“No, no, give it back, give it back right now—”
Because in James Potter’s hand was a photograph. A small, well-worn Polaroid of you sitting in the Gryffindor common room. Your legs were tucked beneath you, hair spilling over your shoulders, and you were laughing—at something Sirius had said, no doubt, because the way your eyes sparkled was the same way he looked at you.
And worst of all? In the photo, Sirius was next to you, mid-way through tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.
You both looked… soft.
Dangerously, disgustingly soft.
James’ jaw dropped. “You CARRY THIS with you?!”
“It’s laminated,” Remus added, peering closer. “Oh my Godric, did you laminate it?”
“FOR PROTECTION!” Sirius yelped, leaping across the table with the grace of a drunk Hippogriff. “SHE’S VERY PRECIOUS TO ME, OKAY?”
James was howling. “Pads, you’re whipped. I mean, we knew, but this? This is evidence. This is proof in a court of law.”
“Shut your mouth, Potter—”
“Do you talk to it when she’s not around?” Remus asked, utterly serious. “Like, do you take it out before bed and whisper, ‘Goodnight, darling, I miss your smell’?”
Sirius turned scarlet. “I DO NOT—well, not out loud!”
James fell off the chair.
Sirius finally managed to snatch the photo back and cradled it to his chest like it had been wounded. “Don’t listen to them, love,” he whispered to it, with a glare at the boys. “They don’t understand us.”
“You know we’re telling her, right?” Remus said, already pulling out a quill.
“You wouldn’t dare—”
“Actually,” James grinned, “I think she’d find it adorable.”
“She’d die of secondhand embarrassment,” Sirius groaned, hiding his entire face behind the wallet.
But when he saw you later that day—when you smiled at him like he hung the moon, and kissed his cheek and called him "my handsome boy", and tucked your hand into his coat pocket where he was still clutching that damn photograph—he thought, maybe... maybe the teasing was worth it.
Even if Remus and James greeted him that evening with synchronized kissing noises.
── .✦
You knew something was up the moment you walked into the common room and James Potter looked at you like Christmas had come early.
“Oh, hey there,” he said far too casually. “Funny thing happened earlier. Wanna hear it?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Not particularly.”
“No no, I insist,” said Remus, sliding onto the arm of the chair beside you like this was premium entertainment. “It’s about a certain someone. And a certain object.”
You blinked. “Is this about Sirius? What did he do now?”
James grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just carries you around in his wallet like a 1950s milkman’s sweetheart.”
You stared.
Remus nodded solemnly. “Tiny photo. Worn around the edges. Laminated.”
“I—what?!”
And then—then—you spotted him.
Sirius Black, standing frozen at the top of the boys’ staircase like a deer caught in a very romantic set of headlights.
He held his wallet in his hand. He made brief eye contact with you. Then he did the only logical thing:
He turned around and bolted back upstairs.
“Oh my GOD,” you gasped, launching up from the couch. “He did not—SIRIUS BLACK, GET BACK HERE!”
“No you don’t!” came his panicked yell from somewhere above. “YOU CAN’T SEE IT—I’LL DIE—YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, SWEETIE—”
James was wheezing. “He’s GONE. He’s GONE feral.”
You thundered up the stairs two at a time and flung open the dorm door to find Sirius mid-dive onto his bed, clutching the wallet like it was the Marauder’s Map and you were Filch.
“Sirius Orion Black,” you said, arms crossed, breathless from the chase, “do you or do you not carry a photo of me in your wallet like a lovesick lunatic?”
He peeked over the edge of his blanket. “Lovesick gentleman, actually. Big difference.”
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
“Sirius.”
“…No.”
You stepped forward.
He whimpered.
Finally—finally—with a deep sigh and a dramatic flop onto his back like he was sacrificing his soul, he handed it over.
And there it was.
A tiny, slightly faded Polaroid of you. Laughing, sunlight on your face, your hand tangled in his hair. Laminated. Well-loved.
You looked at him.
He looked utterly destroyed. “It’s for morale,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like… a good luck charm. Or emotional support. Or a Patronus. You’re my Patronus, darling.”
Your heart turned to mush.
But you kept your face straight. “So you laminated it?”
“For protection!” he cried, sitting up. “You don’t understand, my love—James keeps gravy packets in his wallet. I wasn’t about to let you mingle with beef stew residue!”
You burst out laughing, full and loud and bright. And Sirius—sweet, ridiculous, hopelessly gone Sirius—just looked at you like you were the only thing in the world.
“Hey,” you said softly, climbing onto the bed beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You know you could just ask me for another one, right?”
He blinked. “A photo?”
You nodded. “Or better yet…” You kissed his cheek. “You could just look at me.”
He grinned, slow and smug and utterly Sirius. “I do. All the time. That’s why I walk into furniture.”
You laughed again, burying your face in his chest. “God, you’re lucky you’re pretty.”
He kissed your temple. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
── .✦
You weren’t planning on him finding out.
It was meant to be a quiet little secret. Something soft, something yours. A folded-up photo of Sirius—just his profile in sunlight, caught mid-laugh, probably making fun of James—and it sat right behind the emergency chocolate bar and next to your spare quills. A talisman. A comfort.
You took it out on bad days. When classes were dragging or the world felt too heavy or you missed him more than you could say aloud.
But Sirius Black was many things, and snooping-proof was not one of them.
You’d left your bag on the floor for five minutes. Five. That’s all it took.
"Darling?" his voice called from across the common room, the kind of cautious that meant he’d either broken something, found something, or was preparing to dramatically confess something. You turned, only to see him holding your wallet open with an expression like he’d just discovered ancient treasure.
"What's this?" he asked, holding up the folded photo like it was evidence. His own face stared back at him from the picture. He looked younger, a little softer, sunlight in his lashes. You’d kept it since fifth year.
You blinked. “...That’s private.”
“PRIVATE?!” he shrieked, his voice cracking. “You’ve been carrying me around in your wallet, sweetheart?!”
You walked over, nonchalant. “Yeah. What about it?”
Sirius stood there like you’d just proposed marriage. “I—You—You keep a picture of me on you? Like I’m—like I’m a lucky charm or something?”
You smirked, plucking it from his fingers. “I thought it was only fair. Since you keep one of me.”
“That’s DIFFERENT,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. “Mine is—mine is chivalrous. Yours is criminally adorable and I’m having a crisis.”
You leaned in, lips twitching. “Having trouble breathing, love?”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes. Also blinking. Also standing. I might need to sit down.”
You nudged his shoulder with yours and tucked the photo back where it belonged. “You look good in that picture. It always makes me feel better.”
Sirius made a noise like a wounded animal and flopped backward onto the couch, arms flailing. “I am going to DIE. This is the best day of my life and I’m going to die and I will not be reborn because nothing will top this.”
You sat down beside him, tugging his arm until he curled into your side like the absolute drama queen he was. “You’re such a baby.”
“I’m your baby,” he said smugly, nose brushing your jaw.
“You’re a pocket-sized baby,” you replied sweetly. “Fits right in my wallet.”
“Unholy words,” he groaned. “Say it again.”
You kissed the tip of his nose. “My pretty boy.”
He visibly short-circuited.
You grinned, victorious, and tucked your legs over his lap.
And that was it. He was a goner.
── .✦
It started, as most Marauder disasters did, with ego.
Specifically, Sirius’s ego.
You caught him staring at your wallet photo again. He tried to play it cool, of course, with that smug little smirk and a head tilt like he hadn’t literally gasped when he saw it for the first time.
But you saw the twitch in his jaw. The unspoken challenge in his eyes.
And then, the next day… it began.
You were in the common room, halfway through a cup of tea, when James’s voice carried across the room:
“Pads, why is your wallet thicker than Peter’s entire textbook collection?”
Sirius—cool, collected Sirius—looked far too innocent. “What? I just like being prepared.”
Remus reached over, yanked the wallet from his hands, and opened it.
And snorted.
James peered in. Then cackled. “NO. You didn’t.”
You raised an eyebrow as Sirius’s face went red. “What’d he do now?”
James turned the wallet around.
You blinked.
There were photos. So many photos. Every single one was of you. Laughing. Reading. Sleeping. Eating toast. One of you with a spoon on your nose.
You choked. “Sirius?!”
He sat up proudly. “Well, sweetheart, if you’re going to keep one photo of me, I figured I’d keep a few of you.”
“Seven is not a few!”
“Oh, that’s not all,” Remus added, flipping through the slots like a catalogue. “This one’s labeled ‘sunlight angel’. And this one—oh my Godric, he put a HEART STICKER on this one—”
Sirius snatched it back, scandalized. “It’s artistic expression!”
“You’ve got one tucked into your wand permit,” James added, eyes wide. “Pads, be honest… are we gonna find one under your pillow?”
“I’m not a monster,” Sirius huffed. “That one’s laminated and goes in my boot.”
You buried your face in your hands. “Sirius. You’re a menace.”
He leaned over with a grin. “I’m a menace in love, sweetheart.”
You tried not to smile. You failed miserably.
“You’re completely ridiculous.”
“And yet,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against your cheek, “I’m still your ridiculously handsome, wallet-stuffing, picture-hoarding idiot, yeah?”
You looked at him—utterly smitten, utterly Sirius—and sighed.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “You’re mine.”
He beamed, all sunlight and smug satisfaction.
Until a photo slipped out of the back of the wallet and fluttered to the floor.
Remus picked it up.
It was of you, with a very noticeable smear of toothpaste on your chin.
You froze.
James gasped, delighted. “He laminated it.”
Sirius’s face turned crimson. “IT’S CANDID, OKAY?!”
You smirked.
“...You’re not getting any new ones for a week.”
Sirius groaned. “Worth it.”

#della 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼#sirius black x fem!reader#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x oc#sirius orion black#sirius black fic#sirius black#sirius black fanfic#sirius black fanfiction
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I would love to see jack abbott with a sunshine reader i adore the grumpy sunshine dynamic.
Like Dana, she gets hit. She debates on telling him, but maybe robby lets it slip to Jack, and he ofc freaks out (i mean, the guy carries an ultrasound machine in a go bag)
His Rock
main masterlist | the pitt masterlist
pairing: dr. jack abbott x female nurse!reader
rating: PG-13
word count: 1.4k
warnings: violence (reader gets punched)
author’s note: thank you so much for the request! sorry for the part that’s so similar to the show. hope this was worth the wait!
The first date you had with Dr. Jack Abbott was at a nice restaurant. You two hit it off instantly, and no one in the world could make him laugh the way you did. Something about your energy really complemented his. You would be chipper and fun and full of life, while he’d be groaning about the amount of patients he had on his plate. You were never too chipper for him, though. You were just chipper enough. You knew when to be serious and when he needed a good laugh to brighten his day.
You remembered the first time he lost a patient while you two were together. You sat with him on the roof after his shift as he contemplated life. You held his hand and kissed it gently as you both sat in silence for what felt like hours.
“Thank you,” was all he said before he stood up, helped you stand up, and you both drove your separate ways home.
There were also times when you weren’t chipper. Then it was up to him to cheer you up, though he wasn’t as talented at it as you were. But he was there for you, and that’s all that mattered. Through ups and downs, he was always there, and before you knew it two years flew by.
**
You felt your phone buzz in your pocket when you realized something. Jack was late for his shift. He was supposed to be there ten minutes ago. You pulled out your phone and saw a text from Langdon, something about getting a drink with a few of the doctors after work. You replied with an excited “yes” before you texted your boyfriend.
You asked him why he was late, and he simply replied with “traffic”. Your heart stopped racing when you read the text. He was fine.
When he finally did enter The Pitt, you were there to greet him with a big smile and a tight hug.
“Good morning,” you all but squealed.
“It’s seven in the afternoon,” he grumbled.
“But you just woke up, so for you it’s morning,” you reasoned. “I love you.” You got on your tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips.
“I love you, too,” he replied
**
“Why not?” a patient asked you the next day. He had been trying to get you to go on a date with him for the past two hours and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.
“Because, like I’ve said many times now, I have a boyfriend,” you repeated slowly.
He completely ignored your reason and continued to ask you out again. You simply rolled your eyes at him with a scoff.
**
You were outside taking a much-needed (very quick) breather when someone came up behind you.
“Hey, nurse,” the man snarled before punching you square in the face with his right hand. You fell to the floor in pain, blood gushing from your nose.
“Fuck,” you exclaimed.
After lying there for a moment, you picked yourself up carefully off the pavement and headed inside.
When Robby saw you, he came rushing over.
“Oh my god,” he exclaimed, seeing the blood on your face. “Grab some ice,” he told Mateo, who hurried to do so. Robby ran up to you and held your face in his gloved hands so he could get a good look at your face. “What happened?”
“Just got punched, I’m fine,” you said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Come sit down.” He guided you to a chair nearby and got down to your level so he could examine the injury. “Can you go get Ahmad, please, Dana?” he asked her before she nodded and left.
“I’m fine, Robby, really,” you persisted.
“Did you hit your head?”
“Yeah, I think so,” you answered honestly. “But I didn’t black out or anything, just a bloody nose.”
“I’m gonna apply pressure,” Perlah said before pressing a cloth to your nose.
“Okay, okay,” you winced. “I’ve got it.” You replaced her hand with your own.
“Any trouble seeing? Any double vision?” Robby asked you. “What about a headache?”
“No trouble seeing, I‘ve got a bit of a headache, yeah,” you said.
“I’m gonna grab you new scrubs,” Nurse Kim said, and she left to do so.
“You’re gonna need a room,” Robby said.
“C’mon, Robby, I don’t need a room, I’m fine!”
A nurse ran to go and prep a room.
“Follow my finger,” Robby instructed, holding his pointer finger in front of your face. “Right, left, up, down. EOM is intact.”
“Who did this?” Ahmad asked you.
“Just a pissed off patient but he split so just forget it,” you said, sounding on the verge of tears.
“Hell no! I want a name,” he persisted.
“Harrison Elliot,” you admitted.
“The asshole that was hitting on you?” Mateo asked, and you nodded.
“I’m calling the cops,” Ahmad said as he left.
Robby pulled out his flashlight and waved it in front of your eyes. “Pupils are equal and reactive,” he said. He shone the light up your nostrils before saying, “No septal hematoma. Tell me when it’s sore.” He began applying light pressure to your face, starting at the cheekbones and heading for your nose.
As he got closer to your nose, you gasped in pain and asked him to stop.
“Tender at the nasion. CT head and maxillofacial,” Robby said.
“I’ll give them a heads up,” Mohan said before she left as well.
Dana began wiping the blood off your face and neck as you asked Robby, “Is that really necessary?”
“You have at least one facial fracture,” Robby said. “With the headache and the fall, I want to rule out anything intracranial.”
“I’m fine,” you assured him, but he just shook his head with a small smile.
“Want me to call Jack?” Robby asked.
“Hell no, I don’t want to worry him.”
“I think he has every right to worry about you if he wants.”
“Don’t call him, Robby,” you said, and he nodded.
**
“Jack’s gonna be worried,” Robby commented when he visited your room.
“I’ll just tell him I bumped into a door, he’ll believe that, right?”
“Sure,” Robby scoffed. “CT results came back, you’re free to get back to work… or go home.”
“I don’t wanna go home,” you said.
“You still haven’t called him?”
“He’s probably asleep, I don’t wanna wake him up.”
“If it were me, I’d wanna get woken up,” he told you, knowing Abbott and therefore knowing he would want to know you were hurt. “You aren’t burdening him, just give him a call.”
“That poor man needs his sleep, believe me,” you laughed a little.
“For once in your life, don’t be chipper about a situation and call your boyfriend.
“Fine,” you sighed.
You didn’t end up calling him, but Robby figured as much.
**
The whole day changed when there was a rush of emergency patients due to a fire nearby. Night staff was called in early, which meant you would have to face Jack sooner than you thought.
“Abbott! So happy to see you,” Robby exclaimed when he saw him.
“How many burn victims so far?” he asked.
“Not sure yet. And I thought today’s big event was gonna be that meathead punching Y/n.” When Robby realized what he said, he watched as Abbott’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull.
“What?” Jack exclaimed loudly. “Where is she?”
“I’m right here,” you sighed from behind him. “And I hoped Robby wouldn’t tell you.”
“Oh my god,” he muttered when he saw your bruised face. “Baby, what…” he trailed off as he traced his thumb down your cheek and cupped your face in his hands. Carefully, he kissed you deeply before he muttered, “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine, I promise,” you told him as he looked at you with such worry that it made your heart hurt.
“You don’t look fine,” he whispered.
“Excuse you, I always look fine,” you chuckled, teasing him. That did it, that made him crack the smallest of smiles.
“See, now there you go making me all happy when you know damn well I should be mad about this.”
“Aw, you love me.”
“I do love you,” Abbott said before he leaned down and kissed you again. “And it’s because I love you, I’m gonna make sure you get the proper care you need. CT scan?”
“Already got one, I really am fine,” you said.
“Okay.” He smiled and kissed you a third time, causing you to smile wider.
#jack abbott x reader#dr jack abbott x reader#jack abbott#dr jack abbott#the pitt fanfiction#the pitt x reader#the pitt hbo#the pitt#by mind empty just fictional people#by astrid#usermindempty#userastrid
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“Nanamiii, guess what?” Satoru’s face didn’t have its usual casual smirk upon it, but instead, a big grin of excitement.
As he walked into the faculty lounge room of Jujutsu High, he sat down in the chair across from Kento, but that simply wasn’t close enough. The beaming man got up and collapsed on the couch, sinking the spot next to his friend.
“What is it? Why are you so excited?” The blonde-haired man folded the newspaper he was reading and looked over at his blindfolded friend.
“Remember that woman I was telling you about? Y/N?”
Kento’s brows furrowed slightly in concern. “Yes, why?”
“Well,” Satoru’s cheeky grin widened, and a subtle shade of pink dusted across his cheeks. “I kissed her yesterday. It was a long one too, passionate, you know what I mean? God, she’s amazing. I know it’s too soon, but I really think I’ve met the one.”
“Really?” Kento’s previously furrowed brows now rose in surprise. “And does she know who you really are? And what you do for a living?”
“Why are you such a buzzkill? That’s not important right now.”
“Satoru,” Kento sighed, removing his glasses. “You spend every second of every day talking about her. Even you admit that you’re in love. How can you not tell her about curses and the jujutsu society? She might be impressed to know that you are the world’s strongest sorcerer. I’m curious to know why you haven’t been honest with her about any of it yet.”
When the former salaryman finished speaking, his words were met with silence. The couch cushions gave a low squeak as Kento sat up a bit, turning to better look at Satoru, who was no longer smiling.
His lips were downturned into a small pout. Though his blue eyes were hidden underneath his blindfold, Kento was certain that the other man was staring a hole into the nearest wall.
“Have you ever been in love?” Satoru suddenly asked.
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t get it,” Satoru paused. “She’s a normal person. She likes to watch TV . . . likes to read. We go on dates to her favorite restaurant. One of her biggest worries right now is whether or not her pet is getting sick of their current food and wants to switch it out. My point is that she’s happy, and I don’t wanna ruin it all by telling her that curses are a thing and it's my job to kill ‘em.”
“You hardly know the girl and can’t be honest with her at the end of the day.” Kento’s words were cold, and yet, truthful as well. As he spoke, he glanced down at his watch, adjusting it pointlessly.
“No matter what your excuse is, you’re being dishonest with her. Your relationship is being built on a pack of lies.”
“And why do you care? It’s my relationship.”
“Because I want her to be happy,” Kento mumbled.
“Huh?” Satoru looked away from the wall. Now, he was staring a hole into Kento. “What did you say?”
This time, the blonde-haired man was the one who looked in the other direction, unable to face his friend.
Kento’s throat was dry. What was he thinking?
He had gone weeks without confessing his biggest secret — that he was an old lover of yours — and he dealt with the gnawing jealousy that came with listening to Satoru talk about loving the same woman he used to kiss and hold.
But he sucked it up. Kept his mouth shut.
Perhaps, Satoru wouldn’t have minded knowing that he was falling for a woman who once dated his friend. Who knew?
You were all adults, after all, and such gossipy topics weren’t as important in the grand scheme of things.
And with that thought, it became quite clear to himself why he hadn’t said a word. It was because it was more than just a past relationship; he was still madly in love with you.
“Because I want you to be happy,” Kento spoke up, changing his sentence, his heart pounding rapidly as he silently prayed that Satoru hadn’t heard his words from earlier. “I don’t want to see you end up with a broken heart if she somehow finds out the truth and decides to leave you because you were lying to her.”
Satoru turned away from him, lowering his head.
“What if she leaves me?”
The white-haired sorcerer’s words were spoken in a fearful, sad tone that Kento hadn’t ever heard from the man before now.
It was shocking.
Shocking enough to make him forget his little moment of relief over knowing Satoru hadn’t heard what he said earlier.
“She won’t,” Kento said comfortingly. “If she leaves you, it’ll be because you broke her trust, not because you’re a sorcerer. The longer you wait to tell her, the worse your chances become. Trust me.”
Satoru sighed.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience, huh? Call me crazy, but I’m willing to bet you’ve loved someone before, right? You said no when I asked you earlier, but I just don’t believe you.” He gently elbowed Kento’s arm. “C’mon, you can tell me.”
“Well, if you must know, yes. I loved someone once. It didn’t end well.”
“Why not?”
“I was a different man at the time. All I cared about was money and work.”
“What was she like?”
Right now, Kento wanted to be anywhere but here. He would have preferred being trapped in a curse spirit’s domain than sitting on a couch, having this conversation with Satoru.
“I know how . . . how cheesy this sounds, but she used to have this smile like no other. It was beautiful. It was the sort of smile that makes you feel as if everything in life will be alright. I haven’t seen her in a while, and I worry that someday, I will forget what her smile looked like . . . But I don’t think I could ever forget how it made me feel. How she made me feel.” Kento’s heart ached so painfully inside of his chest. “Anyway, I know she’s happy now. I just hate that it’s without me.”
A few seconds of silence passed, nothing to be heard except for the nearby wall clock ticking.
“Right.” Satoru pushed himself off of the couch. “Well, I better get going now. I’m gonna gather my thoughts and figure out how to break the truth to her before it’s too late. Last thing I wanna do is lose a woman like Y/N . . . but you understand that, don’t you, Nanami?”
Kento’s eyes widened. He looked up in Satoru’s direction, but the other man continued to stroll o towards the door.
“I promise that I’ll treat her well, so don’t worry, alright? I’ll make sure she continues to be happy.”
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#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fic#nanami x reader#kento x reader#kento x y/n#kento x you#nanami kento x reader#jjk angst#jjk gojo x reader#jjk nanami x reader#gojo angst#gojo fic#nanami angst#fem reader
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Max Verstappen x reader
You have a secret Jos reveals to Max, and it leads to a rift that takes time to heal.
warning: mention of domestic abuse!
“How are things going with your girlfriend?” Jos asks, sounding perfectly casual, as if it’s nothing more but a question he asks out of courtesy during a small talk.
But his son isn’t stupid, he knows it’s a trap, he knows there’s a good reason why he asked that. To be fair, you never liked each other, in fact, you usually did your best to avoid him, or if there was no chance to leave, you simply remained silent. Jos sometimes complained about your rudeness, but Max let it fly past his ear, he didn’t even listen to him most of the time.
For a moment he thinks about what to say, because there’s a plan, there’s something he’s hell-bent on doing before the two of you travel to Belgium, yet, despite knowing his father would find out anyway, he’s uncertain about telling him the truth.
“Everything’s perfect,” he says eventually with a smile, then takes a sip of his gin and tonic to calm himself.
Jos nods with a hum. “Interesting.” Max looks at him with a raised brow, wondering what’s this about. And then, his father continues. “You know, I wonder why she has an escape fund then. If everything was perfect, she wouldn’t need that, don’t you think?”
An escape fund? It suddenly feels like he has icy water thrown on him. He heard about this before, this is something some women, especially those in an abusive relationship, start to have the money to escape from their partner. As far as he can remember, he never treated you badly, he hasn’t even raised his voice, and the two of you barely get into an argument.
Then why?
Sure, ever since you moved in, he refuses to let you pay for anything, and since you usually come to the races with him, you can only work remotely and part-time. But you chose that, he never forced you to accept these things. Then again, it’s easy to question his own decisions, wondering if unintentionally he was a little more pushy than he should have been.
Clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair and looks his father in the eye, defiant and sure he’s either lying, or simply misunderstands the situation. “She does whatever she wants with her own money, she earned it. I’m more interested in how you know about this in the first place,” he says, his voice calm despite the anger that’s rising inside him.
Jos huffs. “Does it even matter? Listen, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a relationship that can take your mind off of racing any moment. What if she leaves? Yes, you’re tough, but I’m sure her absence would hurt you,” he says.
He’s playing those stupid mind games of his again, trying to manipulate him to make sure things happen the way he wants them to happen. But Max is smarter than to let him win. “She won’t leave. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go home to her,” he tells his father, his voice making it clear he’s not about to change his mind.
On the way to his apartment, though, he can’t help but think about your escape fund. Is it one of his dad’s ridiculous lies? Or are you seriously planning to leave? He’s just about to propose to you, he can’t be left in this uncertainty. So, he makes up his mind to ask you once he gets home.
You’re sitting on the couch cross-legged, covered with a blanket while you binge-watch a series he would normally avoid, but tonight all he wants is spending time with you, enjoying the nice, quiet moments before the storm, before he finally gathers the strength to ask you about what he just found out.
“Hey, you’re home early,” you greet him with a smile.
Max flashes a soft smile at you before leaning down to give you a quick kiss. “You know I’d rather be with you than my dad.”
With a quiet chuckle, you pat the empty couch next to you, and he follows your silent order like a good little soldier. He immediately reaches out for your hand, wrapping his long fingers around it tightly to ground himself, to make him forget about the possibility of losing you.
Because it’s there in the cards, once he asks you about the fund, the conversation can go into any direction. You can get defensive, accusing him of spying on you, or you can deny it, even if it’s true, or if it’s nothing more than a lie his father fabricated, you can get mad at him for even considering the possibility.
So, for now, he tries to enjoy this series, constantly asking you questions about the characters and their relationships with each other, but you answer everything patiently, you don’t get mad at him for interrupting the experience.
He takes the chance to talk to you during a quick snack break between two episodes, and he’s standing in the kitchen next to you, flexing his fingers over and over again to fight his nerves. You’re oblivious to what’s happening, your mind is focused on the quest to find the ice cream you bought for nights like this a few days ago.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks suddenly, his voice quiet and uncertain, because he’s still unsure about this whole thing.
You look back at him and nod before closing the fridge. He can see the surprise, he can tell you know it won’t be a topic you’ll like. Do you think he wants to break up with you? He doesn’t want you to even consider the possibility of him not loving you enough, because he does, and he has no idea what he would do without you.
And it’s not even an exaggeration.
“This is gonna sound weird but… do you really have an escape fund?”
You have your poker face on, if anything, he sees a slight confusion, but he notices the way your breathing gets a little heavier, a telltale sign of being caught in a lie.
“A what?” you ask innocently, as if you didn’t know perfectly well what he’s talking about.
“An escape fund, money some women keep to get away from their abusive partners.”
A little tilt of your head is the only reaction. “I do have savings, Max, but I think you already knew about that,” you tell him. “And I wouldn’t exactly call that some escape fund. Why would I even need it?” you ask with a short laugh.
As much as he wishes he didn’t know the answer, he thinks he does. He does know why you might think there is a small chance of him turning violent, and it’s not the whole ‘Mad Max’ thing, but rather his upbringing. He remembers all the times you heard him talk about the outrageous things his father did when he was a child, how he treated him, and how lightheartedly he could talk about his experiences, as if they were perfectly normal.
But he could never hurt you, and he has no idea how he should assure you of that.
Did he ever give you a reason to doubt him?
“Max?”
“Hmm?”
You take a hesitant step closer, slowly reaching out as if you were afraid of touching him, but in the end you drop your hand to your side. It hurts him to see you like this, so uncertain about him, because all he wants is unbreakable trust between the two of you.
“What gave you the idea that I have an escape fund?” you ask eventually.
Max groans as he hops on the kitchen island. “Take a guess,” he says with a grimace.
A quiet oh leaves your lips before you fold your hands behind your back and lean against the counter across from him.
“But it’s okay. I asked, and you answered. That’s all I need–honesty, no matter what,” he says with a reassuring smile. “If you ever feel like telling me something, I’m here.”
Maybe this is the right time to do what he’s been planning to do. He kept the ring in his car, hidden in the trunk, but now he has it in his pocket, waiting for the perfect moment. This might be it. This honest and real conversation is proof that the two of you are meant to be together.
So, without further ado, he reaches for the piece of jewelry and jumps off the counter. “Hold out your hand, I have a little surprise,” he says with a big smile.
At first, you just look at him confused, but then you do as he asked. When he places the ring in the palm of your hand, your mouth opens, yet no sound comes out, your mind is clearly in overdrive as you’re trying to comprehend what’s happening. It’s okay, you just need a moment to get used to the idea.
“Do you like it?”
“Max…”
“If you don’t like it, I’ll get another one. But if you do, I have a question for you,” he explains the plan.
You pick up the ring to take a better look at it.
Uniquely made by one of the best in the world, with one bigger pink diamond, and two smaller white ones, all on a rose gold ring. In all honesty, Max has it all planned out. The date of the big day, the possible locations, most of the guest list, and he even looked for wedding dresses for you.
He watches you, and he can see that you’re too shocked by the surprise to know what to say. So, he waits patiently, giving you all the time you need. The need to reach out and sweep your hair out of your face is strong, but that would be too much now, he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s trying to rush you, or sneakily convince you to say yes.
“Are you sure about this?” you suddenly ask, your eyes finally meeting his blue ones.
Max can only smile at this. When was the last time he said or asked something without meaning it? So, he nods, then takes a step closer to you again. “Is that a yes?” he wonders cautiously, that happy smile already playing on his lips.
“Yes. It’s a yes!” you squeal before jumping into his arms.
#########
Surprise.
Then curiosity.
Then worry.
And then, finally, panic.
Because you’re nowhere to be found when Max wakes up in the morning, and while initially he assumed you just went to grab something for breakfast (the fridge is full) or left for a jog (you hate nothing more than running) now he’s certain that, with all possibilities eliminated, he has no choice but to call you.
Not because he’s controlling, but because he’s worried sick about you, because he can’t help but wonder if you have doubts about the engagement. What if you changed your mind and now you’re out to gather your thoughts and figure out how to tell him it’s over?
No, he can’t think like this. You love him, you said it yourself.
Your phone is turned off, and he checks the Find My app while cursing under his breath, slowly losing his patience from the fact he knows absolutely nothing. But it’s pointless, because your last known location is this building. Wherever you are, you turned out while you were still at home.
He rushes to the bedroom to change into a pair of jeans and a simple green tee so he can then go out to look for you. And that’s when he notices the ring on the nightstand, and the missing bag on the wardrobe that he often tripped over if he went inside without turning the light on.
You left.
You left without giving an explanation, without saying goodbye, or without leaving even a short note behind.
Gulping, he sits on the edge of the bed with the ring in his hand, trying to figure out what happened. Was it him who did something? Or did you just find his question about the escape fund a huge red flag which told you he didn’t trust you?
“Fuck,” he curses as he throws the ring into the wardrobe.
He picks up his phone and begins to write a message, which is followed by new ones over the course of the day. He’s desperate, because no one knows where you are.
First, he went over to Charles to see if you went there to either see Alex to discuss the engagement, but he had no luck. Then he asked every single friend of his you were on good terms with, but they didn’t see you either. Then came your friends with no luck. The last resort was your mother, but she said you hadn’t spoken in weeks.
There was only one friend of yours he couldn’t reach at first, and three excruciating hours after he found out you left, she finally calls him back. Max explains the situation, and surprisingly, all he hears is a long sigh.
“What is it?” he asks eagerly.
Your friend hesitates for a moment. “She bolted. Again.”
Bolted? And again? What does that even mean?
Before he can ask, she begins to explain the situation. “There’s this Taylor Swift song called The Bolter, and we nicknamed her that after hearing it for the first time because it’s kinda fitting. She always leaves when things get too serious for her liking,” she adds.
“Why does she leave? Was it all pretend? Our relationship, I mean.”
“No, no, it was real!” she quickly tells him. “She really loves you, it’s just too much for her. Look, this is something she should be telling you, not me.”
Of course, it’s understandable, and Max assures her of that.
#########
Days pass with no sign of you.
Focusing on work becomes more and more unbearable, because all he thinks about is you, even when those vultures keep asking him about Christian and a speculated private meeting with Toto. He doesn’t care about all this shit, he just wants you to come back to him. He knows he can’t even report you missing since you’re an adult who clearly left on her own will.
Every now and then he sends you a message. These aren’t requests to make you return to him, just worried tell-me-you’re-okay texts. Sometimes he simply tells you how he is or what happened during the weekend. He hopes you would answer at least once, but you don’t.
Having his mother around in Belgium helps him, because she’s there to listen and she really liked you from the beginning, and the feeling was mutual as far as he knew. She was even willing to reach out to you, hoping you would answer her call or text, but nothing.
“She will come around eventually,” she says with a smile.
The two of them are sitting in a restaurant, enjoying a nice evening together, but no matter how hard he tries to smile and be happy, he can’t shake off the feeling that something happened to you. He can’t help but wonder if this is his father’s doing, if his manipulation by making him assume you wanted to leave was the wedge between the two of you.
It wasn’t such a wild idea–the manipulation, that is. His father often did that, he often tried to control his life, and you were never happy about that, you always told him to just tell him to fuck off. And then he would tell you that he’s been past that, and that’s when you usually nod and let the topic go.
“Why did I listen to dad?” Max suddenly asks, breaking the thick silence that fell between them after her reassuring sentence. “It’s always like this, I become a stupid kid and listen to him, and he just fucks things up for me again and again.”
His mother lets out a sigh as she reaches out to take his hand. “Max, you’re beginning to blame yourself for what happened. You’re right, it’s your fathers doing as always. He never liked her,” she adds.
Everything comes back to him, all the evil remarks, every occasion when his father tried to humiliate you by calling you a gold digger. All of this while he knew perfectly well you only let him pay for things because he insisted and never let you alone when it came to this, so in the end you just gave up and began to put the remaining money in your savings.
The savings his father believed to be an escape fund. “I’m so stupid for even considering the idea that he’s right,” he mutters as he rubs his eye with his hand.
After the chaotic, rain-soaked race weekend ends, he comes to the conclusion that he needs to give you the space and time you need. You can’t be gone forever, right? You have a life in Monaco with a job and friends. And he hurt you with the accusation, even if it was wrapped in a simple, innocent question. But he was accusing you, he knows that now.
At this point he doesn’t even want you to return because of him. If it’s over, at least he would know you’re okay. And maybe he could even get a proper closure.
#########
Max will have some time before the Dutch Grand Prix, so you decide to give him a visit. In the past weeks you had time to think, to consider the pros and the cons, but what tipped the scale was a chat with your mother, who was over the Moon to hear you left Max. You always knew she didn’t like him, but hearing her be so happy that you expected even a bottle of champagne to be popped showed you the truth.
You need to tell him the truth, you need to be open about your past, about your childhood so he would understand why you did what you did, and why you got scared when he found out. It’s not that you wanted to leave, you loved him too much, you still do, but you couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling sorry for you.
You: Can we meet?
Honestly, you don’t expect him to answer your text. It would be perfectly understandable if he went radio silent. If the roles were reversed, you would do the same.
Yet, a few minutes later, your phone beeps once.
Max: Why? You want to get your stuff from the apartment?
The apartment. Not my, not our, but the apartment, as if he was building a distance, not even considering it to be his home anymore.
You: I know you were looking for me. Leaving like this was a shitty move, I’m sorry. But I’d like to explain the situation.
Dots. Those fucking dots appear and stay for over three minutes (you keep track of time) and you begin to wonder if he typed an answer that he doesn’t intend on sending you. Maybe you should call him, maybe a proper conversation would soften him enough to agree to meet.
And then, your phone’s screen lights up and his name shows because of a FaceTime call. Your heart rate jumps suddenly, making it hard to breathe, and suddenly you’re not sure what to tell him. You want to talk in person, you don’t want to spill your heart out over a goddamn screen.
But you answer. You reached out and now he’s willing to talk. If this is the moment when you tell him everything, so be it. He deserves to choose when and how to learn the truth.
“Hi,” you say, your voice quiet and uncertain.
Max gulps, then exhales slowly, clearly not sure what to say. But then he speaks up, and his voice gives away that he’s still hurt and worried at the same time. “It’s good to see you’re okay.”
Guilt fills your mind all of a sudden. How could you do this to him?
“I know it means nothing, but for what it’s worth, I’m terribly sorry. But I had my reason, and if you’re willing to listen, I can tell you about it.”
“Why exactly do your friends call you The Bolter?” Max suddenly asks, curiosity shining in his eyes.
A sigh leaves your lips. You should’ve expected him to hear about this, and he does deserve an explanation, yet you don’t know where to start. In the end, you decide to go back to the beginning.
You lick your lips to buy some time, just enough to put your thoughts and the events in order. “My dad… wasn’t a good man. He hurt my mom, and then he wanted to hurt me too, but my mom took me away from him before it became too late,” you say.
While you take a breath, Max decides to chime in. “That’s why you hate my dad so much, because he reminds you of your own, right?” he asks.
It’s hard to admit that this is the truth, because unlike you, he has a complicated relationship with his. How do you tell someone that ‘sorry, I just have PTSD every time your violent idiot of a father shows up?’ But you promised yourself to be honest, so you nod quietly.
He remains silent, and you’re not sure what’s going on inside his head. This has never been an issue, not once. But now, for some reason, it feels like you’re talking to a stranger. And it’s your fault. There’s no one else to blame but yourself.
When you least expect it, Max speaks up again. “You did have an escape fund, didn’t you?”
His voice is quiet. Raspy but full of the kind of softness you appreciate.
“I did.”
“Why? Did you really think I’d become just like my dad? That I would be able to hurt you one day?”
You gulp as you watch him through the screen, the pained look on his face feeling like a dagger in your heart. “It wasn’t my idea. My mom… when I moved in with you, she started one for me, then told me to regularly put money on that account too. She was worried about me, and she wanted to make sure I’d be okay if the worst happened,” you explain.
“Baby, you’re making excuses for her, even if what she did was not right,” Max tells you.
It’s easy to say he’s speaking from experience, that he used to make the same mistake. But lately he does it less and less often, now as an adult knowing perfectly well what was healthy parenting, and what was absolutely toxic bordering on abuse.
A few seconds of heavy silence follows his words, and you’re trying to figure out what to say to that. But it’s easy, you just don’t want to believe being forgiven can be that easy. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.”
“We’re gonna leave this behind and come out stronger, okay? I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want to break up with you for lying about something like this. I just want to go on with our relationship with this put behind us for good, with total honesty between us from on. Can you do this?” he asks seriously.
Fighting back your tears, you nod. “I promise you, there will be no secrets anymore.”
Max smiles at this. “Good. See you in Monaco when you return?” he asks.
You awkwardly scratch the back of your neck. “Yeah, about that. I’ve been hiding in Monaco the whole time,” you quickly admit.
“Come home. Now.”
#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#f1#f1 rpf#f1 x reader#f1 x you#formula 1
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Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught
Part 2 // Part 3
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James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.
It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.
This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.
He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.
Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.
It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”
“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.
Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.
You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.
James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”
Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.
The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.
“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”
“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”
“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.
James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.
Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.
“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”
Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.
“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.
Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.
“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.
They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.
James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.
“So what did you think-”
James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.
Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.
Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.
As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.
However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.
Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.
You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.
He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.
“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.
You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.
James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.
You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.
As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.
His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.
As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.
Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.
James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear.
“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.
His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.
“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.
James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.
James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”
#james potter#james potter smut#james potter x reader#james potter one shot#harry potter smut#harry potter#mine*#kinktober#kinktober 2023
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played me like a clarinet - rafe cameron



request: "Desperately-on my knees-begging for a ''She's all that'' from 1999, with Popular Rafe x Reader. Ooouff, and you want that soul crushing heartbreak when she finds out about the bet he had made"
pairing: rafe x smart!nerdy!reader warnings: angst.
Rafe Cameron holds grudges better than anyone and his ex was about to witness exactly that.
Jessica Green liked to think of herself as the queen of their university, the epitome of beauty and popularity. Some real high school bullshit he only fed because he really liked her. And then, she went and dumped him for none other than Tyler West, the star player of his rival basketball team.
Technically, she cheated on him, sneaking around with that piece of shit behind his back. So yes, the humiliation was killing him.
Rafe wasn't one to take such things lying down; he wanted revenge, and he needed it badly. He wanted to ruin her life. It wasn’t enough to ruin her reputation—he wanted to hit her where it hurt the most. And what would hurt more than being replaced? Not by any girl, but by someone who was everything she wasn’t. It was a genius idea, really.
He wanted to prove that some loser could easily take her place, with a little help from him, of course.
That's when you came into the picture. Kelce pointed you out actually, when they were six beers in and too fucking drunk to think clearly. But it was still a solid choice.
You were the complete opposite of his ex, blending into the crowds like a superpower. He watched you for an entire hour at the party, no uttering a single word the entire time you were there, only nursing your drink and listening to the other girls on the cheerleading squad speak.
Shit, he didn’t know you were a cheerleader until that night. Were you always there? How had he never noticed you before? It was hard to remember when all he focused on up until then was Jessica.
You were practically invisible in comparison to her, always on the sidelines, blending into the background.
You were perfect. If he could take this overlooked, nerdy girl and turn her into the new "queen" of the university, it would be the ultimate blow to Jessica's ego. It would prove that she wasn’t as irreplaceable as she thought.
“You really gonna do it?”
He didn’t take his eyes off you, “Oh yeah. I'm doing it.”
“Nahh, there’s no way you’re pulling this off.”
Rafe leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin at the corner of his mouth.
Kelce’s skepticism was exactly what he expected, it made the challenge even sweeter.
“You think so?” he mused. “Watch me.”
Kelce, always the instigator, “No way, Cameron. You think you can turn that quiet little thing into the next Jessica? She’s cute, I guess, in that nerdy way, but she’s not queen material.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “She’s got potential,” he said confidently. “Just needs someone to show her how to use it.”
Topper laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane. This isn’t a bad rom-com movie where the shy girl takes off her glasses and suddenly she’s hot.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rafe pointed out, “It’s all about confidence man. Jessica wasn’t born the way she is now. I can do the same with her.”
A silly school project, he thought to himself. That’s all you were.
Kelce took a swig of his drink, enjoying where the conversation was going. “Alright, I’ll bite. How much time are we talking here? Because she’s got a looooong way to go."
Rafe tilted his head, considering. “Give me two months."
Topper snorted, setting his drink down with a thunk. “Two months? No way. I say, a grand says you can’t pull it off.”
Kelce laughed, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, this is gonna be good. I’m in. A grand."
The two idiots were already shaking hands over it, acting like it was a twisted fantasy football bet.
“Y’all are gonna feel real fucking stupid when she’s walking into parties on my arm and every guy on campus is trying to figure out where the hell she came from.”
“And what’s the plan, exactly? Gonna Cinderella her ass into popularity?”
Rafe cocked an eyebrow, swirling the last bit of his beer in his red cup.
“Something like that,” he drawled. “Little wardrobe upgrade. Introduce her to the right people. Coach her on how to not sound like she’s afraid of her own voice.”
Kelce laughed, too loud. “Jesus. You’re gonna Pygmalion her.”
Rafe was going to make you untouchable. He’d improve every dull corner of you until you gleamed under the lights she used to think were reserved for her. And when Jessica saw you on his arm, in her place, with every pair of eyes following you instead of her, that’s when the knife would twist..
He finished his drink and slamming the glass down on the table. “I’m upgrading.”
Topper whistled low. “You’re a sick fuck, man.”
Rafe smiled, tongue in his cheek. “Takes one to know one.”
Kelce raised his glass. “To Rafe and his miracle project. This is gonna be fun to watch.”
Topper shook his head again as he clinked his glass against Kelce’s. “Here’s to you wasting a month of your life on a lost cause.”
“You better start saving up.”
This plan was flawless.
It was so good that even in his drunken stupor, he could see how perfectly it would play out. The first step was simple: get close to you. Make you feel special, noticed. Rafe knew how to charm people; it was practically second nature. With Jessica, it had been easy, she’d fallen for his looks, his confidence, his golden boy appeal.
The next day, he started showing up at places he knew you’d be. The library, the campus coffee shop, even lingering around after cheerleading practice.
At first, he didn’t approach you, only observed.
He had to figure out how to make you see him without scaring you off. It took an entire week before he made his first move.
You were sitting alone in the library, surrounded by textbooks and notes. He casually strolled up, pretending to be looking for a book on the same shelf.
“Hey,” he said, glancing down at you with a disarming smile. “You’re in my econ class, right? Mind if I sit here?”
You looked up startled, but nodded, moving your books to make room for him. You probably couldn’t believe that someone like Rafe Cameron was talking to you, let alone sitting with you. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Get you out of your shell and into his orbit.
He was acutely aware that one wrong move could cost him, it could send you running.
You kept your eyes down, focused on your notes. Your hand wavered as you turned the page, and Rafe leaned in—not intruding, but making sure you knew he was there.
“You always this buried in work?” he asked casually, pulling out a notebook and flipping it open.
You glanced up, surprised he was still there.
“I guess. I have a lot to catch up on.”
He chuckled. “I hear you. Econ’s been kicking my ass this semester. You doing okay in it?”
He could tell you were caught off guard. You didn't think he knew you shared the same class. And he didn't, until last week.
You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s… fine. Just a lot of material.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around these supply and demand curves for days. You think the professor’s trying to torture us?”
You smiled faintly, a small victory in his book. “Maybe. It’s kind of her thing.”
Rafe grinned, pleased that he got a reaction out of you.
“You mind if I study with you? Might help to bounce some ideas off each other.”
You blinked, taken aback by his request. “Um, sure. I mean, if you want.”
“Definitely,” he replied smoothly. “You seem like you know what’s going on, unlike me.”
He spent the next hour working alongside you, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just being there. He didn’t push or try too hard.
He wanted you to feel comfortable around him, to see him as someone you could rely on.
“I’m sorry about Jessica.”
You blurted it out, and he knew instantly it hadn’t been meant for him to hear.
Rafe froze, his grip tightening on the pen. He felt the familiar anger bubbling up, but he kept it down, his expression void of any resentment. This was what he didn’t want—Jessica’s name, spoken by you.
But he couldn’t let you see that.
He looked at you, feigning surprise with a bit of sadness, as if Jessica was a painful memory he was trying to move past.
“Oh,” he said, voice even. “You know about that?”
You nodded, eyes wide and apologetic, regretting bringing it up.
“Yeah… I mean, it’s all over campus, right? The girls were talking about it in the locker room. I just—I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”
Rafe forced a smile, faking gratitude for your concern. He sighed, putting on a relived act.
“It’s okay,” he lied. “I guess it’s one of those things, y’know? We were together for a while, and it sucked when it ended.”
You looked down at your notes, fidgeting with the corner of a page.
“She shouldn’t have done that to you.”
He let out a dry laugh, the bitterness threatening to seep through, but he disguised it as a rueful chuckle.
“Yeah, people do shitty things sometimes. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”
Your body instantly relaxed, relieved that he wasn’t angry. Rafe needed to pull the conversation away from his ex, and back to you, where it should be.
“But hey,” he added, as if genuinely trying to shake off the bad memories, “Everything happens for a reason right?"
You bit your lip at the sudden attention. “Right."
He leaned forward, “You’re not like everyone else around here. You’re real, y’know? Genuine. I like that.”
Bullshit. But he could see the effect his words had on you. Easy.
Your cheeks flushed as you looked away, a shy smile on your lips. “I’m just…here.”
Rafe shook his head, taking on a more sincere tone. “I’m glad I’m getting the chance to see that.”
He held your gaze, letting the silence settle to make the moment feel meaningful, even though he knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling you in, one calculated move at a time.
Finally, you nodded, lips twitching, “Thanks, Rafe."
Oh, you were too perfect for this.
He grinned, as if the conversation had lightened his mood.
“Anytime."
It was a perfect first interaction. It made you feel like he was letting you in on something personal and from the look on your face, it worked. Except, inside, Rafe was fuming. Jessica had managed to worm her way into his head again, indirectly, a reminder of why he was doing this shit in the first place.
“So,” he said, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “You think you can help me with this econ stuff? Because I’m pretty sure I’m doomed without you.”
You laughed, the tension from earlier completely dissipating.
“Yeah, I think I can manage that.”
You both turned your attention back to your notes. Rafe felt a sense of satisfaction.
He was winning that bet on way or another.
Over the next few weeks, he made sure to stick to his plan. Slowly but surely, he slipped his way into your life. He was always around, ready with a casual compliment or a small gesture that made you feel special. He’d walk you to class, carry your books, and offer to study with you whenever he had the chance. He knew how to play the long game, and you were warming up to him more and more. He made sure to steer clear of anything that might remind you of Jessica or his past. Instead, he focused on building up your confidence, subtly encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.
He’d invite you to parties, introducing you to his friends, and before long, you were starting to come out of your shell. You even started to dress a little differently—nothing too drastic, but enough to catch people’s attention.
The change was gradual, but it was happening.
The first party he invited you to was at a swanky off-campus house, you’d only ever heard about but never had the nerve to attend. He had that effect on you—made you start to believe you could belong in a world that had always seemed so out of reach.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Rafe said, his voice smooth as silk.
You hesitated, feeling out of place just imagining yourself surrounded by strangers.
“I don’t know… I’m not really into parties,” you admitted.
Rafe grinned, a playful shine in his eyes. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. Just give it a try, for me?”
He seemed so earnest that you found yourself nodding without a fight.
“Okay. I guess I could give it a shot.”
It was initially awkward—loud music, people you didn’t know, and a social scene that was worlds away from where you belonged.
But Rafe stayed close.
It overwhelmed your senses. You clung a little closer to him, which he noticed and shot you a reassuring smile, his hand resting on the small of your back as he guided. He was different tonight—more assertive.
“Relax,” he whispered in your ear, breath warm against your skin. “You’re with me. Have some fun, sweets.”
You nodded, trying to loosen up, but the eyes on you—on both of you—were hard to avoid. People were noticing. Whispering.
It was exactly what Rafe planned.
He led you to where Kelce and Topper were already posted up, drinks in hand. The second they saw you, their eyebrows shot up, but they quickly masked their surprise with easy smiles. Rafe greeted them, his hand never leaving your body.
“Guys, this is her,” Rafe said, his tone casual. “Told you I’d get her to come out with us.”
Kelce looked you up and down, smirk growing.
"Cameron. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Topper raised his drink in your direction, “Nice to meet you. Rafe’s been talking you up.”
You managed a small chuckle, not a fan of extra attention on you. “Nice to meet you too.”
Rafe gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you grab a drink? I’ll be right here.”
You nodded, grateful for the brief escape, and headed towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen.
As soon as you were out of earshot, the easygoing demeanor Rafe had been maintaining with you slipped away as he turned back to his friends.
“So?” Kelce asked, “How’s the project going?”
Rafe shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.
“Better than expected. She’s starting to come out of her shell. Still got a long way to go, but I’d say we’re on track.”
Topper's eyes followed you as you picked out a drink. “She seems… nice. You sure you want to go through with this, man?”
Rafe shot him a look, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Topper shrugged. “She doesn’t seem like the type who’s cut out for this crowd. Might be too sweet for what you’ve got planned.”
Kelce chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s sweet, alright. That's the whole point, isn’t it? She’s not Jessica."
Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk. “Exactly. She’s perfect for this.”
He said it with confidence, but there was something else in his eyes—he shoved it down and buried it as he watched you make your way back with a drink in hand. Nah.
You came back, walkin’ over all pretty and yeah—fuck. Couldn’t help it. His relaxed on its own, his brain forgetting he was supposed to be playing it charming.
“Got somethin’ good?” He asked, nodding at your drink, knowing damn well he just gawked at your mouth the whole walk back.
You giggled, holding up your cup. “Just punch. Thought I’d start slow.”
Rafe snorted, nodding approvingly.
“Smart move. Don’t let these guys talk you into anything too crazy.”
He meant to just say his piece and move on—but then you smiled again and that giggle stuck around in his head longer than it should’ve. You were bright-eyed and sweet, not trying hard at all, not even knowin’ how pretty you sounded when you laughed like that.
The night went on like that. Rafe played the part well—always right there with you. Hand on your shoulder when the crowd got thick, fingers brushing yours when he leaned in to tell you who was who. He introduced you to people with that easy grin, acting like he’d been doing this with you forever.
And every time you stepped away—whether it was for another drink or to fix your lip gloss—he’d glance over at his boys. A fleeting look, something silent, keeping score.
You didn’t catch that, though.
All you saw was him. This guy who stuck by your side all night, who made you feel like you belonged. Between the drinks and the way his hand kept finding yours, you started to let your guard down. You laughed more. Talked more. Stopped second-guessing every word that came out of your mouth.
Rafe noticed, of course. That was the whole point. He’d spent weeks laying the groundwork, tonight was just the beginning.
He was getting what he wanted.
Or, at least, he thought he was. Then you laughed at something Kelce said—head tilted back, unfiltered—something in him pulled up short. It wasn’t big or dramatic. A thought. Something about the way you looked right then made his chest go quiet.
He didn’t dwell on it, knowing better.
Especially with his ex still lurking.
Sure enough, she cornered him before class the next day.
“Rafe, can we talk?”
He didn’t look at her, instead shoving his notebook into his bag as if she wasn’t even worth the effort.
"What's up?"
Jessica glanced around, making sure no one was listening, before stepping closer to him.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
He tilted his head, barely reacting. “What do you mean?”
She huffed in frustration, not in the mood for his mind games.
“Don’t act like you don’t know. She’s a nice girl, I know she’s not your type.”
Rafe couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Jealous?
“You’re just going to use her to get back at me? That’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Rafe hummed. “You didn’t think about fairness when you were sneaking around with Tyler, did you? Why should I care about what she deserves?”
"Rafe."
"You only care about your precious reputation, so shut the fuck up."
Jessica flinched, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”
“Do you even realize what you did to me?” The memory of the last time he’d trusted her flashed before his eyes. “You don’t get to apologize now, or tell me what’s fair.”
Jessica’s expression softened.
“I’m not saying this for me. I’m saying it for her."
Rafe snorted, "Right, because you care so much about other people, huh?"
"You're being difficult for no reason."
Rafe clenched his jaw. He wanted to lash out, tell her that she didn’t get to play the moral high ground after everything she’d done.
“Stay out of it, Jess” he gritted out, “And keep your fucking mouth shut.”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping as if she’d been expecting this. “Just think about it before you do something stupid."
Without another word, Jessica turned and walked away, leaving Rafe standing there, seething with anger. He watched her go, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Of course, she would act like she gave a shit about you the moment he’s attention dropped from her.
This was about revenge, proving his point.
You were just a means to an end. But you made it so fucking hard for him to keep his head in the game half the time.
When you smiled at him or thanked him for something small, it nailed the hatred he had built up inside. It was part of the plan, getting close to you was necessary for the outcome he wanted. Except, the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that he was enjoying himself.
That was bad.
He didn't have to put in the effort to influence you. You began to speak up in class, even crack jokes with the other girls on the cheerleading squad. The transformation was happening right before his eyes, just like he’d planned.
Funnily enough, instead of feeling satisfied, there guilt forming in his stomach. You were changing, you were starting to trust him, to look at him like he was more than some popular dude who was doing you a favor. You were beginning to care, and that terrified him.
Why did it terrify him? That's what he wished for.
One night, after another party where you had danced closer, Rafe walked you back to your dorm. The campus was quiet, the stars above bright against the inky sky. You were buzzing with the energy of the night, still talking animatedly about how much fun you’d had.
The sound of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up—
“Thanks for inviting me, Rafe. I never thought I’d enjoy these things, but you make it… I don’t know, easier, I guess.”
Rafe smiled down at you, ignoring the way his heart twisted at your words.
“I’m glad sweets. You deserve to have fun.”
You looked up at him, “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly. For everything. You didn’t have to be this nice to me.”
That's when he saw you.
Not as a means to an end, but someone he grew to genuinely care about. Shit.
“It’s no big deal. Really.”
But it was a big deal, and you both knew it.
You had gone from barely existing on the social radar to being someone everyone wanted to be around. But that was all you. Rafe had given you that, but your personality made people like you the moment they met you.
He was taking something from you—your trust.
He walked you to your door, his usual confidence gone as you turned to face him. There was something different about you tonight.
“Rafe… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” you began hesitantly.
He forced himself to stay calm, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “Yeah? What’s up?”
You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your top before meeting his eyes again. “Why did you start talking to me? Was it because you felt s-sorry for me? Or… or something else?”
Rafe’s mind raced, trying to find the words that wouldn’t hurt you. He needed to lie, like he’d been doing all along.
You continued, “I’m glad you did. Whatever the reason was. I’ve never felt this… this good about myself. And it’s because of you.”
Rafe swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
Fuck.
He’d thought he could control this, control you, but it was slipping through his fingers. He stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You’ve always been amazing,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I just… I just helped you see it.”
You grinned up at him, eyes glossing with gratitud. You were looking at him like he was someone worth caring about, and for the first time, he felt like he was the one being played.
But if he pulled away now—after all the nights walking you home, learning how you liked your coffee and the exact songs that made you smile—it would only raise questions he didn’t have answers for.
Instead, he kissed you.
You didn’t pull away, kissing him back without hesitation. His hand moved to the back of your neck, not pulling. You made a soft sound in the back of your throat, barely audible, but it hit him all the same.
He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he pulled back when it flooded his insides. The look in your eyes nearly undid him. There was so much trust, and it made him want to break something, anything, to stop feeling the way he did.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the kiss had taken something out of him.
You nodded, still dazed. “Yeah, tomorrow.”
This was wrong.
He knew it was wrong. But the way you were looking at him...he couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched you go inside, waiting until you disappeared into your dorm before he let out a shaky breath.
What the fuck was he doing? He was so close to winning and yet, he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one who was losing.
Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Jessica’s words mocked him.
“I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”
He had scoffed at her then, dismissed her excuses as pathetic attempts to justify her shitty behavior.
But now, lying there alone, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was any different. He didn’t plan on feeling anything real for you. This was supposed to be a game, a way to hurt Jessica the way she hurt him. But somewhere along the line, things had changed.
How could he let this happen? How could he, of all people, start to care? He was supposed to be in control, supposed to be the one pulling the strings, not getting tangled in them.
And yet, the memory of your pretty face, the sound of your laugh, the warmth in your eyes—these were the things that lingered in his mind, all the damn time.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.
The anger and bitterness that had fueled him for weeks were still there, but they were being drowned out by you.
Rafe’s resolve had been torn for days, but he pushed the guilt aside as he drove to campus the next morning. He was picking you up before class, something that had become a routine. It was a small gesture, but one that made you smile every time, and Rafe had to admit, he looked forward to seeing it.
When he pulled up to your dorm, you were already outside, your bag slung over your shoulder. You looked different from when he first met you—still shy, but with a confidence that hadn’t been there before.
It was subtle, but Rafe noticed. He noticed everything about you these days.
“Hey,” you greeted as you slid into the passenger seat, giving him a grin that always made his brain turn mushy. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Anytime,” he replied smoothly, shifting the car into gear. “Ready for another day of fun and learning?”
You rolled your eyes playfully, a lightness in your expression that hadn’t been there a month ago.
“If by fun, you mean trying not to fall asleep in econ, then yeah, totally ready.”
He chuckled, glancing over as he pulled onto the road. “I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy econ. You’re just trying to maintain your cool, indifferent persona.”
You laughed, the sound genuine and free, and Rafe felt that unfamiliar squeeze in his chest again.
“Yeah, that’s me. The cool, indifferent econ nerd.”
“See? I knew it."
The drive to campus was easy. When you arrived, he parked in his usual spot, but instead of getting out right away, you turned to him, your expression suddenly serious.
“Rafe, can I ask you something?”
Had you figured it out? Did you know about the bet? He quickly forced a nod.
“Sure sweets, what’s up?”
You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip, a habit he’d noticed you had when you were nervous.
“Why did you kiss me?”
This was the moment he’d been dreading, when you’d start questioning everything. He couldn’t afford to slip up now.
“Why not? I like you. I like being around you.”
You looked at him, your eyes searching his, trying to find the truth in his words. Rafe held your gaze, doing his best to keep his expression open and honest.
You nodded, as if you’d decided to believe him.
“Okay,” you said. “I...I didn’t want to assume, y’know? It’s just...new.”
“Good new, though, right?”
“Yeah,” you admitted, “Good new.”
You were starting to get closer, to trust him, and every time you did, the guilt fucked with his head a little more.
Later that day, when the two of you met up for a late lunch, he noticed the way you had begun to attract attention from others.
Guys glanced your way, noticing the changes in you, and a few girls even stopped to chat—a far cry from the shy girl he’d first approached in the library.
You two sat down at a table outside the campus cafe, your eyes lit up when you spotted someone approaching. It was Leila, a girl from your cheer squad. She waved and came over, sitting down.
“Hey, you two,” she greeted, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. “Mind if I join?”
“Sure,” you said, scooting over to make room for her.
He nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but there was something about the way Leila looked at you that irked him.
She complimented you on something you’d done at practice the other day, you blushed at the praise. He could see how much you were changing, starting to come into your own. i
It was becoming harder and harder to justify what he was doing.
“She’s nice. I didn’t think she even noticed me before.”
“She notices you now."
You looked at him, your giddy expression fading.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing. Just thinking."
“About what?”
“About how you’re starting to steal everyone’s attention here. What am I gonna do when you’re the most popular one around here?”
You giggled, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”
You were starting to trust him, to believe in the friendship he was offering, and it was killing him. He needed to talk to someone about it, someone who knew the score.
After dropping you off at your dorm by the end of the day, he called Kelce. The phone rang a few times before his friend picked up, sounding slightly out of breath.
“Yo, Cameron. What’s up?”
Rafe took a deep breath, leaning against the side of his car.
“I need to talk, man. About the bet.”
Kelce laughed, not picking up on the seriousness in Rafe’s voice.
“What, you already feeling bad for her? Didn’t think you’d go soft so fast.”
Rafe frowned, running a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t think it’d be like this. She’s... she’s actually really nice, Kelce. Genuinely nice.”
“Dude, we all knew she was nice. That’s what makes this so good, remember why you’re doing it.”
Rafe sighed in frustration. “I know, but... She trusts me."
And I trust her, he wanted to add.
“Dude, you're in too deep to back out now. Keep your eye on the prize, okay?"
He nodded, even though Kelce couldn’t see him.
“Yeah... yeah, you’re right. I needed to clear my head.”
“Good,” Kelce gloated. “Now go get some sleep or something. We’ve got a party this weekend, and I wanna see you back on your game.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, man.”
By Friday, the campus was buzzing with weekend plans, and you were in a good mood, chatting excitedly about some party that night. You two were in the cafeteria, grabbing lunch, when it happened.
You were waiting in line for food, and Rafe had stepped aside to check his phone. When he glanced up, he saw a guy approaching you—a guy he recognized from the football team. A sleazy bastard.
The guy flashed you a charming smirk, trying to flirt. Rafe never wanted to pummel a guy's face to the wall so fucking bad.
He watched from a distance as the guy made you laugh, his hand resting on the counter next to yours. Too fucking close.
It made ugly rise in him. His grip tightened around his phone as he watched. You seemed flattered but a little uncomfortable, your smile not reaching your eyes. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, and it made him feel something primal, it burned hotter than the guilt.
He wanted to go over there, tell that guy to back the fuck off, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, seething. Scaring you was the last thing he wanted to do.
When the guy finally walked away, only after begging for your number, you looked relieved, but Rafe was already moving.
He crossed the cafeteria in quick strides, heart pounding in every single corner of his body. You spotted him coming, waving but dropping your arm when you saw the look on his face.
“Rafe, what’s—”
He didn’t let you finish.
His hand cupped your face as he all but yanked you toward him.
And then he kissed you, again.
It wasn’t like the kiss outsider your dorm. It came out fierce, almost desperate. He needed to prove something to himself, to you, and to everyone watching. All he cared about was you, right there, in his arms.
You were caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then you melted into him. Rafe deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you let out a content sigh that only made him kiss you harder.
People around you were definitely watching now, whispering, some even cheering. He didn’t pull away until he was breathless, and even then, he stayed close, his forehead against yours, breathing heavy.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the way you were looking at him, dazed, pretty lips swollen from the intensity he had poured into you.
“What... what was that?” your voice shaky, searching his face for answers.
Rafe knew he should've explained himself, but all he wanted was to kiss you stupid. He shook his head, lips tilting at how adorable you looked.
“Couldn’t help myself."
You blinked up at him, trying to process what had just happened, there was no mistaking the way your body was responding to him.
He stepped back, keeping his hand on your waist as he looked around. Sure enough, the guy from earlier was watching. Rafe caught his eye, giving him a look that said everything without words.
She’s mine.
He knew he’d just crossed a line, again, but in that moment, all he cared about was the way you felt in his arms, the way you looked at him like he was the only guy in the world.
“C’mon,” Rafe murmured. “We’ve got class.”
You stupidly nodded and let him guide you out of the cafeteria.
As you approached the building where your next class was, he stopped, turning to face you. He touched your cheek again, thumb brushing against your skin, and you leaned into his touch.
“Rafe—”
“You’re my girl,” he whispered, “Okay?”
Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes glossy and trusting.
Rafe was on the edge of something he couldn’t control, but as he stole one more kiss, slow and tender this time, he realized he didn’t care.
“Rafe…” you muttered against his lips. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you needed to understand about what you were, what you two were becoming.
His traced the curve of your jawline.
“I need you to know that you mean something to me. This, us—"
“Okay.”
He was already in too deep.
Just like that, he got what he wanted.
The next day, everything seemed to fall into place as if the universe has finally aligned for you. He asked you out, and just like that, you were together.
The next two months were a dream—utter bliss. You weren’t happy; you were radiant.
Every smile he gave you, every touch or whispered confession of how perfect you were sent you soaring higher. He couldn’t get enough of you—your sweetness, your kindness, your genuine heart. It was as if he was falling more and more in love with you every single day.
At the same time, in a place he didn’t dare acknowledge, there was a shadow, a sliver of guilt that he pushed aside. He never officially ended the bet with Kelce and Topper. It was a childish stupid game, so insignificant compared to what he feels for you now.
He forgot about it, it didn’t matter anymore. After all, what you two had is real, right?
Until it wasn't.
⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ
It’s after cheerleading practice, and you’re alone in the locker room, stuffing your things into your bag. The air is filled with the scent of sweat and body spray, the usual post-practice atmosphere.
You're zipping up your bag when you hear voices nearby, right around the corner.
Leila and Jessica, their conversation hushed but unmistakable.
You wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but something about the tone of their voices makes you pause.
"You were right," Leila says, her voice edged with a cruel satisfaction. "About your gut feeling with Rafe and his new girl."
Oh.
Jessica sounds defeated. "What do you mean?"
Leila sighs.
"Kelce spilled everything when we hooked up last week. He was too high to keep his mouth shut. Rafe’s been playing her this whole time, using her to mess with you. It was all a bet."
Your breath gets losts somewhere between your lungs and your throat, you can’t move or think. The room spins around you, the ground shaking beneath your feet.
No. No, this can’t be real.
Leila’s voice continues, unaware of the devastation she’s causing.
"It's so fucked up. She has no idea. She’s out there thinking he’s her Prince Charming, and all along it was just some sick game."
Jessica doesn’t say anything, but you can’t bear to hear more. You're suffocating, your chest squeezing as panic floods your system all at once.
You’re running—out of the locker room, down the hall, anywhere to get away from those words, those horrible, soul-crushing words.
Tears blur your vision as you stumble outside, gasping for air, an easy escape from the nightmare that’s suddenly become your reality.
You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you can’t stop moving. The hallways blur past you as you wipe at your eyes, rage and heartbreak settling inside you like a knife, and before you know it, you find yourself standing outside the gym, where the sounds of basketball practice echo through the double doors.
You push through without thinking, your heart pounding in your ears.
The gym is full of movement—squeaking sneakers, the thud of the ball against the court, the grunts of effort as the players practice their drills.
All of it fades into nothing as soon as your eyes lock onto Rafe.
He’s in the middle of a play, dribbling the ball down the court with that dedicated focus you’ve always admired. You hesitate, the familiar warmth of seeing him nearly enough to make you stop.
But then the memory of Leila’s words slams into you, and the anger surges back, pushing you to act accordingly.
You storm across the gym, your footsteps heavy on the polished floor. Some of the players notice you, eyes widening in surprise, but you don’t care. You’re beyond caring.
The only thing that matters is confronting him, making him face what he’s done.
"Cameron!"
Rafe turns at the sound of your voice, surprise flashing across his face. The ball slips from his hands, bouncing away as the other players continue.
You always call him by his name, that's the first thing he realizes.
All you can see is Rafe, standing there, looking at you with those eyes that you once thought held nothing but affection for you. Now, all you see is a liar.
“What’s wrong baby?” He jogs over to you, his forehead creasing.
“Was I a bet?”
His expression changes from confusion to horror. The sound of your voice, trembling with disbelief seems to have stunned him into silence. You want him to deny it, to laugh and tell you it’s all some terrible misunderstanding.
Deep down, you already know the truth.
You saw it in his eyes the second he turned to face you, that guilt, that peek of something wildly desperate.
He reaches for you, his voice breaking. "Baby, wait, let me explain—”
“Was I a fucking bet?” you repeat, your voice louder this time, edged with a desperate, frantic energy that you can’t control.
You take a step back as he tries to get closer, every muscle in your body screaming to get away from him. His eyes are pleading, searching yours for anything that might make this easier, but there’s nothing.
No words, no excuses, can make this hurt any less.
“It started as a bet,” he admits, his voice hardly above a whisper, but to you, it’s as loud as a gunshot. “But it’s not like that, I swear. I—”
“What the hell is wrong with you?!”
He flinches at your words, features pulled together, but you can’t stop. All the anger, heartbreak, the humiliation you’ve been choking down is pouring out of you in a torrent.
You can see the desperation rising in him. He takes another step toward you, reaching out, but you jerk away,
“Don't touch me. We’re done.”
“Please, just listen,” he pleads, "You gotta—"
“No.”
With that, you leave.
Rafe’s voice echoes as you walk away, refusing to look back.
The gym doors swing shut, muffling the sounds of the practice resuming, and you’re left in the eerily quiet hallway. The locker room is empty when you push open the door.
You head straight to your locker again, hands trembling as you fumble with the lock, desperate to escape. Before you can get it open, the door swings wide behind you, and you know, without turning around, that he followed you.
“Go away,” you hiss.
“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained. “Not like this.”
You spin around.
“You don’t get to decide that. You used me! And for what? Some sick joke with your friends?”
Rafe's hands raise as if to placate you, “I know I messed up. I know I should’ve told you the truth, but I—”
“But you didn’t,” you cut him off, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. “You let me believe that you cared about me, and all the while it was just a game to you. You and your friends laughed in my face the entire time, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t a game,” he insists, eyes red. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, okay? This wasn't the plan. I changed. Being with you... it was the only thing that felt real to me.”
"Bullshit." You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“It wasn’t a joke. It started as a stupid bet, but I never expected to actually—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I care about you. That’s real.”
It's hard not to see the boy who had made you feel special, who had made you believe in something more.
“I don’t even know who you are."
You want to believe him, to take solace in the idea that some part of what you had was real, but you can't. You shake your head again, a sob choking you as you turn away from him.
“It isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not supposed to feel like a knife in your chest.”
“Please, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Give me a chance to make this right.”
"You don’t get to have a chance. You lied to me. You used me.”
You look at him then, the boy who broke your heart. The boy who turned your world upside down with a single lie.
You know that if you stay, let him talk, you'll tempted to forgive him.
With a deep breath, you straighten up, wiping away the tears that have stained your cheeks. “I’m done.”
“Don’t say that,” he pleads.
“I mean it. We’re done. I need you to stay away from me.”
The words hit him like a physical blow Rafe takes in the resolve in your eyes, the finality in your tone, and he knows there’s no coming back from this.
“I’m sorry,” he says it over and over again, voice going hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”
Without another word, you leave, pushing past the locker room door and walking away. A small voice inside you screams at you, to give him one more chance, but then you imagine the laughter, the cruel satisfaction, Rafe with his friends, laughing at your expense.
You can't do that to yourself, for a man.
Meanwhile, when the door slams shut behind him, Rafe leans against it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He doesn’t feel victorious.
There's a deep hollowness and this time, he doesn’t follow you.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron au#rafe x reader#rafe angst#rafe cameron angst#angsty#just angst#rafe fic#rafe outer banks#rafe imagine#outerbanks rafe#rafe obx#i miss rafe#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron imagines#rafe cameron fic
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can I request wonwoo with cheols sis but cheol is overprotective of her bc she's her baby sis so all of svt (except cheol) knows that wonwoo and her are tgt and keep it a swcrettt
The One He Doesn't Know About | idol!Wonwoo x Reader | fluff



You really thought you could keep this secret forever.
And honestly? You were doing a damn good job — or rather, the boys were doing a damn good job covering for you and Wonwoo every time Seungcheol was around.
Your brother had always been protective, borderline paranoid when it came to you dating. Growing up with him was like growing up with a security guard, life coach, and CIA agent all rolled into one overly-muscular, hyper-aware, emotionally soft man.
But dating Jeon Wonwoo behind his back? That was dangerous territory. And addictive.
“Stop looking at her like that,” Mingyu whispered through clenched teeth during dinner one evening.
Wonwoo didn’t flinch. “I’m literally chewing.”
“Yeah, but you’re chewing with eyes full of sin,” DK added, shoving a piece of lettuce into his mouth. “You look like you wanna devour her for dessert.”
You, across the table, tried not to choke on your rice.
Seungcheol — blissfully unaware — was sitting next to you, rambling on about the company’s new training schedule. His arm rested protectively on the back of your chair like he was warding off evil spirits. Or, in this case, evil boyfriends.
“I swear to God,” Vernon muttered, “this is gonna blow up in our faces.”
And it nearly did. So many times.
There was the accidental matching hoodie incident. The time Cheol walked into the dorm just as Wonwoo leaned in to kiss you goodbye. The way he started noticing things — how you always seemed extra giggly around Wonwoo, how he always sat near you, how everyone else got a little too quiet when the topic of dating came up.
It was a ticking time bomb. And the worst part?
You hated lying to your brother.
But you also loved Wonwoo.
He was calm in a way that steadied your chaos. He didn’t talk too much, didn’t demand your attention — but when he gave you his, it was intense, focused, real. He memorized the way you stirred your coffee. He let you fall asleep on his shoulder during long car rides. He told you he loved you when no one else was listening.
And now, sitting in the practice room at 10 PM, curled up beside him with your head on his shoulder, you knew.
You couldn’t keep hiding it.
“Cheol’s gonna kill me,” you whispered.
Wonwoo’s voice was low. “Then I’ll die for a good reason.”
You smiled, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You made your decision the next day.
The boys were gathered in the living room. Cheol was talking to Joshua, and Wonwoo was sitting quietly beside you, fingers brushing yours subtly. Nobody said it out loud, but they all knew what was about to happen.
You stood up slowly.
“Can I talk to you?” you said to Seungcheol, voice soft but clear.
He looked up, surprised. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?”
You took a deep breath. Your heart was beating so fast, your hands shaking slightly. The room went silent. Nobody moved.
“I have to tell you something. And… I’m scared you’re gonna hate it. Or me. But I can’t keep lying.”
Cheol sat up straighter.
You stepped forward. And before he could speak—
“It’s about Wonwoo.”
Dead silence.
You could feel the tension snap across the room like a string pulled too tight. Wonwoo stood up slowly, stepping beside you.
“I’ve been dating him,” you said, voice cracking just a little. “For a while now. And—before you explode or something—please know that I didn’t plan to keep it from you forever. I just… I was scared. Because you’re my big brother. And because you care so much.”
Cheol’s eyes flickered from your face to Wonwoo’s, back to yours.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you went on, your voice gaining strength now. “But I couldn’t keep lying to you. And if you're gonna yell or be mad, then be mad at me — but don’t be mad at him. I chose this. I love him. And he treats me so well. Better than anyone ever has.”
You stepped in front of Wonwoo instinctively, your body shielding his like some kind of reflex. “So if you’re angry, yell at me. I can take it.”
There was a long pause.
Then Cheol… sat back. Slowly. His lips pressed together, his brows furrowed. He was quiet. Too quiet.
He rubbed a hand down his face, exhaled hard through his nose, and stayed still for a few long seconds. Everyone watched like he was a volcano on the edge of eruption.
Finally, he looked at you. Really looked at you.
“Does he make you happy?” he asked.
You blinked. “What?”
“Are you happy with him? Like… really happy?”
You nodded instantly. “Yes. He treats me with so much care. He listens. He respects me. He makes me feel safe. And I know you don’t like trusting other people with me, but—Cheol… you can trust him.”
He nodded once, slowly.
“Alright,” he said quietly. Then his voice got firm. “Everyone — out. Except Wonwoo and her.”
Nobody argued. In fact, the room cleared in record time.
Wonwoo stood still, his hands calmly at his sides, gaze locked on your brother.
Cheol didn’t say anything for a few moments. He just stared at him. Measured him.
Then he said:
“You really love her?”
Wonwoo nodded. “I do.”
“You know she’s the most important person in my life.”
“I know.”
“And if you ever—ever—make her cry, hurt her, or make her feel like she’s not enough... I don’t care if you’re my member, my best friend, or the Pope — I will break every bone in your body. Do you understand me?”
Wonwoo didn’t even flinch. “I do.”
Cheol took another breath.
“But I also know you. And I’ve watched the way you look at her. And if I’m being honest…” He looked down briefly, rubbing his temples. “I kind of already knew.”
You blinked. “Wait—you did?”
“Y/N,” he said, raising a brow. “You’re not exactly subtle. Matching bracelets? That time he slipped and called you ‘babe’? You two thought you were sneaky. You were not.”
You flushed hard.
“I just didn’t want to admit it,” he said, more softly now. “Because it scared me. She’s my baby sister. And I’ve always tried to protect her. But…” He looked between the two of you. “If I can’t be the one protecting her, I’d rather it be someone like you.”
You felt the sting in your eyes return. This time, you didn’t fight it.
Wonwoo, still calm, moved closer and took your hand. Cheol didn’t stop him.
“I’m trusting you with her,” he said, voice serious but warm. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” Wonwoo promised.
Cheol finally smiled, just a little. “Good. Because if you do… I’ll know. And I’ll come for you.”
Later that night, the boys crept back into the living room, peeking through the doorway like middle-schoolers.
“What happened?” Minghao whispered.
“Are they alive?” Seungkwan hissed.
DK gasped. “Are they cuddling?”
“Did they kiss?!” Hoshi whispered dramatically.
“You’re all so nosy,” Cheol muttered, walking past them. “They’re fine. I’m fine. Mind your own business.”
“Wait, you’re not mad?” Vernon asked, shocked.
“Nope.”
“...Are you gonna cry?” Jeonghan teased.
“Shut up.”
But later that night, you found a note outside your door.
"You’re always my little sister. But now… you’re also someone’s girlfriend. And I’m proud of you for choosing someone who sees you the way you deserve to be seen." —Cheol 🖤
You pressed the note to your chest and smiled through your tears.
#seventeen#seventeen x reader#seventeen x y/n#svt fanfic#svt x reader#svt x y/n#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#svt fluff#svt imagines#seventeen fluff#jeon wonwoo#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo x you#wonwoo x y/n#wonwoo fluff#wonwoo fanfic#scoups
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Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.
Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.
Word count: 10.5k
Read on AO3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.
These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.
Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.
Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.
You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.
“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.
“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.
She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:
“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”
That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.
Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.
“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”
You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.
How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—
“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.
The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.
And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.
Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.
“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”
Frank grinned at that.
“No shit?” he yelled back.
“Yeah. I really am that horny.”
From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.
And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.
Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.
“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”
You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.
“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”
He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.
“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.
You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.
And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:
“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”
The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.
“FORTY-ONE!”
It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.
Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”
“What?!”
Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.
You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.
In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.
“I said, ‘I love that’!”
“Yeah? Love what?!”
Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.
Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.
“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.
Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.
It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.
Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.
Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.
“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.
That wasn’t good.
You pointed up.
“First door on your left. Do you need any—”
But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.
Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.
Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.
You looked up and cursed.
Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.
Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.
You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.
Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.
“Lucien Flores!”
Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:
“You fucking prick.”
Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:
“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”
Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.
“Good to see you, too, Tess.”
“Eat shit and die.”
“Theresa.”
You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.
The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.
Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.
Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.
Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.
You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.
“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.
You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.
More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.
An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.
So much for those morning beers with Tommy.
His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.
Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.
You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.
He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.
“Hey—” you started.
But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.
Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.
Stop shaking.
You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.
You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.
You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.
Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”
It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.
You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.
“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.
“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”
He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.
“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”
And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.
“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.
You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.
“Will you stop?”
Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.
“It’s too hot.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re being—”
“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”
“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.
You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.
You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.
Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.
That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.
You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.
“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.
“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”
You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.
Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’
You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose
“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”
His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.
“What else is there to say?” you snapped.
“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”
“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”
“Like block all of my calls?”
“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”
“Just tell me why.”
“Fuck. You.”
Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.
“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.
Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.
Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.
“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.
Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.
Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.
Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.
“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”
You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.
Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”
Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.
You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.
Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.
“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”
You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.
“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.
“I am.”
Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.
“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”
He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.
He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.
Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.
“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.
Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:
“I’m fine.”
“Are we?”
“You lied to me!”
And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.
In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.
“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.
“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I didn’t think it was my place—”
“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.
You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.
If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.
“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.
“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.
Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.
Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’
You nodded to confirm that you were.
By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.
Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.
Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.
His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.
“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.
His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.
“Want…what?” you murmured back.
You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you
Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.
And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:
“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”
“W-Why? For what?”
“To say I’m sorry.”
“You don’t—”
But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.
“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.
Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.
Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.
His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.
Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels
“Wait. Wait—Tess?”
“Napping in the tub.”
Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.
You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.
Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.
The spot where you landed was soft, though.
You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.
Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.
Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.
What the fuck am I doing here with you?
That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.
“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”
“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”
You were about to speak, but Joel continued.
“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”
You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.
“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.
At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.
Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.
It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.
“I’ll go,” he choked out.
“Alright.”
You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.
He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.
And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.
“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.
You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.
“Mind opening that?” you asked him.
Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.
“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts
Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.
“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.
After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.
Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.
Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.
Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.
“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.
“Give it.”
“Make me.”
“Kid, don’t start.”
Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.
Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.
He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.
“Joel?”
The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.
His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.
“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.
“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”
Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.
“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”
You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.
And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.
You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.
Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.
“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.
You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.
“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.
“I’m old.”
“No shit.”
“Watch it.”
For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.
“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”
“What was the question?” you returned, careless.
But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?
The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.
It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.
That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.
“You know exactly what question I meant.”
What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.
“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”
Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.
His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:
“I would do it again.”
And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.
Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.
“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.
“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.
It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.
“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”
Please.
The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.
You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.
“Here?” It left you more like a breath.
“Here.”
Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down
Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.
His hands shook like yours had earlier.
He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.
“Still cold?”
“Yeah.”
He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.
“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.
You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.
Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.
Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.
And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.
You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:
“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”
You choked.
“What?”
Joel blinked.
“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”
Just wondering.
After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt
You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.
But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.
“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”
“It did.”
And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.
Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.
You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.
“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”
“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.
“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.
“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’
“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”
His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.
“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Go on, then.”
Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.
“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.
“Wh—”
“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”
It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.
“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.
“Nope. Just you.”
Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.
You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.
Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.
The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.
Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.
“I missed you, baby.”
It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.
“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.
With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer
He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.
Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.
He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:
“See how good we fit?”
Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.
Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.
“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”
Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’
Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.
Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.
“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”
That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.
Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.
He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.
“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”
His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.
“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.
You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.
It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.
Or maybe just since you’d been away.
You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.
“Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”
All okay.
Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.
You wanted to tell him something.
You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.
The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.
A snap.
A dizzying blow.
Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.
Intimate, again.
You couldn’t help it.
With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.
“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.
Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.
You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.
And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.
Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.
Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.
“Baby—”
“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”
Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.
He followed.
He reached out.
“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.
The sound almost drowned all other noises out.
At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.
“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.
No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.
“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”
“I—”
“Need to go.”
You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.
Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.
The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.
You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.
“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”
“Come with me. We have to talk—”
“I have nothing else to say.”
“But you—”
“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”
He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.
The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.
The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.
You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed
Leaving was for the best anyway.
If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.
Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.
Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep
And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.
“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.
You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?
“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”
Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there
“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.
“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”
Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.
“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”
“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”
You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.
Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.
“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”
For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.
“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.
“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”
“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.
“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”
While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.
“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”
“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”
Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.
You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.
The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.
Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.
You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.
“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”
“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”
Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:
“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”
By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.
Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.
His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.
“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”
“Like now,” you said quietly.
A beat.
Tommy scratched his neck.
“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”
In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.
‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.
Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.
You couldn’t make this work.
Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.
He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.
It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.
This would really suck.
You buried your face in his chest.
There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:
“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”
#OBLIGATORY ‘TURKEY AIN’T THE ONLY THING GETTING STUFFED’ TAG#NEEDTHAT#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller tlou#the last of us fic#dbf!joel#dbf!joel miller
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Co-Star Confessions
Pairing: Actress! Reader x Drew Starkey
Co-Star Confessions-> The cast takes you along on a trip to take a lie detector test for an interview. The jokes are rolling and the tea starts to spill.
Summary: A lie detector, a dark room, and unspoken tension pull you into a whirlwind of revelations, where secrets are spilled, emotions run high, and your growing romance with Drew becomes impossible to hide.
Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series
These can be read in any order!
"Okay be honest, who else went on a deep dive of doom last night and watched all of Blackbox's previous interviews?" Madelyn turns from her place in the passenger seat, facing you, Madison and Chase so you can hear her question clearly.
All hands go up. The anticipation is high and circling in the car. Today the cast has split up into two cars as you're being shipped off to another studio to record an interview with Blackbox.
"Some of those questions were brutal, and you're hooked up to a lie detector so there's no chance you can avoid the truth." Chase lets out a weighted breath, his mind running off with the possible questions they could ask. There's a small sprout of fear blossoming around the possibility they'll pry open closed doors about his and Madelyn's break up.
The concept is simple: Prior to the interview, Blackbox has done their own research and collected some surface-level, intermediate, and mildly invasive questions that the fans of the show are circulating online. One by one, the cast will sit in the empty black room with no one but the polygrapher and a lie detector, the questions get asked and if you're telling the truth you get a point, if you're lying you lose a point.
The castmate with the most points at the end gets to ask any co-star any question of their choice.
"I can't believe I let Madison drag me into this." You scoff and all she does is smile bright and innocent. It took some convincing of the producers but she's very persuasive when she needs to be.
"We're family now. If we go down, so do you." Chase holds your hand and gives it a condescending squeeze. "I take that as a threat." You snatch your hand away and everyone laughs.
As you arrived, it seems the car with Carlacia, Drew and JD had beat you guys there. Their driver was already pulling off the lot, telling you the others were inside. You got out of the car behind Chase and adjusted your clothes.
Today, your stylists had picked out a white long-sleeve shirt layered under a sleek black vest, paired with a gray mini skirt, black sheer tights, a small shoulder bag, delicate gold acccesories, and a sleek pulled-back pony-tail for a perfectly polished look.
You could already hear the chatter from the studio from out in the hall as you entered the room behind Madison, more chatter erupting as the full cast is reunited. You did your rounds to greet the others you hadn't been riding with. "You look great," Drew compliments as he briefly rests his head atop yours during your hug. You fit in his arms as perfectly as a puzzle.
His pathetic instincts allowed him to take a deeper breath to get a stronger pull of your gentle perfume that intoxicated his mind. "I don't remember getting a compliment from you this morning!" Carlacia accuses him playfully and he laughs along before flattering her endlessly and you thought it was cute.
There’s no denying it. From the very beginning, you and Drew have danced around the unspoken tension, the sparks that have lingered just beneath the surface. But lately, those sparks have started to feel dangerous, like a fuse waiting to ignite. The two of you can’t be left alone for long—what starts as two chairs between you inevitably narrows to one, and then, before you realize it, none at all.
One second you're both rehearsing lines in the studio-b trailer and the next you're passed out on the couch side-by-side. Even though that only happened once, it was more than enough. You've blown through nearly two-thirds of filming the final season and it was easy to consider Drew one of your closest friends, both on and off-set.
There were late-night phone calls, early morning face-times, minimal texting since he hardly replied to his messages but lots of heated glances that shouldn't make you feel as hot as they did. Like right now.
Madelyn is currently removing a piece of lint that had fallen onto your hair from god knows where, meanwhile, you pretended you couldn't feel Drew's deep gaze from behind Madelyn's head, but you shook it off. You had to.
It wasn't long before you're all being ushered to take your seats in the black room, getting ready to record your introduction which will be the only time the whole cast is in the black room together for the interview.
"We're the cast of Outer Banks and welcome to Blackbox." You all say, introducing yourselves personally then retreating to the holding room where there are five chairs, a one-way glass looking into the black room and a microphone.
The assistants spun a wheel which decided that JD is the first one up on the chopping block. "Keep the questions pg-13, please. I've got family that's gonna see this." He pleads, letting himself be strapped into the chair and hooked up with the various components of the detector. Meanwhile, you took the seat in the holding room between Carlacia and Drew.
"So he really can't see us?" Madelyn questioned, waving to JD through the window, but he was unresponsive. "All he sees is a mirror, but when you use the microphone, he can hear your voice in the speakers in the room." One of the cameramen explains and you all nod along.
"Okay, Madelyn, you're first to read the questions. Pick up one cue card from the surface-level, intermediate and invasive stack and project your voice into the mic." She's directed but you all listen for when it's your turn.
Madelyn: "JD, What's your favourite memory from filming season 5 Outer Banks so far?"
He jolts a little in his seat, not expecting to hear Madelyn's voice so clearly in a room where he can't see her, but he answers nonetheless.
JD: When Chase and I were rehearsing that scene where we have to hang-glide off a cliff but Chase's hands slipped and he misses the bar, and he just goes falling to the foam platform like twenty feet below us, but it wasn't even that. It was the scream he let out. I still think about it.
"He's telling the truth." The woman informs.
Chase has his head in his hands while you and Carlacia hold onto eachother, laughing until you're gasping for air.
Madelyn picks up the top cue card from the intermediate pile.
Madelyn: Which castmate are you closest to?
"Oooh." There's a collective sound that sweeps across the studio, it made everyone uneasy, not because of the question. It's a difficult question and everyone knows there are no hard feelings involved but if this is an intermediate question then you should all be nervous.
JD sighs, "You know what-- Unstrap me." He pretends to grab at the wires and it elicits a round of laughs while he thinks about it.
JD: This is hard. I feel like I have such a different relationship with everyone, but..... uhhh... If I had to narrow it down, I guess probably Madelyn.
There's a long silence, everyone waiting for the polygrapher to confirm or deny. "He's telling the truth."
Madelyn: "It must be fate that I'm the one asking your questions. Luv ya. Now, for your final, invasive question. You recently implied in an interview that you're seeing someone, is that true?"
Your hands clasp over your mouth. "Brutal," Carlacia whispers under her breath while you and Drew lean over the edge of your seats as if you didn't already know the answer to this question.
"No." He denies it, another stomach-churning silence. You can see the nerves rolling down JD's face as he waits for the results. "That was a lie." The crew is making some indistinct noise while the cast is stunned to silence. None of you were going to make it out of this interview alive.
JD's head falls with a guilty grin, dreading the news this would spread in the press. He almost immediately unlatches himself from the machine and enters the waiting room with the rest of you, sending in Chase.
"That shit is intense. It's just so dark, and ominous, and you've got a spotlight on you. Makes you feel like you're on trial for a crime you didn't commit." Drew stands to give him a pat on the back, "You did good, man. Hopefully Maya isn't too blindsided by that last question."
Maya is JD's secret girlfriend, official as of last month, you've met her a handful of times but you clicked almost instantly and often texted on Instagram and shared reels.
The game went on, and the questions didn't get any easier. You watched as you all trickled in and out of the rooms, getting paired off in an order something like this:
Madelyn asking JD
Drew asking Chase
Carlacia asking Madelyn
Chase asking Y/N
Y/N asking Madison
Madison asking Carlacia
JD asking Drew
There's an acrylic nail poking your shoulder and you shudder. "You're up," Carlacia informs you and you nearly vomit. The questions have been ruthless thus far, you honestly wonder how and why the producers approved this.
"Hey Madison, this is for you." You hold up your middle fingers, regretting ever letting her get you involved in this bloodbath. She blows you a kiss and wishes you luck.
Chase: "Y/n-"
You're not sure what it is about it, but you and Chase have had enough bloopers on set, that this felt no different, even though you couldn't see him, you broke out in laughter. Before the mic cut out you heard Chase's abrupt laughter cut through.
This is how you two always were. Unable to keep it together. The directors hated when you had a scene together (even though they'd laugh too). "Okay okay, I'm sorry. I'm ready." You reassure, "That was a lie", The polygrapher debunks your confession and it sends everyone rolling for another five minutes due to its spontaneity.
"Okay. For real this time." You clear your throat, waiting for Chase to start with the questions.
Chase: "If you weren’t acting, what would your job be?"
"Ooh, I love photography, my phone is always gonna be in your face, and I've got like a dozen cameras. So, probably a photographer." You answer. The question is light, but it doesn't erase the uneasy feeling bubbling in your stomach. "True."
Chase prepares to move on to the intermediate stack of cards, shuffling them, just for fun.
"Here we go," Madison leans over to JD, they both knew there were bound to be some wild cards for you and Drew. Ever since your casting as Piper was made public not too long ago, the fans immediately flocked to find all your socials.
The rumours between you and Drew were already starting to spin. All stemming from one photo added to one of Carlacia's many photo dumps a few weeks ago. The image is of you playfully feeding Drew a strawberry from when you'd all done some sightseeing and visited the local Portuguese farms.
Chase: "Fans noticed you recently reposted a TikTok that said, 'When he’s tall enough to climb like a tree>>'—was that just for laughs, or did you have someone in mind?"
Your hands raise to your face and you scream, Madison screams, JD laughs, Madelyn kicks her feet while Carlacia gasps--Simply put, the cast is overcome.
Drew straightens a little, now more intrigued than ever (as if he wasn't before). His eyes sparkle with hope? Interest? Certainty. A subtle wave of confidence runs down his spine as he confirms to himself that you're talking about him. You both know it, and you've never been so glad that you couldn't see his face.
"My TikTok account is private how did they even-?!"
Chase: "Answer the question Ms. Y/n."
You could hear his smirk through the mic. Oh, he was enjoying this too much. You made a mental reminder to send Kelsea all the worst images that you've taken of him. "It was just for fun," you shrug.
"That was a lie", You knew it was coming, honestly, but at least you tried.
Chase: "You've recently been cast as the lead in a new rom-com called The Love Equation set to release in 2026, congratulations."
Chase prefaces the question with the recent news that was unveiled to the public merely a few days ago. It was a very recent endeavour of yours.
Not long after you started filming for Outer Banks, you'd received a call back from this project and filming was set to start a little after the OBX premiere which is a little less than three months away.
"Thank you, thank you. I'm very excited and grateful for the opportunity." You say, pretending you weren't dreading the question that's soon to follow. Chase's flattery made you nervous, regardless if he was just reading what was on the card.
Chase: If you could pick any castmate to star alongside you in a rom-com, who would you pick?"
Drew's jaw locks at the question. His grip on the arm of the chair tightens subconsciously as he watches your every move. From the way you looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think to your left foot pacing an unsteady rhythm.
All while Madison was watching Drew, a small smile creeping up on her lips. She needed no further confirmation from the two of you, your body language was loud enough. To her, at least.
"Drew." You say nothing more, nothing less. You don't want to fan the flames that fans have already sparked to life from a simple picture. "She's telling the truth." Yeah, obviously, but you don't say that out loud.
The time seems to fly now that your turn had passed and finally, it's Drew's turn. Deep down you've been waiting for this all day, but if you're being honest, you're a little scared for him.
Drew has one of the biggest and most blunt fanbases of the cast. You've seen how they can get sometimes, you've read the TikTok comments and seen the X threads. Hopefully, nothing gets taken out of context or blown out of proportion.
JD: "What’s your favorite way to unwind after a long day of filming?"
His lips pucker a little in thought, and it dawned on him. "I recently got gifted like, an ungodly amount of bubble bath, but I've actually been using them lately. So, I'll say a nice, hot bath, yeah."
The polygrapher confirms that his statement is in fact true and the round progresses.
JD: "If you had to be stuck on an island with one of your castmates for 24 hours, who would you pick—and what would you two do to pass the time?"
Drew fights the grin on his face, "I'd say Chase, we would go hang-gliding-" He's hardly able to get the sentence out before he's interrupted by his own cackles.
Chase adds his own thoughts into the mic, "You know what, Drew, fuck you, okay?" Chase states before returning to his seat while Drew chokes over his laughs to deliver an insincere apology. "That was true." The room erupts with more laughter at that.
JD: "Your final, invasive question, have you ever secretly dated or hooked up with someone from a movie/show you've worked on, including this one?"
The entire studio goes pin-drop silent. Madison's hand reaches out to hold yours, for comfort, or maybe support? Your eyes are glued to the window that shows a nervous Drew, the most nervous you'd ever seen him. He's starting to sweat.
The two of you have never hooked up, but now you're curious. You would get to find out if he's gotten involved with other girls he's worked with before. Was everything he did just an act? Was it a thing he did with everyone?
"I have not." He answers.
There's silence.
The polygrapher is doing it on purpose, you're sure of it.
...
....
........
JD turns around to face you all and whispers, "Guys, I'm literally shaking for him. Look!" He held out his hand with the card, and it showed a true reflection of his words.
"That is..." She drags out the verdict.
The anticipation got so bad you've all somehow ended up standing, you all might as well press your noses up against the glass.
"True."
The cheering is loud when it swallows the holding room. It's almost shameful how much of a weight you felt lifted off your shoulders at the declaration. Drew is the only one to have told the truth for all three questions, giving him 3 points. He wins.
"Now, Drew. You get to ask any co-star any question you'd like." One of the crewmates instructs as they had you all lined up in the room under Drew's judgement. He stalked along, looking everyone in the eyes, yours lasted a little longer than he was willing to admit but he eventually stopped on Madison.
"Madison, Madison, Madison." Drew taunted in the mic and she rolled her eyes with an all-knowing grin.
Drew: "Not too long ago you were disrespecting my childhood delicacy, the uncrustable. Now, there are rumours going around that you've been seen with them lately, is it true?"
Small giggles were let out around the room. Drew is unbelievable.
"Yes." Madison whispers, looking off to the side.
Drew: What was that? I'll need you to speak up.
Madison: Yes! It's true. Satisfied?
Drew: Very. No further questions, your honour.
You all film the closing sequence, reminding the audience the final season will be released on Netflix on August 30th and September 25th, 2025.
You're all making your way out to the cars. The original groups naturally switched up as you all jumped into the car with people you were in conversations with as you left the studio. This time it's you, Drew, JD and Madelyn.
"Wow, that was lowkey worse than I thought it was going to be." JD admits from the passenger seat and you snicker. Without even realizing it, your head was laying on Drew's shoulder, feeling the sleepiness begin to settle in after an eventful afternoon.
"All that drama genuinely drained the energy from my body." You yawn, and Drew subtly shifts so that you'd find more comfort in him, and you snuggle up just a little more. This is a feeling he could get used to.
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#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x you#rafe cameron smut#rafe drabble#outer banks smut#rafe obx#outer banks imagines#rafe smut#rafe cameron blurb#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe blurb#rafe cameron imagine#rafe fic#rafe cameron fanfiction#bsf!rafe#rafe cameron drabble#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron fic#drew starkey smut#drew starkey#obx fic#outer banks#outerbanks rafe#obx#rafe cameron angst#light angst#obx angst
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Hope / Clark Kent
summary: Clark saves you.
warnings: angst, mentions of death, mild fluff
NOT MY GIF
The first thing you feel is the sharp pain resonating through your back and up your neck. You can feel the cold and solid steel beneath your shivering body. The weight of a thousand pounds sat upon your chest.
A sharp and painful gasp leaves your lips as your eyes shoot open. Your hand finds your chest as you struggle to catch your breath.
“Nice to see you awake, my dear Y/N,” an arrogant and all too familiar voice spoke. “Don’t worry, we have just enough oxygen coming in there so you won’t die, but of course you’ll still suffer.” He chuckles, dark and sadistic. If you weren’t so fatigued, you would’ve rolled your eyes. Of course Lex Luthor was up to this.
You gain enough strength to roll on your back, noticing Lex and another man standing next to him with a random person strapped to a chair. Vision still blurry from the lack of oxygen you were receiving, you blink a few times. Lex was fiddling with a gun, leaving a sinking feeling in your gut.
“Now he’ll have no choice but to fall into my trap.” He claps like he’s won an award. “Superman’s precious little prize. The reason he BREATHES!” He calls out obnoxiously amongst the other crates of people and metahumans. This was a prison made by Lex Luthor himself.
“Now I’m going to ask you a few questions, Y/N. If you can’t answer, or I just know you’re lying, this innocent man will get a bullet to the brain.” He smiles as your breath catches.
“No, please.” Tears cloud your vision at his words. “Please.” The man strapped to the chair began to sob and shake hysterically. “I have a family, please!” He cries.
“Who is Superman?”
A broken sob leaves your chest. “Please don’t do this, Lex. I don’t know who he is.” The tears fell faster as you made eye contact with the helpless man before you.
“Wrong answer.”
A shot pierced through the hollow silence. You watch in horror as the man slouches over, the life now gone from his eyes.
A bead of sweat slid down your face, chest aching with the need for more air. Loud sobs and pleas for the man who lost his life because of you. Pleas for an escape. Pleas for the man you love. Pleas that he doesn’t die trying to save you. An air of darkness surrounded you before it swallowed you whole again.
***
“WHERE IS SHE!”
Clark flips Lex’s desk with ease against the windows. Fist clenched and jaw tight, Clark stood toe to toe with Lex.
“If you hurt her—“ His blood was boiling, the heat of a thousand suns behind his eyes just waiting to come out.
Lex smirks while sipping his cup of coffee. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
Clark immediately grabs him by the collar and yanks him up. His blue eyes now dark with hatred and something deeper. An urge to eliminate.
He tosses him to the ground at the sound of phone recordings and pictures echoing through the office. He will find you. Even if he has to be eliminated himself.
****
“Wakey, wakey.”
It wasn’t a dream. The hollowness in your chest was still there. The trigger was pulled. A life was taken.
“The lovebirds have reunited,” Lex chants. You hear him before you see him. The gentleness of his voice. The croak of your name leaving his lips. Almost as if he’s lost you already.
You groan and roll to your side. The sight before you leaves your heart shattered. Clark lies in the crate next you, black veins littering his skin, face swollen from the Kryptonite. You can see the way his eyes widen slightly even from the disarray. His hand reaches out to touch the glass.
You break.
A flood of tears escape. “Oh my god,” you gasp, shakily. Scooting closer to the glass separating you with all the strength you could muster, you place your smaller hand against it.
“Sweetheart—“ He wheezes and your heart clenches.
“No, shh. It’s okay,” you sniffle. “It’s okay.” The more you cry, the harder it gets to breathe. You grip your throat, shoulders shaking from your cries. Airway locking up, you can see his fist pounding on the barrier. Yelling. Screaming your name to stay awake.
But you drowned.
****
Glass.
Crackling.
You could hear it. Faint but there. Warmth enveloped you. Air entered your lungs.
Your eyes flutter momentarily. Black curls. Your black curls.
“Clark,” your voice came out raspy. His arms tighten around you while your head rests in the crook of his neck. Fingers tracing the outline of the emblem on his chest.
Hope.
Clark Kent was your hope.
“I got you. We’re almost home, sweetheart.”
The next time you wake up, you were greeted by the sight of a white fluff ball staring directly into your eyes. Krypto whined and licked a big glob of saliva across your cheek, tail shaking from excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh at the little hellion.
The cushion of Clark’s childhood bed seemed to ease the ache in your back. A gentle but solid grip on your hand catches your attention, and your gaze finds a mop of black curls ticking your arm.
You find yourself running your fingers through the soft curls with your free hand. Clark hums softly before he abruptly shoots up and meets your gentle gaze.
His calloused but warm hands find the sides of your face, thumb brushing over your skin softly.
“Hi,” you whisper. Clark leans closer and kisses your forehead gently. “Hi beautiful girl.” A relieved sigh slips from you as Clark continues to litter kisses upon your cheeks and neck. He then gently brings your lips to his and kisses you. Not heated or messy, but deep like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“God, you scared me,” he whispers against your parted lips. “I can’t live in a world without you.”
>>>>
Thank you for reading! Requests are OPEN!
#clark kent x reader#clark kent imagine#superman 2025#david corenswet imagines#superman imagines#fanfiction#angst
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A…demon baby?
jinu x pregnant!reader
warnings: mentions of periods & birth & death & blood, worried and clueless jinu, worried reader, mentions of abortion & sex if you squint, curse words
word count: 2577
author’s note: This is the result of a poll I did a few days ago. We need a whole “pregnant with a demon’s baby” guide from Rumi’s mom, with the amount of thirst going on for Jinu. Also, I’ve never been pregnant, so feel free to send me a dm so I can correct any mistakes!

You were terrified. Truly terrified.
It started on Monday. You woke up, head pounding and with a strong urge to pee.
When you were sitting on the toilet and opened the bathroom cabinet to fish out a new roll of toilet paper, you spotted it.
Unopened. Untouched. The pack of tampons you had bought two months ago when your last period had used up your entire supply. You shook your head.
It must be the stress.
Maybe it was work.
You hadn't been eating as much as usual lately, too busy and too tired.
Monday turned into Wednesday. When you woke up that morning, everything was normal until you got out of bed. As soon as your legs touched the floor, you were sprinting to the bathroom.
Thank God he wasn’t here.
You hadn't told Jinu about your ongoing nausea or the headaches that had been plaguing you for two days now.
You hadn't even been together that long.
Two months ago, he had told you about his true self. You didn't want to believe him at first, didn't want to believe that your boyfriend of four months was a demon from hell who had originally planned to sacrifice humanity to an ominous Demon King. Until he showed you his markings.
You sighed and looked out the window of your gynecologist’s office. It was Friday, the weather as gloomy as your mind.
Damn it, you'd only been together for six months. Just half a year. Not married. You haven’t even celebrated your first anniversary together or each other’s birthday. Or any other holiday, for that matter.
How could it even be possible? You were human. He was a demon. Those were stories that all the holy scriptures warned against and told scary tales about.
Humans who became pregnant with the children of demons.
But Jinu wasn't like them. Not anymore.
Since Rumi, a K-pop idol who turned out to be a sixth-generation demon hunter, defeated the Demon King a month ago in the middle of your boyfriend's concert with the help of his power, he has been freed from his demonic self.
Was he now completely human again? You didn't know. Sometimes you felt like he still had his sharp senses, that he had only shed his markings and demon eyes. But you knew that this... baby, this little being, was definitely conceived when he was still a demon.
You were snapped out of your thoughts when your doctor's assistant called out your name and brought you to a room at the end of the hallway.
You never liked gynecologists. Your dislike wasn’t about the doctors themselves or the fact that they had the ability to diagnose and treat all these cruel fates and diseases. Rather, it was your aversion to the environment, the chair, the clinically white walls, and the sterile approach to just everything. Of course you were glad that everything was handled utterly professionally, but it felt so…cold.
As if you were a product.
You forced out a smile when the doctor entered the room and sat down on a stool next to the treatment chair you were lying on.
"How can I help you today?"
You played with your fingers. You had never been in a situation like this before, never in a situation where you thought you might be pregnant. Until now, you had been happy about that fact, but now that the possibility of carrying a child was there, you didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the thought.
"I think I might be pregnant. I live with my boyfriend, and... we love each other, if you can say it like that."
The doctor nodded, no hint of judgment in her eyes, just the wish to do her job.
She typed something in her tablet as she looked up at you again.
"When was your last period?"
You looked down at your lap. You remembered Monday the moment you saw the unopened pack of tampons in your bathroom cabinet.
"Eight weeks ago."
She nodded and entered something else into her tablet before setting it aside and rolling her stool closer.
"We are going to do an ultrasound to see if I can see anything. The gel might be a little cold, but it will help me see if there's anything there or not. You'll need to bare your stomach for this."
You could only nod and pull up your T-shirt.
She dripped a little gel onto the head of the ultrasound device and began to gently move it around your lower abdomen.
You couldn’t stop staring at the small screen next to the chair, unable to decipher anything but a black and white mass.
She continued to roll the device around until she suddenly stopped.
Nodding, she pressed a button on the ultrasound machine to take a picture of the frame on the screen.
"Do you see this little white mass here? It very certainly looks like a fetus“, the doctor said, pointing her index finger to a small white shape on the screen.
Your heart stayed still. You couldn't look away, couldn't look away as she pointed to the vaguely recognizable shape of a head.
"Yes," she said, “judging by the size, it also matches your last period. It should be just about 8 weeks old."
A small tear rolled down your cheek. Despite the fact that this was definitely not planned, it was not unwanted. You had never planned to have children. But you had never been so devotedly in love with anyone as you were with Jinu, never felt so safe and secure in anyone's arms as you did in his.
"You can't tell yet whether it's a girl or a boy, can you?"
The doctor smiled and took another photo before putting the wand aside and looking at you. She shook her head and pressed a button, making a small photo come out of the device.
"No," she said, handing you the photo and paper towels to dry your belly, "it will take another two months for it to be recognizable."
You nodded, remembering the biology lessons you had in school ages ago.
"To make sure all your vitals are okay and to really confirm that you are pregnant, we need to run a blood test next week to check your pregnancy hormone levels. Even though I could already see that you are pregnant, this is just a matter of procedure.“
The woman threw you a smile and gave you a small appointment note for next week. “Congratulations also to the father-to-be. You will receive your maternity log after we analyze the results of the blood test next week."
You smiled. You were pregnant. And for the first time in five days, you didn't feel like vomiting.
𓂃⋆.˚
It was already dark when you arrived home. You had bought a few things at the convenience store, some sweets you liked that you ate already, and the grape juice packs that Jinu liked so much. You were shopping for far more things than you even needed, and you didn’t know why you were so afraid to come home.
The apartment was quiet, except for the soft hum of the TV, which told you that Jinu was already home from night dance practice.
One habit he had picked up during the months you had been together was watching documentaries about savanna animals. A strange habit, although you usually ended up next to him on the couch anyway, falling asleep on his lap.
"Ji, I'm home!"
You didn't bother to wait for an answer and instead started unpacking the few shopping bags you carried all day. You still couldn't believe it. You were pregnant, pregnant with the child of a demon.
God, it sounded like something out of a teen novel and Twilight combined! Even though the thought hadn't really sunk in yet, you already noticed how your body automatically moved differently, more carefully around the edges in the kitchen, mindful of bumping into strangers on the crowded bus.
Two arms wrapped around your waist, a pair of soft lips pressing against your neck, leaving a few kisses.
You laughed quietly and turned around.
"Hello to you too."
Jinu hummed and rested his arms on either side of you, crooking his head to the side with a small smile.
"Where have you been all day? I postponed dance practice because I thought you'd be off work too."
You sighed. You couldn't tell him. Deep down, you knew he wouldn't be angry, not this documentary-loving, grape juice-drinking idiot.
"I went grocery shopping. I wanted to make apple pie tomorrow. I don't know if you've ever had it before, but so far no one has complained about mine."
You forced a smile onto your lips. You wanted so badly to tell him, but he had already had to deal with enough over the past few months. He shouldn't have to take on the burden of a baby as well, especially since it wasn't certain how likely it was that this child would survive the pregnancy or that you would survive giving birth.
Jinu sighed and turned around to help you unpack the paper bags.
"I was thinking we could fly to Paris for our anniversary."
You laughed and put the apples in the fruit bowl.
"That's still six months away, isn't it? Why Paris all of a sudden?"
Jinu hummed and shrugged his shoulders as he unpacked the bags one by one.
"It's the city of love, isn't it? Besides, I remember you telling me that you flew to Paris with your French class when you were a teenager. So at least one of us can speak French and order our food.”
You bit your lip and raised an eyebrow, holding peppers in one hand and cabbage in the other. "I was glad when I could opt out of that class. And…do we really have to plan so far in advance? We don't know if something will come up before then..."
Jinu frowned and just looked at you.
"Are you okay? When you told me about it a few weeks ago, you were really excited about the possibility of flying there again. I only mean well; we don't lack the money to make it happen after all.”
You just nodded and put the peppers and cabbage in the refrigerator.
"I'm just saying. We don't know if something will come up for you with the next tour or if we'll be busy with other things by then."
"What’s this?"
You didn’t bother turning around as you were putting the milk in the pantry.
"Yeobo (darling)?"
“Hm?”
You bit your lip when the second carton of milk didn't fit in the cupboard and sighed. You needed to clear out some things on the weekend.
"What?"
With the milk carton in your hand, you turned around.
There he stood, frozen in place, holding a small square picture in his hand.
"Jinu?"
He looked up at you, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Did this accidentally end up in the bag? Has it been used by someone else before? The bag, I mean.”
You just stood there and carefully placed the milk carton behind you on the kitchen counter.
"No."
He looked at you with a confused expression, which only made you look away.
"Please look at me. What do you mean, no?"
You slowly looked up at him and played with your fingers.
"It's mine."
Jinu slowly nodded and looked down at the picture.
"And what exactly is this?"
Your eyebrows rose, and you almost had to smile.
"You... never mind. It's an ultrasound picture."
"Okay..."
"I'm pregnant. That white thing," you said, walking gently toward him, "is a baby you see there."
His head snapped up toward you, and his eyes widened.
"What?"
You looked up at him, toes dancing slightly in your socks.
"I'm pregnant, Ji."
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"How..."
He shook his head and instead just wrapped his arms around you.
The air escaped from your lungs from the severity of his embrace, and it took you a few seconds to return the gesture.
"Shibal... are you okay? Is everything alright? Is everything okay with the baby?"
You pressed your lips together and nodded. "Yes, yes... I went to the doctor today. Eight weeks."
Jinu frowned and stroked your hair.
“Aren’t you mad?”
Jinu looked at you confused and stopped in his tracks.
“Why would I be mad? This is our baby, made out of our love for each other. This maybe was unplanned, but not unwanted.”
He scanned you with his eyes.
"What's wrong? Don't... do you not want it?"
A small tear ran down your face, and you had to look up and blink so you wouldn't start crying.
"No, of course I want it! But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. How could this even happen?"
Jinu raised an eyebrow, and you could already see the smug sentence forming on his tongue.
You rolled your eyes.
"Of course I know how it happened, but... is that even possible? A demon and a human... a half-blood? That sounds like a bad episode of Harry Potter."
Jinu didn't laugh, and you wanted to slap your forehead when you remembered that you still hadn't gotten around to showing him the movies.
You sighed and laced your hands with his.
"I don't even know if this," you pointed to your stomach, "will work, and whether I or the baby will even..."
Jinu shook his head and put a finger under your chin so you would look up at him.
"Don't even think about it... I know someone whose parents were in exactly the same situation as us now. And she is more than fine, living as healthy and happy as everyone else.”
You frowned. "Who?"
Jinu bit his lip and looked at his feet before he looked at you again.
"Rumi."
Your jaw dropped, and you looked at him in disbelief.
"The Rumi from Huntrix? Your former rival Rumi? The Rumi who is a demon hunter?"
Jinu just nodded.
"Man, you know I love gossip! Why didn't you tell me about this?!”
He laughed and gently stroked your shoulders with his thumbs.
"It wasn't relevant until now. But I just wanted to tell you so you wouldn't panic."
He shook his head and looked deep into your eyes.
"You, I... we'll get through this. I know this wasn't planned, but hey…. We've been through way more stressful things together. We will get through this too. The baby will be fine, you'll be fine, and I'll make sure of that."
You nodded slowly. "Doesn't the baby need souls to survive too, then? It’s half demon, after all."
Jinu laughed and shook his head, clearly amused by your question.
"Rumi eats normal food and lives a normal life. If she now eats normal food, I don’t think she needed souls before being born.”
You nodded again and sighed deeply.
"You're so good at calming me down. I feel like I don't even deserve you most times.”
Jinu shook his head and smiled.
"No, I don't deserve you."
You wanted to say something in response when he silenced you with a kiss.
You didn't know that Jinu had already hidden a ring in his desk drawer when he first saw you.
But soon a beautiful ring would sparkle on your finger, with a baby on the way and a wonderful man by your side.
Oh, and you would have a word with him about gossip.
˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞.
Thank you for reading!
If you liked this piece of fiction in any way, I would appreciate a like, reblog, or comment very much!
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