#space trash babies tag

[violentbirds]

Anyway I got back into starwars again and this fanfic^ by @jackdaw-kraai has been one of my faves. Vader redemption, found family, BAMF Luke, world building, & humor.

Here’s some illustrations & sketches

[satoruhour]

LAUNDRY DAY

a/n: I AM ALLIVEEEEEEE 🔥🔥🔥🔥 sorry i had a crazy week! can be read as a standalone piece but based off gojo’s roommate au of here and here / tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @utahimeow @lov3rbody ☆

wc: 4k

warnings: sub!gojo that turns into dom!gojo, fem!reader, fantasising? gojo is a pervert too, mentions of semi-public sex, implied somnophilia, panty sniffing, pillow / dry humping, m! masturbation, oral (m receiving), deep-throating, praise, pet names, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

living with you was hard. brushing his teeth with you was hard. being around you — hard. both figuratively and—

there’s a loud sigh from you.

clearly tired from the day’s activities of ushering in freshman after freshman, you lugged your body into the bathroom. the same rehearsed words have been leaving your mouth as your cheeks hurt more and more by the hour, only to repeat it all over again the next day.

“you look like shit,” it’s muffled by the way the toothbrush is stuffed into his mouth, foam peeking out from the corners of his mouth and you’re trying not to tell your roommate (and boyfriend) to shut up — you didn’t have the energy to do, much less say anything and you certainly didn’t have time for your lover’s clever quips so late in the night.

it didn’t help that you recently had an argument too; well, trivial to him but much more major to you. it was a matter of getting gojo to keep his laundry properly and to clean up after himself once he’s gotten himself comfortable in the relationship. it’s not like he doesn’t want to — he was cleaning up in the first place to impress you — but now since he’s got you, it’s like he simply expects you to act as his little wife when it was a shared space. the exact argument you used against him.

“satoru— this is a shared apartment! you can’t just leave tteokbokki cups lying around with the gochujang sauce still inside! it’s going to attract cockroaches and ants!” you gesture wildly, the sheer amount of trash lying around making you even sicker than you thought possible. getting paid to usher in freshmen and then coming home to this? it felt like every cent of your hard work had gone to waste.

there’s only a grin on his face, “you’re so attractive when you’re mad, baby.”

that was another thing: the lack of seriousness that gojo possessed at times, simply talking to piss you off, simply living to be the bane of your existence. “and you’re fucking unbelievable, gojo satoru. clean up— or don’t,” you made sure to lace that last word with venom, “i don’t care.”

that seemed enough for gojo to snap out of his stupor, “no, no— princess, fuck, i’m s—” his brows furrow when he briefly spots the thickening glaze of your eyes, possibly filling with tears before you’re marching into your room to slam the door and he swears to himself. satoru had never felt embarrassment and shame and sadness like that day; having just taken a shower but his skin was sweaty and uncomfortable and his heart sat right at his feet.

gojo swears he never wants to hear you say his full name ever again.

since then, it’s been a little tense between the two of you. geto had noticed it on movie night, shoko realised you haven’t been looking at your phone as often. hell, even prof. yaga had to tell you that you were distracted way too much lately, and it’s only been two days.

satoru tried to possibly take back what he said with whatever powers he didn’t possess, but he only gets another sigh from you as you squeeze the toothpaste out and start brushing your teeth, not even sparing him one glance in the mirror.

and yet while he was the first one to start his nightly routine, he’s left to be the last again from the way he’s unable to stop staring at you, a recurring trait of his whenever you were in the same room with him. it’s a testament of how attracted he was to you — at how his shirt slips off your shoulder from how big it was because even when you were mad at him, you forgot about that little detail. gojo’s eyes trail from your exposed shoulder to your legs and back up again to your fatigued face. he skims over the shape of your eyes and down to your nose and he thinks he’s the luckiest man to be brushing his teeth beside you now, blessed with seeing such an intimate side of you even if it’s as simple as this.

until gojo’s eyes fall upon your mouth as your toothbrush is doing its job of perfect innocence, cleaning some teeth, scraping off the bacteria on your tongue, except when you’re switching it from side to side all your roommate can think about if it was his dick instead. and the thought leaves him as fast it comes.

all you do is shoot him a weird look through the mirror when gojo exclaims like he was a vampire whose skin burned under the bathroom lighting, and he regains composure with ease.

“i’m fine! fine. doing a-okay.” satoru speaks through the foam and it’s spraying everywhere and you’re too tired to care before you hear another gulp when you move your toothbrush again, “sorry! sorry— continue please.”

gojo is starstruck for an entirely different reason, now, watching the toothbrush making bulges at the side of your mouth as it moves in and out and he’s left to fantasise about the many, many times you’ve gotten him in you and the warmth of everything. he can feel himself get hard under his sweatpants when you start brushing your tongue and you gag and he wants to die standing in this 30 square foot bathroom because the last thing he wants to do is sexualise something perfectly mundane.

gojo isn’t like that (well, most of the time. can’t blame him for finding you smokin’ hot).

“what the fuck is your problem?” you’re speaking through your foamy mouth now, spitting it out and proceeding to clean up with no clue of what you do to him. satoru on the other hand — terribly excited that you’d even open your mouth to talk to him after two days of endless silent treatment. 

“nothing, baby. it’s nothing, i promise.” you can’t lie at the way your heart jumps at the familiarity of it all, of being in such proximity to your lover, doing domestic things like these and the ‘baby’ and yet your pride is holding you back on everything.

you go straight to sleep, too, not wanting to entertain anything related to gojo satoru and you feel just a little bad when he looks at you with those baby blues and a sweet pout on his face. he looked especially pathetic in the bathroom, like a deer caught in headlights at just the presence of you and you want nothing more to apologise. it’s never that easy, though; you needed a promise, you needed the reassurance that he wouldn’t be leaving you to clean up after him again.

all these worries are willed away when you finally fall into slumber in your own room, body craving the warmth of satoru unknowingly. you had stolen a pillow the day before and it’s been the sole source of his scent, the only thing to keep your mind sane.

gojo’s heart drops again upon seeing you already deep in sleep, thinking he had a chance to catch you before you did, but the needines for you never goes down even now. he cannot take his mind off the way you’d run your hands through his hair or tangle your legs with his, satoru’s limbs recall the memory of you playing with his fingers and how you like to curl your arms around his neck. 48 hours is enough for him to go insane, and also maybe at how your leg was propped up on his missing pillow, hugging it so tight to your chest. you hadn’t bothered to wear pants either, so all he can see is the shape of your cunt under.

he stalks into the room and kneels in front of you, finger so tempted to run along your folds and make you wet, staring a whole minute and weighing his options until decides he doesn’t deserve it, turning away and closing your door softly.

“going now, satoru.” it’s soft when you mumble it, not even wanting him to hear before you’re stopped. you’re donning the uni orientation shirt and eyebags, a soggy sandwich from yesterday staining your bag with its smell. “what?”

“made you somethin’,” gojo’s cute like this with a frilly apron and hair band, still managing to tower over you despite the adorable get-up he’s got on, “it’s a bento.”

and you wish you could just melt the pride that runs through your bones and kiss him all over, and you break just a little. a small smile and you walk up to him, grabbing the lunchbox and pecking him softly on the cheek, turning away fast enough to not catch his fangirl moment — because you knew you wouldn’t be able to make it on time if you did.

“we still have to talk later when i come back, okay?” you call out as you put on your shoes and you steal one last glance at him, “and today’s laundry day. you know what t—”

“yes ma’am!” gojo salutes and you roll your eyes with a small smile, locking the door behind you with heat on your cheeks and the pounding of your heart. it was difficult not to break when it came to satoru, when he’s trying so hard to win back your words and love, and so tonight you’ve decided after the tiring week is when you’d finally stop running away over such a small matter.

although, gojo got caught up in something way beyond your expectations even if he had his initial intentions (which involved ordering your favourite takeout and kneeling at the front door in apology). 

your roommate lays around for a bit before grabbing some lunch and heading to the back room, a little extension attached to the kitchen with a tune on his lips. it’s clear he’s a little driven by your little innocent peck, a sign that maybe you weren’t so mad any more. for the next hour, satoru is contently doing the laundry with a smile, until—

the panties you threw in before showering must have fallen to the bottom of the pile, the same one he saw you wear last night and he thinks maybe the low humming buzz he heard last night wasn’t his imagination because when he picks it up he can smell your arousal. there’s a stain from the previous night and another pool of juices from this morning and he now knows that it wasn’t the kettle.

“dirty girl,” he grins, “both yesterday and this morning?” he’s thought about this for the longest time, always holding himself back because you found him weird enough even before you were dating, always letting you do your own separate load for your undergarments. but since you’ve gotten together, you were more comfortable, throwing it into the same laundry basket — the compulsion has never been this strong before.

gojo puts it up to his nose and smells like the pervert he is, among other times: teasing you with a hand down your pants when the two were over at your dorm, fucking you in the kitchen as they focused on the movie, pounding into you with the windows open, and he almost ascends at the scent of your pussy juices. there’s a spark that goes down right to his core and he palms his bulge unconsciously, coming to his senses when the washing machine beeps.

he impatiently puts in the settings and leaves, heading straight for your room and is hit with all reminders of you. the perfume you used this morning and the body wash you share with him, walking almost under a trance to your bed where he moans at the softness of the sheets as he falls face first. it doesn’t take him much to scoot to your pillows, but the need for you is just too much.

gojo grinds his cock into the bed, whining softly as he whiffs up your natural body smell, hips moving on their own accord as he manoeuvres a pillow between his legs. he humps it like a dog, groaning and moaning and the strain on his dick is just too much, balling up the undies in his hand and his body tenses at the friction. 

“baby . . f-fuck—” satoru’s voice is high-pitched and choked, all the thoughts of you culminating into one big ball of desperation for you and he cums in his pants, tainting the fabric a darker colour than before. but he’s not done — his hips still move against the pillow, thrusting into the fluff as he rides out his orgasm, moans muffled by the pillow. “miss you . .”

gojo misses you more than anything, feeling so much distance even within the house that he flips over — by now the sun shines its golden rays a little less. the afternoon is winding down into a cool evening — and pulls at the waistband of his pants. he’s still sensitive, wrapping a hand around his hard cock and pumping and the sound that leaves his mouth is borderline slutty. with another smell of your cunt, he strokes his dick, using his cum as lube.

“oh . . r-right there— mhnng . .” satoru’s hips buck into his hand, squeezing and thumbing at his cock before unbundling your panties and wrapping them around his shaft. the sight drives him insane. sure, it’s one of your more everyday underwear, neutral in both design and colour but he can feel the fabric get wetter and wetter from how much cum he’s pushed out earlier and that’s enough to keep his hand pumping. “s-sweetness, cummin—”

gojo’s head makes a dent in your other pillow from how hard he was pushing it, back arching at how the warmth in his hand will never compare to your mouth or pussy. he can already feel his second orgasm approaching, your room filled with the squelch of his cock and his sounds and he shoots his load with a drawn out moan all over your panties and his stomach. his cum is always so much, dripping down his pelvis and onto his hand and also . . yours?

your boyfriend lets out the girliest scream you’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing, scrambling up to the headboard when he sees you hovering over his body. he accidentally kicks your chest in the process and you have to clutch it with a small “ow”, although a small smile is still present on your face.

“having fun?”

“dude, what the fuck?” 

your smile drops, “dude?”

gojo suddenly has his hands moving frantically, “nonono— no, sorry, i meant baby!”

you sigh, sitting back down on your heels as you take in the sight: his still hard cock and the sweat lining his body. his bangs are wet and your eyes flit down to your soiled underwear.

“uh . . i was just borrowing it,” gojo nervously chuckles, handing the cum-filled panty to you and your brows furrow.

“darling, you can’t just give someone back their clothes with your come on it.”

and your boyfriend pouts again, “i really am sorry. and for everything else, too. for not cleaning up and for being a general bum,” this is why you also (sometimes) favoured his unseriousness when you were talking about difficult things. the amount of times you had succumbed to his touches and kisses when you were mad at him was much better than your pride. gojo brings you onto his lap like his dick wasn’t just out, and you relish in the closeness you’ve missed.

“i need you to show me you mean it, ’toru,” he lights up at the nickname he loves just as you point a finger in his face, “aht! calm down. don’t think we’re all buddy-buddy again.”

“i will try,” gojo is smooth, taking your hand into his while the other brushes the hair away from your eyes. you lean into the touch, “and i will try until you see my efforts.”

you smile at his honesty, “and i’m sorry for ignoring you as well. it was childish of me.”

gojo hums, bringing your face in to plant a kiss to your lips, “i missed you like crazy, princess.”

you laugh, “yeah i can tell, i miss you too.” you gesture to all of him and he whines softly at the joke, squeezing your waist.

“you’re not weirded out?”

his breath hitches when you move down his body and situate yourself between them, finger tracing his tip and teasing him, “why would i be? i’ve literally fucked myself wearing your shirt.”

gojo gulps loudly, “you did w-what?”

“i’m just better at not getting caught.” all words are taken from his lips then, when your mouth engulfs him and the feeling of it is just pure insanity. gojo pants and his thighs tense, a hand gathering your hair into a ponytail to keep it from interfering. his eyes fixate on the way your suck him off, recalling the last time he’s watched you do that was in a damn bathroom. 

“y-your mouth—” satoru swears under his breath when you swirl your tongue around his shaft, the tip of his cock making bulges on the side of your mouth and it only leaves him calling out your name time after time.

“y’know,” you gargle on him, slurping up his cum, “i know what you were thinking starin’ at me last night.”

gojo snaps his fingers and mumbles out a shaky damn, because he can always be read like an open book. he just didn’t know he was that obvious.

“looked cute staring,” you mutter around him, “like a little puppy.”

you slap his thick length on your tongue, moaning when you feel just how heavy it is, “you just wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

gojo whines at your words, nodding, and you go back to the abuse on his dick, bobbing your head up and down as your hand plays with his balls. the other moves over his torso, at the porcelain skin there and you can feel his stomach heaving at your ministrations.

“are you close, baby?” you ask mindlessly, the lewd sounds of his fat cock in your mouth sending sensations right down to your sex as well. you never really listen to his answer, taking a deep breath and sucking in your cheeks and soon you’re deep throating your lover.

“mh— mmf . .” sounds deep from your throat as your nose buries itself in his pubes, and satoru struggles to hold your tantalising stare. he can feel his tip hit the back of your throat and his moans are quick and high-pitched.

“cumming— ’m cumming,” before you come off and you go back to your pace and gojo’s small moans descend into longer ones at the feeling. his eyes roll back right into his skull as he twitches in your mouth and soon he’s spilling right into your throat and tongue.

“baby—” satoru’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut, “s-shit . .” and the sheer amount of cum always takes you off guard, sputtering over it when you drag your lips off of him. your boyfriend’s eyes are hooded and darkened, looking at how the strings of his semen droop from your mouth and connect right to his weeping tip.

“eugh, eat more veggies, ’toru. you’re bitter as fuck.” you say with a giggle, swallowing nonetheless as you wipe a hand across your mouth, “thanks for the meal.”

his spirit has certainly ascended, chest heaving and legs jelly from that mind-blowing orgasm. even he takes solace on the headboard, looking down at you with tired eyes.

“but i’m not done,” you truly weren’t, driving satoru to the brink after you’ve milked him to his limit, and yet he wouldn’t have it any other way as he thrusts into you, having had a new burst of energy after seeing your confidence wane once you’ve gotten his dick in you.

it was cute — your words breaking up and staggering as you sink down for the first time after two days, reduced merely to whines as you ride him. gojo lets you have your fun for a bit before he properly flips you over, pressing down on your lower back.

“fuck yourself onto me, baby,” he can tell you’ve missed him too by how you squeeze around him, a sly grin on his face when your hips push back onto him. he sees the tight hold you have on the silk sheets and the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. “good girl . . juuust like that.”

you’re jerking forward when he slaps your ass, letting it ripple from the force of both of his hand and your hips. but he takes over soon enough, grabbing both your arms and pulling you gently off that you’re hanging limply. and even while he does that, he’s still focused on the way your lips spread to accommodate him together with a ring of white at the base of his cock.

“that feel good? huh?” gojo mumbles, loving the way you arch your back and your head lols forward, just letting him do whatever he wants to you. you’re too far gone to even quell the ache in your thighs, too distracted by the wetness of your pussy.

“feel s— s’good, satoru—!” you moan out and like always satoru is indecisive in everything, now tugging you up to rest chest to back. “g’na cum!”

your legs spread more and more as your lover keeps you tightly pressed against him, an arm around your neck and the other, waist. wordlessly, he guides your face to the side, meeting your mouth in a sloppy, drooling kiss and his hips stutter at the way you mewl into his mouth.

“that right, princess?” he asks into your lips, relishing in your face contorting in pleasure. eyes reaching heaven and your mouth parted cutely even more when he props a leg up and his cockhead presses against your cervix ever so lightly.

“y—yeah . .” it’s a mix between a whine and a moan before the only rub of your clit from satoru’s hand sends you reeling and you’re trembling in his hold. you can feel your juices coat his length just as he cums as well, too obsessed with the way your cunt feels aeons better than his pathetic hand. he litters your skin with groans of his own, continue to fuck his cum back into you as you milk him dry with ropes and ropes of semen painting your womb white.

“good little girl,” he hums, and you sigh at the feeling of him cumming again, sensing him removing himself with you with an obscene pop! and you want to continue. you’re already moving your hips yet again, begging with small please’s but the happy-go-lucky song of the dryer interrupts the both of you. you scowl.

gojo laughs into your neck, and you’re left grumbling as he sets you down gently, letting you catch your breath before he presses a kiss to your sweaty cheek.

“i’ll handle it, baby,” satoru made a promise to you and he’ll keep it. he hurriedly pulls his sweatpants over his bottom half, “you just rest up.”

it’s not even two minutes later that you already miss him, trotting over to the laundry room in nothing but his shirt and you just watch as he removes the clothes with a certain tranquillity and delicateness that you’d like to see this sight more often and all you can muster in the moment is your arms around his middle.

and the sweetness of the moment is immediately ruined by gojo, “let’s fuck here. whaddya say?” 

your roommate and lover can only grin when you turn him around to smack him (“it’s!” slap “not!” slap “sanitary!” slap “here!” slap), finally happy everything’s back to normal. satoru simply presses a kiss to your temple.

[almostempty]

self esteem (joel x f!reader)

wc: 2.9k | masterlist | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 |

part 2 ⎯ part 3 ⎯ part 4

summary: Joel blows you off for your date. You end up blowing him when he shows up looking to score. Inspired by the song Self Esteem by The Offspring. 

tags/warnings: kinda mean/fuckboy joel, mild dub con, smut, PWP, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected piv sex, joel comes on your tits, dirty talk, one (1) slap, choose your own joel era, reader is on some dumb bitch juice for this man (i would be too), hit and run, smash and dash,

a/n: PLEASE send any feedback, this is the first thing i’ve ever written and posted, i’m tryn’ to practice and gain confidence bc my dream fic doesn’t exist so i gotta write it, it’s scary to post, y’all are so brave wtf 

It’s purgatory. You’d made plans to go out tonight with Joel. It’s useless to expect him to show up, but you got ready and anxiously paced around your living room anyway. Checking your phone, at thirty minutes past the time he had said he’d pick you up. You sent him a text. His read receipts were on; he saw your message. Another thirty minutes pass agonizingly slowly. He hasn’t responded. You can feel a mild headache forming behind your eyes. 

You grab a drink from your fridge and collapse on the couch with a sigh. A mixture of anger, regret, and rejection churns in your gut. You shouldn’t have set yourself up for disappointment. 

No, he shouldn’t be such an asshole. You’ve got to stick up for yourself. Tell him off for his bullshit. The manipulation, standing you up, the lies. You know he’s using you. 

Unfortunately, you find the toxic rush addictive. The way he charms and seduces you after disappearing or acting like an idiot. You enable his behavior every time. 

And it’s sick that you like it. You like knowing it’s your door he knocks on in the middle of the night. He won’t take you on a date, but he still can’t stay away. 

No. Not this time. You’re done letting him waste your time with plans that never materialize. You’re going to practice all the things you should say. Tell him to fuck off. 

You grab another drink and return to the couch. The rejection is sinking in, and you’re feeling pretty low. You silence notifications from him in an attempt to take control of your thoughts. To stop waiting for it to light up with his name. You aren’t going to keep waiting for him. 

You shower and change into a big T-shirt and underwear. Returning to the couch, you turn on some trash TV to shut your brain off. It helps. Keeps you distracted. When it hits 2 AM, you crawl off the couch and turn out the lights. You hope you’re tired enough to sleep without Joel haunting your thoughts. 

You’re getting a glass of water to take to bed when you hear the knock at your door. Your stomach swoops and your body tenses with excitement. 

You’re fucked. 

You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face. 

He’s like a stray cat. Or, more like a tomcat. You know he’s gonna sweet talk his way in. You should ignore him. You should leave him outside on your doorstep, horny and alone. Let him feel rejected this time. 

You crack open the door and face Joel. He glows in the moonlight, stupid eyes sparkling when he looks at you. He leans an arm on the door frame and purrs at you. 

“Baby.”  

You roll your eyes. His breath smells like whiskey. 

“What the fuck, Joel? Where were you?”

He frowns. Big brown eyes try to weaken your defenses. 

“Work thing.” 

“Til 2 AM?” 

“One of the guys on the crew. Was his birthday, so we had to take him out.” 

You don’t believe him. You feel the urge to slap him across his scruffy cheek. You feel the urge to pull him in and kiss him. 

No. You can’t listen to that voice. The voice that still gets butterflies over him showing up at the door. He’s only here because all the bars closed, and now he’s looking to score. 

He preys on your moment of weakness. You’re in a debate with your inner demons, and he barges his way into your space. He moves like a blur. You blink and his rough hand is tracing the line of your jaw. 

He’s caging you in against the back of your door. He leans in closer. Hot breath fanning over your face. Your breath is still caught in your throat. You have half a mind to shove him off of you and begin your lecture, but he gives you no chance. 

He presses urgent kisses and bites along your jawline and down the column of your throat. A vampire at your door. You didn’t invite him in, but he’s got his teeth sinking into your flesh anyway. 

He smells like sweat, sawdust, and some over-scented men’s deodorant. Smells like a man, your lizard brain thinks. 

Trapped between him and the door, the closeness is intoxicating. His body is large and powerful and radiates a frenetic energy. Like he’s buzzing with need for you. You can’t help it; you like feeling wanted like this. Desired. The way he crashes into you like a feral beast—

“Wait.” Some sense flashes into your conscience. 

“Hmm?” he growls in your ear. His face is still buried against your neck while his hands grope at your body. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. His hands move to knead at your breasts through your soft, faded shirt. You fight to ignore the pleasure. 

“Joel.”

“Hmm.”

“You can’t just show up in the middle of the night after bailing on me and expect to get laid.” 

His hands slide under your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes you dizzy. He pinches and pulls at your nipples, and you fight back a moan, trying to refocus. 

“Joel!” you snap at him. 

“C’mon, I’m sorry, baby,” he coos into your skin. 

He rocks his hips against you, and the sensation of his hard bulge in his jeans against your soft skin sends a jolt of need through your nervous system. The words you practiced earlier slip further and further from your mind. 

“You can’t keep treating me like this.” You lob at him. The rest of your speech is hazy. You're grasping at sentence fragments, trying to remember the points you wanted to make. 

“Not gonna keep working.”

“Quit,” he replies sharply. 

“What?” 

One of his large hands slides up, still under your shirt, bunching it up, and wraps around your throat. He bites at your chin. Sharp teeth. He kisses your cheek. Soft lips. He nips your earlobe. You gasp. He sucks it into his hot mouth. Your eyes slam shut. 

You feel like you’re at his mercy, and the cavewoman inside of you just wants him to drag you to bed. 

“Quit arguing,” he grumbles. His deep voice in your ear sends a rush of arousal down your spine. 

“It’s not fair,” you protest. 

He shifts. His hands travel downward to squeeze at the plush skin of your ass. He tugs you forward and shoves his knee between your legs. You lose any train of thought. Cruel man. You don’t care anymore. You’ll let him keep tearing pieces out of your heart. As long as you can keep using each other's bodies. 

The pressure and friction of his thigh against your tingling pussy is the ultimate betrayal. You can’t stop the whiny gasps that come out of your mouth at the contact. 

He lets out a satisfied chuckle at that. Cocky bastard. 

“Not fair,” he repeats after you. “Hmm. Tell that to your wet cunt dripping on my leg, baby.” 

Your core flutters at his words. You feel your face flush, but it’s hard to argue with him. 

“I think you want me,” he continues. 

You try to glare at him. Your hips don’t care, though, as they roll against him. 

“S’alright, baby.”

You wish it were. 

“I only want you.” 

You desperately want to believe him. You shove that thought out of your mind. 

He pulls your shirt off and rakes his eyes down your body. He’s menacing. His broad shoulders and tense muscles loom over you. He’s fully clothed while you’re bare except for your wet panties clinging to your folds. 

Your chest heaves as you watch him. He has a carnivorous gaze. You’re prey with your soft body exposed; he’s a hungry predator waiting to make a lethal move. 

But he doesn’t strike. 

He moves painfully slowly. Tracing a finger down over your lips, down your chest, and belly, to the hem of your underwear. He slips the tip of his finger underneath and skates it across your skin from left to right. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, tense and twitching at the sensations. It’s too delicate. His expression looks like he wants to eat you whole, but his movement is restrained. 

“Know you do.” his voice washes over you, and a slight hum echoes in your throat. 

“You want me.” he husks. 

He pushes you back off his thigh. His hand dives further into your panties, and he drags his fingers through the pool of your arousal and spreads it through your folds. A smile breaks out on his face. 

“Yes,” you exhale as your body shudders. 

A look flashes across his features, and his eyes darken with lust. You peer down to watch his hand disappear in your underwear. 

“Say it.” He demands. 

“What?” Your eyes flick up to his. 

“Say it.” He repeats firmly. 

You writhe a little as he continues to toy with you. He’s wicked. Tracing circles around your clit, but not long enough to build a satisfying rhythm before he dips down and fills you with two fingers. He moves them lazily for his own enjoyment. 

You groan in frustration. It’s a tempting sound to his ears, but he doesn’t look amused. He’s waiting to hear it. 

“I want you?” you guess what he’s waiting for you to say. 

There's no use lying about it if that’s what he wants to hear. You want him. Even if you’ve been ruminating over his shitty behavior all night. 

“You askin’ or tellin’?” 

“Want you,” you repeat as a statement. 

He pulls his hand away completely. Your body jerks, chasing his touch. 

“Please,” you try. 

“Again.” he’s gruff. Ferocious as he demands you confess your desire. 

You sigh. Maybe for giving up so quickly or maybe because you always knew you would. 

“I want you.” 

He doesn’t relax. Or move. 

“Again.” He repeats like he’s a malfunctioning robot. 

“I want you, Joel.” 

“Again.”

“Please, Joel, I want you.” 

The hint of a smirk appears on his face. 

He taps your chin, encouraging you to part your lips. He slides his wet fingers in your mouth, along your tongue, and then removes them. He holds your open mouth, fingers around your jaw, and looks as if he’s assessing the quality of your tongue. 

“Prove it.” He commands. 

His tone does something to your brain.

Tomorrow, you might be confused at how he blew you off, but you ended up on your knees blowing him. But right now, you’re chasing a desperate need.

He steps back to give you space. You drop to your knees as he undoes his belt. Your eager hands work his jeans and boxers down far enough to expose his leaking cock. 

If you looked, you might’ve caught his condescending smirk, now fully exposed. 

You don’t look. You don’t wait for further instructions. You lap at his tip and tease with your tongue. You start working him into your mouth. 

The weight of his cock on your tongue causes you to moan. The vibrations cause him to moan right back. 

His arm shoots out to the door behind you for support. His head hangs, watching you move. 

“Fuck,” he groans at the sight of your lips wrapped around him. His clipped grunts and the way his core flexes encourage you. Your soft hand works in tandem with your mouth, and you’re drooling openly. You coat him in saliva. Messy. Your lips are swollen. 

When he breaches your throat, you slow down to focus on your breathing and swallowing. Little gags contract around the head of his cock as you focus on relaxing. 

“Fuck. Yeah, baby, show me you want it,” he rambles above you. 

You keep going and take him deep until your jaw aches and your pussy throbs. Hearing him react and spew filth at you stokes the fire in your core. 

“Knew your cock hungry mouth was waiting for me,” he slurs. 

A flash of embarrassment courses through you at that statement. 

You did wait for him. You should’ve said no. But it’s so hard when he shows up ready to go. You may be dumb for tolerating his actions, but you’re not going to turn down a man that looks like him and fucks like he does.  

“Eyes up,” he orders. 

You whine around him, looking up through your lashes. Obedient. With your eyes locked on each other, something passes briefly between you. Easy to miss, hard to describe. Like you could look at each other like that forever. Then it’s gone. 

He slides out of your mouth. Ogling the pornographic way spit trails between his tip and your tongue. The way your lashes are wet from trying to blink away the tears of exertion. 

“I did wait, Joel. Waited for you all night,” your voice comes out a little hoarse. You can’t be bothered if it sounds desperate. 

“‘Course you did,” he smiles and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Get up.” 

You don’t argue. He helps to pull you up, spins you around, and walks you the few steps over to your couch. He bends you over the armrest. You’re burning with need. 

He takes his time pulling your panties off. The way he has you presented for him makes you impatient. 

“Joel,” you whine his name in protest. 

“Quit.” He slaps your ass to make his point. 

You huff, but when both of his large palms spread your cheeks wider for his own enjoyment, another needy whine slips out of your throat. 

He chuckles darkly at you. 

“I’ll give you what you need,” he assures you before he sinks into your desperately empty hole. 

You groan in unison as he fills you. 

“So deep,” you murmur. He fits like he was made for you. Fills you up, so you can’t think of anything else. Can’t think of what you wanted to say or how you felt watching the time pass while you waited for him to show up earlier. 

“Always,” he agrees. 

He picks up a bruising pace. On edge for so long, you might go blind with the force of your building climax. 

He grasps your hair at the base of your skull and pulls, further arching your back and ripping another moan from deep in your chest. The sensations are overwhelming, and your mind feels blank. The sounds of his hips slapping into you and your combined panting, grunting, and babbling turn to white noise. The consistent drive of his cock against the perfect spot inside of you has you hurtling to the edge. 

“Yeah, baby, I know what you want,” he croons. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, and his other hand wraps around you to squeeze at them tightly. He remains steady and brutal with his movements. He does know what you want. And he keeps giving it to you. 

“Please, yes, don’t stop,” you beg. 

You wriggle one hand down to touch yourself. The pressure from your fingers around your clit brings you over the edge. You clench around him and gasp as you come.

“Yeah, that’s it. You come on this cock,” he rasps behind you as he works you through it. 

You feel the release melt your muscles, causing you to slump forward. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, and you know he’s trying to hold on as he pulls out and pants heavily. 

“Turn around for me,” he demands, stepping back. “On your knees.” 

You obey and turn to kneel in front of him. He looks wrecked, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth hanging open. His fist wrapped around his cock, still glistening from your release. 

It’s a debauched scene. He’s still fully dressed, only as exposed as necessary. He charges towards his climax with frantic force. You pose for him eagerly despite your boneless, damp form. 

He looks so primal it makes you lightheaded. You bite your lip to stop yourself from letting a giggle out. Your face shines with a sated glow.

You tilt your head up and squeeze your tits together for him. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he rasps out like it’s the only word he knows at this point. Your glossy, swollen lips pout up at him. Like, you need him to finish for you. That sends him. He comes across your chest as you release your hands, dropping your breasts with a little bounce.. 

He stares at you as his breathing slows. His warm spend is rapidly cooling against your skin. You still have a glowy, dreamy look on your face. Content.

“You look so good like that,” he praises you. A flush creeps up your chest and neck. 

You stand up and grab your forgotten water from the coffee table. He tucks himself back into his jeans and fastens his belt. 

“You gonna buy me breakfast to make up for bailing?” you float the idea with a joking tone, but there’s hope behind it. 

“Sorry, baby, got a job early in the morning.” 

“Right,” you snarl at him as he leans in to kiss you. 

“How about dinner after?” he suggests and fishes for his keys in his pocket. 

“Okay, yeah, what time?” You ask. 

“Not sure when I’ll be done.” He’s not looking at you. “I’ll text you.” 

He turns, slips out the door, and then he’s gone. 

You’re still standing there, naked and dumbfounded, with his drying come across your tits as he drives away. 

You groan and curse at yourself. He’s not going to text you tomorrow. 

You should stick up for yourself. But he did say he wants only you. And the more you suffer, the more it shows you really care, right? 

-> NEXT

[olderthannetfic]

Ancient argument, but I still just do not get how the explanation for why mainstream source material is all about men is OBVIOUSLY because Hollywood is a misogynist culture dominated by men, so OBVIOUSLY the solution to get more stories about women is to support way more women creators, but also, OBVIOUSLY the reason why fanfiction is all about men is because fandom is primarily women creators, so OBVIOUSLY the solution is ?????

--

Well, you could start by not conflating all the arguments into a silly strawman, anon.

Do I need to put in the fucking FFN vs. Wattpad vs. AO3 shipping chart?

Don't come to the gay bookstore and act surprised about what you find.

Fandom is not all about male characters. Slash fandom is, for obvious reasons. It's just that most dumbass analysis ignores how and when female characters are popular.

For example, Darcy Lewis circa 2012 got a lot of that same little black dress OOC drivel treatment that other fannish faves do, and it was great. Did I read a bunch of badfic where she had Loki's baby or whatever? I sure did! But that wasn't good enough because whiny little babies thought boring Jane was the character everyone ought to care about. It was ~offensive~ that there was more meme-y nonsense fic for Darcy/Jensen from The Losers than for [virtuous but boring ship]. How dare, how dare, etc. (Darcy/Jensen made perfect sense! The only possible objection is that it should be a threesome with Cougar!)

Tony/Pepper was an actual ship people cared about in 2012. No, it wasn't just an over-tagged side ship in m/m fic... It's just that those het writers had no reason to switch to AO3 at the time and may never have uploaded their old work.

Despite what the haters think, plenty of those het juggernauts like Dramione or Reylo are full of fics by women who really like the female lead, not just the male one. There are whole communities of people writing OFC/blorbo and supporting the other writers who do this. I used to read all the Ardeth Bay/OFC stuff back in the day. I've never been into readerfic, but there again, plenty of people are quite into a f!reader character. Haters will mischaracterize all this stuff as a nonentity plus a hot guy, but that's not necessarily the case.

Video game fandoms are awash with f!player-centric fic.

Anything where you're making up the woman has women writing women.

Mainstream Hollywood trash with poorly-written women and/or women only in the feelings babysitter role and not the hot mess/woobie/deadpan snarker/pop culture-obsessed wisecracking geek/etc. roles doesn't always generate fanfiction because fanfiction builds on what is already there. If there is no appealing lady there, that is not what the fandom will build on.

But in general, women absolutely do write fic about female characters.

The only reason I don't have a billion more examples is that I personally tend to ship m/m for a host of reasons that you can find in all of the tedious "Why slash?" meta going back to the 1970s. I don't personally particularly like self-inserting, and I especially don't like doing it as a woman.

Don't come up to my face or the faces of other AO3y types and go "You know, the world would be better if you just gendered harder!"

Go find some women who experience more gender euphoria around their assigned gender. They're often not found in slash spaces. Maybe try the Romantasy girlies.

The fact that you can't find women writing aspirational or wish fulfillment female protagonists is because you are too stupid to live, not because it doesn't happen.

[wonlovie]

— ALWAYS.

After being broken up with, the cherry on top was receiving an invitation to your ex-boyfriend's wedding, leaving you breaking at the seams. Luckily for you, your childhood best friend is there to keep you together.

— starring. childhood bestfriend!jake x fem!reader ft. the slightest appearance of niki, mentions of ex!heeseung and le sserafim's chaewon (she was the first one i thought of LOL)

— tags. friends-to-lovers, slowburn, minor angst, jake is highkey a thigh guy, road trip!!, the oh-no-there's-only-one-bed trope several times over, smut [fem. masturbation while in the same bed, vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving), handjob, very soft-dom!jake, first time, praising, unprotected sex, reader cries, use of petnames (princess, pretty girl, baby; he also calls you a whore/slut like,, twice) kind of but not really fwb situation [MINORS DNI]]

— word count. 14.3k

— notes. this is the first fic i've posted here!! i also started writing this like,, the day i got covid so if some sentences make zero sense it's because i was loopy af lmAOO on another note jake??? sim jake??? writing this wasnt good for my heart bc he was driving me insane the whOLE TIME

SIXTEEN DAYS.

When you got the invitation in the mail, a single piece of cardstock carefully decorated with ornate blue lace and beautifully handwritten script, you had half the mind to ignore it. Throw it in the trash, maybe. If the sender asked, you could feign innocence. It got lost in the mail, and perhaps I never received it at all.

Unfortunately for you, your conscience kicked you swiftly in the ass before you could even step on your trash bin pedal. 

Begrudgingly, you really had no choice but to go. After all, it was your cousin’s wedding—a day you had both raved about since you were young children. You could still recall the silly Pinterest boards you put together, regrettably filled with tacky and outdated decor. Your cousin, Chaewon, even called you before the invitation was sent to your box, her excited voice crawling out of your phone speaker and taunting you with sharp licks against your ear.

You should be happy. Really, you should. Aside from Lemon, your newly adopted Jindo puppy, Chaewon was your favourite. Despite moving across the country for university, you were there for her as she was for you. Not a single day went by without an hour-long phone call between the two of you, filled to the brim with conversation or spent in peaceful silence.

The issue wasn’t Chaewon. No, it was far worse than that. The issue was her husband-to-be, a man you despised with every cell of your being.

Lee Heeseung. In other words, your ex. 

It was jarring for you to see the very man who seemed to date you out of pity, never truly initiating intimacy or even trying to pretend to be interested in the things you’d tell him, be so sweet to Chaewon. You had, unfortunately, witnessed their love firsthand on multiple occasions. The longing glances, the whispered sweet nothings, the subtle caresses when they thought no one was looking. 

You hated how bitter you felt about it. His last words to you felt like they were tattooed onto your eyelids.

“I’m sorry, but… I don’t think we should date anymore. I think I’ve found someone else.”

Of course, you were heartbroken. Heeseung was your first boyfriend and your first love. You had tried so damn hard to be the receiver of his affections, but your efforts always fell short. The next week, Chaewon approached you with tears brimming her eyes, begging for forgiveness; you knew that whatever you had with Heeseung was officially history. 

Chaewon, the angel, denied his advances until you pushed her to say yes, as you knew she wanted to. 

And now, your decision had come full circle, the ugly truth rearing its head at you. Your feelings for Heeseung were long gone, but with the breakup came a hundred insecurities you didn’t know you had, hence the big move. Maybe with space, you could heal.

“Stupid,” you whispered as your eyes scanned the invitation for the nth time in the past ten minutes. You rubbed harshly at your eyes, forcing the tears away. With a shaking finger, you traced the wedding date, briefly glancing up at the dog calendar that hung on the wall next to your fridge. 

Gingerly dropping the invitation onto the kitchen counter, you quietly counted the days left. The wedding was just over two weeks away, a beautiful August wedding. You don’t know how long you stood there, goosebumps prickling on your thighs as the morning air brushed against them. Your oversized tee did little to combat the cold.

A quiet knocking at the door made you jump. Swearing under your breath, you swiped at your cheeks to rid any evidence of tears. You shuffled to the front door and peeked through the peephole. A man stood there, hands in his jeans pockets, as he waited for you to answer. However, his head was down, which blocked his face from view.

When you didn’t answer right away, he knocked again just as gently as he had before. This time, though, he called out your name. 

Startled, you paused with your hands pressed against the door, eyes still pressed against the peephole. You knew that voice, instantly recognizing the accent that spilled into his words. Pulling the door open, your suspicions were correct when you were met with your childhood best friend, Jake.

A wide grin pulled at the corners of your lips as you looked the man up and down. “Holy shit,” you started, laughter in your voice. “What are you doing here?” Stepping back to let him in, you eyed his wide shoulders as he bent over to untie his shoes. “You never said you were coming to visit.”

Jake lazily smiled up at you as he tugged off the last shoe. His eyes drifted down for a second, catching sight of your bare legs. Not a moment later, he averted them. “Damn, hello to you too, sweets.” When he stood to his full height, he leaned into a comfortable slouch, shoving his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans. “Chaewon didn’t tell you?” He tilted his head at you in question.

Shaking your head no, you headed to the kitchen where you left your phone. Finding your chatroom with Chaewon, you scanned the contents quickly. “Look—”

You turned to show Jake your previous texts, but as you swivelled on your heel, you hadn’t expected him to be so close. You jumped slightly, the small of your back pressing into the cool countertop as Jake hovered over you, seemingly inches away. You could practically count his every lash from your angle, not missing how his eyes scanned your face.

Apparently, he didn’t expect to be so close either, as the tips of his ears reddened. “My bad,” as he moved to give you space. He pushed back his hair—when had he dyed it blonde?— to see your screen better. Reading quickly, he snorted at Chaewon’s lack of warning for his arrival, her last message simply being: ;).

“I thought you knew I’d be coming, so I didn’t bother sending a text,” he explained. “Chae wants me to be your escort to the wedding.”

“My what?”

Jake grinned at you, flashing his pearly whites. “Y’know, your stead. Your chauffeur. Your knight in shining armour, if you will.”

“Those aren’t the same in the slightest, Jake.”

“You get what I mean, sweets.” 

You hummed, resting your palms atop the counter by your sides. “Why so early, though? The wedding isn’t for a couple of weeks.” He opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp yip from your bedroom interrupted him. You practically watched as elation flooded his senses when he spun on the spot, searching for the sound source.

Pushing yourself off the counter, you lightly bumped his shoulder with your own as you manoeuvred around him. “Looks like someone’s awake,” you sang as you headed down the hall. You could hear Jake’s heavier, sock-clad footsteps following you into your bedroom as you called out for Lemon.

The little pup bounded toward you, jumping from your bed with a tail that wagged so fast you were concerned she’d sprain it. With her tongue out, she hopped on her hind legs, unsure of whether she should greet you or Jake first. “Lemon, this is Jake,” you introduced as you picked her up. Gently moving her paw in a waving motion, you smiled at him. “Jake, this is the love of my life, Lemon.”

He sent you a teasing smile, “I thought that was my title.” You flushed at the unexpected remark. Before you could respond, he turned to Lemon with a soft expression. “Hi, Lemon. Hope you’re taking good care of sweets for me.” Cooing at the pup, he booped her nose.

Without a word, you motioned for him to follow you back to the living room, situating yourself on the small leather couch worn from years of hand-me-down use. Lemon hopped off your lap, her tail wagging as she beckoned Jake to sit down. He was quick to join you, sitting close enough for your knees to touch when Jake shifted his body to face you. You scanned him up and down.

He’d changed a bit, clearly, since the last you saw him. He wasn’t nearly as scrawny as before, his broad frame apparent from under his unzipped jacket. He had lost the baby fat in his cheeks, leaving behind a sharp jawline. The biggest change to note was his hair. Long gone were the black tresses, and in their place were soft blond locks.

In other words, he was hot.

“When did this happen?” you asked as he shrugged his jacket off, reaching up to twist a strand with your finger. “It looks good on you.”

Jake sent you a teasing look, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. “You would’ve known I went blond like a month and a half ago if you actually read your messages,” he chided, clicking his tongue. His eyes stayed on you, flitting across your face.

“Whatever,” you hushed, “I’ve just been busy with school.” It's a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. No one needed to know that you’ve spent the last few months acting like a heartbroken teen when you were a grown adult. Despite Jake having seen the worst parts of you in high school, you still wanted him to hold some esteem for you.

For a second, it was quiet aside from Lemon’s quiet sniffing, her nose working quickly on Jake’s discarded coat. Jake held eye contact with you, a silent question reflected in his eyes. 

“It’s still weird to me.”

Raising a brow, you rested your elbow on the back of the couch, resting your head against your palm. “What is?”

He stayed silent for a minute before leaning back against the couch, turning his head slightly to face you. “I can’t just walk down the block to annoy you now. Now, you’re four hours away unless I want to spend a few hundred on a plane ticket.” He stuck out his tongue, “‘Dunno why you didn’t stay.” His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear a slight edge to his words.

You huffed, “You know exactly why I left.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. When Heeseung broke up with you, Jake was the first one you told. Despite being an incoherent, blubbering mess over the phone, he came the instant he heard the first sob rack your body. That night, he held you without a word until your tears ran dry.

“You still hung up about it?”

Pausing, you shook your head. “No,” you bit your lip, not catching the way his eyes darted down to watch, “not anymore, anyway. I don’t feel anything for Heeseung if that’s what you’re asking.” You cracked a sardonic smile at him, punching his shoulder and chuckling when Lemon followed your movement. “Not that pathetic yet, Jake.”

He fully turned his body to you, the leather couch squeaking under his shifting weight. His golden hair fell into his eyes as he bore into yours. “I was there, remember?” His voice was gentle as if he was worried he’d scare you off. “I know it hurt more than you’re letting on. It wasn’t that long ago.”

You silently cursed him for still being able to read you so well, even after so long apart. Absentmindedly, you tugged on the hem of your shirt, playing with the edge that was starting to fray after years of use. Jake leaned forward, placing a warm hand on your bare thigh. “I’ll be there the whole time. If you want me to, I’ll stay right beside you the whole night.”

Your eyes darted to where his large hand rested on your skin, swallowing harshly. “Yeah,” you whispered, looking back up at him through your lashes. “That’d be… really nice, Jake.” You shakily exhaled; his proximity and his touch made your every nerve go haywire. Since when did Jake, your best friend since you were in diapers, have this effect on you? Looking up at the mop of messy blond on his head, you blamed the change in colour.

Jake didn’t say anything for a while but never moved his hand. The two of you sat there, staring into each other's eyes. Lemon had long ago gotten comfy in the small space between you, round eyes closed in rest. “I’ll always be there for you, you know that, right?” He said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

You could only nod, your every thought directed to the hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing circles on the inside of your leg.

You offered Jake your shower while you went to get his luggage from his car. At first, he refused, telling you that he could get the luggage himself and take a shower afterward, but you had practically shoved him into the bathroom, claiming he smelt bad from the drive. 

Truthfully, he smelt good as ever, having always possessed an addicting scent to you.

Besides, this way, you could clear your head with some fresh air as you left and headed to your apartment parking lot. Easily spotting his car, much newer than any of the models your neighbours had, you jogged over to it. Once inside, you noted how clean the car was, coming as somewhat of a surprise to you. A carwash receipt peaked out from the middle console.

Lugging his suitcase out from the backseat, you were quick to make your way back, lest Jake be left without clothes for too long. Shutting your front door behind you, you nearly let out a scream when, on cue, Jake emerged from a cloud of steam, donning only your fluffy blue towel. He hadn’t noticed you yet, using another towel to shake out the excess water from his hair.

Unknowingly, your eyes followed a bead of water as it trailed down his toned body, disappearing under the towel that threatened to unravel itself, sending your mind into a frenzy. Turning around before he could realize that you were ogling at him like some pervert, you cleared your throat. “Got your suitcase,” you forced out. “You can change in my room if you want.”

“Ah, thanks, sweets.” You listened for his footsteps, tensing as they came closer. “Why so shy?” He inquired with a chuckle at the tip of his tongue. “‘S not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Jake, we were five.”

“Still,” he laughed. You were startled when he patted your shoulder, gently turning you to face him more. You swallowed harshly at the sight of his naked chest up close. “Joking. Thanks for grabbing my stuff.” Without another word, he turned around and disappeared behind your bedroom door.

Letting out a breath, you pressed your forehead against the cool surface of your front door, holding a hand over your heart. Lemon’s tiny paws brought her over to you, the click clicks of her nails against the hardwood taking your attention away from your thoughts. She looked up at you, her head tilted as though she was questioning you. “I must be going crazy, huh?” You knelt down to let her jump on you, her front paws pressing into your leg. 

“Layla’d love her,” Jake’s voice interrupted. You looked up to see him dressed in comfy attire, a dim disappointment settling in your stomach. “You hungry? I can order something for us.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up. “You’re my guest, Jake. I can order.” You pulled out your phone and open a delivery app. Before you could get too far, the phone was taken from your grasp, left in Jake’s palm as he stared at you in challenge.

With a shake of his head, he denied you. “I may be your guest, but you’re also housing me for two weeks. Plus, I haven’t seen you in forever.” He hunched over to meet your eyes, “My treat. You can pay next time, promise.”

By the time the food arrived, you and Jake had settled in on the couch, a random movie playing on the TV. Quiet chatter filled the space. The movie had already been forgotten, acting as mere background noise to your conversation. You dug into your food without missing a beat, covering your mouth to retort whenever Jake would make a jab at you. 

“You never got to answer my question,” you prompted, putting down your chopsticks and resting the take-out container on the coffee table. “Why’d you come so early? Why not closer to the wedding?”

You watched Jake pause, his expression unreadable. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to see you?” he asked, voice low as he turned to look at you. His blond hair had been pushed up and back so many times strands framed his face, allowing you to see all of it. “Because I do,” he continued, shrugging as if he weren’t making your heart race, “I want to see you. All the time.”

Unsure of how to respond, you sputtered for a moment before turning away, your cheeks warm. “I’ve wanted to see you too,” you mumbled, “so thanks. For coming.”

“For you? Always.”

Rolling your eyes, you bumped Jake with your shoulder. “When did you get so cheesy?”

Jake pulled his lower lip under his teeth for a second, biting at the plump flesh as he mulled over an answer. “Just missed you, is all.”

Nodding, you turned your head to watch the rest of the movie. It was confusing since neither of you watched the first half. Beside you, Jake turned to do the same. If either of you noticed how the space between you had become nonexistent, thighs and shoulders pressed together, no one said a word. You couldn’t complain, enjoying how Jake’s warmth seeped through his clothes and into your skin.

Without realizing it, the both of you fell asleep. The TV had gone dark after hours of inactivity, the moon lighting up the room with a dark hue. Jake awoke first, grumbling when his neck had a familiar ache in it. But when he went to roll his shoulder, something was in the way. Or rather, someone. He turned, pursing his lips to stay quiet as he realized you were leaning on him.

Your legs were draped over his own, something you must’ve done in your sleep. Or maybe it was him searching for a source of warmth in the coolness of the night. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, your head fitting directly in the crook of his neck. He felt his skin burn as he swore quietly. Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the time.

3:02 a.m.

As slowly as he could, he hooked one arm under your knees and the other around your back. Standing, he hoped his racing heart wouldn’t wake you. Jake maneuvered the dark apartment as best he could without accidentally hitting your head against the walls of your hallway. Luckily, you left your bedroom door open, so he didn’t need to figure that out somehow. 

Lemon was already asleep, curled up on your left pillow. Carefully, he laid you down on the bed, pushing away stray hairs on your face afterward. He stayed there for a moment, staring at your peaceful expression. His heart warmed, a tingly feeling in his belly erupting at the sight of you. He tugged the blanket over your body, pressing a finger to his lips when Lemon startled awake.

Tucking you in, he hovered for a minute before pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. “Night, sweets,” he whispered before moving to his feet. Before he could get very far, a hand shot out from under the blanket and weakly grasped at his wrist. Turning, Jake held a breath at the sight of your sleepy eyes gazing up at him. “Only have one bed,” you slurred, sleep taking over your speech. “Sleep here.”

Jake balked at you, hands subconsciously balling at his sides. “Are you sure? I can sleep on the couch—”

“No! Sleep here.” You didn’t give him much room to argue as you scooted backwards to give him some room before lifting the blanket in invitation. This movement bugged Lemon, clearly, as she moved from your pillow to lay in the nook of your bent legs. “Come on, we’ve slept in the same bed before.”

Swallowing at the sight of you, eyes barely open and shirt riding up further than he could handle, Jake relented, knowing you would keep arguing with him until daylight. The last time we slept in the same bed, you were bawling your eyes out over Heeseung, he stopped himself from saying. The thought lingered as he crawled in next to you, keeping a respectful distance. 

Satisfied, you allowed your heavy lids to close, a small, contented smile painted on your lips. “G’night, Jake.”

He sighed. “Good night, sweets.”

You fell asleep instantly, hand resting on the pillow in front of your face. Jake mirrored your position, your pinkies centimetres from touching. He observed the slow rise and fall of your chest and the occasional sniffs when your hair would fall and tickle your nose. His eyes traced your every feature, from the curve of your cheek to your supple lips. 

Jake did not sleep well that night.

FOURTEEN DAYS.

Two days after Jake had made an appearance, he quickly fell into a routine with you. He would wake up first and have a cup of coffee ready for you whenever you’d sleepily bound into the kitchen. A bowl of cereal would already be sitting on the counter, the jug of milk sitting beside it. Your mornings were quiet as you both woke up, only a raspy “good morning” before you’d sit in silence over your bowls.

It had been a long time since you had such normalcy, and you’d be lying if you said you hated it.

“Hey,” he started, only half done chewing his cereal. “We have, like, two weeks left until we actually need to be in Seoul, right?”

You eyed him suspiciously for his cheery tone so early in the morning. Swallowing your food first, you nodded. “Yeah, but Chae wants us back at least two days before in case things need fixing or whatever.” Sipping your coffee, you raised a brow at him, “Why?”

Grinning at you, he leaned over to grab your arm in excitement. Your eyes darted to where you connected, noting how his thumb immediately started rubbing the inside of your wrist, making you cross your legs under the table. “Let’s make our trip back a road trip!”

You blinked. “Jake. You drove here—it was already going to be a road trip to go back.”

Jake threw his head back in a groan, inadvertently showing you his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down. You followed the movement down to his wide shoulders before looking away a second before he straightened up to meet eyes with you. “Dummy, I know that. Let’s make it a fun road trip with loads of stops and everything!” He talked animatedly, waving his hands with reckless abandon. “There are lots of small towns and pitstops on the way to Seoul, but we’ve never actually explored them.”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

Jake looked at you as if you had grown two heads. “If you have and I wasn’t invited, your best friend card is being revoked this instant. You hear me? Revoked.”

Laughing, you stood and grabbed both of your empty bowls. “Fine, we can have your fun road trip. You’re doing all the planning, though, since it was your idea.” You tilted his coffee mug toward you to see if he had finished it, placing it back where it was when you saw the brown liquid still swirling inside. He followed you to the sink, sleeves already rolled up when you placed the porcelain into the basin.

You didn’t say anything when he gently pulled you to the side and grabbed the sponge to start cleaning. “I already have the route!” He told you, not taking his eyes off the dishes. “It’s in my phone. You can look—it’s in the notes app.” Peaking at you through his lashes, he nodded his head in the general direction of where he left his phone. “Password’s still the same.”

You snorted, picking it up from the table before joining him at the sink, hopping up on the counter beside him. As you entered your birthyear into the phone, you didn’t catch the way he eyes your thighs, your shorts doing little to nothing to cover up the way they flattened slightly against the cool marble. “Y’know,” you started, ripping him out of his thoughts, ushering him to quickly place the bowls and spoons onto your drying rack. “This is a shitty password. You’re gonna get robbed one day.”

 He shrugged, pulling the hand towel off your oven’s handle to dry his hands. You watched him, silently ogling at the veins that popped out in his forearms when he turned to replace the towel. “Maybe, but it’s important to me.”

“My birth year?”

He grinned at you with a simple nod, standing between your thighs. His eyes fell to them once more when you absentmindedly spread your legs to give him room to stand. Biting the inside of his cheek, he shakily rested his palms on either side of you, moving slow enough for you to object if you were uncomfortable. "It's the year my favourite person was born, after all." You didn’t say anything, instead looking back at his phone screen.

He watched as your eyes flit back and forth as you read, his fingers itching to move closer to you, to touch your skin. He opted to curl his fingers until his nails dug into his palms. “When did you figure this out?” You asked, smiling at the title of the note.

Sweets and Jake’s Road Trip !!!

“Last night, while you slept.”

You shot him a look, searching for eye bags. You were relieved when you didn’t see any, but you punched his shoulder nonetheless. “Idiot. If you can’t sleep, you can wake me, you know? You don’t have to stay up by yourself.” You placed a hand on his forearm, rubbing your thumb over a jutting vein just as he had to you moments before.

His urge to touch you grew stronger, and he felt his mental fortitude crumbling at the contact. Clearing his throat, Jake shrugged. “You’re cute when you sleep, princess. Didn’t want to wake you.” Moving away before your scent could drive him any more insane, he rubbed the back of his neck. “So? What’s the verdict?”

Lips parted from his casual slip of a nickname you’d never heard from him before, you dumbly nodded. “Good. It’s good. Let’s do it.” You hopped down from the counter, Jake’s hands immediately moving to steady you once you got on your feet. “When do we leave?”

Jake grinned at you, revealing his canines. “Whenever you’re ready, sweets.”

You returned the smile, excitement starting to affect you. “Let’s get ready then, shall we?”

It didn’t take either of you very long to get your suitcases and essentials put together. Jake had mostly kept his things in his suitcase, only pulling out clothes he needed for the day or toiletries that you didn’t have any to spare. Two toothbrushes sat in a cup instead of the usual one, and the sight made you grin as you collected your things. Chaewon had your dress up in Seoul, so you didn’t need to worry about any of that either.

An hour after Jake proposed the road trip, he was waiting outside, one hand clasped over both of your luggage handles, the other holding Lemon’s carrier as you locked the door. The two of you walked out to his car in silence, the crisp morning air making you shiver under your thin jacket. “It’s still summer,” you complained in a long drawl, “why is it so fucking cold in the morning?”

Jake laughed at you, thanking you when you opened the back door of his car for him and carefully slid the luggage and carrier in. “Relax, princess, I’ll turn the heat on just for you, yeah?”

You grumbled at his teasing, taking your spot in the passenger seat without a word as he held the door open for you. You watched him jog around the car to reach his side, never taking your eyes off him as he fiddled with the A/C. As he turned the ignition on, he handed you his phone. “Put something on for me, will you?” 

As he drove, you noted the fact that he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the middle console. His arms were exposed in the black tee he wore, seemingly not as affected by the cold as you were. You willed yourself not to notice how the shirt was unfairly form-fitting, wrapping around the bulk of his bicep in a way that was sending you spinning. 

The first stop was five minutes away from your apartment as Jake pulled into the parking lot of a nearby convenience store. Jake unrolled the windows a bit for Lemon, telling her to be good as the both of you exited the vehicle. Once inside, you shivered at how strong the store had its A/C running. 

Eyeing you, Jake sent you a smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll be quick.”

Without another word, you followed as Jake made his way through the different aisles, picking up snacks that you easily recognized as some of your favourites. Even grabbing a heat pack, he waved it at you teasingly. “Weirdo, needing a heat pack in the middle of August.”

You sputtered, “Wha— I never asked you to—”

Interrupting you with a bark of a laugh, he shook his head. “Just poking fun. C’mon, let’s go. Lemon’s probably waiting for us.” You huffed but didn’t argue as he pulled you to the front cashier by the hand. You trained your sight on your connected hands, moving them so your fingers interlaced. Jake briefly looked down at what you’d done, but if it bothered him, he didn’t say anything.

“Oh, it’s you!”

To both your surprise and Jake’s, the cashier’s eyes lit up when he saw you. “We had English together,” he filled in when you didn’t seem to recognize him. “We were in a group project together for the final?” You blinked a few times before making a noise of recognition.

“Riki! Sorry, I didn’t recognize you with the new hair,” you explained, glancing at his newly dark brown hair. “It was blond before. Looks good now, though!” You gave him a thumbs up. Before he could reply beside you, Jake cleared his throat. Both you and Riki looked at him, realizing that the latter hadn’t even started ringing your items through, and there was a bit of a line behind you.

Riki immediately started scanning the snacks Jake had brought, never taking his eyes off you. “What’re you up to this summer? I haven’t seen you at all since the semester ended.”

You hummed, “My cousin’s wedding is in two weeks, so Jake and I—” You nudged him, not noticing how quiet he had gotten. “—are driving back to Seoul right after this.”

The younger boy nodded, glancing over at Jake before looking down at your hands. You forgot they were still intertwined, but Jake's grip tightened when you went to let go. You dropped your head to hide how warm your cheeks felt, biting your lip lightly. “Ah,” Riki put down the scanning gun, his tone noticeably less happy. “₩9000, please.”

Jake threw a few crumpled notes on the counter before bowing his head slightly in goodbye, tugging you toward the exit wordlessly. You waved at Riki over your shoulder before walking quickly to fall in step with Jake. “You okay? You were quiet in there, and then you pulled us out like that.”

Jake only nodded, carelessly tossing the bag of snacks into the back with your luggage. “Here,” he tossed you the heat pack, already cracked and warming up. He opened your door again without further explanation before taking his own seat.

You stared at his profile in confusion, the heat pack already doing its job on your frigid hands. As he pulled back onto the road, you glanced at his hand, which rested over the middle console as it had before.

Curiously, you turned his wrist until his palm was facing upward. Jake watched you from the corner of his eye, only turning his head when he reached a red light. He hadn’t expected you to put your hand in his, interlocking your fingers once again. “Your hands are warmer,” you mumbled, leaning back to get comfortable. In shock, Jake hadn’t taken his eyes off of you.

Smiling tightly at him, you squeezed his hand. “The light’s green.”

Snapping his head forward, he coughed as he focused on the road. For the next while, your hand would stay in his. The ride to the next town was spent in silence, with you mouthing the lyrics to songs you recognized from his playlists. 

In Jake’s phone, he had written that you were to stay at motels in towns along the way. When you protested at the cost it would be, he simply argued with it’s for the experience, sweets. And no worries! I’m paying for the whole trip. And when you argued with that last bit, he only replied, if I see your wallet at all, I might have to fight you.

Your first real stop was in a small fishing village, the last coastal town you’d see before you started driving inland. The morning chill was gone, replaced with the comforting warmth of the summer sun. Despite that, you didn’t let go of Jake’s hand until you had to get out of the car. Stretching your limbs, you groaned when you felt and heard some joints pop. 

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as you took in the smell of the ocean and the distant chatter of nearby townspeople. The motel Jake brought you to was a little rundown; it was obvious that it had been around for quite some time. The paint was peeling a bit, and the shingles on the roof made it look dated, but it had a cozy feel to it. Besides, it was the only dog-friendly motel in the area, so you couldn’t afford to be choosy.

“Hello,” the old woman at the receptionist's desk greeted you kindly, eyes shifting from you to Jake. You smiled at her, bowing your head in respect. Besides you, Jake did the same with that easygoing grin of his. “How may I help you?”

“A room for two, please,” said Jake.

The woman nodded, looking over at the remaining room keys. Grabbing one, she handed it over to you before telling Jake how much it’d cost. As Jake fumbled with his wallet, the old woman looked at you fondly. “You two are precious,” she informed you with an air of nostalgia, her wrinkled hand resting atop her chest over her heart. “I remember when me and my late husband were your age.”

You blushed at her insinuation that you and Jake were together but found that the idea wasn’t as jarring as you thought it’d be. You couldn’t tell if Jake didn’t catch the comment or chose not to reply as he handed her the money she needed. 

It wasn’t hard to find your room out of the ten total, and you were pleased to see that the coziness of the outside continued inside. Jake wheeled your luggage in while you opened Lemon’s carrier, letting her roam free in the room, sniffing the foreign air. The room itself wasn’t too big, consisting of the main room that could only fit a single queen bed and not much else and a bathroom that was longer than it was wide. 

“It’s like we’re teens again,” you giggled at Jake, shrugging off your jacket. “We’re sharing beds often.”

Jake let out a breath at the realization that there really was only one bed again and nodded stiffly. He supposed that was his fault for not mentioning how many beds you needed. “I guess so,” he gazed at you tenderly. “You sure you don’t mind?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “You can cut the gentleman act with me, Jake. If I minded, I would’ve said something already. We shared a bed in my apartment, remember?”

Of course I remember, he thought, it was driving me crazy.

In truth, Jake hasn’t been able to sleep because of how cuddly you were in your sleep. He’d purposely lay as far as he could from you so as not to give in to any temptations, but it seemed like you had other plans whenever you laid your head to rest. Not two minutes after he’d heard your soft snores, your hands were reaching for him, pulling you closer to his torso until you were snuggled up against him. 

He may have only been staying with you for two days, but he’s had to take just as many cold showers before you woke up.

“Do you wanna go on a walk?” you asked once the two of you settled. Lemon sat by your feet, circling them by looping under the chair you sat on to entertain herself. “It’d be nice to venture out! I think poor Lemon’s a bit restless from the carrier.” You bent over to rub behind her ears, to which she let out a yip of approval.

Jake smiled softly at the sight before nodding. “Let’s go, then.”

Thankfully, Lemon was an off-leash dog and stayed close by as you walked the streets of an unfamiliar town. In the distance, seagulls cried out to each other as fishing boats pushed off from the harbour. The sound of the sea lulled you into a peaceful reverie. You and Jake walked side by side, fingers brushing against each other every so often.

“It’s nice here,” you mumbled, “we should have done this sooner.”

Jake hummed, the low noise rattling in your ears. You closed your eyes as you walked, fully trusting Jake to guide you if you were going to walk into anything. He smiled softly at the sight of your relaxed demeanour, moving to hold your hand. You walked in silence for a bit before you reached the shore. Jake spotted some beach chairs, pulling you along. Lemon bounded ahead, happy to have room to run. You cracked open your eyes in time to see her jump into the water, barking happily as she entertained herself.

“Next time, you should bring Layla,” you suggested as you sat down. 

Jake smiled down at your hands. “Yeah, next time.”

Silence fell upon you, but it wasn’t unwelcome. You both watched Lemon as she played in the water, occasionally coming up to bring you a rock she had found before hopping back into the puddles the tide was creating. All the while, your hands stayed clasped, with Jakes's thumb rubbing familiar circles on the back of your palm.

“Why did you move so far?”

You halted, your smile slipping. “You asked me already.”

“But you weren’t being completely truthful with me.” He looked at you, concern shining in his eyes. “You’re not over it, are you?”

The topic dampened your mood, your heart rate rising as you avoided eye contact. “I told you already, Jake. I don’t love Heeseung anymore. I’m fine,” you pressed, lying through your teeth. Lying to Jake always left a bitter taste in your mouth, as you knew he could tell immediately that it wasn’t the truth. “What kind of cousin would I be if I were still in love with her groom-to-be?”

Jake’s frown deepened. “You have the right to be hurt—”

“But I’m not! So drop it.” Your outburst garnered the attention of a few townspeople who were out and about, causing you to flush in embarrassment. Lowering your voice, you stared down at the rocky beach, digging your dirtied trainers into the course sand. “I’m fine.”

Unbelieving, Jake continued, “It’s just… I thought you had enough reason to stay.”

His words made you look up, annoyed at how much he was pressing the topic on you. “Clearly, I didn’t.” Shaking your head, you dropped his hand before standing to your feet and dusting off imaginary dirt from your pants. You looked down at him, a mistake as you were forced to look at his hurt expression, lip trembling as he stared up at you open-mouthed. “I’m going back.”

He only watched your back as you walked away, beckoning Lemon to follow. The poor puppy got out of the water, shaking off the excess. She ran toward you but paused and looked back at Jake. She tilted her head as if she were asking Aren’t you coming? before running after you.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, shellshocked, until he realized that the sun was starting to set. Deciding he had been out there long enough, Jake slowly made his way back to the motel. When he got to your room, he hesitated, knowing that you could easily lock him out for the night if you were still upset with him since you had the only key.

Jake stood there, mulling over whether or not he should try knocking, but before he could even decide, the door opened. He was met with you, tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “Don’t just stand there,” you opened the door more for him to come in. His heart broke at the sight of you and at how wet your voice sounded, as if you had just finished crying.

“Sweets, I’m sorry—” 

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop him. “No, you did… you did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have exploded at you like that or left you alone out there.” You looked down in shame, gnawing at your bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

He was quick to lift your chin with two fingers, keeping them there as he rested his other hand on your upper arm. “Hey, no, none of that. I shouldn’t have pushed you when you obviously didn’t want to talk about it.” He pushed your hair behind your ear before bringing you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in his shoulder. He kissed the top of your head before muttering in your ear, “I’m sorry, sweets. I promise I won’t ask about it until you tell me you’re ready.”

You let go of the hug, but Jake kept you close in his arms. Looking into his eyes with welled-up tears, you pouted slightly, bringing his gaze downward. “You’re sure you’re not upset with me?”

“With you, never, sweets.”

You opened your mouth but closed it before you could say anything. Hugging him again, your voice came out muffled. “Wanna sleep.”

Jake chuckled at you, dropping his head in disbelief. “Okay.”

Not long after, you were both situated in bed, with Lemon lying at your feet like usual. As he had for nights before, Jake kept his distance, but you quickly changed that. For the first time, you cuddled up to him while you were awake, fully aware of your actions. Jake’s breath halted as he felt you nuzzle your face into the soft fabric of his tee, which smelt so strongly of him that it was all you could smell. “I love you,” you whispered into his skin, sending his brain into a frenzy. “You’re the bestest friend I could’ve ever asked for.”

Jake could practically hear the record screech in his head, gritting his teeth a bit before relaxing his jaw to leave another soft kiss against your temple. “I love you too, sweets.”

The day had exhausted him more than he’d realized. For the first time in two days, Jake found himself falling asleep right after you, holding you tightly against his chest.

You awoke to the feeling of something warm attached to your neck. A quiet moan escaped your lips when the something bit down. You felt large hands explore the expanse of your side, your sleeping shirt pushed far up. Something hard poked against your thigh as you angled your head upward.

Your eyes fluttered open as you realized it was Jake, groaning as he nipped at your skin, leaving behind blossoms of red and purple. You moved your hips closer to his, gasping when his growing hard-on made contact with your clothed sex. “Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me,” he uttered, his deep voice going straight to your groin. Your panties, you were sure, were already soaked with your slick.

“Please,” you whined as he bit down harder, and his hand roamed higher, tracing the curve of the underside of your breast with his fingers. His mouth felt oh-so-hot on your skin, and his teasing touch did little to alleviate it. “Show me, Jake. Show me what I do to you.”

He pulled back, ignoring the noise of disappointment you made. His eyes looked impossibly dark as he hovered over you, chest heaving. “Be careful what you wish for, pretty girl.” He easily flipped you onto your back, slotting himself between your legs. You moaned loudly when he ground his hips against yours, allowing you to feel just how hard he’d gotten. 

His lips met yours in a hungry kiss, tongue forcing itself past your lips to lick into your mouth. His hands moved wildly, pushing your shirt up until your breasts were fully uncovered, nipples pebbling in exposure to the cold air. “So beautiful,” he groaned into your ear as one hand kneaded your left breast. “Fuck, gonna make you mine, yeah? You want that?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed pathetically, a sob of need ripping through your throat as his free hand made its way to your shorts. “Please, Jake, need you so badly.”

He groaned again, pushing past the elastic waistband and guiding his fingers into your soaked panties. He moved down to collect your wetness and…

You breathed in harshly when you woke up, your heart racing faster than it ever had before. You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness of the room, remembering where you were. Your chest heaved as you tried to calm yourself down, your face burning. Oh my god, you thought in slight mortification.

Jake’s arm rested over your middle, you realized, as he spooned you from behind. Your startle hadn’t woken him, his soft snores sounding in your ear canals. You were relieved that he wasn’t awake to ask why you woke up so violently because how were you to explain that it was because you were having a wet dream about him?

The dull feeling of disappointment had settled into your gut from having been interrupted before the dream could get good, a feeling that came with shame at how indisputable your horniness was. You’d never dreamed of Jake in such a light, but now you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to rid yourself of the sight of his eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure as he ground against you—

No. You need to stop.

Turning your head to groan into the pillow, you became hyper-aware of how wet you were, your panties sticking uncomfortably to your pussy. You pressed your legs together, silently willing the pulsing of your clit to calm down and let you fall asleep again. If you fall asleep, you might forget about this in the morning.

“Stop moving,” Jake’s tired voice scared you, making you jump. He used his arm to pull you closer against him, your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from making any noise. Not long after, you heard his deep breaths again, signalling that he’d fallen asleep. 

Fuck, you were screwed. You closed your eyes tightly, but all you could think about was how firm and warm he felt. Pressed against him like this, you could almost feel everything. From his tone chest and legs to his soft length, pressing against your backside. His gray sweats and your flimsy shorts barely acted as a barrier between you. Stretching your legs out, you realize that Lemon had hopped off the bed at some point, likely to sleep in her carrier.

Without thinking, your shaky hand made its way down your front, actively avoiding his arm. You bit your lip harshly as you slipped a finger underneath your shorts, listening carefully to ensure he wasn’t awake. This is crazy, you have never thought of doing something so indecent in front of Jake, but the idea was sending you into a frenzy. 

You fingertip made contact with your slit, and you had to stop yourself from moaning aloud at just how wet you were. Slowly, you rubbed circles around your clit, jolting slightly at the initial contact. Maybe it was from the dream or the fact that Jake was right there, but you felt more sensitive than usual, holding in whimpers with every movement.

“F-fuck,” you accidentally let out, screwing your eyes shut as you moved your hand faster. In the quiet stillness of the night, you could hear your slick with every flick of your wrist. If Jake woke up, there’d be no question to what you were doing, but the thought only spurred you on more.

Using your other hand to grope yourself over your shirt, you teased your entrance, easily inserting a finger. It wasn’t enough, your finger failing to fill you up how you know Jake’s would, a thought that forced out a rather loud moan.

Realizing how loud you were, you paused and listened to his breathing. Before you could even register that his breaths weren’t as deep as they were before, his arm tightened around you.

“Naughty fucking girl,” he hissed into your ear, pulling your hand out of your panties. You didn’t have time to feel humiliated before he rolled you onto your back, his thighs pressing into your waist as he sat on top of you. The look he gave you was just like the one he had in your dream, eyes dark and pupils full-blown, eyebrows furrowed together in desperate need.

“Touching yourself like that while my arm’s around you,” he spat, leaning until he was mere inches away from your face. “Thinking I wouldn’t wake up. Needed me that badly, yeah?”

It was clear that you were shocked, wide-eyed and jaw agape. Not once in your lifetime of friendship with Jake had you seen this feral side to him. You felt his hardening length when he pressed his hips down and groaned. “Come on, sweets. I know you’re smarter than that. You can answer me with words like a big girl.”

You smacked your lips together in disbelief before nodding slowly. “Yeah,” you stuttered. “Need you so bad, Jake.” Your own words surprised you, his boldness rubbing off on you. “Dreamt of you,” you confessed.

Jake raised a brow at you, laying his hand flat on your side. “Yeah? Was I touching you,” he used his hand to push up your shirt, moving faster than his dream counterpart had and groping at your breast, flicking his thumb over the hardening bud. “Like this?”

Nodding fervently, you bit your lip to hold in your moans as he handled you. He clicked his tongue using his other hand to pull at your bottom lip until it was released from your teeth. “Wanna hear you, princess. You had no problem moaning while I was asleep. Unfair to hide them in front of me now, isn’t it?”

He bent down to take your other nipple in his hot mouth, his searing tongue darting out to circle the sensitive bud. His eyes never left yours, watching your expressions as you arched your back to his ministrations. He let go of your nipple, only to blow cold air on it, making you whimper. “What else did I do, pretty?” He asked, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “Did I make you feel good?”

“Fuck,” you cried when he thrust his hips against you, giving you a hint as to what was to come. “Made me feel so good, Jake.” You threw your head back as he continued, shallowly thrusting against your clothed core. You weakly pointed at your neck. “Kissed me here,” you sighed when he leaned forward to leave kitten licks against your neck, nipping gently at the skin. “And…”

He bit down on the skin under your ear, using his tongue to soothe the mark before kissing up to your earlobe. “And?” His deep voice resonated within you, making you shiver.

“And then you…” You trailed off, instead opting to run a hand down your front to the waistband of your shorts, not missing the way his eyes followed. “Touched me here.” Tapping over your clothed clit, you avoided his gaze out of shyness, still in disbelief of this situation. “Then I woke up.” Your voice was weak, doused in lust and need for the man in front of you.

He smirked at you, moving back so he could pull your shorts off, leaving you in your oversized tee—an old shirt of his he’d given you before you moved—and your soaked baby blue panties. Even in the dark, he could see how wet you were, the thought making him groan as he palmed himself over his sweats at the sight of you. 

“Poor baby,” he sighed, though you heard no actual sympathy in his tone. “Couldn’t get off in your dream, so you touched yourself like a whore in front of me.” You squirmed at his vulgarity, his words sending shockwaves to your clenching pussy. Shifting his body down the bed so he was laying between your thighs, he left kisses up and down the sensitive skin there. His tongue traced a line from your knee up to where you truly wanted him before stopping right before your panties. His mouth wrapped around your skin as he bit down, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to really hurt.

When he pulled away, a dark hickey had formed. “Shit,” he groaned, “God, I love marking you up.” He looked back up at you, resting on your elbows so you could watch him. “Gonna leave marks all over, yeah? Then you’ll know who made you feel good, pretty girl.”

Mindlessly, you nodded, wanting him to do anything he wanted with you. His every word made you feel impossibly wet, almost embarrassingly so.

Without missing a beat, he kissed your clit over your panties, making you whimper as you thrust your hips up toward his face. “Patience, baby,” he mumbled, tonguing you through the thin fabric of your underwear. “Gonna make you feel good.” Using his teeth, he pulled your panties down, your slick stringing along as he got them to your knees before using his hands to pull them off completely. 

The sight of your exposed cunt, wet and clenching around nothing, made Jake crazy. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted with a groan before he dove into your pussy, licking up your slick. He drew figure-eights over your clit before closing his lips around it and sucking, making you cry out. You felt his long fingers poke at your entrance, the stimulation leaving you a mess of moans and whimpers.

When two of his fingers pushed past your entrance, you both groaned at the feeling of him sliding inside your gummy walls. His tongue worked at your clit as he slowly scissored his fingers inside you, all while watching your reactions. “So hot,” you gasped, clawing at the bed sheets. “Fuck, Jake, gonna…” You cut yourself off, moaning loudly, when he started moving his fingers faster.

“Cum for me, sweets.” His demand seemingly made you snap as you came around his fingers in an instant. He closed his eyes as his jaw dropped in a groan, relishing the feeling of you clenching tightly around his fingers. He slowly took them out, biting his lip at how wet you were. The whine you let out once you were empty would live in his mind for the rest of his days, he decided, as he moved up the bed to come eye to eye with you.

You watched as he sucked his fingers clean of your wetness before leaning in and kissing you harshly. The taste of him mixed with your juices made you moan, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt tightly. He bit your bottom lip, pulling at it slightly before kissing you deeply once more. Your lips slotted together with ease, like two puzzle pieces.

He felt your hand travel down his stomach to the strings of his sweatpants, leaning back to watch as you undid the knot before pulling them down in a swift motion. He sat up to kick the garment off, before returning to his spot between your thighs. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, hunger in your gaze as you inspected his cock, hard against his stomach. It was red, needy and weeping, one pronounced vein running along his shaft. More importantly, he was thick—thicker than any toys you had bought on a whim.

When you looked up at him, he must’ve caught your fear as he cupped your face in his warm palm. Kissing you gently, he brushed your hair back. “We don’t need to go any further if you don’t want us to,” he assured you, even though the hardness of his length said otherwise. “We’ll only go as far as you want to.”

You bit your lip, “Then…” Without another word, you closed a fist around his shaft, watching his eyes widen. “I want to make you feel good, too,” you whispered. You collected some of his precum, using it to glide your hand up and down at a torturous pace, your eyes never leaving his face.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, shoving his face in the crook of your neck. You felt his hot breaths fan over your skin, leaving goosebumps, and he moaned in your ear. His arms were braced on either side of your head, his scent invading your senses as you touched him. “Doing so well for me,” he hushed, kissing at your neck. He nudged your jawline with his nose, sucking down on your jugular. “Shit,” his hips stuttered, thrusting up into your grasp. “Go faster for me, yeah?”

You nodded, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you picked up speed. Using your other hand to grasp his balls, you delighted in the way he groaned a little louder, your name slipping from his lips wantonly. Leaning forward, you bit down on his shoulder, flicking your tongue out just as he had before. With your lips on him, he moaned your name once more, fucking up into your hand with reckless abandon. He swore lowly as his hips stilled, ropes of thick cum spilling from his cock and onto your hands and shirt.

He stayed there momentarily, catching his breath before hovering a bit higher to watch you. Inspecting your hand, you brought it to your lips. His eyes never left your tongue as he watched it dart out to catch any drops of his seed. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he sighed once you finished, wiping off any remains on your soiled tee. He pulled the tee over your head before giving you his own, still warm from being worn. 

“Go to sleep, sweets,” he mumbled against your temple as he settled in next to you. “We’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

Your morning talk ended up with his tongue between your thighs in the shower as you struggled to keep yourself up, one leg over his shoulder. You were sure the people in the rooms next to you could hear your cries when you came on his tongue for the nth time, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

Once he thought you had cum an adequate amount of times, he carefully set you down, massaging your aching thighs as he kissed you gently. Pulling away, he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes still closed. Taking the opportunity, you pecked his lips before reaching for the body wash, giggling.

You never ended up talking about it, getting distracted by Lemon, who whined at the door when you finally came out of the bathroom. 

The rest of the road trip went similarly. You’d hold hands as he drove to your next destination, and then you’d get each other off in your motel rooms until the motel owners eventually kicked you out for disturbances. Between towns, you’d talk as if he wasn’t just knuckles deep in your heat or as if you didn’t just have his cock shoved down your throat as he fucked your face.

Words that needed to be spoken never were. Your fearful thoughts kept you from initiating the conversation that could very well destroy years of friendship with Jake.

ONE DAY.

Finally, you had made it to Seoul. Unfortunately, a flat tire in the middle of nowhere stopped you from getting there two days before, as Chaewon wanted. Luckily, nothing did go wrong and everything seemed to be ready for tomorrow.

Tired from the long trip, both emotionally and physically, Jake offered his house for you to stay at. Without thinking, you said yes. You took his keys and unlocked the door as Jake grabbed your things from the car, Lemon pushing past your feet and into the house, eager to explore.

As she made her way around, her nails against the hardwood floor indicating where she was, you and Jake pushed your luggage into the living room before collapsing onto the couch.

“I’m so happy to be home,” he sighed, stretching his limbs. “As fun as road trips are, nothing beats sleeping in your own bed.” Glancing over at you, a million thoughts raced in his mind, but he pushed them away. He wanted to talk about what you were, the frequent hookups making his brain mush. But he could read you—he always could. You’ve always been so emotive that you made it easy, but he had your habits memorized. He knew exactly when you didn’t want to do something and that you weren’t ready for talking.

So he didn’t say anything, even though he knew it might hurt him in the long run.

Unlike your apartment or the many motels you stayed at over your trip, Jake actually had two beds. The thought of sleeping in separate rooms felt so foreign, but he told you anyway. You hummed, “Maybe I should sleep in the guest room then.” You grinned at him, “You’re probably tired of having to share a bed with me by now.”

Never, he thought.

That night, he lay in his too-empty bed, restless. Knowing you were in the same house, with only a thin wall separating you, was driving him mad. Not having you next to him, curled up against his side, drove him mad. His hand clenched around the bedsheets, where you would’ve been if you had taken up his silent plea to sleep in the same room as him.

In that moment, Jake realizes just how screwed he really is. Covering his eyes with his forearm, he quietly swore into the empty room, his heart aching. Jake had gotten so used to being so close to you, to have you by his side as he pleasured you, your high-pitched cries echoing in his ears. He knew it wouldn’t last forever and that he’d have to drive you home a few days after the wedding. Then, he didn’t know how long it’d be until he saw you again.

He wonders if everything that happened will get brushed under the rug. God, he hoped not. 

Just as he decided he’d need some sleep for the wedding tomorrow, he heard something through the wall. He held his breath, straining his ears to hear the noise's source. Before long, he realized it was you, your short breaths easily passing through the wall, the sound of your slick ringing clear as day to him.

Without another thought, he ripped off his blanket and made his way to the guest room. To his surprise, you hadn’t even closed your door, his eyes blessed with the sight of you atop the bed. Neither the blankets nor the sheets were disturbed, making it clear that you hadn’t even gotten comfortable before you started. He watched in a daze as your fingers plunged in and out of your hole, your face contorted into one of drunken pleasure.

He felt himself grow hard as he stepped closer. You whimpered out his name as you rubbed harsh circles over your clit, and something inside Jake snapped.

“You must love fucking torturing me,” he rasped, roughly pulling your fingers out of your pussy and pinning your hands to the bed, leaving your body fully exposed to him. “Always touching yourself in front of me like a slut. You knew what you were doing, leaving your door open.” When you turned your head away in feigned humiliation, he used his free hand to forcibly turn your cheek. His nails dug into your jaw as he forced you to look at him.

“Do you know how crazy you make me feel?” He asked, but he narrowed his eyes at you when you went to answer. “Do you know how fucking long I’ve wanted to see you like this? Needy and begging for my cock?” His words shut up, the implication of something more making your heart race.

“Do you know how hard it’s been for me to stop myself from making you mine every night we’re together?” He growled, letting go of your hands to push your legs up against your chest. “Do you know how hard it is to refrain from kissing you every time you look at me with that look in your eye?”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him in for a kiss, your lips meeting in a fight for dominance. His hands pushed you deeper against the bed as he pressed himself against you. His patience was wearing thin as he pulled away, only to pull off his shirt before he leaned in again. Your lips, your taste—all of you was addicting to Jake.

“Jake,” you moaned out when he attacked your neck, adding to the healing bruises from before. “‘M ready now. Please, please, make me yours,” you begged, spreading your legs wider for emphasis.

If he wasn’t hard before, he was now at your plea, a growl stuck at the back of his throat at the thought of fucking you like how he’s wanted to. “You sure, princess?” he asked, leaning back to look you in the eye.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you gasped, eyes darting from his left to right. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

Jake only shook his head, pulling you in for another deep kiss. Jake swallowed your moans, a feeling of possessiveness taking over him as he fondled your breasts. “All mine,” he hissed, “you’re mine.”

He made quick work of his sleep shorts, the garment getting thrown across the room into some corner to be found in the morning. His cock was pretty as ever, and your hands instinctively went to grab at it. “Next time, baby,” he rasped, “Need to take you now.”

You cried out when you felt the tip of his length nudge against your folds, collecting your juices as he ran his cock up and down your cunt. A broken whimper of his name ripped through your throat when he bumped your clit, his own deep moan shaking in his chest. He felt like he was losing his mind, the warmth of your pussy felt so good against his shaft, and he hadn’t even entered you yet.

You felt him line himself up at your entrance, and you tensed. Noticing, Jake left gentle kisses against your shoulder. “I’ll take care of you, pretty, just lay back, yeah?”

You nodded but felt hot tears well up in your eyes as he pushed past your entrance, a stinging burn erupting between your legs. He moved slowly, but inch by inch, the burn became more intense. “It’ll hurt more when you’re this tense, baby,” he whispered, massaging your right breast in hopes of distracting you. His lips met yours in a kiss more gentle than any that preceded it. Screwing your eyes shut, tears beaded at the corners of your eyes before they fell, disappearing into your hairline. He kissed your temple when he finally bottomed out after what felt like years. “Doing so well for me, sweets.”

He stilled for a few minutes despite wanting nothing more but to drill into you. Leaving kisses all over your face and neck, he observed as your face relaxed more and more. “You can move now,” you whispered, out of breath.

“Yeah? Trust me?”

“Mhm,” you closed your eyes—the sting had disappeared, and now you just felt stuffed. “I trust you, Jake.”

Your admittance made his head spin as he dropped his head onto your shoulder. Slowly, he pulled out until just the tip was inside before thrusting into you. A low moan rumbled in your chest as Jake sucked at your neck. He repeated the motion, rocking into you slowly until you got used to it.

After a while, the pain turned to pleasure as you clenched around him, making him gasp against your skin. “Faster, please,” you begged, linking your ankles around his back. “Need you.”

Just as you asked, Jake upped his pace, moving steadily. He sat back gripping your waist as he thrust into you. He watched for your reactions, eyes darting from your scrunched up face to the bouncing of your breasts down to the jiggle of your thighs with each thrust. His speed picked up until he was pistoling into you, broken moans pushing past your lips as his hips slapped against yours.

The sound of your wetness was so obscene, if you were in a normal state of mind you would’ve been embarrassed. But the drag of his cock against your walls and the way his pelvic bone grazed your clit every time he bottomed out was deliciously addicting.  “Feels so fucking good,” Jake moaned, “you’re gripping me so tightly—fuck!—gonna make me cum, princess.” Falling forward, he braced himself on one arm, reaching for your puffy clit with the other. He rubbed fast cirlces on your clit as he pounded into you, the sound of skin against skin turning you on more. You willed yourself to keep your eyes open, to bask in the sight of Jake slowly losing control of his movements as he got closer to his own release.

The sight of him hunched over you, eyes glassy as he furrowed his brows in concentration, beads of sweat dripping from his hairline, causing his blond hair to stick to his forehead, was so fucking hot. You gripped at his arms, muscles bulging as he struggled to keep himself up.

You felt an orgasm fast approaching, your own whines coming out higher and higher. “Fu—ck, Jake,” you swore, “I’m so close, please, I—”

At your words, Jake’s hips moved faster, hitting the spot that made you see stars over and over again. “You look so beautiful like this,” he uttered breathlessly. “Fuck, I love you.” The words spilled from his lips unintentionally, the way your walls clenched around him knocked any sense of thought out of him, his only coherent thought being to make you cream around his cock.

His words echoed in your brain as you came with a cry of his name. The feeling of you cumming sent Jake into overdrive as he pistoned into you, overstimulating you as he chased his release. After a moment, he stilled, coming inside of your cavern. You felt his release paint your walls white, bringing you into a second orgasm.

He stayed inside you for a while, hovering over your tired body as he caught his breath. Eventually, he pulled out, his cum spilling from your clenching hole, making him sigh in pleasure at the sight. He kissed your temple before moving to get off the bed. You watched, spent, as he searched for his shirt in the dark, the hallway light dimly illuminating the room. For a second, you were scared that he was just going to go back to his own room, but after he found the shirt, he came back to your side. Wordlessly, he wiped you clean, even wiping at the beads of sweat that accumulated on your skin.

Tired, he let himself collapse beside you, pulling you against his chest.

“Did you mean it?” you asked in a small voice.

“Hmm?”

“When… When you said you loved me.”

You felt him tense under you for a second before relaxing. His arms held you tighter against his chest, letting you listen to his rapid heartbeat.

“Yeah.” He paused, the cogs in his brain turning as he searched for the right words to say. Nothing he came up with seemed right; he opted to stay silent and waited for your response. When it didn’t come, he looked down at you, only to be met with your sleeping face. He sighed, his breath shaky as his eyes burned. He pressed a single kiss on the crown of your head. “Good night, sweets.”

THREE HOURS.

Chaewon had been spamming your phone, the distinct buzzing of each message waking you up. Jake slept through the sound of you typing, exhausted from the night before.

Where are you???? Get your ass here NOW before I come and get you myself

Are you even awake? 

Girl, if you’re not here in the next hour I’ll punt you into the next century

Swearing, you carefully slipped out of Jake’s grasp. When he didn’t stir, you shook him gently. He mumbled incoherently, wrapping his arms around your middle as he deeply inhaled your scent. “Jake, we gotta’ wake up now. Chaewon’s having a cow and I don’t think we want to upset the bride today.”

At your words, Jake murmured something you couldn’t hear before finally peeling himself off you, looking at you with sleepy eyes and messy hair. “Wha’ time isit?” he slurred, stretching his arm.

“It’s twelve, so we have to go. Like, now.”

Thankfully, that seemed to wake Jake up, and he sat up quickly. “Damn, okay,” he pushed his hair back. “Get changed and everything, and I’ll meet you at the door.”

You watched as he leaped off the bed, picking up his soiled clothes from the floor. He made his way to his own room, and you heard the shower turn on. In the time it took for you to brush your teeth and get changed, Jake had showered and hastily shoved on some comfy clothes, his attire being left with Heeseung as well.

The drive to the hotel where the bridal and groom's parties were getting ready was quiet, partially from sleepiness and partially because of the unfinished conversation from last night, filling the air with thick tension. His hand rested on the middle console, palm up, but you didn’t take it.

When you got to the hotel, you were quickly ushered to your respective rooms by other bridesmaids and groomsmen. Jake could only watch as you disappeared behind a room door before getting shoved into one himself.

He didn’t see you again until later, when the wedding was about to start, and the pairs were meant to walk down the aisle. Since you were Chaewon’s maid of honour and Jake was Heeseung’s best man, you were paired together. When you finally saw him, you felt the air leave your lungs. His hair was styled so it was out of his face, save for a few strands that hooked over his forehead. His suit was entirely dark blue, from his blazer to his tie, and it made him look unfairly handsome.

Your mouth felt dry as you linked arms with him, listening for your cue to walk.

Unbeknownst to you, he felt similar. You looked stunning in your baby blue satin dress, and he thought it hugged your curves in such a way that he almost wanted to cover you up so only he could see you like this. His heart pounded in his chest at your touch. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as you waited, making the couples behind you snicker. You blushed, your face warming as you rubbed your lips together anxiously.

“As do you,” you mumbled, looking into his eyes shyly. “You look really good.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but the doors opened up, and that was your cue. The venue was gorgeous, as expected since Chaewon planned most of it. The sight of the aisle and the altar made your heart soar for her, and you absentmindedly rubbed at your own ring finger the closer you and Jake got to the end of the aisle.

You sent him a smile before you retreated to your respective spots. As the rest of the couples and the flower girl made their way down the aisle, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on Jake. You wondered how you looked, staring over at the best man when there were so many things you should’ve been paying attention to.

Clearing your throat, you looked forward.

When you finally saw Heeseung, your heart clenched. You fisted the fabric of your dress as you watched him wait for his bride-to-be. This motion didn’t go unseen by Jake, whose jaw clenched.

When Chaewon appeared from behind the door, the room erupted into cheers as everyone stood. Tears sprang to your eyes as you watched your cousin, veiled, take small steps closer to her future husband. You knew your makeup was going to be ruined by the end of the night, but you couldn’t help but cry once she reached Heeseung. You glanced at him once more before staring down at your heeled feet.

The rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch, Chaewon and Heeseung’s beautiful vows leaving everyone in tears. You had even caught Jake wiping away some stray tears. You watched with a sense of longing as Chaewon and Heeseung made their way down the aisle. You didn’t realize that Jake had been staring at you the whole time, not even when it was your turn to walk out.

The banquet was to start half an hour later. You and Jake had gotten separated in the commotion outside of the venue hall. You heard him call out to you, but you couldn’t see him over the large, bustling crowd of wedding guests. Knowing that you’d see him at the banquet, you slipped further into the crowd until you found a balcony. Peaking your head out, you let out a breath of relief when there was no one there.

The sun was setting, casting an orange hue over everything it touched. A beautiful sight, you thought as you leaned against the railing. You closed your eyes as you thought back on the wedding. It had been the exact wedding the Chaewon had planned years ago, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to be truly happy. How could you, after all, after watching Heeseung look at Chaewon with such love and adoration? 

When someone called your name, you turned around to see Jake standing there, slightly unkempt from the crowd. “I finally found you,” he heaved, gesturing back to the hall that was still full of busy wedding goers. “Man, the banquet is literally in the room over from the wedding hall—they couldn’t be a little more patient in moving over?” He shook his head in mock disbelief as he joined you.

He looked at you, ready to make a joke, but paused when he saw your face. His smile dropped as he turned to face you fully. “You’re crying,” he noted, cupping your cheek. You blinked in surprise, having not noticed how tears had welled up in your eyes. “What’s wrong, sweets?”

You turned around, pulling your face out of his grasp, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I don’t know,” you murmured, voice breaking. “I just… when I saw them—”

“Is it Heeseung?”

His cold, clipped tone shocked you. When you looked at him in confusion, his expression had hardened. “What—”

“Why does seeing him with her still hurt you? I thought you were fine,” his words were level, but you heard the slight tremble of his voice.”You said you moved on.” 

Sputtering, you turned to him with an indignant glare. “Jake, it’s not that easy—”

Scoffing, he took a step back from you. “So what? The last two weeks meant nothing to you? Last night meant nothing to you? I…” He gripped at his hair, stressed. “I told you I loved you, and you’re still crying over Heeseung?”

It dawned on you how he perceived your words, and an unsettling fear grabbed at you as you went to explain yourself. “What? Jake, no, I’m not—”

He gave you no room to speak, interrupting you hastily, words tumbling from his lips as though he had no control of them. “I have always loved you,” he confessed, voice breaking. “Ever since we were kids, for me, it’s always been you. I came to you because I love you. I spent these last two weeks with you because I love you, and I want nothing more than for you to see me as more than a best friend or… or someone who’s convenient for you.” You watched in horror as his eyes watered, stepping forward to grab his arm to explain, but he ripped his arm away from your grasp. “I can see now that you never will.”

“Jake, wait—!” Your cry fell on empty ears as he turned to leave you alone on the balcony, his back feeling unreachable as he reached for the doorknob to go back inside. At this point, the crowd in the hall had dispersed, and you were sure the banquet was starting. But none of that mattered—what mattered was stopping Jake from leaving before you could tell him the truth.

Swallowing your fears, you called out his full name. You sighed in relief when he paused, but your hands shook at your sides as you forced your next words out. “He made me feel like I was unlovable,” you uttered, voice just barely above a whisper. For a second, you were worried he hadn’t heard you, but he turned his head slightly. Finding the courage to continue, you stepped forward. “I’m not… I don’t love Heeseung, Jake. I haven’t loved Heeseung for a really fucking long time.”

But what happened between us gave me all of these terrible thoughts that I didn’t…. That I don’t know how to handle. I thought I was perfectly fine dealing with my insecurities on my own before you came.” He turn his head more, allowing you to see his profile. You saw him open his mouth, ready to retort, but you narrowed your eyes at him. “Sim Jaeyun, if you interrupt me again, I’ll kick your ass.” Your threat wasn’t all that threatening, considering the fact that you were near to tears, but he listened and shut his mouth.

“When you showed up at my apartment, I thought I was going mad. You made me feel like that. It was suddenly so different between us and I didn’t know what to do. You kept saying these things like you were trying to fluster me, and I couldn’t tell if you were being genuine or if my fucked up mind was just creating scenarios where you might actually love me.” Tears were freely falling now, smudging your eye makeup and leaving its trail in your foundation. You stepped closer to Jake, who had fully turned to face you. You stopped, leaving a few meters between you as if you were scared of crossing an invisible boundary.

“Last night was the best night of my life. And every time before that, you made me feel complete and made me so happy, Jake. You made me feel… normal. It felt like I was myself again for the first time in months, but there was something else there, too.” You looked into his eyes, unable to tell what he was thinking. You swallowed thickly, “I don’t love Heeseung, and you’re a fool if you think I do. But it’s so fucking hard to shake off the feeling that at any point you could find someone better, someone who’s prettier, or—”

Jake was quick to close the distance between you, his lips downturned into a scowl as he glowered at you. “Just shut up already,” he spat, cupping your face in his hands and bringing his lips to yours. You felt a thousand times lighter as you kissed him back with the same fervour as him, your tears mixing into the kiss. He dropped a hand to rest on your hip, bringing you flush against him. Once he pulled away, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours as his shoulders rose and fell quickly.

When he finally opened his eyes, gone was the pain and hurt. Now, when he looked at you, he looked with adoring eyes. “I love you,” he whispered. “You might not believe me yet, but just know that whenever I look at you, all I see is the person I want to spend my life with. There isn’t anyone better or prettier—there’s only you.”

He met your eyes before kissing you again. 

You looked into his eyes once you pulled away, a thousand thoughts swirling behind your irises. “I love you,” you breathed out. You reached for his hand, interlocking your fingers together as you smiled tearfully at him. “Help me believe you.”

Jake laughed in disbelief, bringing you close to his chest.

“We have all the time in the world to get there, sweets.”

©WONLOVIE please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

[koenigami]

tags : fluff, reverse comfort (kind of?), nightmares wc : 1k synopsis : his solace as much as his biggest fear

“No… don’t!-”

Caleb never knew that he could get so dependent on you. He'd probably go as far as to say that he's gotten addicted to your presence, in every sense of way. 

Specifically, on nights when sleep seems like a dystopian idea, a dream so far away and unreachable. Either because he's simply unable to fall asleep in the first place, or because haunting images won’t let him rest. 

Waking up to your body snuggled against his, hearing your soft breaths and seeing your serene expression, all of it is enough to immediately alleviate the lingering tightness in his chest, unlike when he has to go through all of that when he’s by himself. Tonight however, not even that seems to help at calming the persisting storm inside his mind. 

Long lost memories keep flashing behind his eyes, making his eyelids twitch almost uncontrollably and his chest rise and fall unsteadily. It doesn’t take long until you’re woken up by the broken pleas falling from his lips, and his trashing body which is physically trying to fend off whatever is robbing him of a peaceful night’s sleep. 

“Caleb?” You reach out to cautiously place a hand on his chest. Besides the sweaty shirt, he almost seems to be overheating considering how hot to the touch his body feels. Your breath staggers when you realise how much the nightmare is affecting him. It’s almost as if he’s frozen, limbs completely rigid and tense except for his head that turns from side to side. 

“Come on, baby. You’re alright, it’s just a dream.” But your words seem to hit an impenetrable wall, as he keeps on getting louder until he’s nearly screaming. With teary eyes, you hastily grab his right shoulder and try to shake him awake, unaware of the fact that doing so would do anything but calm him down. 

It all happens in a matter of seconds as you watch him shoot up, the sight akin to someone diving out of the deepest parts of the sea and desperate to finally get a breath of air. Something cold and hard envelops your wrist so tightly that it makes you wince in discomfort, and you’re pulled forward against his heated torso. 

With unfocused eyes, Caleb varily scrutinizes you before his gaze drifts off to the space around you. Ever so slowly, the fog in his head seems to dissipate as you watch his eyes visibly regain clarity while his grip on you lessens finally. As if fearing that he had burned you, he lets go of your wrist with a suddenness that makes you instantly recoil.

The sound of his laboured breaths fills the room, and when he eventually looks back at you, you think you’d preferred if he had just ripped your heart right out of your chest instead. There’s a slight shake in his left hand as he reaches out to you with a certain hesitation that makes him look as if he were afraid of scaring you away. 

On one hand, his fear might be reasonable, considering that it has always been him taking care of you. Always him comforting you, always him covering your ears and shielding you from the scary outside world, always him holding your hand and never letting go. Burdening you with further ballast would go against everything that he has been working up to until now. 

“I-I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” 

On the other hand, you remember that as a child, you often wondered whether there was actually anything Caleb was truly scared of. He’d been your personal little hero at that time, and ever one of the most, if not the most reliable and helpful person in your life. 

Proclaiming himself as selfish and overly defensive when it comes to you, he has never been the one to deny his flaws, especially ever since he’s stepped back into your life. In this moment, as your fingertips gently graze his until your palm is nestled perfectly in his, you wonder whether you’ve been the selfish one all this time. Now, as he desperately tries to hide his pain behind a strained smile, you wonder whether you’ve relied so much on him that you never made him think of the possibility that he could do the same. Rely on you.

Caleb’s gaze falls to the reddened skin along your wrist, and combined with the tears lingering in your eyes and threatening to stain your beautiful cheeks, he immediately jumps to conclusions. “I did this, didn’t I? Are you alright? Does it hurt a lot? Shit, I’m so-”

“I’m fine, but…” The streetlight from outside enters the room through the flowy curtains, and reflects in your eyes. Those same eyes carry so much sorrow, pain as well as anger. Yet, he’s unsure towards whom the latter is directed. “But you’re not, Caleb.”

He smiles. And the fact that you can tell that it is a genuine expression angers you even further because you know that he’s completely disregarding his own feelings right now. It’s just another attempt at hiding the anguish that he’s being put through, and an attempt at hiding the things plaguing his mind, even though you’ve reassured him countless times that there is nothing that could scare you away from him. “That’s okay.” As long as you are. 

In the end, there’s nothing you can do except climb into his lap and hold him close to you. You can’t do more than lean in and press a gentle peck against his forehead as a silent prayer for the turmoil inside his mind to stop hurting him. Because despite his futile reassurances, you can feel how fast his heart is still beating against his chest. You can still feel the slightest tremor in his hands as they cling to your waist.

“One day, we will be fine. Eventually.” He whispers and presses his nose against the column of your neck, relishing in the way you smell, and how you perfectly fit in his arms. Because as it turns out, there certainly is at least one thing that Caleb is scared of, and it is for his nightmares to come true. 

[encasedinobsidian]

honest work

lucien de leon, 3.4k words, explicit 18+

summary: every thursday, five women let lucien ease their stress tags: dumb porn with plot, no the uninvited spoilers, deconstructed gangbang, infidelity, sex volunteering one could say, 1 man 5 married women, cucking with consequences, fucking sucking riding etc a/n: i never post full fics on here, only on my ao3, but this one was so short and stupid i didn't feel like making a whole ao3 post. enjoy the freebie lmao

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One can find anything they need on the internet these days. 

Need to order groceries? Book a cleaner? Have flowers delivered?

It’s simple, it’s two clicks away. Credit card number, expiry, CVC. Place order, it says. No fuss.

Dog sitting? A bright pink acrylic table with five chairs to match? Click. Click. Click. It’s at your doorstep. 

Need to become a phoney licensed counselor to have an alibi for fucking five different women in an abandoned massage therapy office every Thursday evening? 

No problem, baby. The internet is here to help.

LUCIEN DE LEON Licensed Somatic Counseling Practitioner* 

It’s a bullshit title. You can just as easily become an ordained minister. There’s even an asterisk next to the professional title saying as much. 

*Does not refer to any licensed profession in any state or country. Fine Print Inc. is not an educational or professional institution, nor is it a governing body for any of the careers or professors for which they produce licenses. These are strictly for personal use, and protected under US parody law. 

But all of that is on a document that nobody reads. All that matters is this: Lucien de Leon calls himself a licensed counseling practitioner if he has to, and nobody will ever ask him where or by whom he’s licensed, so none of it matters. 

On Thursday evenings at seven PM, five women gather at the Sunrise Springs Professional Center, in an office on the third floor. The sign outside the door says Anisha Jacobs Wellness Center, but Anisha took off when the IRS began to snoop around her tax forms and, well, she’s been back in Lapland ever since. 

Everything stayed in the office when she left, and Lucien happened to push the door open in search of the men’s room when he had attended an audition in one of the adjacent offices. It looked like the lobby of any new age-y, warmly lit spa. 

And there was a key in the door, somehow. A key that worked. 

He pocketed that key, and a few days later, returned to the space to see what was left behind. The number on Ms. Jacobs’s business card was no longer in use, and the place had stood empty long enough for the plants to wither. The office had two rooms: a lobby, and a treatment room. 

It isn’t interesting how it got to this point, but as of now, the office looks like this: in the main room, six chairs of different styles, including a small loveseat, are arranged in a circle. On the sign beside the door, a piece of paper has been taped over with writing that says SOMATIC THERAPY SPACE. 

It’ll do. 

In the next room, there is not much to note but a massage table that sits collapsed up against the wall, and it looks, by all means, like a room that is not in use. It looks left behind, in fact, just entirely forgotten. 

And Thursday evenings look like this: 

The computer left behind on the desk by the window no longer turns on. It is little more than a prop. There’s a water dispenser on the side of the room next to a few new plants and various blown glass vases. Beside the open window, wind chimes clatter in the breeze. A plastic-wrapped Costco order of tissue boxes sits up against the wall. One box is on the coffee table that has been arranged in the middle of the chair-circle. 

Paper cups, a trash can, a key to the bathroom on the same floor. 

Tia arrives first, peering past the open door to see Lucien behind the computer. “Hey!” she chirps, pushing a silky mass of brown curls over her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says, and gestures towards the chairs. “Have a seat.” 

It’s only six-fifty-four. 

Jasmine, Georgia and Ingrid filter in one by one, taking their seats and beginning to fill out their arrival forms. 

What is your name?

What do you wish to get out of this session? 

Before they leave their houses, they tell their husbands that they are going to their weekly women’s discussion group. If pressed, and with great reluctance, perhaps a few tears, they say it is group therapy and that there is a confidentiality agreement that cannot be breached. 

A few rules are followed: 

The meeting lasts for two hours. Each participant is given twenty minutes of time devoted specifically to them, with five minutes of downtime in between. 

No payment is exchanged — the sessions are part of Lucien’s ongoing professional development, and both he and the women involved agree that voluntary participation is integral. 

The order is randomized every week, however those trying to get pregnant — with a man at home who hasn’t seen a vegetable in three years and blames his wife’s age for their fertility issues — go first. Those who only want oral are scheduled in between those who want a full fuck. Lucien gets a bit of a breather that way. 

While the massage room is occupied, a clipboard is passed around in the circle where a prompt is written out in lazy handwriting at the top, and everyone writes their reflection. The other group members’ answers are to be halfway memorized, as well as the short summary script that Lucien provides on the second page. 

Today’s prompt reads as follows; If I try to picture my ideal life, how does this feel in my body? And what can I do to make this a reality? How do the people around me affect my hopes and dreams?  

There’s also a shredder under the desk. 

The participants are allowed to do whatever they want before their slot, and after, until the meeting is officially over. Their phones stay on silent. 

When Jeanette has arrived, the door is locked and the session begins. Lucien collects the arrival forms and sets a schedule for his dedicated attention. There’s also a whiteboard that sits on the floor, leaning against the front of the desk. He grabs the black marker and writes out the schedule.

JASMINE

INGRID

TIA

GEORGIA

JEANETTE

Once they see the schedule, two of them pull their laptops out of their handbags and grab their Airpod cases, ready to catch up on work. Tia folds open a book, marked halfway finished. Jeanette stretches out on the loveseat and closes her eyes. 

“Jasmine,” he says, and nods towards the open door to the room where the massage table has been unfolded. 

There’s nobody else left in the building by this time, and the overnight cleaners don’t show up until eleven. 

Leaving her bag on the chair, she follows him into the room and closes the door behind her while he sits at the edge of the bench.

“Did you test?” he asks. 

Jasmine nods. “Peak.”

With that, Lucien pulls her between his spread thighs and begins to unbutton her blouse. 

Jasmine’s son just turned three. He looks more and more like Lucien for every month that passes. 

It was just the two of them and Tia at first. Only two women with grievances about their husbands’ lack of ability to take direction, three bottles of wine and an old friend who offered to help just that one night. He also didn’t mind helping when Ron’s test results came back fucked beyond belief and he somehow remained steadfast in his belief that he was virile. 

It just became a thing after that, and he has never minded being shared. 

Twenty minutes isn’t much but it’s enough to get the women where they need to be, and Lucien is hard within a minute, dropping a pair of slacks and throwing them to the floor. He knows well what Jasmine wants, learning her over several years and utilizing his time as best as he can. Kisses up and down her neck, his tongue on her nipples, on her pussy, then his cock inside, deep thrusts on her hands and knees until he comes, bare and unprotected. 

He assumes the ladies on the other side of the door can hear the two of them, but nobody seems to mind, and he can’t say he does either. There’s a window as well, mostly covered by venetian blinds, only leaving a gap at the very bottom, through which he can see them typing and reading and sleeping while he strokes a hand down Jasmine’s spine, staying inside until the time runs out. She keeps his semen in her as long as possible, getting dressed and laying down on the couch after Jeanette gets up and offers it to her, switching to a chair with a wickered backrest. 

“Ingrid?”

The brunette pops up, laptop already slipped back into her handbag, and she begins to shimmy her skirt down while he shuts the door behind them. On her ring finger, a large, rectangular diamond shines next to a gold wedding band. She doesn’t need much warm-up, he finds, laying down on the bench and letting him slip off her panties, spreading her legs and laying back, waiting for his fingers inside and his tongue on her clit. 

“How’s your day been?” she asks, pushing a hand through his hair. 

“Living the dream,” he says, eyes closed, tongue sliding over her opening. “And you?”

She tips her head back and he pushes his fingers further in, curling them while they withdraw. Back in, and back out. 

“Good,” she exhales, “Great.” 

And then she doesn’t say anymore, except when she whispers that she’s going to come, the quick first time and the slow second, a third before time is up and Lucien wipes his wet mustache and lips on his forearm, hard as steel when she kisses him and skips back out of the room. 

He cleans up at the sink in the corner of the empty space again, where hand soap and intimate wash is placed before the session starts every week, before he opens the door and waves for Tia to join him. He’s flushed, he looks just-fucked, chest reddened and hair messy. She likes that, though, touching his hot skin and smelling his sweat, making out while he slides down the wall with her in tow, until she’s straddling him. 

The timer starts again, just a clock in his peripheral vision ticking while clothes are ripped off as fast as possible, and she’s sinking down on his bare cock, riding him for a few strokes before she rolls her eyes at herself, groans, and reminds them both of the condoms that sit above them on a shelf.

She watches him put it on, gliding a big hand down thin, shiny latex, that hand lifting and curling two fingers, middle and ring finger coaxing her close again, up on her knees and then back down onto his cock. 

Tia wants it the hardest, wants one hand grabbing roughly at her tit and another gripping her ass tight, Lucien’s legs bent for leverage, his tongue constantly in her mouth. She likes to be overwhelmed, he thinks, fucked into the floor and into the massage table, against the wall, bent over the bench with her hands on her back. Droplets of sweat slide down his temples from his hairline when she’s in the room with him, the air is thick and her inner thighs are covered, slippery and wet. He grabs a towel from the underside of the bench, slips it under her, catches when she begins to squirt from the beating of his cock, soaking the white cloth. 

That’s when he can’t hold back any longer, feeling that spray on his own thighs, and comes inside of the condom. He slips it off, ties it, tosses it and cleans her up. She’s boneless after that, breathing slowly, taking a minute to get off the bench and into her own clothes. It’s always a half-awake thanks, Lu he gets before she leaves and curls up next to Jasmine on her phone, then promptly falls asleep. 

Georgia wants the same thing every week, and Lucien doesn’t question it. He slips off her leggings, her panties, and eats her for the full twenty minutes she is allotted. Though today, halfway through, when he stands up for a moment to readjust, she looks down at his pants and sees the bulge that is ever present whenever his tongue is on her — an erection she has only ever seen behind the secrecy of fabric. 

“Can I see it?” she asks, sitting up. 

He takes it out then, unbuttons the pants with no boxers underneath, and lets it bounce between the sides of his zipper. 

Her eyes flick up, seeking permission, and he nods once, lifting his eyebrows while he holds up the bottom of his shirt.

She just touches it gently at first, runs her fingertips down his shaft and his head. It twitches in response, bobs a little in the air, more blood streaming to his mostly-hard cock. A clock ticks outside the door, and Lucien stands quietly with his hand over bunched-up silk fabric, just lifting it enough to show a cover of trimmed, dark hair, and then a long, thick cock. 

Georgia leans forward, with a hand lightly touching his underside. She runs her lips up the side of his shaft, and he twitches again, gets even harder, but he breathes calmly while the woman begins to kiss and smell at him. He pushes his pants down a little bit further, letting his balls hang firmly in open air.

She spots them, gives them a kiss too, and Lucien licks his bottom lip, bites it, watches her sit on the bench with nothing on from her waist down, kissing and licking softly at his cock. She reaches his tip, licks there too, and then pulls away with her eyes still on it. 

“Can you put it in a little?” she asks, and her hand is already between her legs, the tips of her fingers disappearing between her folds, touching herself gently. 

Lucien nods, his voice hoarse when he says, “Yeah… Yeah.” 

“I just wanna feel it,” she says, gazing down.  

His cock bobs once more, veins popping out of his skin to form little bulges all along his length. “You want me to, uh—” He clears his throat. “You want me to wear a condom?” 

Georgia nods, chewing on the inside of her lip, and Lucien steps over, grabbing a foil packet off another small shelf. While he opens it, while he threads the latex on and glides his hand over his dick to roll it down, her fingers slip in and out of her, arousal leaking onto the leather of the bench. 

“Lean back,” he says, hand coming to the inside of her thigh, “Spread your legs.” 

His hand is still around his root, and he enters her slowly, pushing inside until she gasps and he’s at her end. When he’s there, he lifts the shirt up again, and draws his hips back before he pushes forward. She gasps again, and looks down, eyes widening at the sight of how much she has stretched around him. 

“T— take it off,” she whispers, shakiness in her voice.

“Huh?”

“Take the condom off.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, and pulls out. 

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers then, at how much cock just fit inside of her a moment before. 

He pushes the condom off, lays it on top of the empty wrapper in the shelf, and before he gets inside of her again, he kisses her, with slow strokes of his tongue, and his hand on the back of her neck, the tip of his cock brushing against her entrance. She sucks him in, his cockhead wet with lube gliding between her folds so easily, smoothly parting them and pushing inside while she arches her back. He kisses her neck then, while he pushes the rest of the way, until all of him is inside once again and he breathes a moan into her shoulder before he begins to slowly thrust. 

“Make me come,” she begs, “Please make me come.” 

With both hands around her hips, he pulls her forward, ass nearly lifting off the edge of the massage table while he leans over her. He reaches across, holds onto the edge of it behind her, and grinds into her, his curled hair against her clit while the table squeaks across the floor. 

“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit,” she whines, “There—”

He grinds harder, slower, feels the wet clench of her around his cock, and then the pulsating orgasm that overtakes her, body going limp when it tapers off. 

He pulls out then, and his head brushes along her inner lips. 

“Thank you,” she says, a little bit dazed, and he helps her up with her hands in his, holds up her panties for her to step inside. 

Not what he expected, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless. 

“That was really good,” Georgia whispers, leaning against the door with her fingers curled around the handle, “We should do that again.”

“We should,” he says back. 

Clean-up, clothes back on, a hand pushed through his hair to smooth down the messy waves at least a little, condom wrappers and tissues tossed. 

Jeanette is up last. Her hair up in a bun, pants suit on, bracelets jangling on her wrists. 

“What are you in the mood for today?” he asks. “All it said on the form was ‘cock’ and I’ve never known you to be a woman of few words.” 

“Chef’s choice,” she says. “What are you in the mood for?” 

“Pshh.” He shakes his head, kisses her with a grin still on his face, “What could I possibly be in the mood for after all that?” 

She looks between his eyes and presses her lips together. “Did anyone suck your cock today?” 

Lucien shakes his head, and he’s still hard from before, always hard when he sees any one of these girls. Even run-in’s in public run the risk of an inappropriate boner in the freezer aisle. 

“Looks like I have my work cut out for me then, don’t I?” 

She strips down while he does the same, both of them entirely in the nude while she lays down on the table and takes his cock in her mouth. She has no gag reflex, her and Tia both glad to take Lucien down into their throats, but only until he’s close, forever teasing him, only letting him come inside or on their tits or back or pussy after fucking them. He could call it selfish but he likes it too much. 

He plays with her hair while she spits on him, jerks his cock, sucks at the tip and then swallows around him, only gagging lightly. He pulls her hips up, gets her on all fours, slaps her ass, sneaks a finger down between her cheeks and revels in her muffled moan when he rubs the tip of his middle finger over her asshole. 

“Deeper,” he grunts, thrusting his hips until she’s gagging fully, then draws back and sees the spit covering him, and her soaked lips, smiling while she looks up at him. He holds the underside of her jaw, watches himself slide in and out between her lips, and he lasts longer now. 

She raises up again, slides his cock between her tits and then turns around and angles her ass up for him, ready for his entry into whichever hole he desires most.

—

“Goodnight, ladies.” 

The door shuts behind the last of the five and Lucien wraps up the trash, grabs his things and turns off the light. He drives home along empty streets, between palm trees, past houses and dive bars and surf shops. There’s a thick script laying in the passenger seat with a pair of sunglasses thrown on top. He picks up dinner on the way, taking a seat on a chaise lounge by the hostess’ stand at the restaurant while he waits. Someone recognizes him on their way in, and tells him that they love his work. He thanks them, shakes their hand, touches their shoulder and obliges when they ask for a photo.

At home, he drops his keys and kicks off his shoes, steps through the foyer and makes his way to the living room where he sets the boxes down on the coffee table and he clicks around on a few buttons before the blinds roll up along his living room windows. Flat rocks form a footpath from the seating area to the pool, between lush plants and trees, right outside of where he sits down and turns on the TV.

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hope you enjoyed! if this is your first meeting with my writing, feel free to check out my selection of series and oneshots on ao3, including javi p, joel, and frankie :)

[loganficsonly]

operation: v-card જ⁀➴ 1: the game plan

series masterlist

????? x f!reader, 4.1k

EDIT: Please read the teaser trailer first!

🍒 SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ MDNI!!!, english is not my native language, no use of y/n, SEXUAL THEMES, MODERN AU/not canon compliant, eventual smut, VIRGINITY LOSS (extremely planned), attempts at romcom and girlhood vibes, coarse language, probably wrote new york wrong, original side characters

❤️ READER WARNINGS/TAGS: afab!reader, reader is able-bodied and has hair

📌 CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: descriptions of past sexual discomfort, nicknames ("angel", "baby"), texting format, a lot of men slander (essential i fear)

💋 AUTHOR'S NOTE: welcome to this new series! i'm so nervous because this is extremely different than the fics i am used to writing. thanks @theworstwolvie for briefly telling me about your nyc experience: one of my favorite phrases in here is "trash bag miasma", which was inspired by that story.

don't miss the thing at the end!

There’s a science to fucking for the first time. Especially with your standards and the not-so-easy approach that comes with it.

You could slut it out and call it a day. Wear a skirt with a hemline so short it’d fool Wall Street into thinking the recession was over. Bat eyelashes at the nearest warm male body like he’s the last one on earth and you’re ovulating. Lose your virginity on a mattress on the floor, in an apartment that has never seen legged furniture in its life other than a single crusty leather armchair in the living room.

But that’s not how you want it to go.

The way you want it to go requires strategy. Precision. Insight. Real expertise on the bedroom battlefield that you can’t simply get from reading slop on r/LetsGetLaid.

You don’t come across intel like that everyday.

But lucky for you, you have the perfect people for the job.

Today 10:35am You changed the group name to please help me get laid 😇

Not a minute later, your phone buzzes. And again.

You quickly switch the vibrate off, suddenly aware of what you’ve unleashed on a mopey Monday morning in the office.

🥊 vicki: oh. my. fucking. god. 🥊 vicki: is it finally happening 🥊 vicki: !!!!!!!

You smile. You could hear her voice through the pixels.

You: you reply so fast lol 🥊 vicki: i’m not a corporate shill like you babe 😍

You met Victoria Choi in collegiate scholars dinner that was executed so blatantly as a formality, you wondered why you or anyone else bothered to show up. She was introduced to you as ‘Victoria’, to which she shot the program director a withering look.

Since then, she’s always been Vicki to you. You quickly bonded with her after learning you shared a taste in celebrity crushes—the kind that waved daddy issues flags that could be seen from a hundred miles away.

Aside from that, Vicki cannot be more different than you in the way she wears her truth on her sleeve.

Where you’re more of an assess-decide-act type of person, Vicki has as much caution in her as there is cocaine in pink cocaine: almost none. No “he looks like he’s kind” or “as long as you’re happy”. She’ll call your boyfriend an ugly horse and question your taste in a single breath.

Whether it’s about politics or the best pizza place around campus, you’ll always know exactly where she stands. Maybe that’s why she’s become one of the most decorated female boxers in LA—her uppercuts are as precise as her tongue.

Which is coincidentally what her flings would say, too.

It doesn’t really matter the type of equipment they carry between their legs, she’d sleep with anyone that turned her on. The bitch has brought so many peoplehome, if she had a shameful bone in her body, she’d be rounding every block the moment she stepped out in public.

But she doesn’t. Not just because it’s not in her nature to, but because she doesn’t have anything to be ashamed about, because she’s that good.

You see three dots on your screen, and then—

🐇 isha: AAAAAAAAAAAAA

You try not to giggle in the middle of the open office space you’re sitting in.

🐇 isha: I’m so happy I am awake to see this! 🥊 vicki: ???it’s like 10pm in kuala lumpur??? 🐇 isha: Not everyone sleeps at 4am like you 🐇 isha: Bitch 💋 🥊 vicki: miss you too 💋

A country like the United States of America barely deserves a surgeon as qualified as Mr. Verghese, but he moved here anyway, and you’re eternally thankful he brought his family with him, which includes his only daughter.

You met Isha—Ishana Verghese—at a sorority party. She stood out among the Zeta Deltas who taught you what sisterhood looked like if it’s punk rock and silver-studded—somehow everyone in that house had wildly alternative tastes, and Isha was the most normal-looking one there. That’s not to say she was ordinary, when in fact she made you feel welcome and heard.

Like a person you knew despite having just met.

The two of you got pushed into the pool together and the rest was history.

If Vicki’s a sledgehammer, Isha is a hairpin dagger hidden in a beautiful updo. A master at subtlety, sharpened perhaps by the pressure of her culture to never seem inappropriate. Yet even in secrecy, she always sends the right message.

And boy, were the messages received. Loud and clear.

While Isha maintained impeccable grades, she remained social—enough to disappear from a function, only to return with a coy tale of her explicit adventure, which always involved a handsome man. It took the edge off from school, she told you once. You appreciate the… attention to detail in her storytelling.

From her, you didn’t only learn the elegant art of reeling it in. You learned how to pan gold from dirt, quality to Vicki’s quantity.

No shame to Vicki, of course. Some of us are hornier than others, and it’s a fact she owns with pride.

Isha’s sorority siren days are over, though. The penitent slut now wears a heavy ring on her left hand and spends these days in Malaysia with her tech start-up husband, whom she loves very much.

🐇 isha: I don’t think I can sleep tonight I’m so excited 🐇 isha: So you’re lifting the sex sanction? LOL You: that’s the plan 🥊 vicki: my precious girl. finally spreading her legs 🥹🥹🥹 🥊 vicki: they grow up so fast huh @🐇 isha? 🥹🥹🥹

After watching one of Vicki’s amateur boxing matches, your social circles aligned like the planets. Vicki and Isha hit it off, and to your delight, they still wanted you around. The three of you ended up becoming so close you drove to Maine in a camper van to spend the summer break together.

You told them about your manifesto on that trip.

Instant ramen, 7-Up, and a starry night sky are key ingredients to deep talk, apparently.

Three principles. Each point an amalgamation of your truths. Demarcated with conviction, backed by reality, and spoken like a promise to yourself.

You had the misfortune of sitting next to a table of boys at lunch. Or luck, seeing as you learned something.

You heard how they talked about girls who gave away their precious firsts. Comparing them like they would trading cards. Player stats in a video game. A terrible string of words strung together that you wished you could’ve unheard, something that sounded like “Jennie M. turns out to be great at oral, but Mia K.’s moans are hands down the best.”

Disgusting enough to lead you straight to point one: if your identity as a person is going to be conflated with what you’re like in bed, then you’d rather not sleep with anyone. Your sexual exploration will not be reduced to fodder for locker room gossip.

Gossip that predictably never seemed to affect the boys.

The double standard of it all.

As if it wasn’t enough that the girls’ reputation suffered while boys could be boys, even the sex itself was lopsided. At least from what you’ve heard.

Specifically, what you heard in the girls’ bathroom one day after gym class, sobbed through hiccups.

“When I told him I’d been thinking… you know… what it felt like to be eaten out, he—he called me gross. Like I’m fucking broccoli or w-whatever fiber they don’t eat enough of.”

You stayed in the stall longer than expected. That moment stuck with you.

And you tried to brush it off as an exception rather than the norm, you really did. Because that couldn’t have applied to all of them, yet once was enough to make you stop giving out chances.

One time, studying for finals with Damian G. led to a hot and heavy make-out session. His guitar-calloused hands were all over you, sneaking under your clothes, and nobody was home—wouldn’t be for hours.

He was tan and blonde, the kind of beautiful that everyone agreed on. And you? Bless your heart, you wanted to try.

Until you remembered the girl in the bathroom. The shakes and catches in her voice.

Something possessed you then. A thought, an idea. You whispered the question while his lips were on your neck. Tried to pass it off as sultry as a seventeen-year-old could: Damian, you feel so good. Damian, would you go down on a girl?

He laughed without answering. A full one, shoulders shaking—then asked if you’d like to wrap your pretty lips around him instead.

An unseasonably cold shiver washed down your spine right then.

You told him you were on your period. A prepared lie. One that immediately lifted his hands off your waist and made him look at you like you should’ve told him before going that far.

You studied alone after that.

Point two was a promise to look for a man whose interest lies not only in humping something other than their pillow.

You’ve always been a big believer of statistics, though the thing with Damian G. left you too flabbergasted to try and widen the sample size. A forty-by-forty-block town only had so much to offer.

Despite how big the sky looked from the front porch, you felt how small it was.

The way there was always someone watching. The way everybody knew everyone and everything. How Lisa L.’s mother would find out about your test results and told your mother before you even got the chance to.

It was stifling.

There was a world beyond those hundred and sixty blocks, one that you were adamant on seeing no matter what, but it was never just about bigger sample sizes or higher success rates. Your very soul had no space for the life that place had to offer. No room for a high school sweetheart that would spend all his Sundays with you and propose with a blade of grass. Not when all you wanted to do was leave.

You thought of the kind of love some of your childhood friends ended up in. The kind that’s local and lasts forever.

Maybe in another life, where you aren’t so cynical.

And so point three was born: you’d honor the ‘exploration’ part of ‘sexual exploration’. Do it when you have the space to, instead of binding yourself to silly limitations and the fear of consequence.

You’re glad you waited. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have these two to help you.

You: quit joking around or i’ll change my mind 🥊 vicki: IM AT YOUR SERVICE MAAM 🥊 vicki: i would’ve already slept w u if you were gay mwah 💋 🐇 isha: We know. You wouldn’t fucking shut up about it in college. 🥊 vicki: i’d bang you too @🐇 isha 🐇 isha: @🥊 vicki Thanks but respectfully this isn’t about you 🐇 isha: @ You I think you have to pat yourself on the back, angel! You fulfilled your own insane requirements 👍🏾 Couldn’t be me

Right. The requirements. They’re extensions of your principles, built-in rails to make sure you weren’t selling yourself short. You mentally run through the list as you have for the last few years.

They’re quite simple.

1) Move somewhere big and sprawling.

Check—you stayed in New York post-university, overpriced smoothies and trash bag miasma be damned.

2) Cultivate self-respect.

…Okay, so they’re not all that simple, but you broke it down into steps.

2) Cultivate self-respect, by:

getting a job with decent pay and basic insurance (check, though you’ve only been pretending to work this morning)

learning to trust and honor your people instincts (checked when you quit your previous job citing red flags, which in corporate speak is “a culture and vision that isn’t the right fit for you in the long term”)

being comfortable making demands (check: you no longer feel guilty telling the waiter you specifically asked for no pickles. Baby steps to asking a guy to fuck you, right?)

being comfortable in your own skin

So that last one was not assimple as returning your wrong order to the kitchen, but it is the most essential. If you’re going to get laid, you need to be ready for at least the physical part of you to be perceived (yuck).

You’re not going to let yourself be demolished by one vague comment about your tummy. Especially not by some rando.

You: over the past three months I’ve averaged about five really bad negative self-talk days per month (≥7/10) and they’ve consistently occurred right before my period. so You: yes, i think i fulfilled my own crazy requirements 🥊 vicki: asdhajsld you’re counting??? nerd 🥊 vicki: ≥ 🥊 vicki: didn’t know how to type that on my phone 🥊 vicki: share link to spreadsheet? 👉🏻👈🏻 You: it’s a journal actually You: also tracking it is the only way for me to find out if i’m meeting the requirements 😡 🥊 vicki: never fucking change bestie 🐇 isha: MY SHAYLAAAA 😩 🐇 isha: A thousand kisses on your forehead 🐇 isha: That’s genuinely amazing and I hope you know I’m so damn proud of you ❤️ You: thank you 😭🫂 🥊 vicki: ok now that you cured your self-loathing what’s the game plan?

That’s Vicki for you. Always looking for the next course of action to latch on to.

You: here’s what i have in mind, please tell me if i’m delusional :)

The game plan is in a fucking Google Doc. The two of them are all over it the moment you sent the link.

It’s neat. There’s a table of contents. The titles are collapsible and you put emojis in front of them to make skimming easier.

It looks more like a friendly FAQ than a Type A guide on how to get laid with standards. A document that supports your plan to simply… get out there, find a suitable man, and get laid.

If someone other than Vicki and Isha were to read it, they would think you’re neurotic, a psychopath, or both. But your friends know this is just your standard level of organization. You’re the kind of person that makes everything a side project.

And it feels… kind of good, actually. Like you’re in control.

Since you made up your mind, you feel like a predator who’s not hungry. Just hunting for fun.

The game plan has three main headings.

A. Location

Even an amateur would know that location is a critical aspect of looking for the right type of subject. Yes, you’re calling potential hook-ups ‘subject’ like an undercover unsanctioned scientist.

Deer live in the woods. Divorced men frequent Chester’s Steakhouse in Midtown.

Listed under this heading are links of places you either plan on checking out or have checked out before, all of them possible places for bumping into someone decent. Bars, clubs, snooker halls, book clubs.

Okay, that last one may not be related to losing your virginity, but the reading material looked interesting.

The ones you’ve visited have remarks under them, not more than a hundred words. You note the time and date of visit. You wrote about the bartender and if they were nice, whether this place does angel shots, the types of music they play and the crowd they bring in.

Useful things to know when you decide to go for it. More of a field report than a review.

Vicki brought up Tinder as an easy solve and you shot her down quick.

Dating apps enable liars. You surmise this after downloading five of them onto your phone and spending an entire Wednesday night browsing the marketplace. It’s too suspicious. Too easy. Who’s to say their bio isn’t AI-generated? Their photo?

Obviously, you signed up with a fake face and name.

You protest the dating app idea in the group phone call later that night, vehemently defending your ‘meet someone IRL and bang them’ methodology while putting lotion on your legs.

“I’m just saying, judging strangers is easier than judging a person I’ve texted a week. Easier to spot an act when the meeting isn’t premeditated.”

Isha laughs. “Then you better be ready not to put up an act yourself, Miss Authenticity.”

You roll your eyes as if she could see you. “I’m not going to be a hundred percent me, but that doesn’t mean I’m performing a character. Isn’t this like, 90% of all human interaction?”

“I know,” she says, no tease in her voice this time. “And you’re good at that—giving us just enough of yourself. You keep people interested. And you are an interesting person beyond your first impressions.”

“Worked on us, didn’t it, angel baby?” Vicki jokes.

“Thanks, you two,” you sigh, “but I’m not looking for a boyfriend, I’m looking for a fuck.”

Isha tuts on the other end of the line.

“No, you’re looking for a great fuck. There’s a difference. Remember that.”

B. General Knowledge

Vicki cackled at this heading and compared it to a secret porn folder on a family computer, even though what’s inside is a digital equivalent of a multimedia scrapbook—definitely not as organized as Locations.

There’s a link to a paper titled Benefits of Hooking Up: Self-Reports from First-Year College Women. A megathread on r/FemaleDatingStrategies on how to tell if a man is good in bed, specifically the detailed comment from 2019 that you still find useful today. A Glamour article.

Your friends have a ball roasting you. Actually, it’s just Vicki.

“5 Sex, Kissing, and Hooking-Up Basics Every Woman and Man Should Know?” Vicki howls, tickled and deranged. “This is a new low for you, babe!”

“Go easy on her, Vick.”

“It’s been a while since I made out, okay? Just a refresher.”

“Okay, first of all, if you want a refresher, fucking go make out instead of reading articles like this,” Vicki barks mercilessly, knowing how right she is, “and second, when was your last time even?”

You hum. “Some new year’s party last year.”

“Oh? How was it?” Isha chirps. You hear waves in the background. Is she at a fucking beach?

You sigh.

“He looked like a dog that wanted a forever home. New year’s tend to do that to people. I wasn’t that into him.”

Seagulls. Isha is definitely at a beach. “Was he a good kisser at least?”

“No, his teeth kept knocking into mine. Like they wanna fight.”

Vicki huffs. “Damn.”

“At least you’ve learned what not to do,” Isha giggles.

Needless to say, after that call, the General Knowledge section of your info bank got filled up fast and filthy.

In less than an hour, Isha populated the page with three thousand words on topics that range from Advanced Flirting to Sex Positions I Think You Might Be Good At! (Beginner Friendly) as if she had them pinned in her Notes app all along.

And in true Isha fashion, the bullet points are graphic. You skim past words like ‘consecutive orgasms’ and ‘pelvic floor workout’.

Meanwhile, Vicki dumps 23 PornHub links under the title they’re not faking it 👀and a YouTube video.

5 Self-Defense Moves Every Woman Should Know.

That’s sweet. And sobering.

She leaves an inline comment that makes you smile: “why do these lists always come in five? 🤷🏻‍♀️”

C. Subject

Because you’re not going to type all seventeen characters in ‘potential hook-up’ every time you write about this allusive figure.

This section is completely empty.

Because you don’t know what kind of man you’re looking for.

At one point it was a terrifying thought, not knowing your preferences, since it invited another more terrifying thought: how could you make sure you get the experience you know you deserve if you don’t even know what you want?

A boy who’s jacked and kind? A man that puts you in a mean headlock and calls you names? Gun to your head and asked to pick, you’d be dead.

But these days, with Vicki and Isha sharing their own experiences before they were experienced and the three of you just… talking more in general, you start to feel better about it. The fear of the unknown is replaced with a gentle curiosity.

That now is a time for exploration, like you promised yourself. And there’s plenty to explore in New York City.

Isn’t that the most exciting part of it all? Not knowing whose lap you’ll end up in? Discovering parts of yourself through ways that are, like it or not, out of your control? Knowing that your expectations won’t mean shit when reality slaps—and even so, hoping that reality could be better?

God, Isha’s optimism is rubbing off on you.

You just hope he’s not a serial killer that eats girls.

Three weeks and one very long to-do list later, you’re finally ready.

You scouted every bar and club you humanly could, noting every sensation like you worked in Cosmopolitan and they were going to fire you if you didn’t produce the most definitive hangout place listicle in the history of lifestyle journalism.

You read every single word Isha wrote. Never raised a brow at the I Do Not Recommend and Absolutely Do Not Attempt sections. Absorbed wisdom all the written word and illustrated images could possibly offer. Asked questions like “wtf does drawing figure 8s with your hips mean??”

And Vicki. Boy, was she out to get you. She texted you pop quizzes all the damn time, like you borrowed money and she came to collect.

🥊 vicki: pressing the woman's the lower belly. why do it You: vicki it’s tuesday morning 🥊 vicki: it’s a sex test answer the damn question virgin!!! You: @🐇 isha omg vicki just called me a slur 🫵🫵🫵 You: something about stimulating the g spot 🥊 vicki: good girl 💋

Not only that. Every time you marked a they’re not faking it 👀 video as ‘watched’, Vicky would add two new ones.

You felt the need to apologize to the seventeen-year-old PornHub Graduates, because look who became one, too. Watching all that fucking, not knowing whether it translated to muscle memory or disappeared into a liminal space between your frontal and temporal lobe.

Karma’s a bitch.

And it was educational, to Vicki’s credit. You hear the difference in the moans the most, how soft they are. No overproduced wails. Just breaths, before they crescendo to a chorus of groans and words—unscripted, whispered, babbled.

There was the way they looked at each other too, like they’d do anything to stay where they are. Tangled. Together.

Their eyes are what gets you.

By the end of week three, the Subject section in your Google Doc was the emptiest.

Isha was kind enough to add some cute moodboards.

Inspiration, she said. Collages of hot yet faceless men (it’s the allure of the mystery), places, and random items sorted by their general vibe. Warm autumn foliage belonged in the same picture as cable knit sweaters and bear hugs that screamed size kink. Leather jackets were in the same group as black cats and deliciously veiny arms.

Vicki’s only contribution to that section is a comment: “sorry I literally am the least picky person hehe 👅”

You replied: “nasty (love you)”

So yes, you still don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, but you trust yourself more. You’ve felt it before—that chemistry, a connection, a pull. Not often, but enough to recognize it if it decides to come around.

This time, you just need to act on it.

The group calls become a weekly thing now, a regularly scheduled program where you update them on your progress.

“I think I’m ready to do it,” you announce.

Gasps from the other two participants.

“Okay, Lightning McQueen,” that’s Vicki. She’s watching basketball—you can hear the whistle and shoe squeaks through the phone. “Thought you were gonna take a couple months at the very least.”

“You’ve always been a little too studious,” Isha adds. You can tell she’s smiling, all motherly and sweet, which is a little weird given the context. “Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm. Don’t ask again, though. I might bail.”

“Have you decided on a hunting ground?”

“You sure she’s not the one getting hunted, Isha?” Vicki giggles.

Isha hums. “Hunting, hunted... both work.”

“I’m actually still deciding,” you sigh.

You juggle the two choices in your brain.

The first is a hotel bar attached to The Carlyle on the Upper East Side. Charming wall murals and excellent pisco sour. It’s the kind of fancy that’s not too much—the people dress nice but still laugh with their mouths open. The table charge is worth the music, and although you don’t know who’s playing tonight, you know you’re guaranteed smooth jazz and sophistication.

The second is a cash-only dive between Sixth and Seventh, tended by a former boxing trainer whom Vicki idolizes. Dim lights illuminate a single long counter. Nothing flashy, except there are enough photos on the walls to keep you staring, steeped in history. Its clout means it’s rowdier than the hotel bar, with a potential for crowd that could be good for all your intents and purposes.

Your eyebrows knit.

It’s just picking a place to go. Both are good choices. If nothing feels right, you can leave, simple as that. Try again at the same place next time, or give the other one a shot.

No deadline, no pressure, just fun. Course correction is always an option.

So why does this decision feel so important?

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @tezooks @marshmallowmusing @cigars-and-claws @teresas-lisbon @the-quick-red-fox @atyourmomshouse01 @burkayyy @tutifrutiowo @theworstwolvie @themareverine @grumpyahjumma @youronlyonelilly @blunthoes

[steddieas-shegoes]

i’ll drown it out

for @steddiesongfics using the song ‘ghost of you’ by 5 seconds of summer

rated m | 2295 words | cw: temporary character death, injury, angst | tags: established relationship, secret relationship, wayne munson is a gift, happy ending, grief and mourning, alternate ending to season 4

🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘

steve wakes up every day to eddie’s face.

it’s the only picture of eddie that wayne doesn’t have in his apartment two hours away.

he doesn’t even think anyone knows it’s framed on his bedside table next to one of eddie’s rings and his guitar pick necklace.

all that’s left of eddie munson is whatever memories these items hold.

steve knows it’s dumb to hold onto things that belong to the people who cared most for eddie when he was alive. if dustin knew he had his necklace, he’d lose his shit.

but wayne knew he needed it, knew way more about their situation than he ever let on before eddie was- well, before he was gone.

steve blinks his eyes, adjusting to the sunlight sneaking through the curtains. he has the day off, but wayne’s coming by for lunch, so he should get up and shower.

he puts the ring on his finger, the necklace around his neck, and heads to the bathroom.

he goes through the motions, same as any other day.

he gets off in the shower, thinks about eddie’s hand around his neck while he fucks him from behind. doesn’t cry until he’s washed all the evidence of his own thoughts away.

he brushes his teeth and styles his hair, though he doesn’t put as much product in it anymore. robin says it’s causing hair loss. he doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s probably the mourning of the love of his life.

he hasn’t told her about what eddie was to him at all.

he doesn’t think he can yet. or ever.

he goes downstairs and tidies up as much as he can. it’s not that messy, really. a dish in the sink from last night, his laundry basket full of clean clothes sitting on the couch ready to fold and put away, an empty beer can on the counter that never made it to the recycling bin.

he turns on the stereo to have some noise, to drown out the thought of eddie trying to make a trick shot off the trash can and making it. saying something like “bet i could’ve made the team with moves like that, huh, baby?”

he bites his lip and takes a shaky breath.

when wayne is here, it’s easier. they catch up on things. steve hears about wayne’s job at the mechanic shop and the woman he’s been seeing. steve tells him about the kids and robin, the new movies coming out that look decent.

they talk about eddie. that part is harder, but it’s not bad. steve gets to be open and honest with wayne in ways he can’t be with anyone else and wayne gets to talk about the only family he cared about. it’s nice.

but when wayne leaves, everything feels worse for a bit. he’d never tell wayne that, but it’s true.

for days after, he’s left in a cycle of anger, depression, grief, and jealousy. he ignores everyone and everything as much as he can. he wears eddie’s vest to sleep, to work, around the house. he cries as much as he doesn’t.

robin’s caught him once, when he was crying on the kitchen floor. the dinner he was making was burning. he brushed it off, said he just felt overwhelmed with his parents leaving him the house and having to volunteer. said he was so tired and just needed a break.

she believed him and worked his shift the next day, which gave him the chance to cry in bed and then get over himself.

he doesn’t realize how long he’s been sitting on the couch staring into space until wayne’s ringing the doorbell. steve jumps up and shuts off the music, ignoring the pang in his chest at realizing the tapes had changed to a Metallica one at some point.

everything is great. he’s smiling and laughing at wayne explaining the suburban mom dragging her two kids into the shop to explain what they did to her gas tank and making them help fix it. he’s nodding along as wayne talks about bringing faye to a nice restaurant in Indy for their anniversary next month.

and then things derail.

“sometimes i wish you could meet someone like faye. makes you forget about all the bad parts of life.”

steve knows he doesn’t mean he forgets eddie, but that’s what steve’s fragile heart hears anyway.

“i wouldn’t want someone to make me forget. i don’t want anyone except eddie.”

wayne looks at him like his heart’s breaking for him, but he doesn’t say anything.

at least not until steve starts cleaning up their lunch dishes.

his hand wraps around steve’s wrist as he speaks.

“eddie wouldn’t want ya to be lonely, steve. you can’t be happy with a ghost.”

and that’s just it.

he’s not trying to be happy with a ghost. he knows it’s impossible.

he’s just trying to survive with what he has left.

it’s a difference he knows he can’t explain, especially not to wayne.

so he smiles, nods, and continues with his cleaning while wayne thankfully changes the subject.

one year without eddie down. a lifetime to go.

****

year two is harder, despite everyone saying it gets easier over time.

it gets harder because he can’t explain why he still changes the station when ozzy plays on the radio. it’s harder because the nightmares get worse. it’s hard because waking up to a picture of eddie is cold, and no amount of sweaters and blankets can help him feel warm.

robin figures it out in march of that year.

steve doesn’t notice the date at first, not until dustin calls and asks if he wants to go visit eddie’s grave. he turns it down, says he has to work. it’s the truth, but he knows robin would have covered for him if he asked.

when he shows up to work, dark circles under his eyes, hair limp, robin tugs him to the floor behind the counter.

she pulls the chain of his necklace out of steve’s shirt.

tears spring up in her eyes.

they sit wordlessly for what feels like hours, but could’ve only been a few minutes. the door beeps when someone comes in and robin stands on shaky legs to assist. it gives steve an extra few minutes to get himself together.

she comes over after work and steve tells her everything. he doesn’t even cry until the end.

but he doesn’t stop crying for hours. and it’s really hours this time.

robin holds him, and he cries.

****

years three and four flew by.

especially when the kids graduated.

they aren’t kids anymore and all of them will be off to college in the fall.

after the ceremony, steve stops by eddie’s grave, something he doesn’t usually do in broad daylight. not because he’s ashamed or even scared, but because he knows seeing the reflection of his name on the headstone in the sunlight will send him into a grief-stricken spiral that he doesn’t have time for most days.

he sits with his back against the headstone, pretends it’s eddie’s chest and they’re just in steve’s bed, shooting the shit after making each other see stars.

“you’d be proud of them. they’re all off to do cool shit. nerd shit.” steve leans his head back and looks up at the clouds. “stuff you’d probably get a lot better than me. dustin tried explaining his major to me and i think i blacked out.”

he gulps, feels a sob building in his chest.

“i miss you. you should be here.”

he stays for a while after that, staring up at the sky and hoping that if a tear falls from his face, it at least waters the flowers growing under him.

he gets up eventually, because he has to get the gifts he got for everyone and head to their joint graduation party. joyce asked him to come early so he could help hop with setting up the bonfire.

“i’ll try to stop by again soon. don’t forget about me.”

steve walks away feeling heavier.

****

year five is when shit hits the fan.

robin transfers to a university in chicago and the kids are gone and joyce and hopper decide to travel since all the kids have gone and steve just stays.

wayne and faye get married after years of back and forth on it. wayne wants to, but faye thinks they’re fine without all the “hullabaloo” of a wedding. they compromise on having a small gathering at the courthouse, steve and faye’s two sons as witnesses. they all go out to lunch after.

it’s nice.

steve goes home to his empty house, and stares at the picture of eddie.

he doesn’t know the last time he really looked at this picture. he sees it every day when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. but it’s quick, and he’s half asleep.

as he stares at it now, he sees that there’s a hole near eddie’s stomach. it’s not a burn mark, but it might as well be.

and steve knows for a fucking fact it wasn’t there when he framed the picture.

weird shit happens in hawkins. that’s a fact.

but weird shit hasn’t happened in five years, not since eddie died to make sure weird shit didn’t keep happening.

this is weird shit.

he holds the frame in his hand. it’s not broken. it looks brand new, actually.

but the hole is there nonetheless.

with trembling hands, steve removes the picture from the frame. he thinks he’s seen where professionals can repair minor damage to photographs, but it’s probably not easy to find someone he can trust. not with this.

the hole is exactly where eddie’s wounds were the worst.

that’s just a coincidence, surely.

he brushes his fingertips across eddie’s beaming face, then the hole in the picture.

his side aches, deeply, like when the bats dug their teeth into him and tried to take him before they knew what they were dealing with.

the air feels thick, his chest feels weighted, and then darkness wraps him up in a thick blanket.

the picture falls from his grip as he loses consciousness.

****

“c’mon big boy. stay with me.”

steve blinks his eyes open and immediately wishes that he’d pass out again.

the pain is like nothing he’s felt before, all encompassing, lightning in every nerve-ending.

“sh, sh, sweetheart. it’s okay. we’re getting you help.”

steve can only whimper in response as he feels an explosion of pain in his side.

“is he breathing?” another voice is nearby, but steve can’t tell who it is.

“has the bleeding stopped?” that’s nancy. she’s much closer than the other voice.

he thinks hands are on him, but he’s starting to go blissfully numb.

“steve, open your eyes. we’re almost there.”

it’s eddie. of course it’s eddie.

his big eyes are watery, scared. steve doesn’t like when he’s upset.

he uses everything he has to grab the hand against his side. eddie’s rings are cold, almost a relief against the heat of his own skin.

“glad it’s me, not you,” he manages to say.

and he is.

because he knows that if eddie was the one who died, he’d never make it through.

****

steve hates waking up to noise. he’s told robin a million times to turn off her damn alarm when she stays over.

he blinks his eyes open slowly.

oh.

that’s not robin’s alarm. that’s the heart monitor next to him.

the heart monitor that’s hooked up to him.

he feels a tug in his side and realizes he’s being held together by stitches and a familiar weight on his arm.

eddie’s asleep on his arm.

not dead. not injured.

maybe a little grimy.

but alive.

steve can’t contain the sob he lets out.

it wakes eddie up. he’s never been a heavy sleeper, even when he was exhausted.

“stevie?”

another sob escapes steve. he feels like he’s missed eddie for years, feels like every moment he’s been without eddie passed at a snail’s pace and every second was filled with loneliness.

“you’re okay,” steve rasps out as tears fall down his cheeks, his neck, into his greasy hair.

“i’m okay?! you’re okay!” eddie is squeezing his arm and it hurts, but steve doesn’t care. he doesn’t want eddie to ever stop touching him, even if it hurts. “you almost died! i had control over the situation! what happened to not being heroes?”

steve’s smiling. it hurts to smile. eddie’s loud and his ears are ringing.

he doesn’t care. he’s alive. eddie’s alive.

“stevie? can you hear me?”

“hard not to, honey.”

eddie’s quiet for long enough that steve worries he dreamt him up. it wouldn’t be the first time. or maybe it would be. was any of that real? being without eddie?

“sorry. am i being loud?” eddie whispers and it’s good. everything’s good.

because eddie is here. steve is in pain, but eddie is here. this is real. it’s not a dream or his imagination or a delusion.

“a little.”

“sorry, baby. you scared me.”

“you scared me first.”

steve feels the pull of exhaustion, and he knows whatever is pumping through the needle in his arm is going to knock him back out within a matter of minutes.

“i protected dustin.”

“and i protected you.”

eddie huffs something between a laugh and a sigh. steve’s eyes are closed, but he can picture eddie’s face so clearly.

“you’re gonna owe me a million kisses when you can stay awake for longer than two minutes,” eddie says quietly.

steve smiles.

he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to keep his lips off him now that he knows he doesn’t have to live with the ghost of him.

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 6

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication, miscarriage scare

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Epilogue

Your anatomy scan was in two weeks and the little baby bean was doing well at 18 weeks.

This sugar drink from Hell was just nasty though, oh the things you do for love. You laid a hand over your bump, now a sizable little thing.

It was so cute, even though the bean inside it had caused you so much sickness.

You sipped more of the nasty glucose drink, grimacing the whole time. Finishing this horrible thing in 15 minutes seemed like such a chore.

Screw it, you threw it back like a shot and chugged it.

Ugh, you nearly puked from the taste and the texture but managed to hold it down as you wiped your mouth.

Tossing that bottle into the trash felt like victory.

You couldn’t even drink some water after all that.

What were you going to do for 30 minutes?

Well, you had lots of practice in just staring into space these days.

A memory swallowed you, bringing you back to happier days.

**

“Caleb?”

“Yes sweet girl?”

“Do you think we could play a game?”

“Sure what do you want to play?”

You scrunch your nose before clapping with glee.

“Oh! Can we play truth or dare?”

Caleb laughs before settling down on the couch next to you, pulling on the end of your nose.

“What, you didn’t play that enough in high school pipsqueak?”

“No! I mean I did but you never let us play it together when we were young. You always found some way to deflect.” You pouted a bit but fascination overcame you as you watched the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I couldn’t exactly play it and risk my feelings for you coming out. My friends weren’t exactly kind enough to not dare me to kiss you or some shit like that.”

“Ha! So the truth comes to light!”

He digs his fingers into your waist, making you squeak because it was ticklish.

“And what about it?”

“Can we play now though?”

“Sure squeaks.”

You tap your chin before holding your finger up as if an important thought came to mind.

“I dare you to kiss me!”

“Really? That’s what you use your dare on? I would’ve done that without a dare.” He scoffs and kisses you, holding your chin as he bites your bottom lip a bit before pulling away.

“I’m going to ease you into it!”

“Well I’m not! I dare you to go to the other room and take a naughty photo then send it to my phone, I need a new wallpaper.”

“What?!” You squeak.

He uses his evol to push you up off the couch

“Hop to it squeaks!”

“You’re going to regret that!” You say this as you stomp to the bedroom, you’re going to make his dick so hard that he’ll beg you for release.

**

30 minutes passed as you escaped to your memories. Tears leaking out a bit as the image of Caleb was seared into your mind.

“Hey.”

This jolts you out of your daydream, you sit up jerkily as your legs had fallen asleep. Rubbing your eyes and face to get rid of the evidence, you look towards the speaker.

It’s Zayne, he looks at you with concern.

“Is something wrong? Why are you waiting here?”

“Oh,” you laugh a bit, “I’m fine, just waiting on my glucose test.”

“Oh, have you gotten your blood drawn yet?”

“No, I need to go do that now. Thank you for checking on me.”

Getting up to leave, he stops you before glancing away, not wanting to meet your eyes as he asks

“Can I take you to dinner?”

This instantly brings back the memory of him asking you to marry him almost two weeks ago. You didn’t think it was a good idea, way too soon to think about marriage and not fair to Zayne at all.

“Zayne, maybe that’s not a-“

“I just want to take you to dinner. If it happens to show you that I could be a good choice, that’s great. But I really just want to make sure you’re okay. You’re my friend after all.”

Oh, well that deflates your argument. He’s right, he’s your friend first and you had shut everyone else out.

Maybe going out for once could be good. Get some actual food for the baby instead of a protein bar and a banana.

“Ok, I’ll go to dinner with you. I just have to go get my blood drawn and we can go.” You glance down at your outfit, right. “I’m not really dressed for anything fancy.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He waves his hand “Go finish the test.”

Right, you walk to the lab and finish the test without issue.

Walking back, he’s already clocked out and waiting for you.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can get you a nutritious meal, I have my doubts on how well you are eating at home.”

“Hey! I have a basket right by my bed full of things that I made sure are acceptable foods for the baby.”

“By the bed…”

Oh, you had just given away a small piece of what life had been like for you lately. Too late to take it back now.

Getting into his car and sitting in silence was so awkward. But finding something to talk about to fill the silence was like trying to scale a mountain in the snow.

You didn’t have the energy to waste on small talk these days.

He pulled up in front of a small restaurant surrounded by ivy, kept warm by glass barriers from the winter weather.

He held your door open for you and offered a hand.

You took it, thankful, getting out by yourself even at this early stage of pregnancy was awkward. Getting out of your deep and comfy chair at home was like competing in a triathlon. Zayne didn’t need to know that though.

You and he were seated relatively quickly with menus at a small table in the corner. Which gave you an immediate distraction from his intense gaze.

“Have you seen a therapist?”

“Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?” You glance at his serious face over the menu.

“I should think that the reason would be obvious.” Now holding his hands out with all his fingertips spread out and touching, he leans against them, only his eyes visible.

“No I haven’t.”

“I think you should, it would be beneficial for you and for your baby.”

“I know, my OB gave me some information on therapists and social workers that I could reach out to if I choose to.”

“But you haven’t.” He states this as if it affects him and not you.

“No, now stopping bugging me about it.”

He sighs before laying a hand on yours, the warmth of another’s touch leaving you a bit breathless after not touching anyone in almost a month.

“I’m worried for you, I care about you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Zayne, I… I really can’t think about you in that way right now.”

“That’s not my intention right now. My objective is purely to make sure you are alright, as a friend. If I could help you by marrying you, if that’s what you needed, I would. But it’s not my focus.”

Now you felt really bad, you kept boiling him down to thinking he only wants you as his wife.

He was your friend first and foremost.

“I’m sorry Zayne. I-I will try to reach out to somebody soon ok?”

“Thank you.” He releases your hand and looks at his own menu.

You order a light meal, just some protein and a side. But it was your first real meal in weeks.

Having it next to such a good friend who cared made your heart feel a little warm.

Your baby now able to kick you a bit, leaves you feeling not quite so alone.

You end your dinner with Zayne on a higher note than you would’ve expected it to be. Holding a small box of what you couldn’t finish, you smile at him. It was small but a real genuine smile was on your face.

It lightening your countenance and a bit of that pregnancy glow finally came through.

Snowflakes started falling lightly from the sky.

Landing in your hair and eyelashes, making you look like you truly belonged in the snow.

Zayne looked at you eyes a bit wide before he raised your hand, held it to his lips, brushing against your skin as he whispered

“Goodnight.”

You pulled your hand away, it wasn’t time for that.

“Goodnight Zayne.” You drew your line in the sand.

Turning around, you headed towards that transit center, hoping you could get home before the snow got bad.

Coming home to Caleb’s empty house made you feel guilty. You hadn’t even done anything, you’d set the boundary but you still felt a bit dirty.

Zayne was wonderful but he wasn’t for you. He deserved a girl who loved him with all her heart. Who wouldn’t forever look to the stars for a love that wasn’t ever coming home.

Whose belly wasn’t swollen with the evidence of another man’s love.

But the guilt rose in your throat, choking you. You felt gasping for breath, you sat heavily on the floor next to the bed. You gulped your water bottle but the room still spun.

Caleb, Caleb grounded you.

You fumbled as you pulled your phone out, turning on the camera. Talking to him like this, it made you feel like he was still listening and here with you somehow.

So you gasped and sobbed into the camera.

“Caleb! I can’t breathe! You aren’t here with me and I feel like I’m drowning!”

Getting this out, you managed to suck a few Dee breaths in. Calming down as you imagined him on the other side.

“I went to dinner with Zayne tonight. You know he asked me to marry him? He said he wanted to help somehow….”

You laugh as the absurdity of it hits you.

“Who’d want to marry me? You didn’t, I wasn’t even your girlfriend.”

You glare at your clenched hand.

“Why do I feel so guilty? I love you so much but you’re gone so why is it eating me up?”

You look at your lap but something strange captures your eye. Your dress had ridden up and you thought you saw a flash of red.

“What in the world?”

You set the phone down, forgetting to stop recording.

“Is that blood?”

Lifting your dress, you found your suspicions to be correct, blood in between your thighs. Panic sets in as the world collapses around you.

Tags:@gojosballsack69 @apple-lov3r @dinochocochip @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier

@his-ocean-emissary @rosalyne08 @xaviers-pookie-bear @tsunamethyst @thejujvtsupost @cherrybeomgyu

[woundedsoul12]

Thursday Bangers Time!

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week's Banger just really jumped out and spoke to me so I hope it does the same for you. I am getting suggestions for weekly bangers and I love that and am adding them to the request line.

No matter what happens, he cannot come between us again I know we're better than friends- Million Dollar Baby by Tommy Richman

No pressure tagging @himluv @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @serensama @whispersleo @tarasmom @hedwigoprah @becausedragonage @kindlyfeline @davrinsleftpectoral @fenrelmercar @plasticfreckles @kai-dimir @teamtakagi @a-mumbling-nerd @fiberpunk027 @larknnightingale @jenn2d2 @hyperions-light @tkwritesdumbassassins @feelslikepants @trash-nerd @cute-ellyna @brennacedria @lottiesnotebook @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @operative-arrow @librivore42 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @fireheartedpup @mikylechase @bonesandivy @vime5 @notyourmamasdeerbat @griffongrey @master-of-the-elements @chaoslifeforme @carrieing0n @serstolas @beachhotdog @nirikeehan @basedonconjecture @bygonesigh

And if you are reading this...

You

Reminder if you want to be added/removed from the weekly tag list just let me know. Also please tag me when you post your bangers I love to read and share them (though I also browse the tag)

Let's go a little Lenashur this week. From my The Dragon's Den series. Where a broken-hearted Lena has returned home to Ashur after Lucanis broke up with her. Special thank you to @redheadsramblings for a line I stole from one of her comments

“Ashur-”

The Shadow Dragon leader looked up from his desk as the door creaked open. Revealing his smallest dragon, his little assassin, with rumpled parchment clutched in hand. His jaw already clenching as he saw her red rimmed eyes. Her lip trembling as he closed the space between them in three strides. Not pausing as he pulled her into the safety of his arms. Where she belonged, would always have a home, as a fresh wave of tears began to fall.

“Shhh, whatever it is I'm here,” he murmured gently against her hair as she clung to him.

He wanted to scream in frustration, but it wouldn't help the situation. It had been a week, an entire seven days since his Rook had her last breakdown. Since they stood on the roof and he forgave her. Since she kissed him softly through the leather of his mask.

It had gone no further and he was happy enough with his little slice of heaven. She needed time. Support. His fragile Lena healing the pain that bastard had caused. But Ashur would always be there to catch her. Love her. As he had silently done for years, and would continue for decades more.

If he didn't finally lose his control and kill the Crow for what he had done. The Divine was supposed to show mercy above all else, but some sins were beyond forgiveness.

Especially when she pressed the note against his armoured chest. A shudder running through her as she took a ragged breath. “He- wrote to me,” she whispered as her gaze fixed on the ground. “He wants me to come to Treviso. To- talk about what happened.”

He was glad he wore his mask, though it did little to hide the growl that rumbled from his chest. And the low curse of venhedis that escaped him when she jumped from the harsh sound and obvious anger radiating from him. Fear in her eyes that he hated to be the cause of as she subtly pulled away.

“Little assassin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-” He attempted to reach for her but she sidestepped him. Her head clearer now that she was no longer wrapped in his arms.

“It's alright,” she brushed off as she stuffed her emotions back down. Hiding from him for the first time since her return to Minrathous. “I will deal with this.”

It wasn't Lucanis that finally broke his careful leash on his emotions, it was her. The coldness in her eyes as she turned from him. The stiffness to her shoulders as she walked towards the door.

There was only so much one man could endure. So much understanding he could give. The Divine spoke for the Heavens, but he needed someone on earth to keep him grounded. And now that his anchor had returned to him, he was in danger of losing her once more.

“Rook.” Her name was a command, an order from his lips. A tone he rarely used with his little assassin, and one that had her freezing in her tracks.

“Yes boss?” She didn't hide her annoyance, and he didn't care. Desperation made men crazy, as did fiery women with pouty lips and broken hearts.

“Look little assassin,” he began in a calmer tone as her body visibly relaxed. “I have not said much these last few weeks regarding that Crow, and I feel I have been very understanding.”

She cast a look of uncertainty over her shoulder at him as he spoke. A call that he answered as he stepped forward and gloved fingers reached out to dance along her jaw. “We are friends, Lena. Better than friends if we will both be honest with each other.” She licked her lips then, a subtle agreement that made his heart thunder in his ears.

“I want no secrets between us,” he said as he leaned forward. Her eyes fluttered closed as his words echoed into her very soul. “I love you, amate. I always have. And while I support whatever decision you make, I'm not sure how much more my heart can take if you return to him.” It was true. He would always be there as her friend, but a return to Lucanis would be the end for anything further between the two of them.

She smiled then. A warmth as if she knew a secret she was about to share. Turning to reach up as she unclasped the buckle of his mask. Calloused fingers tracing the angles of his face. Until her thumb came to the fullness of his lips and he sucked in a breath.

“Good,” she replied with a slight grin as the last of the tension finally left her. “I just needed to hear that. That- you would never let him come between us again. That you would protect me. Even from myself.”

She was still fragile, but he made her strong. Enough that she could face the days ahead. That she could continue to heal. That she could reach out for something new. Something she had been craving for much longer than she had allowed herself to realize.

She kissed him then. A full press of her mouth to his that was gentle at first, but grew more hungry as he pulled her against his chest and greedily took all that she offered. Only stopping when a soft whimper escaped her. Satisfied when he looked down to see her lips swollen and her eyes unfocused.

“I promise little assassin,” he chanted as his lips ghosted a soothing train across her brow, “No one will ever take you from me again.”

[fkinkindagauche]

Slutty Little Mouse

For @steddiesmuttyseptember week 3 prompt "sneaking around".

Rating: Explicit | WC: 1376 | CW: none | Tags: blow jobs, gags

Steve was trying so hard to fall asleep. He’d gone through his nightly routine, which had become something like a religious ritual at this point - turn off the TV by 9pm, wash his face and brush his teeth, go through a series of stretches and calisthenics, then sit quietly in his room for an hour reading before climbing into bed and shutting his eyes. Some nights it worked. Most nights it didn’t. 

He had tried to keep his eyes shut, forcing himself into sleep, but at some point he had opened them and was now staring at the ceiling, thinking. You’d think that he would be reliving memories of torture at the hands of Russians or horrible extradimensional monsters, but he wasn’t. He was thinking about how his life had effectively stalled - a 20 year old still living with his parents, working at Family Video with no immediate plans to branch out beyond that. 

He sighed, shifting from his back to his side, barely muffling a scream when he saw a figure looming in his window. The figure tapped a few times, and Steve gradually made out the wild hair and excited smile of Eddie Munson. 

Steve scrambled out of his bed and over to the window, pulling it open. Eddie was standing precariously on the roof of the Harringtons’ garage. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve hissed. “My parents are, like, right down the hall!”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s face in his hands and planted a wet kiss on his lips. “Came to keep you company,” he said, too loudly, and Steve shushed him while blushing. 

“Sorry,” Eddie whispered, looking not sorry at all. 

“How’d you know I wouldn’t be asleep?” 

Eddie gave him a disappointed look, like Steve was being deliberately obtuse. “You can never sleep, Stevie.” 

Steve huffed, and looked past Eddie at the street below.

“Get inside, someone’s gonna see you,” he said, yanking on Eddie’s arm. Eddie spilled in through the window, making more noise than Steve would have liked.

“How’d you even get up on the roof?” Steve whispered once Eddie had righted himself. 

“Climbed the trash cans. I’m very athletic.”

Steve snorted. “I can’t believe you didn’t knock them over and wake up the whole neighborhood.”

Eddie put a hand to his chest in mock affront. “Baby, you wound me.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you came over,” he whispered. “We can barely even talk with my parents right there.”

“We don’t need to talk,” Eddie said, wiggling his eyebrows, and letting his eyes rake down Steve’s body. Steve was in only his boxers, chest bare. 

“We definitely can’t do anything else,” Steve replied.

“You know what always makes you fall asleep?” 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. He could see where this was going, but decided to play along. “No, Eddie, what?”

Eddie stepped toward him, getting in his space.

"When I blow you and then we cuddle."

"I think I’m constitutionally incapable of letting you blow me with my parents right down the hall. You know how loud I am," Steve said, pleading. 

"I do know," Eddie said, stepping closer to Steve. "And I love it. Every single sound I wring out of you should win a fucking Grammy. But I'm sure you can be quiet."

Steve leaned into Eddie's warmth, chronically touch-starved. "I'm not sure I can be quiet." 

Eddie reached for his back pocket, pulling out his black bandana. "We could keep you quiet," he suggested, and Steve shivered, feeling his cock start to fill out. The idea of being gagged by Eddie was more arousing than he would have anticipated.

“So you came over here just to blow me to sleep?” Steve asked, trying to shift the focus away from his reaction to the gag.

“Yes, absolutely,” Eddie replied. “You need your beauty sleep.”

Steve was a weak man. He turned and walked back over to his bed. It was a twin, and not really big enough for two adult men, but he and Eddie liked to latch onto each other like two demented starfish so space wasn’t much of an issue. 

“Take off your jacket and jeans,” Steve said. 

Eddie saluted him. “Yes, sir.” He peeled off his jeans and threw his jacket onto the floor, following Steve over to the bed. Steve got under the covers and held them up for Eddie to follow.

Eddie got under the covers, putting the bandana on the bedside table, and instantly moved into Steve’s space, draping his whole body over Steve’s and shoving his face into Steve’s neck to kiss him there.

Steve laughed and tried to push him away. “That tickles,” he whispered, trying not to laugh too loudly. Eddie pushed himself up on his elbows and smiled down at Steve, putting those mind-altering dimples on full display. Steve leaned forward to kiss him, and Eddie reciprocated, pushing Steve back down onto the bed. He licked at Steve’s lips and Steve happily opened them, tangling his tongue with Eddie’s. 

Eddie pressed his hips down into Steve and Steve could feel his hard cock pressed against his thigh. He let out a breathy little moan as Eddie slid a thigh in between his legs, pressing it up into Steve’s cock.

“You gonna need the gag already, baby?” Eddie asked, smirking, and Steve moaned again at the thought of the gag. “Oh, you like that,” Eddie said, delighted. He reached over to the bedside table and picked up the bandana. “Open up?” Eddie stuffed the bandana in his mouth roughly, and Steve bucked his hips up into Eddie’s thigh.

“Good boy,” Eddie said, kissing Steve’s cheek. Steve tried to moan at the praise, but it was thankfully muffled now. “That’s better,” Eddie said. “Quiet as a slutty little mouse.” Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie started to kiss down his body, spending a few minutes licking and sucking over his pecs and nipples, which always made Steve outrageously horny. Eddie eventually kept moving south, trailing kisses over Steve’s abdomen. When he got to the waistband of Steve’s boxers he pulled them down, freeing Steve’s cock.

Eddie pressed a kiss onto the head of his cock, sticking his tongue out to lick up the precum at his slit, then moving away to kiss his inner thighs. Steve let out a muffled whine and shifted his hips. Eddie took pity on him and moved back to Steve’s cock, sucking the head into his mouth.

He played with the head of Steve’s cock for a few moments, running his tongue around the glans, sucking lightly, before moving his mouth further down his shaft. He took Steve in most of the way, his hand holding the base of Steve’s cock, and started to bob his head gently up and down. Steve was moaning with abandon now, very glad to have the bandana in his mouth muffling all the noise. 

Eddie moved his hand away and took Steve into his throat, swallowing against his gag reflex to fit Steve all the way. Steve started to thrust up into Eddie’s mouth in time with Eddie’s movements, and felt his orgasm start to build. Eddie could feel it, too, pulling off of Steve for a moment to look up and say, “Come in my mouth, baby.”

That was all it took; the moment Eddie got Steve back in his mouth he was coming, his normally loud cries muffled behind the bandana. Eddie swallowed all of his cum, gently working Steve’s dick with his hand until he was spent. 

He moved up Steve’s body and reached out to pull the bandana from Steve’s mouth. “Sleepy now, darling?” Eddie asked. 

Steve nodded, then noticed Eddie’s cock still hard against his thigh. “What ‘bout you?” he asked, voice already heavy with oncoming sleep. Eddie shifted off of Steve, laying on his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’m fine. You just go to sleep,” Eddie said, kissing Steve’s temple. 

If Steve hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have put up a fight, but he could finally feel himself starting to sink into blissful darkness. He turned over onto his side with his back against Eddie’s chest, letting Eddie spoon him.

“Love you, Eds,” he said sleepily. 

“Love you, too, mouse,” Eddie replied, and Steve drifted off to sleep.

[z0mbbiegvrl]

FEEL MY LOVE

featuring: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

warnings: body image insecurity, internalized self-criticism, fluff and emotional comfort, established relationship nsfw (oral sex (f! receiving), soft dom!Jungkook, first time sexual intimacy (but reader is not a virgin), body worship and heavy praise, Jungkook asks for clear consent)

word count: 963

synopsis: quiet summer night at your boyfriend's house, a playful swim turns vulnerable when your insecurities surface beneath the weight of wet clothes and old self-doubt. But Jungkook sees through it, reminding you with every kiss that you’ve always been breathtaking.

masterlist link: summer challenge 2025

tags: @carrotheadedtoast @steponupbabe @breakmeoff (as always, dm me or leave a comment if you’d like to be tagged for the rest of this project)

an: seventh day of the summer challenge!! went a little more personal with this one. hope you enjoy this one!!!

The air was warm and sticky with summer. Jungkook’s house was glowing gently, lanterns around the pool casting flickers across the water’s surface. It was calm here. No cameras, no chaos. Just him, and you, and a quiet playlist drifting through the open windows.

He’d invited you over for a simple night in: some takeout, a few dumb games, swimming if you felt like it. And you did, mostly because he was already peeling off his shirt, grinning like a golden retriever as he cannonballed into the deep end.

You laughed, letting him splash you with the water, before finally giving in. But you didn’t undress. You hadn’t worn a swimsuit anyway. Just shorts and a tee. Something safe. Something that wouldn’t cling too tightly. But now, soaked from the shoulders down, the cotton hugged every inch of you. The wet fabric was defined instead of hidden.

But now, with your clothes plastered to your body and every curve outlined, the joy had faded from your smile. You shifted under the surface, trying to pull your shirt away from your stomach, hoping the movement would make it look looser. It didn’t help. Nothing ever really did. You tried not to fidget, but your hands kept tugging at the hem of your shirt, your shorts. Tried to stretch the fabric out. Create space. Disappear.

Jungkook noticed.

He’d been floating on his back, head tilted to look at the stars, but the second he heard the tension in your sigh, he flipped upright. He swam over, slow and easy, until he was right in front of you.

“Hey,” he said gently, brushing hair from your face. “You okay?”

You swallowed. Nodded. “Yeah. Just cold.”

“You sure?” He tilted his head, eyes scanning you with more care than curiosity. 

“You’ve been pulling at your shirt for, like, ten minutes.”

Heat burned behind your cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Baby.”

You blinked fast, hating how your throat burned. “I just… don’t like how I look right now…”

Something in his expression cracked open, something raw and aching. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I know,” you whispered. “It’s not something I like saying out loud.”

Jungkook moved closer, his hands gently resting on your waist under the water. “You don’t have to hide from me. Ever.”

Your chest felt tight. “It’s not about you. I’ve just felt like this forever. And now I’m here, in your pool, looking like a wet towel, and I just-”

“Hey,” he cut in softly. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

You started to protest, but he leaned in, forehead to yours.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook said. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. The way you move, the way you laugh…it’s magic. You could wear a trash bag and I’d still think you’re perfect.”

Your lip trembled. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss the edge of your jaw. “Listen to me,” he murmured. “You are so fucking beautiful. I love everything about you. Your laugh, your body, your heart. I wish you could see what I see.”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Let me show you?”

Your eyes met his, wide and unsure, but the affection in his gaze made it easier to breathe.

You nodded.

His smile was soft and reverent as he helped you to the pool’s edge. You sat on the warm tile, dripping, the moonlight kissing your skin.

Jungkook moved between your knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he kissed every inch he could reach. “God, baby, your legs… You’re unreal.”

Your breath caught as he hooked his fingers into your shorts, glancing up. “Still okay?”

You nodded.

He peeled them down slowly, kissing his way up your thighs again. Your panties clung to you, already wet from the pool and maybe from something else too. His eyes darkened.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, breath brushing the inside of your leg. “Can I taste you?”

You paused for a second, you weren’t a virgin by any means, but you and Jungkook hadn’t gone anything past heavy petting and make-outs. You took a breath and nodded again, almost too fast, breathless.

Jungkook kissed your clothed cunt before, then gently pulled your underwear down, biting his lip as he did so. He groaned softly under his breath when he saw you, eyes wide with something close to awe.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

And then his mouth was on you—warm, patient, tongue exploring you like he’d dreamed of this a thousand times. He moaned softly as he worked you open, holding your thighs gently as if they were something holy. He wasn’t rushed. He wasn’t messy. He was worshipful, taking his time to learn what made your legs tremble, what made you gasp, what made your fingers curl into the tile.

“Oh- don’t stop.” Your fingers found his hair, tugging helplessly as he licked and sucked your buzzing clit, murmuring praises between breaths.

“You taste so sweet.”

You came with a cry, legs tightening around his shoulders, your fingers buried in his hair. He didn’t stop until your thighs trembled from oversensitivity, until you were whimpering his name and pulling away.

“You’re shaking, god, I love that.”

He finally stood, eyes shining, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grinning like a man who had just seen heaven.

“I could die doing that,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I’d die happy.”

You laughed, dazed and flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your lips. “And I meant every word. You’re beautiful. You always have been.”

And in that moment, sitting half-naked on the edge of a pool, heart thudding in your chest, you believed him.

[baby-the-crybaby]

Whole Lotta Love

marvel zombie apocalypse au

Bucky x Reader (if you squint)

Bucky is convinced to loot a strip club in a post apocalyptic society. Proximity brings about a lewd dream of his travel partner.

Tags: 18+ mature content!! Minors DNI!!! / almost smut?? / wet dream / making out / dry humping / stripper (if you squint again) / heavy flirting / Bucky smoking cigarettes / no zombies in this one, just post apocalyptic stuff / Bucky has a big crush on the reader / no use of Y/N, just a fake name

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: Just a little sneak peak for something else I’m working on. Something that’s been playing in my mind over and over. Watching Civil War and playing The Last of Us at the same time isn’t a good combo if you don’t plan on being obsessed.

-

“You know, Lucky, you oughta thank me,” Sonya said with a coy tone as the two of them kicked through dust and trash while ignoring the blatantly obvious stages set with poles around them.

A smirk teased Bucky’s lips. He found it humorous that Sonya continued to call him ‘John Lucky,’ refusing to question the obvious fake name. He knelt down to pick up a stray flyer that pictured one of the presumed, most likely dead, dancers of the club, winking at him as she pushed her breasts together above the words, “GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS!”

His eyes trailed from the woman on the flyer up to Sonya, and she seemingly tensed as if she wasn’t prepared for the sparkle in his blue eyes. He showed her the picture and responded with a tone that matched her own, “For the pseudo porn? You’re my hero.”

Sonya rolled her eyes as she turned away from him to continue searching the place with him soon following. Most doors were broken off the hinges, locked, or barricaded locking the two of them in the main room. The bar was seemingly empty, even after the second and third search. Sonya grew frustrated that there was nothing, not even a stale breadcrumb. She walked over to one of the locked doors, her intentions to break it open clear from the forceful way she grabbed the handle.

Bucky grabbed her wrist, the leather of his glove scrunching with the squeeze. He lightly pulled her back, reminding her, “Careful.”

Her lips formed a thin line, clearly not entertained by his concern. She turned back to the door as he dropped her hand, his fingers brushing on her wrist as if that would convince her to just turn away. Perhaps it was a bit much to worry about a locked door, to worry that she may be the first one attacked if something hostile hid behind the mahogany, or to worry that she might cry if there was a body lying on the floor. He pushed her to the side to grab the handle instead, slamming his vibranium arm against the door two times before it swung open, pulling him inside.

Sonya waited a moment to listen for anything crawling inside or for smells to waft past her, but when nothing came to meet her senses, she moved past Bucky inside. And as always, he followed.

The room stretched with lockers lining each side and mirrors sat at the end. No attackers, no bodies. A safe space in a place once deemed a sinful gateway. Sonya gleefully ran to the lockers, eager to loot them for all their worth. Bucky let her have her fun as he walked over to the mirrors, imagining the dancers lined up in front of them fixing their makeup, curling their hair, giggling before their time on stage. He lifted a picture that was slid into the side of the mirror of a young girl with a fat baby. Her smile was big, her eyes bright. Despite the world they lived in, he hoped they were okay.

Sonya snorted, pulling his attention away from his futile hope. She reached into one of the lockers and pulled out one of the sets the dancer left behind in the chaos of the outbreak. He wanted to roll his eyes at her smirk as she held up a red latex one piece, with a skirt right over the thong that resembled more of a string than anything. Sonya lifted the thong and laughed at it.

“This would go up their ass? How can you dance like that?”

“Why are you touching it?”

“You’re right,” She said immediately, throwing the outfit back into the locker all together. She wiped her hand on her pants, trying to remove the germs as if it mattered at this point.

Bucky chuckled, dropping his head as it shook.

Sonya had stripped the strip club down till there was nothing left, but distant memories to imagine. Bucky sat in a cushioned chair as she dropped all the things she had collected in her search. A jacket, three bottles of beer, a box of granola bars, along with some bags of chips. God bless dancers and their need to replenish their energy.

She walked out of another room Bucky broke into for her, holding a discarded pair of pants. She waved the pants in front of him with a smug grin. He looked back at her, an amused eyebrow cocking up for a lack of a better phrase in a strip club.

She placed a hand on her hip and said with too much pride, “I’m waiting, John.”

Bucky leaned back into his chair, his fingers drumming along the edge of the arm rests. He scoffed amusedly, “For what?”

“A, ‘Wow Sonya, you are an absolute genius for coming in here,’” She paused for a moment, her smile only growing. “Well?”

Moving his hand to hold his head up, Bucky finally rolled his eyes and said, “Thank you, Sonya. It was smart to come in here. I guess even in the apocalypse, prejudice against these kinds of places still exist.”

Sonya opened her mouth for some snarky comment to continue feeding her ego, but she stopped when she felt something in the pants she was still holding onto, “Oh? Is there something in your pocket or are you just—oh my god…”

Bucky sat up as her eyes found what was sitting in the discarded pants. Her eyes were wide, making him nervous. Was it a dead rat and she was going to get sick? Was it money and she was stuck in the realization that it doesn’t matter anymore? He shifted nervously in his seat, “What is it? More food?”

“No…better,” She shoved her hand into the pocket and frantically pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. “Cigarettes.”

Bucky sighed with slight annoyance as she opened the pack, pulling out one of the crumpled cigarettes. He teased her, “How are you supposed to light it?”

Her eyes glanced down at his vibranium arm, her lips curling into a smirk as if she thought she was a genius or she was trying to stifle a laugh. Knowing Sonya, it was most likely both. He often found her humor enjoyable, but this didn’t even crack a half smile.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! Lighten up, Lucky!” She said with another giggle at her unintentional pun.

Bucky woke up within the next hour, taking a breath of seemingly fresh air for the first time in five years. Groaning, his eyes adjusted to the bright red lights surrounding the main stage he was seated in front of. A distant hum of Led Zeppelin's ‘Whole Lotta Love’ drummed through the speakers, but were drowned out by the distant clack of stilettos walking down the stage. The lights illuminated her soft thighs, her flesh bare to him up to her hip. He knew it was wrong to stare, but with her body dressed in underwear made from the brightest diamonds forming the shapes of butterflies around her nipples, he was left with no choice. He swallowed nervously, shifting in his seat as she leaned against the pole.

“Sonya…” He managed to say, despite it coming out as a desperate, whispered plea. “What are you…”

She circled the pole, her head turning over her shoulder so her eyes could never leave his, despite them being glued to her sparkling skin. The sweet tune played by the jewels jingling on her hips muted with his gasp as her back side came into view. He immediately looked away, overwhelmed by the sight. Funny how she laughed at the thong earlier, but seemed fine slipping into one of her own.

“I look good, right?” Sonya teasingly cooed with her smug smirk.

Bucky huffed a laugh, his eyes darting between her and the floor, still unsure of the rules of staring. He knew she was expecting some rebuttal, some remark that threw her question back at her. The racing heart in his throat, however, made it difficult to provide.

The sound of Sonya’s heels moving down the stage drew his attention back to her, as if it had ever left. The clack of each step muffled as she stepped onto the carpeted floor. He shifted in the chair again, tensing as if to prepare for an attack. Then her hand rested on his shoulder, gently pushing him to lay back in the chair. His eyes found her’s for the first time since she came into his view, and he was able to relax.

“You gonna dance for me?” He asked, his voice still strained as his lips curled into a playful smirk.

Sonya scoffed, “Fuck no. We both know that’s not what you want.”

Her leg lifted over his to stand over his lap. His hands instinctively moved to hold her thighs, but he hesitated, his fingers lightly brushing against them. She didn’t move away or flinch, enticing him to hold her, press his palms to her skin and run them up to her hips.

“Yeah? What do I want then?” Bucky said, his breath tickling her abdomen.

Sonya’s smile only grew as he pulled her down to his lap, her jewels pooling between them. Her slim fingers ran over his chest, moving up to push off his jacket before resting her arms on his shoulders. They stared at each other for a moment, only breathing, waiting for some sign, some signal for permission.

She laughed, “You’re gonna make me say it?”

“I think we’re past the point of words, babe,” He muttered, his focus singled in on her lips, the way they smiled with a hint of excitement before they pursed together on his.

There was not a moment of peace before the passion drowned everything around them. Her fingers were in his hair, his hands ran up her back slipping under the strand of jewels that clasped the bra together, their chests pressed together as they moved in sync against each other. Sonya opened her mouth with a quiet moan and Bucky seized the moment to slip his tongue and tangle with her’s. He pushed her head closer to his, as if it could be any closer, the cool vibranium of his hand tangling in her hair.

He tried to pull away, but she was eager to keep his lips on her’s, trapping him with quick pecks. His chuckle broke the kiss giving him a chance to move his lips to her cheek down to her jaw then neck. A quiet gasp was elicited from her throat from his warm lips trying to kiss every inch of flesh available to him. He bunched her teased hair in his hand while he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

Bucky groaned, growing drunk on her vanilla scent, “God…you smell amazing…”

Sonya lightly laughed as his free hand used her ass as a steering wheel against his crotch. The desire to dissolve the tension that had been choking them since their time in the subway drove his intentions beyond the point of wild. He kissed her collarbone and nipped her skin down to the tops of her breasts.

She pushed her hips down on him and whispered into his ear, “James…”

Bucky woke up with a startled snort, his eyes widening into the reality that was dim with no Led Zeppelin and no butterfly bras made of diamonds. His wide eyes found the real Sonya, dirty and clearly worried.

“You good?” She asked with a concerned tone while slowly pushing a chip in her mouth, already breaking her promise on saving the rations they found. “Another rough dream?”

Bucky took a deep breath to collect himself, bring himself back to life, and remove himself from the heavenly fantasy that was slowly dissipating in his mind. He rose from the chair with such speed, Sonya stumbled back.

He ran his hand through his hair and huffed, “I need to step outside.” However, as he made his way to their quickly set up barricade, he turned back on his heels and stormed towards her. He grabbed her head and took a long sniff of her hair. “You smell like shit.”

As he walked off, Sonya was left in an offended, stunned silence, looking around the room as if there was an audience around her who had just witnessed the same thing.

Bucky pulled his jacket tighter around him as the crisp cool air of the night hugged any exposed skin. He pressed the pad of his thumb between his brows, trying to rub the incessant headache brought on by a choking desire to return to that dream, to smell her vanilla skin and feel the promise of her touch. He thought, no, he knew he should just forget it or ignore it for the rest of the time they traveled together, but it felt so real. Watching his hand, he could still feel her hip filling his palm.

“Hey, what the fuck—”

“Sonya, listen,” He turned, but he wasn’t ready to face her. Wasn’t ready to fully sit with the fact that she was the one in his dream, riding his lap, and that in this moment he wished it was real. “I just need a second to breathe, to cool off…”

She was quiet for a second before digging into her pocket to pull out the pack of cigarettes she found. She placed one between her lips and stood there for a moment trying to get a lighter to kick up a flame. He watched her struggle, grunting as she practically throttled the small lighter only to get a weak spark in response.

“It was in the other pocket,” She explained. Just as Bucky was brought to chuckle, the lighter produced a small enough flame to burn the cigarette. She cheered, “Huzzah!”

Smoke blew between them, blurring the vast space he created. His shoes shifted on the gravel and loose broken glass. He kicked a loose rock before walking over to the wall, leaning against it, and sliding down it. She soon followed suit, taking the empty space beside him. She still kept a few inches between them, in case he snapped again. She held out the cigarette towards him which he appreciatively accepted.

Taking a long drag, he blew the smoke out with a sigh, “You’ll hate me.”

Sonya laughed, “Did you kill me?”

Bucky shook his head, his mouth suddenly going dry not just from the smoke, “Worse…I kissed you.”

He watched her surprised reaction, her flushed cheeks as he offered her back the cigarette. She was silent for a moment before snorting, “Is that it?”

He shrugged, “It would’ve…gone further…but you said my name and it brought me back here.”

“John Lucky?”

The fake name brought a smile he couldn’t refuse. He huffed another laugh, dropping his head back against the pad of his thumb. Sonya chuckled as well and soon enough the two of them were laughing while pausing in between for a smoke break.

Once the laughter died, she nudged into him and rolled her eyes, “I’ve had like five sex dreams about you, so if anyone should be embarrassed…”

“Five?”

“Or less…maybe more,” She said, her eyes studying his face to see if it bothered him. “I mean, can you blame me? You’re the first guy that hasn’t tried to kill me in five years. It’s just…biology at this point.”

“Biology?” Bucky said with a teasing tone, raising a brow. “That’s what you would call this?”

“This?” She responded with the same teasing tone.

The conversation died then and was replaced with their comfortable eye contact that told them more about each other than their words ever could. Bucky thought that they might never get past the point of eye contact, but at least he could freely dream about what it could be like. His eyes flicked down to her lips and he watched as her shoulders tensed with anticipation.

Sonya held out the cigarette to him again, the last smoke before it ran to the butt. He gladly accepted it from her fingers, taking the last hit before flicking it away with the rest of the trash gathered on the ground. He blew the smoke out slowly while his head leaned back against the wall. Her eyes slowly teared from his face to match his posture against the wall.

“So, what is your name?”

[elfqueen006]

Siren

Continuation of "Trash"

Tags: drunk Joseph, emotions a lot of emotions, non-consentual touching, unrequited love

---

You dragged a hooting Joseph through your apartment door, struggling to keep his arm slung over his shoulder. 

“What a night, huh?” he slurred.

“Yeah,” you turned halfway to shut the door behind you. You advised him to lean on you while you took a second to think. 

You seriously considered just tossing him on the couch and calling it a night. Though with the way he’s practically thrashing right now, you doubt it could handle him. You’d come in to find it knocked over or the legs broken come morning.

Instead, you opted for his bedroom. It was more comfortable, and stronger as to hold his large frame.

Besides, what’s a few more seconds of a sore shoulder?

Guiding him along down the hallway, you then reached his door, which you kicked open. And now that you’re inside his room, you take the opportunity to look around. You’ve never actually been inside, only ever catching short glimpses when he had a guest over before he pulled them inside for half a day of debaucherous sex.

There wasn’t a lot inside, just the closet, a dresser with no defining features other than a smeared vanity mirror and an ashtray sitting on top of it. And of course, there was a bed set with the comforter you lent him, but no sheets.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed bedsheets?” You asked, voice low so as not to rattle him up or excite a headache.

He half shrugged, “It doesn’t bother me none…”

You lead him around to his bed and get him out of his jacket. Easing him down to sit, you then lift up each leg of his to pull off his boots. They have a very pretty design of a rose and some other etchings on each side of them. He told you once they were his most prized possessions. And you wouldn’t be surprised if he were serious.

“Alright, come here,” you take a hold of his hand, and it's massive over your own. Massive and hairy. Even a guy like him has lonely nights.

You push him up the bed lightly and guide him down by the back of his neck. 

“Theeere you go.”

Once he’s settled, you turn to leave, but he doesn’t let go of your hand, and in a split second you're pulled back and tumbling over his large frame. You grunt when you land face first in the pit of his arm.

“Jesus, Joseph!” You exclaimed.

You tried to get up again, but he just pulled you back down. You’re brought up to where your back is to his chest and you straddle one of his thick legs. He wrapped both of his strong arms around your torso.

Joseph rested his head on your neck and sang your name, “Where you goiiing?”

You huffed, “To my own room, Jo.”

“You don’t gotta do that,” He mutters, “Whatcha wanna do that for?”

“I like my own space.” You replied plainly.

“I like your own space.”

You pushed and struggled against his body, but he’s way too strong for you. It’s admittedly a bit frightening, especially when he’s in this state.

He pressed his lips into your neck and your face burns hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

“What are you doing?!”

Joseph snickered, “What am I doing?” he buried his nose in your hair, sniffing deeply, “You smell good.”

“Well you stink.” And that was the truth, despite your attempt to shield your embarrassment with annoyance. His breath smelled of booze. 

“Stop being mean to me,” he said, falling back onto the mattress again. And with no other choice, you follow. “Stay with me.”

He’s never been this close before. You’ve had your quiet moments with him before. And you’ve lived together long enough that he became comfortable with telling you a few breakup stories and trauma dumps. You even told him a few of your own in turn.

But it never escalated. Nothing changed.

“Stay with me, baby.” Joseph slurred.

For seemingly no reason, you felt tears prick your eyes. “No, Joseph.”

“I’ll…make you…breakfast…”

You shifted a bit to face him. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open in his drunken stupor. He looked so pretty while he slept. Wavy hair falling over his brow, lashes fluttering slightly from the struggle to stay in a dream and to open his eyes. Meanwhile, you were wide awake, feeling like a sailor being led to the rocks.

Breakfast did sound good in the morning, though.

[writebackatya]

Rating: G for GLOMGOLD

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Other

Fandoms: DuckTales (2017), FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD

Relationships: Flintheart GLOMGOLD/All Da Ladies

Characters: FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD

Additional Tags: True Story, It Really Happened, How Do You Like That Scrooge!? There’s a published story about me now!!

Our Man Flintheart Glomgold!

Flintheart Glomgold

Summary:

Flintheart Glomgold saves Duckburg from being THE WORST CITY EVER!! Special Thanks to martian Gibbous for beta reading for me

Once upon a time there was a HUGE city called Duckburg and there lived a rich, handsome, sexy, Scottish Duck named FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD™️©️®️ who was everyone’s favorite billionaire!

There was one problem tho! He was not the richest duck in the world thanks to a more rich, less handsome, not even sexy, barely even Scottish duck named Scrooge McDuck who was the richest duck in the world

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE BOOING TOO!!

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Anyway. One day Stupid Scrooge came into Glomgold’s office crying like a dumb little baby duckling!

“Being the richest duck in the world is sooooooooooooooooooo hard!!!” Stooge McDuck whined like the crybaby he is. “Can you please take my money so that you can be the richest duck in the world!?”

But Flintheart Glomgold was too smart for Scrooge McSUCK

“Oh no!” He said, handsomely, “I’m not falling for that one!”

So Flintheart Glomgold kicked Scrooge McMuffin out his office and into a trash can! Although Glomgold’s kick was so powerful he killed Scrooge in process making HIM (Flintheart Glomgold) the RICHEST DUCK IN THE WORLD

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Then the lovely sexy beautiful, not even in my Glomgold’s league but still pretty hot and good enough for him Goldie O’Gilt broke in and dumped Scrooge’s corpse! Both literally and figuratively! She broke up with him and feed him to Glomgold’s sharks!

Ha!

“Oh Flintheart Glomgold, you hot sexy six-pack having hunk of a duck are the only man for me!” Goldie proclaimed before going to first base with the Glomgold!

And then Magica De Spell appeared out of nowhere “Glomgold! You are the superior villain! Please lead my army of the damned to victory!”

And then those stupid stuck-up FOWL agents who rejected Flintheart Glomgold’s application entered the room

“Please Flintheart Glomgold” whatever that bald buzzard’s name was begged on his knees, “come join FOWL! Only you can defeat Scrooge’s kids!”

“We’ll give you your laser sharks! And a date with me!” Black Heron offered

“Please join us,” the steel beak rooster said, “you’re the coolest guy ever!”

“You’re what us young people call ‘Awesome Sauce’” said that millennial chick on their team

“No! I need your amazing skills! To help the Martians Moonlanders reclaim the moon and earth!” Urged that Martian leader Lunaris who landed in Glomgold’s office

With Glomgold being the most popular and richest duck in Duckburg, and Scrooge’s corpse dying in space or whatever I wrote, Duckburg was saved!

Thanks to FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD

The End