#and san with his arms like please

[neflheimen]

Ateez keeping me so well fed with that dance practice video but especially as a hotteok

[moonsvillain]

have been toying with the idea of an au wherein shen jiu, after burning down the qiu household and running away, comes across xie lian rather than wu yanzi poaching him immediately afterwards:

i'd imagine in this verse he runs away to town rather than immediately being found in the aftermath of what he's done. at this point, shen jiu would be too paranoid to consider reaching out for directions to cang qiong mountain even if he wanted to make it there: what if they knew what he did? or figured it out if he did know? (if he even had the mind to think of these things through his panic)

he doesn't want to end up begging on the streets again, though—too alike his childhood and last time he was in that position, shen jiu ended up with the qius in the first place

so he takes refuge in temples that he comes across, stealing food when he can before moving to a different part of the rather large town he's ended up in so there's no clear pattern of when he shows up at whichever food stall

despite not holding that same respect and unwavering belief in gods (how could he, after everything he's gone through? shouldn't they have stepped in, sometime? what god would let him suffer as he did, separating him from the only person he loved?) he knows better than to try them, and begrudgingly thanks them for the shelter (because this he did appreciate, at the very least, if nothing else)

winter hits hard when it does, and shen jiu, after spending so many years in the qiu household, forgot how the cold seeps into your skin and bones without solid walls to keep out the frigid breeze.

he quickly falls ill with nothing to protect him from the elements but his threadbare clothing, and when he grows ill, he becomes slow. shen jiu nearly gets caught stealing, running away before he can be dragged to a town guard for his offence, but earning himself a nasty wound to his leg as he retreated

sickness + the cold + the wound leave him weak and wanting: missing qi-ge, reminiscing on nights where they'd curl up together for warmth, still cold but not alone, the two of them steady against the storm that raged on ahead of them

fever-ridden and teetering close to death, shen jiu wanders into a temple late at night and sinks to his knees, falling to his side, heart-rate slowing. in his delirium, he misses the figure taking shelter from the storm in the corner, watching him

shen jiu wakes up (he doesn't expect to), warm while he hears the wind whistle. he's still in that temple from earlier, but it's considerably... cozier. a small fire warms the inside and his clothes aren't as damp against his cold skin. his fever's broken, too—he doesn't know how long it's been, but he's glad he didn't die: never realized that he wanted to live until he was close to forfeiting his right to

here is where he meets his accidental saviour: xie lian stood over a slowly bubbling pot of stew that smells heavenly to shen jiu—he'd eat just about anything at this point, starved

his immediate distrust of xie lian stops him from being truly excited about his appearance

their relationship is veryyy shaky at the very beginning: shen jiu refuses to trust him and xie lian refuses to abandon this strange child he found on the verge of death

(there's a strange sort of bond built up when you nurse someone back to life, dragging them away from the brink of death and xie lian isn't interested, but he's curious about this kid who stumbled into his temple at the dead of night on a midnight in winter)

shen jiu's torn between distrust and this desire for company he didn't know he possessed; after being alone with no one but the qiu household [before he went on his massacre] he didn't realized how much he wanted to share space with someone who wasn't actively hurting him until he was afforded the opportunity to experience non-violent company with xie lian

his distrust slowly declines when he finds out that xie lian is a cultivator. despite being arguably too old to learn cultivation to the fullest extent he could have if he started a few years earlier, he still desperately wants to learn

xie lian, perceptive as ever, slowly starts teaching him bits and pieces of the basics, teaches him to meditate, takes care to keep his distance when it looks like shen jiu's getting overwhelmed

shen jiu can't help but get attached. he hates it

shen jiu decides to test xie lian before resigning himself to this

he was snappy, impatient, and argued with xie lian, when he came over, one day, waiting for some form of punishment to come, bristling like a spooked cat.

nothing came of his experiment but a slight frown from xie lian, which made shen jiu feel almost bad—xie lian almost reminded him of qi-ge, which made him feel doubly bad because he desperately wants to find him

shen jiu came to xie lian the next day with a pastry [that he stole] as an apology. and a request:

"teach me how to cultivate so i can be a disciple at the cang qiong sect"

xie lian agrees easily enough: he's been around shen jiu to see that despite the late start, he has potential to be great [especially untouched by wu yanzi and his twisted form of cultivation]

shen jiu throws himself into his studies, working himself to the bone

xie lian is concerned by this and after trying to soften the load of his work doesn't make shen jiu slow down, he becomes stern: warns him against trying to chase too much frivolously

this leads to a breakdown of sorts—where shen jiu gets angry, dismissive, before becoming upset. the average emotional depth of a teenager but, like, 4 times worse because of the circumstances

xie lian coaxes the story out of shen jiu here; qi-ge [the first time he's mentioned aloud by name], the qiu household [only the barest of details. shen jiu refuses to dwell], and the night shen jiu made qi-ge leave, as well as qi-ge's promise to come back

shen jiu finishes by telling xie lian he needs to make it back to qi-ge, needs to see if he's still alive, he's been selfish for sticking around as long

shen jiu tells xie lian that he needs to figure out as much as he can, as fast as he can, so he can leave and make his way to cang qiong mountain with some sort of base knowledge to make it in. and that he's not sorry for pushing himself because he doesn't have time

xie lian is quiet for a while

puts a comforting hand on shen jiu's shoulder and tells him he understands; he knows someone who would do anything to make it back to the one they loved, understands the pain that comes when time and distance separates the two

however, xie lian tells him, he can't let shen jiu push himself. he'll only stunt his progress by hurting himself rather than speed things up

shen jiu is ready to argue again before xie lian offers to make the trip with him

shen jiu doesn't believe it at first—who would bother with helping him for this long if they weren't getting anything out of it? he already found this hard to believe, let alone the fact that xie lian would drop everything to travel with him for weeks on end

xie lian doesn't shake in his resolve, though. shen jiu figures out he's being serious and wants to argue, but he's just—relieved

so many people have stood as roadblocks on his path back to qi-ge; xie lian might be the first person actively trying to help them

it almost reignites hope in him; someone other than him believes in them. someone other than shen jiu thinks they'll make it back to each other and succeed in reuniting. xie lian's faith in him is like a gust of wind beneath his wings

he agrees to their road trip

[xie lian makes sure to tell his beloved he'll be away for a while]

[shen jiu doesn't notice that xie lian buys steamed buns off the same stranger in nearly every town they stop by for a night of rest in the following few weeks]

[xie lian notices, years later, when shen qingqiu doesn't recognize him upon their first meeting in decades. shen yuan doesn't know xie lian, but xie lian knows this isn't shen jiu, anymore]

[clownakai]

Akam Princess Mononoke AU with Shuuichi as Ashitaka and Rei as San. That is all

[hauntingblue]

Vivi wondering what the numbers mean and ending up at: for aesthetic purposes? Naah....

[thegoldencontracts]

Culture Shock

—ꨄ︎ “Courting ritual? What are you talking about?”

Characters: Leona, Ruggie, Floyd, Azul

Notes: courting ritual misunderstanding brainrotttt drabbles LESGOO i live for the idea of the non-human students doing what they think is obvious flirting but you blatantly misunderstanding them lmao

Leona:

—Lions show courtship by following around their intended mate, biting, and pawing. Male lions will roar to make clear their intent. Lion courtship is fairly extended

He roared, pawing at your neck. You’ve noticed this pattern in behavior for a while now. He’s been following you around, asking if you’ll be talking to anyone else any time soon.

“Good,” he’d replied when you gave him a resounding ‘no’. “I’ll have you all to myself then.

What did he want? With no verbal answers from him you’d only been left with baseless speculation.

He bit your arm. He- he bit your arm.

And he seemed proud.

“Huh?”

Rather than apologize, or declare his intentions, or whatever, Leona stuck out his own arm, staring at your with darkened, narrowed eyes.

“I think it’s time we finally stopped playin’ around,” he said, leaning his face towards your own. “Seal the deal. Say what we’re both thinking.”

You blinked at him, owlish and trying quite desperately to figure out his intentions.

“…What are we both thinking, Leona-san?”

And suddenly, the coy sort of demeanor vanished, replaced by a mixture of surprise and irritation.

After a while, he spoke up.

“You seriously didn’t know this entire time?” He grumbled. What was he talking about.

“That’s why I’m asking,” you replied. “Please explain.”

But instead of explaining, he just huffed, pouting ever so slightly as he tossed your phone onto the bed.

“Tch. Figure it out yourself,” he said.

You just stood there, absolutely dumbfounded.

What the fuck.

Ruggie:

—Male hyenas are known to repeatedly step towards and step away from their intended mate. They then present their side to be smelled. They may also cross their legs.

“I can’t believe I of all people have to tell you to take a break!” He said, pouting. But he didn’t seem too bothered, content to lounge around in your room.

Ruggie stepped towards you, arm extended.

And then he stepped forward again.

And then, again, he stepped back.

And forward again.

“What are you doing?”

“Forward, Kantokusei-Kun,” he huffed, grabbing your arm.

And then he stepped back onto the bed, crossing his legs as he sat.

“Don’t leave me hangin’ now! Join me,” he said, voice slightly breathy.

…Was this his way of getting you to rest! How considerate! Ruggie really was nicer than he let on.

You sat, and then he-

Stuck out his arm.

“Well?” He said, looking at you expectantly. “Are you gonna do it, or—?”

…

“What are you talking about?”

”What.” All of a sudden, Ruggie was beet red, half angry, half embarrassed. “You never told me you weren’t interested- don’t-“

And then he stood up, plastering a smile on his face.

“Sorry, but I got a bunch of errands to run and- ohlookit’sLeona-sanbye!”

“Wait-“

He bolted out of your room, leaving you far more confused than before.

Floyd:

—Morays often open their mouths wide to signal intent to court. They also partake in a sort of mating dance, wrapping their bodies around one another.

Floyd yawned. Again. He must’ve been getting awfully bored now, huh?

“Sorry, Floyd,” you said. “I know you don’t like hearing me talk, but-“

He yawned again, mouth opened wide to reveal both his sets of jaws.

“What gave you that idea, Koebi-Chan?” He said, giggling. “I love hearin’ you talk! Your ideas are way more interesting than anything all those stupid guppies have to offer.”

But once again, he yawned. Actions spoke louder than words, you concluded.

Seeing you look at him with uncertainty, he grinned.

“I really am serious about this, y’know,” he said. “You’ll stay interestin’ for a long time.”

And suddenly-

“Dance with me, Koebi-Chan.”

He circled around you, grabbing your arms and gracefully moving around you as if he were trying to wrap himself around your body. When you failed to react, he paused, staring at you.

“Well?” He asked.

You just sighed. He must’ve been trying really hard to stop you from rambling.

“If you’re bored, you can just say so.”

Immediately, Floyd recoiled, like he’d been doused in a bucket of water. Or maybe oil. He’d probably like being covered in water since he was a moray, after all.

“What kinda go-good small fry do you take me for?” He huffed, looking downright offended. “This is laaame. I’m leaving.”

And without an explanation, he stormed out, leaving you staring blankly from within the confines of your room, absolutely dumbfounded.

Azul:

—Octopodes often cause appearance and body language to display intent to court, changing color, showing vibrant patterns, and standing tall with their suckers extended. Males will often latch on from behind.

“You have my attention now. You’d best not waste it,” Azul murmured lowly, showing you-

His arm. It was purple. Why was it purple.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You asked. Azul stood tall, leaning in towards you. You were worried for his health by now. His arms kept changing color, and you were wondering if he was being repeatedly beat up or something.

“You know exactly what’s wrong,” he said. “I intended to wait for you to approach, but you’ve been wearing my patience terribly thin.”

What. Was he talking about. Did he want you to offer to take him to the doctor, or—?

“You’ve done your research, I’m certain,” he said. His arm turned another shade, this time a bright blue.

Suddenly, his arm wrapped around your back.

“Tell me how you feel, Kantokusei-San.”

You just stared.

“Do you want me to take you to the doctor’s office, oooor—“

“No need.” For a brief second, Azul looked disappointed, before he covered it up with a smile. “I apologize for acting so foolishly. Goodness, I don’t know what’s gotten into me!”

“What were you-“

“I’ll be going now. Please, think nothing of my sudden behavior! I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, you see. What I did says nothing about my feelings, I assure you.”

And with that, he was gone.

…

Okay, but seriously, what was up with his arm?

[geminiwritten]

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

notes: did i spent the last three days writing for 8-10 hours a day? yes... am i going slightly insane? also yes... but guys!!! fake dating!!! i don't know how i vomited this fic up so quick, jake is just so easy for me to write (i think it's because i love him but not in a soul-crushing way like the way i love rooster?) anyway, PLEASE enjoy and please, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is shorter than hangman (just want to mention it), allusions to sex, and it's pretty horny so 18+ ONLY please! let me know if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 10937

“This weekend?” Your voice is unsteady, but you hope the crackling from the poor phone reception is enough to mask it. “I’m not sure if I can do this weekend.” 

Spencer sighs, clearly frustrated by your repeated attempts to keep him away from San Diego. “Look, I know you don’t want to do this—and honestly, neither do I—but it has to be done. I’ll only be in town for a couple of days. I’ll grab some boxes, hire a van, and get them shipped straight to my condo. Don’t you want your spare room back?” 

You gnaw nervously on your bottom lip as you glance out at the open-plan office space, hoping none of your coworkers are listening too closely to your phone conversation. 

You broke up with Spencer six months ago, after dating for nearly four years, and he left in such a rush that almost an entire room of his stuff stayed behind. It isn't anything important—mostly old sports gear and college memorabilia—and it’s not like he’s needed any of it. The breakup hit him hard, and he spent the following four months backpacking around Europe to clear his head. He’s only been back at his condo in Upstate New York for two months, and during that time, he’s been relentlessly bugging you to let him come pick up his things. 

It’s not like you want to hold on to anything that reminds you of him, but you desperately do not want to see him again. You offered a few times to pack up his things and ship them to him, but he flat-out refused. He even called it a violation of privacy now that you’re no longer together. So, about a month ago, you told him you’d find a free weekend for him to come by and collect the rest of his stuff—and you’ve done everything you can to avoid it since. 

“Okay,” you mutter, turning away from the office to face the window overlooking North Island Naval Air Station. “But you can’t stay at the apartment.” 

“What?” Spencer snaps. “Why? It’ll be so much easier. I’ll be in an out in three days, tops.” 

“Three days?” you echo. “Spence, that’s my whole weekend gone.” 

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he argues. “I could bring Harry with me, if-” 

“You are not bringing your brother, Spencer.” You stomp your foot, despite the conversation being over the phone. “Look, if that’s how long it’ll take, then fine. But you are not staying at the apartment. You can’t. My boyfriend just moved in last week.” The last few words slip out before you can stop them. 

Fuck. 

There’s a beat of silence before Spencer speaks again, his voice wavering. “Boyfriend?” 

You tip your head back and take a deep breath. “Yes, boyfriend.” 

Another awkward stretch of silence. 

“Okay... I’ll stay at the motel around the corner,” he says. 

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Good.” 

“See you Friday, then.” 

“See you Friday.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and tap the red button, watching Spencer’s caller ID photo flicker out before the screen goes black. With a sigh, your arms drop to your sides, and you lean forward until your forehead rests against the windowpane with a soft, dull thud. 

What the fuck did you just do? 

- 

Gravel crunches beneath your tires as you swerve into the parking lot of The Hard Deck bar. You pull up beside a familiar Ford Bronco, yanking the parking brake just a little too hard before practically stumbling out of the car. Your feet carry you across the lot and through the front door before coming to a stop as you survey the room, searching for the familiar face you came here to find. Across the bar, tucked into the booth closest to the pool table, are your friends. They’re sipping beers and chatting happily, blissfully unaware that an electrical storm of stress and anxiety is headed right for them. 

You weave through the tables and other patrons with determination, your breath coming and going in quick, anxious bursts. Your feet only stop when you reach your friends’ table, and their conversation quickly dies as they each turn to look at you. 

Jake’s brows pinch. “Hey, are you okay?” 

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down nervously, unsure how to reply. 

Javy, who was sitting next to Jake, stands up and nods toward the bar. “I’m going to grab another drink. Want anything?” 

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.” 

He gives you a cheeky wink before striding off toward the bar. You watch him for a few seconds before turning back to the booth and sliding in beside Jake, leaning into him and letting your head fall on his shoulder. 

Natasha sits across from you, her head tilted and a curious glint in her narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Not yet, I haven’t,” you say, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “My ex is coming back this weekend.” 

She rears back and sits up straight, her brows raised. “Coming back to stay?” 

You lift your head from Jake’s shoulder and shake it softly. “Nah. He just wants to pick up everything he left behind.” 

Jake shifts beside you, his arm sliding around your lower back almost possessively—but you know he only means to comfort you. “Including you?” he asks, his tone playful but laced with a hint of uncertainty. 

You snort and turn to face him, a little startled by how close those piercing green eyes are. “Of course not. Or at least, I hope not. I mean, I think I made it pretty damn clear he wasn’t getting me back, even if he was planning to try.” You trail off, turning away, unsure how to bring up the real reason you came here tonight—the question that’s been gnawing at you since your phone conversation with Spencer. 

“Okay,” Nat says, “so, what’s the big deal?” 

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs as you gather every shred of dignity you still have left. “I told him he couldn’t stay at the apartment because… my boyfriend just moved in.” 

Natasha’s brows shoot up toward her hairline and her mouth pops open. Amusement dances behind her eyes, but she has the decency to hold it back as you drop your head into your hands and let out a groan. “I fucked up.” 

Beside Natasha, Mickey leans forward. “But you don’t have a boyfriend?” 

You look up at him and scowl. “No shit.” 

“Oh.” He nods slowly, fighting the grin that tugs at his lips. 

“So, what are you going to do?” Reuben pipes up from the other end of the table, looking just as amused as the rest of your friends. 

“Well...” You lean back, pressing your shoulder blades into the vinyl of the booth as you twist your neck to glance at the man beside you. “I was going to ask Jake if he could help me... pretend.” 

Jake’s smirk fades, and a flush creeps into his cheeks. His green eyes widen, the usual cocky confidence replaced by startled confusion. “What? Why me?” 

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant about asking the man you regularly fantasise about to be your fake boyfriend. “It just makes the most sense. I’ve known you the longest.” Your eyes flick toward the other boys at the table. “No offense, but Jake and I just have better chemistry—and Spencer knew it. He was always a little threatened by our friendship.” 

You shift your gaze back to Jake, who’s still looking stunned, his lips parted slightly. 

“Plus, I only broke up with Spencer six months ago. I couldn’t have met someone new and asked them to move in that fast. It has to be someone I already knew.” You widen your eyes and bat your lashes dramatically. “Please, Jake. I’ll do anything.” 

He blinks at you, cheeks still tinged pink. “Define anything,” he says, that cocky smirk slowly starting to return. 

“Whatever you want,” you reply, planting both hands on his thigh closest to you—oblivious to the fact that it makes his dick twitch in his jeans. “You know I’m good for it.” 

Jake coughs into his hand, shifting slightly, trying to hold onto his bravado while making sure your touch doesn’t creep any higher. “Alright,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “I’ll do it.” 

You raise a brow. “That easy?” 

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.” 

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Which is?” 

He leans in, that cocky smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I want a home-cooked dinner. Every night I’m there. Candles. Music. Maybe a little wine. You know... boyfriend perks.” 

Natasha snorts across the table. “You mean domestic fantasy perks.” 

Jake just shrugs, eyes still locked on yours. “Hey, if I’m going to play house, I want the full experience.” 

You swallow hard, but your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Deal.” 

He grins wider, and this time you’re pretty sure it’s not just cockiness—it’s anticipation. 

- 

You pace in circles around your kitchen island, one arm tucked under your breasts, holding your opposite elbow as you anxiously gnaw on your thumbnail. Jake is supposed to be here any minute, and the cork in the bottle of nerves rattling around in your stomach just won’t stay put. 

You’ve known Jake for years. You met in college and, despite the distance with his deployments, have been metaphorically inseparable ever since. But physically? That was a little harder, obviously. 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Jake—a bit of a crush, but you were never foolish enough to think anything could come of it. You’ve been perfectly content being his friend, never pushing for more. But every single one of your boyfriends? They hated him. You can’t blame them, really—Jake has that effect on people. That cocky, irresistible charm that makes it impossible for anyone else to ignore him. 

Still, you can’t shake the guilt creeping in. Fooling Spencer into thinking you and Jake are together? After all those times you promised him there was nothing more than friendship between you and Jake? It feels wrong. Even if Spencer never really took your word for it. 

A knock at the door pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you hurry to answer it. Jake is standing on the other side, looking even more irresistible than usual. There’s no uniform today, no flight suit or polished boots. Instead, he's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and somehow that makes him look even better. His hair is messy, not gelled like it usually is, and the scruff on his jaw—a day’s worth of stubble—only adds to the allure. He looks... delicious in a way that’s totally different from the polished, put-together fighter pilot you’re used to. 

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says with a smirk, “sorry I’m late.” 

Your brain and mouth have completely short-circuited, leaving you with no choice but to smile, nod, and step aside to let him in. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a box of random belongings in his arms—little odds and ends that someone might have lying around their apartment. 

Jake drops the box onto the kitchen counter and turns back to you. “What time is Spencer the Snob getting here?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “In about an hour. Do you think you can manage to be civilized?” 

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp as he props his hands on his hips. “Can he be civilised?” 

“Spencer is always civilized.” 

You walk over to the box and start pulling out items, mentally sorting them. But Jake isn’t done. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Spencer is not always civilized. He’s just really good at hiding what a complete dick he is.” 

You turn and lean your hip against the countertop, raising one eyebrow. “You only don’t like him because he didn’t like you first. And let’s be honest, that’s because you bought me lingerie for the first birthday that I was with him. He didn’t get the joke and thought it was way too suggestive.” 

Jake snorts, his jade eyes lighting up with mischief. “Yeah, that was a good one. I’ll never forget the look on his face.” 

You resist the urge to laugh and roll your eyes again, turning back to the box. “I’ll admit, Spence is a little snobby. But that’s just how he was raised. It’s not his fault he’s got money.” 

Jake’s expression darkens, and he narrows his eyes at the affectionate nickname. “Spence?” 

“Sorry,” you say, your cheeks flushing pink. “Force of habit.” 

The two of you move quietly around the apartment, slipping into an easy rhythm as you make space for Jake’s things. You tuck two framed photos of his family onto the bookshelf, nestled between your novels, and slide one of his official Navy portraits beside them—one you definitely wouldn’t mind keeping. 

He hangs a jacket and a couple of worn caps on the hooks by the door and drops two pairs of his boots beside your own lineup of shoes. You clear off a bedside table for him to clutter with his things, and listen to the soft clink of bottles as he unpacks his toiletries in the bathroom. 

Finally, you add a towel for him to the rack beside the shower. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine it: the two of you in there together. His hot, slick skin pressed to yours, the steam curling around your tangled limbs. His hands sliding soap across your body, rinsing you slow and thorough. He’d wash your hair too, fingers working into your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed—and then you’d return the favour, watching his mouth part in bliss beneath your touch. 

“Hello?” Jake waves a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?” 

You blink rapidly and turn to face him, only to find him standing way too close with that maddening smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes flick up to his, and the look he gives you is downright dangerous—curious, cocky, and just a little bit amused. 

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re lookin’ a little hot under the collar.” 

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Instead, you let out a weird half-laugh, half-scoff and sidestep him like he’s radioactive. “I’m fine. It’s just warm in here. Is it warm in here?” 

Jake leans back against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed and eyes glittering. “Could be. Or maybe you were just thinkin’ about something real steamy.” 

You choke on air. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, all faux innocence. “Just sayin’... you’ve got that look. Like your brain wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t have.” 

You grab a towel—any towel—and smack him in the chest. “Shut up.” 

Jake laughs, catching the towel with one hand like he knew it was coming. “Whatever it was, must’ve been good.” 

When he finally steps aside, you scurry past like lingering too long might scorch your skin. Only once you’ve turned down the hall and reached the kitchen—putting a safe stretch of space between you and him—do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Okay,” you say, planting both palms against the cool, marble countertop. “Spencer is going to be here in half an hour, so we have exactly thirty minutes to practice being a couple.” 

Jake smirks like this is nothing—like he’s been in this exact situation a hundred times before. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with, darlin’.” He steps up to the other side of the kitchen island and leans forward, mirroring your posture. 

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you narrow your eyes at him. “We need to look convincing. No weirdness, no pulling faces. Just... act natural.” 

Jake cocks an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Natural, huh? So, no kissing? Not even a little peck?” 

You try to focus, but the way he’s leaning across the island—just far enough to make the space between you feel electrified—throws you off. “Uh, no. Nothing like that. We’ll start slow. Hold hands, sit close... you know, the easy stuff.” 

Jake’s grin widens, his gaze flickering down to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Hold hands, sit close. Got it. But what if I make you want to kiss me? I’m really good at that.” 

You feel the heat spreading through your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. “You think you can make me want to kiss you?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to match his cockiness. 

He leans even further toward you and drops his voice low, the teasing edge still there but with a smouldering intensity you’re having a hard time ignoring. “Oh, sweetheart. I know I can. All I need is the right moment.” 

You can’t help but laugh nervously, your pulse quickening as he stays there, so close you can feel the heat of his presence even if the island bench is still separating you. “Well, we’ve got thirty minutes to see if you can keep your hands to yourself, Seresin,” you tease, but there’s an edge to it now—a hint of challenge. 

Jake leans in a little more, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s seconds away from crossing the line. “Trust me, darlin’. I can keep my hands to myself... but only if you can keep your hands off me.” 

Your chest rises and falls faster than usual, your head spinning slightly from all the extra oxygen surging through your blood. You part your lips, ready to fire back something just as cocky—something to keep the volley going—but the sharp chime of your phone slices through the tension, and both your gazes snap to where it buzzes on the countertop. 

You settle back onto your heels, and reach for your phone, huffing out a small, frustrated sigh before sliding the answer button and pressing it to your ear. “Hey, Spencer.” 

“Hey, how are you?” 

Your eyes slide toward Jake, who is looking almost as frustrated as you feel. “Fine. How far out are you?” 

Spencer chuckles, and something inside of you instinctively recoils, even though the sound itself isn’t particularly offensive. “I’m great, thanks for asking. The flight was fine, a little bumpy, but we made it. I’m just waiting at baggage claim, so I’ll be about twenty minutes.” 

“No worries,” you say, “see you soon.” 

You hang up before he even finishes saying goodbye, drop your phone face-down on the bench, and glance back at Jake. “Alright, let’s go over the details. We started dating three months after Spencer left. You asked me out, and I was a little surprised.” 

Jake frowns, already halfway to an objection, but you cut him off with a raised hand. “Just go with it, okay? It keeps my integrity intact. You have no idea how many times I had to convince him I wasn’t into you.” 

His frown fades fast, replaced by that maddeningly smug smirk. “Go on, then.” 

You roll your eyes, but continue. “I was surprised, but everything just... clicked. Being best friends made the relationship feel natural. That’s why things have moved fast. You were already here most nights, your rent went up, so you moved in two weeks ago.” 

Jake nods like he’s logging it all away. “Okay, but more importantly—how’s the sex?” 

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs, hands raised like a saint. “What? It’s a legitimate question. Spencer might ask.” 

“I highly fucking doubt it.” 

Jake chuckles. “Yeah, fair. Still worth a shot.” 

With a long, theatrical exhale, you walk around the kitchen island and stop in front of him. “Alright, let’s talk touching.” 

His eyes light up, devilish. “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

You ignore him. “I’m ticklish, so don’t touch my ribs or ghost over my arms—I will flinch.” 

“I know.” 

You pause. “Okay…” You shake your head, ignoring the question trying to form. “I’m not huge on PDA, but I like lingering touches. Just small things, to remind each other we’re there.” 

“I know,” he says again, that smirk glued in place. 

The question in your head itches a little louder, but you push it aside. “And if we go out—which I really hope we don’t—make sure you’re always sitting next to me. I hate it when couples sit across from each other. I don’t want to gaze into your eyes, I want to feel your warmth.” 

Jake’s smirk splits into a wide, boyish grin. “I know.” 

The floodgates crack. “How the fuck do you know everything?” 

He leans in just slightly, voice soft but sure. “Because I know you. I’ve watched you with every guy you’ve dated. Just because I wasn’t the guy doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.” 

You blink, reeling from the quiet truth in his tone. It hits you like a gust of wind—real, unshakable. You actually have to take a step back to steady yourself. There’s no teasing in his voice, no smug edge. Just Jake, earnest and open in a way that’s rare. 

And it almost wrecks you. 

Jake might be cocky and insufferable ninety percent of the time—but when he loves, he does it fiercely. Deeply. Fully. And you’ve always known you were lucky to be one of the people he loves. 

But for the first time, you let your mind wander somewhere dangerous. What would it be like to be loved by Jake Seresin—not just as a friend, but as his person? His everything? 

“So,” Jake says, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter, “where should I touch you first?” 

You close your eyes for a beat, reminding yourself that this is still Jake—insufferable, irritating Jake. “You don’t have to be weird and over the top about it. When he gets here, you can just sit on the couch, then I’ll join you and sit close. You can put a hand on my thigh.” 

Jake’s brows furrow, his face contorting with mild disgust. “I know you’re trying not to make him uncomfortable, but that’s not going to work. Think about it—your ex is coming over, and your current boyfriend is just sitting casually on the couch? Not buying it.” 

You roll your eyes again, hoping to avoid yet another pointless argument. “Jake, this doesn’t need to be-” 

“You told him you’re dating me,” he interrupts, poking his chest with a finger. “And if this was real, I’d be making damn sure I had a hand on you at all times.” 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your body reacts to his proximity and his words. Heat floods your chest and settles behind your hipbones, desire tightening in places you don’t want to think about right now. “You don’t need to stake your claim, Jake. Spencer isn’t here to win me back.” 

Jake steps closer, cutting the distance between you until there’s barely two feet separating you. “You don’t know that.” His voice lowers slightly, making the air between you feel thick and electric. “And yes, I do. If you want him to believe we’re dating, then you need to let me do exactly what I would do if this was real.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s just being cocky or trying to show off, but damn it, he’s making a good point. “Okay, fine. But don’t make him uncomfortable.” 

Jake’s smirk widens, taking on that familiar, smug edge. “No promises, darlin’.” 

You spend the next ten minutes pretending to clean—wiping already spotless counters, rearranging throw pillows, and dusting things that definitely don’t need dusting. All while Jake lounges on the couch like this is the easiest job he’s ever had. 

“It’s three days, sweetheart,” he says. “By Sunday, Spencer will be back in his overpriced New York apartment sipping single malt and Googling himself.” 

You snort but say nothing. Three days. Just two dinners and one brunch. You’ll keep the visits restricted to daylight hours, keep Jake close, keep your story straight—and by Sunday afternoon, Spencer will be out of your apartment and out of your life. 

That’s the plan, anyway. 

But as you glance over at Jake—sprawled out, so completely at ease in your space, looking infuriatingly good even in his most relaxed state—you start to question the rest of it. 

Because it’s not Spencer you’re worried about fooling anymore. It’s yourself. And when Jake turns his head and catches you staring, smirking like he knows exactly what you're thinking? 

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought. 

The intercom buzzes, loud and sudden, startling you from your task of rearranging the flowers on the dining table. Your heart launches into your throat, pounding like you’ve just jumped from a plane without a parachute. 

Jake chuckles and rises from the couch, strolling over to the intercom with infuriating confidence. He presses the button and leans in. “Come on up.” 

You force your feet to move, carrying you toward him and not stopping until you’re right beside him. You press yourself against him and the moment your body meets his, heat blooms under your skin. It’s not new—you've touched him before—but it feels different. More charged. More deliberate. Jake’s arm slides around your waist without hesitation, and his fingers curl into your hip, firm and possessive. There’s a subtle squeeze and the pad of his thumb grazes a sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You feel it everywhere. 

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “It’s showtime, sweetheart.” 

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend. 

Your heart pounds against your sternum, each beat like the tick of a countdown clock. The elevator dings. Footsteps echo down the hallway. Closer, closer. You draw in a deep breath and hold it, ignoring the sharp ache it sends through your chest. 

“Relax,” Jake murmurs, pulling you tighter against his side as he reaches for the doorknob. 

The second the footsteps stop, he yanks the door open—no chance for a knock. 

“Spence!” Jake beams, like they’re old frat brothers reunited. “Come in, buddy. How are you?” 

You nearly snort. The absurdity of his enthusiasm bubbles up in your throat, but you bite your lip hard enough to keep it down. 

Spencer looks good—but all it does is remind you how little you miss him. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair hasn’t changed one bit, but he’s tanner than you remember—courtesy of the European sun, no doubt. He’s not as tall as Jake, but he’s got that same overinflated ego. The difference? Jake’s cockiness comes from… well, let’s just say it’s probably anatomical. Spencer’s is inherited—passed down with a trust fund and a country club membership. 

He’s dressed exactly as you expected: a sky-blue Ralph Lauren polo, crisp white pants with a crease so sharp it could slice bread, and tan boat shoes—an ironic choice, considering he’s terrified of boats. 

But it’s his face that really seals the moment. Jaw unhinged, eyes wide, staring at Jake like he just opened the door to a ghost. Or maybe something worse: the ghost of his ex-girlfriend’s new sex life. 

“Jake?” Spencer finally says. “Your new boyfriend is Jake Seresin?” 

Jake’s grin is unbothered—like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. “The one and only.” 

You feel his hand press a little firmer into your waist, anchoring you there like you might suddenly run—and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted. 

Spencer steps further into the apartment, his eyes glued to Jake’s smug face. “I thought you said there was nothing going on between you two.” 

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice even. “There wasn’t. Not back then.” 

Spencer glances at you. “You told me I was being paranoid. That he was just your friend.” 

Jake chuckles. “I remember you telling me about that.” 

You shoot him a look that’s supposed to say “not helping,” but he just smiles innocently and shrugs. 

Spencer looks seconds away from spontaneously combusting. “I trusted you,” he says, starting to sound like the whiny, private-school rich kid you always tried to ignore. “You promised me nothing would ever happen with him.” 

“Yeah, that was then, and this is now. Things change, Spence—and this has nothing to do with you,” you say, tone sharpening. If he’s going to act like a child, then you're going to treat him like one. 

Jake’s hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, his thumb sweeping in a slow, easy circle like he’s soothing a spark before it ignites. “People change, bud. Timing is everything.” 

Spencer folds his arms, visibly rattled. “So, what—he swooped in the second I left?” 

Jake tilts his head, eyes full of mock offense. “Swooped? Come on. Give me a little credit. She came to me.” 

You snap your head toward him, about to object, but his grin is wicked and the mischief in his eyes dares you to play along. 

“Well...” You drag the word out, buying a few precious seconds to stitch your story together. “Technically, yes. I was upset after the breakup, so of course I turned to my best friend for comfort.” 

Spencer’s blue-grey eyes narrow. “You broke up with me.” 

“That she did, pal.” Jake tries for a sympathetic look, but you know better—he’s enjoying this a little too much. 

“Just because I ended things doesn’t mean it didn’t rattle me,” you shoot back, trying to shift the focus away from Jake. “We were together for four years, Spencer. That’s a long time. I just had the guts to do what you didn’t. So, forgive me if I’m not in the mood to explain myself to you. I don’t owe you anything—and my new relationship? It’s none of your business.” 

You see his expression twist into an offended scowl, and anger flickers in your chest. The nerve of him, acting like you still owe him something just because you pulled the plug first. 

“For the record,” you continue, voice cool and firm, “yeah, I leaned on Jake. And somewhere along the line, I found something a lot deeper.” 

Then, without missing a beat, you glance at Jake—who’s already wearing that cocky smirk—and let one of your own curve across your lips as you look back at Spencer. 

“Actually,” you say, eyes narrowing with satisfaction, “I think it was Jake who found something a little deeper… if you know what I mean.” 

Jake snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth, but he can’t suppress the gleeful chuckle bubbling from his lips. Spencer, on the other hand, looks utterly humbled—his cheeks are bright red and his jaw is hanging open like he’s just been slapped across the face. 

You step away from Jake, waiting for his hand to drop so you can grab it. The second your fingers slide into his, a rush of warmth zips up your arm, and you try to ignore how good it feels, but damn, it’s hard. 

“Get your boxes,” you say to Spencer, keeping your tone cool. “Jake will help you pack some stuff this afternoon, but it’s date night, so you’ve got exactly two hours. You can come back in the morning.” 

Spencer's lip twitches, like he's about to argue, but then he stops himself. He nods curtly and unties the fancy cashmere sweater draped around his shoulders, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door. He hesitates when he notices Jake’s clothes tossed haphazardly alongside yours. After a moment, he huffs, shakes his head, and stomps out of the apartment. 

You fight to suppress a grin as you turn to Jake, but he’s already beaming at you. “You’re amazing, you know that?” 

You pretend to flick your hair off your shoulder with theatrical flair. “Oh, I know.” 

He chuckles. “I can’t believe you just told your ex I’ve got a huge dick.” 

You shrug, one shoulder rising nonchalantly. “You’ve got the ego to match, so I figured I could make an educated guess. Besides, it’s not like Spencer will ever know for sure.” 

His brows shoot up. “Oh, so you were just guessing?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, and suddenly his eyes are too intense to meet. “Well, obviously.” 

He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, voice low and teasing—laced with a challenge that feels dangerously not like a joke. “Want to find out for real?” 

Your breath hitches. Words abandon you. All you can do is stare at his face—too handsome and too tempting. 

“Because I’d go a hell of a lot deeper than that weasel. So deep, you’d be screaming-” 

The intercom buzzer cuts him off, and you’re hit with a wave of relief and frustration all at once. Your pulse is racing, your chest tight, and the thrum of your heartbeat fills your ears. 

Jake chuckles, clearly amused by the timing, and leans back, releasing your hand to press the button on the intercom. He glances over at you, winks, and casually strides toward the lounge, sprawling out like he owns the place. Like he’s some modern-day Adonis—there to wind you up and then claim your couch like it’s his throne. 

You force your limbs to move, opening the door for Spencer and helping him carry in the flattened cardboard boxes tucked under his arms. You lead him to the spare room—where all his abandoned belongings have been gathering dust for the past six months—and leave him to it. 

You don’t have to ask Jake to help. The second you return to the living room, he stands, crosses the space without hesitation, and steps right up to you. His palm finds the back of your head as he pulls you in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to the top of your hair. 

You know he’s just doing what you asked—pretending to be your boyfriend. But the tenderness of the gesture feels heartbreakingly sincere. It sinks into your skin, fills your chest like warm water, and when he pulls away, he takes the comfort with him. 

Your eyes trail after him as he walks toward the spare room, and you shamelessly ogle his ass on the way out. Then you collapse onto the lounge where he’d just been sitting, curling up in the lingering scent of his cologne. You tug a blanket from the wicker basket beside the couch and wrap it around yourself, clicking on a show you barely register—because all you can think about is the way Jake Seresin touches you. 

This might not have been such a brilliant idea after all. 

- 

Spencer uses up his two hours like he paid for them, waiting until exactly 5:59 PM to dust off his palms on those stupid white pants—as if he hadn’t made Jake do all the heavy lifting—and announce that he “better get going.” 

You give him a tight smile as you hold the door open, already half-relieved just watching him walk out. It's not that pretending to love Jake is hard—you do love him. It’s the reminder that all the lingering touches, the soft smiles, the stolen glances—they’re just an act. That’s what’s draining you. 

The second the door clicks shut, you let out a long, theatrical sigh, like you’ve been holding your breath for the full two hours. “Oh, thank God. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole day tomorrow.” 

Jake chuckles, but there’s something tight about it—like he’s forcing it out through gritted teeth. “Am I that hard to love?” he asks, and though his tone is teasing, something flickers behind his eyes that doesn’t feel like a joke. 

Your brows knit. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...” 

He steps closer, invading your space like he’s done all day—and you hate how much you don’t mind it anymore. In fact, you kind of want him to stay right there. 

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice low and rough enough to make your skin prickle. 

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close he is, how good he smells, and how charged the air between you feels. “It’s just Spencer, you know? Having him around is... exhausting.” 

Jake’s lip quirks, but his eyes are sharp, studying you. “Oh? So you’re not struggling with this fake relationship thing at all? Not even a little confused? Frustrated? Having trouble remembering it’s not real?” 

You blink, stunned silent. You’re not sure how, but you’re starting to believe Jake Seresin might actually be a mind reader. 

“I-” The words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of his stare. His piercing green eyes pin you in place, make you forget how to speak, how to breathe. 

Then, just when it feels like you might combust, his smirk cracks into a grin and he takes a step back, letting the tension snap like a rubber band. “Alright then,” he says, clapping his hands together, “what’s for dinner, gorgeous?” 

You inhale like you’ve just broken the surface of the water. Your lungs burn. Your head spins. This man is giving you whiplash. 

It takes almost a full minute to regain control of your body, and when you finally do, you walk straight into the kitchen without giving Jake an answer. You can’t even look at him right now—but he has no trouble looking at you. 

He watches you like he’s starving and you’re the feast. It makes focusing on dinner nearly impossible. 

You busy yourself preparing the meal you planned yesterday—Italian sausage spaghetti with a pull-apart garlic loaf. You don’t usually go all out for dinner, but you’re using Jake’s presence as an excuse to cook something hearty and delicious. Maybe after eating, you’ll both be too full to maintain this unbearable sexual tension. He can crash on the couch, and you’ll curl up in bed. Or maybe you’ll take a long, steamy shower and do what you need to do to unknot the tension pulsing behind your hipbones. 

Dinner comes together quickly, and after a few casual questions from Jake about the food, he drifts back to the couch, half-watching whatever show has been playing in the background for past few hours. You set the dining table just the way he asked—candles, wine, and soft music humming from the speaker on your bookshelf. 

Finally, you place two full bowls of pasta on the table—opposite each other. Because you’re not really dating, so why would you sit beside him? To feel his warmth? Let him rest a hand on your thigh? 

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. 

You try to shake it off and glance at Jake—only to find him already watching you. 

You clear your throat. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your dinner is served.” 

He grins like a kid in a candy store, pushing off the couch and sniffing the air like a Loony Tunes character. “Damn, I think Phoenix might’ve been right. This is a full-on domestic fantasy.” 

You roll your eyes and duck your head, hoping he doesn’t see the heat rising in your cheeks. “Just sit down and eat, Hangman. I’m tired and hungry.” 

You flick off the kitchen lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the candles. The atmosphere feels far more romantic than you intended. Is this what Jake wanted? 

You don’t give yourself time to overthink it—because the food smells amazing, and there’s a very attractive naval aviator sitting across from you, looking like he was plucked straight from a dream. 

You spend the first few minutes eating in silence, both too busy shovelling pasta into your mouths and tearing into buttery garlic bread to speak. Somehow, Jake even manages to make slurping spaghetti look hot—and you hate when people make noise while they eat. 

“So,” you say, slowing your pace and setting your fork down, “did you want to stay here tonight or head back to your place?” 

He keeps his eyes on his plate, as if avoiding yours will mask whatever he’s really thinking. “Up to you, darlin’. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Well, Spencer did seem pretty suspicious about the whole thing… so I think it’s safer if you stay.” 

His head snaps up, and that signature smirk spreads across his lips. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” you say, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks, “he might sniff around tomorrow. Like, literally. He might be a creep and notice your towel’s untouched, or that your side of the bed hasn’t been slept in, and-” 

“You want to share the bed?” he asks, looking far too pleased with the idea. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “We’ve shared a bed before.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a low chuckle slipping out, “blind drunk.” 

His eyes are too pretty, too intense, and your chest feels tight under their weight. You look away, eyes darting around the table until they land on the wine bottle. 

“Well then,” you say, picking it up and refilling his glass, “drink up, Seresin.” 

Two bottles of wine later, you’re both loose-limbed and laughing—less awkward about the day’s chaos, and a lot less anxious about sharing a bed tonight. 

You giggle at one of Jake’s ridiculous jokes while clearing the table, and when he insists on helping clean up, you swat him away, telling him it’s all part of his domestic fantasy. He rolls his eyes but still hovers, drying dishes and pretending not to notice the way you keep throwing him side-eye glances every time he guesses wrong about where something goes. 

“Do you want to shower?” you ask as you finish wiping down the stovetop. 

His green eyes go wide, that crooked grin slipping across his face like sin itself. “Is this you offering?” 

Your stomach flips, heat crawling up your chest. “I meant—do you want to shower first?” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, almost disappointed. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind?” 

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did,” you mutter, turning back toward the lounge. 

You listen to his footsteps fade toward the bathroom, then collapse onto the couch, burying your face in a pillow that smells maddeningly like him. 

What the fuck are you doing? 

Yes, you’ve always had a little crush on Jake, but you’re not delusional. He’s out of your league. You’ve made peace with that. You’ve always been happy just being his friend. So why does all of this feel so good? Why is it getting harder to remember that he doesn’t see you the same way? 

He’s thrown himself into this charade like it’s more than just pretending, and it’s messing with your head. Does he want something more? Something casual? A few nights, maybe? Or... does he want you—the whole messy package? 

The shower starts, and you groan into the pillow. You’re confused. You’re also so fucking horny. Red wine was a terrible idea. 

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open. “All yours,” Jake calls, his voice smooth and casual as he walks toward the bedroom where he left his duffel bag. 

You drag yourself upright, every step toward the bathroom a battle against the mental slideshow of naked, wet Jake. You shut the door, strip down, and step into the shower, letting the hot water calm your skin and chase away the ache blooming low in your belly. 

You don’t have the guts to do what you really need to make that ache go away—not with Jake just a paper-thin wall away. The thought creeps in, bold and reckless, whispering what if you just called him in here? But then you laugh softly under your breath and shake it off. As if. The idea of Jake rejecting you would be a level of humiliation you’re not prepared to face tonight. Or ever. 

You shut off the water, swipe a towel from the rack, and give yourself a quick dry before wrapping it snugly around your body. The bathroom is thick with steam, your skin flushed and dewy, your pulse still thudding from thoughts you shouldn't be entertaining. 

You open the door to let in some air—only to nearly collide with Jake. 

He’s right there. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants slung low, a towel around his neck, and an annoyingly cocky smirk on his lips. 

“Damn,” he says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, eyes roaming blatantly. “I was coming to see if you drowned, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve brought more wine.” 

You try to step back, but he follows, slipping inside like he belongs here. You grip your towel tighter. 

“Jake,” you warn, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?” 

“Just enjoying the view,” he says casually, his eyes far too warm for comfort. “This your idea of torture? Walk out here looking like a damn dream and expect me to just keep pretending?” 

You’re not sure what’s pretending and what isn’t anymore, and you have no idea what his words mean. Is he just messing with you? He has to be. 

“I didn’t ask you to come in.” 

“And yet,” he says, grinning, “here I am.” 

The heat in the room is stifling—and it's not just the steam. Jake moves in closer, crowding your space, eyes flicking from your lips to your towel and back. His fingers reach up, slow and deliberate, and tug lightly at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone. 

“Think this is regulation towel length?” he teases. 

“Do you want me to report you to HR?” you ask, trying not to smile. Your voice wobbles on the last word when his fingers brush across the swell of your breast. 

“Only if HR gives out spankings,” he says with a wink. 

You laugh, then immediately regret it, because the movement loosens the towel just slightly—and his gaze drops. The air between you crackles. 

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching. 

He leans in, his lips brushing your temple like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “Say the word,” he whispers, voice lower than a dare. 

You turn your face toward him, your lips just inches from his—and then: 

BZZZZZZZZZZZT. 

The intercom buzzes loudly from the living room, startling you both. You jump, and Jake curses under his breath. 

“Saved by the buzzer,” you mutter, half annoyed, half relieved. 

He takes a step back, eyes still dark with want, running a hand through his hair. “Or maybe cursed by it.” 

You give him a pointed look. “Shut the door on your way out, Hangman.” 

He backs out slowly, smirking the whole way. “You know I’m not going to forget this, right?” 

You roll your eyes and wait for him to close the door before locking it for good measure. After drying off, you go through your usual skincare and haircare routines, trying not to think about whatever the hell just happened between the two of you. But one glance down the hall as you exit the bathroom makes your heart plummet. 

Spencer is standing by the front door. And Jake—still very much shirtless—is looking smug as hell. 

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake drawls, turning to Spencer with a wink. “We just finished up in the shower, if you know what I mean.” 

You freeze like a deer in headlights, towel clutched to your chest. You feel like a naked model caught mid-pose in front of a life drawing class—except your ex is the one holding the sketchpad, and Jake is… well, Jake. 

“Spencer,” you bite out, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I-I forgot my sweater.” He holds up the creamy cashmere one he’d left by the door, eyes darting anywhere but your body. 

You raise a brow. “And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” 

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again—clearly trying not to ogle you while very aware of the broad, half-naked man beside him who is allegedly your boyfriend. Jake’s green eyes darken the longer Spencer’s gaze lingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters. “I guess I didn’t think-” 

“Yeah, thinking’s never really been your thing, huh, pal?” Jake cuts in, clapping a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind fucking off, I’d like to get back to round two with my very satisfied girlfriend. And just so we’re clear—if you show up before 9AM tomorrow, all you’re gonna hear is her screaming my name in ecstasy.” 

Your body lights up like a struck match. You don’t even look at Spencer as Jake all but escorts him out the door. Your focus is entirely on the shirtless man—the ridiculously hot, dangerously cocky, fake boyfriend who just made you feel completely and utterly claimed. 

You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the caveman behaviour, but suddenly, the idea of crossing that line doesn’t seem so dangerous anymore. In fact, it sounds like the best idea you’ve had in years. 

Jake shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt before turning those dark green eyes on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and you’re gonna make my dreams—and Spencer’s nightmares—come true.” 

His dreams? 

Your breath catches in your throat. Then, like a startled chicken, you turn and bolt to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Your head spins as you scramble to grab the pyjamas stashed under your pillow. Every inch of your skin feels hypersensitive, like Jake’s gaze alone has lit up your nerve endings one by one. 

Once you’re dressed and your face isn’t quite so scarlet red, you head for the bathroom. You hang up your towel—deliberately ignoring the sight of Jake’s hanging next to it—and start brushing your teeth. But the flutter in your stomach is relentless. 

Jake appears a moment later and joins you silently, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. You try to avoid them, but your gaze keeps drifting back, always checking, always wondering. And every time, he’s still watching. 

You rinse and spit, then flee the bathroom before your knees give out. You don’t bother with the rest of your night routine—you need sleep, or space, or maybe a total reset of your entire hormonal system. 

You crawl into bed and flick on the TV perched atop your dresser, the hum of background noise a small comfort. But it does nothing to quiet the static under your skin when Jake steps into the room. 

He flicks off the main light, shuts the door with a soft click, and then sits on the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and it feels like the whole room tilts with him. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sits beside you in the dim glow of the TV, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. 

You pretend to be engrossed in whatever’s on the screen, but your heart is thundering, and you can feel his gaze on you like a brand. 

Then his voice, low and rough, slices through the quiet. “You always wear shirts like that to bed, or is this part of the fantasy?” 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a little breathless. “You think everything’s about you.” 

Jake chuckles. “You’re sitting here braless in a tissue-thin shirt, biting your lip like you want me to devour you—and I’m the one with the ego?” 

You turn your head, ready to throw back some snark, but he’s already watching you with that look. That look that makes your insides clench and your breath catch. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first real meal he’s had in days. 

“Jake…” 

His gaze drops to your lips, and his voice is rough around the edges when he says, “I’m not gonna make it through this night if you keep lookin’ at me like that.” 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you whisper, but even you don’t believe that. 

Jake leans closer. “No? Then why’s your chest rising like that? Why are your pupils blown wide? Why is every part of you screaming touch me?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

He shifts toward you slowly, like a predator moving in, until his thigh brushes yours and his hand finds your jaw. His thumb drags lightly along your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, tugging at it just enough to make your breath stutter. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Just say the word.” 

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest. 

“Because if you don’t…” he leans in, voice barely audible now, “…I’m gonna lose every ounce of self-control I have left.” 

Still, you say nothing. Can’t say anything. 

Jake’s eyes search yours for a second longer. Then— 

“Fuck it.” 

He crashes into you like a storm. His mouth slants over yours, hot and possessive and desperate, like he’s finally giving in to something he’s been denying for far too long. His hands cup your face, then slide down, over your neck, your shoulders, gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself. 

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste you. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and tension and not just one day, but years of pretending finally snapping all at once. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips and pushes you back into the mattress just slightly, moving over you, his body caging yours in without touching more than he has to. 

You arch up into him, chasing his heat, his weight. And when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just above your waistband, your breath catches in your throat. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his pupils dark, his lips kiss-bruised. “Still pretending?” he breathes. 

You shake your head, dazed. “Not even a little bit.” 

- 

You wake up warm. Too warm. 

Jake Seresin is sprawled across half your bed, one leg tangled over yours and an arm wrapped around your waist like you’re his personal body pillow. His bare chest is pressed to your back and his breath ghosts hot across your neck with every slow, sleepy exhale. 

You’re painfully aware of two things: one, you’re very, very naked. And two, so is he. 

And then... you remember everything. 

The kissing. The touching. The downright Olympic-level sex. The way he looked at you like you were something he’d been starving for. 

Your body aches in the best way, but your brain is in full meltdown mode. You try to untangle yourself without waking him. Emphasis on try. Because the second you shift, Jake groans and tightens his arm around you. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

You huff, trying to wriggle free. “I have to pee.” 

“Fine,” he says, releasing you with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t even think about climbing out the window. You’re mine now.” 

You roll your eyes as you slip out of bed, grabbing the closest shirt—his shirt—and tossing it over your head. It hangs low on your thighs, smelling like him and sex and very bad decisions. 

By the time you return from the bathroom, Jake’s propped up on one elbow, watching you with the same hunger in his eyes as last night “Damn, you look better in my shirt than I do.” 

You scoff and head for your dresser. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself talk?” 

“Not when I’m this right.” 

You grab a pair of shorts, but before you can pull them on, Jake is already moving. He slides off the bed, all muscles and tan skin, and corners you against the dresser. 

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes dark and wicked as his fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you're wearing, “you didn’t officially wake me up yet.” 

Your heart kicks up a notch. “Is that a thing now?” 

“Absolutely.” He leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “You gotta wake me up right, darlin’. Or I’m gonna be all cranky.” 

You arch a brow. “Define right.” 

He grins, lips brushing yours. “Tongue. Teeth optional.” 

You laugh into the kiss he gives you—hot, deep, and toe-curling. His hands roam down your back, tugging you flush against him. You can feel he’s already half hard again, the cocky bastard. 

But before things can spiral into round two, your phone buzzes loudly from the nightstand. 

Jake pulls back with a dramatic sigh. “If that’s Spencer again, I swear to God-” 

You smirk. “Jealous?” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Jealous? Sweetheart, I just spent the night making you scream my name.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, and he grins like he just won the damn lottery. 

To Jake’s great disappointment, it is Spencer. He’s on his way over, and the motel he’s staying at is only five minutes away. You both overslept—but can you really be blamed? No way. You were up most of the night tangled together, doing something that definitely didn’t feel pretend. 

“Come on, Romeo,” you say, tossing Jake his shirt. “Get dressed before Tybalt gets here.” 

Jake pauses, one brow arched as he tries not to stare at your naked chest. “Did you just imply that you used to date your cousin?” 

A light laugh bubbles out of you. “Not intentionally, but I’m surprised you know Shakespeare.” 

He grins, smug. “A little knowledge never hurt anyone. Helps win the ladies over, too.” 

He’s joking, you know he is—but the way he says ladies—plural—hits you like punch to the gut. That’s what Jake is: a ladies’ man. It was stupid to think this could be anything more than a bit of fun. Some stress relief between two friends who spent all day teasing each other until they snapped. 

If anyone can do casual sex, it’s Jake Seresin. It doesn’t matter how many pretty words he said last night—you can’t let yourself believe he actually meant them. 

“Hey,” he says gently, catching the shift in your energy. “You okay?” 

You nod a little too quickly, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Your nose starts to sting, and you blink fast, trying to will the emotion away. Who the hell cries after the best sex of their life? 

You gather your clothes and retreat to the bathroom, needing a buffer between you and Jake’s curious, overly perceptive eyes. You dress quickly, trying not to think about how good his shirt felt against your skin. 

It isn’t long before Spencer buzzes the intercom again, and you’re almost grateful. Jake doesn’t get the chance to press you, to ask about the look on your face that feels like it could crumble into a sob at any second. 

You’ve really fucked up now—because you let yourself believe it might’ve meant something. 

The two men spend the morning in the spare room, exchanging nothing more than grunts and sidelong glances while packing Spencer’s things into boxes. You don’t bother checking on them—you're not sure you can look at Jake right now anyway. So, you remain firmly planted on the couch, stuck in a spiral of your own damning thoughts. 

Around midday, you consider offering them lunch, but then you remember the mischievous glint in Jake’s eyes when he said that “it helps win the ladies over,” and you quickly decide against it. Instead, you grab your keys, tuck your phone into your back pocket, and head toward the door. 

“I’m heading out for a bit. Won’t be long,” you call out, not waiting for a reply before stepping out. 

“Wait,” Jake’s voice calls after you as the door swings shut. But you pretend not to hear. 

You stride toward the elevator, pressing the button more forcefully than necessary, but it doesn’t arrive fast enough. By the time the doors finally slide open, Jake is already in the hallway, his brows furrowed in concern. 

“Hang on a second,” he says, stopping right beside you, raising a hand to hold your jaw gently. 

When you step back, his face falls, confusion and dread flickering across his features. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you answer, stepping into the elevator. 

But he follows you in, jaw ticking with tension. “Darlin’, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking I broke you.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not broken.” 

“Then what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” His voice softens, but the underlying concern is still very present. 

You take a deep breath, averting your eyes to the floor of the elevator as you try to carefully assemble your thoughts. You don’t want to hurt him, but you also can’t ignore how wrong everything feels in your gut. 

“I just... I can’t do this, Jake,” you say, your voice almost cracking. 

He looks absolutely gutted, like you’ve just sucker-punched him. 

“I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plenty of people do it without any consequences,” you ramble on. “But I think there could be some huge consequences if we keep doing this. There’s just too much on the line. And while the sex was—God, it was mind-blowing—I just don’t think I can handle you doing it with other people while I’m over here trying to... figure out what this is.” 

The hurt on his face quickly morphs into utter confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, sweetheart?” 

“This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Last night. Us having sex and the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.” 

Now, he looks genuinely offended. His eyes widen, green irises flashing with disbelief. “You think that’s what this is?” 

Your heart races, the pulse in your throat thrumming. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

Jake lets out a short, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He glances briefly at the elevator doors before locking his gaze on you, intense and unyielding. 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his tone a low warning. 

Suddenly, you feel very small—not in a sad way, but in a vulnerable, exposed way. He steps closer, stalking toward you with predatory intent, and you instinctively back up against the elevator wall. His presence fills the small space, and the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable. 

You swallow thickly and nod. Just a small movement, but it’s enough to make him pounce. He presses his body to yours, trapping you between him and the wall, the metal rail digging into your lower back as he cages you in. 

“I thought I made it pretty fucking clear last night, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. “But if I didn’t, then let me say it now.” 

He pauses, eyes burning into yours as you breathe in each other’s air, hearts racing in sync. 

“I want you. Only you. All of you,” he growls. “I’ve been waiting years to do what I did last night. And now that I’ve had a taste?” He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “I’m never letting you go. You’re mine.” 

Your mind goes blank. Your mouth is dry, and your heart’s thundering in your chest as his words hit you like a freight train. 

“Say it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls you closer. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I’m yours.” The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, but they feel right. Like they were meant to be said. 

Jake smirks, a wicked, cocky grin that makes his eyes sparkle with unspoken mischief. “Good.” 

And just like that, his lips crash into yours—urgent, fiery, and full of need. The kiss is wild and untamed, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. His hands drop to the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly, forcing your legs around his waist as he presses you harder against the elevator wall. 

Every inch of your skin hums, the heat between you two scorching. You can’t get enough of him, his touch, the rawness of this moment. You claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, and before you can even think, you're already lost in him, all logic and restraint flying out the window. 

But then, right on cue, your personal cockblock arrives. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Spencer stands there, completely flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Neither of you had pressed a button when you entered, but the look on Jake’s face suggests that it might have been intentional. 

“Sorry, pal,” Jake grins, his lips bruised and swollen. “I just can’t get enough, you know what it’s like.” 

Spencer’s mouth moves, but no words come out. 

Jake casually takes the box from Spencer’s arms. “Let me help you with that. Go grab another one. Let’s get you out of here before you see more than you’re willing to, hm?” 

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock. 

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as you slip past Spencer and out of the elevator, back toward your apartment. 

There’s nothing fake about you and Jake anymore—not that there ever really was. And now, you can confidently say that Jake’s ego is as well-proportioned as the monster between his legs. 

END.

[jyunhology]

eager to please ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ csn (m)

summary: san’s tired from rehearsals, tired from the concert, but he’s never tired to please his pretty angel.

a/n: oh we getting freaky in here. also i think this was the first ever thing i’ve written after stanning ateez lol so my writing here might be a bit lacklustre as it’s from 2024 :”) also if you’re a minor please dont interact with my work, thanks.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: MINORS FUCK OFF!!!! soft dom!san, sub!reader, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, lots of praise, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess), a bit of feet but it’s not sexual? reader is just showing off her pedi, san is just so sweet and so soft :(((

Exhausted was an understatement to how the boys felt, especially after a long show they’ve done for the night. They loved their fans, but with the back-to-back shows lately, it was wearing them a little thin even if they don’t always show it.

It wasn’t difficult to feel a tad bit left out, too, subjected to the tireless assignments given to you by your professors and having no chance to visit and support your boyfriend tonight at their show, given that it was one of the last few ones.

But you vowed to finish it before this tour ends — you could never pass up seeing San killing the stage like you’ve seen in videos and on television, anyway.

“Okay, we decided by lots that I’ll shower first.” Wooyoung grins and the rest of them only roll their eyes in feigned annoyance, retiring to their rooms one by one while some stayed outside to get late night snacks.

Don’t take too long! One of the members shout back and Wooyoung only replies with a cheeky Okay! Though, San’s main mission was just to see you, opening the door to you still focused on your essay late into the night. 

With papers strewn around you, your glasses almost slipping off your face and your eyelids struggling to stay open, San thinks you look the most beautiful.

Stressed, yes, but also in the rawest state he can find you in; defying all the mean comments that jealous fans may have directed to you, defying all the articles the paparazzi accounts can’t resist writing about you. 

“Baby? How’s the essay?” San asks, but there’s no reply as he shuts the door and gently lays down his duffel bag, noticing how he can faintly hear the music, his music playing from your headphones and he laughs softly to himself. He manages to catch your attention soon enough when the bed dips from his weight, sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Hey, hello?” He laughs to himself again when you squint at the tab you’ve got open on your laptop before jumping at the mysterious man sitting in front of you, swallowing your scream once you realise it’s your boyfriend. “You’ve really got to stop looking so closely a—”

“San!” You scream a little too loud for 2 AM, but he doesn’t care when you drop everything you’re doing to leap forward into his waiting arms, smile wide at having finally seen your boyfriend after this harrowing night. For the moment, your work can wait, forgotten from your mind as you pull away, rejuvenated.

“Oof— someone’s excited to see me.”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Your lover only hums in thought.

“Maybe because I’ve been sweating for the past three hours?”

You stifle a laugh, “Well. Okay, you’re not wrong there. But you feel pretty clean now probably due to the ride back, so I’m not really complaining.”

San’s expression softens just a little at that, knowing how particular you were with cleanliness and yet—

“Plus, it’s been an annoying night...” All he can do in the midst of his admiration is a small pout at your struggles, letting you rant to him about outdated sources, the taxing word limit, the funny TikToks you got distracted by.

And hell, you were glad San was the last of the lots pulled to shower because one thing leads to the next and before you know it, you’re letting his eyes rake over your from the foot of the bed while you show him the pedicure you offered up your feet for.

“She’s pretty good, huh?” You wiggle your free foot as you glance at the little designs your friend did for you on the other — preparing to open her nail salon — but San doesn’t really pay much attention to your words nor the cute colours of the pedicure.

“Yeah... I guess she is...” He trails off, fingers set on sending thrills up your body instead as they travel up your calves and to your knees.

With as much mettle you can muster, you just pass it off as San needing contact with your skin (the clingy mornings are enough for you to know) and try to ignore the sparks that he leaves.

But for San, that’s as far as his hands can go, so he releases your legs and opts instead to hover over you while you’re still gushing about the pedicure.

“—And I insisted that she take 90 but nooo, she wanted to give me a friend’s discount and—” You’re cut off when you find that your boyfriend’s face is inches from yours and he gives you that sweet, sweet smile that you always love, but they sometimes hold hidden agendas.

Like tonight.

“Your voice is just so damn pretty.” He compliments and you’re taken aback by the random praise, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your face heat up.

You smack his shoulder in retaliation but all he does is nuzzle his face into your neck, into the skin there while he distracts you with feather-like kisses, wandering hands up your thighs.

“Can I maybe hear you in a different way?” San speaks in a softer, lower tone, feeling the vibrations of your throat as you chuckle. You pull gently on his black hair to make him face you. “Will you let me do that, baby? Let me hear you?”

You gulp inwardly, ignoring the pool of arousal that forms in your panties, his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your shorts.

The laugh you let out is a little contained, now, mouth just chasing his lips bit by bit, but he doesn’t give you what you want until you’re answering him. You nod.

“I need a vocal yes, sweetheart.”

“Yes—” You answer immediately with mini voice crack and you cough, “yes.”

“That’s my girl,” San smiles at your eagerness, indulging you with a gentle kiss to your lips that he has no control over either. His body just reacts to you so readily, deepening the kiss while he pulls back to the kneeling position he was in.

Only that now, he’s hooking his forearms around your thighs and pulls. You break the kiss with a yelp and he giggles at your surprise.

But you’ve always known him to be strong, muscles on show with the tank top he’s got on. And fuck, it’s quite a sight: San on his knees and breath fanning across your mouth, yours quick and irregular.

He doesn’t miss any time to trail kisses down your jaw, to your clavicle, hands pushing up your (his) hoodie to continue his route down to your chest, torso, tethering so close to where you just need him to touch.

“Up.” He says softly and you obey easily, lifting your hips up so he can help you remove your pants and underwear and he almost cums in his pants from how obediently you listen, trailing a hand up to your cheek to cradle it.

There’s a skip in his heart at how you lean into his touch, shaky breaths felt by his hand as he lowers himself. But his dick twitches when he comes face to face with your dripping hole.

“Were you waiting long, hm?” San asks, using his other hand to rub your inner thighs. He can already see how wet you are, juices glistening under the dim lighting you liked to study under.

“A little...”

He coos, leaving a line of pecks along your leg. “I’m sorry, baby, we went out to eat after the concert.”

You smile back softly, “that’s okay, Sannie—” Your eyes squeeze shut when you feel his breath over your throbbing clit, “I’m just glad you’re back— s-shit...”

“I’m so fucking glad I’m back too,” He gives one last soft kiss to your cunt, “and glad to be buried in my girl’s pussy again.”

All coherent thoughts are banished from your mind the moment he latches his mouth onto your clit, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue all over your sensitive bud.

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in, knowing the rest of the members were just a door away but San wasn’t having any of that, gently pushing away your palm.

“Normally I’d be,” he slurps up your arousal and speaks in between, speech muffled, “embarrassed. But, I’ve gone past that tonight. Want them to hear you.”

And goes right back to his meal, going back to securing his exposed arms around your thighs to trap you. Despite being swamped with your assignment and fatigue, you somehow can feel your skin lighting on fire and the relentless drag of your boyfriend’s tongue along your cunt. Everything’s so vivid, clear as day while you clench the sheets beneath you with white knuckles.

“San— fuck...” You make the mistake of looking down, because all you’re met with are his hypnotising eyes, looking up at you through hooded lids that match the ones on stage.

Except, these are solely reserved for you. There’s a non-stop onslaught of lewd noises that fill your bedroom as he eats you out like a starved man and he never breaks eye contact once, only tugging you closer into his mouth. “It’s too much— S-San... go slower—!”

All he replies with is a low guttural hum like he’s saying no, pressing further into your centre as an answer and you already know you’re in for a long night when he breathes in your scent heavily and his fingers dig into your flesh like honey.

They wander and curve and wrap around your torso so nicely, fingertips marking his canvas with red prints while they feel up your body and only leave goosebumps in their wake.

You’re terribly fixated on everything that goes on, still a little conscious about the seven other men that your hand naturally goes up to cover your mouth on a particularly harsh suck. But San reaches up to pull it away again, stopping momentarily to kiss the back of your palm.

“Let me hear how good I make you feel, princess.” He says against your skin, twining his fingers with yours and you know the game he’s playing soon enough. You shiver. “If not for them, for me.”

San doesn’t miss a beat with that murmured statement — saying all that and still keeping your sensitive thighs down. Though the real deal’s through knowing how turned on he can get just by hearing your sounds, your mewls, any indication that he’s making you feel like you’re in fucking heaven.

And he’s adamant on hearing your lips cry out his name.

At this point, you can only hope every other member has some sort of headphones on, because San immediately lays his tongue flat along your pussy, licking a long, slow stripe up and you throw your head back in a wanton moan. 

All you can feel is his smile against your cunt.

“Attagirl.”

You preen at the praise, using your own other hand to pull at his locks and push him deeper into you, lightheaded from the already approaching orgasm.

You hold on for him (well, you try), squeezing your connected hands, but your body collapses, choosing to arch against the sheets with your head knocking ever so slightly onto your laptop.

“S—San, San, oh my God.” You have no choice but to squirm in his strong hold, lips chanting his name and profanities that you don’t even know right from left anymore; your legs naturally wrap around his shoulders. “Right there— G-God!”

“You close? You’re gonna cum all over my tongue, baby?” He groans into your sopping pussy, continuing his merciless ministrations as you feel that familiar knot in your stomach and nodding even though San can’t see you. He doesn’t mind; your sounds and your clenching hole is enough.

Muffled, desperate, deep. “Mhm, yeah? That right?”

“Y—Yeah, Sannie,” you choke out a moan, hand making home in his perfect head of black hair while you pull and tug and yearn for friction with the utmost neediness that San pushes his face further into your cunt, whining at your sensitivity. “I’m g’nna cum— fuck, fuuuck—”

By now, you’re sure your juices have soaked the sheets below you just from how messy his tongue is on your clit, the obscene noises reverberating off the four walls of his room.

It’s the thrill, it’s the fast beating of your heart that pounds in your ears, it’s the dangerous conversation happening just outside that involves that risk of getting caught.

“San—” Your voice descends and spirals into incoherent words, hips starting to buck into his mouth before he swears softly into your skin and you’re spilling on his tongue. “Yes yes yes — I’m cumming—!”

That only prompts more trembles of your thighs, gasping out his name repeatedly until it’s the only word left on your tongue. The sloppiness of your pussy is reflected with the loud, slurping noises that are the only thing on your lover’s mind as he cleans you up with his mouth.

"Pussy’s leaking so much, hm?” San hums at your taste, drunk off your cum before releasing his tight hold on your thighs, settling instead for slow kisses along your heaving stomach. With renewed softness, he gives you three squeezes that contain a confession before releasing reluctantly.

“That’s it... Good girl, give it all t’me,” San mumbles, using a thumb to trace along your pretty folds and marvels just how much you came, strings of cum sticking to his fingers.

“I hope that was a good enough reward for how hard my baby’s been working.”

You laugh softly as you prop yourself up on shaky elbows, hand playing gently with his hair. There’s still small tremors in your legs, calming down from the high soon enough with how much adoration San addresses you with. “I wouldn’t use ‘hard’, probably more like... ‘When she wants to’.”

The other shrugs, recovering from his position slowly to kneel over you that you naturally close your legs, “completed work is still work done.”

“I guess so.” You mumble, a little surprised when he tilts your head up and you’re met with his signature, dimpled-filled smile.

“I know so, princess.” Leaning down, he rivals his crazed state just a minute ago by giving you a slow, tender kiss, pouring all of his love into it that you believe him.

And it’s like you float to cloud nine, easily going onto your knees so you can reach his height. Deepening the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you flush against his body — two hearts beating as one.

Oxygen becomes scarce soon enough and San has all the love in the world to give you when you look into his eyes.

“And I know, too, that I love you very much.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡

[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[chuluoyi]

the secret wife

- nanami kento x reader

follow the first years’ misadventures as they find out that apparently, the infamous 7:3 sorcerer is also a dutiful and loving husband in private!

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, the first years are simply chaotic, an attempt at humor, gojo cameo (he’s so insufferable), mentions of pregnancy, nanami being the best husband there is

note: based on an anon's suggestion, this is a spin-off to love entries' wife (so gojo is married to love entries reader naturally!) this is full chaos and crack omg so sorry and isn't proofread bc i’m kinda tired so pls forgive any mistakes and my dry humor :')

general masterlist

On one fine, sunny day, which was supposed to be a calm and relaxing afternoon...

“Hello? Yuji—”

Megumi could've sworn, they weren't usually this nosy.

“Gojo-sensei! It's urgent!”

Call it indulgence, because Nobara's curiosity just got the better of her.

“Oh? What's—”

“Does Nanamin have a wife!?”

And Yuji... well, he just needed answers, because the three of them were now in the ‘Mom and Baby’ section of department store, having just witnessed a monumental sight of their esteemed mentor, Nanami Kento—

—with a remarkably stunning woman hanging onto his arm.

“Huh?” Gojo's confusion was evident from the other line. Oh, yeah. Yuji had decided to cut to the chase and call him too, hoping for a swift clarification.

Okay, so why were the trio—plus Gojo on the speakerphone—hiding behind a pillar just to spy on Nanami and his very possible wife? Let us rewind 30 minutes before...

Yuji considers himself to have an exceptional eye and taste for women.

And 30 minutes ago, when he fell on his butt on the rough, hard asphalt in the jammed Shibuya crossing after accidentally getting shoved by the crowd, and encountered a kind, vivacious older woman—you, who extended a hand to help him up, he was even more convinced of that.

“Are you alright, Itadori-kun?” your soft voice entered his ears, catching him off-guard, and Yuji was certain of two things then.

One, that you were just like a literal angel descended from skies above, all dolled up and pretty with your flowy sundress.

“Ah, uh—” he stammered, eyes darting everywhere and anywhere at once as his palm started sweating after clasping your hand. “I-I am…”

And two, for the life of him, he had no idea who you were.

But it registered late in his mind to ask as he was busy controlling his ragged breathing and instant crush, and before Yuji knew it, you graced him with another kind smile and went on your way.

And did he feel so miserable afterwards.

. . .

“She’s sooo hella pretty, Fushiguro! And she knows me! Me!”

Megumi sighed, eyeing his friend in disgust. Truthfully, all he wanted was to return to the dorms and collapse onto his bed, and not listen to his friend’s incoherent ramblings.

"You sure you weren't imagining things?" Nobara questioned with slight irritation. "After you embarrassed us in front of Gojo-sensei's wife a while back, please think more before you act."

"I'm not, I swear! She said my name!"

"Itadori, can you please just not?" Megumi grumbled, having enough of this ruckus. "I want to walk back in peace."

And so tucking away his pout, Yuji walked in silence just as his best friend asked, and he was really going to leave it at that when suddenly he caught the sight of a familiar pristine coat and the sundress from earlier. “Oh?”

"Isn't that Nanami-san?" Nobara also spotted him, her eyes widening when she saw you, who was happily beaming as well as Nanami's light chuckle. "And wait, who is—?"

"That's her!" Yuji burst out, pointing decisively in your direction. "That's who I was talking about!"

Oh, no. Megumi dreaded it already. He could already see the utter catastrophe—

"I'm going after them!"

"Wait, Itadori! Me too!"

Too late. Before he could stop them, Nobara and Yuji had followed the pair. Reluctantly, Megumi trailed behind them too, albeit wearing a vexed scowl. Yet despite his misgivings, he couldn't deny that the things he saw over the next 30 minutes were genuinely unexpected.

Nanami consistently led you to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd, his hand holding yours firmly. He would occasionally throw you a smile, or when you didn’t hold hands, then he’d wrap an arm around your waist. And to the trio's bewilderment, they also saw him tenderly brushing his lips against your head while on the escalator.

Soft and gentle. It was a side of Nanami Kento they had never witnessed—either with anyone else or even himself.

The two of you ventured through home appliances, visited food stalls, and eventually... the ‘Mom and Baby’ section.

"Do you want to rest for a bit?" Nanami's voice held a touch of concern as his hand settled on the small of your back, and seeing that, Nobara positively swooned.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," you responded with a reassuring smile. "Let's head over there. I'd like to see that next!"

Watching you and Nanami meticulously going through strollers and cribs like a pair of would-be parents was apparently too mind-blowing for Yuji and Nobara, leading to the decision to call Gojo right then and there. And, as they say, the rest was history.

"Last I heard, Nanami wasn't married," Gojo answered resolutely. "If he is, then it's the ultimate betrayal because he never told me!"

"But we see him with a woman! At mother and baby care section!"

Gojo hummed in thoughtful manner. "Okay, students. Now I'm tasking you to see this to the very end! Keep me on the line!"

With that, Operation: Uncover Nanami's Wife was officially underway, and frankly, the way the three of them were clumsily tailing the 7:3 sorcerer made Megumi want to facepalm. How was it that Nanami hadn't noticed their rather conspicuous attempts at all?

Now you were fawning over baby clothes, cutely trying not to squeal as you picked a little blue and yellow overalls. "Kento! Kento! Look, how cute!"

And all of them were floored once again when the expression on his face softened, as a warm smile adorned his lips. "Yeah, they are."

"Is she pregnant? She doesn't look it..." Nobara remarked, squinting and frowning, still watching the two of you like a hawk.

"Or maybe they're shopping for someone else?" Megumi suggested, earning teasing grins from Yuji and Nobara, to which he quickly rolled his eyes, as they chorused, "Looks like you're curious too!"

After a while, you moved from the clothes to sections stocked with mother's necessities. Yuji leaned against one of the racks, pressing his ear against it, with Nobara and Megumi crowding behind him, attempting to catch a snippet of your conversation with Nanami.

"I think we should get some heat packs and these pillows—"

"Oh, Kento! You're such a worrywart, I still won't need them for a few more months—"

"Wait, what?" Yuji whipped his head around in surprise, causing Nobara, who was leaning on him, to stumble and inadvertently collide with the racks.

"Eh? Huh!?"

Unfortunately, the racks weren't sturdy enough, and the force caused them to sway dangerously. Nobara, sensing her imminent fall, instinctively grabbed Yuji's arm to steady herself. However, he got tugged instead and their combined weight exacerbated the situation, leading to the racks quickly toppling over and a deafening commotion ensued—

Crash!

"Careful!" Nanami immediately pulled you behind him, a protective arm around your shoulder, sensing your shock from the sudden crash. He was on high alert, expecting some sort of attack of cursed spirits, but instead, he was met with the most astounding sight of the bickering culprits amidst the fallen racks.

"Kugisaki! What are you doing!"

"You dumbass! Why didn't you stop me from falling?!"

"Itadori-kun...?" Nanami called out in utter disbelief, his mind couldn't fathom as to why the first years were here. However, his attention quickly shifted to Megumi, who was seething and sending his friends a glare so hard it could drill a hole into them.

Then, the boy swiftly fixed himself into a low bow in front of him, ashamed, disregarding Yuji and Nobara's groans altogether. "Nanami-san, I'm very, very sorry on their behalf."

"What are the three of you doing here?" he inquired, and poor Megumi seemed at a loss, huffing as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of where to even start.

Meanwhile you were full of worry for the fallen kids. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

For the second time today, you tried to help Yuji to stand on his feet, and this time, he really had a good look over you.

It wasn't exactly noticeable due to how loose your dress was, but now he could see that under it, your belly was slightly rounded—an unmistakable baby bump.

Amidst his shock and pain, Yuji couldn't bring himself to take your hand as he inadvertently let this slip, "N-Nanamin! You knocked her up!"

Nanami blinked. You gaped. Megumi and Nobara went pale in sheer horror, ready to murder their friend on the spot for his extreme height of rudeness.

“Itadori-kun,” Nanami cleared his throat then, and if he was offended, then he chose not to show it. “First of all, I’m sorry for not introducing you sooner. This is Y/N, my wife, and yes,” his tone hardened slightly, “She’s carrying our first child.”

“S-so you are married!”

“Yes, that was what I—”

“What the hell?! NANAMIIII!”

Oh, the freaking phone. After his fall, Yuji’s phone ended up on the floor, and of course, Gojo did hear all of the entire madness, evident from how his voice blared from the phone.

Nanami frowned, unwittingly reaching out towards the phone. “Who—?”

“NA-NA-MI!" Gojo screeched in righteous exasperation, and the former immediately pulled away from the phone with a cringe. “How could you?! I invited you to my wedding! Are you a hermit or something—how could not tell anyone!? Didn’t you say I can officiate—”

“I said no such thing. Please refrain from saying outrageous things, it’s both annoying and misleading,” Nanami stressed, growing more irritated by the mere sound of Gojo's whining voice and feeling his patience waning rapidly.

"Aren't we friends?! How—!"

"Should I find you instigate one more of this... shenanigans with the kids, I won't hesitate to report you to Yaga and your wife," he interjected then with clear irritation, and right that second, Gojo shut himself up.

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi couldn't help drawing that one conclusion in wonder: So, that's what Gojo-sensei is afraid of.

Nanami swiftly ended the call with a flick of his finger, returning the phone to the still mystified Yuji. Turning back to the trio, Nanami's irritation simmered as he glanced at the mess of broken goods on the floor, as well as noticing the approaching clerks.

"You three..." Nanami started, his voice rising slightly, unfaltering even as the three of them flinched. "Do you realize what you've done? Are you so idle that you can ditch your assignments?"

"Kento, don't be too harsh," you rebuked, placing a hand on his arm with a frown on your face. Nanami sighed, looking over the situation once again. It was a whole rack of baby necessities destroyed; plates, glasses, and whatnot scattered across the floor.

Nobara bit her lip in anxiety. “Oh my god, who's going to pay for all this damage?” She could already imagine the staggering amount this mess would cost. This is worth millions, anyone can go bankrupt.

There was only one person who can and will. Immediately, both Nanami and Megumi turned to her with a shared resolve.

"Gojo," Megumi blurted.

"He will be charged for everything," Nanami added with spite.

Epilogue

"You just love those kids, don't you, Kento?"

That night, when both of you were ready for sleep, Nanami had one hand caressing your still growing belly, and you teased him with a chuckle.

"Huh?" your husband looked at you in mild confusion as he stopped stroking you. "What do you mean?"

You giggled again. "You said to put it on Gojo's name, but in the end, you were the one who covered the damages first."

Nanami huffed lightly. "That's because I can't get the kids in trouble. But mark my words, I'll make sure Gojo pays up later, by force if I need to." He made a face when he remembered just what a massive bill it was. "That's too much money to be spent carelessly. We have our child and our future to consider."

"You're always like that," you sighed fondly, taking his hand and placing it back to the swell of your belly. "Always on the first line of defense for the students." Your smile widened. "It makes me think... just how lucky our kid will be with you as their father."

"On the contrary, I'm counting my blessings that they'll have someone as soft as you for their mother," your husband retorted with a smile, kissing your temple. And your heart melted into a puddle by his affectionate gesture.

"That's too sweet... ah, yeah," suddenly, you were reminded of a critical thing. “Kento, have you ever considered telling everyone else that we're married? At least to people at school?”

Nanami always wanted privacy for safety reasons most of the time, and you understood that, but seeing that Gojo and the first years knew already, you thought it might be the best time to let everyone know.

"I honestly don’t see the need to, why?"

"People like Gojo are confused—"

Your husband rolled his eyes then. "Don’t worry, dear. People like Gojo exist to spread the word so we don't have to."

[from-izzy]

[00:35] | ATEEZ CHOI SAN

“And if I do?”

pairing » ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, non-idol au

genre » very fluffy, falling asleep during studying and boyfriend san who is worried for you because you don't take the greatest care of yourself, (it really was supposed to be fluff all through the end) turns suggestive towards the last quarter of the story, reader is a bit playful, san is very in love with you, of course you are super in love with him too

word count; estimated reading time » 1032; ~4 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » quite suggestive at the end, indeed...a suggestive sentence at the very end, san lifts the reader up, reader wears glasses, reader implied to be smaller than san, san restrains reader's hands, pet names (bubs, baby girl)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

my ateez debut! here it is @jaehunnyy !! i really wanted to post smth for your bday so please take this as a late bday present 😭 thanks for proofreading a bit of this one and finding the pictures for the banners 🥰 you saved me a bunch of tears fr 😀 have fun with the second one (even though it's the same...😭)

It’s not an unusual occurrence for you to be staying up late at night and for San to find you draped over your books and worksheets when he gets home. In fact, it’s becoming such a usual occurrence that San is making it a habit to open the front door with such gentleness that the click of the door opening would be too loud for his liking. In reality, your study desk at your shared apartment is quite a distance from the entrance of the apartment, so if San wanted to, he could enter in the same way as if you were awake.

But he didn’t want to.

In the rare case that you decide to snooze off on the couch, he doesn’t want to be the one to ruin your precious, peaceful sleeping time. Unfortunately for him, he would still be needing to do it one way or another if he ever finds you asleep on the couch or anywhere but your shared bed. The victorious smile from closing the front door quietly soon turns upside down, frowning at the sight of your head lying on your stack of handouts in the study room. The stack acted as your pillow, your arms around the rectangular pile. You look like you have been resting your body for some time now, given that San’s soft head pat didn’t faze you at all. With a slightly heavy sigh, San makes his way to the other side of the desk to get a better look at your face. He kneels on the floor, content with being more at eye level with you. 

He’s surprised to see that you must’ve been so exhausted that taking your glasses off might have been too much effort for you. The side frame completely rests on the paper, the nose pad of the glasses no longer resting properly on your nose. San hisses at how the hard plastic pushes against your nose, already imagining the pain when you wake up and realise tomorrow.

“Bubs,” he tests your consciousness with a whisper. “Your whole body is going to hurt when you wake up, you know?” Your breathing is still as even as before, and the no response from you deepens his frown. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to move you, okay?” 

San rises to his feet once again, grabbing the blanket drapped on your study desk that he has prepared. He’s told you multiple times to at least cover your body if you don’t plan to take a nap on the bed, but he should have known that when tiredness kicks in, all a person wants to do is to close their eyes. San spreads the light cotton across your back, kissing the side of your head and humming sweet melodies to avoid surprising you too much with his movement.

“San?” You slur sleepily, still unable to fully wake up. San clicks your desk light off and soon sees your content smile at his little gesture. “When did you get home?”

“Just a few seconds ago. When did you fall asleep?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” A raised eyebrow from your boyfriend is what prompts you to tell him the truth. “A little longer than that.”

San tuts disapprovingly, “You can’t keep slouching off on the table. It’s not good for your body. And this,” he takes your glasses off by the hinges, “it’s not comfortable for you.”

You hum at his loving lecture for you, beginning to straighten your back from the long nap. Truthfully, if San weren’t beside you right now, you would be sending complaints to your past self for dozing off at the table, your back cramping and sore. But Choi San knows you too well, and the creases between your eyebrows tell him everything.

“See?” He reprimands. 

You’re not given another chance to rebut when he swivels the chair around for you to face him. In a second, you’re in his arms, the back of your knee and back supported securely with his arms, and your shoulder pressed against his chest. San looks down at you, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead that you respond to by pressing yours along his jawline. Along the short walk to the adjacent room, you plant kisses all over his face, giggling at the way his cheeks grow red with every second. 

Just a few seconds before San would rest you gently on the mattress, you steal a kiss from his plump lips, arms wrapped around his nape and threading your fingers into the strands of his hair. San almost stumbles but soon regains balance when he registers the way you delicately take his lips. Along with the giggles and fabric rustling against each other in the small room, it’s not long until your head properly lays on a pillow. San doesn’t let you breathe after, climbing on top of your figure with his palms beside your head to support himself. His knees sink to the mattress beside your thighs, and you’re left breathless with the man before you. The remnants of his cologne are clearer now, and the proximity leaves you curling up a side of your lips.

Your boyfriend knows the meaning of your expression well from experience. “Don’t rile me up, baby girl…”

Just like he did a second ago, your eyebrow rises. Your pointer traces along the center of his exposed neck, feeling the gulp and his intense stare on you. You glide across his skin, tracing along his collarbones slowly, making sure that your touch lingers on his skin. When your finger slides down to the neckline of his fabric, it curls around his shirt to pull his tense expression closer to you. A quick touch of your lips is all you spare him before regaining eye contact with him.

“And if I do?”

Those words are enough for San to lose control, pulling the sheets to his palms as he fists them tightly. One hand leaves the bed, restraining both your wrists under his hold above your head. He dives closer to the crook of your neck, ragged breathing and warm breath against your skin.

“I’ll make sure you’ll sleep peacefully for days.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet

@haneul-and-clouds @jaehunnyy @mars101

[kitten4sannie]

backstage bukakke with ateez ♡

a/n: is anyone in need of post coachella performance brainrot?? :33 and if any of you were wondering,, no i’m not okay 🙂‍↔️🫶🏼 without further ado, here’s a LOT more backstage debauchery (like i went insane….i should be in a padded cell rn….) except this time san brought the whole crew to help drown you in cum <333 enjoy the meal my dears bc i can never show my face in public again after this 😭😭

w.c: 2.4k

warnings: alcohol use, subby fem manager! reader, free use, domteez, gangbang, who’s the biggest menace here? that’s for you to decide 🫵🏼, this is just complete filth btw,, dirty talk, degradation/praise, pet names/name calling, so much cum….., yungi confirm the big cock allegations, hongjoong might have a captain kink idk, double penetration, anal, implied sloppy seconds/thirds/fourths kskssb, brief tit play, brief oral, cum eating, size kink, bulge kink, breeding, creampies for days, a bukakke as promised <3

Once the members sent out their last waves and finger hearts to the adoring fans and locals in the vast festival crowd, they made their way back to their temporary dressing room to catch their breath and have a celebratory drink or two. Brimming with adrenaline and energy due to their momentous performance, they erupted in enthusiastic greetings as soon as their dear manager entered the room, a few of them draping their arms around your shoulders to give you a quick hug.

“Manager-nim, did you like the show?” San spoke up, bringing his glass up to his mouth, taking a small sip of the potent liquor.

“You know you can just call me by my name, San, and I thought you guys absolutely killed it, like always,” you replied, scanning their faces, lightly adjusting the hem of your work blazer. No matter how many times you had all of their eyes and attention on you, you couldn’t seem to get used to it. It always made you feel hot under the collar, not knowing what was going through each of their minds when they looked at you the way they did. With interest. Hunger.

San couldn’t help but smirk, his dimples visible. You had taken the bait. He watched Yunho serve you a glass of whiskey. “You’re right. We’re way past titles, aren’t we? Especially considering the way I had you bent over for me right after our set last weekend.”

You choked on the liquor, your body suddenly feeling hot, especially under the heated gaze of the men standing around you. “S-San, behave yourself.”

He lightly licked at his lips, his gaze sharpening, ready to add to the growing heaviness of the atmosphere in the room. “Don’t act so coy now, sweetheart. You know better than that, don’t you?”

You bit into your bottom lip, looking up to Yunho for help, only to find that he was giving you an increasingly perverse smile, like he was reminiscing about something filthy.

Yunho reached down to wrap a lock of your hair around his jewelry adorned finger, sighing, “We could all hear the way Sannie fucked your brains out, doll, but you wanted us to hear, didn’t you? Even though you’re our manager, you’re still our good little slut, yeah?”

Something clicked into place inside your brain like it usually did when they talked to you like this. You could finally stop being so uptight and in control, instead allowing the eager members to do as they pleased with you. “Yeah, I am,” you nodded shyly, your insides on fire.

San took a step towards you, reaching out to run his fingers along your collar bone. “Can I ask you something?”

Your breath caught inside your throat. You knew what he was going to ask. You knew what they wanted. Despite the professional relationship you had with the members, you always seemed to end up in increasingly unprofessional situations with them. You couldn’t help it, not when they always made you feel so good. Wanted. Craved. “Say it, San….”

While gazing down at you, his ringed finger drifted down your chest and along the seam of your blazer. “Can we make you our whore, Manager-nim?”

The members exchanged pleased glances with one another, some of them pulling at the crotch of their tailored pants.

“As long as someone locks the door, okay?” you answered underneath your breath, your eyes beginning to glaze over with lust.

San simply took a step around you, running his hands up and down your shoulders, coaxing you out of your blazer and unzipping your work dress, presenting you to his beloved members like you were a treat — one they would savor together.

-

“Don’t pass out on us now, baby,” San’s husky voice attempted to reach you through the fog you were in, his fingers gently rubbing at the fresh load that had splattered onto your flushed cheek, sliding his digits into your panting mouth for you to clean. “How many was that, hm? How many cocks have been inside you so far? Can our slutty manager remember?”

You stopped counting long ago, too fucked out to think about whose cock had already rearranged your insides and who had stuffed your ass full. You couldn’t even remember who had fucked your face either, but your sore jaw was proof that it was most likely one of the more gifted members. “I-i don’t know how many, just want more,” you whined out, looking up at San past your wet lashes.

“Yeah, you always want more from us, don’t you, baby? Want us to go to our limit? Want us to give you our all, huh? Are you going to milk us all dry like a good slut?”

You could hardly listen to his breathy, self-serving monologue, not with the way Wooyoung was gripping your hips and shoving his thick cock into you with abandon, like you were his own personal sex doll. “Uh-huh, wanna be good for you all…”

“How precious,” San sighed under his breath, all while he jerked himself off, beads of pre-cum spilling out of the twitching tip, watching the way his closest friend pumped himself in and out of your clenching hole, noticing the way his hips began to stutter. “Then, be good and take Wooyoung’s load inside that tight little cunt of yours, just like you took our Captain’s and Seonghwa’s earlier, okay? Can you do that for us, baby? Can you be our pretty little cum dump?”

You couldn’t speak, simply responding by squirting all over Wooyoung’s thrusting cock, just about ready to fall over from the overwhelming pleasure, but unable to with the way Mingi was behind you, his heaving chest pressing into your back, his ringed fingers lazily groping at your sore tits, balls-deep in your tight ass.

“Pretty baby, our pretty girl,” Mingi praised in a gravelly voice, his lips against your ear, squeezing your tits just as his groans began to crescendo, driving himself into you a few more times before he held still, previous loads leaking out of your ass and down the sides of his veined cock to the base as he filled you up again. “Can you feel that, babydoll? Feel the way I’m stuffing you full of cum? It feels so good, you want to cry, don’t you?”

All you could do was nod drunkenly, tears pricking at the corners of your hazy eyes, your trembling thighs growing more and more numb.

“Look at her, guys, she’s cumming just from being bred,” Wooyoung panted out, his hands squeezing into your sides, holding you still on his pulsing cock, not attempting to pull out until he was sure your inner walls were coated with his cum, chuckling smugly along with his fellow members at the way you desperately drew in another shaky breath and simply whined instead of forming words. “Poor slut can’t even talk. Someone should shoot their load down her throat. Maybe it’ll help ground her.”

“Way ahead of you,” Yeosang softly interjected, giving you a princely smile as he walked up to where you were positioned on the lengthy couch. He ran his slender fingers through your hair, slowly angling your head back as he did, bringing his slicked-up cockhead to your parted lips. “Say ‘ahh’, darling.”

Just as you obeyed, you watched Yeosang’s pretty flushed face contort in pleasure, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his pulsing length, milking it for all it’s worth, rope after rope of hot cum shooting into the back of your throat, a few dribbles remaining on your tongue. You were so full of cum, all of your holes were used up, and yet you needed more. “Not enough…More, please. I’m being such a good girl, aren’t I?”

San’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip, sharing glances with the other members, squeezing around the base of his cock to keep himself from busting right then and there. “Guys, I think we broke our manager.”

“Isn’t that the point? Look at her. She loves it,” Wooyoung pointed out, motioning to your blissed-out face, before he finally pulled out of you, reaching down to spread open your used hole, pleased sighs echoing inside the room. “Look, Sannie, her cunt’s all messy now. Ran through. Just the way you like it, huh, you sick fuck? You want sloppy seconds?”

San nodded his head, salivating, practically in a trance.

“Then, hurry up and shove your cock inside her before my cum leaks out,” Wooyoung tsked, climbing off of the cum-stained couch and smacking his hand against San’s ass to get him to spring into action, which he did, laying down on his back and sliding you down onto his cock inch by inch, but not before he tapped his leaking cockhead over your swollen clit a few times for good measure.

San’s dimples accompanied his shit-eating grin as he bottomed out, slowly running one of his hands up your lower abdomen to feel the outline of his stiff cock. “It’s so big inside, isn’t it, Manager-nim? Am I stretching you out nice and wide?”

All you could do was whimper pathetically, because not only were you taking San’s curved cock inside your cunt, but meanwhile Mingi had been showing Yunho the way your hole had begun to gape after the rough treatment you had taken, especially from someone with his size, knowing it was best that he prepped you for his best friend, knowing the term ‘horse cock’ didn’t even begin to describe what Yunho had to offer you. “It’s all for you, bro. Come and get it,” Mingi mused huskily, getting out of Yunho’s way so that he could replace him, one hand on your ass to keep it spread open for everyone’s viewing pleasure, as your hole slowly swallowed up Yunho’s obscene girth.

San and Yunho seemed to be in the middle of an intense competition, considering the way they both would continually thrust into you harder, and faster, grabbing at your tits and hips for leverage to fuck into you even deeper than before, if that was possible. “I-it’s not a–fuck–race, guys,” you cried out, suddenly being pressed back into Yunho’s warm chest when San sat up on the couch and folded you up, jack-hammering himself into you, using you like a cocksleeve. 

“Yes, it is, and I’m gonna knock you up first, not this loser,” San grunted out in between shaky moans, smiling with his canines at you, then at Yunho past your shoulder, who responded by bucking his hips up into you so roughly, he had to wrap his arms around your middle to keep you in place. 

“I’m fucking her ass, dumbass, I can’t even knock her up if I wanted to,” Yunho replied breathlessly, shaking his head, giving San a playful smile, before pressing his lips to your earlobe. “And I want to, tiny. Wish I could.” 

“Not with that attitude,” San huffed, blowing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, his vision beginning to blur with the sudden onset of pleasure surging through him. “I’m going to fucking–unnnh–fill up your slutty cunt with my cum, baby. Gonna make it so messy. And you’re, fuck, you’re so tight now. That’s our good cumslut.” 

“The perfect cumslut,” Hongjoong interrupted in a low voice, suddenly towering over you, holding his cock near your mouth, nodding approvingly when you began to suck and lick at the tip. “That’s right. You love Captain’s cock the most, don’t you, pretty girl?” 

Seonghwa pushed his way past the other thirsty members who were hovering around you like vultures, slipping his fingers into your hair and gently guiding you to his own cock, cooing at you approvingly when you let it hit the back of your throat. He smiled smugly at Hongjoong, who was now side-eyeing him. “Stay mad. It’s not my fault she has taste.” 

“You better watch it, Seonghwa.”

“You can watch our slut suck my cock.” 

Hongjoong grumbled to himself, reaching down to tug your head back just firmly enough to lead you back to his cock, before you took it upon yourself to sandwich their lengths together so that you could please them both at once. They stopped bickering and instead held onto each other, biting into their lips as their highs began to take over. 

It was then that San and Yunho emitted similar sounding guttural groans, fully sheathing themselves inside you, their fingers squeezing tightly into your hips from either side. 

“Cumming,” they both exhaled, resting their heads on either side of your shoulder, beads of sweat dripping down their jaws and along their straining necks. 

Just as hot cum poured into both of your used holes, Seonghwa and Hongjoong began to shudder and grunt out obscenities, aiming their milky streams towards your lolled-out tongue.

San suddenly waved for Jongho to come closer, pulling out just enough so that obscene globs of cum began to leak out of you, making you whine. “Here, cum inside her, JJong. I want my favorite maknae to finish our cumslut off.”

Jongho gingerly positioned himself near your gushing entrance and plugged you back up with his thick, throbbing cock, his strong thighs smacking into your delicate ones as he vigorously bounced you on his lap. “Want it?” he simply asked near your lips, making you blush.

“Please!”

Just as Jongho pounded his load and the others deep into your womb, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Mingi pushed their way closer to you, vigorously jerking themselves off in order to leave their own individual mark on you for the second or third time, extremely pleased with themselves once they covered their dear manager’s face and body in their cum. 

Once you all came down, you found that you couldn’t quite operate your body properly, not when your lower half was completely numb and throbbing with residual pleasure. San and Yunho took it upon themselves to cuddle you from either side, while Jongho gently rubbed your tummy in circles, wondering whose load would knock you up first. Only time would tell.

“How was that?” San asked softly near your ear. 

“We weren’t too rough with you, were we?” Yunho murmured, biting his lip. 

“How are you feeling, Manager-nim?” Jongho added gently, patting your tummy.

You sighed gently, reaching up to pat their heads, smiling at the men around you. And to think you actually got paid for this. You couldn’t have asked for a better job. “Guys…I’m fine, and for the record, it was so good, I don’t think I can ever go back to having normal sex again. I’m a bit concerned, actually.”

The rest of the members began to laugh, and you joined along, before clearing your throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortably sticky, looking down to see what you had all done to the poor couch. “Okay, so, who’s going to clean this mess up? And, it’s not going to be me. I can’t move my legs. I…think you guys actually broke me.”

San looked over to Wooyoung, who was already rolling his eyes, pointing dramatically at him. “I told you!”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[bluelockmaniac]

˖⋆࿐໋ "PLEASE, COME BACK."

★ ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, alexis ness, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, don lorenzo, oliver aiku, isagi yoichi & otoya eita (honourable mentions). synopsis. your ex-partners are desperate for you and need you back.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 content warning. general: pet names (princess, baby, etc). sae: suggestive. ness: mentions of stalking, obsessive, creepy ngl. reo: parental humiliation, mother reader. oliver: cheating (duh), he gets slapped lmfao.

notes. total word count: 3.3k !! , angsty ? fem!reader .

୨ৎ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

rainy days were the worst, you mused bitterly, recalling how rin had chosen a stormy day, much akin to this, to break things off with you.

you sneezed into your elbow, feeling the tiny droplets of water cascade down, peppering your bare skin relentlessly. you shivered as you sat on a random bench in the nearest park, regretting your decision to skip checking the weather app today.

wrapping your arms around yourself, cold and damp, you anxiously waited for a certain someone to pick you up.

suddenly, the freezing, stinging sensation of the raindrops on your skin ceased. you noticed a pair of legs in front of you and tilted your head up, meeting the familiar gaze of the man you had once called yours. his arm was outstretched, holding an umbrella above your head.

“y/n…” rin's voice was quiet, barely audible over the splattering rain.

your eyes widen, quickly darting down to stare at your empty lap. your fingers gripped the bench tightly. "hi," you mumbled, the word barely escaping your lips. this was probably the first time he had ever initiated a conversation with you; in your past relationship, that had always been your role. what was he doing here, anyway?

as if reading your mind, he spoke up awkwardly, “i just finished my afternoon jog…” he paused, shuffling his feet slightly. “do you want a ride?”

you finally looked up at him again, shaking your head subtly. “no, thank you... i'm waiting for someone right now.”

“ah, i see.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. he internally cursed himself for his clumsy attempt and for possibly making things worse by asking in the first place.

a few moments of uncomfortable silence passed between you, but when the tension was too unbearable to handle, he broke the silence.

“i'm… fuck, i'm sorry, okay?” he lowered his head, biting the inside of his cheek in frustration. “for everything in the past. for always ignoring you and neglecting you... if you want, we can–”

the loud honking sound of a car in the distance caught the attention of both you and rin. his brows furrowed in confusion as you stood up and walked a few steps towards the car, throwing him a faint smile.

“ah, it seems like my boyfriend is here.”

୨ৎ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

by no means was your relationship with sae horrible; in fact, it was quite the opposite. he consistently spoiled you with gifts and favourite snacks, treated you better than his teammates and the public, and always made you feel like the only girl in the universe.

so why had you both mutually agreed to call things off? the challenges of a long-distance relationship became overwhelming.

his frequent travels abroad for football games and the substantial timezone difference made regular communication difficult. every time you called, he would be asleep, and by the time you woke up, you’d see numerous missed calls from him.

nonetheless, it was safe to say that there were still lingering feelings between you both.

you sat down on your plush couch, turning on the television. immediately, the exclusive football channel that your tv always seemed to be tuned into appeared, and this time, it featured a live interview with your ex-boyfriend.

“sae…” you whispered softly upon seeing him.

it seemed as though the interviewer had already wrapped up the important questions, and was now delving into more personal topics.

“thank you, itoshi-san. next question, is there anything in particular that you enjoy doing?”

the football prodigy rolled his eyes and sighed audibly. with a blank expression, he replied, “my girlfriend.”

you felt your face heat up at the suggestive implication, pressing your hands to your warming cheeks– he had never had a girlfriend besides you and had promised he wouldn’t date anyone else. he was talking about you.

to make matters worse for your fragile heart, sae stared right into the camera lens with a subtle smirk, as if he knew you would be watching. the shallow stirring in your heart has confirmed what you already feared: you hadn’t gotten over him, and you knew you never would.

silence louder than a roaring engine filled the enclosure, before the interviewer broke the awkward stillness. “... s-sorry?” the lady was clearly caught off-guard, blinking at him once, twice.

sae scoffed impatiently, “did you not hear me the first time?”

“a-ah, yes, of course.” the woman stammered quickly, trying to recover her professionalism. “you... enjoy doing your girlfriend, yes.”

“used to,” he muttered under his breath, but the interviewer caught it.

“oh, i'm sorry,”

“yeah.”

unfortunately, the lady decided to press on, pushing her luck to pry more information from him. “so, itoshi-san, why did you break up with your girlfriend? could you provide your fans more information regarding your love li–”

he frowned deeply, shoving his hands into his pockets and abruptly standing up to leave, his manager pathetically following behind him. “shut up. you're annoying, leave me alone, ugly.”

later that day, you received a text message from sae.

'i need you back asap. i can help you settle here in spain and i'll pay for the plane ticket and shit.'

you would have never responded so quickly to a single text message had you still been in the long distance relationship. but, you still had a life here– your family, your childhood memories. you hesitated, leaving him on read for now, until you could think of something to reply with later.

a few weeks passed.

୨ৎ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

in a way, you blame yourself for thinking you could play the ‘i can change him,’ game. despite this, your efforts, though minimal, were somehow significant. he became increasingly dependent on you, seeking your comfort whenever he was upset over a game or haunted by memories of his harsh past.

he particularly loved resting his head on your comfortable lap as you raked your fingers through his blond hair, or when you kissed the tattoo on his neck, assuring him that everything would be okay.

but it had become exhausting. too repetitive. irritating, even. his daily venting sessions had taken a toll on your mental well-being, and you simply could not bear it any longer. 

unfortunately, the breakup ended on bad terms, with both of you hurling insults and belittling each other.

you happened to run into him at the airport. quickly, you shifted your gaze away, hoping that he had not taken notice of you. but luck seemed to mock you, and you could already hear his distinctive footsteps approaching.

"hey," he said nonchalantly, tapping on your shoulder to get your attention. “look at me, talk to me.”

your expression wavered as you hesitantly met his gaze, pursing your lips unsurely. “hi, michael,” you muttered softly.

a shallow line etched between his brows. “michael? you know that's not my name. say it properly.”

“it's not micha anymore, though,” you retorted, turning and walking toward the airplane boarding aisle as the passenger announcement was made.

“tch,” he scoffed, quickly making his way to his team, who were boarding the plane from the exclusive gate reserved for the elite football team of bastard münchen.

it was unfortunate that he had to board the same plane as you, but this was just a layover for you- you still had another flight to take before reaching your final destination.

closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the circular window, drifting off to sleep. when you slowly opened your eyes, however, you were not met with the kind gaze of the old lady who had been sitting next to you.

instead, you found yourself staring into a pair of cerulean eyes. he rested his chin on his hand, his elbow propped up on the armrest, watching you intently.

instantly, your eyes flutter fully open and a hurried gasp escaped your lips. “m-michael, you scared me,” you stuttered.

he rolled his eyes, turning his gaze away. “the old hag was more than happy to sit in the exclusive seats section,” he muttered simply. 

“i still haven't forgiven you,” he added, his eyes darting back to you. “but, fuck, come back already. stop being so stubborn.”

you sighed softly, taking his hands in yours. “michael, your rants aggravated my own anger issues. it literally wasn't good for my mental and emotional health.”

he mumbled something incoherent under his breath. when the plane finally descended one minute later, kaiser stood up, opening the overhead compartment above your seat, and handed you your two small suitcases.

placing his hand on your cheek, he leaned down to press his forehead against yours. “...don't block my number. i still want to see you. and talk to you.”

you nodded reluctantly, thanking him for the suitcases. as you looked at him once more before walking away, you spoke softly,

“please, consider going to therapy, micha.”

୨ৎ 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

what's better than returning home, exhaustion from work gnawing at your bones, only to find your ex-boyfriend lounging comfortably on a couch in your living room as if he owned the place?

you froze mid-step, breath catching in your throat. “alexis, what the fuck?” you spat angrily.

“y/n!” he immediately sprang up, his face lighting up alarmingly as he flashes you an innocent smile.

he casually strides towards you– as if he had no concept of personal space– and holds up a familiar DVD case. “schatz, remember this? i thought we could watch it, since i remember it was your favourite…”

your pulse quickened, instinctively stepping back. but, ness intercepted, possessively coiling his arms around you and enveloping you in a firm hug. his grip tightened slightly as you attempted to withdraw– but he was careful not to hurt you.

ness buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. “you'll watch it with me, won't you?” he smiled, his warm breath grazing your skin.

"alexis, how the fuck did you even get in?" you demanded, mustering the strength to break free and pry his arms off, snatching the remote and turning off the television.

he pouted, "i had the spare key you gave me! now won't you—"

“you're just as creepy and obsessive as ever,” you shot back, feeling intruded and unsettled, “there's a reason i broke up with you.”

his expression crumbled and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “d-don't say that, remember all the good times we had? we belong together!” his voice quivered with desperation as he leaned pathetically against the wall.

“yeah, i thought so too,” you countered, “until i caught you, lurking in the corner of my eye, watching me with a friend at the mall.” you gestured towards the door. “leave, now, and give me back the damned key.”

tears formed in his eyes, threatening to spill over as he reluctantly handed back the key. his fingers lingered against yours for a moment longer than necessary. he stepped out of your apartment and threw a weak smile at you over his shoulder. he whispers, “i love you, and i always will.”

you slammed the door shut.

୨ৎ 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎

you heard the doorbell ring as you were occupied with chopping tiny pieces of carrots for your young daughter. with a sigh, you set down the knife on the cutting board, wiping your hands on your apron and reluctantly heading towards the door.

there was no need to check the peephole; you instinctively knew it was your ex-husband, reo.

his monthly visits to hand over the child support had become a begrudgingly predictable routine. you swung the door open, and immediately, his desperate gaze met yours.

“y/n—” he started, but you cut him off with an uninterested glare.

“she's on the play mat in the living room. put the check on the table.” you said indifferently, already turning back toward the kitchen. before you could take a step, his fingers gently wrapped around your wrist. it's nothing you didn't expect, however; it happened every single month.

“reo, let go,” your voice was firm yet tired.

“baby, please,” he insisted, pulling you towards his chest and embracing you tightly. you felt the warmth of his body against yours, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. “i miss you. i really do. do you know how painful it is for me to slowly watch you become a stranger?”

you remained motionless for a moment before shaking your head, gently pushing him away. “no... just no,” you asserted softly, “your parents always humiliated me during our marriage— whether it be in front of guests at social events or large family dinners. i've never felt enough. and worse, you've always ignored it.”

his face twisted into one of guilt as he attempted to draw you back into his embrace. “i promise i'll–”

“reo!” your strangled voice accidentally yells out. “put the check on the table and leave!” the words leave your mouth impulsively in frustration.

you quickly brought a hand to your mouth, then clutched your chest, taking a deep breath to calm yourself as tears welled up in your eyes. in a quieter tone, you pleaded, “reo, please, just leave…”

albeit reluctantly, he complied, retreating with a heavy heart. but, as per the habitual routine, he returned the next month, pleading for your forgiveness and begging to be taken back.

୨ৎ 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎

dating nagi was tedious, and even that was an understatement.

"seishiro, i'm seriously considering blocking you if keep calling me every single day, begging me to take you back."

you exasperated, frustration clear as you sat on your bed with the phone on speaker, going through your nighttime skincare routine. you could hear nagi exhale deeply on the other end.

“... 'mm, angel, please,” he whined, his voice growing louder and more desperate. “i miss you, i'm all alone, my apartment's a mess and—”

you scoff, tossing the moisturizer tube onto your bed as you swabbed some onto your face. “your apartment's a mess? i wonder why that is… almost like your girlfriend was doing all the work around the house for you?”

a soft, frustrated groan escaped his lips at your sarcasm. he swallowed hard, his voice cracking, “listen, baby, 'm sorry for takin' you for granted, i want you back in my arms, i want to cuddle w'you like we used to. please, forgive me.”

a long pause hung heavy in the air, his breath hitching in his throat as he waited for your reply, hoping that you'd use what's left of your love for him–if any–to forgive him and return. with a tired sigh, you finally spoke up.

“... no, seishiro. i'm tired. being with you felt like a chore, to be honest. i was the one looking after you– making sure you ate your breakfast and lunch, doing your laundry that's scattered everywhere in your apartment, even reminding you to get off your video games. i'm not your mother...”

you let out all your pent-up frustration once and for all, hoping this would finally put an end to his persistent calls. it was clear you had reached your limit, knowing deep down that you deserved someone who appreciated your time and effort. 

“seriously, why don't you get yourself a maid? dating you was a hassle.”

you stated firmly before hanging up on him.

“dammit, angel…” nagi sighed defeatedly, his slumped body flopping down onto his bed. he lazily tossed his phone aside, feeling drained and overwhelmed. “i'm too tired for this.”

୨ৎ 𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐎

“pleaase, come backkk,”

great. the last thing you had wanted today was to run into your ex as you stood in line at the popcorn stand. you wished the ground below you would rupture and swallow you whole as he clung onto you shamelessly, drawing the attention of those around you.

“please, baby, i need you!” he whined. you felt the embarrassment from his dramatic display heat up your cheeks, shifting uncomfortably as you mouthed apologetic words to the vendor lady.

“stop it, get off me, you're embarrassing me!” you hissed softly, trying to push his head away. his grip was too strong, maintaining his hold on you as his grin widened, revealing his shiny set of golden teeth.

“only if you get back with me?” he bargained, stepping back anyway as he sensed your growing irritation (and embarrassment).

you crossed your arms, shooting him an accusatory glare. “no way in hell. and you don't need me— you were after my money all along, weren't you?”

“t-that's... come on, don't be like that,” he stammered, his face paling as he avoided eye contact.

“you've only ever seen me as your personal walking credit card, hm?” you continued, “thank you, you've drained me of all my money.”

he watched as you received your medium-sized popcorn bucket, thanking the vendor with a polite nod before turning to leave. the lady called out his name, his own popcorn waiting on the counter, still unpaid for.

his head snaps back to you, that absurd, signature smirk curling on his lips, “wait, y/n, aren't you going to p–”

without turning to face him, you muttered under your breath, “no, i'm not paying for your popcorn.”

୨ৎ 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔

you felt a large pair of hands gently rest on your shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. you stopped swirling your glass of wine, tilting your head up to meet a pair of beautiful, heterochromic eyes.

unfortunately, those eyes belonged to your fucking cheater of an ex.

“don't touch me, jerk,” you spat, cocking your head back down as you brought the glass to your lips and took a sip of the crimson drink.

he chuckled lowly, patting your head before shamelessly taking a seat beside you. wrapping his arm around the backrest of the sofa, he pulled you closer.

“c’mon, princess, don't be like that,” he winked, taking a sip of his own drink. he paused as he took in your irritated expression. “...are you really still mad at what happened a year ago?”

you shot him a dirty glare, and he immediately raised his hands in front of him in mock surrender. “sorry, sorry, i was only kidding.”

you finally downed the wine, standing up from the soft comfort of the sofa. before you could move away, his fingers encircled your wrist, pulling you back onto the couch, causing you to lean onto him with your hand on his chest.

“okay, but seriously, baby,” he said, delicately gripping your chin between his fingers and leaning in until his lips hovered right above yours. “i really messed up, i'm sorry, i swear she didn't mean anything, you're the one for m–”

“what the fuck do you think you're doing?!” you yelled, slapping his cheek hard enough to whip his head toward the dance floor where numerous women in skimpy outfits were dancing. his gaze lingered on their movements for a while before he felt you pulling away from him.

“yeah, i'm sure you're toootally torn up about it, huh?” you scoffed sarcastically, “keep your eyes wandering, i can see you're overflowing with regret.”

“baby, i only care for y–”

“your sincerity is blinding.”

˗ˏˋ 𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 ˎˊ˗

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 would never push you to the point of discomfort or pressure. instead, he’d approach you casually, genuinely apologizing for any past incidents that might have upset you enough to end things. if you both decided on a mutual break up, then he would definitely try to preserve your relationship to at least that of friends. his main focus would be rebuilding trust between you two, hoping that time and space would allow you both to reconcile in the future. overall, it would be very unlikely for him to verbally express how desperate he is for you, but subtle physical touches are a different topic.

𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐘𝐀 would literally show up at your doorstep, begging on his knees for you. he'd be desperately pleading for your forgiveness– he really didn't want to reveal that he had initially been dating you because of a dare, or rather, a bet from his friends. it just slipped out forcefully. he just really, really, really needed that ps5. despite the bet, his feelings for you had genuinely developed over the five-month dating period. however… to earn that prize, he was required to expose his original intent, resulting in heartbreaks, tears, insults, and many “i hate you”s from your side.

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[willowsnook]

halfway to always

quinn hughes x sharks!reader

summary: reader is Macklin and Will's bff who works for the Sharks. She gets invited to the lakehouse after meeting Jack Hughes who thinks she would be perfect for his brother.

There was a week-long break after the Devils played the Sharks, and Jack Hughes was eager to take advantage of a couple of extra days in the sunny weather of San Jose. After a grueling stretch of games, a beach day sounded perfect.

“We just need to stop and pick one more person up, and then we’ll be good to go,” Macklin Celebrini said as he slid into the driver’s seat of the car.

“Who?” Jack asked, shifting in his seat to glance at Will Smith in the back.

“Y/n,” Macklin answered simply.

Will furrowed his brows. “Does she even know we’re coming?”

“No, but I’m sure she isn’t doing anything,” Macklin chirped, grinning. Will snorted in response, clearly used to this kind of behavior from him.

“Who’s Y/n?” Jack questioned, still confused.

“She’s our best friend,” Will said casually. “She also works for the Sharks in player personnel, which is how we met her.”

“Yeah, her job was to make sure we started acting like adults, and now she’s stuck with us forever,” Macklin joked.

Jack smirked. “Is she dating one of you?”

“I wish,” Will scoffed. “She says that we’re babies. But she’s our best friend for real; you’ll love her.”

When they finally made it to your door, Jack immediately understood why they were both so attached to you. You were stunning. Your long hair was piled haphazardly on top of your head, and you answered the door in an oversized Sharks sweatshirt and shorts, your bare legs curled slightly from standing in the doorway. There was an immediate spark of curiosity in Jack, but what entertained him most was the way your expression immediately twisted into mild annoyance the second you saw Macklin and Will.

“What are you doing here?” you asked warily, your voice laced with irritation.

“Come to the beach with us, please,” Macklin begged, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

“I’m busy,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, you aren’t,” Will countered, stepping around you and waltzing into the apartment like he owned the place. “This is Jack, by the way.”

“I know who he is,” you grumbled, stepping aside to let them all in.

“Sorry to intrude,” Jack said sheepishly, and you waved him off.

“This is like every day of my life.”

Will and Macklin made themselves comfortable on your couch as you sighed, resigning yourself to their plans. As much as you griped about babysitting them, they were your best friends. What had started as a work obligation had turned into late-night hangouts, last-minute road trip plans, and a friendship you wouldn’t trade for anything.

You disappeared into your room to change, and when you emerged, Jack’s eyes instinctively followed you.

“Did you bring sunscreen? Food? Water?” you asked, hands on your hips.

Will and Macklin exchanged a sheepish glance before shaking their heads.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, moving into the kitchen to gather supplies.

“She’s like our mom,” Will told Jack, watching as you furrowed your brows in concentration while making sandwiches. “We’d probably die without her.”

“She tells us we’re like Ollie and Andy from Bob’s Burgers all the time,” Macklin added with a groan.

Jack snorted. He leaned against the counter, watching you thoughtfully. There was something about you that reminded him of his older brother.

“She’s kind of like Quinn,” he mused.

“That’s actually a good comparison,” Macklin said, nodding. “They’d be a hot couple.”

“Macklin,” you warned, hearing him loud and clear.

“What?” Macklin shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying. You’re both responsible adults who take care of children like us.”

You rolled your eyes, placing the last sandwich in the cooler. "I've never even met Quinn."

"But you've watched him play," Will pointed out with a smirk. "Remember when you said his edge work was—"

"Finish that sentence and I'm not packing any beer," you threatened, pointing a knife still coated in mayo at him.

Will immediately clamped his mouth shut while Jack's interest was piqued. "What did she say about Quinn's edge work?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "Just professional observations."

Will smartly kept his mouth shut as you finished packing the cooler. Soon, you were all piled into the car, en route to the beach.

Once there, Macklin took off toward the water while you fell into step beside Will, Jack trailing slightly behind.

“You good?” you asked Will softly. He had been acting a little off since earlier—nothing obvious, but you knew him well enough to catch it.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. Too quickly. You shot him a look, and he sighed. “A lot of people are saying I should get sent down.”

Your heart clenched. You knew he was struggling a little, especially compared to how well Macklin was doing.

“A lot of people aren’t Coach,” you said gently. “You know what you need to work on.”

“I know,” he admitted. “The pressure is getting to me.”

“I’ll come in early with you this week to set up drills,” you offered.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re too good to me.” He threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the beach together.

Jack watched the interaction quietly. He knew how tough it was to be a rookie in the NHL, and it reassured him to see that Will had someone looking out for him. He thought about Quinn and how the weight of being a captain seemed to be isolating him more and more.

As the day went on, you and Jack got to know each other better. He was charming, easy to talk to, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than expected.

“Do you have the summer off too?” Jack asked as you reapplied sunscreen.

You chuckled. “No, some of us have real jobs.”

Jack blushed. “I meant, do you get any time off?”

“I take most of my PTO during the summer,” you admitted.

“You should come to the lake with us,” he suggested. “Macklin and Will are already coming, and we have plenty of extra space.”

You hesitated, meeting his hopeful gaze. “I don’t want to intrude on guy time.”

“There will be other girls there,” he assured you. “And honestly, I don’t think they would survive without you.”

Macklin and Will reappeared, both dripping wet.

“Convincing her to come to the lake?” Macklin asked, moving his wet hair purposely over you to drip. You swatted at him but he jumped out of the way laughing. 

“Please come, Y/n,” Will pleaded.

You sighed, leaning back against your towel. “Fine.”

Jack grinned. Maybe this trip would be more interesting than he thought.

—----------------------------------------------------

You landed in Michigan the evening of your first day off. Will came to get you and he swept you up in his arms the second he saw you. 

“I missed you,” he exclaimed dramatically as you giggled, finally pulling apart. 

“It’s been like three days buddy,” you reminded him, passing your bag off for him to carry. 

“Three days too long, it’s been boring without you,” he complained. 

“I doubt that,” you replied, amused. He talked your ear off on the ride to the house, mentioning that you just had time to drop your stuff off before they had a bonfire that night. 

Macklin was sitting on the steps as you pulled up, bouncing up eagerly the second he saw you. 

“Y/n!” He yelled bolting towards you. 

“Hi Mack,” you laughed into him, melting into his familiar embrace. Will carried your stuff in and you let Macklin lead you into the house. 

“Hey Jack,” you greeted, waving to the boy who was waiting in the entryway. He pulled you into a hug. 

“Good to see you, y/n,” he said before tugging your arm. “Let me introduce you to everyone else.”

You met his younger brother Luke, his teammate Nico and his girlfriend, and then finally his older brother. 

“I’m Quinn,” the oldest Hughes brother said, sticking out a hand to you. He had an amused expression on his face which you knew had to do with the two bouncing balls of energy that were behind you. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

"All good things, I hope," you said, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness as Quinn's hand lingered in yours a moment longer than necessary.

"Mostly complaints about how you force them to act like grown-ups," Quinn replied with a slight smirk, releasing your hand. "Which, honestly, is impressive. Getting Macklin to pick up after himself when he stayed with us was a challenge."

You laughed, feeling yourself relax a little. There was something about Quinn that put you at ease—a quiet confidence that contrasted with Macklin and Will's chaotic energy.

"I'll show you where you're staying," Jack offered, grabbing your bag from Will.

"I can take it," Will protested, but Jack was already heading up the stairs.

"You can fight over who gets to carry her stuff later," Quinn said dryly, giving you an apologetic glance that sent butterflies to your stomach. “The fire is already started.” 

Sure enough there was a nice fire going in the backyard. A hodgepodge of lawn chairs and patio furniture surrounded it and you sat down on a comfy outdoor couch, Macklin plopping down right next to you. His arm slung behind you and you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. 

“Long day?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Had to tie up some last minute things at work and then of course saved all the packing for before the flight.” 

“Sounds like you,” he teased and you rolled your eyes smiling. 

“How’s it been here so far?” You asked. 

“Fun, I missed the Hughes’ bros so it’s been good to catch up,” he told you. “The break will be good for us, especially Will.” 

You looked over at Will, who was talking animatedly about something with Luke.

“I’ve been worried about him,” you admitted. 

“Me too,” Macklin agreed. “He’ll figure it out.” 

Quinn was watching you from across the fire, sipping his beer slowly, much to Jack’s amusement. 

“Are you sure they aren’t in some weird throuple thing?” He finally asked, breaking the silence. Jack snorted, glancing over to you and Macklin. 

“I promise you they aren’t,” he confirmed. “Just good friends.” 

Quinn hummed noncommittally, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes hadn't left you since you'd arrived. There was something captivating about the way you fit so seamlessly into their group yet maintained a quiet authority over the rookies.

As the night progressed, you found yourself drifting between conversations. Luke was telling you about his latest game when Quinn finally approached, offering you another drink.

"Thanks," you said, accepting the cold beer from his hands. Your fingers brushed briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through you.

"So, player personnel," Quinn began, settling into the chair beside you. "That's an interesting role for someone so young."

You raised an eyebrow, “thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he backtracked. “Just thinking about how I would have enjoyed coming to the Canucks a little more if it was someone like you helping me versus a fifty year old man.” 

“Someone like me?” You teased, grinning widely as the older brother blushed. 

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled. 

You laughed softly, taking a sip of your beer. “I do, actually. A lot of guys coming into the league are barely out of high school, moving across the country, or even from overseas. It helps to have someone who understands what that transition is like—who can be a little more... relatable.”

Quinn nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Makes sense. I remember my first year was a whirlwind. You must have your hands full with those two.” He nodded toward Macklin and Will, who were now arguing over the best way to roast a marshmallow.

“You have no idea,” you groaned playfully. “They’re like two overgrown puppies. They mean well, but I swear I spend half my time keeping them from doing something stupid.”

Quinn chuckled. “Sounds familiar. Jack and Luke were the same way growing up. Still are, honestly.”

You turned to face him more fully, intrigued. “So, does that make you the responsible one? The one who keeps everyone in check?”

He smirked, taking another sip of his beer. “I try, but Jack and Luke don’t listen to me half the time. I think they see me more as the grumpy older brother who ruins their fun.”

You tilted your head, considering him. “I don’t think you’re grumpy. More like... observant.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he looked away, watching the fire. “Maybe.”

You studied him for a moment. Quinn was quieter than his brothers, more reserved, but there was an undeniable warmth to him—something steady, reliable. You could see why Jack and Luke looked up to him, even if they didn’t always admit it.

“So,” Quinn said, breaking the silence. “What did you say about my edge work?”

Your cheeks immediately flushed, and you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my god, I knew Will was going to say something.”

Quinn’s smirk deepened. “I’m just curious. Professional observations, right?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Fine. I might have said it was some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Might have?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, I did say that. Happy now?”

Quinn took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The air between you felt charged for a split second before Macklin’s voice rang out, breaking the moment.

“Y/n! Come settle this for us. Who’s making the better s’more—me or Will?”

You turned to Quinn, laughing. “Duty calls.”

Quinn watched as you walked toward the rookies, effortlessly slipping back into your role as their unofficial big sister. Jack nudged him from the side, a knowing grin on his face.

“You’re screwed,” Jack muttered.

Quinn just hummed, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The next morning, you woke up at sunrise, admiring the pretty sight from your window. Throwing a sweatshirt on, you headed down the stairs into the kitchen where you were surprised to see you weren’t the only one up. 

“Morning,” Quinn greeted, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.

“I’m shocked to see someone else up,” you greeted, amused. You moved around him to pour your own cup before turning back. 

“My body is too used to early mornings, can’t sleep past 8 now,” he admitted and you nodded. 

“I’m the same way,” you said. “Probably for the best though.” 

You opened his fridge and stood there puzzled. 

“What?” Quinn asked.

“You have literally no food,” you said, turning to him in confusion. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“We order out a lot or just grill,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Is there a grocery store nearby?” You asked.

“I think so,” he said.

“Okay let’s go,” you said, moving to find your shoes. Quinn chuckled but listened, grabbing his keys off the counter. 

He followed you around the store amused, chiming in when you asked him for an opinion but mostly just admiring you. 

“What were you going to eat on the boat today?” You asked, one hand on your hip as you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Good question,” he replied with a grin and you rolled your eyes. 

“Mr. Responsible my ass,” you muttered. He paid for the groceries and you helped him load them into the car before going back to the house. 

Once you were back, the two of you worked in silence. You making lunches for the day while Quinn cooked eggs, sausage, and potatoes for when everyone else woke up. 

The kitchen filled with the aroma of breakfast as you and Quinn worked side by side, falling into an easy rhythm. You'd occasionally brush against each other reaching for utensils or ingredients, each contact sending a small jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

"You're good at this," Quinn observed, watching as you efficiently packed sandwiches for everyone.

"Taking care of man-children? I've had plenty of practice," you replied with a smirk.

He laughed, a warm sound that made your stomach flutter. "I meant cooking, but fair point."

"My mom always said if you're going to do something, do it well," you explained, carefully wrapping each sandwich. "Even if it's just making lunch for a bunch of overgrown hockey players.”

Quinn's eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. "I think we have similar mothers."

The smell of breakfast eventually lured the others downstairs, one by one. Macklin was the first to appear, his hair sticking up in every direction.

"You're cooking?" he asked, eyes widening as he took in the sight of you and Quinn working side by side in the kitchen.

"Someone had to," you replied, shooting Quinn a playful glance. "Otherwise you'd all starve."

"Or survive on takeout," Quinn added.

Will stumbled in next, making a beeline for the coffee. "Y/n's cooking? Thank god."

"Actually, Quinn made breakfast," you corrected, nodding toward the spread of eggs and sausage. "I'm just prepping for the boat."

"Team effort," Quinn said quietly, and you felt a small flutter in your chest at his words.

By the time everyone was fed and the kitchen cleaned up, the sun was high and you had just changed into your swimsuit, throwing on an oversized tshirt as a coverup. You followed the boys down to the dock, laughing with Will about something. Nico and his girlfriend were doing something else for the day so it was just the six of you on the water. 

Jack got in the driver’s seat and brought you all out to the middle of the lake before sitting idle. Macklin flipped off the boat into the water and you laughed as you watched him come back up. 

“The water’s great, get in,” he called out to you and Will. You pulled off your tshirt, revealing the bright red bikini you had chosen for the day and Will whistled. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Quinn muttered as his eyes took in your figure, lost in a trance. Jack gave him a knowing grin which he returned with his middle finger. 

The day went by quickly and you had a lot of fun; it was nice to just relax and not think about work for once. As it was winding down, Jack got ready to drive back but beckoned you over. 

“You want to drive?” He asked and you bit your lip.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted and he patted his lap for you to sit down. You could feel Quinn’s stare from across the boat. 

“Sit,” he commanded and you smirked, settling onto his lap, your back into his chest. 

“I know what you’re doing,” you told him, looking over your shoulder to Quinn.

Jack chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "Just helping out a friend," he whispered, guiding your hands onto the steering wheel. "It's easy. Just keep it steady."

You couldn't help but glance back at Quinn again. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark as he watched Jack's hands over yours. There was something thrilling about his reaction, though you tried to push that thought away.

"Eyes forward," Jack instructed, giving Quinn a smug look over your shoulder.

You focused on steering, surprised by how much you enjoyed the feeling of control as the boat cut through the water. The wind whipped your hair around your face, and you couldn't hold back your laughter as Jack guided you through a slightly sharper turn.

When you finally docked, Quinn was the first off the boat, mumbling something about going to shower.

The guys wanted to go out that night so you quickly showered and changed into a pair of loose jeans with a black lace bodysuit. You curled your hair and applied a thin layer of makeup, relying on the tan that was already appearing on your face to do most of the work. 

Will was waiting outside of your door when you came out and he frowned as he took in your outfit.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, suddenly self conscious but Will just rolled his eyes. 

“What’s happening y/n? Are you going to fall in love with Quinn and leave us behind?” He complained and you barked out laughter.

“Nothing is happening Will,” you promised. “I’ll never leave you.” 

You pinched your cheeks with your fingers and he swatted at your hands. 

“You irritate me,” he grumbled. 

“But you love me,” you cheered, following him down the stairs. 

The bar was packed, buzzing with laughter and music as bodies pressed together in the dim glow of neon signs. You thrived in places like this—loud, chaotic, full of life. The second you stepped inside, you lit up, greeting people as if you'd known them forever. Quinn watched you, as he always did, lingering just close enough to keep an eye on you, but not close enough to draw attention to it.

“Drinks first, then dancing,” you declared, grabbing Luke’s arm and tugging him toward the bar. He groaned but didn’t resist, while Quinn followed a few steps behind, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

By the time you had a drink in hand, you were already scanning the crowd, eyes gleaming with mischief. A new song pulsed through the speakers, and you gasped. “Oh, this is my song! Luke, let’s go.”

Luke barely had time to react before you grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the dance floor. “No, no, no—why me?” he protested, even as he stumbled after you.

“Because you’re fun, and I said so,” you shot back with a grin.

Quinn huffed a laugh into his beer as he leaned against a nearby pillar, watching as you seamlessly slipped into the rhythm of the song. You moved with an effortless confidence, laughing as Luke—reluctant at first—eventually gave in, mirroring your steps with exaggerated, playful movements. You twirled under his arm, your head thrown back in laughter, and Quinn felt something tighten in his chest.

"What are you staring at?" Jack's voice snapped Quinn out of his trance.

"Nothing," Quinn muttered, taking another swig of his beer.

Jack snorted. "Right. Absolutely nothing. That's why you haven't taken your eyes off her all night."

Quinn shot his brother a warning glance. "Drop it."

"All I'm saying is, she's single. And she clearly likes you," Jack said, nudging Quinn's shoulder. "I've never seen you this interested in someone."

"I'm not—" Quinn started, but stopped when he saw Macklin approach you on the dance floor, spinning you around effortlessly. The ease between you made something twist in his stomach.

"She's their friend," Quinn said finally. "It would be weird."

"Or," Jack countered, "it would be perfect. She already knows the hockey life. She puts up with the two of them all the time.” 

“You seem to be forgetting the fact that I live in Vancouver and she lives in San Jose,” Quinn said sharply and Jack took a deep breath. 

“True,” he admitted, not knowing what else to say. 

An hour later you were beat, and desperate to go home. Unfortunately that sentiment wasn’t shared by the others. 

“Just stay a little longer,” Luke begged, and you shook your head, a small smirk on your face. 

“I’ll be fine to walk home, my social battery is just drained,” you told him. Quinn appeared behind you, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“You’re not walking home by yourself,” he said firmly and you rolled your eyes. 

“I’ll be fine,” you argued but he stood strong. 

“I’ll come with you, just let me close my tab,” he said. You started to complain but he was already pulling you along. The two of you set out back to the house in silence, him caught up in his head about what Jack had said earlier. You were in the same boat, trying to figure out your budding feelings for someone you felt like you couldn’t have. 

“Are you tired?” He asked once you reached the house. 

“Not really, just tired of talking,” you admitted and he gave you a small smile. 

“Movie?” He suggested. You agreed and went off to change into something more comfy before joining him in the living room. You sat a healthy distance apart while he put on a Marvel movie, per your request. Halfway through he looked over to see you with your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Cold?” He asked and you tore your gaze away from the screen to meet his. 

“A little.” 

He reached down to grab a blanket from the basket next to the couch and threw it over himself, patting the spot next to him. 

You hesitated for a moment before sliding closer, allowing Quinn to drape the blanket over both of you. The warmth of his body next to yours was immediate and comforting.

"Better?" he asked, his voice lower than before.

"Much," you murmured, trying not to focus on how your thigh was now pressed against his.

As the movie continued, you found yourself gradually relaxing, your body naturally leaning closer to Quinn's. You weren't sure if it was the couple of drinks you'd had or the late hour, but something about sitting here with him felt right in a way you hadn't expected.

When your head eventually dropped onto his shoulder, he tensed for just a second before carefully adjusting his position to make you more comfortable. His arm came around you hesitantly, and when you didn't pull away, he let it rest there.

"This okay?" he whispered.

You nodded sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open. When the credits finally rolled, neither of you made a move to get up. You were drifting off and Quinn was just enjoying the silence. That was shortlived as the rest of the guys got back from the bar, amused at the scene in front of them.

“Good movie huh?” Jack teased and you buried your head into Quinn’s chest in embarrassment. His arm was still hung around you 

"I should go to bed," you mumbled against Quinn's shirt, feeling the rumble of his chuckle vibrate through his chest.

"Probably a good idea," he agreed softly, though his arm remained firmly around you.

Will and Macklin exchanged knowing glances, while Jack made a dramatic show of yawning and stretching. "Well, we'll just head upstairs then. Goodnight, you two."

You reluctantly pulled away from Quinn's warmth, avoiding his eyes as you stood. "Thanks for walking me home. And for the movie."

"Anytime," he replied, his voice a little rougher than usual.

You could feel his gaze following you as you headed up the stairs, and it took every ounce of willpower not to look back.

The next couple of days were filled with you and Quinn dancing around each other, nothing ever happening. As the evening of your last night approached part of you was disappointed but another part was relieved. You didn’t need to get attached. 

The plan for the night was to grill out and Quinn manned the grill while you got the rest of the food set up. You were next to him with a plate for him to pile the burgers on when Will came bouncing over. 

“We should set off fireworks,” he suggested, excitedly. 

“No,” you and Quinn both said at the same time. 

“Fine mom and dad,” he grumbled before stalking off. His words made you catch your breath and you avoided Quinn’s stare from next to you. 

“We do look a little domestic,” he finally said and you giggled. You spent most of the evening with Will and Macklin who were already pre-depressed that you were leaving tomorrow. 

"I'm not even gone yet," you laughed as Macklin dramatically draped himself across your lap on the patio furniture.

"But tomorrow you will be, and then we'll have to go back to San Jose, and you'll be all professional again," he whined.

"I'm always professional," you protested, though the words rang hollow even to your own ears. The truth was, you'd let your guard down here—with Will and Macklin, but especially with Quinn.

"You know what I mean," Will said, sitting on your other side. "No more movie nights, no more beach days. Just you telling us to tie our ties properly and reminding us about media training."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the fondness that washed over you. "We still hang out all the time.. Just... with fewer Hughes brothers around."

Your eyes drifted to Quinn, who was cleaning the grill. 

“Yeah too bad for you,” Macklin teased and you blushed making Will laugh. 

“She’s got it bad,” he sang. You pushed the boys off, shooting them the finger before walking over to where Quinn was. 

“Need help?” You asked. He smiled at your question before shaking his head. 

“Nah, I’m finished,” he told you. “Sit with me?” 

You followed him to the opposite side of where your two gremlins were, in a more private area. Quinn sat down in a lawn chair and you started to sit next to him but he tugged at your hand, pulling you down into his lap. 

You froze for a moment, surprised by his boldness, but then settled against him, your body fitting perfectly against his. The small fire pit in front of you cast a warm glow across your faces as Quinn's arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

"I've been wanting to do this all week," he admitted quietly, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned slightly to look at him, your faces now inches apart. "What stopped you?"

Quinn sighed, his thumb absently tracing circles on your hip. "A lot of things. The distance, for one. My brother being the one who introduced us. Those two over there being attached to you like barnacles," he nodded toward Will and Macklin, who were now engaged in what appeared to be a marshmallow-eating contest.

You laughed softly. "They are pretty clingy."

"I don't blame them," Quinn murmured. “This is selfish because I know you have to leave tomorrow but I just wanted to touch you at least once.”

“I’m glad you did,” you whispered,

Quinn's hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward his. "Yeah?"

You nodded, barely breathing as he leaned closer. "Yeah."

His lips brushed against yours, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as you responded. You shifted in his lap to face him and he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving along yours softly. The two of you were in your own world, caught up in only each other. 

After a bit you pulled away, staring deeply into his eyes before sighing. 

“What’s wrong angel?” He asked and you gave him a sad smile. 

“I like you Quinn,” you admitted, 

“And that makes you sad?” He teased and you let out a short laugh. 

“I’m sad because there isn’t anything we can do about it,” you said and he didn’t say anything for a bit before pressing his lips against your forehead. 

“I know.” 

pt. 2 here

[harmonysanreads]

I NEED MORE PUPPY PHAINON, imagine that his beloved was offended by him, and he literally walks on his knees after her, asking for forgiveness, lol

Can be read as a continuation to this piece.

Phainon has become more partial to hating silence in his recent years.

It wasn't always this way though and in certain conditions, he finds himself craving a particular flavor of silence. But in the other, majority of cases, that deafening vacancy of noise reminds him of memories he’d rather forget. To placate that discomfort, he embellishes the void with sound no matter how small, or with his own voice.

Still, the ache is manageable, not voracious enough to make him dramatically restless. Where this faint modicum of control fails as well is when you, in all your cruelty, cast that curse of silence upon him as a direct consequence of anger.

In the name of the Titans, he prays you’d scream at him, hit him couple of times, destroy his house and belongings — anything, anything besides this nonverbal torture he can withstand. But he's not one to dwell in unfair complaints. Especially when your downturn gaze, pressed lips and crossed arms affirm so loudly that he's messed up.

By now, he’s exhausted almost every tactic in his arsenal to get you to acknowledge him again — apologizing, pinching his ears, making funny faces, wrestling a titankin and two whole repeats of that cycle. But you didn't let this opportunity go to waste in showcasing how good you’ve gotten in keeping a blank face in truly tumultuous situations, much to his chagrin in this instance.

It's only when you, most likely fed up with his antics, started to walk away that he scrambled to try again.

“My sun, my moon, my star, my light — please, please please please, look at me? Just once?” you're halted by a tug at your sleeve. A twinge of something softens your resolve as you realize how Phainon remembered, wrestling with his desires to not touch you until he's earned it again.

You can feel the weight of his eyes on your back, you pray that he didn't notice you waver. You steel yourself and stubbornly keep the act steadfast, conflicted before dropping the charade in favor of melting into his arms and forgetting altogether. But you can't, you’ve already promised to wring the confession on the errors of his ways this time.

You glare at the splinters in the earth, “Haven’t I told you once? If you keep calling me things that will never be yours, I might just become the same.” it takes everything to keep your voice even.

You don't need to look to picture Phainon's sure dumbfounded blinks, the churning and turning of metaphorical cogs as they shift in his head, neurons firing and synapses piecing together the implication of your cold comment.

You make the mistake of expecting only a gust of wind and are hit instead with a fully powered storm, in the form of a dull thud that you recognize as the hero’s knees hitting the ground when you're forced to spin as his arms find refuge in clinging to your thighs.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry — I am so SO sorry. I promise I won't do it again, I swear on the Flame-Chase — no, I swear on Aedes Elysiae that I will never do it again! If I do, may I face a fate worse than death itself. Just… just please, forgive me.”

There's an ache in your heart, sudden, quick and flighty. Kephale's light cradles you both, the corners of Phainon's eyes shine with something. By instinct, you try to escape the painful grasp of the hero, try to. Stumbling a few steps in what you intended would create space, resulting in Phainon getting dragged alongside your movements — sans a care in the Deliverer’s countenance.

“Phainon, I'm going to fall if you don't —” you try to bargain and fall, you do.

One ghost of a touch against the pavement is all you recall, so faint it can be disregarded completely. Your gasp gets muffled in something soft and firm, a mix of the perfume you recognize as yours and something else too convoluted to remember in the heat of the moment canopies your senses.

When the brief storm settles, a sigh slips past your lips. You don't even need to look up to know where you ended up landing.

But an insistent grasp angles your gaze against your wishes upward, you don't offer further resistance as pity grips your heart, “My dearest, beloved, my love, honeycakes with whipped cream on top, my life… won't you show me mercy?”

You calmly maintain Phainon's gaze, searching his face for any trace of dishonesty. The glossy blues of atonement prompts you to be petty one last time, “You don't care much about your life though.”

At this, Phainon completely deflates, collapsing in your arms. “Oh come on! Will you just say yes?”

At the faintest chime of the giggle you fail to quieten, he burrows further in the crook of your neck, arms coiling with a force you're no stranger to by now. Phainon shifts to adjust your position on his lap and changes tactics at the last moment, seizing your momentary lack of guard to launch an aimless attack of kisses.

You can only thank the barren side of Okhema city you two had chosen now, you do not want to think of what you’d have to do to get him off of you had this been a crowded place. The agony that came with the thirty something minutes of deprivation Phainon tolerated is much prominent, a burn lingers around your cheeks and neck. He refrains from completely leaning towards your lips though, still mindful that you haven't yet affirmed in words.

“Okay okay! You're forgiven, good heavens.” you heave, Phainon's exclamation of joy gets lodged in his throat prematurely, “But, you'll be sleeping on the couch today.”

You regret uttering that almost instantly, it's as if every particle of the hero’s life force has been drained mercilessly, appearing as though he might really cry this time.

You avert your eyes, forcing a sigh, “Ah, well, nevermind. You can sleep next to me — but I'll still be keeping a pillow barrier in the middle! Don't forget I'm still… still mad at you.”

As if on cue, Phainon springs back to life once more. Perhaps it's just your enervated eyes, but apparitions of what you can only assume to be puppy ears flick to and fro on top of his head. Caught in a trance, you reach out to ruffle those snow-white tresses and your lover melts.

You know your imposed punishment won’t last for more than ten minutes into the slumber and you’ll be coaxed with these antics again and again. But for this moment, you suppose it won't hurt to allow yourself to indulge and believe, that everything is okay.

[hwallazia]

MIRROR MIRROR – 최산

⋆ synopsis. your boyfriend convinces you to try something... new.

pairing. boyfriend! san & fem! reader

wc. 1,6k

warnings. smut (mdni!), soft dom! san & sub! reader, mirror kink, size kink, pussy slapping, reader’s body is defined as “tiny” (comparing it with san’s), fingering, clit play, overstimulation, praise (like fr they’re whipped for each other), dirty talk, pet names (jagi, princess, sannie & more), teasing & mocking (the dynamic duo 🙂‍↕️), this is not proofread it’s almost 4am y’all.

nic’s notes ⋆ y’all can totally blame @dirtyrichboys for this one (literally had the time of my life writing this)

“don’t pull your eyes away from the mirror or i’ll stop.”

san grunted as his skillful fingers pumped inside you at a primal pace, the squelching sound of your gushing pussy delighting the man. your core was quivering, unsure of what to do, what to plead for. your fingers clutched onto his thighs as if your life depended on it.

the view was starting to become unbearable, but you were getting closer and closer to the edge.

and san was enjoying himself way too much.

san’s frame outlined yours, his broad shoulders doubling the size of your tiny core. his strong upper body supported your crumbled body, muscly arms manhandling you as he pleased. he snaked one arm over your uncovered waist, keeping you in place, still, as the other glided over your thigh so that he could work you open with his fingers. your glistening juices shined under the dim light of his room, your puffy pussy lips enveloping san’s fingers perfectly, greedily sucking him in, begging for release. san chuckled as he felt how desperate you were to come.

‘cause yes, he could feel it. the way your body trembled against his, the way you were struggling to keep your eyes open and not hide yourself in san’s neck or chest, the way your walls clamped down on his fingers tighter with every passing second.

he had you there.

the shit-eating grin that appeared on his face almost pulled a pathetic whine out of you. you were desperate, you couldn’t stand staring at your shaky reflection any longer, yet you couldn’t close your eyes.

no, because san said you couldn’t. no, because if you did, he’d stop.

and girl did you want him to stop.

“what’s wrong, jagi?” he teased, his tone drowned in an ocean of sins. his natural honey-dripping voice was now replaced by a low, deep baritone. “need to come?”

the arm that held you in place sneaked down your valley, index connecting with your swollen clit. you started squirming as you followed his movements, a strange anxious feeling bubbling inside you. “n-no! sannie—” 

you pleaded, too late.

his index and middle finger quickly started their ministration, stroking each nerve and spot that had your toes curling; your words cut off mid-sentence. you couldn’t help but scrunch your eyes, incapable of bearing with the overwhelming feeling. you rocked your head back, skull hitting san’s firm chest. and that’s when san pulled his fingers out of your seeping cunt, hand gliding up your cheeks to squeeze them, pressing them together gently enough so that he didn’t hurt you.

“what did i tell you, princess?” he groaned in a velvety voice, sharp and authoritative. “keep. your eyes. on the mirror.”

his stern voice cut through thin air, immediately pulling you out of your haze. you opened your eyes wide enough to be able to stare at your figure in the mirror. his fingers returned home and slammed into the warmth of your inviting, pulsating hole, your weakened body jolting upward as your back arched into a perfect crescent moon. he replaced the fingers he kept busy on your bundle of nerves with his thumb, applying the perfect amount of pressure so that your moans grew more breathless and desperate with each passing moment.

his feline, sharp eyes peered holes into your divine reflection, hungrily watching your every movement like a hunter to his prey: every twitch of your cunt, every shudder that ran through your core, every whine that you exhaled satisfyingly.

but he was lowkey watching his reflection as well.

every now and then, his eyes would drift off and fall into his well-built, pumped bicep. then he’d mindlessly look at his body, overshadowing and completely covering your shuddering figure. fuck, you looked so cute, helpless and pliant under his touch and command.

you shifted incessantly in your place as you felt the coil inside your stomach starting to snap, your eyes watering immediately. your bottom lip quivered as you softly whispered. “sannie, please—“

the combination of his thick fingers pistoning into your wet entrance and his fat thumb playing with your puffy bud was starting to become unbearable, too much. san hummed lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your back.

he was so in love with you and everything about you.

“fuck baby, look at you.” he hushed, spreading wet, lingering kisses all over your neck, his tongue greedily lapping its side. “doing so good f’ me.” he closed his eyes for a bit, immersing himself into the aura of the moment, the dreamy haze he always felt whenever he had this kind of intimacy with you. “i love you, i love you so much.” he repeated mumbling, meeting your teary-eyed expression in the mirror. “you’re so beautiful,” he paused for a brief second, taking in the view: you, leg-spread with his fingers working you open, slowly pushing you into the abyss. “my beautiful girlfriend.” his head fell down your shoulder, sticky forehead meeting your sweaty skin. “i’m so lucky i get to call you mine.” 

you nodded even though he wasn’t looking at you. “yes, sannie. yes,” you breathed sharply. “’m yours and—ugh!— ‘nd only yours..” you confessed, though it wasn’t news. your voice cracked but you couldn’t care less.

you could’ve closed your eyes and just get lost into the heat of the moment, but you simply couldn’t. you had already disobeyed your sannie once, you weren’t going to do so twice. 

and that just explains the effect this man has on you, how whipped you are for him, how much you’re drawn to his love.

san’s dark irises returned to your reflection, a soft glint sparkling in them. “that’s my pretty girl.” he kept on going with his ministrations, his smirk wider as your moans grew in volume; body twitching more violently now. “i can feel you, baby.. you’re right.. there,” his working thumb slowed down its pace to a stop, withdrawing from its position; a chill breeze sending shivers down your shoulders. he raised his hand right above your oozing cunt before landing light slaps on your swollen clit, sparks blowing inside you.

you twitched, whining wantonly. “fffuck, sannie..!” you exhaled. “if you keep doing that—angh!” your back arched as he hit your pussy with another sharp smack.

you suffered while trying to keep your eyes on the mirror, nails digging into san’s muscly thighs. until you couldn’t handle it anymore. “sannie.. no more, i can’t—fuck.. i can’t, please..”

you begged him for an ounce of mercy, which meant he allowed you to hide your face in his chest as you came undone for him.

and san would never tell you this, but he loved every time you did that.

so how could he possibly resist that?

he sighed, intoxicated by the effect your words and pleas had on him. “fuck, yeah—yeah, jagi, come,” he grunted. “just let go and come, my princess.”

you immediately gyrated your head, a desperate hand flying straight to san’s neck. your fingers pressed against his nape as your half-lidded eyes finally fell closed, frowned brows and your jaw hung open complimenting your blissed-out expression. a string of breathy moans and pants fell off your tongue as you came undone for him, legs throbbing as clear liquid sprayed out of your gushing cunt. 

your hot breath fanned san’s exposed chest, a weird wave of coziness and possessiveness washing over him. he continued mumbling praises right above your ear, riding your orgasm better than you could ever. 

the shuddering ceased and your limbs went numb, totally spent and lightheaded.

san’s hands abandoned your overstimulated pussy and shifted upwards, adjusting your body so san was cradling you, dilated irises staring right into your soul in the most endearing and romantic way.

san smiled at the sight, sweetness pouring out of his lovely grin. “there she is.” he cooed at you, “there’s my girl.”

he leaned closer, almost towering over you to press a tender kiss on your forehead. you stared up at him, consumed by his loving gaze.

until something hard rubbed against your arm, which was pressed against his abs. 

oh.

of course you had felt his erection poking your lower back moments ago, but you were so lost in the feeling, so gone that thinking about anything else was the furthest thing from your mind.“wait but, what about you?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“ah that?” he stared down his hard-on nonchalantly, immediately brushing off your concern. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of it in a moment,” he said with a sweet smile plastered on his face, he gently moved you off him, adjusting you on the tangled sheets until you were lying comfortably. slowly, he crawled out of bed, circling around the mattress before leaning down, his body hunching over yours. a soothing hand reached up, tenderly brushing a few stray locks of hair from your face. “you must be exhausted, so just stay here while i go and get something to clean you up.” he offered with that silky voice of his. 

you grabbed his arm before he could stand up and walk away. “but i want to.” you volunteered. “please?”

oh no, not the puppy eyes. he sighed and sat down next to you, mumbling in a low whisper. “how could i say no to that..” 

| masterlist

[geminiwritten]

from friends to forever ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: childhood friends to lovers - you've been in love with hangman for as long as you can remember, but he's never looked at you that way, not until he meets a guy you're dating for the first time and everything you thought was unrequited becomes dangerously mutual

notes: okay, i really need to stop writing at work and actually start working but also THIS!!! i started without a plan and then got super excited and went a little over the 8k limit i set for myself... but i still really hope y'all like it! please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, text screenshots, a bit cheesy, reader is shorter than hangman (feel like i should mention that), bob x phoenix, and a little horny? let me know if i've missed anything!

word count: 9016

“He is fucking incorrigible,” Javy says as he slides a tray of beers across the table. “He started hitting on this woman by the juke box but then her boyfriend walked through the door, so he moved on to the blonde at the bar.”

You smile into the first sip of your beer while Natasha and Bob crane their necks to see where Jake might be. The bar is busy for 5PM on a Wednesday, but not overly packed. The sun is just about to touch the horizon, casting a warm glow through the beach-side windows. It’s only Bob, Javy, and Nat with you this afternoon. The others are still at the base finishing some training course that they didn’t do with the rest of the squad last week. Jake was with you too, but he quickly found himself preoccupied with the bar’s female clientele.

“I can’t believe anyone would put up with him for as long as you have,” Natasha says, nodding toward you.

You shrug as you roll your pint glass between both hands. “I’ve learnt to ignore it.”

You’ve known Jake Seresin since you were ten years old; that was when your mother first invited the Seresins over for dinner. Jake’s mother had just started working with yours, and they’d quickly become best friends. Ever since then, you’ve never been able to escape him – not that you’ve ever really tried to.

When you turned twelve you finally realised why your heart would always beat a little faster whenever you saw Jake, and then when you turned fourteen you realised how easy it would be for him to break it. At sixteen you decided to stop obsessing over him and date someone else, but by eighteen you figured out that Jake had set your standards for men way too high.

As years passed you learnt how to better hide your affections for Jake. He was a ladies’ man through and through, which meant you couldn’t go crying to your pillow every time he showed up with a new woman on his arm. You tried to date, but it never really went all that well because by the third or fourth month, you were comparing them too harshly to your best friend.

When Jake joined the navy, you accepted the fact that you would never see him again, but he didn’t let that happen. As it turns out, Jake was just as attached to you as you were to him – minus the ‘in love’ part. He wrote to you and called you, and he would visit whenever he was stateside. You were already living in San Diego when he got assigned to the special detachment on North Island, and when he and his squad got asked to stick around, you quickly became close friends with all of them.

You like to think that you have your stupid little crush on Jake Seresin well under control now. It’s in a small, metal box wrapped in chains and hidden in the darkest corner of your heart. It’s so well hidden now that you’re positive none of the daggers have any idea of what your true feelings for Jake are. You don’t even flinch anymore when he jokingly introduces you as his sister.

“And this is my sister,” Jake says, gesturing to you with one arm while the other stays wrapped around the blonde woman. “The one I was telling you about.”

You give the woman a flat smile before bringing your beer to your lips and taking a generous gulp.

“Shelley and I were just going to go for a walk on the beach,” he adds.

You nod, knowing exactly what that means. “I’ll get a lift home with Phoenix.”

His smirk stretches into a full-blown grin, one that Shelley can’t seem to look away from. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

He bids the rest of the group farewell before leading the woman out the door, and you definitely don’t miss the way his hand slides down to her ass on the way.

Natasha shakes her head. “I can’t believe him sometimes. How often does he do this to you?”

You quirk a brow. “Ditch me for a hot woman?”

She nods.

“Nat, if I had a dollar for every time, I’d quit my job and move to the Amalfi Coast.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” Bob asks.

Yes.

“No, it’s just Jake.” You shrug one shoulder. “I’m used to it.”

Javy tips his head quizzically. “So, why does he introduce you as his sister?”

You take another long sip of your beer, almost draining the glass, before plonking it back on the table. “The first time he decided to keep a girl around for longer than one night, she didn’t like how close we were. She’d always try to go through his phone and would blow up every time he said he was hanging out with me. It only lasted six months, but now he just does it out of habit. Just in case they do end up sticking around for a while, then he doesn’t have to explain anything.”

You conveniently leave out the detail about how Jake had ditched the woman one night to rescue you from a bad date, which was definitely the catalyst for her hating you. But you don’t talk about that night.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “That’s ridiculous."

You’re not sure what to say to that because you’ve never not felt a pinch of jealousy when it comes to Jake, and you sure as shit wouldn’t want to share him with anyone else if he was yours. So, you can’t really blame those other women for not liking how close the two of you are.

You sit in the same booth with your friends until the sun dips below the horizon. The bar only gets a little busier before clearing out almost completely by 8PM, which is when you all decide to head home. There’s no word from Jake, but that isn’t unusual.

Natasha drives you home in companionable silence, which is nice because you’re not particularly in the mood to chat. You’re too busy wrapping another chain around that box in your heart, trying to stop it from rattling at the memory of that night when Jake saved you from your terrible date all those years ago.

- That Night -

You glance at your phone from the corner of your eye, checking that it hasn’t yet burnt a hole through the tabletop.

“But then all my friends were doing it, so I couldn’t really say no. You know?” Benji, your date, hasn't stopped talking from the moment you sat down, and he doesn’t seem at all perturbed by your lack of interest. “I guess it’s just one of those things that comes with the job. If I don’t party with the clients, then they won’t respect me. You know?”

You press your lips into a thin line, not trusting yourself to speak in case you completely blow up at the moron sitting across from you. You’d like to think that you’re not even sure why you’re on this date, but you know exactly why you’re here. Because Jake fucking Seresin is on a date with some Victoria’s Secret super model, and you couldn’t stand the thought of staying home and watching 90s sitcom reruns alone again.

He’s only visiting for a few days, and you’re trying not to be mad about the fact that he’s chosen one of those days to go on a date.

“So, I guess one thing led to another,” Benji continues, “and the next thing I knew, I was on a flight to Vegas with the CEO.” He chuckles to himself, even though no part of that story was anything but horrifying. “Anyway, I’m going to take a leak.” He stands from his chair without even looking at you and stalks off toward the bathrooms.

You grab your phone and text the one person you know you can count on, even if it might ruin his date.

Your eyes dart from your phone screen to the bathroom door and back. Benji is taking his sweet time, but that’s fine by you. You’d rather just ghost the guy than try to make up some lame excuse as to why you have to leave. Three minutes tick by before you decide to go outside. Even if Benji returns before Jake gets here, it will probably take him another couple of minutes to find you.

You stand up and drop some cash on the table before weaving through the restaurant to get to the front door. Just as you step out into the cool night air, Jake’s car screeches to a halt at the curb. Like, literally screeches. He must have been flying down the street.

He pushes the passenger door open, and you duck into the car. “Did you speed the whole way here?”

He grins at you. That gorgeous, breath-taking grin that makes his eyes sparkle and always gets him what he wants. “I speed everywhere, even in the skies.”

You roll your eyes before turning to look out at the restaurant, seeing Benji’s confused face through the glass of the big front window as he returns to the table.

“Is that him?” Jake asks.

You nod, and then Jake honks the fucking car horn. Your head snaps back to him, eyes like saucers, as he grins and waves at Benji before hitting the gas. Your body is pressed back into the seat and all the air sucked from your lungs. There’s no way that you would ever get in a jet with this idiot, and you pity any person who does.

“Jesus, are you fucking mental?” you finally manage to gasp out.

He chuckles. “Not my name, Sugar, but yes.”

That fucking nickname. You’re suddenly grateful for the darkness of the night as you feel heat creep into your cheeks.

“What were you doing on a date with a loser like that, anyway?”

The car’s engine growls, and you watch him shift gears like you’re watching a porno. “Is that really any of your business?”

He tips his head and glances at you from the corner of his eye. “If you’re going to have an attitude, I can drop you back off with Coke-Nose-Carl.”

You snort a very unladylike laugh, which only makes him smile wider.

“I was bored,” you admit. “I haven’t gone out in a while, so I downloaded some dating apps and-”

“Dating apps?” He scoffs. “You don’t need dating apps to get a date. The only thing you’re going to get from those is an STD or a Netflix true crime documentary about you and the six other women he killed.”

You can’t help but laugh again, because Jake in a good mood is utterly infectious. But then you realise why he’s in a good mood and your heart sinks into your stomach.

“I appreciate you helping me out, but I really didn’t mean to ruin your date.”

He waves a hand dismissively before landing it back on the gear stick. “Don’t worry about it, I told her it was an emergency. I’ll just send some flowers in the morning and she’ll be all over me again. She’s a total goner this one. Might keep her around for a while.”

Every word feels like another pin in your voodoo doll.

“How will that work?” you ask, trying to sound nothing but genuinely curious. “Aren’t you flying out again in a couple of days?”

“Yeah, but I’m hoping to get some real time off in a couple of months, and until then, there are... other ways to stay in contact.” He smirks as he stares out the windscreen, his eyes sparkling under the intermittent flash of the streetlights.

“That’s ominous.”

His brows pinch. “What is?”

You hold your hands up to sign quotations as you repeat his words back to him. “Other ways to stay in contact.”

He chuckles again as he turns the car onto a familiar road, and you realise that you’re only a few minutes from home.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

You frown, tipping your head quizzically. “No. What do you mean?”

He sighs and turns to look at you, as if needing confirmation that you really are confused. “I’m talking about phone sex, Sugar. Or video sex. Whatever floats your boat.”

He looks certifiably smug as he glances between you and the road, reading your incredibly unsubtle facial expressions as you process his words – that fucking nickname wedged between them.

“Oh,” is all you can manage, turning your gaze out the windscreen.

Your whole face feels hot and the butterflies in your stomach have turned into angry wasps. They’re buzzing and swirling, and threatening to push up the single breadstick that you ate back at the restaurant.

“Sorry,” he says, although he doesn’t look it. “Sometimes I forget how innocent you are.”

The buzzing stops and you rear back a little, your head turning slowly to look at him again. “I’m what?”

“Innocent.” He stops the car at the curb in front of your house. “Right?”

You roll your eyes and pop the car door open. “I might not be a deviant like you, Seresin, but I’m sure as hell no Virgin Mary.”

You push the door open and step out before slamming it shut. You know you shouldn’t be so upset simply for being called innocent, but coming from Jake, it feels different. It feels like he’s telling you that your too innocent and not sexy enough for him, even though you know he’d never see you that way regardless of your sexual experience.

“Wait a minute, Sugar. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You stop halfway across the foot path and turn on your heel, watching him walk around the front of the car. “You didn’t upset me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve just had a shit night.”

He regards you carefully and crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging against the short sleeves of his white cotton shirt. But he doesn’t speak, he just looks at you. The night is almost too quiet as you stare at each other, waiting for something to break the tension.

After an agonizing minute of silence, you give in. “Okay, what?”

“I just-” He shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“I know you’re stupid, but I’m too curious now. So, spill.”

He rubs a hand up his jaw as he takes half a step back and leans against the passenger’s side of the car. “Well... now I’m just wondering how not innocent you are.”

Your brows raise and your cheek twitches. “You want to talk about my sex life, Jake?”

A smirk ghosts over his lips. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Okay.” You prop a hand on each of your hips, trying to appear nonchalant despite the way your heart is rioting against your ribs. “What do you want to know?”

“You’ve had sex, right?”

You give him a deadpan look, utterly unimpressed.

He chuckles. “Alright, just checking. When did you lose it?”

“Eighteen,” you reply.

“Very respectable.” He nods slowly, obviously sifting through all the questions in his head. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“Last week.”

His brows shoot up toward his hairline. “So, you’re getting it regularly?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Whenever I want it, Cowboy.”

Something in his gaze shifts, and his eyes grow almost imperceptibly darker. “What’s your favourite position?”

You shrug one shoulder. “Depends on the day.”

“Least favourite position?”

“Sixty-nine in the backseat of a Volkswagen Golf in a Taco Bell parking lot.”

His eyes almost bug out of his head, and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that curls at the corner of your lips. You’re enjoying getting these reactions out of him. Never mind the fact that you can feel your pulse thrumming across every inch of your skin, which feels like it’s on fire.

He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back. “Okay, what do you think about when you masturbate?”

You give him another unimpressed stare. “Whatever I feel like in the moment, Seresin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get some secrets out of me.”

That cocky smile flashes across his face again. “They’re only secrets if you’re too scared to tell them.”

You take a step forward and cross your arms, mirroring his stance less than two feet in front of him. “Are we done yet?”

He shakes his head. “If you could have sex with anyone in the world, who you choose?”

Your stomach twists itself into another knot. “Pass.”

“You can’t pass.”

You drop your hands back to your hips and roll your eyes. “Alright then, George Clooney.”

His eyes narrow. “Liar.”

“Prove it.”

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, making it glisten in the dim glow of the streetlights, and only then do you realise that you’ve taken another step closer to him. You’re almost toe to toe.

“Show me how you get what you want.” His chest is rising and falling faster than usual, and you can feel his hot breath on the skin of your neck.

You swallow thickly. “Well, If I-”

“I said show me.” His voice is almost a growl, sending lightning bolts of arousal right to your core.

You take that last step closer, leaving only a couple of inches between your body and his. You hesitate for only a second before each of your hands come up to his crossed arms, wrapping around his wrists to guide his hands where you want them. You place one on your hip and the other just below your jaw, letting his thumb rest over your pulse point.

You’re not sure when you got so ballsy, but you try not to think too hard as you breathe in the intoxicating scent of the only man you’ve ever fantasised about.

You turn your face toward his hand and press a kiss to the heel of his palm, letting your eyelids flutter shut for only a moment. Then you lock eyes with him again as both of your hands move to the belt wrapped around his hips. You pull yourself toward him and align your body with his, letting your fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans.

His breath catches as you slide your hands outward, your nails scraping against the bare skin behind his jeans. When you reach his hips, you unhook your fingers and let your hands glide up underneath his shirt, over his ribs. He draws a sharp breath and his grip on your hip tightens, the hand on your neck squeezing gently.

“Do you always get what you want?” he whispers.

You nod slowly, scratching your nails gently down the sides of his torso. “Almost always.”

Then the obnoxious ring of his phone startles you both. Your heart practically leaps out of your chest as you jump back, detangling yourself from him as he scrambles for his back pocket. Heat flushes across your chest and crawls up your neck, making your whole face burn with embarrassment.

He glances at his phone screen and then up at you, his expression twisted into something you don’t recognise. “I’m so sorry, I have to-”

“No, no. It’s fine, go ahead.” You shake your head and force a smile on your lips. “Thanks for saving me tonight.”

You turn on your heel and march toward the house, determined to get inside before you either pass out or burst into tears. But once you slam the door, you can’t stop yourself from running into the front room and cracking the window, trying to hear who it was that interrupted you.

“No, Baby. I promise you, she’s like my little sister. I feel responsible for her, I just had to make sure she was okay.”

Then you burst into tears.

- Present -

“Hello?” Natasha pokes your shoulder. “Anyone home?”

You blink a couple of times before turning to look at her, realising the car is now parked in front of your house. “Shit, sorry. I was on another planet.”

“I could tell.”

You pop the door open. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, are you bringing a date to Yale’s wedding?”

“Shit, I totally forgot about that.”

“Yeah, me too. It's next weekend and I have this guy who I want to bring as a date, but I won’t ask him if you’re not bringing anyone. So?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll find someone. Or I will happily dance alone. Ask your guy.”

She gives you a small smirk and you can swear her cheeks flush with the faintest blush. “Okay.”

You turn and climb out of the car before shutting the door and ducking down to give her one last wave. She waves back and takes off, disappearing down the street in no time. Maybe speeding is a fighter pilot thing?

Once in the comfort of your room, sprawled across your bed, you pull your phone out and start scrolling through your contacts. You don’t really want to bring anyone to this wedding, but you can't deny Nat a date that she clearly wants, so you’re going to have to find someone to at least keep you company. You know Jake will have a date, and even though you’d be happy just hanging out with the rest of the squad, you’ll feel a little less pathetic bringing someone of your own.

-

You smooth your red dress in the mirror, hating how much it stands out against the cream backdrop of the bathroom you’re standing in. You’ve already texted Natasha at least a hundred times in the past week asking if the dress is too red or too bold, making sure there’s no rule against wearing red to someone’s wedding. It’s not that it doesn’t look good – because you know you look fucking good – you just don’t want to be that girl. You hadn’t even expected an invite to Logan’s wedding, so you certainly don’t want to be the random girl who stands out in all the photos.

The buzzing of your phone demands your attention, and you open it to see a text from Natasha telling you that she and her date have arrived. You give yourself one last stern look in the mirror before exiting the bathroom.

Your date, Cole, is waiting for you in the corridor, looking effortlessly handsome as he leans against the wall and gazes up at the high ceilings of the exquisitely designed building. He’s a friend from work who, according to another one of your colleagues, had been wanting to ask you out for a while, so you decided to beat him to it. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s gorgeous – tall, broad shoulders, floppy brown hair, and silvery-blue eyes – and ex-navy, which means he already has something in common with your friends.

“Hey,” you say with a soft smile. “You ready to go to the circus?”

He chuckles and slips his hand into yours, as if it’s second nature. “You’re really starting to worry me. Are your friends that scary?”

“Not scary.” You shake your head as the two of you begin walking down the wide hall. “Maybe insane? Certifiable, even.”

Both the ceremony and the reception are taking place at the most beautiful seaside mansion you’ve ever seen. It has an old money charm to it with high ceilings and windows that stretch all the way up. There are intricate mouldings between the walls and ceilings, and decorative architraves around every doorway and opening. Everything down to the finishings and decor boasts wealth and elegance, and you’re scared to walk too closely to any of it for the fear of breaking something.

“Are the bride and groom drug dealers?” Cole asks.

You laugh softly. “They could be, but I’m pretty sure it's one of their families who owns this place. Or at least part of it.”

You continue down the hall, your heels clacking against the marble floor until you come to the huge arch that leads out to the courtyard. You descend the few concrete steps until you’re walking on fine granite, and then you follow the path through the perfectly manicured garden, weaving in between guests, until you reach the circular part of the long driveway where cars are stopping to deposit more wedding goers.

You spot Natasha easily, and you can already feel the blush rising in your cheeks as you approach her. “Nat, over here.”

She whips toward you and her jaw unhinges. “Holy shit, you look- Oh, my God, who is this?”

Cole chuckles and offers her his hand. “I’m Cole. I work with-”

“You are gorgeous.” She looks back at you. “Can we keep him, please?”

“Hi.” Bob appears beside Nat with a blush dusted across his nose and cheeks, looking downright adorable in his Full Dress. “She insisted we pre-drink,” he says with a soft chuckle.

Your brows pinch and your eyes dart between Natasha and Bob several times before realisation flashes like a lightbulb above your head. “Bob is your date?!”

Natasha smiles sheepishly and links her hand with Bob’s. “It’s only weird if you make it weird, so don’t make it weird and please don’t let the others make it weird.”

You stick your hand out with all your fingers curled in except your pinkie. “I promise I won’t let anyone make this weird. I think it’s adorable.”

She hooks her pinkie finger with yours and you both nod before separating. Then she turns her wide brown eyes back to Cole. “Shit, sorry. Cole this is Bob.”

The two men shake hands before you all decide to go and claim a seat for the ceremony. The backyard – if you can even call it that – stretches for a few thousand yards before dropping off a cliff all the way down to the ocean. The wedding arch is set up so that the guests are looking out at the horizon, but it’s far enough away from the edge that the trees and hedges lining the open space are blocking most of the salty ocean breeze.

As soon as you sit down, more guests start wandering over to find a seat. Bradley, Mickey, and Reuben arrive not long after – all looking very dapper in their Full Dress – and take a seat in the row in front of yours. You hear Mickey whisper something to Reuben about Natasha and Bob, and while you’re not exactly sure what he says, you still offer a whispered threat if they dare to tease either of their friends about being each other’s date.

“Where’s Hangman?” Bradley asks, turning to look at you as if you’d have the answer.

You shrug. “Don’t ask me.”

You turn around to see Logan and his groomsmen – including Javy – getting ready to walk down the aisle, and then you turn a little further to see Jake and his date practically fall out of a taxi and start jogging across the lawn. His hair is a little mussed and he’s still trying to pin medals to his chest.

“He’s here,” you mutter as you turn back to face the front.

The three boys in front of you turn their heads and start giggling like schoolkids.

“Be quiet,” Natasha hisses.

The chatter from the guests has almost completely died down, and you can now hear a soft melody playing from the speakers on either side of the wedding arch.

“Hey,” Jake says breathlessly, falling into the seat beside Bradley.

His date smiles and waves sheepishly before sitting beside him, and you recognise her from when Jake met her at The Hard Deck just over a week ago. The music gets a little louder and the celebrant clears his throat. All the whispering and murmuring stops and guests swivel in their seats to see up the aisle.

Jake turns and catches your eye, flashing that signature smirk and giving you a wink. You roll your eyes before turning with the rest of the crowd to watch Logan and his groomsmen start walking down the aisle.

The ceremony is sweet and simple, and Logan’s bride looks absolutely stunning as she glides down the aisle in her puffy white dress. You let yourself, just for a moment, imagine what it would be like to walk down the aisle and see Cole waiting in the arch. You know he isn’t in the navy anymore, but you imagine him waiting for you in Full Dress, how handsome he’d look in the white uniform with his medals pinned to his chest.

Warmth creeps into your cheeks at the thought, and you imagine reaching the end of the aisle where Cole is waiting. You would blush and avert your eyes as if you were some virginal bride, glancing down at the ground and taking his offered hand. But then when you look back up, it isn’t Cole. It’s Jake.

Even your imagination is a fucking traitor.

The heat in your cheeks crawls down your neck and flushes across your chest. You suddenly feel hot despite the cool breeze blowing off the ocean, and you have to take a deep breath to ease your aching lungs.

It isn’t long before the ceremony is over and the celebrant announces that cocktail hour will be held in the courtyard before the reception commences in the grand hall. The bridal party quickly depart for photos, and guests start slowly rising from their chairs and walking back toward the manor.

“I hope there’s food, I’m starving,” Mickey says.

Reuben chuckles. “You know it’s all going to be fancy stuff like caviar and quail eggs?”

Mickey’s face screws up in disgust. “Wait, like, no normal food at all?”

“You might be able to ask for the kids’ menu,” Bradley says with a cheeky grin.

You all laugh as Mickey swats a hand at Bradley, which he dodges easily.

The cocktail hour is set up in the perfectly manicured garden at the back of the manor, with high tables dressed in white cloth and waiters circling with trays of champagne and canapes. You claim one of the high tables before Mickey and Reuben excuse themselves to go harass one of the waiters for something other than champagne.

“I have to say, I’m a little disappointed in you, Hangman.” Nat rests her purse on the tabletop and glares across it at Jake. “Although, I’m not surprised.”

You glance at him standing beside you, the medals on his jacket pinned crookedly and his collar sticking up at the back. You sigh and grab his shoulders, turning him to face you. “I know your mother raised you better than this, Seresin,” you say as you start unpinning the medals. “Being late to a wedding? She’d have your ass.”

He grins at you as you fuss over him, pinning his medals on properly, fixing his collar, and even smoothing down the pieces of hair that are poking out of place. He particularly enjoys the way you have to stretch onto your toes to reach the back of his head.

“What are you going to do, Sugar? Call her and tell her?”

You pull back and cross your arms. “I might.”

He hesitates, wide green eyes assessing you carefully as he tries to figure out if you’re being serious or not. You know you’re not actually going to dob him in to his mother, even though it would be hilarious, but you’re not about to let him call your bluff. So you stare back at him, your eyes narrowed and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

You don’t even realise that everyone is staring at the two of you while you stare at each other until someone clears their throat. It’s the girl standing on the other side of Jake; his date.

“Um, I’m sorry,” she says with a small, awkward laugh. “It’s actually my fault that we were late.”

“Oh, right.” Jake turns and wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side and forcing you to step back. “This is Shelley. I think some of you met her at The Hard Deck a couple of weeks ago.”

You turn and quickly slip your hand into Cole’s, giving him a soft smile as Jake points and names the people standing around the table.

“That’s right,” Shelley says, looking straight at you. “You’re Jake’s little sister.”

Cole frowns. “You have a brother?”

Jake’s eyes widen, a silent plea for you to keep up the charade.

You sigh softly before plastering on a smile. “Yep. This is my brother.” The words taste sour in your mouth, like stomach bile rising up right before you’re about to vomit. “Jake, this is Cole.”

Cole offers his hand to Jake, which Jake takes and squeezes the ever-loving shit out of. You can see how strong his grip is by the way his knuckles turn white and Cole winces.

“So, Cole,” Jake says, his lips curled into a challenging smirk. “What do you do for a living?”

You glare at him, trying to get his attention so you can give him your best fuck off scowl, but his gaze is laser-focused on your date.

“We work together, actually,” Cole replies, gesturing to you. “But I used to be in the navy.”

“Oh, really? What did you get discharged for?”

“Jake,” you mutter. “Is that really any of your business?”

He chuckles and shrugs, his eyes flitting toward you. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“It’s alright,” Cole says, though the tone of his voice makes you think otherwise. “I was medically discharged.”

Jake’s eyes are almost feline as they slide back toward Cole. “What for?”

“Jake,” you hiss.

“I hurt my back,” Cole replies. “Pretty badly, actually. I’m still in physical therapy for it.”

Jake’s smirk stretches into a Cheshire Cat grin as he turns back to you. “Well, I sure hope that doesn’t get in the way of you two having a little fun later tonight.”

Your eyes go wide and your jaw unhinges. Bradley and Bob both choke on their breath and cough to cover their laughter, while Natasha giggles shamelessly into the palm of her hand.

You turn to Cole, who’s cheeks are bright red, and give him your most apologetic smile. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks while I verbally abuse my brother?”

He nods once and squeezes your hand before letting go and practically running away from the table.

“Hey Shelley,” Natasha pipes up, “would you come with me to find the bathrooms?”

Bradley clears his throat. “I’m going to go find Payback and Fanboy.”

“I’ll help you,” Bob says.

The two boys hurry off in one direction while Natasha grabs Shelley’s hand and drags her toward the concrete steps that lead inside the manor.

You turn to Jake. “What the fuck?”

He rears back a little. “What?”

“Why were you so rude to him?”

“I didn’t think I was being-”

“Jake,” you warn, taking half a step toward him. “You know exactly what you were doing.”

He rolls his eyes as if you’re being dramatic. “I’m just making sure he’s a good guy. I’ve never met anyone you’ve dated before.”

“So?” You throw your hands up. “You had no right to interrogate him like you did.”

Jake frowns, his head tipping slightly as he gets lost in his own thoughts, clearly not listening what you’re saying. “Why haven’t I met anyone you’ve dated before?”

“Because I don’t date much, but that’s beside the point.” You scowl up at him, watching his green eyes swirl with something akin to curiosity. “I am perfectly polite to your date, and you’re going to be the same to mine. Got it?"

He scoffs. “Yeah, you just grunt at my date like you’ve lost the ability to speak.”

“I do not.”

He chuckles humourlessly. “Yes, you do. In fact, you barely speak to any of the girls I date.”

You roll your eyes. “Can you really blame me for not bothering to get to know them? You’re just going to replace this one with a new one in a week or two.”

“Ouch.” He puts a hand on his chest, right over the perfectly pinned medals. “And I suppose Mr Ex-Navy is more than just a last-ditch wedding date?”

“He could be.”

“Really?” He raises his brows. “Are you going to marry the man with the bad back who can’t even fuck properly?”

Anger sizzles through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire. “Why do you even fucking care?!"

“Because I care about you.” His voice is a whispered shout, low but assertive. “And you can do better than this guy.”

You take a deep breath to try and settle your temper, not wanting to cause a scene. “This guy is great, and I like him, so pull your shit together and start acting like the honourable man you’re supposed to be. Because you know what, Seresin? I’m not your little sister, and I’m not your responsibility, so who I date is none of your business.”

His mouth pops open but no words come out. His eyes are swimming with an emotion you don’t recognise as they study you, the furious expression on your face glaring up at him from beneath furrowed brows.

You’re not sure if he recognises his own words from that night, but either way, you can safely say that he has been adequately chastised. You take another deep breath and step back, turning toward your date who is approaching the table with a flute of champagne in each hand.

- Jake -

The reception is in full swing and entrees have been served, but the chicken sitting in front of Jake remains untouched. He’s been glaring through the flowery centrepiece in the middle of the table for almost fifteen minutes now, while everyone around him chats and eats happily. To anyone else, it might seem like the man hates orchids, but as Javy descends from the bridal table and sees his best friend plotting murder, he knows that it isn’t the flowers that have offended Jake Seresin. It’s the man on the other side of them.

He crouches behind Jake’s chair and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get the body bag if you pick the murder weapon.”

Jake startles and whips around, his scowl breaking into a smile when he sees his best friend. “Hey, man. You looked good up there.”

“I know,” Javy chuckles. “Want to get a drink?”

Jake glances at his date, who is currently chatting with Mickey about which entree meal is better, before turning back to Javy and nodding. He scoots his chair back and stands up, following his friend to the bar at the back of the hall. Once they order their drinks, they step to the side and wait for the bartender to pour them.

“So,” Javy says, “what did I miss?”

Jake glances back at the table, his eyes narrowing on you and your date. “Well, I was a little late and got scolded for it.”

Javy chuckles. “Saw that.”

“Natasha and Bob came together, which isn’t surprising, but still gross.”

“I think it’s nice.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “You would.”

When he glances back at the table, you’ve got your hand wrapped around Cole’s bicep, leaning into him and laughing like he’s the funniest man in the world. Jake hates it. He has no idea why, but he fucking hates it. He hates the way you look at your date and he hates the way the man is looking back at you. He wants to wrap you in his jacket – because that dress is criminal – and stuff you into a taxi to be on your way home.

“Anything else?” Javy asks.

The bartender places their drinks in front of them, and they both mutter a thank you before taking a glass each and walking toward one of the high tables nearby.

“Not really.”

“You sure?” Javy presses, his brows raised in question. “Nothing about Cole, or...?”

Jake frowns. “You know him?”

“Yeah, I had lunch with them both last week.”

“What the fuck?” Jake looks utterly offended.

Javy chuckles again. “I ran into them while they were suit shopping, so we stopped for lunch. He’s actually a really nice guy. It’s a shame about his injury.”

Jake scoffs. “Yeah, I bet it would suck to not be able to fuck properly.”

Javy almost spits his mouthful of whiskey and coke across the table, but he manages to swallow most of it and cough on the rest. “What the fuck, man?”

Jake shrugs. “What?”

“Why do you care about the man’s bedroom ability?”

Heat crawls into Jake’s cheeks, so he hides his face behind a generous sip of his drink. “I don’t. I mean, I’m just looking out for-”

“The girl you call your sister?” Javy interrupts. “Because I can tell you right now, no brother would be concerned about how well their sister is getting dicked down.”

“Yeah, but we aren’t actually related.”

“I know, it would be fucking gross if you were,” Javy says. He watches Jake from the corner of his eye as he takes another sip of his drink, waiting for the words to hit and wondering if his friend will figure out the underlying suggestion.

It takes almost a full minute for Jake to frown and tip his head curiously. “Why would it be gross?”

Javy sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind. Come on, you better get back to your date.”

The two men walk back toward Table 7, and Jake can’t help but glare at Cole the whole way there. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t stand the way the man’s hand is hidden beneath the table but clearly on your thigh. Like he’s being sneaky or something. Jake has s brief thought about breaking the man’s hand as he sits back down at the table, and it makes him smile.

“Hey, Baby,” Shelley coos, leaning over and sliding her hand up his thigh.

His smile drops and he catches her hand before it can get too high.

She pouts and bats her lashes. “What’s wrong, Baby?”

Jake puts his drink down and uses both hands to push her hand away from his crotch. “We’re sitting at a table with my friends. It’s disrespectful.”

“Oh.” She pulls back completely, an embarrassed blush crawling up her neck.

Jake should feel bad for being so harsh, he knows that, but he can’t find the energy to care. He’s too busy peering through the gaps in the orchid arrangement, glaring at the man sitting beside you.

After dinner, Logan and his wife have their first dance, but Jake spends most of it watching Cole’s hand run up and down your arm. When the slow music morphs into dance music, the bridal party join the dancefloor and guests slowly start to leave their seats.

Jake wants to talk to you and apologise for being rude, but he also wants to tell you that your date sucks and you deserve better. He just can’t figure out why your date sucks, and he knows he needs a valid reason before he corners you.

Shelley asks him to dance twice before giving up and joining Mickey and Reuben on the dancefloor, but it isn’t long before the MC announces that it's time to cut the cake. Jake doesn’t miss the way your eyes sparkle with tears when Logan’s wife smushes cake into his face, and he wonders if people usually cry at the cake cutting.

After the cake, Javy calls everyone up to the bar for a round of shots, which quickly turns into a second round of shots when Logan and his wife join in. Then everyone makes their way back to the dancefloor to watch Mickey pull out some very embarrassing dance moves. Jake joins in and even, for a brief moment, forgets about the man he’s been glaring daggers at all evening, but then he catches you leaving the dancefloor out of the corner of his eye.

You drag Cole toward the bar and order another drink. Jake stops watching Reuben pretend he can breakdance and steps out of the dance circle that’s happening in the middle of the floor. He cranes his neck so he can still see you with Cole, standing at the back of the hall beside one of the high tables.

You’re standing right up against the man, your hands guiding his hands to where you want them on your body. Jake’s breath catches in his throat, and his heart starts to race. He recognises this.

He stops moving to the beat of the music, he stops pretending like he’s enjoying the dancing, and he walks away from the dancefloor entirely. His eyes are trained on you, watching you lean into Cole’s hand that is cradling your jaw. He knows what you’re doing and it’s making him sick.

Before he can stop himself, he’s weaving in between tables. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, thumping out of rhythm and making it difficult for him to catch his breath. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting to you.

- You -

Cole’s eyes are like molten silver, and you have to remind yourself that silver is a precious metal. It doesn’t matter that you like gems better, green gems like jade and malachite. They’re too expensive to dream about; you need to stop dreaming about green gems.

Though it’s a bit hard when those green gems won’t stop fucking staring at you.

You hesitate as you lean toward Cole, your fingers hooked behind the belt that’s wrapped around his hips. He’s so pretty, you can’t deny that, and you do want to kiss him, but it feels weird knowing Jake is in the same room right now. Knowing that all your friends could be watching as you close the gap between your lips and-

“What are you doing?”

You startle and pull back, your eyes widening as warmth spreads across your chest and crawls up your neck. “What the fuck?”

Jake is standing on the other side of the high table. His cheeks are flushed and his arms are crossed, he looks angry but... confused.

“Oh, hey,” Cole mutters, defeat saturating his tone. He’d have to be stupid not to have noticed the way Jake’s been glaring at him all night.

You cross your arms and mirror his stance. “Jake, what are you doing?”

“Just checking on my baby sister.”

You roll your eyes. “Please, would you just-”

“Baby, where’d you go?” Shelley’s hot pink fingernails slide over Jake’s shoulder as she appears at his side. “You missed me in the dance circle.”

A smirk ghosts across your lips. “Yeah, Baby, how could you miss that?”

Jake’s stare is unwavering, he doesn’t even flinch at the exaggerated pet name.

Cole sighs. “Look, man, I wasn’t trying to do anything weird, I just wanted to kiss her.”

“Do you seriously have a problem with that?” you ask.

Jake’s eyes narrow on Cole. “Yes.”

“What the fuck for?” You uncross your arms and throw your hands up. “You’re not actually my brother, Jake. Why do you give a shit about this?”

Cole turns to you. “He’s not your brother?”

Shelley gasps. “Oh, my God. She’s not your- Wait.” She steps away from Jake and looks at you, then back at him with wide eyes. “You’re, like... in love with her, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been acting fucking weird all night.”

Cole steps away from you. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jake is pale – like, concerningly pale – and you can’t see his chest or shoulders moving, so you’re not even sure if he’s breathing. His glare isn’t menacing anymore, it’s blank. Completely blank.

“I think he’s broken,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else. You turn to Cole. “I’m sorry I lied to you, but it’s a long story. I’m, like, one-hundred percent sure that he’s not in love with me, but I do think he’s having some sort of stroke, so I’m going to take him outside for a minute. Is that okay?”

Cole nods, although he doesn’t seem convinced. But you don’t have time to reassure him right now, because you’re pretty sure Jake is either about to pass out or throw up.

You don’t even look at Shelley as you grab Jake’s arm and start dragging him toward the exit doors. His steps are slow but steady, and he stares at you with a weird, bewildered expression the whole way. You lead him through the halls of the manor and down the concrete steps into the courtyard. There are a few people scattered about, stealing a moment to themselves, but you weave through the garden until you find a swinging seat away from anyone else.

“Sit here.” You push him toward the chair. “Do you need some water?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you going to pass out?”

He shakes his head again.

“Okay, I’m going to need to hear some actual words now, Hangman.” You crouch in front of him, putting a hand on either one of his knees. “You’re starting to worry me.”

His eyes meet yours. “You never call me Hangman.”

“Sorry, do you prefer Bagman?”

He frowns, but it isn’t dark or serious because you can see his lips fighting a smirk. “It’s Jake to you, or Seresin.”

You roll your eyes and stand up straight, propping a hand on each hip. “Okay, Seresin, now that you can talk are you going to tell me what the fuck just happened?”

He groans and drops his head into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. You wait for him to say something, watching his shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths, but he refuses speak.

You sigh and sit down beside him, feeling the chair rock as you do. “I’m not mad, Jake, just a little frustrated. I know that you see me as a little sister, but-”

He snorts. “You are not my little sister.”

“I know that.” You bump your shoulder against his. “Do you know that? Because the way you were acting tonight was ridiculous. I don’t care how responsible you feel for me, I’m still an adult who can do whatever and whoever she pleases.”

He groans again and looks up, dragging his hands down his face. “Please don’t say that.”

Your brows pinch. “Say what?”

“That you can do whoever you want.”

You roll your eyes again. “I’m no Virgin Mary, Jake. You can’t just pretend-”

“I know.” He sits up straighter and looks right at you, pinning you with those sparkling jade eyes. “I remember.”

Your heart starts thumping faster. “Remember what?”

“That night.”

The box you shoved into the deepest, darkest corner of your heart starts to tremble. The chains rattle and the locks clang as the box shakes, the tremors increasing with every laboured breath you draw into your aching lungs.

“Jake,” you whisper. “I-”

“I saw you with him and I just”– he runs a hand through his hair –“I couldn’t fucking stand it. I knew what you were doing and I knew what you wanted, but I just couldn’t let you do it.”

Your eyes sting but you quickly blink back the moisture welling in them. You want to ask him what the fuck he means, why it matters this much to him, and why he nearly passed out when Shelley said what she said. But the connection between your brain and mouth is paralysed.

“All night I couldn’t stand the sight of you with him, but I couldn’t stop staring. Even Javy-” He pauses and rears back a little, averting his eyes as he searches back through his memories of the night. “Holy shit.”

You tip your head quizzically, your brows furrowed as you work to keep your emotions at bay. “What?”

“Even Javy knows that I’m in love with you.”

The box in your heart doesn’t just break open, it fucking shatters.

His eyes find yours again and he brings one hand up to your jaw, his thumb resting over your pulse point. His other hand moves to your opposite hip, forcing him to lean his body closer to yours and wrap you in his intoxicating scent. You watch as his tongue darts across his bottom lip, and then he’s kissing you.

It isn’t soft. It’s hungry, years of tension crashing into a single moment. His lips claim yours like he’s been holding back forever and never even realised it. You kiss him back hard, fingers twisting in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing more. His hand slides to the back of your neck, anchoring you, deepening the kiss until your thoughts are nothing but heat and the way his mouth moves against yours.

The sound of fireworks – literal fireworks – is the only thing that forces you apart. Startling you both as they soar into the sky and burst against the navy velvet draped over this side of the earth.

You look up, seeing your breath in puffs of white against the dark night. “Are Yale’s family drug dealers?”

Jake chuckles and closes his eyes. “I just kissed you for the first time, and that’s what you have to say?”

“Sorry,” you giggle, dropping your gaze back to him and drawing your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I can’t believe I never realised it,” he mutters.

You shrug one shoulder. “To be fair, I was one-hundred percent sure you didn’t feel the same about five minutes ago.”

His brows pinch. “Feel the same?”

“Yes.” You hold his face between your hands, squishing his cheeks a little. “I’ve been in love with you for a very long time, Jake Seresin.”

He grins, which makes you giggle because his cheeks are now extra squished. “Good. Because I’m going to be in love with you forever.”

END.