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roselites · 6 months ago

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one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary: your brother's best friend pays a visit to his texas hometown, and in spite of your resolution to get over your (slightly embarrassing) childhood unrequited crush, you can't help but admit that you're still down bad for jake seresin.

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, oblivious reader can't take a hint

word count: 14k (you told me not to apologize for long fics, so here it is, i present it without apology!)

author’s note: hello, all! i wanted to have this out by thanksgiving, but i got hit with a stomach flu and then with a regular flu, so it took me this long to finish it. i hope the wait was worth it 🫶 the title is taken from a song by maggie rogers. as promised, the next one will be a short (i mean it this time!) and spicy holiday-themed one for all the tyler owens lovers 💓 thank you so much for voting in the poll that got this baby written.

“Did you hear the big news?” Your dad bustled into the shop with his arms full of greenery, grunting as he set the bundles wrapped in newspaper into a bucket. At the counter, your mom paused her accounting and fixed your dad an eager stare. She loved news. “Jake’s coming home for the wedding!” he announced. He brushed his hands off while yours fumbled over the order forms. A few slipped out of sequence and fluttered down to the floor. You bent to pick them up, hearing your mom’s sigh of delight.

“Oh, that's wonderful news! Dinah will be so pleased, and Amanda, too. She was worried Jake wouldn't manage to get leave. You know how much she adores him.”

“Well, she's not the only one. Mike’s ready to throw a whole goshdarn parade in his honor.” The forms retrieved, you busied yourself with putting them back in order. Your dad laughed. “I haven’t seen the kid that excited since the day Gilly was born.”

“Ow!” You stuck your finger in your mouth, the taste of blood making you wince.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” your mom asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”

She came to your end of the counter. Taking your finger in her hands, she moved it this way and that, squinting at it through her glasses before she dropped a kiss on your head. “Mm, I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“Don’t sass me!” she joked. “I’ll call Mike. Maybe we can all throw Jake a nice big barbecue, spend some time together like the old days.”

“He’ll probably be busy with wedding stuff,” you pointed out, mumbling around your finger.

She shot you a look that said spoilsport. “I know Jake, he’ll make the time. Besides, he’ll be walking with you at the wedding, won’t he?” Mom must have taken the shock of surprise for disappointment, because she smacked a hand against her forehead and said, “Oh, sorry! Me and my big mouth!”

It took you a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Jake.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, making a half-hearted attempt to sort through the forms again. Your parents looked at you skeptically. “I’m fine! Josh and I are practically ancient history.”

Dad, bless him, took your word for it, or at least pretended to. He picked up the bucket of sage bundles and took it into the back, but your mom hovered, stroking your shoulder, cloyingly sympathetic. It was clear she wanted to say something but was afraid of how you’d react. Knowing her, she’d give you that hangdog expression all day until you gave her permission to spill the beans, so you gave a deep sigh and turned to her with a look that said, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“I heard he’s bringing Mia to the wedding,” she blurted out. “Amanda was livid. She said she would disinvite him if you wanted—”

“Mom, I hope you told her that wouldn't be necessary.”

“Of course I did! But she said it was a standing offer.”

Oh, bother… Amanda was a sweetheart, if not a little overeager. As much as you appreciated everyone’s tact, it was also part of the reason why you still felt some awkwardness when you thought about Josh. Any time your friends or family brought up your ex, they looked at you like they were expecting you to fall to pieces, especially after word started going around that he had moved on to someone else. No matter how many times you insisted that they could refer to him normally and not as “him” or “you-know-who,” they thought you were being a brave martyr about it, pretending to take it better than you were for the sake of maturity.

“It’s not like that,” you explained for the thousandth time. “Josh and I are fine. And Mia…” Okay, so part of you did want to bash her over the head with a waffle iron. Still… “Nothing untoward happened. We were already broken up when they got together.”

“Well yeah, but after only a month,” your mom scoffed. “That’s hardly enough time to get over a six-year relationship.”

You shrugged. “Maybe some things are meant to be, and some… aren’t.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged you from behind. You grimaced as she squeezed you tight and made cooing sounds. “You don’t have to be so civil about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I know, Mom, thanks.” You patted her hand.

“Anytime.” You thought that would be the end of embarrassing conversations you didn't want to have, until she clapped her hands and said, “Look on the bright side - it’ll be good to see Jake again! For him to meet the baby - and won’t the wedding pictures be just darling? He’s so handsome! I know you’ll look just fabulous together…”

It was as much cliché as it was ancient history. Jake Seresin - tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a thousand-watt grin and a starring place on the high school football team - had been your crush since the moment you realized boys were more than just smelly, disgusting nuisances. Hell, you'd liked him even before the letterman jacket, around the time of his first growth spurt, when he’d come back from a summer visiting his aunt and uncle in California. From the porch steps, you'd seen him running into the yard to throw ball with your older brother, Mike, and your stomach had flopped and then flipped, and then flopped again. Looking back, Jake - a mere mortal - had an awkward phase just like everyone else, but you didn't see it at the time. To you, he was the dreamiest guy since you wore out your family’s Titanic VHS trying to feed your preteen fantasies of being Rose romanced by DiCaprio (before the ship went down).

Anyway, Jake’s awkward phase didn't last long. By the time he was a sophomore, he was playing on the junior varsity team along with Mike. Your sports-mad, overly enthusiastic dad gave them his blessing to turn the barn into their own personal gym, and while you complained about the unfairness of the world and the preferential treatment given to male athletes, you did find excuses to “run errands” and “pass through” so you could see Jake, shirtless, glistening with sweat. It didn't take long for Mike to notice. As a preteen, you weren’t exactly known for your finesse. While, in your opinion, you were doing nothing more than offering the boys a little lemonade - like Mom asked you to do - Mike would go back to the house for dinner and declare for all and sundry that he’d “appreciate it if you didn't salivate all over Jake like a peeping tom.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!”

“Mom, I swear it's not true! He’s making it up. You’re making it up, you buttface! You just don't want me hanging around—”

“Why would I want you hanging around? We’re training! You’re a kid, you're a safety risk!”

“Mooooom!” you wailed.

“Honestly, Mike, don't call your sister a safety risk. You're hardly grown yourself.”

“She called me a buttface!”

“That’s true. Sweetie, don't call your brother a buttface at the table, it's not polite.”

“Fine. I’ll call him a buttface later, like he deserves.”

No further comment was made about your crush on Jake on that occasion, but over the years it became your brother’s weapon of choice when he wanted to knock you down a peg, and “I’ll tell Jake you have a big fat crush on him” was a surefire way to get you to do whatever he wanted.

Once, you went down for a glass of water after you were supposed to be in bed and came upon Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.

“—it’s a harmless little crush,” you heard her say. “We all had them at that age.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don't. She’s your daughter and you're finally working out that she's not going to be a little girl forever.�� There was a pause. “You don't have to worry, Stan, I’ve given her The Talk.”

Ew, gross, ew! You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you remembered The Talk and you didn't want to have it ever again!

Your face heated as you knelt on the stairs. Hearing about The Talk in relation to you and Jake made you think about the stuff you’d seen at your friend Tessa’s house on the TV one night during a sleepover. You had stared at the screen, titillated and kind of horrified at what the actors were doing, the way their bodies moved and the sounds they made. Once the scene was over, you turned to each other and burst into nervous giggles, knowing your parents would blow a gasket if they knew what you’d seen. Not that you understood it. You knew how babies were made, but you didn’t understand what sex was supposed to be.

And your dad was worried about you having it? With Jake?

“He’s a good kid,” your mom gentled. “He knows she's too young for him - I’m not even sure he's aware that she likes him. Even if he is, he treats her like Mike’s kid sister. She’ll grow out of it.”

“If you say so, hon. But God as my witness—”

“She’s gonna have a boyfriend at some point.”

“When she’s eighteen,” your dad declared, “and not a moment sooner!”

You padded back to your room. It wasn’t news, but hearing that Jake thought of you as a kid dealt a heavy blow to your self-esteem. From then on, you resolved to play your cards closer to the chest - you might not be able to help the way he made you feel like your insides had turned to melted goo, but no one else had to talk about it behind your back like you had some sort of disease.

Unfortunately, playing it cool was one of the hardest things you had to do during high school. As it turned out, Jake and Mike were actually pretty good at the whole football thing. Around the time they made varsity, you zeroed in on the fact that girls found their athletic prowess to be sexually irresistible; they were crazy about them - and crazy about Jake in particular.

You watched as he winked and blew kisses at a train of girlfriends while he was out on the field. He leaned against their lockers, turning the charm up to eleven and brushing strands away from their cheeks, saying things like, “Pick you up at six?”

When he got his first truck - a beat-up old Chevy that he bought off Don Amberley by working shifts at the hardware store - you’d peer around your curtains at the sound of his horn. Sometimes Mike would take a while to leave the house, and Jake would turn his head to kiss the pretty girls in his front seat as a way to pass the time. The shy ones laughed, warding him off with a light push against his chest, while the bold ones closed their nails around his shirt and pulled him even closer, all but straddling his lap. You watched with bated breath as he put his hands on them, green with envy, wondering what it would be like to have his attention, not as his best friend’s little sister but as an actual girl.

Your suffering lasted a whole calendar year, after which Jake went off to college, then joined the Navy, and while time made you realize that you needed to move on with your life and stop making up scenarios about a white picket fence and two-point-five children, you never forgot about Jake, who in your mind - and despite your best efforts - remained the measure to which you compared every other guy.

It wasn't just his ridiculously handsome good looks, though having the body of a Greek god and a smile that made your toes curl didn't hurt. He had helped you when you’d scraped your knee roller-blading, letting you lean on his shoulder and fetching the bandages from the downstairs powder room; he joined your mom in the kitchen to do the washing-up when he stayed over for dinner, saying, “ma’am, I insist,” which earned him funny looks from Mike, but it never swayed him into doing things differently. You liked that he’d earned his first truck, got good grades, was a loyal friend. To you, Jake Seresin was the full package and then some - what more could anyone want? And while you had long accepted that he would make another woman very happy someday, the way in which your family teased you about your “little childhood crush” never failed to put your stomach all in knots. There was nothing little about it. In fact, it had now lasted well into adulthood and you had a feeling it would never fully go away.

Dad was right. Michael insisted on being part of the airport welcome wagon, cringey sign and all. He even stuck Gilly in an adorable pilot’s costume. Your sister-in-law sent you looks the entire way and, like a saint, restrained herself by only once making a comment about “your brother’s true wife.”

You sat in the backseat, trying to will yourself into being less nervous. Maybe it was your guilty conscience; for some reason, you kept thinking about all the times you’d imagined him in bed, or in the place of one of your boyfriends when you were doing couple-things. Be cool, be cool, you kept telling yourself.

By the time you parked at the airport, you thought your poker face was pretty flawless. After helping Julie wrestle the baby things into the stroller, you made your way through the chaotic mass of people coming and going through the Barbara Jordan terminal. The weather was good. Jake had texted your brother to say that he’d landed safely and was waiting to deplane, and Mike, vibrating with excitement, was trying to stake out a place in the Arrivals hall that would show his dorky Welcome Home, Hangman! sign in optimal light. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. You kept apologizing to the people he elbowed out of the way, as if to say, “Move aside, I was here first, bud!” But it did strengthen your resolve to be chill because at least one of you had to be.

Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the line of passengers spilling into the hall. Like something out of a romcom, Jake Seresin spotted Mike standing in the crowd, dropped his duffle bag, and came bounding into his arms. They talked over each other between laughter and bro-y exchanges, while Julie snorted through her nose and even Gilly sputtered and snuffled. You could take the boy out of Texas, it seemed… but back home he was still sixteen around friends.

Jake turned to you and smiled. “Hey, Cabbage.”

“Please, don’t,” you said, feeling awkward about the old nickname.

“Come here, bring it in.” He held out his arms, grinning, and there was no conceivable reason why you’d say no, so you steadied your nerves and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around you. He smelled just as good as you remembered him - better, even, because a memory could never be as good as the real thing.

“You’re so stiff!” Jake pointed out, squeezing you tighter.

“No, I’m not.”

“What am I, your creepy uncle?” He looked down at you, then over your shoulder and spotted the baby in Julie’s arms.

His smile lit up his whole face and you felt your heart twist against your ribcage. You let out a breath when he let you go, trying not to fixate on the way his hand brushed against your shoulder as he did so, a slide that seemed to linger.

Fondness - that was all it was, you told yourself. He’d known you all your life and he was fond of you.

He turned his attention now to your little niece.With something like awe, he said, “Michael, you old bastard…” Then, “Sorry, little lady - you must be Gilly! Hi! Hi there, it’s your Uncle Jake! Your not-at-all-creepy Uncle Jake…”

“Nice one,” you threw back.

He grinned wider, saying, “Julie, how are you?”

“About as well as can be expected with a teething baby.”

“Well, you look great.”

“Liar,” Julie replied, but his comment made her stand a little straighter.

He let Gilly grip his finger in an attempt at a handshake. Being a sucker for attention, she wiggled her body in her mother’s grasp and held her arms out to the smiley stranger, wanting to be carried. Jake was thrilled. He bounced her in his arms the entire way to the car, asking about the wedding, his parents, how Amanda was doing, which of their friends he could expect to see on Saturday afternoon. Mike stuck to him like glue, carrying Jake’s bag for him and answering his questions. You were certain he’d send Julie to the back so Jake could ride shotgun, but instead, he loaded Gilly into her baby seat and Jake touched you on the elbow, saying, “I can take the middle seat.”

“You don't want the window?” you asked, your arm tingling. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses once he left the terminal and he looked like a movie star, all golden skin, slicked-back hair, and a hint of stubble on his jaw. You had no idea how you were supposed to survive a 90-minute car ride when just the sight of him made you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I want to sit next to my goddaughter. You get her all the time,” he pointed out and ducked into the car.

Helpless, you climbed in after him and pulled the door closed. In the back of the SUV, there was no way for your bodies not to touch. By necessity, your arms and thighs pressed together, his body solid and warm. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself by squirming away even though your heart was beating double-time and you were at a loss as to what to do with your hands.

Thankfully, the car started moving, and by the time you made it onto the highway you had almost gotten used to the feeling of his muscled forearms and the smell of his cologne. You were focusing on the passing landscape as he made small talk with Mike and Julie, so it caught you unawares when he turned to you and said, “So - it seems we’re paired up for the wedding. I’m sorry about you and Whatshisface, by the way.”

Here we go… “I know that you name his name, Jake.”

“Do I? Persona non grata. I must have erased him from my memory chip.” He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and there was something about the twinkle in his eye that made you glare daggers at your brother, who was looking suspiciously blank-faced sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my God, Mike, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing! I just said you two broke up and that he’s with Mia now.”

“That cow,” Julie put in.

“Okay, time out!” you called, doing the motion with your hands. “As much as I appreciate this show of familial solidarity, it’s really not necessary. Josh and I are cool.”

“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.

“Then be cool, Mike! And you!” You wagged your finger in front of Jake. He stared at it like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “You just got here. Do you really want to spend the rest of the week picking fights that have nothing to do with you?”

Evidently, the answer was yes, but he raised his hands in a facetious show of surrender. “Hey, I never liked the guy.”

“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.

“What? You never said anything!”

“I’ve always said that - haven’t I, babe?”

“Mike, you say a lot of things,” Julie drawled.

“…including the fact that I never liked the guy! Him and his beady little eyes—”

“He gets hay fever!” you defended. “That’s not his fault!”

“—and the fact that he stayed in the apartment—”

“I wanted to move out! Julie, a little help here?”

“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”

“What?” You were flabbergasted. You thought that everyone liking Josh was the whole reason why they felt communally betrayed by the breakup. Now they were acting like the spearheads of an anti-Josh conspiracy? “Are you seriously telling me this six years after the fact? You went to games with him!”

“Wait, you went to games with Josh Spritzer?” Jake balked, his voice going up an octave while Mike went red in the face.

“I was in a dark place, man. Julie was pregnant and you weren't around… It was a case of the pre-baby blues!”

“I feel like you just admitted to cheating on me. Josh Spritzer?”

“Hey!” you warned.

“I mean, I guess it’s all a matter of taste, sweetheart…”

“Seresin, what the hell!”

“…although God knows I never knew what you saw in him—”

“Oh, didn't you?”

“Hey, I love you all sooo much,” Julie piped up from the passenger seat, “Jake, I’m happy you’re here, but will you all shut up so Gilly can sleep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Though Jake sobered up, the provoking glint remained in his eyes. Once more you were aware of his closeness and the heat of his skin.

“Unbelievable…” you said underneath your breath, crossing your arms, your reward being another one of Jake’s dazzling smiles.

When you arrived, the reunion was as rowdy as you expected. About two dozen Seresins and their closest friends and family had convened at Jake’s childhood home. Amanda cried when she saw her favorite cousin coming towards her, and she excitedly introduced him to her husband-to-be, a bookish engineer named Christian who came from a small family and seemed as flattered as he was overwhelmed by all the attention.

Dinner was served outdoors, buffet style. The backyard was strung up with twinkling lights and music played from a pair of speakers stationed at the back porch. The air was festive and full of hope; it was easy to get caught up in the pre-wedding bliss when you were well-fed, your glass never empty, the company some of your most loved people in the world.

Josh - thank God - was not in attendance. He was supposed to walk down the aisle with you. Your save-the-date and wedding invitation had arrived labeled with his name along with yours, the assumption being that of course your long-term, live-in boyfriend would be your date. After you’d broken up, Amanda had to reshuffle her arrangements to keep you as one of her bridesmaids, the only upside being that Jake’s uncertain attendance made him your perfect partner.

Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.

At some point in the night, after speeches had been made and dessert served, Jake took the seat next to you to chat with his great-aunt Sandy and her boyfriend, Clyde. The apple pie came courtesy of Mrs. Seresin, who had the best recipe in the county and probably the entire state of Texas, in your limited and yet eager opinion. You demolished it with aplomb and once you finished, Jake pushed his plate towards you, the crust untouched. “Have at it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I know it’s your favorite part.”

The fact that he remembered made you feel sixteen again, watching him come home from university, crushed at knowing that he had a whole life you didn't know about, people he knew who were probably far more interesting, sophisticated and self-assured. He joined the Navy, and then moved out west while you stayed behind in your hometown, stationary while he took to the skies.

He had always been nice to you, for all that he enjoyed teasing you and even making fun of you on occasion. But that didn't mean you would ever be anything more to him than his best friend’s sister, someone he indulged in the same way as Amanda.

You excused yourself from the table, picking up plates as a pretense to head inside and get a few moments to yourself. This was exactly the reason why you hadn't wanted Jake to come home. Selfishly, in your heart of hearts, you had prized your own comfort above Amanda’s happiness, which made you feel like a Grade-A jerk, but you weren't ready to confront the way he made you feel after all this time. How could you explain to yourself, let alone anyone else, that you were holding out for a fantasy you’d had since you were young?

Suddenly, the presence of everyone you’d known and loved all your life felt oppressive rather than a source of delight. You poured yourself a glass of wine from one of the open bottles on the counter and went out to the Seresins’ front porch. From there, the sounds of the party seemed far away and you let out a sigh of relief. You sat on the ledge with your back to one of the vertical beams, watching the night breeze move the branches on the trees and the clouds which obscured the waning moon. Gradually, your mind slowed its pace and you were able to enjoy the song of the night critters mingled with the distant music of someone - probably Clyde - strumming his guitar.

Your repose was broken by the screen door opening and then clattering shut behind you, making you turn your head to see Jake coming outside, just a touch sheepish but for the most part his usual Jake-self, out of his jacket and carrying a bottle of beer.

He lowered himself beside you, and after a moment’s silence, said, “So, how’ve you been? Aside from Whatshisface.”

You shot him a warning look. If he was bringing up Josh, it was only to tease you like he’d done in the car and you weren’t in the mood right now to be the butt of a joke - not when you felt so vulnerable about what he was to you. (Dammit… and of course this has to be a wedding.)

“What,” he said, gently cajoling, “I can’t ask?”

“About my personal life? You never used to care.”

“In high school, I don’t think I was supposed to care. And afterwards—”

“Afterwards, Hangman got a little too full of himself,” you quipped.

“Hey… that's… actually pretty accurate, I’m not gonna lie.” He took a swig of beer, laughing as he said it. The porch light threw his features into sharp relief and you gave yourself permission to look at him - really look at him - for the first time since he returned.

Setting aside that he was gorgeous as ever, he seemed less carefree than you remembered, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He appeared, well, like a grown-up, for lack of a better word. You wondered whether you were being unfair in making assumptions when you had both changed so much in the last decade, as people tended to do. He wasn’t just the dream guy in your head; he was so many things in his own right, and he was here with you, wanting to talk - and maybe trying to get to know you on an even field.

If only that wasn't another reason to love him.

“You seem different,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t giving you away.

He looked at you for a few breaths, the corner of his mouth tipped up but the rest of his face serious. Then he shrugged in mock humility with a “What can I say, greatness suits me.”

“Idiot…” You shook your head and let out a snort, though on the inside you felt full of champagne - fizzy and bright because he was with you.

“How's the shop going?” he asked after a beat.

“Pretty well. We’re doing the flowers for Amanda’s wedding.”

“And you're bridesmaiding?”

“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”

“I think Amanda would disagree.”

“Well, it is her wedding,” you pointed out, “she’s—”

“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.

“She’s excited,” you corrected even as a montage ran through your head of all the times Amanda had texted the wedding party’s WhatsApp group to say that “a catastrophe” had occurred or that today was the worst day of her life because “the linen photos do NOT reflect the true shade. I wanted SAGE green - doesn’t this look laurel to you?”

“She’s my cousin,” Jake went on. “In fact, she’s my favorite cousin - which is how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s the biggest bridezilla this side of the Mississippi. To being wedding buddies,” he said and held his beer out towards you, “’cause God knows we’re gonna need it.”

“Wedding buddies,” you said, and clinked your glass. You waited until he had a mouthful of beer to say, “So, how’s your love life these days?”

“O-ho!” He nearly choked. “We are not doing that.”

“That hardly seems fair!”

“Age before beauty, Cabbage: I still get to make a few of the rules.” Watching your face work into a grimace, he laughed. “You really do hate when I call you that, don't you? Look at you! It's like a full-body cringe!”

“Stop it!” you complained.

The unfortunate nickname started back when you were a kid and had a penchant for a particular Cabbage Patch doll, which, in hindsight, seemed like an emotional support object, thank you very much. You carried it around until you were forcibly parted during Kindergarten - hence, Cabbage Patch, which in time shortened itself to “Cabbage.” It was cute when your mom said it, but Jake?

“You don't seem to mind when Mike calls you that,” he replied.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve seen Mike in all sorts of undignified situations. It evens the playing field.”

“I’d say we've known each other almost as long.”

“It is not the same.”

“How come?”

“It’s just… not.”

“I’m getting nothing else out of you by way of an explanation, aren't I? Fine…” he dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll stop calling you Cabbage.”

“You don't have to…”

“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”

“Thank you,” you said, a little embarrassed.

From the backyard came a round of applause as Clyde finished his song. Jake smiled at you, then leaned close with a devilish glint in his eye. “Are you sure you're okay with the whole Josh thing? We can always make it our mission to make him insanely jealous.”

You scoffed. “Please, he would never buy that. You and me? He’d see right through it.”

“I want you to know that your lack of faith in my abilities is deeply, deeply hurtful. I’m just saying! You haven't seen me in action!”

“Oh, I’ve seen you in action, alright…”

“There she is!” he cackled.

You hoped the laughter meant he’d missed the note of jealousy in your voice. “Besides, I don't care about making him jealous,” you said with a shrug. “He and Mia are good together.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah… Okay, look,” you sighed, “the only reason I’m telling you this is because you're not them, so I’d better not hear a word from Mike about anything I’m about to tell you. Deal?”

He nodded, and mimed zipping his lips closed for dramatic effect.

“There’s just… no sob story about it,” you began. “By the time it was over, it was almost a relief. And honestly? If it hadn't been for our families, we would've broken up ages ago.”

“What was wrong with him?”

By the look on his face, it was like he expected you to say he had a funny snore or that he chewed too loudly or had an extra head. If only the truth were that tangible. He wasn't mean to you, didn't cheat. But he wasn't Jake. He didn't make you excited to wake up in the morningz

“By the end, we were more like roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained. “I mean, when it happened, did I want to claw Mia’s face off, knowing she’d been angling for an opening for years? Of course I did. But that was more about my pride than anything. I wasn't heartbroken. I’m not,” you insisted. “But telling them that would feel like ruining Christmas. They're having fun slinging mud on my behalf.”

“And maybe just a tiny part of you enjoys it?” Jake asked.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. “Do you really think I’m above a bit of harmless spite? Hell, I practically wrote the playbook. But what you said - about your pride being hurt? That goes for him too, you know. He doesn't have to buy the whole thing, he just has to see you moving on. Trust me, it’ll hurt.”

“Maybe I don't care enough to hurt him.”

Jake studied you, his eyes shining in the warm glow. “You really have grown up,” he said at last. “I, on the other hand—”

“Oh, come on. Jake, you’re all talk, always have been.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The summer before your junior year,” you pointed out, “you spent nearly all of it replacing Will Delonge’s wooden fence and you told no one about it. The only reason I know is because Mom found out—”

“Your mom finds out about everything,” Jake lamented.

That she did. “You helped Arn McCallister with his math grade,” you added. “You asked Gina to dance at the Winter Ball when her friends made that bet—”

“Some friends,” he interjected. “I swear, Fiona Brussaurd still scares the shit out of me. What, were you keeping tabs on me all through high school?”

“Everyone was keeping tabs on you all through high school,” you confessed. “You were Jake Seresin, Hometown Hero. You still are. You could probably get away with murder.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks, but it might have been the beer he finished, or a play of the light. “Actually, I can’t. Semper Fortis, remember? You can't fly planes in prison. Besides, I am way too pretty for that uniform.”

“And you always do that,” you replied. “Try to throw people off the scent of you being an actually decent guy. But I know the truth,” you pointed out. “You have a tell.”

“Really, what's that?”

Over the course of the conversation Jake had angled towards you without your notice; now, your knees were touching and his upturned mouth was close enough to kiss. Your heart was racing in your chest, and yet his gaze was like a challenge - don’t back down, he seemed to say, and that was all Jake. He was exhilarating, just by being himself.

You dared to draw even closer, as if whispering a secret. “Mothers love you.”

“Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”

“Take the hit, Seresin. No one is that good.”

Smiling, he nudged your knee and leaned back on his hands, sitting with you until the first early-nighters began to leave.

Amanda Seresin was two years older than Jake. Her dad, Jake’s uncle, passed away when Amanda was fourteen, and ever since, Jake and his parents had taken her and Dinah under their wings. Jake was the closest thing she had to a brother, and though he was younger, you knew Jake was incredibly protective of her and his aunt, so you were determined not to ruin his wedding experience by being a lovestruck weirdo.

After your time together on the porch, that might prove difficult for you. But this was about Amanda. She assigned you to be his date, and you were going to be a professional about it.

Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.

“These are a little tall, aren’t they?” your mom asked, fretting over the tulips at the center of one of the guest tables. “I asked for measurements, but now that they’re here…”

You glanced at your watch. “We have time to fix them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, mom, all of them. Let’s take them into the kitchen, then we can rush up and change before the cocktails start.” You knew she wouldn’t have a speck of peace if she didn’t get them trimmed. She would fret and fuss, and probably commit floral kidnapping crimes when it all got too much. She liked everything to be perfect, especially for the people she loved, so you ignored the time crunch and your watch yelling at you that it was 4:35, twenty-five minutes before guests were due to arrive for drinks and canapés, and, signaling for your dad to help gather up the centerpieces, you rushed into the venue’s kitchen and started trimming down with the nearest pair of garden shears.

Your mom breathed a sigh of relief when the task was done and a few of the earliest guests offered to help carry the vases back to the tables, giving you enough time to head upstairs and put on the blue dress you’d brought in a garment bag.

So you were fussing about your looks… That didn’t mean you were not chill, it just meant you wanted to look nice… for Amanda. For the photos. It had nothing to do with Jake Seresin at all.

By the time you made it down - finally, and a little late since you spent more on it than usual perfecting your makeup - there were about sixty people on the lawn, nibbling on pulled pork sliders and mac-and-cheese bites, mini tacos and bacon-wrapped dates. You spotted your dad grabbing one of everything and your mom pulling on his sleeve, probably to hiss, “Pace yourself, hon.” She had a glass of champagne in one hand, more as a prop, since half of her attention was spent surveying her work as if anticipating one of the centerpieces to go up in flames.

Knowing her, she might have packed a tiny fire extinguisher in that glittery, silver clutch.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a plate and a few of the canapés from a passing waiter. The rehearsal dinner was a much bigger affair than the barbecue Jake’s parents had thrown for close friends and family the night before. You knew Josh would be in attendance (probably with Mia) and so would a lot of your high school crowd. Letting out a sigh, you threw your shoulders back and tried to look relaxed, exchanging greetings as you mingled with the growing number of guests. It was a beautiful night. God must love Amanda, as He should, because the weather was balmy in a pleasant way, warm enough that the ladies could throw off their wraps and show off their dresses, the men leave their jackets draped over chairs.

The venue was a little bed and breakfast with a sprawling back patio and hedges that grew around the property, gracefully unkempt, with magnolia trees in bloom. You said hello to your old History teacher, a small, soft-spoken woman with a gray bob and tortoiseshell glasses dangling on a chain. In turn, she had taken personal interest in Amanda, Jake, and then you - she was the whole reason Amanda went into teaching, and you heard Jake mention once that he wouldn’t have joined the Navy if not for her. Sometimes, you felt a little self-conscious about not having more to show for your education, but Ms. Beauchene never made you feel like your life choices were a disappointment. She popped into the flower shop on occasion, pleased with her paper-wrapped bouquets, and no matter what, without fail, you’d ring her up and she’d say with full honesty, “These are going to make my week,” before she walked out humming.

You were glad Amanda included her in the rehearsal, especially when you spotted Josh walking in with his arm around Mia’s waist. Excusing yourself, you made for the bar and ordered one of the signature cocktails, Amanda’s favorite blackberry bourbon smash, and downed half of it before turning back and making small talk as if your life depended on it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the sight of Josh that had you feeling like the inside of your brain was crawling with ants. It was Mia. You hated the thought of her seeing any kind of weakness in you - that she might take in your appearance and think that your hairdo was messy or that your eyes looked a little dark, and assume from it that she’d left you a human wreck after her little victory.

Without a doubt, Mia had attended the Fiona Brussaurd School of Mean Girls, and the last thing you wanted to do was appear like the lesser creature. So when your family began to fuss under the pretense of “casually” making conversation, you swatted them away, feeling grateful when dinner was announced and everyone could retreat to their neutral corners.

You chose to sit at a table with a few old school friends, one of whom was also in the wedding party, and to avoid the meaningful looks Julie had been sending you all evening, you sat with your back to the rest of the guests, enjoying the hour of relative peace and reminiscing, the view of an ornamental fountain set with warm lights, and your plate of pan-seared sea bass and cheesy potatoes. Gradually, the music shifted from sit-down easy listening to dancing tunes, and the people at your table began seeking out partners or joining those already on the lawn who were spinning and jiving in every available space.

Soon, you were alone at the table. You leaned back in your chair, enjoying the breeze against your face. If you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of music and laughter, you could almost forget all the drama with your ex…

You felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Jake and his movie-star grin. The butterflies started banging around your stomach again. Forget the tulips, you were the one with your nerves all in a tangle tonight.

“Hey, stranger - ’nother drink?” he asked, offering you another of the bourbon cocktails. He had a rocks glass in his other hand, and without waiting for an invitation he took the chair next to you, throwing his arm across the back of yours.

You replied, “Yes, please,” trying not to melt into his touch. Nuzzling against him like a cat would not be chill, you reminded yourself, even if he did look incredible with his open dress shirt collar and the little peek of his chest made you feel like a Victorian with the vapors.

He lounged in that casual way of his, attractive without trying. “These things really go on forever, don't they?”

“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”

“What happened to getting married on a Tuesday while everyone’s at work?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just quote Runaway Bride?”

His face went still. “What, no.”

“Yes, you did!” you exclaimed, setting down your drink and straightening in your seat. Jake looked mildly panicked and was doing his best to look innocent, which you found absolutely hilarious. “Oh my God, are you a closet romcom man?”

“It must've been subconscious.”

“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.

“She looks happy.” Jake tipped his head towards Amanda despite the fact that she was behind you both, out of sight, and clearly being used as a way to change the subject. “You know the guy?”

“You met him yesterday,” you said. And I know what you're doing implicit was in your tone.

Jake shrugged, an expert at deflection. “Yeah, but it's hard to tell what a guy’s made of from a single meeting.”

Deciding that the accusation of Romcomitis would go unanswered on this particular occasion, you tested the limits of his cool under pressure, pretending to deliberate before you played along with the conversational shift.

“D’you want to hear the absolute worst thing I can think to say about him?”

Jake went battle-ready, poised to hate the guy. You watched his shoulders and the set of his jaw change, and it made you want to touch the side of his face and kiss the frown away, laughing as you did.

Just messing with you, you would say.

It would be so easy. Maybe the fantasy was clouding your judgment - along with your third cocktail of the night - but you could feel in your body that being with Jake would be as natural as breathing.

You looked over your shoulder, watching Christian lean into Amanda to whisper something into her ear.

He had his hand on her arm and looked a little spooked, probably because one of the Seresins’ honorary aunts, Jackie, who was known for her tell-it-like-it-is comments, no matter how indiscreet, was walking away. Poor guy. Amanda giggled at whatever he said and stroked his hand, whispering back words of reassurance. Their demeanor together was easy, full of shorthand. And Amanda did look happy - so happy that it made you a little jealous, pleased as you were that she had found her person.

Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.

“He's a little dull,” you explained. “But in a good way. He mellows her out.”

“Amanda? That sounds like an impossible task. But I can see it…” He cocked his head. “I think.”

You turned your eyes back to your own table. Jake was fiddling with his glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around the oversized iced cube. He looked pensive, a furrow appearing between his brows that, in another life, you would have stroked away.

He shook his head and raised the glass to his lips. “You don't realize how much you've missed…”

Before you could think about it, you had your hand on his arm. “Hey, no one's keeping score.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Then don't,” you insisted. “You do what you've gotta do - we all know that. Your parents know it, Amanda knows it. She’s just happy you're here.”

You could tell that, as much as he appreciated your words, they weren't enough to sweep away all the moments he hadn't been around to see. It didn't matter that Jake loved flying planes, that he was proud to be one of the best naval aviators in the service, and wouldn't change his career for the world. He was still in a position where he had to ask you what Amanda’s future husband was like. He had missed his goddaughter’s christening, had to rush out of Mike and Julie’s wedding five years ago… He’d made an oath, and for as long as he wore the uniform, his first commitment was to something other than his family. Other than himself.

He spoke his next words quietly, almost to himself, just for you.

“You know, the thing about flying is that when you're up there, nothing else matters. It can’t. All of your focus, all of your faculties, your energy… they're in the air. Meanwhile, all of this real life… the thing we’re meant to be safeguarding for everyone else, it doesn't stop, and when you land right back in the middle of it—”

He stopped.

“Yeah?” You were hanging on for the rest of it, eager for these little pieces of Jake that you stored up even after he was gone.

“I mean, it feels like yesterday since I left for college, signed up. Now Amanda’s getting married, Mike’s having kids, you are having just the worst luck of the year…”

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I’m kidding, kidding!”

“You’re sounding like an old man, Jake. You're thirty-two - pull yourself together. Jeez! Who knew Top Gun would make you so existential? Is that why you're self-medicating with classic romantic comedies?”

“If you ever tell Mike, I swear to God—” He pointed his finger at you, and you pinched it in two of yours, earning a chuckle and a childish attempt at a thumb-war game that was interrupted when the bride herself came up behind you and threw her arms around you both with a “Hey, you two!”

“Mands!” Jake exclaimed, craning his neck to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Having fun?”

“Absolutely. So, so much—”

“You big fibber,” Amanda threw back. “Why are you here? Go dance!”

“Can’t. I’m keeping my date company, and a gentleman never abandons his date. It’s in the rules.”

“Good thing I know you're not a gentleman. You're in my wedding party!” she said. “It’s up to you two to set a good example for the other guests.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall we?” He offered you his hand, throwing Amanda a look that said, See? I’m following orders.

She smiled back, giving you room to rise from your chairs and circle round. With her arms crossed, she watched as you found an open space, making sure you’d followed through before seeking out her next victims.

As bad luck would have it, the song switched from something uptempo to an Ashley Monroe ballad, romantic strings and all. “Has anybody ever told you/ that when you walk into a dark room/ the light of a thousand moons surround you?/ Yeah, there's just something about you./ Has anybody ever told you?”

It was stupid, but the words felt so real with Jake’s hands on you that you were worried he’d be able to read your mind or see on your face that you meant every sentence. You tried looking anywhere else, at the other couples, the catering staff picking up empty glasses, at your mom fluffing a perfectly decent bouquet, anywhere but at Jake.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” you asked, eyes darting nervously at being caught red-handed.

“Tense up like I’ve got the plague,” Jake said. “You’re making this weird.”

“I’m making what weird?”

“We’re dancing!” He pressed one hand against your hip, the other into your lower back. “Just dance!”

“By which I’m sure you mean, ‘just follow my lead’?”

You didn't mean to sound so prickly, you were just panicking and trying to throw Jake off the scent. This does not constitute playing it cool, you scolded yourself. But instead of taking it badly, Jake laughed as he stared down at you.

“If you like. Or I can follow yours if it makes you feel any better. Here, you can put your hand on my waist - but leave room for Jesus.”

“Dork.”

“There we go,” he cajoled, swaying with you in time to the beat. “Letting you insult me seems to really get your engines going. We should analyze that.”

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He cackled out loud at the dark look you sent his way, stroking your back in a way that meant absolutely nothing, but which you felt all the way down to your toes. “You make it too easy,” he added.

Jake’s sense of humor made it hard to stay self-conscious. Eventually, you eased into the dance and you were almost sorry when the song switched to something a little more upbeat that didn't require him to stand so close to you. Still, he twirled you in a circle and brought you back into the solid curve of his body, showing off.

Then, out of nowhere, his face worked into a scowl as he spotted something a few yards to your right. You turned your head to see what it was, so lost in the moment that it took a few seconds for you to register that Josh was dancing with Mia, quite well, actually, to the Texas Tornados.

“Look at that schmuck.”

“Jake…” you warned.

“What? It’s just an observation, I’m not saying it for your benefit.”

“She looks incredible,” you sighed. On anyone else, the dress she had on would make them look like a costume disco ball, but on Mia it looked modern and chic, showing off her body and matching well with a slicked back bun and dangly earrings.

Jake’s shoulder rose and fell beneath your hand. “If you say so. She’s not really my type.”

Are you serious? “Jake, just about every woman is your type.”

“I’m sorry, are you slut-shaming me right now? In this political climate? I could have you canceled for that.”

“Ha-ha,” you said in response. “I mean, look at her, she is objectively a 10 - don’t say you wouldn’t. Hell, I would if I were inclined that way… Don’t!” You pinned Jake with a warning stare, cutting off the joke that was on the tip of his tongue and dying to come out.

“Well, I wouldn’t now,” he said instead.

“Gee, thanks.”

“For the sake of our friendship.”

The word made you tense up again - not on purpose, it was an automatic reaction you wanted to take back as soon as you went stiff all over again. And it didn't escape Jake’s notice.

“What?” he questioned, cupping your shoulders and shaking you a little as a gag. “Oh my God, have you ever thought about taking up yoga? Meditation?”

“Flying lessons?” you shot back.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Compared to you, I am a very chilled-out person.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to admit that he was right. No matter what was going on inside Jake, he knew how to keep a calm exterior. You’d always admired that about him. With the exception of your dad, your family wasn't known for its cool under pressure. Even Mike could be a bit of a basket case. That’s why he and Julie worked so well together.

You sighed again, wondering if you’d ever find your own version of Christian or Julie, someone who fit with all of your wonky parts and made you feel, regardless of circumstance, that everything would turn out okay.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” You looked at Jake, startled by the remark and the heat rushing into your face. He was dead serious. The levity you saw in his eyes had nothing to do with his tone, which was kind but not pitying. And you knew Jake would never say something like that if he didn’t mean it. “Not that it’s a competition,” he tacked on, “I’m just saying… don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure he’s eating his heart out right now.”

“And how would you know a thing like that?”

“Because he hasn’t stopped looking at us for the last sixty seconds.”

Your gaze drifted off to the side before Jake took your chin in his hand, his touch gentle and yet firm.

“Don’t look!” he chided. “Jesus… That’s recon 101 - I’ve got your six, you keep dancing and pretend we’re not talking about him, you amateur!”

“Sorry! You’re so bossy!” you grumbled, fighting off another blush.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The word zinged through your body along with the killer Jake Seresin dimpled grin, and to make matters worse, he twirled you again, laughing when he brought you to rest your back against his chest. Josh froze when he saw you, spotting Jake’s hands on your waist. But you couldn’t care less - you were breathless, with Jake’s mouth close enough to kiss, reminding you of his knee nudge on the porch and his arm beneath your hand.

For a moment, you could almost believe that he was flirting with you for real. If you turned your head, would he accept the press of your mouth against his? Would he push you away or pull you in closer, regardless of your families watching and Josh staring, almost open-mouthed, like he couldn’t believe Jake fucking Seresin would give you the time of day?

Before you could make a choice, the song ended and Jake released you from his grip, keeping a hand on your back as he herded you away from the dance floor and to the bar, where he ordered a beer and asked if you wanted something. If you answered, you weren’t aware. You felt not in control, your stomach all in knots and the memory of Jake’s touch seared into your skin. A part of you still wanted desperately to kiss him and the other wanted to rush into the B&B and burst into tears from sheer confusion. Meanwhile, Jake seemed perfectly fine, chatting with the bartender on duty and leaning against the counter as he dropped a few bills into the tip jar.

“What are you doing?” you asked when you felt him touching you on the shoulder.

“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”

“Hey! On the dance floor was one thing, but I am not aiming to make this entire weekend about making my ex jealous. Any high school dude-vendetta you have against Josh should be addressed on your own time, you psycho. Besides, he’s never going to actually buy it.”

“Alright.” Jake threw up his hands, lowering the charm down a few watts. Your drinks were set down on a pair of square cocktail napkins and you took up yours, a fizzy gin thing with lemon that made you wonder whether you shouldn’t have stuck with bourbon to avoid going around with a hangover on Amanda’s wedding day.

Jake went on. “But I’m really not liking all this negative self-talk, you know. Mia might be a 10, but at most he’s, like, a 6…”

“Oh, be quiet!”

“You’re an 8.”

“What?” The alcohol either rushed up to your head or evaporated completely. How the hell did Jake manage to say things that left you completely dumbfounded and without a single intelligent thought in your head? And he did it with a smile! This one was purposefully subdued as he waved around with the beer in his hand as if making a profound point.

“You’re way out of his league. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”

“Okay, well…”

“You’re blushing!” he remarked. “That’s adorable.”

“You’re not funny, Seresin.”

“Hey, I joke about a lot of things, but I don’t go around handing 8s to just anyone.”

“Oh, look, they’re bringing out coffee.” The needle was tipping firmly towards the need to escape, though it wasn’t that serious - you knew it wasn’t; Jake had a tendency to be a flirt and he usually didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, it could even be amusing to play along, to get swept up in his wit and the light of his attention. But you didn’t want to play. And you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his company because you weren’t. You loved every precious second you got to spend with him, knowing he’d be off to California soon and that the next time you might see him could be months or even a year from now.

Getting your hopes up would be a mistake, and you were dangerously close to doing it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He touched your elbow gently. You wished he couldn’t read you so well. Or that he could read you better, and see what you had been trying to say to him for years but were too scared to utter.

You did your best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to hover all night. Go, take a load off, have fun.”

“I am having fun,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“I was. I am,” you corrected, frustrated with yourself for not taking it better. For not being cool and together and the sort of girl who took charge and damned the outcome. She would’ve kissed Jake when she had the chance. She would have shown up to California. Hell, she would’ve made her move ages ago instead of pining, pathetically, and letting twenty years go by.

That’s what Mia had done. And that’s why she had her dream guy - your former guy - while you were exactly in the same position, too tongue-tied to take a shot.

“Just… can you give me some space?” you blurted out, your frustration bleeding through.

The hurt in Jake’s expression was there and gone in a lightning flash, but you’d seen it and you felt terrible about it. Before you could say anything to make it better, he’d replaced it with a devil-may-care smile.

“Got it,” he said, his voice a little tight around the edges. “Well… I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need me.”

With that, he took his beer and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to weave your way through oblivious partygoers to find the nearest ladies’ room, where you locked yourself in a stall and tried not to ruin your makeup with the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Hindsight was a bitch. The next morning you were sure you’d overreacted, made a fool of yourself and created a potentially awkward situation now that the wedding day was upon you and you had to take his arm, in - you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand - five-and-a-half hours, and walk with him down the aisle wearing a smile for the sake of the photographers.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands and calling yourself every name in the book.

Jake had promised to be your wedding buddy and then sweetly kept his word, and what did you do in response? Completely freak out, you scatterbrained nincompoop.

As penance, you threw yourself into the arrangement of the reception flowers, channeling your mother while you directed the staff this way and that, trying not to think about Jake and the mortifying apology that awaited you. It was the right thing to do - not only to clear the air but because he hadn't deserved being chewed out in a momentary panic, and you knew you wouldn't feel right with yourself if you didn't take the blame and say your mea culpa.

But boy were you dreading it.

“You should head out now, Cabbage,” your mom advised around eleven o'clock. “Dad and I can handle the rest and you should be with Amanda, spend some time with the girls before the big event.”

“Are you sure you don't need help with the aisle arrangements?” A cowardly attempt, but you did it anyway.

“We’ve got it,” Mom repeated, turning you around and all but shepherding you into the parking lot. She waved you off with a “have fun,” and you couldn't help your brain’s internal response of “fat chance.”

All the way to the B&B you kept rehearsing what you might say to Jake when you saw him, but by the time you pulled up and found a free parking space, you were sweating, physically and metaphorically, and thinking that, maybe, if you listened to TED Talks rather than Dateline, you might have an enlightened response to your current dilemma.

You fetched your bagged bridesmaid's dress from the trunk of the car, along with your makeup bag and hair tools. You’d have to use the shower before you started getting ready, but you were looking forward to get-ready champagne and a throwback playlist. Anything to feel more like your normal self and less like a silly teenager who couldn’t talk to boys.

You went up three flights of stairs to reach the bridal suite. From both sides, you could hear music spilling out into the hall, an ABBA classic clashing with Brett Young. Automatically, you placed your hand on the doorknob leading towards bouncy 80s pop only for it to turn and spring open, revealing Jake with an undone bow tie hanging around his neck.

It could be that your mouth sprung open, not expecting to see him that abruptly and without giving yourself your planned thirty-second pep talk.

Your mind went blank. All you could do was stare at him like an idiot as he pointed across the hall and said, “Bridal suite’s that way.”

“Yeah, it was…”

“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”

“Are you sure it wasn't yours?” The joke spilled out of your mouth, landing awkwardly to your own ears. But Jake smiled anyway, glancing down as he let the door close behind him.

He rubbed the side of his freshly shaved cheek. “I’m headed down to the front desk, by the way. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You deserved that. So instead of cringing down into the floor - which was what you really wanted to do - you took the hit and said, “I didn’t think you were.”

“About last night…”

“I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I’m just… a little stressed,” you cut him off. It was an understatement, and not totally honest, but it was the best you could do without getting into the embarrassing particulars.

From the groomsmen’s side, Britney Spears followed ABBA, singing, “Oops, I did it again,” which seemed perversely apropos and just another reminder that you were a puppet of fate. Presently, you had to be paying for God knows what sin - probably calling Mike a buttface all those years before.

“Hey, I get it. I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” Jake went on.

“You’re not! You’re a good friend… Thank you.”

It pained you to say it, but you figured now was as good a time as any to face facts: you only had a few more days together, and you didn't want to spend them all wasting what you had, wishing it would turn into something else. Friendship with Jake was good enough. He was kind and loyal and honest; hell, anyone would be lucky to have him in their corner.

Maybe what you needed was a little gratitude. It was a wedding day, after all. Your friends and family would all be gathering in a few hours to celebrate Christian and Amanda and they had chosen you to be a special part of their most important day. How cool was that?

“Can we just not talk about Mia and Josh today?” you asked, hefting the garment back up your shoulder. “I want to focus on Amanda and make sure she has a nice time at her wedding - get drunk but not sloppily so, take a few pictures, dance a bit, not feel like everyone’s waiting for the Jerry Springer shoe to drop?”

“We can do that,” Jake replied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“See you on the other side?”

“You bet.”

He went down the hall, turning right and bounding the carpeted stairs. You watched him go with a sigh, deciding that it was hard to be a grown-up and lovelorn at the same time. The two things were so incompatible - liking someone, loving them even, felt utterly undignified.

Nonetheless, you could breathe a lot easier after clearing the air. With the apology out of the way, you threw yourself into full bridesmaid mode, squeezing into the cramped bathroom with five other women in customized robes who were curling, straightening, powdering, talking, fighting for counter space, gasping at gossip, and being an overall flurry of chaos while the bride reigned over all, putting in comments through the haze of hair- and setting spray.

The air in the room was joyous, with a smattering of nervous energy mostly provided by Amanda.

Once dressed in your different styles of champagne satin, the bridesmaids focused on making sure Amanda was ready for her starring role. You took turns doing up the buttons on the back of her wedding gown, and when Dinah popped in to give her a pair of diamond earrings she wore to her own wedding, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. “Do not let my mascara run!” Amanda urged, prompting Carrie, the maid of honor, to jokingly rush forward with a folded-up Kleenex and dab at her eyes.

The groomsmen left for the wedding venue first, piling into a shuttle after yelling well-wishes through the door. Fifteen minutes later you followed suit, with Ali O’Rourke pouring canned cocktails into plastic cups and filming the journey at the same time as her phone blasted Taylor Swift (“But none of the breakup songs!”). In twenty minutes you were at the botanical garden, arranging the first look through a comical series of shouts and mimes partially obscured by a tall bush and caught on camera by the couple’s videographer. Once Christian had gotten the memo to stand there, at the edge of an ornamental pond but with his back to the azaleas, you pushed Amanda in his direction and waved her on, giving whistles and catcalls when he dipped her into a kiss that was very un-Christian-like and all the more romantic for that reason.

Once the wedding party photos were done, it was time to head inside and wait for the guests to arrive. You found that, like Amanda, you were feeling a little jittery now that patience was all that was required. From the double doors to the altar, it was a fairly long walk and you were worried that your heels would sink into the grass or that you would fall flat on your face. Luckily, you weren’t the only one with that fear. Amanda’s coworker, Lucy, who had never been a bridesmaid before, had a minor freakout, and talking her down helped you allay your own fears, as did the liquid courage courtesy of Ali’s dress having pockets.

(Amanda: “I don’t remember reading that on the website.”

Ali: “That’s because you didn’t. I had it tailored.”)

At last, the wedding coordinator called for everyone to take their places and Jake came towards you, looking smart in his tux. At the rehearsal dinner you’d heard Mike asking, “So, where’s the dress uniform?”, to which Jake replied, “And upstage you?” Well, uniform or not, you were sure he could upstage anyone. To you, he was the handsomest person in the room, and you were in danger of saying so until Jake beat you to the punch.

“Look at you, you clean up well!” he remarked.

“And you look terrible.”

“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

You laughed. Humble as always. You were glad to see that all the awkwardness between you had gone, in no small part because of the excitement over the ceremony. A sudden hush came over everyone as Harriet signaled for the doors to be opened. Jake held out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, echoing his words when he asked you to dance.

This time you were ready for it. No matter what, in this particular moment, you and Jake were allies - wedding buddies, he said - and instead of overthinking things or making a mountain out of a molehill, you were resolved to enjoy it.

You took his arm and faced forward. The first strains of music began. Showtime, Harriet mouthed, while at the altar Christian turned to meet his bride.

The ceremony was over in the blink of an eye, followed by a drinks reception and a sit-down dinner punctuated by toasts that ranged from the humorous to the downright sentimental. Now that Amanda had clipped up her train, she seemed more relaxed than she had been in the morning, and it made you feel like you could let down your hair, so to speak, and enjoy the party underneath the light-strewn tent.

The guests were eager to dance. Without letup they moved through classic wedding standards and modern dance hits to country reels and the obligatory playing of “Mr. Brightside,” a moment which Sandy and Clyde stole with their enthusiastic head-bops. You couldn't remember the last time you danced, or laughed, half as much, and even the appearance of Josh and Mia couldn’t steal your good mood. As long as they kept to their side of the tent, you could pretend they weren't there and if Mom or Julie sidled up with a comment in defense of your honor, it was easy to point a finger to your ear as if to say, “What? I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”

Jake kept close for the most of the night, leaning in close and making funny comments about the hidden goings-on - who was putting the moves on who, who was sneaking mini cupcakes into their purse, who got carted off to the indoor area after over-imbibing and nearly causing a minor dancefloor traffic incident.

Maybe it was all his Navy training, but for a guy’s guy Jake had an uncanny eye for gossip, and you said so, winning a laugh and another request for your oath of secrecy.

“I hate to tap out before Great-Aunt Sandy,” he said halfway through the Jailhouse Rock, “but do you want to take a breather? I feel like I’m getting a stitch in my side.”

“You? Sheesh, Hangman, you're really letting yourself go,” you chaffed. “What'll the higher-ups think when you get back to San Diego?”

“Well, if they really want to replace me, I’ll send them Aunt Sandy’s way.” He led you outside, where you promptly balanced one foot at a time trying to unclasp your heeled sandals while Jake watched, snorting before he took pity on you and let you lean on his arm.

His very muscled arm…

Inwardly, you sighed like one of the Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast, but hey, you’d behaved yourself all day; you were allowed to have the occasional impure thought.

With a little sound of triumph, you managed to remove your shoes and held them by the straps, walking on the grass in your bare feet. You had a pair of flats in your purse, but that was somewhere inside and, anyway, the ground felt good against your tired arches. You’d been dancing for over two hours and needed the break.

“How do you even stand in those death traps?” Jake eyed your shoes as if they were hand grenades, which amused you to no end seeing as they’d cost you a small fortune precisely because they claimed to be comfortable.

“They’re not so bad,” you replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t need them if you weren’t so tall.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You shrugged, keeping your face deliberately blank. “It’s a free country.”

“Wow…” Jake huffed through a laugh, “you are incapable of just being nice to me.”

“What, I am nice!”

“In a backhanded-compliment sort of way, sure.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Jake, you’re the biggest 10 at the wedding’?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re getting warmer,” he said with a toothy grin, entering a path bordered by low hedges leading to the pond where the first look had taken place.

The lights from the wedding reception lit the way, along with the small solar-powered fixtures planted in the ground, but for the most part the darkness was a respite from the sights and sounds of the packed tent. In a way, it made it easier to talk to Jake, ignoring your history, feeling like a girl who’d been asked on a walk by someone who wanted to spend more time with her.

You laughed, leaning into the role of interested flatterer. You were walking backwards, even daring to place your hand on the front of Jake’s shirt, trusting him to lead the way and keep you from tripping into a bush. “You’re an incredible dancer,” you put in, going full Bimbette. You might have batted your eyelashes, and your voice took on the dreamy girlishness of Marilyn Monroe, which only gave Jake the giggles as he tried to maintain his yes, I am all the things composure. “You look as good in a tux as you do in your Navy uniform.”

“Both true.”

“You’re funny and smart, and soooo interesting.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks to place your hands on his cheeks. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. “You’ve got a face like an Old Hollywood dreamboat.”

He nodded solemnly, the slight clearing of his throat the only indicator that he was on the verge of breaking character. “You’re not the first person to say that, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm, does that surprise you? Do you disagree?”

“Of course not, this is the Jake Seresin Appreciation Hour.” You draped your arms around his neck. Maybe it was the cocktails or the distant wedding music making you bold, but Jake didn't pull away and you were only pretending - at least, that was your justification when you felt the weight of his hands on your hips.

“Go on, then.”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Now you’re just stating facts.”

“Fine, but you’re being a very picky subject!”

“I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, “Jake Seresin Hour was not my idea. You don’t get to institute it and then complain when I point out your lazy reporting.”

Lazy reporting? You were ready to duke it out over that and he knew it, his eyes alight with the challenge, head cocked to see what you’d come up with next. Your back hit the trunk of a live oak and you felt the adrenaline in your veins mixing with the alcohol and a sheer attraction that wouldn't be kept at bay. You wondered briefly whether this was what flying was like - a full-bodied, present physicality, all instinct, every move stretched taut and your nerves like live wires.

Jake glanced at your mouth and it left you breathless. Little wonder, then, that the next words out of your mouth were half confession, half part of the game.

“There’s not a single person at this party who isn’t head-over-heels in love with you.”

“Not a single one?” Jake argued. “Not even the groom?”

“Not even the groom.”

“Well, obviously, we’re not including my relatives in that.”

“But everyone else…” you trailed off.

“Everyone else. Including you?”

“Especially me.”

It’s just a game, it’s just a game. The thought kept clashing in your head with the urge to say “kiss me” and he was standing so close, with his body half pressed against yours, solid and warm, realer than any lust-fueled fantasy you could’ve come up with in the dead of night, the party forgotten with him as your only view, and you kept thinking, Maybe he wants me to. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe I should do it - what would be the harm?

The answer to this final point was obvious, and yet he was hard to resist. His fingers brushed against your waist, the touch feather-light enough that it might have been in your imagination except for his forehead pressed down to yours, his heart beating steadily beneath your nervous hand.

Without debating it further you pulled him into a kiss, shutting your eyes against any possible consequences as you memorized the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands sliding down your back, the heat of his breath. You pulled away, mortified by your lapse in judgment and the obvious proof of feelings which you now couldn't take back.

There was no undoing this, but still you tried.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m drunk… I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I’m… I’m gonna go.” You slid past him, holding your breath, willing him not to follow after you or try to stop you from fleeing. Your body felt like it was short-circuiting, blazing with need and then doused in icy-cold regret and horror at your own actions.

So he had flirted with you. That didn't mean he wanted to kiss you; it certainly didn't signal any romantic interest that merited you throwing yourself at him and telling him, of all things, that you loved him!

You went back to the party, picking your purse up from behind your chair and forcing a smile when people stopped you to chat, making excuses and saying you had to go to the bathroom. Inside, you moved past the lobby and straight out to the drive, where the hired shuttle service was taking guests in no state to drive to and from a few local hotels.

The driver asked if you were ready to leave and you said yes, feeling mildly guilty for staging an Irish goodbye, but there was no way you could go on pretending for the rest of the night, let alone face Jake. You prayed that everyone would be too busy having fun to notice your absence, and if not you would apologize profusely tomorrow at brunch, claiming a headache or exhaustion or anything else that might obscure your bad decision-making and propensity to lose your shit around Jake.

You were let onto the bus, the sole passenger as the driver turned on the engine and radioed his boss to say he was en route to the B&B. Just as you were relaxing into your seat, Jake came bounding up the steps, giving the driver a cursory nod just before the doors closed behind him and the vehicle began to move.

“Can we talk?” he asked, sliding next to you and dropping his jacket in his lap.

“There are, like, fifty open seats.”

“But you’re sitting in this one,” he said with the ghost of a grin. You would've rolled your eyes if you weren’t busy wishing you could teleport to literally anywhere else.

You faced forward to the other cars on the road, watching their taillights shine as you moved into nighttime traffic. “Can you do me a favor? I know you’ve done a lot of them over the past couple of days, but can you just forget that ever happened?”

“No.”

Aghast, you turned your head to see Jake looking maddeningly smug, not to mention relaxed, while he was invading your personal space and driving you to the brink of mental collapse.

“Why not?” you demanded.

“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”

“And is what I want—”

“Completely irrelevant,” he finished for you. “Besides, you kissed me, remember?”

“I don’t. I’ve wiped it from my memory chip.”

With a smile, Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips that was almost chaste, except for the brush of his tongue against your lip and his fingers cupping your chin in a hold that was teasing and gentle, and undeniably thought-out.

“How about that one?” he asked, pulling away just enough to view your reaction.

“How about what?”

He grinned. “Cabbage.”

“Ew! Why would you call me that right now?” you exclaimed, scooching back into the window.

“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”

“Like a leafy green?”

“Yeah, like a whole salad.”

You laughed. “That makes no sense.”

“It really doesn’t.” But it did. Like so many other inside jokes, you knew exactly what he meant to say. It made you feel all warm inside, especially because there was no trace of subterfuge in his handsome face, and you knew he’d never be cruel enough to lead you on. He followed you, he thought you were beautiful, and he was here trying to convince you not to take the kiss back.

To be bold. To follow through.

“If you want to keep being friends…” he began.

“You and Mike are just friends, Jake. I’m the kid sister with a massively pathetic crush on you.”

“Maybe I have a crush on you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little… A lot, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

In front of Pleasant View the driver pulled on the brakes, and Jake laced his fingers through yours as he dismounted and put a twenty in the tip jar, stopping in front of the entrance to face you with a question hanging, unspoken, in the air. If you let this opportunity pass you by, he would let you do it without a word, taking the gentleman’s way out and stopping his pursuit under the assumption that you had no interest in being with him, or in seeing where this new thing between you might go. But if you said yes…

The possibilities flashed through your mind, as frightening as they were wonderful. Everything might change. Everything would, there was no doubt about that. But change wasn’t always a bad thing, and if you had someone holding your hand along the way?

Wasn’t that what love was all about?

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Jake pointed out.

“Is that an issue?”

“Why, is it an issue for you?”

You shook your head, trying to contain the nervous joy in your chest. “Maybe you should take me flying sometime, teach me the ways of classic Hangman chill.”

“Just name the time and place,” he promised. “I’m ready when you are.”

Instead of second guessing, you took him at his word.

You reached up and kissed him fully on the mouth, sighing when he pressed you flush against his chest and carressed the nape of your neck. There was no predicting the future; that part would always be like navigating blind. But Jake was worth the risk. If nothing else, he was the sort of man who made you want to try, who took chances, and made you laugh through the terror of uncertainty.

In that moment, being lifted off the ground, physically swept off your feet by the man you’d loved since you’d first contemplated what love could be, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And the best part? From the look on Jake’s face, you knew the exact thought running through his head:

Babe, the luck is all mine.

Man, you loved weddings.

#rosie.fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #tgm fic #tgm x reader #top gun maverick x reader #glen powell x reader

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ifwdominicfike · 6 months ago

Text

matt loves when you overstimulate him

── .✦. ──

“c’mon sweet boy, you can do one more right?” your hips coming to a halt, letting him gather his thoughts and try to speak up with something other than whines and babbles. “yes, yes mama! p-please don’ stop” his hands tightened on your hips to move you while he desperately bucks his hips up into you.

you giggle at his neediness and start bouncing up and down faster once again, hearing the hisses and moans under you only makes you go faster. all while under you he continues to slur his words while trying his hardest not to come, not without your permission of course.

“look at you, my big boy—“ your thighs starting to burn from the constant movement as you point to the prominent bulge on your stomach, your hand goes to neck — gripping softly. “i said look matt, or y’want me to stop?” he hisses at his real name being used, he whines at your vulgar tone and shakes his head no. “no! no please don’t stop- no” his eyes shooting open, looking up at you with a pleading look.

“then look sweetheart, y’so big for mommy — filling me up so well, yeah?” your grin makes his eyes roll as he groans and throwing his head all while muttering nonsense. “y-yes m’fuck! m’so big for you mommy, c-can i come..?” his heavy breathing and teary eyes almost make you give it to him, but you wanted to make him suffer just a little longer. you had been spoiling him all night with orgasm after orgasm, you wanted to have some fun now.

“no baby, you can come after mama, ‘kay?” your thumb caressing his bottom lip, trying to soothe him. “o-okay, i-i’ll be good f’you” you then slip your thumb between his lips, watching him eagerly take it into his mouth and toy with it. “good boy, always so eager to please hm?” he nods quickly and starts to buck his hips up harder, feeling you coming closer and closer to finishing.

your moans are getting mixed up with his as you reach your peak, trying to muffle them into his neck all while praising him. “yes- yes! oh — my precious boy, you’re so g-good, so perfect-“ he interrupts you with begs and cries to let him cum, all while he’s on the verge of tears.

all it took was a simple yes to have him crumbling underneath you, as he wraps his arms around you and fills you up. “m-mama, mmm” he could barely understand what he was saying, before he could get another word out you shush him, placing a finger over his lips. “just calm down baby, i know, i know.” all while stroking his messy hair as his eyes fluttered shut.

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

first time writing mommy kink… I LOVE SUB MATT. I NEED SUB MATT. i chant loudly, ANYWAY! im so sorry for being lazy with putting stuff out, i literally wanna delete all my fics so bad. (also this wasnt really an “overstimulating” fic i kinda went off track BUT WHO CARES.)

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @sturnsmia @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @chaossturns @emely9274 @sturn777

#— ⋆ ˚｡ writings .ᐟ ꩜#sub!matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo blurb #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader

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okaylikeschaewon · 1 month ago

Text

Unravel

~8.5k words, TPM Book 3, Part 2, Series Masterlist

“A text would have been nice.”

“I said I’m sorry,” you pleaded – a feeble attempt to make her understand. “It was spontaneous, I didn’t plan on staying the night.”

“Oh? You didn’t plan on staying the night?” Sana mocked your voice, crossing her arms tightly. “Great, that makes two of us.”

“Sweetie–”

“Don’t ‘sweetie’ me right now,” Sana snapped, her eyes shooting daggers at you. “I really don’t think I’m asking for too much. You changed your mind and decided you wanted to fuck another member, fine, all I’m asking is for a bit of a heads-up so I don’t spend my whole evening waiting for you. Is that unreasonable? Am I the one being unreasonable right now?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Did you sleep with her?” Sana asked directly, not an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

“Well…”

“It’s a pretty straightforward question,” Sana hissed. “Did you put your dick in her or not?”

“Technically–”

Sana turned around and stomped off before you could explain. “Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath before sitting on the couch and pulling out her phone.

“Sana!” you called out after her, following her into the living room and sitting next to her. “Tzu had some personal stuff happen, I had to be there for her.”

“I’m not upset with Tzu,” Sana replied coldly without looking up from her phone. “She’s not the one who broke a promise.”

“I didn’t mean to–”

“Well, you did, whether or not you meant to,” she replied, her tone sharp as her fingers aggressively scrolled through nothingness on her phone. “It would have been fine if you just said you weren’t in the mood. You literally could have told me you’d rather fuck one of the others and I wouldn’t have cared.”

“Sana, it’s not that I didn’t want to,” you emphasized again while reaching out to her.

“Don’t touch me, I’m still mad at you,” she slapped your arm away lightly as she sulked. “Or, fuck, you could have just made up something. Anything. It’s not like I don’t know you have to fuck them whenever they ask. But no, you couldn’t even give me a call, or a text, or a fucking pigeon for all I care.”

“A pigeon?”

“It’s not like I just went through a whole fucking emotional roller coaster yesterday. It’s not like I wanted my boyfriend’s comfort.”

“I thought we weren’t using those terms–”

“Fine, fuckbuddy, side-bitch, roommate, whatever you wanna call it, I don’t care!” Sana shouted, tossing her phone aside. “It’s not like you’re acting like a boyfriend right now anyway.”

“You’re right, I’m not worthy,” you dropped down to your knees in front of her and playfully bowed your head in shame. “Forgive me, my queen.”

“Get up, stop being dumb,” Sana rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth betraying her livid demeanor for a brief moment. “This won’t work.”

“Do I need to kiss your precious feet? To show you how sorry I am?”

“Don’t you fucking dare put your mouth on my feet,” Sana replied sternly, pulling away. “Get. Up. Here.”

“Only if you promise to stop being mad at me.”

“Does it even matter if I do? Apparently promises don’t mean anything in your world,” Sana shot back.

“Alright, I deserved that one,” you smiled, standing back up and holding your arms out, waiting for her permission. She really took a moment to contemplate, to make you sweat, before she nodded just slightly, letting you cuddle up next to her. “I understand you’re upset with me, I fucked up, you’re right,” you added gently as you held her. “Yesterday was a tough day, a lot happened with the contract stuff.”

“It was tough for me, too,” Sana responded quietly, dropping her shoulders and staring at you with soft eyes. “I get that you had to deal with Tzu’s thing, but really, I didn’t expect to feel so neglected.”

“No and that’s completely valid, I fucked up. I should have at least called.”

“Maybe I’m being sensitive–”

“You’re not,” you reassured her before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Whatever you want, I’m yours.”

“I appreciate it, but that’s not necessary,” Sana gave you a faint smile. Her frustration quickly faded away, her tone softened, and her body language relaxed. “How’s she doing by the way? Did you get her situation sorted out?”

“Not really, I’ll have to stop by the offices,” you answered, your insides burning hot again at the thought of what happened. “That’s my problem to worry about though. Tell me, what do you want to do tonight? I can make a reservation somewhere if you want.”

“There’s actually this place Dahyun and I wanted to try, apparently their naengmyeon is really good,” Sana replied with a hint of excitement in her voice, without any of the anger from earlier.

“Sounds good, send me the name and I’ll make the reso’,” you replied, setting a reminder in your phone. “Hey, so I have like half an hour before I have to go pick up Nayeon…”

Sana waited patiently for you to continue, a frown on her face, daring you to suggest it.

“What do you say? Shall we have some fun and make up for last night?” you asked with a teasing smile.

“You think it’s going to be that easy?” Sana feigned annoyance. “A few words and you get to do whatever you want with me again? Just like that?”

“I mean, I was ready to suck your toes.”

“Stop,” Sana whined with a smile that absolutely melted you. “We both know how much you hate foot stuff.”

“Yeah, but, anything for you,” you replied, leaning closer and slowly snaking your hand around Sana’s body. “What do you say? Quick one?”

“No,” she whispered back quietly. “We’ll see after dinner, and don’t you even dare think about spending tonight with another member.”

—

A few days later

“You sure it’s alright?” Nayeon asked, unable to hide how bad she felt. “I’m really sorry, you know how these things are.”

“Nayeon, I get it, this type of shit happens almost every day,” you gave her an encouraging smile. “Finish up whatever you have left, just text me when you’re done.”

“I’ll make it up to you after, I promise,” she winked.

“It’s fine, and stop feeling bad, seriously,” you chuckled. “Now go, I’m so proud of you.”

She nodded enthusiastically before turning around and running back into the practice room. This past week has been tough for Nayeon, she really got no breaks. On top of all the group activities, she still had to work on her solo projects. Ever since the contract fiasco from a few days ago, Nayeon has been working overtime basically every single day; You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for her.

That was part of why you decided to volunteer so much when it came to helping her out. Obviously someone else could drop her off, but you knew she was more comfortable with you. And, well, it did come with some benefits that you were particularly fond of; Nayeon had become the type of girl who would manage her stress by getting horny – and you were her solution.

Even now, as you walked the empty hallways of the JYP offices, you couldn’t help but daydream about what you knew Nayeon would ask for the second she finished working. During the days you had Nayeon, and in the evenings you had Sana – the last few days have honestly been pretty great in that regard.

“Oh!” you were knocked out of your daydream as you stumbled into a small figure. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, it’s my fault,” the girl quickly bowed respectfully towards you before looking up at you and freezing.

That’s when you recognized her.

“Oh, Yeji, how’s everything?”

She stared at you, almost as if she was trying to remember you, her mind still somewhat out of it. “Are you…” she mumbled softly.

“Am I?” you cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly bowed again before shaking out of her little trance. “I just thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

“We’ve met very briefly at a couple of company events, but I don’t think we’ve ever properly spoken,” you explained. It was true, you obviously knew who she was, but you’ve never had the opportunity to really talk to her. Truthfully, she caught your eye the most in her group – the sharp expression she regularly wore and that fit body just always resonated with you. “I’m one of Twice’s managers.”

“Ah, right, you–” she suddenly stopped talking and began shifting around nervously. “Right, anyway, I’m doing alright. What about you? Where are you heading? It’s kinda late, no?”

“Well, I planned to go talk to some people about some manager stuff, but I don’t think anyone’s in the office at this time,” you answered while checking to see if you had any replies on your phone. You had sent a few messages earlier in hopes that you could get this picture thing figured out for Tzuyu, but all you saw was a text from Nayeon saying she’d be another hour. “I guess now I’m just waiting for Nayeon, going to find somewhere to kill an hour. What about you? What are you doing here so late?”

“Oh, nothing in particular, honestly, I kinda just came here to relax for a bit after our schedules. Sometimes it’s a bit more peaceful here than at our dorms.”

“I can imagine,” you smiled comfortingly. “Busy day?”

“Every day’s a busy day,” she smiled back before an odd look flashed across her face. She very clearly had something on her mind and didn’t know how to say it.

“Well–” you began before being interrupted.

“Would you like to grab coffee for a bit?” she blurted out as her cheeks immediately flushed red. “I just mean if you have nothing to do, I could use some company.”

“Uh,” you hesitated, a little confused by the whole interaction. “Yeah sure, why not.”

“Cool,” Yeji replied before awkwardly pausing.

“Shall we?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” she quickly turned around and started walking towards the elevators.

One of the benefits of working in an idol-filled building was the constant opportunity to see stunning women – and Yeji was among the best. Those accentuated curves in the little crop-top jacket she had on, and her perfect legs in those casual, skin-tight jeans, it all looked fucking amazing. Even though you were trying to be courteous and professional, you couldn't help but notice how her ass swayed with every step.

“It’s kinda crazy, isn’t it?” Yeji began, glancing over her shoulder. “We’ve worked at the same company for so long, yet we’ve never properly talked.”

“Hm?” you quickly averted your attention from Yeji’s hips and sped up to walk next to her. “Yeah, it’s a big company though.”

“That’s true, but still.”

“You know that I know about your group, right?” you chuckled as you followed her into the elevator. “It’s not like I don’t know you exist. I still listen to all your music and whatnot.”

“Oh yeah, do you have a favorite member?” she grinned as she leaned against the elevator wall with her arms crossed. “And is it me?”

“Okay, I don’t think you’ll believe me, but it’s actually you.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” she chuckled, stepping out of the elevator in front of you. “But thanks.”

“No, seriously,” you quickly followed behind her. “That River cover? Chef’s kiss. I’ve been a fan since before I joined, actually.”

“Oh?” she turned to you with a curious smile. “Really?”

“Even before I joined the company, I always enjoyed watching fancams,” you continued, “and I’m not ashamed to admit it, I’ve watched a lot of yours.”

“Please, you’re going to make me blush.”

“I’m not kidding. You’re a phenomenal dancer. Also, keep this between us, you have the sexiest eyes I have ever seen.”

“Alright, now I’m actually blushing,” Yeji giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Don’t do that, I love your smile. Don’t hide it.”

“I didn’t realize Twice’s manager was so flirty,” Yeji smiled warmly as she navigated the coffee machine’s menus.

“And I didn’t realize how pretty you were up close,” you smiled back.

“Stop,” Yeji whined, stretching out the word with an unwavering smile on her lips. “Do you treat the Twice members like this, too?”

“No, of course not, I’m strictly professional,” you lied.

“Are you?” Yeji shot you a glance as she picked up her mug.

There was a subtle, but noticeable, tonal shift in the air between the two of you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked as you began making a cup for yourself.

“I don’t know,” Yeji toyed with the handle of her mug. “I’ve just heard things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah, things.”

Did she know? you thought to yourself. “Care to elaborate?” you inquired as you picked up your drink and gestured towards one of the tables.

Yeji nodded, and the two of you sat down together, nothing but the steam from your coffees blocking the firm gaze she had on you. “I’ve heard you and some of the members might have…”

“You can tell me, it’s fine,” you encouraged her to continue.

“Okay there was this one time when I overheard one of the members saying something about you… something that I wasn’t sure if I heard correctly.”

“Is that why you gave me that look earlier?”

“What look?”

“Yeji,” you sighed, smiling down at your cup of coffee. “Alright, I think we can stop beating around the bush. Yes, I’ve slept with some of the members, and you obviously know.”

“As in multiple?” Yeji gasped, her cat-like eyes shooting open.

“Do you wanna get on the intercom?”

“Sorry,” Yeji whispered, leaning in closer to you. “Multiple?”

“Seems like you didn’t know everything. Okay, I’ve slept with all of them,” you answered honestly, “it's part of my job. There, now you know.”

Yeji leaned back in her chair, staring at you as she contemplated your words. Even though there was a long pause, and obvious shock on her face, she didn’t seem to be looking at you negatively. Rather, it seemed to come more from a place of curiosity. She took a moment to properly digest what you had revealed to her before she spoke again.

“Why don’t we get a manager like that?”

“What?” you nearly choked on your sip. That was the last thing you expected her to say. “Is that what you want?” you laughed, putting down your mug again.

“I just mean like, that’s genius,” Yeji continued while casually sipping her drink. “As far as I know, none of the girls have been with a guy, but we’re still… you know,” she flashed a shy smile. “They’re constantly asking me about it.”

“Asking you?”

“Yeah, but I’ve only done it once, and I really can’t tell them much.”

“Oh?”

“What?” Yeji tilted her head slightly as if confused by your reaction. “After what you just told me, I don’t think I need to hide anything from you. It goes without saying, please don’t tell anyone, obviously. I had to be pretty sneaky about it.”

“My lips are sealed as long as yours are,” you replied while pretending to zip them. “Wait, but are you serious about wanting a similar arrangement? I might be able to talk to someone about it, and due to some recent events I ended up moving pretty high in the company.”

“Could you?” her eyes lit up. “I don’t really know how that works though, did all the girls have to approve of you or something first?”

“Uh,” you pondered her question. “Honestly, I never really thought about it, but they probably did?”

“I see,” she cupped her mug with both hands and began thinking. “You know what, maybe hold off on that part. Let me at least talk to the girls about what they want.”

“Fair enough, reach out whenever.”

“Speaking of,” Yeji pulled out her phone, “can I get your number then?”

“Yeah, of course,” you typed it in for her before handing it back. “I can’t say I expected my evening to go like this, but this was nice. Unexpected, but nice.”

“Agreed! I just feel somewhat comfortable around you. I can’t really explain it.”

“Thank you, and I think I get it, because I’m pretty sure I feel the same way about you. I rarely tell anyone about my job – for obvious reasons.”

“Funny how things work sometimes,” Yeji smiled gently. “How many people know?”

“Very few. Plus you now, I guess.”

“Right,” she chuckled. “Well, no one outside of my members knows that I’m not a virgin, so I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Like I said earlier, my lips are sealed.”

Yeji leaned in closer to you, lowering her voice some more. “Mind if I ask you something kinda personal? Since you’re probably a bit experienced and I don’t really have many people I can talk to about this type of thing.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

This was the most concerned she had looked throughout this entire conversation.

“Well, you see,” you leaned in a bit closer, “everyone’s different, but yeah the first time can hurt.”

“I see,” Yeji drummed her fingers against her mug.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I assume your first time wasn’t great?”

“What gave that away?” Yeji smiled with a small shake of her head. “No, it honestly just hurt more than anything. I think it felt good for him?”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I hope you’re not discouraged. It’s not like it’s your fault, most people find the first time kinda sucks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you gave her a reassuring smile. “You just have to find the right person, someone who’s compatible with you.”

“I definitely rushed it just for the sake of trying,” Yeji confessed. “Nothing against the guy, but he was also pretty inexperienced.”

“That happens, especially when people get into their first relationship.”

“I wish it was a relationship,” Yeji laughed, leaning back in her chair. “It was a stupid hookup with an old acquaintance. Like I said, I rushed it.”

“Ah, well, don’t feel bad about it. Can’t change the past, and you definitely wouldn’t be the only person who rushed it.”

“You’re right,” Yeji sighed before taking another sip. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer, even if the others aren’t interested.”

“Absolutely, you have my number, text me whenever,” you smiled.

Yeji smiled back – she really did have an adorable one. “Alright, my ride came early and is actually waiting for me, I should probably get going.”

“Alright Yeji,” you stood up and held your hand out. “It has been a pleasure finally getting to meet you properly.”

“Likewise! I’m sure I’ll be in touch soon.”

—

“Ugh. Fuck. I’ve needed this so much,” Nayeon moaned over her shoulder at you.

“You and me both,” you grunted as you slammed your hips into Nayeon’s pussy from behind.

She held onto the headrest for deal life as the sound of you clapping her cheeks echoed throughout the parking garage. Thankfully it was late enough for no one to bother you, but at this point even if someone walked by, you really didn’t give a fuck. This wasn’t the first time in the past week since the contract renewals that you’ve taken Nayeon in the parking garage, and the risk never seemed like enough to deter either of you.

This was Nayeon’s stress relief. Ever since she went full-force into her solo activities, she had become more stressed than ever, so whenever you would pick her up you’d end up with your cock in her. It was a daily activity at this point. Sometimes you’d make it back to the apartment first, usually you wouldn’t – you’ve discovered more secret sex rooms in the office this week than ever before.

“Ah, shit,” Nayeon cried out, tensing the leg she was balancing on as it trembled, nearly falling to the ground.

“Just a bit more,” you moaned back as you grabbed her hips for support, pushing even deeper into her pussy. “Fuck, you’re making such a mess.”

“Sorry,” she gasped before shoving one of her hands between her legs and showing how little she actually cared about the apology. She rubbed her clit as hard as she could, and within seconds she ended up sending streams all over the concrete next to where you were parked. “Oh fuck baby that’s good!”

The slapping was muffled by a wetness that only Nayeon could bring, each thrust of your cock into her pussy earning a fresh wave. You wanted to pull out, just for a second, to see her spray like a hose all over everything – but she felt too fucking good right now. You couldn’t stop, your hips had a mind of their own.

“Nayeon, I’m about to…” you tightened your grip on her hips and pushed forward as hard as you could until you felt the warmth shoot out of your cock, “...cum.”

“I can feel it,” Nayeon moaned, slowly moving her ass back and forward against your cock, squeezing out all of you cum with her pussy.

Once your cock stopped twitching, you slowly eased out of her, admiring the fountain of wetness dripping out of her pussy and straight onto the concrete below. Nayeon quickly turned around and took a seat, trying to keep her pants – which were bunched around one of her ankles – out of the puddle she had left next to your car.

“I love how I don’t even have to tell you anymore,” you smiled as you stepped up right in front of her.

“Not hard to remember when this is a daily activity,” Nayeon smiled, pressing her hand against her pussy again and opening her mouth wide for you.

“Good girl,” you moaned as you placed your cock into her mouth and grabbed the back of her head gently.

Nayeon went to work with her tongue, collecting any and everything she could off your cock, thoroughly cleaning it while fingering herself in the process. She got to do most of the movement herself, assisted only by the occasional thrust of your hips as you twitched your sensitive cock deeper into her mouth, all the way to the base.

“How’d recording go?” you mumbled under your breath while stroking Nayeon’s hair back.

She sat up straight and let your cock slip out of her mouth, and she wrapped her slender fingers around your balls, fondling them slowly. “Not bad, I’ll probably need a couple more days before I switch up and focus on the group concert.”

“If you ever want a break, we can arrange something.”

“This is my break,” she leaned forward and gave your tip a small kiss before letting go and leaning back in her seat.

“Fine with me,” you chuckled, pulling up your pants. You walked around the back of your car and sat down in the driver seat. “I love this new version of you.”

“What new version?” Nayeon grunted as she toyed herself with her pussy pointing out her open door.

“The one that’s always horny,” you leaned over the center and wrapped a hand around Nayeon’s mouth. “You’re going to get us caught if you keep making all that noise.”

She moaned something into your hand, something along the lines of ‘fuck you’, but her frustration didn’t last long as you slipped your other hand down between her legs.

If anyone was to enter the parking garage at this moment they would be greeted by a full view of Nayeon’s pussy, but she didn’t care at all. She screamed out against your hand as you slipped two fingers into her, curling them up and thrusting as fast as you could go for just a few seconds before jerking them out and pressing down on her clit.

She reached her own hand towards her pussy but you swiftly slapped it away. “No touching,” you hissed into her ear, bringing your fingers back to her entrance, leaving her clit and slipping them in.

It was obvious she wasn’t happy about it, but she listened, squirming and writhing at your touch, trying to push you in deeper by using her hips. You played along, giving her what she wanted while still teasing her pussy just enough to drive her insane. There was a beautiful balancing act that you knew would make it so much better in the end, even if Nayeon hated you for it at the moment.

And you knew it was working – her pussy was speaking to you through your fingers. She squeezed and pressed down hard, waves of pleasure aching through her pussy with each little thrust of your hand until it all became too much. You knew this was the end, all that was left was for you to pull your fingers back out and press on her clit.

Nayeon moaned louder than ever – basically screaming – as she began squirting across the parking garage, leaving long streaks of her slick all over the concrete. She lifted herself up with her legs, spreading them farther, shooting her mess as far as possible out your passenger door, painting the ground dark.

Only once her pussy stopped spraying did you stop. It didn’t matter how hard Nayeon would cum, she always had more in her – that was the beauty of it. You plunged two fingers back into her pussy, just for a couple more seconds, before quickly withdrawing and letting her squirt again and again, seemingly forever.

“I swear we’re getting caught one day,” you chuckled as Nayeon collapsed backwards against you, her legs shaking slightly and her breaths heavy.

“I don’t give a fuck,” she panted before straining herself up and closing the door. She didn’t even bother pulling up her pants as she glanced at you, collapsed in her seat and panting deeply, slowly regaining composure. “What about you, what did you end up doing?”

“Oh nothing, just tried again to talk to someone about the Tzuyu situation, but no luck.”

“I’m really sorry,” Nayeon softened her gaze and pulled up her pants. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think so,” you sighed as you turned on the car. “I just don’t understand why the fuck she did it.”

“I don’t know, as far as I know she hasn’t told anyone about it.”

“It just makes no sense.”

“Maybe it was for financial reasons?” Nayeon suggested. “If she was planning on quitting anyway, I could see those pics having a lot of potential.”

“Really? You think she’d do that just for money? That sounds fucking stupid.”

“I agree, but I don’t know why else she would,” Nayeon frowned. “Sorry, it was a stupid idea.

As you stopped at a red light, you looked over at Nayeon and shot her a warm, apologetic gaze. “Don’t be, I wasn’t trying to say you’re stupid, it’s a fair idea I just don’t think it’s why she did it.”

“So why do you think she did it?”

“I have no fucking idea,” you sighed, slamming your hand against the top of the steering wheel.

“Hey,” Nayeon reached across the car and placed her hand on your leg. “Maybe we should stop thinking about it, for now?”

“How can–”

“Please?”

She was looking at you with such precious eyes – full of concern – and a gentle, understanding expression. Her head was tilted just slightly with a small, hopeful smile on her lips.

“Alright,” you sighed, returning her smile.

“I know something that can help get your mind off it,” Nayeon leaned over the central console. “Just don’t crash.”

“Nayeon that’s not necessary–” you began as she unbuckled your pants and began pulling them down.

“Do you have any idea how hard you made me cum earlier?” she whispered before diving her face down between your legs and licking your balls. “This is just payback.”

Before you could respond, you felt her lips on your tip. A rush of excitement shot up your spine as the wetness of Nayeon’s mouth enveloped your cock. It took all your power to focus on driving once Nayeon had started bobbing her head up and down gently.

Luckily, you were already at her apartment, so you quickly pulled over in front of their building. Since it was fairly late there seemed to be no one walking around, so you had some sense of comfort knowing you were unlikely to get caught. Still, you were on a completely open street where anyone could walk by, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

It wasn’t guaranteed that no one would walk by, but at this point you were so engrossed in Nayeon’s blowjob that you once again tonight decided you didn’t care anymore. You pulled the latch and laid your seat down all the way. Once fully reclined, you rested a hand on Nayeon’s back and closed your eyes, focusing everything on Nayeon’s mouth. She kept her pace steady, not too fast, and definitely not too slow – at this point it was really just your own stress holding you back from blowing.

So you tried to relax some more – as if laying here with the setting sun’s warmth barely lighting up your car and Nayeon sucking your cock as if she was your girlfriend wasn’t enough. You really tried to let go of everything, no more pictures, no more angry pretend-girlfriend, no more emotional messes, no more work – just Nayeon’s mouth.

Sure enough, it was working. Or, probably, Nayeon had just been sucking you off for long enough for nothing else to matter to your body. You felt it coming, and part of you just wanted to freeze and it let it happen, but the courteous thing to do would be to at least let Nayeon know you were about to fill her mouth. Selfishly, you decided it was Nayeon’s problem, even as she was here doing you the favor. She’d understand – hopefully.

Regardless, it didn’t matter anymore as finally you could fade away into bliss, finally you could let go of the stresses of life, the difficulties of feelings and relationships. All you had to worry about now was the fountain of white you had begun launching into Nayeon’s mouth. She squealed, clearly surprised by the first shot, but Nayeon was far from inexperienced. She didn’t let off – she kept bobbing up and down your cock, albeit slightly slower now and with the occasional whine.

As much as you wanted to see Nayeon’s cute cheeks filling up with your cum, the strength needed to sit yourself up was non-existent. You conceded to the shivers shooting up your spine, the pleasure rushing through your brain, and you lay there with your hand resting on Nayeon’s back, simply taking in the slopping noises Nayeon’s mouth was making against your cock.

Once thoroughly drained, you finally groaned yourself up, bringing your seat upright.

“My–”

“Don’t,” Nayeon held up her hand as she wiped her lips. “I don’t even want to hear it.”

“I really don’t know why I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s whatever, I’ll let it slide this time,” Nayeon shook her head and grabbed the handle to her door. “What’s your plan now? Wanna come up?”

“Still horny?”

“Oh please,” Nayeon scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re one to talk. Really, how can you even have that much left in you after everything?”

“Good diet, I supposed,” you grinned at her before sighing again. “I would, but Sana has been a bit sensitive lately, I should probably avoid skipping nights with her for a bit.”

“Ah, right,” Nayeon frowned, letting go of the handle. “You know, you could take a couple days off, I can get a ride with someone else.”

“What? Then who’s going to fuck the shit out of you throughout the day?”

“I’m being serious,” Nayeon burst out laughing. “Really, if you wanna spend some more time with Sana–”

“My job is for all of you, not just Sana,” you stated firmly. “She understands that. I still get to see her at night even on days when she doesn’t come into the office, everything’s good between us.”

“Alright,” Nayeon bit her lip softly.

“You don’t seem convinced.”

“No, I believe you.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“What?” Nayeon raised an eyebrow. “Did something happen?”

“It’s just that Momo said something kinda similar,” you explained, “something about how I wasn’t taking this relationship thing with Sana seriously enough.”

“Ah,” Nayeon turned towards you some more, opening up her body. “Do you feel that way?”

“I mean, I obviously have a lot of love for Sana, but how seriously can I take this relationship thing we have going on? Like, come on, I’m still fucking her closest friends on a daily basis.”

“No one said it’s a simple situation, you obviously have an unorthodox career thing going on.”

“But?”

Nayeon smiled warmly as you read her mind. “But, that doesn’t mean that the feelings aren’t real. Forget about the physical sex you’re having with the others for just a moment.”

“How can I just ignore that part?”

“Well–”

“Let me ask you this,” you cut her off, “do you really think you’d be cool with it if I was your boyfriend and I was also fucking Momo every day?”

“That’s…” Nayeon sighed. “But then why do you do it? Why are you even pretending to be in a relationship with her?”

“I…”

“You can fuck all nine of us basically whenever you want, so what’s even the point? Why go through the headache?”

“I don’t really know…”

“Do you love her?”

“Nayeon, of course–”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking,” Nayeon stared, unwavering, into your eyes. “I know you love her, but I also know she’s not the only one, and she’s definitely not the only one who loves you.”

The first person that came to your mind was Mina and that confession from the contract renewal day. Then the others, and lastly the girl sitting right in front of you. You felt a slight stab in the chest when you thought about Nayeon, because at this point you basically knew she had feelings for you.

“It’s a bit too late at this point,” Nayeon continued, “the truth is, you’re right. I wouldn’t be okay with it if you were my boyfriend and also fucking the other members.”

“And I’d assume you also don’t think Sana would be okay with it?”

Nayeon gave you a meek smile before continuing. “Do you love her enough to pick her over everyone else? If you had to choose, would she be the one?”

“I guess I have to make that decision, don’t I?”

“That’s the thing, you don’t,” Nayeon replied as she reached for the door handle again. “But maybe you should.”

With that, she left the car, leaving you staring at her as she walked through the doors to her building – a whole new problem stuck in your head.

—

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“You smell like sex,” Sana replied without even sparing a glance away from her phone. She sat on the couch in nothing but a loose shirt and some purple panties, her knees up to her chest. “Nayeon?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll go shower real qu–”

“No need,” Sana tossed her phone to the side and reached up for your arms, dragging you onto the couch with her. “You hungry? We have leftovers, I could warm something up for you.”

“I’m alright, not much of an appetite right now,” you murmured as you buried your face into Sana’s neck.

“Is everything alright? You’ve seemed a bit more stressed than usual lately.”

“Yeah, just tired I guess,” you sighed softly.

Sana gently rubbed your back, holding you tight in her embrace. “Can I help?” she asked, her tone caring and full of concern.

“You’re already helping,” you squeezed, “I can’t ask for more.”

“I don’t know if I agree.”

Slowly, you lifted yourself up. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you think I’ve been a bit unfair to you these last couple of days? I’ve snapped at you and been difficult for no reason.”

“Sana, where is this coming from? Are you okay?”

“I just feel bad,” she admitted quietly, “you’re at the office before me, and you come home way later than me. I can see how hard you’ve been working recently and I just don’t feel like I’m doing my part.”

“Doing your part? Sweetheart, how can you think that for even a second? There’s no way you think my life is harder than yours, are you kidding me?”

“I’m not trying to compare, I’m just saying I wish I could do more for you. To help you.”

“You’re helping me more than you know,” you replied, pushing her hair out of her face. “Every day I look forward to coming home and seeing you here, waiting for me. You have no idea how much I love that.”

Sana smiled, a small twinkle in her eyes. “And I love being here when you come home,” she whispered before she leaned up towards you.

Meeting her halfway, you carefully slipped your hands under her body. Your foreheads touched softly, and her breathing slowed down. The eye contact, this close and personal, was unreal; There was this deep connection, silent and aching, that both of you experienced together.

Once you finally pressed your lips to hers – your eyes closing slowly – it felt better than you could have imagined. The kiss was tender and slow, full of anticipation and urgency. It felt both rushed and patient at the same time, your bodies working together and against each other simultaneously.

Her hands began clawing at your back, and your tongue slowly eased into her mouth, intertwining carefully with hers. You eased in a bit closer than you already were, deepening the kiss but keeping it tender, not rushing it at all.

Your hands wrapped around her small frame, holding her, reminding you that she was yours. Her gentle curves, her soft skin, and that tender love you felt – it was all yours.

Eventually you pulled apart, just enough for your lips to separate, and held close. Your deep breaths mixed as your mouths held just a few inches apart.

“I want more,” she whispered quietly.

“Take these off,” you whispered back, tugging at the purple panties she had on.

“Okay,” Sana purred as she pushed you back and turned around, grabbing the back of the couch and bending over at the hips. She pointed her ass towards you before she reached back with both hands and slowly revealed herself. “I’m all yours. You can fuck me, as much as you want. Use me, in any way you want.”

“No,” you whispered in response, crawling forward towards her and wrapping your arms around her, leaning right up against her ear. “Tell me what you want, because that’s what I want.”

She hesitated for a moment, shifting her body to the side.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” you whispered before you stood up from the couch and stripped down.

She bit her lip, staring up at you in deep thought. Even as you leaned forward and pulled her shirt off, leaving her sitting there with nothing on, she waited.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, taking a seat on the couch with your cock in hand. “Anything at all, just tell me.”

Her breaths quickened and she began crawling over closer to you. “I just want to ride you,” Sana whispered as she straddled your lap and cupped your face in her hands. She sat down on your lap – her pussy right on top of your cock – and started kissing you passionately.

Her movements were fast, but calculated. No loud moans, no shrieks – only soft kisses and gentle caresses. She slid her hips forward and back, back and forward, coaxing you to life – as if you could get any harder.

Then she paused, for just a moment, to reach back and take a hold of your shaft. She lined you up, slipping it in as she lowered herself down, a drawn-out breath escaping her lips. Sana shut her eyes tight, relishing in the ecstasy of you filling her up, inhaling and exhaling through parted lips, scrunching up her forehead.

Patiently, you lay there, waiting for her to make the next move. Your hands rested gently against Sana’s thighs, holding her steady. You felt Sana’s hands as she opened her eyes, taking the lead and interlocking fingers with yours. She looked down at you, an emotional smile flashed across her face as she gave your hands a tender squeeze. Then, she lifted her body up, just to bring it slowly back down.

“Oh fuck,” you murmured as Sana rode you. She was slow, making sure you felt every movement, every bit of warmth and pleasure that her pussy could offer.

“You feel amazing,” Sana whispered, speeding up just a touch.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are right now,” you moaned, your features scrunching up as Sana’s pussy began taking over your mind. You became more active, moving your hips in tandem with Sana, but she still did most of the work.

This time felt different. You’ve, frankly put, fucked Sana’s pussy countless times at this point, but there was something special tonight. You didn’t expect to feel so much, Sana’s body, her movements, the grip she had on your hands as if holding on for dear life, it all came together so magically.

She worked your cock expertly, her toned abs staring into you as she moved, her gorgeous tits recoiling with each bounce. Nothing could be more perfect than Sana’s body. The way her face just filled with pleasure and longing, the beautiful curves of her frame, and every single sexy breath that escaped her lips.

“Oh my fucking–” you cried out softly. “You’re so fucking amazing. You’re so fucking perfect.”

Sana replied with a loud moan, picking up her pace some more. She was starting to build up a sweat, putting in as much effort as possible – all to make you feel good. Her warmth engulfed you, her pussy soaked and tender. She would let out a little gasp, a soft squeal, each and every time your cock disappeared inside her body.

Every little movement felt like it was echoing, your senses reverberating harder than ever, an overwhelming sense of pleasure and delight that you still managed to swallow up. Every shiver and pulse, each one felt like an attack on your mind, each one feeling better than the last. Sana’s body, softer than ever, was doing things to you that you’ve never felt before. That mutual connection, quiet yet loud, was driving you insane. You could feel it in every fibre of your body – the end was near.

Then, as feelings hit an all-time high, and pleasure coursed through your body, you let out a sharp gasp before your mind faded to darkness. Everything happened so fast, you couldn’t keep up; Your body froze, laying there like a statue while Sana rode it out. She did it all, moving her hips back and forth as you filled her pussy up, your warm cum spilling out of her and back onto your own body. It felt fucking amazing, better than ever.

“Sana–”

“Just relax,” she whispered, letting go of your hands and lowering herself onto your chest. “I’m here, just breathe.”

Her words brought you comfort, that tone she spoke in – she probably could have said literally anything and it would have worked. Then, she began planting soft kisses against your chest, still moving her hips side to side just enough to keep it going.

Eventually, as your brain was overloaded with stimulation, your body finally began calming down. Now, alongside your heavy breathing, was just the feeling of Sana’s tender kisses.

Your cock slipped out of her warmth, and another fresh wave of cum spilled from her body. As much as you wanted to just lay there with her and enjoy the moment, you knew the mess needed to be addressed.

Carefully and methodically, you turned Sana onto her back and gave her a kiss. She wrapped her legs around your hips, pulling you in closer. You both ended up in a frenzy of passion and love, mouths glued together as neither dared to separate.

She felt so soft against your skin, her warmth radiating through you as your heartbeats combined into one unified rhythm. Her tongue grazed against your teeth, twisting and mixing against your tongue while staying gentle, like a romantic little dance.

As much as you would have loved to kiss her forever, you felt the natural end. You lifted yourself up slowly, pausing just to admire the way Sana’s chest heaved with each deep breath she took, her eyes wide and loving as she stared up at you.

“That was fucking amazing,” you smiled at her as you got off her and began walking towards the bathroom. “Let me grab some wipes, we made a mess.”

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about first,” Sana spoke softly, sitting up on the couch. “If that’s okay?”

“Sure, everything alright?” you let go of the bathroom door’s handle and turned around.

“Well,” she hesitated, waiting for you to sit down next to her. Only once you took a seat did she continue. “I spoke to Tzuyu today and she told me what she did.”

“She…” your body went warm. “The pictures?”

“Yes.”

It took a moment for you to ask the next question. For some reason, the way Sana was acting – her body language and tone – something about it had you slightly uncomfortable. You were a bit on edge, nervous maybe, and you weren’t entirely sure why but you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what she had to say.

“What did she say?” you asked softly.

“She told me she almost quit,” Sana muttered quietly under her breath.

“Yeah, she told me the same,” you placed your hand on Sana’s thigh trying your best to be encouraging.

“Promise me something,” she looked up into your eyes. “Promise me that no matter what I’m about to tell you, that you won’t tell anyone that I’m telling you.”

“Sana…”

“Promise me.”

Your heartbeat quickened and warmth flushed through your skin. “Alright, I promise,” you finally replied.

“The pictures were her choice–”

“What do you mean, her choice?”

“Let me explain,” Sana continued, her eyes beginning to well up. “She… She felt like it was her way to take back control. She said the way those guys made her feel, how special they made her feel during negotiations, she missed that feeling.”

“But…”

“I’m paraphrasing obviously. She was hurt, she was vulnerable, and she knows she fucked up.”

“I just don’t understand, why?”

“It’s very human to do things you wouldn’t normally do as a way to seek validation or affirmation,” Sana spoke softly, still very clearly fighting back tears. “Especially if she felt unseen or overlooked. She said they were nothing but kind, and that it was all her own decision. That’s also why she felt so bad when you got so upset about it.”

“When you say unseen or overlooked, you’re talking about me,” you replied quietly.

“Kind of,” she answered quietly, her expression full of pain and sorrow. “But maybe it’s my fault. I’ve definitely played a role, it’s not only your burden to bear.”

“No, Sana,” your vision began blurring. “I’m not going to let you blame yourself. This is on me, my fuck up.”

“Don’t say that,” a tear fell down her cheek. “It’s not your fault. I hurt her, even if she won’t say it, I know I did.”

“Please–”

“I love you, a lot, I promise I mean it,” Sana muttered softly as the tears began spilling freely down her face. “But I can’t, I can’t do this. As much as I love you, I also love my members, and I don’t have it in me to hurt any of them like this.”

“Sana–”

“I can’t do it,” Sana sniffled, “maybe one day this could work, but not right now.”

The heaviest silence you’ve ever experienced engulfed the room, leaving the two of you in a darkness that could be felt through your skin. There wasn’t anything left to be said, minds were made, decisions decided. This was it.

“We can make this work, Sana, I know we can,” you pleaded desperately as tears filled your eyes. “Please.”

“Remember when we started dating?” Sana wiped her nose with the back of her hand, more tears spilling down her face. “I told you there were three conditions, and I didn’t know the third one yet but one day you’d have to accept it?”

“Yeah, and I said that was unfair.”

“I know,” Sana smiled through the tears. “It is unfair–”

“Don’t do this.”

“But here’s my third condition. I need you to let this end. I promise you this isn’t easy for me, but it needs to happen. I wish it didn’t, but it does.”

“Sana–”

She silenced you by pulling you into a hug. There was just as much love and care as ever, but all you could feel was the resounding desolation coursing throughout your body. Even as Sana sobbed against you, there was nothing but a bleak emptiness in your head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly.

Turns out that Nayeon was wrong about one thing, you didn’t have to make the decision to pick Sana over the others – she made it for you.

---

A/N:

You guys have been so damn amazing and patient, and I know a lot of you have been waiting for this story to come back, so here it is! I promise I'm not rushing the chapters, I just found some more time to write as I've needed a bit of an escape from life. I really hope you guys enjoy!

For those of you who have been following the story for a while, it's finally coming next chapter, the Yeji cameo that I've been teasing for way too long. It won't be exclusively Yeji next chapter, as you might have noticed the chapters are a bit longer now, so expect some steamy scenes from someone else as well.

Let me know what you guys think! We're sort of in the end-game of the story now, a lot of teasers and hints from the past are finally going to get paid off. Stuff I've planned for years, finally turning into words. No promises for when the next chapter comes out, but if people respond well to this I'll try to make it sooner rather than later!

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #fanfiction #twice smut

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suliigwp · 27 days ago

Note

Can you write a Carlos imagine based on this TikTok?

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMSN4eFyy/

It translates to “I don’t need you to defend me because I’m a women” - “I’m not defending you because you are a women, I’m doing it because you are MY women”

MY WOMAN

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Other Versions: Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton

SULI:Hiiii oh this is so exciting! The video was sadly unavailable so thank you for putting the text at the end! I wasn't sure what era of Carlos you wanted so I just did Williams (cus the photos are unmatched fr) but it doesn't really matter lol, thank you so much for the request and for being here! This is short and sweet

Warnings: Men. Fuck said once. I tried walking around using y/n

That morning had been soft.

The kind of soft that only existed in the slow drag between waking up and getting out of bed, when the world outside didn’t quite matter yet.

She was lying on her stomach, half-asleep, with one leg tangled in the sheets and her face buried in the pillow. Carlos lay beside her on his back, one arm folded under his head, the other resting lightly across her lower back like he was claiming the moment—claiming her—without even thinking.

The sunlight hit his skin golden. She hated how pretty he looked first thing in the morning.

He turned his head to look at her, lips curving into a quiet smile.

“You should come with me today.”

Her brow twitched, eyes still closed. “To what? The team meetings and endless media stuff?”

“To the track. The lounge. The chaos. All of it,” he said softly. “I like having you there.”

She hummed into the pillow. “I like being horizontal and undisturbed.”

Carlos chuckled, fingers dragging lightly along her spine. “You don’t have to stay the whole day. Just come. Sit next to me. Watch me pretend I’m not thinking about kissing you in front of half the paddock.”

That made her peek one eye open.

“You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’ll be less annoying if you’re near me.”

She rolled over slowly, sheets sliding against bare skin, and studied him. His hair was a mess, his voice still rough with sleep, and yet he had the audacity to look completely unbothered. Like she hadn’t just woken up next to the world’s most frustrating man.

“You’re going to get me into trouble.”

“Probably,” he said, completely serious. “But you’ll look good doing it.”

She sighed dramatically, reaching up to cover her face with her hand. He caught her wrist mid-motion and kissed her palm gently, like it was instinct.

“Come with me,” he said again, quieter this time. “Just for a bit.”

And maybe it was the way he said it. Or maybe it was the way the sun caught the curve of his mouth. But something in her gave in.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m not wearing team merch. I’m not your PR prop.”

He leaned down and kissed her, slow and sleepy and smug.

“Deal.”

...

She didn't know she agreed to the late night party after.

The music was loud, the lights too bright, and the VIP lounge was filled with men who thought their last name and a Rolex gave them permission to speak without filters. She stayed near the back, nursing a half-full glass of something expensive, waiting for Carlos to finish a team meeting.

That’s when he walked up—older, team-adjacent, someone’s cousin or friend-of-a-sponsor— she didn't care. He gave her a once-over that made her skin crawl, then leaned against the bar like he had any right.

“Didn’t think girls like you could hold your own around a crowd like this,” he said, voice thick with alcohol and entitlement. “Carlos must like his women mouthy. Probably likes the fight.”

She blinked. Smiled. Tilted her head the way she always did when someone thought they were smarter than her.

“Funny,” she said coolly, swirling her drink, “I didn’t realize we were handing out microphones to cockroaches tonight.”

He laughed—too loud. Embarrassed.

She saw it happen in slow motion.

The man leaned in, breath reeking of cheap cologne and arrogance, and said the one thing he shouldn’t have:

“You’re just the flavor of the month, sweetheart. Guys like Carlos? They always come back to someone who doesn’t bite.”

She didn’t get the chance to respond.

Carlos had heard it. She felt it in the way the air changed—electric and dangerous—before she even turned around.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Carlos’ voice came low, sharp like the snap of a whip. His hands were already curling into fists at his sides.

The man flinched, then smirked. “Relax, Sainz. It was a joke.”

Carlos didn’t relax.

He closed the distance between them in two strides, standing taller, broader, angrier than she’d ever seen him. The way his jaw locked made her stomach twist.

“Say it again,” Carlos said, teeth gritted. “I dare you.”

“Carlos,” she said quickly, stepping in, a hand on his chest. “He’s not worth it. Let it go.”

He didn’t even look at her. His eyes were locked on the man, dark with something cold and furious.

“You think you can talk to her like that?” Carlos growled. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

The man scoffed. “A guy who’s been around enough to know she’s not exactly girlfriend material.”

That was it.

Carlos shoved him.

Hard.

The man stumbled back, catching himself on the edge of a table, glasses clattering. Someone gasped. Someone else reached for their phone. But she was already between them, pressing both palms to Carlos’ chest now, trying to hold him back.

“Carlos, stop. STOP.”

He wasn’t listening.

“You don’t talk about her like that. You don’t even get to look at her again.”

“Carlos!” Her voice cracked. “He’s not worth it. Please.”

He tried to step around her again, fury burning under his skin. She shoved at him harder, eyes wild.

“Do you want your name all over the headlines tomorrow?” she hissed. “Do you want to get suspended? Lose everything? Over him?”

That finally made him blink.

The man was being escorted out now by security, still spitting curses, but Carlos didn’t move to follow.

His chest heaved, breath sharp and uneven, but his fists slowly loosened at his sides.

She grabbed his wrist and yanked him away—out of the lounge, down the hall, into a dimly lit corridor.

When she turned on him, she was livid.

“What the hell was that?” she snapped. “You just lost it! In front of everyone!”

Carlos looked at her, his calm slowly returning like a tide. “He disrespected you.”

“So what?” she exploded. “You think I can’t handle that myself?”

He didn’t flinch. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I don’t need you to defend me because I’m a woman.” Her voice cracked this time—not from weakness, but from sheer frustration. From pride. From the way he just acted, without even looking at her.

Carlos took a step closer, unshaken. His voice dropped low, gentle but firm.

“I’m not defending you because you’re a woman,” he said, “I’m doing it because you’re my woman.”

Her breath hitched.

Everything stilled.

Because he wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t worked up or shouting. He just looked at her like she was the most important thing in the room—and he’d do it all again, just to prove that no one could speak to her like she didn’t matter.

She hated how much it broke her walls.

She stood there, chest heaving, cheeks flushed with leftover anger. Her jaw was set, but her eyes—her eyes were glassy, torn between wanting to fight and wanting to fall into him.

Carlos didn’t push. He didn’t speak.

He just looked at her.

Like he knew exactly how much she hated feeling small in public. How hard she’d worked to build walls no one could climb. How she hated when people mistook her silence for weakness, and hated even more when he made her feel like she needed protecting.

But also—how much it meant to her, somewhere deep down, that someone did care enough to step in.

Slowly, he stepped forward.

She didn’t move away.

He opened his arms—not forceful, not demanding—and waited.

And then, without a word, she folded into him.

Her forehead pressed against his chest. His arms slid around her, warm and strong, anchoring her like he always did. One hand settled at the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head like she was something fragile—even though they both knew she wasn’t.

She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t need to.

He didn’t say “I told you so.” He never would.

For a long moment, they just stayed there—two heartbeats steadying each other in a quiet hallway, the rest of the world still spinning behind them.

And when she finally pulled back just enough to look up at him, his eyes were soft. Still calm. Still his.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered.

He gave a small smile. “I know. But I wanted to.”

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sanatomis · 1 year ago

Text

⋆౨ৎ˚ ──── 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐒𝐄.

it's been on your mind for a while now. and, even though he's a little confused at first, it takes satoru very little time to warm up to your enticing offer.

დ content. fr3e use kink, cursing, female!reader, fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, consensual somnophilia, deepthroating, cum-swallowing, mentions of satoru eating it from the back <3

დ notes. second attempt at posting this on tumblr, don't mind me. it's crossposted on ao3 bc my previous attempts at posting all failed miserably (it never showed in the tags ://)

Satoru is confused. It doesn’t take you much time to notice that your softly spoken words have him quite rattled, as the results of them can so clearly be observed on his face. There’s his nose that scrunches up cutely, and a little tilt of his head to the left which comes accompanied by a few snowy strands of hair shifting across his forehead. A small furrow of his brows, the soft gnawing on his bottom lip. He’s thinking about it; mulling over your offer.

Three times, he tries to say something. His mouth opens once, twice, and it’s futile. Not a word escapes, and he takes a sharp intake of breath. You almost believe that, if you weren’t currently seated opposite him, he’d smack the side of his head a few times to make sure it’s still screwed on right.

“So, I just. . .” The third time really is the charm, it seems. Though, he never quite manages to finish what he was going to say.

“Just put it in, yeah.”

You finish it for him, you’re sweet like that. It does really seem as if he could use the help.

“Wh—whenever I. . .”

There’s a little voice in your head, chiming and chattering about how all of this is weird. It makes you nervous, and your fingers itch to play with your necklace to fight it.

“Whenever you want,” you confirm. It’s as if your heart has suddenly moved to your throat.

“Wha—what if you’re asleep?”

“I said whenever you want, didn’t I?”

He almost lets out a little squeak at the words you so casually give him. They surprise him, as they do you. Your last sentence wasn’t one spoken by your mind, and you shift in your seat as if it’d shush the part of you that did.

It’s as if you’re telling him what you’d eaten for breakfast this morning, not giving him permission to slip, bully and sheat his cock into your needy cunt at any given time of the day. Without needing to ask, too. Satoru can fill you up, stuff you full, and dump so much of his cum into you until you’re overflowing, and he can do it whenever he feels the need to—because he’s Satoru, and you love your Satoru.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a hint of apprehension laces his voice. Your heart almost swells at his concern, at his hesitancy and need to confirm your wishes; even if you’ve vocalised them so bluntly. “Maybe, think about it for a little long—”

“I have,” you interrupt him. As gentlemanly as he’s being, there’s no mistaking the darkening of his eyes. The pretty, baby-blues making way for something sinister. You suddenly don’t feel so nervous anymore. “I have thought about it. Way too much, and for way too long.”

A string of curse words tumble past his lips. They’re hushed, and quick, and from the way he, too, shifts in his seat you gather that he’s hard. Painfully so, if the bulge forming in his pants is anything to go by. Your relationship has existed long enough for you to know that drops of his pre-cum are staining the fabric of his boxers already—always so messy, your Satoru. The mere thought has you wanting to take him out, to put him in your mouth and lap at the sticky, white beads falling down his length.

“Please,” you plead softly, and watch how he stifles a groan at the needy, saccharine sound of it. You want more, more of that sound. Right next to your ear, preferably. “Use me, Satoru.”

There’s little you want more than that, little that arouses you more than that. The thought of Satoru taking you whenever he wishes, abiding by his whims and allowing him free-reign over your body—it instils a heat into your stomach, into your core. It makes you feel filthy, like a cheap whore picked up from the street; but you’d be his whore, and suddenly it all starts to feel like a dream. It’s Satoru. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. He’ll be gentle, and he’ll be kind, and he’ll stop as soon as you utter your safeword, and he’ll love you so much, even if he fucks you as if he doesn’t.

You have half a mind to ask him again, to plead, to beg for it again, as it almost feels as if he didn’t quite hear you. But, as soon as you open your mouth to do so, he immediately latches his lips onto yours. It’s messy, and sloppy, and entirely fueled by the frantic state his mind is currently in—but you don’t complain, and never will.

His hands are everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, and you feel him almost buzzing with excitement. Your teeth clash against one another at the force of the kiss, your tongues greedily seek the other out, and saliva gets swapped from your mouth to his, and vice versa. It’s dirty, and sticky, and almost brings you back to your high-school years, when he’d been all clumsy hands and feigned confidence on the night you’d lost your virginity to each other.

Satoru pulls back from your kiss first, and a small smile falls over his lips when he notices you chasing him. “Wait a minute, sweets,” he murmurs, forehead against yours. His breathing is heavy, as is yours, and you don’t want to wait a minute—you want him, now, tomorrow, and each day after that. “Are you. . .” He chuckles when you kiss him again, and again, and again. You only stop when he holds your head in place. “Are you completely sure about this?”

You blink up at him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Mhm,” you hum, and caress his cheekbone with one of your thumbs. Satoru melts in your hold, as he always seems to do. “‘S you, ‘Toru. I’m completely sure when it’s you.”

He lets out a shaky breath. There’s a storm of emotion behind his eyes, but all of them point to the same conclusion—he loves you. So much, you might even get sick of it one day; he’d told you as a joke, one born out of fear. But you won’t. You never will. And you think he’s starting to realise it, finally.

“Okay,” he whispers, and kisses your forehead.

It’s delicate, and loving, and so opposite from the way he buries himself into you over, and over, and over again a mere five minutes after that. Satoru’s needy, and impatient, and so pent-up from your previous conversation that foreplay gets thrown out of the window.

He bends you over the couch first, that cute little ass of yours jiggling right in front of his face as he mounts you from behind. He slips in easily, with a pussy as wet as yours, and a cock as leaky and hard as his—the lack of foreplay almost goes unnoticed. Almost, of course, as the sheer size of him never fails to elicit a hint of a burn as he stretches you out. Nevermind that you take his cock daily, or that your walls are bound to carry his shape after the many years you spend with him.

The sounds that decorate your apartment are filthy, lewd, and borderline obscene, but you’re thoroughly obsessed with them. The slapping of his balls against your ass, the squelching with each passing thrust, the deep groans and choked whimpers Satoru releases next to your ear just like you wanted. Even your own moans, your own babbles, and your own whines add to the experience; the combination of sounds. And you love it, because it’s you, and it’s Satoru—and it’s the two of you together.

It doesn’t end after Satoru cums, nor does it after you do. The agreement between the two of you that was made tonight seems to have done a number on him, and he takes you a second time. On the balcony, where he puts you on display for the world to see as he fills you over and over again. And a third time, in your shared bed that’s never been safe from his affection and blatant desire towards you. And a fourth time, in the shower that was initially meant to clean you up, he decides to dirty you even further.

If this is the reaction he gives to the mere idea of using you whenever he pleases, you long for the time that he actually does.

It’s well past midnight when Satoru finally decides he’s done with you. You’re curled into his side, a shirt that’s way too large for you (but one that you swore you didn’t steal from him) covers your figure. You’re asleep. Tired, exhausted, and completely knocked out. He smiles. You’re so cute. A love-sick expression is stuck to his face, and it may very well become permanent if he stays looking at you.

One of his fingers reaches in-between your thighs, gently scooping up the remnants of his release. Satoru almost coos at the way your nose scrunches up cutely when he starts to finger it back into your pussy. It allows his digits to slip easily through your folds, and she sucks them in as soon as he reaches your hole. His cum doesn’t leak out this time. Not yet, anyway, but even if it does, he’s more than willing to repeat the process.

He sighs. Mind full of thoughts, but at least his balls are empty now. There’s a little huff escaping his lips, and he’s amused at his own comment. Satoru shakes his head, but the small smile remains nonetheless. Strong, yet gentle arms pull your body tighter against him.

You’re delicate, and sweet, and so precious to him; and he will do his best to take care of you. Use me, use me, use me. He kisses your forehead, his own eyes falling shut.

He will most certainly try to.

The very first time Satoru entertains the idea of indulging in your offer, is on a day where you’ve decided to wear his favourite lipgloss. It’s so shiny, such a cute shade, and makes you look so beautiful, but above all—it’s sticky. It’s sticky, and easily smudged, and he knows from experience that everything feels so much filthier when he steals a kiss from you with it on.

Without meaning to, thoughts of you wrapping those glossed lips around his dick, creating a mess made-up of spit, cum, tears, and thus that delightful stickiness from your lipgloss, enters his mind. The coloured shade will leave a perfect ring around his length, there’s no doubt in his mind. Your pretty face will be all dirty, smudged stains near the corners of your mouth courtesy of his fat cock. You will be a sight for sore eyes.

You’re talking to him, but Satoru can’t seem to listen. He’s enamoured by your lips, your soft-looking, plumb, and very glossed lips. He briefly feels pathetic, knowing that a mere make-up item has the ability to make his head spin to such a degree—but he doesn’t, as he quickly realises it only does so because it’s you that’s wearing it.

Fuck, he really wants to stuff his cock into your mouth.

Five, six, almost seven seconds pass before the realisation kicks in. If he wants to put his cock in your mouth, then he can. Satoru’s body moves on its own before he gets a chance to think about his actions, as is often the case with him, and it's not long before his large hand finds its new home on the back of your head. He falters briefly, watching how you quiet down, how your eyes widen slightly, but continues as he’s doing when you make absolutely no move to stop him when he gently guides your head down, and down, and down—until you’re right where he wants you.

A small gasp leaves your lips when he puts you on eye-level with his crotch. It’s quiet, and he almost didn’t hear it, but it makes him pause nonetheless. The hand on your head loosens its grip, and he hesitates as he looks down at you.

“Is this oka—”

The sentence never gets finished, forever interrupted by a sharp hiss as you take his cock out of his pants with such unabashed eagerness. It slaps against his abdomen, leaky tip staining the fabric of his shirt. Your previous conversation is all but forgotten, it seems, as you don’t waste a second in taking his hard, aching length almost entirely into your mouth. It all happens so quickly, and Satoru’s mind almost can’t keep up. All he did was think about filling your mouth, and now he’s actually doing it; the fat tip prodding near the back of your throat.

His hands are shaky, he notices, and so is his breathing as a small whine escapes when one of your hands goes downwards to play with his balls. “Fuck!” he curses, caught by surprise at the boldness with which you reached for that part of him. In his startle, his hands return to the back of your head, and your words make their impromptu return to the very front of his mind.

Use me.

He will, then.

Satoru isn’t at all gentle when he does. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he pushes you down onto his cock until your nose brushes against the soft, white hairs near his pelvis. Your poor little mouth is struggling, he can see, but he can’t seem to pay much mind to it; the sounds of you gagging around his thick length are too much of a pleasure to hear. The way he pushes you up-and-down nears the realm of brute force, and still you eagerly suck, and suck, and suck.

A particularly loud groan echoes through the room when he steals a glance at your small form kneeling between his legs. It seems he knows you well; you are a sight for sore eyes like this. There are tears in your eyes, and some of them have already fallen down your hollowed cheeks; hollowed, to make space for him. Your mouth is filled to the brim with his cock, and even though he can see you fighting for breath, you never make an attempt at catching it—as if you wouldn’t dare to deprive him of the please your throat gives him.

Satoru catches himself falling in love all over again.

He fucks your face harder, and harder, and harder the closer he gets to the edge. Deep groans, and slurred curse words join your symphony of muffled moans, and his hold on your head slowly starts to falter.

“‘M close, princess,” he mumbles, but that’s about all the warning he gives you. A few seconds later, he cums down your throat. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t need to. Not because you’d given him permission to use you as he sees fit, but simply because he knows you’re utterly obsessed with him doing so. “Fuck, f—fuck, look a’you, hm? Gonna take all of it like a good girl? Don’t waste it, m’kay? S’all for, fuck, for you.”

It’s something he’s done countless times before, but Satoru swears that each time he spills his cum down your throat feels better than the last. Thick, sticky ropes fill your mouth, and you hum around him when it keeps going, and going, and going. You’re struggling to take it all, and he huffs in amusement when bits of it start to drip down your chin. His thumb catches it, and he quickly places it back in your mouth, forcing you to open it wider to accommodate both the digit and his slowly softening cock. You happily do so.

He pulls out of you shortly after, with his chest heaving as he recuperates. His entire focus is on you, you, and you as he watches you wipe your mouth and swallow the last of his seed. There’s a smile on your face. It’s kind, and gentle, and innocent; almost as if he hadn’t just fucked your mouth and dumped his release down your throat. Satoru is utterly bewitched as he watches you, captivated by all and every little thing you do, and he cooperates as you tuck him back into his pants.

And then, as if nothing at all happened, you sit down next to him again—and you speak, you continue talking, finishing the story he’d interrupted with his need to be sucked off. Your voice is hoarse, and your cheeks are still stained with dried tears, but you pay neither of those facts any mind. It makes all of this look so. . . mundane. You were speaking, and then you were between his legs, and now you’re speaking again.

Satoru’s heart starts to beat even faster for you. Fuck, that’s so hot. This time, he decides to try his very best to listen to your tale about some co-worker of yours that pissed you off this week. He pitches in every-now-and-then, adding a low ‘huh,’ or ‘mhm’ to keep you occupied, and he almost feels guilty—guilty, because all his adrenaline-filled mind can think about are the future possibilities of using you.

“And, wanna know what’s the worst thing about the situation? It was my idea to get donuts for everybody! That harlot didn’t even want them initially.”

Satoru’s downward spiral is inevitable, and he finds himself falling victim to it more times than one would consider healthy in a mere seven days. He very quickly learns that he’s thoroughly obsessed with the notion that allows him to fill you up anywhere, and at any time. To him, it’s one of the highest honours.

There’s such confidence, such unwavering faith encompassed in your view of him. There has to be, if you’re willing to allow him such a thing. Thinking about it almost causes a cute pink hue to colour his cheek. . .you really do trust him a lot, huh?

He’s never been able to tell you ‘no’ before, and he certainly isn’t about to start. So, he dutifully listens to you and abides by your delectable request. To satisfy you, of course. There’s absolutely no other reason for his actions, and the way he breaches your dripping cunt with his leaky tip, all while soft breaths leave your lips, and your pretty eyes are peacefully shut, is simply to indulge you.

Use me. Use me. Use me.

Satoru curses, the crude words that tumble past his lips being plenty colourful. One of his hands settles on your hip whilst the other hikes your (or rather his) shirt up to provide him with better access. It’s your fault, really, that he’s currently sporting one of the hardest boners of the century. You were waiting for him, weren’t you? Waiting for him to return and bury himself to the hilt in that sweet, sobbing pussy of yours.

There’s no other reason for you to fall asleep with nothing but his shirt on. Not even panties covered your cute little cunt, your sticky folds fully on display and welcoming him home. Satoru wants to bury himself in it—in a multitude of ways if he’s being truly honest with himself. For now, though, he’ll stick to simply one.

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, delicately rubbing soft circles into your upper thigh with his thumb. You whine faintly, feeling his cock fight its way past your walls. He splits you open, stretching you just wide enough to slip inside. Your nose scrunches up cutely, and he almost rouses you from your slumber. “‘S me, really need you, baby.”

And that’s all he has to say. It’s me. It’s your Satoru. A gentle whisper of those words, and he gets to use you as he pleases. All of his previous worries, all of the near-boiling anger he felt at his previous meeting with the higher-ups washes away as soon as he sinks himself balls-deep into your pussy. Satoru groans deeply at the feeling, and gentle, stuttered declarations of love are babbled into your ear with each slow drag of his cock along your walls.

The garbled mesh of words that he deems too important not to say, even despite their poor enunciation, only ceases to exist a few minutes later—when he spills his heavy load into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. No, into that sweet cunt of his. Because, that’s who it truly belongs to, no? It’s his, to use, to spoil, to worship. You’d offered it to him so kindly, after all. And, well, Satoru has never been the type of person to turn down a gift.

. . . You unknowingly create a monster. It seems that even the mere idea of being allowed to use you as he pleases has him tip-toeing around the line of borderline insanity. As each time he sees you, he wants you. . .and each time he wants you, you let him.

It doesn’t matter what you’re doing at that moment. Even if you’re speaking, and he suddenly feels the need, no, the simple want for a blowjob. And even if you’re asleep, resting after what must have been a long day, you still allow him to slip his aching cock into you to satisfy the craving he’s had for hours.

Even if you’re busy setting the table, you don’t push him away, and you still allow him to bend you over the wooden surface, to sink to his knees and lick, suck, and kiss around his pretty pussy with his tongue. Simply because he wants to do it, and you really do so, too.

. . .And even now, when you’re cooking dinner.

There’s a certain cuteness about the way your brows scrunch in concentration, about the way you gently bite on your bottom lip as you prepare the food for the two of you; it nearly makes him feel guilty for feeling the secret desire to ruin such a lovely, innocent view. The word nearly is important, however, as he’s acutely aware of your need for him to do exactly that—and so, any sense of wrongdoing melts away, similar to snow underneath the sun.

He’s not quite sure what it is that you’re cooking, but it smells delectable. There’s an array of spices, herbs, and vegetables strewn around the counter, and Satoru knows he’ll be eating like a King in a few minutes. As for right now, though, there’s a different craving, a different type of hunger slowly making its way forward. He fears it won’t be one that’ll be sated by your lovely culinary skills.

“Smells good, baby,” he mumbles. It doesn’t take him long to settle himself behind you, large hands gently coming to rest on your hips. He sighs in the crook of your neck, and nudges the skin with his nose. “What’cha making?”

You answer. He knows you do, as he feels the vibrations of your voice underneath his lips, the soft hum feeling quite soothing as he kisses along the column of your throat, but Satoru can’t find it in himself to focus on the words you give him. His ever-loose hands roam eagerly down your body, and the previous loving, and delicate kisses along your neck turn sloppy, wet, almost, as Satoru dips one of his hands underneath the waistband of your panties. There’s a grin forming on his lips, one entirely too big and full of confidence.

“‘M startin’ to think you’re just always wet for me, pretty girl,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear, fingers entirely coated in your slick the second he’d sunk them into your dripping cunt.

Your cheeks heat up, and you try to stifle a moan when he, so very, very slowly starts to move his fingers in-and-out of you. “I—I am,” you admit, and clench around his digits just as he’s about to take them out; as if it’s a last resort to keep them inside. “F’you, Satoru. Just for you.”

“Hm?” He hums, and almost huffs in amusement as he sees you trying to continue what you were doing so desperately, as if you weren’t being fucked on your husband’s fingers. Just for that—he rapidly thrusts his fingers back into you, harsher, deeper, and so much quicker. “Just for me, yeah, princess?”

“Y—Ah! Yes, yes,” you squeak, one of your hands seeking out some semblance of support from the kitchen counter. “Only for you.”

There’s an embarrassing sound hitting your ears, as each thrust of his absurdly long fingers is accompanied by your wetness squelching around them. You struggle to speak, to breathe almost, as he fucks you on his fingers. Satoru stretches you out, curling his fingers to find the spot he knows will leave you with those pretty tears falling down your cheeks, and to hit it over, and over, and over again.

There’s such a heat gathered between your legs, such a pleasurable source of warmth, and Satoru suppresses a groan as he’s once again made very aware of that fact when your walls clench around his digits. His cock twitches, and he lets out a shaky sigh as he grinds it against your ass. “You are, aren’t you? Hm? C’mon, baby, don’t be shy. . .be a little louder.”

You aren’t shy. You haven’t been for a while now. There’s a certain hotness in the way you moan so unabashedly, so utterly shamelessly whenever Satoru gets his hands on you in such a way—it’s as if you can’t ever get enough of him. It never fails to harden his cock even more, to make his balls feel achingly heavy until he ultimately empties them inside your tight little cunt. And you know so, which is exactly why you do it.

“‘M not,” you rasp out, one of your hands coming to rest on his wrist. The back of your head falls against his shoulder as you choke on a moan, seeking some very necessary aid to stay upright. “Please, I. . .’Toru, please.”

In all honesty, Satoru isn’t quite sure what you’re begging for. He knows it’s one of two options: either to cum on his fingers, or for him to push his thick cock inside your pussy already. There’s no desire to ask, however—he’d much rather make that decision himself. The hand that wasn’t currently burying three of its digits knuckle-deep into your pussy busies itself with his belt-buckle.

There’s a pitiful whine falling from your lips, one that’s released immediately upon the removal of his fingers from your cunt. “Shh,” he coos in your ear, instantly soothing your upcoming tantrum. You stifle the complaint you’d prepared for him, the feeling of his fat tip prodding near your too-eager hole quickly puts an end to it. “S’okay, pretty girl, just wanna feel you cum around my cock, s’all. . .Think you can do that for me?”

You nod, and rapidly so. “Mhm,” you hum, and open your mouth when he presents it with his soiled fingers. You clean them, suckling around them until each bit of your sweetness is gone. “Want to—really wanna cum around your cock, ‘Toru.”

“Of course, you do,” he breathes, and captures a quick kiss. And another. And another. And one more. It makes you smile, and that, in turn, makes him smile. When he does pull back, there’s as much love as there is lust dancing in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have expected anything less of you, princess.”

Satoru is often greedy. There’s no such thing as savouring something with him—if he’s enjoying himself, he’ll be as gluttonous as he wishes. The exception is you, of course, as you always are to him. There’s no greater feeling than savouring you. It’s why he, more often than not, decides to fill you up slowly. To let his cock drag along your walls, to let your soothing warmth engulf him inch, by inch, by inch, until his firm balls press up against your ass. He does so this time, too.

Your long, drawn-out moan as he fills you up slowly sounds as if it were gifted to him by the Heavens, and Satoru’s cock twitches inside when he hears you mutter a soft fuck as you struggle to adjust to him. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve taken his cock, but the sheer girth of him still stretches you out—as it always does. Your husband loves you dearly, however, and waits. . .one second, two seconds, three seconds, and he doesn’t get any further before his self-restraint falters.

Satoru nearly pulls himself out of your cunt completely, only for him to fuck himself back inside so deeply—it has you place both palms of your hands on the counter to steady yourself. It startles you, as he hears you choke on a moan, but he continues. His movements are quick and rough, animalistic even, as he pounds into your cunt.

“Sa—ngh, Satoru, wait, I. . .” You interrupt yourself with a moan, the feeling of his tip near your cervix too sharp for you to properly finish a sentence. He’s so deep. It feels as if he’s in your womb, in your stomach—it feels as if he’s everywhere. “Fuck, I. . .f—fuck, ‘Toru. . .”

“Hm?” He breathes out, a groan slipping past his lips. “Want me to, fuck, you. . .” His rapid movements dial down. The self-control needed for it is enormous, but you’d asked him to wait—so he will. Some beads of pre-cum drip into your cunt, as if his cock was upset that he’d suddenly slowed down. “Wan’me to go slower, baby?”

“No,” There’s a small whine near the end of your sentence. It’s the absolute last thing you wanted him to do, even if you originally asked him to wait. “No, don’t, please, keep going. Need—need more.” You feel Satoru wrap both hands around your hips, as if he’s preparing for something. “Harder, please. . .”

“Harder?” He asks, and you don’t need to see him to know there’s currently a sense of smugness ruining his pretty face. “How hard do you want it, huh, sweets?”

Little more than the tip remains inside you, and there’s not a moment for you to mourn the loss of his entire girth—as all air leaves your lungs when he immediately thrusts back into you with a newfound vigour, with such force that it has you bend over the kitchen counter.

“Like, ah, like this, huh? That how you want it, angel?”

You don’t answer—you’re not able to, as Satoru uses the entirety of his thick length to steal your ability to speak coherently. Once again, you’re acutely aware of the sheer size of your husband. Satoru is tall, and big, and he likely isn’t even aware of it. It certainly doesn’t seem so, as he heads no mind to the way your feet are starting to lift off the floor. Each deep thrust has you inching further up the counter; his hands on your hips nearly holding you up and off the floor as he rocks into you from behind.

There’s little you can do, except take it.

The kitchen is filled with sounds that definitely do not belong there. Your wetness is prominent, the sound of it borderline embarrassing, and Satoru’s balls slap against your skin with each thrust. He’s relentless, and you want to cry. The good kind of crying; the kind that often comes accompanied with mind-numbing pleasure. You hiccup, and sniff, and try your best to stabilise yourself against the counter.

Though, your efforts prove futile once Satoru brings one of his hands to your front. You choke on a whimper as he cruelly pinches your clit, toying with it, flicking and rubbing it in the way he knows will get you off.

“T—Toru,” you warn him. “I—I’m. . .”

“Mhm,” he hums in acknowledgement, not letting up even for a second. There’s a featherlight kiss pressed to your shoulder. “Me too, princess. S’okay, let, shit, let go for me, yeah?”

And because he’s Satoru—your Satoru, you comply. It hits you all at once, and you’re suddenly very grateful for both your husband holding you upright, and your expensive kitchen counter for adding some extra support. You’re still breathing heavily, coming down from your high, when Satoru hits his own. It’s a familiar feeling, but one you’ll never grow tired of nonetheless.

You sigh in content. His cum fills you up rapidly, and to the brim. It’s hot, and thick, and trickles out of you even with him still inside—simply because there’s so much of it. The both of you are out of breath, and because of it, choose to stay within each other’s hold for just a little while longer.

Satoru could—and would—stay in this position for the rest of his life. . .but he’s quite sure that you’ve put a lot of effort in today’s dinner and he doesn’t want it to be for naught. With a deep sigh and a quick kiss to your cheek, he goes against every fibre of his being, and pulls out of you.

A shiver trails down your spine when he does so, and you let out a soft sigh in content. You’re still recovering, he notices. There’s a trail of his cum dripping out of you, though he wastes little time to push it back inside. Satoru takes matters into his own hands, and decides to place your panties back into place for you, too. It gets soiled by his seed rather quickly, but that’s a problem for later.

After smoothing down your skirt, he tucks himself back into his pants, as well. He’s by your side as quick as he can, and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your temple.

It’s only then that he properly takes notice of all the stuff that’s been thrown around the kitchen. Pots, pans, vegetables, spices. It seems you really were busy.

And, as if he hadn’t just finished fucking you silly, he smiles.

“So, what are you making?”

#ꕤ — sanatomis darling: gojo satoru #sigh here we go attempt 209401 #please let it show in the tags this time #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader smut

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dduane · 7 months ago

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We’ve been over this before

Folks, please pay attention to this.

Do not send me (in my inbox, or via message, or anywhere else) suggestions for things you’d like me to write. No matter how vague and nonspecific you think they are. By doing so, you are guaranteeing that they will never happen.

Such suggestions, even in the inbox, leave an electronic “paper trail” that the platform is required to preserve. People bent on making legal trouble for a writer can subpoena a platform for such data as proof that you got your idea from somebody else (like them) even if you genuinely previously came up with it by yourself.

“Oh, come on, who’d do a thing like that, what are the odds…?” people will say. But it’s not generally known that I’ve already been involved in a high-stakes lawsuit in which someone tried to sue Mattel over material I wrote when developing the initial form of the “Barbie: Fairytopia” universe (and the first Fairytopia film) for them. I’d never so much as met or communicated with the person suing them, had never read even a word of their work… but they still went to great trouble and expense attempting to prove that I’d had access to their material and used it without permission.

Mattel won the suit—as I’d frankly been expecting: the attorney handling their defense was one of the most expert IP lawyers in the US. But it gave me the chills… and made it clear how very wrong things could go, and the kind of damage that could be done to my career and my personal life, if I even accidentally used ideas from unauthorized sources.

Seriously, folks. I know you mean well! But please don’t make me tap the sign.

I already have a list of things that can never happen. It’s already too damn long. Don’t make it longer.

DO NOT SEND ME STORY IDEAS (or “prompts” or anything of the kind) no matter how general or conjectural or unformed they may seem to you. To do so is to guarantee that they will never, ever happen.

And in my own universes, your innocently-meant suggestion could mean that neither you or anyone else will ever see that particular Young Wizards or Middle Kingdoms plot, no matter how much you’d like to… because I take this stuff seriously.

Okay?

Thanks.

#story ideas #writing suggestions #DON’T

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clockwayswrites · 28 days ago

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The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 5, Part 2

masterpost (please no editing, still sick and now with migraine!)

“We can’t be stuck,” Danny said. He knew he was pouting, but he didn’t care. They couldn’t be stuck. Maybe his pout wasn’t even that obvious with how he was laying upside down on the couch, his legs flung over the back of it.

“Saying that again won’t solve anything,” Raven said.

“Might stop people from giving up,” Danny muttered.

Next to him, Wally sighed. “No one is giving up, Danny. We’re just… being realistic.”

Danny snorted. “Ah, yes, a carnie, two emissaries of time, a demon witch, and a half ghost sit around a room, trying to be realistic.”

“We’re not ‘emissaries of time’—wait, half ghost?” Barry asked, cutting himself off. “What do you mean half ghost? How are you a half ghost? Wait, why are you a ghost? Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Barry, you’ve worked with Deadman,” Dick pointed out, almost absently. All of his very focused attention was on Danny.

It made Danny want to squirm. “Ah. I have I not mentioned that before? I know I’ve said I died in a lab accident.”

“And that it made you a psychopomp,” Raven said dryly.

“Well, it did. I can talk to ghosts. I’m just also sorta… half one. I came back because I was killed by electricity and revived by ectoplasm at the same time. But because it was ectoplasm, not all of me came back alive. It’s complicated.”

“That… actually explains so much about the way that you feel,” Raven said. She was looking at Danny like he was a whole new puzzle to study. He didn’t like it. Immediately she gave a little shake of her head and the expression cleared. “Sorry. I would never study you without your permission. None of us would.”

“Shit, kid, of course we wouldn’t,” Barry said, sitting up from his slump. “Has… I mean…”

“Your parents are ectobiologists,” Wally said slowly, horror dawning on his face.

Danny sighed and twisted around on the couch to sit up. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “My parents never learned what I am, at least not in this timeline. But they pretty regularly hunted my hero form. I’m human like this, and I’m a ghost when I’m Phantom. There were some close calls. And my godfather, who’s like me, cloned me, so there was that whole mess. And there used to be this government organization, the GIW who were intent on studying ghosts… just it was a whole mess. There’s a reason I moved all the way across the country once I could.”

“Is the GIW gone?” Barry asked, “Because if not, I’ll bring it to the League.”

“And what about the clones? Are they somewhere safe now?” Dick asked.

“And your parents…” Raven started, softly.

Danny held up a hand. “The GIW went defunct; no results, no funding. There might be a few zealots out there still, but they don’t have any real power anymore. My parents and I… look, there’s just a lot that we don’t talk about. And the two clones that are around—the rest… destabilized—they’re actually the responsibility of my godfather. He had a… change of heart, you could say. I don’t love the guy or anything, but I trust him with them. And if he fucks up, I know they won’t just take it. Things are… they’re settled enough. It’s just how they are now.”

“Okay. But if shit hits the fan again, you let the Titans or me know, okay? I’m not kidding, I’ll bring it to the League if you need protecting,” Barry said seriously.

It was warming, really, to have an adult say that. Sure, Danny was an adult now, but like, an adulter adult. He never had that before.

“Thanks,” Danny said, eyes on the ground rather than the group of people who had quickly become his friends. “That means a lot really.”

“Okay,” Wally said after an uncomfortably quiet moment, “but what did you mean about timelines?”

“Oh, one of the Ancients, ah, think of them sort of like god or demigod ghosts, is of time. Clockwork is what he goes by now days. He likes to meddle in stuff, sends me bright green post-it notes about the fate of the world and such. The last one I got was actually warning me about my seizures,” Danny said with a little snort. “I wish I had figured that out before I had the first one.”

“Why?” Wally asked with a tilt of his head. “I’m not exactly fate of the world stuff.”

“You’re my world,” Dick cooed, hands on his heart and batting his eyes.

Wally snorted, but he had a fond look in his eyes.

Danny did his best not to laugh at them. “Dick aside, you are a Titan. You being around could be the fate of the world. Or maybe—oh.”

Everyone else in the room exchanged a look, but Danny hardly noticed. His attention was hung up on a tangle of a thought.

“…oh?” Dick prompted.

“What?” Danny shook his head. “Oh. Just ‘two emissaries of time’. It’s what I called Barry and Wally.”

“Yeah, but I told you that we’re not,” Barry said.

“Yeah, but you don’t eve believe in ghosts and I’m sitting right here,” Danny said with a dismissive wave. He got up with a little stumble and started to pace. It helped to move when he was trying to untangle things. Sure, he was a little lightheaded, but he’d deal. “It makes sense that you don’t see the Speed Force as the entity that it is.”

“He never has,” Raven said.

Danny spun and pointed a finger at her. His world tilted dangerously. “But you know what it is.”

“Danny, honey, why don’t you sit down,” Dick said.

When Danny tried to start pacing again, Dick reached out and snagged Danny by the waist. A simple little tug was enough to unbalance Danny and send him tumbling down into Dick’s lap. Obviously please with his capture, Dick wrapped his arms around Danny and rested his head on Danny’s shoulders. Danny gave a a little huff of air, but leaned back against Dick’s chest.

Raven was smiling, just barely. “I know the Speed Force is something beyond my understanding.”

“Sure, but it is something and that something is related to time,” Danny said. As he talked, he started to lean forward again. “Clockwork’s whole thing is about time! He has rewound time at least twice just for my bullshit! It makes sense that him and the Speed Force have a connection. Which means I’ve had this all wrong!”

“Danny, Danny, don’t fall off my lap,” Dick said with a tightening grip. “You can stay right here and tell us what you had all wrong.”

“This was never about me being a psychopomp!” Danny exclaimed, words slightly breathless. Dick held him a little tighter. “This is all about Clockwork being convinced that I need to be his apprentice! That’s why I can see Wally! It’s not about death, it’s about time!”

“Hey, Danny, hon, take a deep breath for me,” Dick urged. His palm tapped a rhythm against Danny’s sternum. Danny grumpily followed along, but it did help the tightening feeling in his lungs. Once Dick was satisfied with Danny’s breathing, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Danny said, “that Wally isn’t dead.”

Wally just looked bemused. “I’ve been telling you that.”

“I know, but it didn’t make sense. Now it does! Wally’s not dead, and because Wally isn’t dead,” Danny continued, “I’m not his anchor because I’m half ghost and a psychopomp. I’m his anchor because I’ve got one of Clockwork’s medallions inside me!”

Dick’s hand twitched as if he wanted to hold on to Danny’s very being. “Inside you?”

“Ghost thing.” Danny patted Dick’s hand reassuringly. “I have a cellphone in there too. And maybe a fork still? It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it matters,” Dick grumbled.

“What matters,” Danny continued blithely, “is that I know how to unstick us.”

---

AN: Barry: This is my new nephew Danny. If anything happens to him, I'm declaring war on the government and his parents.

Rest of the JL: ???

#dp x dc #thodf #danny/dick/wally #rocket fuel

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loonybun · 1 month ago

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quick important post. this isn’t my usual type of stuff but im putting this out here for awareness.

there’s someone in the whump community who’s recently been gaining some traction. their posts haven’t really gotten super popular but they have circulated a bit and keep popping up on my page. youve probably seen them yourself if you’re a member of this community.

I never really interacted with their content just because realism in whump art isn’t my personal cup of tea (obviously if it’s yours, that’s fine and keep doing your thing, that’s not what this post is about), but a friend of mine decided to look a little bit further into things. it turns out this user has a history of using ai for writing, and seems to have a pro-generative ai stance.

they also use ai for all of their “art” (screenshots from a friend). even after being made aware of the harm that ai does, they have said that they will continue to use it.

this has been pointed out before by a few other people in the community, but I wanted to make a post for more reach since a lot of bigger names in the community who have denounced ai have been spreading around this content without knowing.

i know i’m kind of preaching to the choir but generative ai should not be tolerated in a space like this. the whump community was founded by fanfiction writers— the same fanfiction writers who are having their work scraped for generative ai without their permission or knowledge. generative ai has done so much harm to fandom spaces this year alone, and with the recent scrape of ao3, we should be fighting harder against it. allowing this to remain unchecked in this community is dangerous.

that, combined with the real harm generative ai does, makes this very kind of content go against the fundamental beliefs and morals of the whump community. i know i can’t speak for the community as a whole, but i have not found a single member here who would knowingly endorse generative ai. it just feels incredibly shitty for this person to not even mention that this work is ai (except for the one post included above). with how much effort and emotion people put into their stories and art, using ai to try and replicate that comes off as just incredibly distasteful.

the forbes article linked above to water consumption and ai isn’t even the only example i can think of when it comes to the harm ai’s done. if the whole “destroying the planet”, and “scraping work from artists, writers, and animators without consent” wasn’t enough for you, then i honest to god don’t know what will be. maybe the many, many accounts of ai being used to allow people to spread child pornography and irl gore videos of horrific events? it’s not harmless. it’s immoral on a fundamental level. in a world where ai is being shoved into people’s faces left and right with the integration of it into basically every corner of the internet, i think i can speak for us all when i say we want to keep this corner ai-free.

ai does not belong in creative spaces, least of all the whump community.

#anti ai #anti generative ai #anti genai #whump community #whumpblr #whump #whump writing #tw ai #firemind411 #i’m not the kind of person to do a callout post but this is an issue im personally very passionate on #since the amount of harm ai’s done to fandom is just #awful

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charliemwrites · 11 months ago

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Part 5 of Mister(s) Steal Your Girl

Long awaited, but no Johnny smut just yet. Soon, I promise. (And Kyle will be back. It's been so long since he's gotten to smooch our dear reader.)

Also! A little reminder than you can check the queue to see what I plan to post for next. I try to update it often as the worms wiggle. Next I plan to do the final chapter of Greater Bad. (Unless I get my not-so-secret, no-longer-a-surprise oneshot out first)

Lastly! Please note that I wrote the "posts" from his perspective. So inconsistencies with the actual story and any grammar/spelling errors were purposeful or for "authenticity".

Content: Brandon.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ I asked my fiancé for an open relationship before marriage. It worked. A while ago I posted on r/adultery about the affairs (yes, multiple) I was having behind my then-gf’s back. We’d already been dating for ~4 years and I was seeing one of my coworkers (my “work wife”) regularly and one of her coworkers on and off. People on my other post were critical and called me all sorts of things like selfish and pig. I know it’s not traditional, but I genuinely don’t think I could ever be satisfied by one woman. My work wife (Rachel) and fiance’s coworker (Lucy) provide things my fiancé just can’t but I still love my fiancé. She’s the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. When I posted on r/adultery I was trying to figure out how to propose without her finding out. I knew she’d expect me to help with stuff and possibly want to look at my phone more often. It would have been harder to sneak off to meet up with Lucy or Rachel with wedding planning and I was sick of being stressed she would find out. Some nicer people on the post suggested I ask for an open relationship. I took their advice and sat her down to sell the idea. It’s a good thing I’m so good at sales (top 3% in my company for 5 years in a row) because she agreed. Yes, actually agreed. At first she got kind of pale and her eyes got really big and blank. I thought for sure she was about to start crying and run off. Maybe even kick me out. She doesn’t really get angry but she gets upset and it freaks me out. After I explained everything about how good it would be for us though, she agreed. This is my official unlimited hallpass. I’ve been seeing Rachel on weekends and Lucy once or twice during the week for drinks. Tonight I’m going to sign up for every dating site I can. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge. If anyone has other suggestions, I’ll check those out too. Fiance has been kind of off but I think it’s just an adjustment period. Sometimes I can tell she’s been crying but she hasn’t come to me about it so she’s probably just being emotional about all the changes. At least she’s got our house to focus on while she gets used to things. I feel a little bad about running out every night but she’s just so mopey and sad all the time and it’s not enjoyable to be around. I know she probably feels like I’m abandoning her a little but once she starts getting back to normal I’ll spend time with her again. You really can have your cake (all the cakes heh) and eat them too. Edit: no, I never told her that I already had Lucy and Rachel and I’m not going to. What good would it do? She’s already agreed to an open relationship and telling her that I didn’t have permission first would just hurt her for no reason.

Kyle’s been gone for two (long, lonely) weeks when he finally gets a chance to call. So far, he’s only been able to send scattered texts at odd hours. Always something sweet – telling you he’s alright, or that he’s thinking of you. Sometimes you even catch him for a brief exchange before he apologizes and “goes dark” again.

Not that you begrudge it. This is part and parcel of dating him and you knew that going in. You’re not complaining when he’s putting his life on the line so that the public can live in blissful peace.

That doesn’t stop you from missing him though. His hugs, his smile. Getting his voice - even roughened by distance - is a nice compromise though.

“How have you been holding up, chickadee?” he asks after the initial reassurance that he’s whole and hale.

“Easier this time!” you answer proudly. “I know what to expect with you gone and Johnny’s good company.”

“Yeah?” he asks, sounding pleased.

You can just imagine him now, leaning his hip against the nearest surface, arms crossed over his broad chest. He tends to duck his head when he smiles, and you unintentionally grin to yourself, thinking of him hiding into his phone. God, you miss him.

“Mhmm! We found a board game bar that you’re going to love. Oh, and we’re going to the Hay Festival this weekend.”

He hums. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to take you, luv, but I knew Johnny would be good to you.”

More than good to you, really. There’s not been a day he doesn’t call to check up on you - if he doesn’t see you in person, that is. Dinner, movies, coffee. He’s somehow both a gentleman and an incorrigible flirt, but only with you. He’s nothing more than polite to anyone else, keeping his focus on you and whatever the two of you are doing.

You don’t know what to do with the undivided attention. If you didn’t know better…

“You two are getting close,” Kyle observes.

“I think so,” you admit, then hesitate. “Is… that okay?”

“‘Course, luv. I’m glad.”

You blink. “You are?”

“He’s my best mate and you’re my best girl.”

An odd pang of anxiety pierces your chest. Johnny calls you that too. His “best girl.” You love hearing it - but maybe you shouldn’t?

“It… doesn’t bother you? That we’re spending so much time together.”

He snorts softly, but it’s not derisive. It’s a noise he makes whenever he thinks you’re being silly, but his voice comes out soft and warm. Not an ounce of condescension.

“No, baby, I’m not fussed. You spend your time with whoever you want, however you want. Yeah?”

Your chest floods with warmth. “Okay.”

“There’s a love. I’ve got a brief, so I have to go. I’ll call soon as I can.”

“Be safe, Ky.”

“Do my best. Give Soap a smooch for us, aye?”

You blink as he hangs up. That’s a new one.

You ponder over it while packing on Thursday night. Was it just a joke? A tease at the little crush you’ve developed for Johnny?

Because it is a crush, you know it is. It’s impossible not to be attracted to him. Not with that smile, that laugh, the goofy humor and sweet mannerisms. He still sends you flowers every few weeks - just as the previous ones are about to die. It’s so thoughtful; you’ve started feeling a bit warm every time you look at them.

But you feel greedy, being even remotely interested in anyone else. You have Kyle and Brandon (even if you two are going through a… patch) and that should be enough for you. Shouldn’t it? You’ve never been with more than one person at a time before; it took you weeks to shake the compulsory guilt when you first met Kyle. It feels almost unforgivably audacious to want Johnny too, especially since he’s Kyle’s best mate.

Still… Kyle’s not a jealous or passive-aggressive guy. You’ve been with him long enough now that you know he’d just tell you outright if he was unhappy about something. And he’s been with you long enough that he can surely tell you’re more than a bit fond of Johnny.

Maybe that’s why he made the joke about “smooching” him.

Regardless, you want to talk to him about it. Things always make sense when you think out loud to him. His levelheaded and practical approach to difficult topics always straightens your panic spirals out into neat lines.

Plus, it’s not as comforting to hold your own hand. (God, when is he getting back?)

“Where are you going?”

You blink up at Brandon, folded pajamas in hand.

“The Hay Festival,” you answer.

Speaking of - you slip past him into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow, rooted to the spot spinning his phone around in his hands.

“Alone?”

You snort. “Of course not, I’m going with a friend.”

The allergy pills are at the bottom of the medicine basket beneath the sink. You really need to organize it the next time Johnny’s too busy to hang out. There’s no way you need three bottles of paracetamol.

“I need that suitcase.”

You toss the bottle in and pivot for the dresser. “What for?”

He shifts, eyes sliding away. “An… overnight.”

Ah. That’s what he’s calling it now?

You snatch a few (too many) pairs of underwear from the dresser.

“Just bring them here,” you say over your shoulder.

There’s a long, tense beat of silence but you’re too busy rummaging for socks to break it first. Will it be too warm for thigh-highs? Eh, you’ll go with the sheer ones; the little lace roses match one of your dresses anyway.

“Bring who here?” Brandon asks slowly.

When you turn, he looks paler than usual. You shrug, trying to project casual comfort.

This is a totally normal and reasonable conversation to have. Just a couple in an open relationship, discussing a stranger coming to the house for a shag. Nothing to make a fuss over.

“Whoever you need the suitcase for? I know you’ve had people over before anyway, and I’ll be gone all weekend.”

He stutters, color returning to his face in bright pink blooms. “Why do you think I’ve had people over before?”

You arch an eyebrow. “I do the laundry, remember? And there was lipstick on one of the wine glasses.”

That had sent you into a tizzy at the time, disgusted that some stranger was in your bed, with your fiancé. You washed the sheets twice on the hottest setting and tossed in a bit of bleach for good measure. Hadn’t been able to look at him the whole week - not that he was there much to not look at.

Now, though, you seem to have adjusted to the idea, even if you’re still not thrilled. Brandon can have his… whoever over, and you’ll goof around with Johnny in Wales.

“Just toss the bedding in the wash afterwards,” you add.

“I thought you do the laundry,” he sniffs.

“I’m not traveling all day just to do chores when I get home,” you answer. He does a double take like you’ve started speaking a new language. “You’ll be here all weekend, I’m sure you’ll have time.”

He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s about to argue - though you don’t really know what about. It’s not like he can’t do laundry or dishes, after all. He lived alone before you moved in together.

Thankfully, his phone distracts him before he can form the words. He spins away to tap at the screen and shuffles out of the room, shoulders till tense. You go back to packing and teasing Johnny about the amount of hair gel he’ll bring.

Friday afternoon can’t come fast enough. Even though you’ve taken a half day from work, the few hours seem to drag. You’re practically daydreaming about the food and drinks, music and activities. There’s a baker’s dozen art stalls you want to check out as well, and a gift to pick out for Kyle…

“Hope yer thinkin’ o’ me when ye make tha’ face.”

Your head snaps around so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. Johnny grins down at you in all his casually handsome glory – ripped jeans, green tee, and brown boots. Angels are singing somewhere, you think. Or maybe that’s just your nosy coworkers ogling from their own cubicles.

The reality of him sinks in a moment later and you leap up from your cushy chair – and right into his arms. He’s like a furnace compared to the cool, conditioned air of your office, a welcome source of warmth for your chilly fingers.

“What are you doing here?” you giggle. “Who let a rowdy guy like you in?”

He smells like bergamot and pine. It takes active thought to resist pressing your face into the crook of his neck. It looks cozy there.

As always, he squeezes you a bit tighter just before letting go.

“Hey now, Marcy’s a discerning lady. She knows a fine gentleman when she sees one.”

You snort, belied by the smile curling your lips. “She may need new glass then.”

“Och, don’t go talkin’ poor about my second-best gal now.”

“Is it that easy to get in your good graces?” you scoff, glancing at the time on your computer. It’s later than you expected; no wonder he came up to retrieve you. You spent so long daydreaming that you’ve lost track of time.

“Aw don’ be green, dove, you’re still my number one. Send ye flowers ‘n all.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, and now I’m wondering just how special that is.”

He stands close, proclaiming his case for how obviously special you are while you shut everything down for the weekend. You’re only half listening to the bit, admittedly. Mostly just basking in your excitement for the mini road trip and the weekend to come. You have no doubt that it’s going to be fun, even if it would be better with Kyle along too.

“Where are you headed off to?” Lucy asks.

“Hay Festival,” you answer shortly.

You’ve never been a big fan of Lucy, but lately she’s been insufferable. Talking over you during meetings, leaving you out of emails, throwing away papers at the printer. (Okay, you haven’t seen her do that last one, but you know.) Worst of all, she can help but make backhanded comments about every flower delivery.

“You’re not taking Brandon?” she simpers. “Something wrong?”

“He’s hanging out with a friend this weekend too,” you correct, “and he doesn’t like hay.”

“Shame that,” Johnny adds, sounding like it’s not a shame at all.

You haven’t told him much about Brandon – but you’re sure that Kyle has. From the face Johnny makes the rare times your fiancé comes up in conversation, he doesn’t think much of Brandon.

“Have fun you two!” your manager, Selene, calls.

You wave and shoot Lucy one last, unimpressed glance before stepping onto the elevator with Johnny.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ My fiancé is going on a weekend getaway with another man. I’ve posted in r/adultery and r/cakeeater before. I’m not looking for judgement or insults here. I really just want advice.

A little context: my fiancé and I are in an open relationship and it’s been like this for a few months now. I originally asked her to ope the relationship and for a while she was weird about it but lately she’s been getting sbetter. I thought she was finally getting used to me going out with other women and things were getting back to normal.

A few weeks ago, I noticed she was on her phone more. Like, all the time. Even at dinner when she used to be really picky about phones at the table. One day I came home from work and she was talking on the phone to someone. Giggling and laughing. When I turned the corner she was kind of blushing too. It kind of bothered me but I figured she was talking to a friend and just hot from cooking or something.

Lucy texted me pissed off one day, asking why I was sending my fiancé flowers but not her. I told her I hadn’t sent any flowers. I think they’re way too expensive for how long they realistically last and that they take up a lot of unnecessary space. But I thought it was weird that someone was sending my fiancé flowers and got kind of uncomfortable. That’s a pretty romantic gesture and her family isn’t the type to randomly send flowers either.

I tried taking her out on a date but she was all mopey again and turned her phone to ‘do not disturb’ so I wouldn’t even see if she was texting someone. We don’t have much to talk about now. I love her but she’s not a good storyteller or into very interesting things. All her ‘funny stories’ are just mundane things that happen during the day. We’ve run out of interesting topics about because we’ve been together so long. (That’s why I like having more than one partner.)

Yesterday she randomly started packing for a trip. I don’t even think she was planning to tell me until I asked her. She was packing a bunch of cute clothes too. Like dresses and tights and things like that. Stuff she only used to wear on our dates. I asked who she was going with and she just said ‘a friend’ which is weird because she would usually say the name of someone even if I don’t remember who they are.

Well today Lucy sent me a picture of my fiancé leaving her job with some guy. I couldn’t see his face because he was turned away, but I could see the side of my fiancé’s face and she was smiling at him. I got this awful sinking feeling in my chest like it was hard to breathe. It took me a few minutes to process that she’s going away for a weekend with a complete stranger.

Doesn’t she know how dangerous that is? Where did she even meet this guy? They’ll be gone all weekend so are they sharing a room? A bed? I nearly threw up thinking all these things as I called her.

I asked her to cancel her plans and come home. She seemed confused and reminded me that her plans were with someone else and it would be rude to ditch last minute. I told her I wanted to spend the weekend with her and that I’d been missing her. She seemed surprised and said that she’d see me on Sunday night, but she was looking forward to the festival with her ‘friend’ and wanted to go. As a last ditch effort I asked if her friend was more important than me, nearly begging at that point. She must have heard the desperation in my voice, but she just told me that she was already on the road and it was too late.

My fiancé doesn’t like lying but it’s hard to believe this guy was just a friend. Even if she sees him as a friend I know how men think and I doubt he sees her the same way.

She said some other weird stuff before she left about having someone over while she was gone. I don’t get it. How could she just casually invite someone else into our house like that? Has she had other people over? Is she dating now?

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like that she put this trip over me. Should I talk to her about how bad this makes me feel? Should I call again and tell her to come home more forcefully? Am I blowing all of this out of proportion?

Edit: she doesn’t know that I’ve been seeing Lucy. I haven’t told my fiancé about any of the women I’ve been seeing. (mostly just Lucy and Rachel. I’ve done a lot of texting through apps and gone on a bunch of first place, but most women don’t put out right away and I usually can’t be bothered to get to know them better). Even then, I wouldn’t tell her about lucy. They don’t get along and never have. It would cause a lot of unnecessary drama.

First | Previous | TBC... Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #kyle gaz x reader #john soap mactavish #healthy polyamory #brandon the crash dummy

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ac1dmeow · 6 months ago

Note

Can we pretty please have one of au powder where shes in love with us instead of ekko? 🥺 PLS

‘ wrapped around your finger ’

powder x female reader.

notes: fluff, established relationship, wlw content, possibly ooc, men dni

sometimes powder catches herself staring at you.

she would have been in the middle of meddling with one of her personal projects, eyes narrowed and nimble fingers straining to screw a pesky tiny nail, until the next thing she knows is she had suddenly turned to look at you sometime in the middle of working. she has no idea how long she had been staring for, watching you sitting beside her just a few feet away, but she jumps when your head lifts and your eyes land on hers.

looking a little panic-stricken, powder twists herself back around, readjusting her hair.

“how’s it comin’ along?” your voice sounds from beside her, making her release a breath and smile gently.

“just have some screws to tighten and light varnishing to apply. after that—should be pretty much complete.” powder finalizes looking down at her project with a proud smile, which makes yours widen. oh how adorable she could be without even trying.

you hum in acknowledgment and drag your stool to get closer to her. the only reason you had been sitting farther away from her in the first place was so she could have the room she needed to work on her things. but now she looks set to take a break, and you’ll steal any moment you can get your hands on to spend time with her.

after getting permission to touch it you pick up the object and turn it around in your hands, looking closely at all of the details and ridges. powder’s creations never fail to impress you, and it makes you admire her more after each and every one she shows you.

“as perfect as all of your other stuff turns out.” you sigh almost dreamily, placing it back down and looking at powder who’s already staring at you with a cautious expression. it softens a little and she shrugs carelessly.

“i wouldn’t use ‘perfect’ to describe my works. but i appreciate it anyhow.” powder says, avoiding your gaze and leaning her arm on the table. you’re brows immediately furrow.

“you should have more confidence in your work. you have a wonderful talent, powder.” you place your hand on her shoulder and lean closer, “show it off with pride.”

you finalize with a kiss to her freckled cheek.

powder’s cheeks heat up as she smiles down at you gratefully. she feels so incredibly lucky to have you in her life as a supportive figure, and you being her girlfriend at the same time just makes it 100 times better.

filled with an affection, powder takes your hand resting on your lap and laces your fingers together, silently raving at the way it sends happy jitters and butterflies in her stomach. her head rests atop yours when you lean it against her shoulder.

“and i mean it, lovely.” you add firmly, making powder chuckle softly.

“thank you. i appreciate it a lot. more than you probably know.”

you huff a laugh through your nose and lift your head to look up at her closely with a cheeky smile. with your free hand you poke her cheek playfully, “oh, you make it known~, don’t worry.” your joke manages to not go over powder’s head, causing her to blush and roll her eyes giggling.

“shut up! you joke about it now, but you’re not laughing once i actually get you wrapped around my finger.” the blue haired girl quips, leaning in close with a smirk and blue eyes filled with something mischievous. that makes your eyes widen—was that… a sexual innuendo? that was almost uncalled for coming from her.

your shoulders bump as you two tease each other back and fourth under your breaths, hushed giggles echoing around the large open space of powder’s private workshop; your bodies subconsciously having gotten closer with hands starting to get curious.

in a moment of silence, your eyes flutter down to powder’s lips. her own doing the same, both of you exchange silent confirmation and slowly close the distance between you.

however unknowingly to both of you, someone is approaching. the sound of footsteps halt and someone clears their throat some 15 feet away.

yours and powder’s lips just barely graze when you both hear the intruder, causing you both to jump away with gasps. at the sight of the third person in the room you’re filled with immense annoyance, peeved at being disrupted.

“sorry to intrude, but, vander sent me to look for you. you’re 20 minutes late to your shift.” ekko’s eyes awkwardly shift around the room before focusing on powder, “you probably don’t wanna keep him waiting much longer…”

you frown. but other the girl is immediately shooting out of her seat and cursing at herself, knocking things over while scrambling to grab her stuff scattered around the area. you grimace and reach out to help her out.

“fuck, he’s gonna be so mad. i’ve never been late before!”

“we can give him an excuse.” ekko calmly suggests in hopes of calming powder down.

“tell ‘im you ate too much cheese and couldn’t leave the bathroom for an hour.” you smirk. ekko chuckles beside you leaning against the railing, shaking his head.

powder only scoffs. “don’t make this a joke.” she grumbles. she stands up straight and tosses her bag over her shoulder, “we need to go now. please.”

she’s already halfway out of the door.

the two of you walk down the busy street with your arm hooked around hers, the warm sunny weather making it feel as though someone lit a candle in your chest and made a lovely home in there. ekko walks alongside you, rambling passionately about his concepts for an upcoming project of his own while you smile in acknowledgment and give your own comments.

you still deeply wish you could have more time of the day to spend with powder, alas she has a job. but so many hangout ideas are swirling in your brain and making you skip in excitement at the thoughts.

next thing you're going to do is sunbathe and go for a swim in the river; a perfect way to celebrate the oncoming summer season.

#໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა sfw pow .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱#powder x reader #arcane powder x reader #powder x female reader #powder x fem!reader #jinx x reader #jinx x female reader #jinx x fem!reader #lesbian #wlw

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marvelouslizzie · 2 years ago

Text

Pretty Little Thing - co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it's impossible to avoid serving him for the first time.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: @notafunkiller and I merged our separate ideas into one and this is the outcome. It was so much fun to write. We hope it'll me the same while reading too.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

You thought this night would be calm and easy, that nothing significant would happen. All that changed when Bucky Barnes set foot in the bar. It’s not his first time here by any means, but until now you successfully managed to avoid him by asking the other bartender to serve his side. This time, unfortunately, you are working alone. It’s a slow night, so there’s no way you can really avoid him.

You watch him find an empty place and sit down, and you really don’t know what to do. You can feel yourself sweating already. You are so nervous. Not because you are afraid of him or anything. He doesn’t look scary. Not to you. You are afraid to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you should be able to ask for his order and serve it without messing it up. That’s not so hard.

Just keep it simple, you tell yourself.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Bucky looks up from his phone straight into your eyes, and you freeze a little.

“Hello, do you... a draft beer, please.”

His answer confuses you. That’s not his usual order.

“You sure you don’t want something stronger? We have that bourbon.” You curse yourself internally for paying attention and not being able to hold your tongue.

He raises his eyebrow surprised. “How do you know that? There is no way you served me any drinks cause I would remember you.”

He frowns as soon as he finishes speaking. Maybe you helped your colleague or maybe you were informed about what he drinks just in case he showed up. He’s still the Winter Soldier after all.

“I never served you before.” You say with a shy smile. You hope this is enough of an answer for him.

“Do I look like a bourbon man?” He asks playfully before giving you a smile that transforms his face a little, softening his features.

“You look like you enjoy quality stuff, and between you and me, our draft beer is shitty.”

That comment makes him chuckle. You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t notice how his eyes fall straight to your breasts.

“Thanks for the tip. Normal beer then?”

“If you insist.” You smile and open the small fridge under the bar where you keep some of the beers. You quickly open it and put it right in front of him, not realizing that gesture shows off your bartender skills a little bit.

He doesn’t look away from you as he takes a big sip before placing the bottle on the table quickly.

“For how long have you been working here?”

“For the past year.” You avoid making eye contact while drying some of the freshly washed glasses.

“Oh.” He sounds kind of taken aback. “I’m surprised you never served me. I’ve been coming here for what? Seven months?”

“Eight.” You bite your bottom lip as soon as the word slips out, trying to shut yourself up so you won’t mess up even more. What were you thinking? Well, you weren't…

His eyes immediately glow, and you wonder if you fucked up for good.

“So you’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He brings the bottle to his mouth and before you can say anything, you watch him finishing it in one go.

“I just noticed you.” Of course, you kept an eye on him, but you played it down a little.

“Well, I didn’t notice you,” he says regretfully. “And I wonder how. I am pretty aware of my surroundings... especially if they are full of beautiful people like you.”

You can’t help but blush, yet you try to sound unaffected. You don’t know if you succeed or not, though.

“This place is usually so crowded and full of… people. So it’s normal.”

“Neah,” he denies immediately. “Have you been hiding or something?”

“I was just on the other side of the bar.” And you were trying to hide from him, saving yourself from this embarrassment because you knew if you talked to him you would fuck up. You were right.

“So I was on the wrong side this whole time.” He shakes his head. “Another beer, please, doll.”

“The same?” You ask while trying not to dwell on the pet name he uses.

“Yes, please. And one drink for you. Whatever you want, if you are allowed to drink, of course.”

The way he offers to buy you a drink surprises you. You feel quite nervous, but you try to maintain your calm. He’s probably just being nice, right?

“I am allowed to drink, but that’s not necessary.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean you need to talk to me for it, doll. There are no conditions for this drink.”

“Oh.” You didn’t even think he would take it this way. “That’s not why I said it’s not necessary. I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Okay. Whatever you want... I won’t insist.”

“It’s just… I am allowed to drink whatever I want. You don’t need to pay for it.” You try to explain so he won’t take it the wrong way.

“Alright,” he says, a little distant, as you open up another bottle of beer and put it in front of him.

“I just didn’t want you to pay extra when I can get it for free.” You don’t know why you are explaining yourself like this. It’s normal not to accept drinks from customers.

“It’s fine, I totally understand. Thank you!” He reaches for the bottle immediately.

You take a fancy glass out of the rack and pour yourself one of the ready-to-serve cocktails that your colleague prepared, right in front of him. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps staring at your hands.

“Thanks for the drink.” You say while putting the bottle away.

“Me?” He asks surprised. “Thought this is on the bar.”

“Well, you gave me the idea, and if you really insist on spending your money so unnecessarily, who am I to stop you?”

“That’s a good attitude.” He smiles again before bringing his bottle close to your glass. “Cheers to a good Thursday in a lovely company.”

You clink your glass with a smile on your face. It seems like he finally understood your intention, so you feel relieved.

“How does that taste?”

“Don’t let the color fool you, it tastes really strong but delicious.” You look at him for a second and notice that got his interest. “Wanna taste it?” You offer your own drink to him, and he contemplates for a few seconds before leaning in.

“Yes, I am curious.”

You hand the glass to him. Your fingers touch for a second, and you get so excited that you worry about dropping the glass. It’s like your heart is in your throat.

“Your hands are cold,” he comments casually before taking a sip right from the spot covered by your lipstick. You gasp. You have no idea if he did it on purpose, but the way he’s drinking it… your body is responding to that so much. You clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down.

“Delicious.” He smiles, handing back your glass, and you notice a bit of lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

It creates this internal dilemma. Should you just let him know about it or act like nothing happened and let him walk around like this? The second one could cause him a lot of embarrassment, and you don’t wanna be the reason for that. That’s why you suddenly find yourself leaning closer to him, just to wipe the lipstick off. He doesn’t move an inch, not jumping like you would expect, letting you touch him. When you realize what you are doing, you suddenly feel super self-conscious.

“You…” You gulp down. “You have… lipstick on… just here.”

You keep rubbing your finger against the corner of his mouth. You feel his stubble and how soft his lips are, but you try not to think about it. He chuckles, covering your hand with his. It surprises you so much that you freeze for a second. Then you look into his eyes, struggling to see if you made him feel uncomfortable or not.

“So considerate of you. Thank you.”

You move your hand away from his mouth but not away from his touch. Somehow you can’t find the strength to do that.

What he does next, though, makes you completely breathless. He brings your hand to his mouth again, but this time he presses his lips gently against your skin, smiling right after. Your eyes open with surprise, feeling completely speechless, yet you don’t move away. You don’t even realize you are smiling slightly.

“Your hands are still so cold.”

“Yeah…” You try to speak, but it feels like your words are stuck in your throat. “They are always cold.”

“We need to change that.” He places another kiss on your hand.

He’s surprisingly nervous as he leads you to the living room. Based on his confidence back in the bar, you didn’t expect him to become so shy all of a sudden.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No.” You answer quickly. The only thing you want is to feel his lips again but you keep that thought to yourself.

“What do you want then?”

It’s obvious in his tone and the way he looks at you he doesn’t ask you about drinks.

“You.” You can’t believe you said this out loud, but it’s the truth.

He doesn’t need another push as he comes closer, grabbing you by the chin. Your lips crash together with an almost desperate hunger. He takes the opportunity immediately, getting his tongue inside your mouth in a fervent exploration. The sensation is electrifying.

You let him explore your mouth while you focus on his taste. It’s so unique and tasty, you just can’t get enough of it. Your hands slowly move toward the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels your touch, breaking the kiss just to move his lips to your neck.

“Mhmm… James.” His lips feel so good against your neck. It just sends a jolt of arousal through your body.

But then he freezes, with his mouth glued to your neck. You open your eyes confused wanting to ask him what happened, and that’s when you realize what you’ve just said.

“You know who I am?” His voice is a warm whisper against your skin.

“Of course, I know who you are.” You make it sound so natural as if there’s no way you wouldn’t know who he is. “You think I go to the houses of men I don’t know?” You say playfully.

“I didn’t mean that...” He raises his head from the crook of your neck just to look you in the eye. “I didn’t mean it offensively, I just wasn’t sure. I’m just stupid, I didn’t expect it.”

“I know who you are, James Bucky Barnes.”

“Fuck,” he groans, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“James Bucky Barnes or just James?”

He kisses you more desperately than before, his hands finding your hips as he gently grabs them, pulling you so close that you can feel his erection. You gasp so softly, but he hears it anyway, and you settle on his hard cock so it’s right against where you want it to be.

He moans. “Let’s go to the bedroom, doll.”

“Why?” You ask innocently as if you don’t know what he means. “Isn’t your couch comfortable enough?”

For him? Sure. But for you?

“The bed is better.”

“Okay.” You sound so obedient suddenly as you wrap your legs around his torso.

He immediately lifts you up without effort, and you smile, letting him carry you toward his room. He’s a super soldier after all. He closes the door with his foot as soon as you’re inside, then he gently puts you on the bed, like he’s afraid you might break. The way he’s acting is so endearing, but you want him to let go really badly. Even the manner he starts to take off your pants is too gentle.

You let him undress you the way he wants, though. Then you move closer to him, taking his clothes off, your movements not as gentle as his. You are impatient and needy. You see him holding his breath when you reach to touch his chest, close to where his metal arm begins, so you lean in to leave a kiss right there. You don’t know if you are crossing a line, but you have to. He should know that this is not something that would bother you, on the contrary, it turns you on even more. When he doesn’t move away from you, you keep kissing around his scars and his chest. Your hand is on his shoulder, gently caressing.

“That feels so good, doll,” he says with a sigh before he grabs your waist. “but it's time for me to eat.”

You find yourself on your back so suddenly that you don’t even have time to react. He quickly settles between your legs and you understand exactly what he meant. He lifts them enough so you can rest them on his shoulders as he gets more comfortable on his tummy. You feel a hole in your stomach immediately. You can’t believe Bucky is between your thighs, about to eat you out.

He’s taking his sweet time at first, kissing down your thighs and even smelling you before he finally brings his tongue to your entrance.

“Come on, James. Don’t tease me.” You look down just to see him smiling.

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it.”

“I would enjoy it more if you stopped teasing and started eating.”

Surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t waste more time and properly starts to fuck you with his tongue. He’s not too quick, nor too slow with his moves, and you’re shocked when he brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Need you to make them wet for me, please.” Even while saying that, he sounded a little too polite.

“On one condition,” you say, looking directly into his eyes. “Stop acting like I am made of glass.”

“But you kinda are.”

“I am not. Believe me.”

He says nothing, making sure to lick your slit before getting his tongue inside you again, his fingers, glued to your lips. You take it as a silent agreement and you open your mouth, suck his fingers, and let him wet them. When he thinks it’s enough, he gently takes them out and brings them right to your clit. He doesn’t touch it directly at first, teasing around it until you move your hips a little, needing to feel your clit stimulated.

“Please.” The way he’s taking his sweet time is so frustrating.

He lets his hand drop and instead of feeling his fingers on your clit, you feel his tongue at the same time he gets a finger inside you. You moan loudly, finally getting what you wanted from the start.

His other hand reaches for yours when he hears you grabbing the sheet, and you immediately hold it, enjoying how his cold metal feels. When you feel the second finger and he scissors both of them inside you, you’re shocked by how close you suddenly are. You can’t help but arch your back and move your hips, needing it faster.

He reads the signals pretty quickly and lets you use his mouth while he keeps pumping his fingers. It doesn’t take long for you to gasp, moan, and start to shake because of the pleasure he’s giving you.

“James! Shit. I’m- gonna… ahh… come.”

You moan louder than you expected, dropping your head against his sheets, possessed by a great wave of pleasure. You want to tell him not to stop anything, but you can’t. And you don’t need to as he keeps licking and fingering you while you ride your orgasm out, prolonging it as much as possible.

When it’s done, you are feeling so good yet you are hungry for more. You raise your head a little and see Bucky still between your legs, but this time his beard is covered with your slick. He looks so handsome. His blue eyes are shining and his hair is all messy. It makes you wanna kiss him and that’s exactly what you do. You reach down to him, and he meets you in the middle, kissing you the way he was just eating you out: with passion and hunger.

He’s less gentle than before as you feel his hands grabbing your breasts, but it’s still not enough. You cover his hands with yours and push him to grab them harder than before. You let out a muffled moan while kissing him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You find yourself blushing like you two aren’t having sex. To mask your reaction, you reach out to his hard cock, gently grabbing it.

“Oh god,” he groans as he instinctively squeeze your breasts harder.

“Mhmm, yes.” You lean into his touch. “Just like that.”

Bucky looks at you as if you said something shocking. Is he not used to communicating during sex?

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re surprising me for someone so delicate.”

“I told you, I am not.”

He smiles. “Do you wanna help me put on a condom then?”

“I would love to, but…” You smile. “What if I told you I am clean and on the pill?”

“Fuck, I need you.” He kisses you suddenly. “Now.”

“I am right here.” It sounds so calming. “You can take me however you want.”

You’re not only on your back in the next second, but you also have his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Jesus, doll! For a pretty little thing, you’re quite nasty.”

“I just know what I want.” And this is it.

He nods, wrapping your legs around his ass at the same time he pushes inside you. In a second, your head is thrown back while you moan loudly. The way he fills you is so delicious. It makes you feel so full but not uncomfortable.

“You’re taking me so well already.”

“Please…” You raise your hips to create more friction. “Please, move.”

He brings his mouth to your breast a little before he starts thrusting, making sure to leave a small hickey right on top of it. It hurts so good, and you moan without holding back. It is music to Bucky’s ears. He just wants to hear it again, so he does it again.

“You want it rough, don’t you?” He thrusts harder than before. “You’re so needy.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is so shaky already. “I told you already.”

“Told me what?” He teases. “I don’t remember.”

“That I am not made of glass.”

“No, you are made for me.” He brings his hand to your face to move the hair strands that cover your eyes. “For my cock.”

“In that case…” You don’t know where the sudden rush of confidence comes from. “You are made for me. To fill me up.” You move your hips again, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Oh, god. You’re so fucking wet,” he moans. “I am, I’m gonna fill you up so much.” He kisses you suddenly, your teeth almost crashing together because of the thrusts, but you don’t care.

“Can’t wait.” You tease him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

He says nothing, letting his head drop a little so he can suck on your neck properly. He’s definitely fucking you harder. He pulls until he’s almost completely out of you before thrusting inside you again. And again. And again. It takes your breath away. The way it makes you feel is indescribable. You lose the little remaining control you had and just turn into a moaning mess.

“Say my name, baby. C-come on.”

“James?” You sound hesitant even if you don’t mean to because you don’t know which name he wants to hear.

“Again,” he begs, his metal arm on your leg pushing it right against his ass.

“James!” This one comes out so naturally. No questions, no hesitation. You just breathe out his name with a moan.

“God, you look so beautiful. So pretty with my cock inside you.” His thrusts get faster, and you have no idea how he can speak so well while you’re a mess.

“I’m so close,” you can barely say without taking a breath in the middle of the sentence.

“What do you want?”

“Just… harder.”

“Like this?” He asks, suddenly thrusting a little harder than before. “Or like this?”

“This! Yes! Just like this!”

“You just want it hard.” He whispers against your ear. “What a dirty girl.”

You hear him, but you can’t respond. You are too busy coming all over his cock, and it feels like you are in heaven. He continues to fuck you as the pleasure fades away, murmuring how pretty you are and how good you make him feel before he comes, too, grabbing the bedpost behind you with his metal arm. It makes a clicking sound, but you don’t care, opening your still foggy eyes just to watch him.

There’s so much come. You can already feel it dripping out of you as he keeps fucking you. You expect it to end soon, but it doesn’t. It goes on and on. The way he loses control as he comes just triggers another orgasm out of you. You would be surprised how quickly you could come again if it didn’t feel overwhelmingly good. You can’t think about anything other than him and the way he makes you feel.

His come is getting all over your thighs and ass, and the bed, as he moans. “Kakaya khoroshaya devochka.” What a good girl.

You can’t help but laugh despite not understanding a word of what he says. “Is that Russian?”

He opens his eyes, and the blue you love is almost completely grey. “Yes.” He sounds confused, too.

“What does it mean?” Your afterglow can’t overshadow your curiosity. “If you don’t tell me, this isn’t happening again.” You try to make it obvious you aren’t serious with your playful tone. Especially not after those orgasms.

“Look at you, little and feisty, blackmailing me.” He chuckles before leaving a kiss on your lips. “I told you what a good girl you are. I didn’t realize I spoke in Russian.”

You laugh a little. “Say it again.” You give him the cutest look. “Please?”

“Ty moya khoroshaya devochka.” He repeats softly. You’re my good girl.

You don’t even realize how content you look as you keep smiling.

“Now, I can get used to that.”

“Say my name again, please.”

You love the neediness in his voice. “James?” You tilt your head a little. “Or would you prefer Bucky?”

“Fuck, it doesn’t matter.” His thumb is suddenly on your lips. “I can get used to that, too.”

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n30n-l1ghts · 6 months ago

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Okay, I need to rant. Fuck AI. And I mean seriously. FUCK. A.I. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here, but more people need to be talking about this, and there’s no point in me saying that if I’m not willing to talk about it too. AI has done nothing but ruin our communities and defile the art that millions of hands have spent millions of hours creating. Fanfiction is a work of passion. Drawing is a work of passion. Voice acting IS A WORK OF PASSION. AI has no passion. It takes the soul out of the things we love and cherish. It steals what we as a collective community have lovingly crafted, and it shatters it to a thousand pieces, spits on it, curses its family, and throws it in a flaming dumpster to be eaten by rats. It is despicable and disgusting.

I won't lie, or pretend I’m a perfect saint. I myself was a user of Character AI until somewhat recently. And as ashamed as I am to admit that, I feel it’s necessary to own up to my own faults. But after seeing the damage it causes, I can’t in good conscience even consider touching that site. Many of us write because it is our passion. Many of us because it is our job. And many of us because it is our *friend*. AI steals the writing of your favorite creators WITHOUT PERMISSION and mashes it together like Frankenstein’s fucked up monster to create storylines that aren’t even fucking coherent. Not only that, but Character AI uses whatever you respond to it with to teach itself as well, which means that the company has access to whatever you chat about, and free reign to do whatever they want with it. They also make absurd amounts of money from it, which in comparison, fanfiction writers, who spend countless hours writing stories for our favorite characters, more often than not charge nothing. And the ones who do charge, tend to have reasonable, if not highly lenient prices for their labor.

Which leads me into another side rant. SUPPORT WRITERS THAT YOU LIKE. It’s really not that hard, it takes two fucking seconds of your time and it makes someone's day. Reblog. Share with your friends. Like. Comment. Just let the writer know that you saw it, and that you liked it. The amount of fanfic writers I have seen get completely discouraged from writing because of lack of engagement is astounding. I’ve seen several posts on Tumblr or Twitter or Bluesky talking about creators that were incredibly popular but never knew it due to lack of engagement is appalling. If you can rant about your love for their work on Discord, you can rant about your love for their work in the comments. Just fucking copy paste it. Tell them how much you love it. Show them support. Especially the ones that don’t charge. Because for those of us that don’t, our only payment, is your feedback. Even constructive criticism is greatly appreciated by damn near every writer I can think of. Because even that shows that you read it, absorbed it, and thought about it enough to have something to actually say about it.

The same thing goes for artists and voice actors. You see a drawing or animation you enjoy? Comment. Like. Share. You see a character in an anime or a game and you love their voice? Go check out their voice actor, maybe they do some other cool stuff, and you might just discover your new favorite series or streamer. A perfect example is Alejandro Saab. I became a fan of his through his astounding performance in several series dear to me, and lo and behold, he’s also a streamer I enjoy. Same story with Aleks Le, or Ray Chase. Yuri Lowenthal, Lizzie Freeman, Landon Mcdonald, Zeno Robinson, the list goes on. But seriously, it’s not that much effort to just show a little love to the creators you enjoy. The people who breathe life into the series’ that we all hold dear. AI does not breathe that life. Using AI, and supporting those companies, will destroy those pillars of our community. And if that happens, the AI would crumble too, it would have no new information to use. SO really, what’s the benefit? I’ll tell you. There is none.

Stop using AI. All it does is bring harm and slowly kill our community. It’s disgusting, appalling, and downright fucking egregious.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

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shelovesosa · 9 days ago

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Spoiled Rotten, Loved to Death

PAIRING: Delinquent!Sukuna X Meangirl!Reader

CW: brief mention of grooming. NOT from sukuna or reader.

SUMMARY!! Spoiled. Beautiful. The bratty queen of the student body, backed by your father—the mayor himself. You wore privilege like a second skin, sharp heels clicking over broken hearts, every boy a plaything, every girl your competition. Then came Ryomen Sukuna. The school’s tattooed delinquent.

(Mean girls collection masterlist here!)

a/n: omg I haven’t slept at all.

You were late. Again. But it didn’t matter. You didn’t rush. You never had to.

The hallway was yours. People parted like the Red Sea as you walked through, your heels loud, your scent unforgettable—floral, sweet, expensive. You twirled your iced coffee in one hand, your phone in the other, barely acknowledging the classmates who looked at you like they were waiting for permission to breathe.

You were Y/N L/N. Daughter of Mayor L/N. The girl who ran Jujutsu Metropolitan University without even trying.

You were rich, bored, and mean enough to make it interesting.

Stepping into the lecture hall fifteen minutes into the political science seminar, you didn’t bother looking apologetic. Your sunglasses stayed on. Your lips stayed glossed. The professor didn’t even bother calling you out anymore—he just sighed and kept writing on the board.

You chose your seat in the front row, naturally. Unbothered by the whispers behind you. There was only one voice that didn’t whisper.

That voice came from the back row. Always.

“Wow. Queen B finally arrived. What’s the damage today? Canceled another charity drive for your Botox appointment?”

Your eyes rolled without even turning.

Him. Again. Sukuna Ryomen. Leather jacket, crimson tattoos that crept up his forearms like warnings, lip ring that glinted every time he smirked. And that voice—lazily deep, always laced with sarcasm and cigarette smoke.

He was the kind of boy your father wanted arrested on sight. A walking red flag. A delinquent who had no business being at a university like this.

And yet, there he was. Back row. Feet up. Grinning like the world owed him a favor.

You turned your head, just slightly. “Tell me, Sukuna, do you ever say anything useful, or do you just rattle your empty skull for attention?”

The girls around you snorted with laughter. He didn’t flinch.

“Nah, I save the useful stuff for people with IQs over 80. Sorry, princess—you don’t make the cut.”

Your gaze narrowed. He winked. God, you hated him.

He was the only one who didn’t worship the ground you walked on. The only one who didn’t flinch when you snapped. He called you out, challenged you, didn’t care about your last name. And worse?

He saw right through you. That was the part you couldn’t stand.

You weren’t expecting him to follow you. You were storming toward the quad, seething, texting your assistant to cancel your afternoon appointment—when a voice called out from behind.

“You know,” Sukuna said, striding up beside you like he had every right, “for someone who thinks she’s untouchable, you really get mad when someone talks back.”

You scoffed. “And for someone who failed the last three quizzes, you sure have a lot of free time to run your mouth.”

He laughed. A real, full laugh that grated against your ego.

“You keep tabs on me, sweetheart?” he asked, cocking his head. “I’m flattered.”

You turned, slow and venomous. “I wouldn’t waste my time if you were the last pair of legs on campus.”

His eyes flicked down to yours, then back up—unapologetically slow.

“You’re thinking about my legs now? That’s progress.”

You hated the way your skin heated. The way he made your pulse rise—not out of attraction (definitely not)—but rage. Pure, uncut irritation.

You stepped into his space, too close, chin lifted.

“You’re trash. Everyone knows it. The only reason you’re here is because the university’s trying to seem inclusive.”

His smile didn’t falter. But his eyes turned sharp.

“You think being rich makes you better than everyone. But money doesn’t make you interesting, princess. It just makes you boring with a higher credit limit.”

You blinked. Just once. And then turned on your heel, heels clicking, heart pounding.

That night, You didn’t sleep. Not well. Not because of him. Not because of what he said.

You tossed in silk sheets, replaying that damn smirk in your head. That voice. That look in his eyes like he knew exactly what buttons to push.

You told yourself it was nothing. You hated him. You should hate him.

But the heat in your chest said something else. Like maybe—just maybe—you hated that someone like Sukuna Ryomen could rattle you at all.

You hated group projects. Not because you didn’t like people—okay, maybe that was part of it—but mostly because no one ever did the work right. You always ended up redoing everything. Slapping your name in bold font across the final slide and praying the professor noticed that the brilliance wasn’t collective.

But this time? This time the universe was really out for blood.

“Alright,” Professor Yamamoto said, sliding a list onto the projector screen, “groups are random and non-negotiable. I expect weekly collaboration, progress reports, and equal participation.”

Your name appeared second on the list. Next to his. Sukuna Ryomen.

You stared in silent disbelief. The room buzzed. Someone gasped. A girl in the corner whispered, “God help him,” and you weren’t sure if she meant you or Sukuna.

He laughed. From the back row. Loud and low and smug. Your jaw tightened.

After Class You didn’t wait. You stormed up to his desk, flinging your oversized tote bag onto the table with enough force to rattle it.

“No,” you snapped, glossed lips tight. “We’re not doing this.”

Sukuna was leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his fingers laced behind his head like he was on vacation. “I’m not exactly thrilled either, sweetheart.”

“I’m going to tell the professor it’s a conflict of interest.”

“Because you can’t handle working with someone who doesn’t kiss your overpriced heels?”

You blinked slowly, trying not to scream. “Because I don’t work with people who treat school like a rehab hobby.”

He grinned. “Cute. You practicing for our presentation? I love the fire. You’ll carry the team perfectly.”

“I will burn the team down, Sukuna.”

“You’re not supposed to say the quiet part out loud, princess.”

You showed up. Only because you refused to let him be the reason your GPA dropped.

He was already there, stretched across the library armchair like he belonged to it. Black hoodie, ripped jeans, headphones hanging off his neck.

He looked like he hadn’t opened a textbook in a year.

“You’re late,” he said, flipping through a dog-eared notebook with a pen held lazily between his teeth.

“You’re lucky I even came.”

“Oh, I know. I brought snacks to celebrate.”

You ignored him. Sat across from him, already pulling out your laptop, phone, highlighters, even a mini whiteboard. The girl behind the desk gave you both a weird look—probably because you were practically glowing in Chanel while your partner looked like he’d just crawled out of an alleyway.

Sukuna leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So tell me something, Y/N,” he said, voice too calm. “Do you ever get tired?”

You didn’t look up. “Of what?”

“Of pretending to have it all figured out.”

That made your fingers pause on the trackpad. Your eyes flicked up, and there it was again—that too-serious glint behind the teasing. Like he was watching you. Peeling layers back.

“Don’t act like you know me.”

“I don’t,” he said simply. “But I see you. And you look exhausted.”

That... caught you off guard.

So you did what you always did.

You lashed out.

“Spare me the edgy street-poet act, Sukuna. You’re not deep. You’re not tragic. You’re just a guy who peaked in high school and thinks being rude is a personality trait.”

His mouth twitched. But this time, he didn’t bite back. He stood up.

“For the record,” he said quietly, gathering his things, “I didn’t want this partnership either. But I showed up. And maybe—just maybe—you’re the one making it worse.”

Then he walked out. You sat there for a full thirty seconds. Quiet. Heart hammering louder than any insult he’d ever thrown.

And you hated that it bothered you.

Apparently, arguing in a library counted as “disruptive behavior.”

Your professor wasn’t amused. “Maybe some silence will do you both good,” he said, handing you detention slips like they were party invitations.

You ended up in a tiny classroom with stained floors and dusty windows.

You took the desk by the window. Sukuna leaned against the chalkboard, arms folded.

Silence. Fifteen full minutes of it. Then he spoke.

“You really think I peaked in high school?”

You side-eyed him. “You’re still dressing like you never left.”

He let out a low laugh. “Cute.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a compliment.”

“It is. You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

You turned fully now, folding your arms. “What’s your deal, anyway? You don’t act like someone who wants to be here. So why are you?”

He was quiet. For once. Then: “I made a deal. With someone I owed. I screw this up, I’m out.”

“Out of school?”

He nodded. “Out of Tokyo.”

And for the first time... you didn’t have something mean to say back.

Just a small, quiet, "Oh."

The air between you shifted. Not softer. Just heavier.

When detention ended, you walked out first.

He didn’t follow.

But he was waiting for you the next day, at the edge of the quad, hands in his pockets, looking like he might have something to say.

And you? You slowed your walk—just a little.

The text came at 3:13 p.m. You stared at your phone longer than you meant to.

Sukuna: Prof wants progress update by tomorrow. Meet me at mine after 6. Sukuna: Don’t wear heels. My building has stairs.

You nearly threw your phone.

First of all, how dare he. Second of all, you hadn’t even agreed yet. Third... why did you type "OK" before you even finished the thought?

6:42 p.m. You stood outside an old apartment complex on the edge of Shinjuku, arms crossed, staring up at the chipped stairwell that led to the third floor. His place wasn’t what you expected.

Not dangerous—just worn. Real.

You climbed the stairs, regretting the kitten heels you wore anyway. Because of course you didn’t listen. Of course you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

His door was slightly open.

And the first thing you noticed when you walked in?

It smelled like cedar and cloves. And him.

Dim lighting. Scattered books. A cracked coffee table. A wall covered in band posters and drawings that looked like he sketched them himself. There was a punching bag hung from a ceiling beam. An old electric guitar in the corner. A single desk with a flickering laptop and half a bag of chips next to it.

You blinked, lips parting just slightly.

“…This is where you live?”

He looked up from the desk, chewing on a matchstick like it was gum. His hair was tied up. Shirt sleeveless. Tattoos more visible than you’d ever seen.

“Expecting a trap house?”

“I wasn’t expecting anything. I thought you slept in abandoned parking lots.”

He smirked. “That’s cute coming from someone who uses Evian to water her orchids.”

You tossed your bag down and stepped into the room carefully, like it might bite.

“Nice place,” you muttered. He turned slightly. “Didn’t catch that.” “I said, it’s... not awful.”

That made him grin. And somehow, that grin felt... less infuriating than usual.

7:23 p.m.

You were arguing again. Of course you were.

“I told you this topic is too complicated for a basic policy brief. We’re going to over-complicate it and miss the deadline—”

“I know how to write a brief, Sukuna, unlike you, who probably thinks MLA is a type of drug—”

“And you probably think 'street-level crime' means forgetting to tip your barista—”

Somewhere between you yelling about his formatting and him throwing a pencil at you (which you caught midair), something shifted.

You were standing close. Too close.

You were both out of breath. Over nothing. Over everything.

And for a moment, the apartment was quiet.

“I don’t get you,” he said suddenly, his voice low, different.

You tilted your head. “Good. I’m not here to be ‘gotten.’”

“No,” he said, not blinking, “I mean I don’t get why you care so much. About grades. About appearances. About what anyone thinks.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

And for once, you told the truth.

“Because if I don’t,” you said, eyes sharp but soft around the edges, “I’m nothing.”

Silence.

He stared at you like he hadn’t expected you to say that. Like he’d never imagined you'd admit something so small and raw. You looked down quickly, digging through your folder, your defenses snapping back into place.

But then, he said it. Quiet. Careful.

“I think you’d still be something.”

You froze. And so did he. Because the second it was out, it hung there in the room, heavy and dangerous.

“I mean,” he backtracked quickly, “something annoying. Something loud. Something that never shuts up—”

You let out a soft laugh, more breath than sound.

He caught it. His lips parted just slightly.

You didn’t kiss. Not yet. But you thought about it. For the first time, you wanted to.

9:00. He walked you to the stairwell. Didn’t offer to walk you home. Didn’t pretend to be anything other than what he was.

But just as you turned to go, he said:

“You should wear sneakers next time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want there to be a next time?”

He shrugged. “Let’s not make it weird, princess.”

But you smiled. Just a little. And so did he.

It started with a stare. You weren’t even looking at him when it happened. You were laughing at something Naoya said—one of those dumb frat boys with teeth too white and a trust fund that did all his talking for him. You hated him most of the time, but today you let him walk with you across the quad.

And that was when you felt it. That burn. That stare.

From the steps of the Philosophy building, Sukuna was sitting with a cigarette dangling between his fingers, not even lit. His head tilted just slightly. Watching.

You didn’t look at him. Not directly. But your spine straightened. Your voice got just a little louder. You touched your hair like you weren’t doing it for him.

Naoya leaned in to whisper something at your neck. And Sukuna stood up.

20 Minutes Later, “Are you seriously trying to piss me off?”

You turned at the sound of his voice behind you, near the vending machines outside the student lounge. He looked pissed. Not like the smirking, taunting kind of pissed. No—this was something quieter. Stormier.

“Are you seriously acting like you get to be pissed about anything I do?” you said, lifting your iced matcha with a tilt of your head. “Did I miss the part where we started dating?”

“You don’t like that guy.”

“I don’t need to like him. He looks good standing next to me and he opens doors.”

“You don’t even let guys open doors for you.”

You took a slow sip. “You notice a lot, huh?”

His jaw clenched. You liked that more than you should.

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning like he was done.

But then you said it.

“Why does it bother you?”

That stopped him cold.

He didn’t answer. Not out loud. But his hand found the vending machine next to you. Pressed flat against it. Caging you in—not fully. Just enough to make the air shift. The hallway shrink.

“Do you want it to bother me?” he asked, voice a low rasp.

You looked at him, dead in the eyes. “Maybe.”

And for a second—just a breath—you thought he’d kiss you. But someone’s footsteps echoed nearby. The moment snapped.

He backed off like nothing had happened. Like it hadn’t meant anything.

You hated how your chest felt empty after.

1:14 a.m. Your phone lit up in the dark. No name. Just a number you had memorized anyway.

Sukuna: You up. Sukuna: Don't make that dirty. I'm not in the mood.

You: Liar.

It took thirty seconds before he called.

You answered without thinking. Your voice still soft from sleep.

“What,” you murmured, “is the delinquent doing awake at one a.m.? Can’t sleep with all your bad decisions?”

There was a pause. Then his voice came through. Rough. Quiet.

“I heard you laughed today.”

You blinked, heart skipping.

“What?”

“Earlier. In the quad. With that guy. You laughed.”

You swallowed. “So?”

“I didn’t know what your real laugh sounded like.”

Silence. Something inside you cracked open—just slightly.

“Sukuna…” you said, unsure where the sentence was going.

He cut in. “You should laugh more. Just... not around him.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your throat tightened with something unnamed. Unexpected.

You shifted on your silk pillow, voice barely a whisper.

“Then make me.”

And the line went quiet. Dead silent. Until you heard his voice again—barely audible, low and stunned.

“…Careful, princess. You keep saying shit like that and I will.”

The party was at someone’s rooftop loft in Roppongi. One of those “exclusive” things that didn’t mean much when your last name could open every door.

You arrived in silver heels, silk slip, hair twisted into a perfect wave. You looked dangerous. And you knew it.

Sukuna wasn’t supposed to be there.

You were already two drinks in—half-laughing, half-bored—when he showed up in a leather jacket and a bad mood. You didn’t see him at first. But he saw you.

Sitting on some guy’s lap. Not touching. Just talking. But it didn’t matter.

He walked in like a warning, red eyes scanning the room once—then landing square on you.

And you… smiled at him. Slow. Sharp. Let him see it.

Because if he was going to haunt your thoughts every damn night, you’d at least make it mutual.

You never played party games. Too childish. Too vulnerable. But someone pulled you into a circle and poured another drink in your hand and Naoya said something about you being “too pretty to pout all night.”

That’s when Sukuna finally sat down—right across from you. Legs spread, arm slung over the back of a cheap velvet couch, jaw locked tight. He looked like he wanted to break the bottle they were spinning.

It twirled and stopped. Laughter. A dare. Someone kissed someone else. Then it spun again. And again. And then—

It landed on you.

The girl next to you grinned, too drunk to know better. “Y/N has to pick—truth or dare.”

You lifted your chin. “Dare.”

She clapped. “Okay. Okay. I dare you to kiss someone you hate.”

Your breath caught. And just like that—every head turned. You didn’t look at Sukuna. But you felt him watching.

Silence stretched. You tilted your head. Took a slow sip. And then, like the brat everyone thought you were—you stood.

Walked past the guy who flirted with you all night. Stopped directly in front of Sukuna. His eyes narrowed. Jaw clenched.

You bent down, just a little. Close enough to kiss him. But didn’t.

Instead, you whispered—

“You think I’m really gonna give them that satisfaction?”

And then you turned.

But his hand shot out. Grabbed your wrist. Not hard. Just… firm.

“Coward,” he muttered.

You froze. Looked down at him.

“You started this,” he said. “So finish it.”

You scoffed. “Why? So you can brag about it later?”

His gaze darkened. “If I kiss you, I’m not doing it for them.”

The room faded. Everything dulled—except him. The heat. The sound of your heart. The way his fingers lingered just behind your knee like they belonged there.

You should’ve walked away. You didn’t. You kissed him. Quick. Sharp. Like biting into a flame.

His hand slid up your thigh before you pulled away. His lips chased yours a second longer than you meant. Just enough to show it wasn’t a joke to him.

You stepped back. The room exploded. Whistles. Screams. Applause. Someone threw a napkin.

You didn’t even look at him as you walked away, straight out the sliding glass doors onto the quiet rooftop balcony.

But your hands were shaking.

He found you there.

Back to the city. Head tilted to the stars. Wrapping your arms around yourself like you were trying to hold the pieces in.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” you muttered without turning.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me like that.”

“You wanted it.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, rough, real. “But I didn’t want it like that. Not as a dare.”

You finally turned.

“What do you want, Sukuna? Huh? To be the one guy who sees through me? The asshole who gets to say I’m not as heartless as I look?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared.

“You think just because I kissed you that I like you?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I think you kissed me because you’re lonely.”

You flinched.

“And I think you hate that I see it.”

Silence. And then—something cracked.

“I do hate it,” you whispered.

Another step. His hand reached out. Skimmed your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

But when he leaned in, slower this time—soft, patient—you stopped him. A breath away.

“I can’t,” you whispered. “If I fall for you, I’ll drown.”

His mouth curved. Not cruel. Not smug. Just sad.

“Then maybe,” he said, “we drown together.”

It only took nine hours for the photo to go viral.

A classmate had caught it. Not the kiss itself—just the moment after. You leaning back, Sukuna’s hand on your thigh, the smirk on his face, your lipstick smeared slightly, your eyes wide.

The caption?

“Mayor’s Princess meets the Devil in Leather.”

By the time you got to campus, it had already been reposted three hundred times. Your phone was blowing up. DMs from strangers. Fake concern from classmates you hated. Naoya sent three laughing emojis, and one text that read:

“Hope he was worth the body count, babe.”

You stalked toward your lecture hall with your sunglasses on and your jaw locked.

People parted for you. They always did. But today it wasn’t respect—it was curiosity. Whispered scandal. Some were impressed. Some were disgusted.

And some? Some looked like they finally saw you bleed. You hated it.

You were halfway down the hall when you saw him. Sukuna. Leaning against the lockers. Hoodie up. Air cocky, dangerous, and smug. Like he couldn’t care less what anyone said. You almost walked past him.

Almost.

But he reached out, caught your wrist again—gently—and tugged you into the empty stairwell.

“You good?” he asked.

Your laugh came sharp. “You asking if I’m good?”

He tilted his head. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“You dared me to feel something.”

Silence. Your breathing slowed. You looked up at him. The echo of his touch still warm behind your knee.

“…You don’t care what they’re saying?” you asked.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not the one they expect to be perfect.”

You swallowed. And then your phone rang. Dad.

You stared at the screen. Sukuna watched your face change. He didn’t need to ask.

Your father stood in his office in front of the glass windows, arms crossed, tie loose, stress in every crease of his face.

“You were seen kissing him,” he said. No preamble. No sugarcoat.

You leaned on the desk. “So?”

“He’s been arrested. Multiple times.”

“He’s not a criminal.”

“He’s a problem, Y/N. He’s a walking bad headline. You’re the face of my re-election campaign—”

“I didn’t ask to be.”

That stopped him. Just a second. A flicker of something behind his eyes.

“You think this is a game?” he said, voice lower now. “They already have the headlines. You. My daughter. The spoiled, pretty, scandal-prone brat… falling for the most dangerous kid in Tokyo U.”

“…I’m not falling,” you said.

But you were lying. And he knew it. So did you.

He got called into the Dean’s office.

They didn’t say “stay away from her,” but they didn’t have to. They talked about “reputations,” “media sensitivity,” and “volatile pairings.”

Sukuna walked out with his jaw tense, his fists clenched.

And the first thing he did? He called you. But you didn’t answer.

Not until 9:30 p.m. You stood on the bridge that crossed the river behind the old gym. Wind in your hair. Phone in your hand.

When you picked up, he didn’t say anything right away.

“…I’m not sorry,” he finally muttered.

“Me neither.”

“They think I’m using you.”

“They think I’m rebelling.”

You were quiet for a long time.

Then: “Tell me I’m not just a game to you,” you said, voice barely above the breeze.

You didn’t expect him to answer. But he did.

“I hate the way you make me feel,” he said. “Like I’m not poison.”

Your heart cracked wide open. And in that moment, you knew: You were falling. Fast.

It didn’t take long for the school to make its move.

You were called into a meeting with the Dean and a PR representative from your father’s office. They spoke gently, like they weren’t telling you to shut it down. Like they were offering you a choice.

But there wasn’t one. Not really.

“This isn’t a punishment,” they said. “It’s protection.”

You wanted to laugh. Instead, you nodded. Stared at the pristine leather chair across the desk like it might bite you.

The terms were clear:

* Publicly distance yourself.

* Stay out of the headlines.

* “Refocus” on your coursework.

And one more thing: No more contact with Sukuna Ryomen.

You met him in the park. Neutral ground. The sky was pink with summer heat and your heart felt like a blister.

He leaned against the bench when he saw you.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Mayor Daddy made the call?”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. And said:

“We should stop. It was stupid anyway.”

The words tasted like glass. He blinked. Just once.

“That’s the story we’re telling now?”

You shrugged. “I don’t want to be another tabloid trainwreck.”

“No,” he said, “you just want to be alone. Where it’s safe.”

You hated how well he knew you.

“Sukuna,” you snapped. “This isn’t about feelings.”

“So there are feelings?”

Silence. Your eyes stung.

He stepped closer. Slow. Controlled.

“You don’t have to protect me,” he said. “I’ve been thrown away before.”

“That’s not—”

 “I can take it.”

“No, you can’t!” Your voice cracked. You looked at him, tears burning. “You pretend you don’t care, but you do. And if they ruin you because of me—I couldn’t live with that.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But the look in his eyes… It shattered you.

He stepped back like the wind had punched him. And then—quietly—

“…Fine.”

Just that.

And then he turned and walked away. You stood there long after he was gone.

A week later you saw him. In the quad. Outside the cafe. Across the library floor.

But he never looked at you again. Not once. And every time you passed him, it felt like drowning. Like you were wearing a version of yourself that didn’t fit anymore.

The school was quiet now. The gossip faded. Your image was restored. But you hated every second of it.

Friday, 11:47 p.m. It happened in your room. Lights off. Phone in hand. Sukuna’s number still saved.

You hovered over it for five minutes. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Finally, you sent:

“I miss you.”

It didn’t say enough. It said too much.

No response. But five minutes later— You heard a knock at your dorm window.

You gasped. Opened it. And there he was. Standing on the emergency stairwell like a ghost, hoodie up, eyes tired. Angry. Alive.

You whispered, “You’re not supposed to—”

“I don’t care.”

You didn’t speak. He climbed through. Didn’t touch you. Just stood there.

Finally: “Say it again.”

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer. “Say you miss me.”

You were already crying.

“I miss you,” you whispered.

Then he kissed you. Not like the dare. But like someone desperate to be real.

Like someone who didn’t know where the pain ended and the wanting began. It was a crash—his mouth on yours, hot and hungry, like he’d spent the whole week pretending he didn’t need you and finally snapped. His hands came up—one cupping your jaw, the other sliding to the back of your neck, fingers curling in your hair to keep you there, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

Your breath hitched. You kissed him back harder, needier. Like you were pouring every moment of silence and pain and wanting into the space between your lips.

He pressed you gently against the wall. Not to trap you—but to steady himself.

Your fingers tangled in the strings of his hoodie, yanking him closer. You pulled like you hated him for making you feel this way, and he kissed you like he hated how much he loved it.

When his tongue brushed yours, it was slow at first—then deep, claiming, desperate.

And God, you let him.

The way he kissed—it wasn't like anyone else ever had. It wasn’t about showing off. It wasn’t about revenge or image or proving something. It was about you. Every piece of you he wasn’t supposed to want, and couldn’t stop himself from craving.

You gasped into his mouth. He kissed you through it. When you finally broke apart, your lips were swollen, your eyes glassy.

But he didn’t pull away. Forehead to forehead. Breathing heavy. His thumb grazed your lower lip. Gently.

Like he couldn’t believe you let him kiss you like that. Like he knew it wasn’t the last time.

“You make me feel like I’m not just the mayor’s daughter,” you whispered.

His voice was gravel and flame.

“You make me feel like I’m worth something.”

You didn’t say anything else. Because right then, wrapped up in him, you knew— There was no going back.

The next week, you wore cherry lip gloss. Not for anyone. Just because you knew he’d notice. And he did.

From the other side of the hallway, Sukuna’s gaze dropped to your mouth the second he saw you. But he didn’t move. Didn’t wave. Just watched—like he had every right to.

Which, lately, he kinda did. Not that anyone else could know. You strutted past him without a word, hips swaying, sunglasses on indoors.

“Try not to look too heartbroken,” you muttered as you passed.

He smirked. “Try not to look too desperate.”

You stopped.

Glanced over your shoulder. “You liked desperate last night.”

His smile slipped. Because yeah, he had.

11:42 a.m. — Secret Meeting No. 1 (Storage Closet, Engineering Wing)

“Stop pacing,” he whispered. “You’re gonna give us away.”

“I’m not pacing,” you hissed, spinning around. “I’m thinking.”

“In four-inch heels?”

“Try six. And don’t act like you weren’t staring.”

You were backed against metal shelves, Sukuna standing in front of you like he’d rather be anywhere else—which was a complete lie. His hoodie was half unzipped, jaw clenched, that red scar on his cheek catching the light.

“You can’t keep texting me in the middle of the day,” you snapped.

He shrugged. “You left your scarf in my bed.”

Your face flushed.

“That doesn’t mean I want to see you.”

“Sure,” he said, stepping in. “That’s why you wore my cologne.”

Your jaw dropped. “I—what?”

He leaned in, sniffed near your neck.

“Yeah,” he whispered, lips brushing your skin. “That’s mine.”

You pushed him back—lightly. “You’re the worst.”

He grinned. “Still tasted like heaven last night.”

You threw a marker at him.

3:05 p.m. — Secret Meeting No. 2 (Library Stacks)

He found you in the back aisle of the library.

You didn’t say anything when he slid behind you. You just leaned back.

He pressed his lips to the side of your neck. You tilted your head for him without thinking.

“You’re gonna get me expelled,” you breathed.

“You’re gonna get me arrested.”

You giggled, biting your lip. “Worth it.”

He nipped your ear. “Say that again when your dad’s threatening to ‘put me in a cage.’”

You turned, grabbed his hoodie, yanked him down to kiss you hard. Books shook on the shelf. You didn’t care.

“You started this,” you said when you broke apart.

He smirked. “And I’m not ending it.”

You were walking out of class, phone in hand, texting him when— Naoya cornered you.

“Cute lipstick,” he said. “Does it taste like bad decisions?”

You rolled your eyes. “Jealousy’s so unattractive on you.”

“Jealous? Of what—your little prison pet? He gonna write you poetry from a jail cell?”

You were about to respond when— Sukuna appeared beside you. Casual. Deadly. One glance from him and Naoya’s smirk dropped.

“Problem?” Sukuna asked.

“Nope,” Naoya muttered, walking off.

You turned to Sukuna. “Subtle.”

“Could’ve been worse,” he said. “I was two seconds from shoving his teeth into the grass.”

“You’re so romantic,” you said dryly.

“Tell me you didn’t like it.”

You didn’t. But you kinda did.

11:58 p.m. — Secret Meeting No. 3 (Your Dorm, Window Again)

He was late. You were pissed. You were halfway into a tirade when he finally climbed through your window and pulled you into a kiss before you could speak.

Rough. Hot. Apologetic.

“Got stopped by security,” he said, voice breathless. “Said I looked ‘shady.’”

You snorted. “They’re not wrong.”

“You missed me,” he teased.

“Did not.”

He kissed you again.

“You’re such a brat,” he murmured.

You tangled your fingers in his hair. “You like brats.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled you onto his lap, and you let him. Because no matter how secret this was… It was the only thing that felt real.

You knew something was off the second you walked into the quad.

There was a crowd—not the usual kind. Not gossiping girls or fawning underclassmen or even frat boys laughing over spilled coffee. No. This was different.

They weren’t looking at you for once. They were looking at her.

Long legs. Blood-red heels. Blazer like armor. She looked like she walked out of a crime drama and lit a cigarette with the ashes of someone’s trust fund. Too polished for this campus. Too confident. Too aware of the eyes she drew.

And standing beside her, stiff and silent— Sukuna. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch her.

But the way her hand grazed his chest when she laughed too loud? The way she whispered in his ear with a grin? Your stomach twisted.

“Who the Hell Was She?”

You asked Gojo. He whistled low, looking across the courtyard.

“That’s Hitomi Yashiro. Former model. Ex-professor. Current psycho.”

You blinked. “She taught here?”

“Briefly,” he said. “Until she ‘resigned.’ Rumor was she was sleeping with a student. Some punk with a temper and tattoos and a motorcycle.”

You froze. He looked at you. “Oh. You didn’t know.”

You found him leaning on the railing outside the science building.

He looked exhausted. Jaw tight. Shoulders tense.

“What the hell is she doing here?” you said.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, finally: “She’s in town. She… found me.”

“She found you?” Your voice cracked with disbelief. “You make it sound like a stray dog came home.”

“She’s nothing to me now.”

“That’s not what it looked like.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Frustrated. Sad. Angry.

“She was my mistake,” he said. “Back when I thought being used meant I was wanted.”

Your chest caved in. Because you understood that feeling too well.

“…Do you still want her?”

“No,” he said, instantly. “But she wants me.”

And you believed him. That scared you more than if he’d lied.

She cornered you in the bathroom of a student bar that night.

You weren’t drunk. Not yet. She smelled like jasmine and danger.

“You’re pretty,” she said. “In a predictable sort of way.”

You stared at her through the mirror. “What do you want?”

“To warn you.”

You turned. “About what?”

She smiled, slow and mean.

“Sukuna has always belonged to me.”

You didn’t flinch. Not yet. Not until she leaned in close and whispered:

“Little girls like you… always fall the hardest before you realize he was never yours.”

Then she left. You gripped the sink with white knuckles, chest heaving.

You waited for him at your dorm window. He didn’t come. You texted. Called. Nothing.

You stared out at the stairwell where he usually appeared. Instead— You got a photo sent to your phone. Him. In her car.

His face blank. Her hand on his thigh.

The caption: “Looks like you weren’t the only one who missed him, sweetheart.”

Your phone slipped from your hand.

But the tears didn’t fall. Not yet.nBecause anger burned hotter than heartbreak.

And you weren’t going down without a fight.

The photo kept flashing in your mind. Her hand on his thigh. His face frozen. No smile. No rejection.

He didn’t look like your Sukuna. But he also didn’t look like he was fighting her off.

You weren’t the type to cry over boys. But you weren’t crying over a boy. You were crying over the version of yourself you only ever let him see.

And now she’d touched it. Infected it.

You curled up under your silk sheets and sobbed so hard your throat went raw.

He waited for you outside class. Leaned against the building like he had any right.

You strutted past him like you didn’t even see him. Like your heart wasn’t breaking inside your custom blazer.

“Hey—” he called.

You didn’t stop.

He grabbed your wrist, and you spun, fury snapping out of you like a whip.

“Don’t touch me.”

His voice was low. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, is that right?” you said with a bitter smile. “So she accidentally groped you in her car?”

“I didn’t know she took the picture.”

“And that makes it better?!”

He stepped back. And for a second, you thought—maybe—he looked like the scared version of himself. The one who had once told you he was used to being disposable.

But you didn’t let yourself soften.

Because if you did, you’d break again.

“You made me feel like I was more than some rich girl stereotype,” you said. “And then you made me look like a fool.”

He opened his mouth. You walked away first.

You found Hitomi on campus. She was waiting for you. Of course she was.

Her lips curled when she saw you.

“Did you finally figure it out?” she purred. “You can’t compete with history.”

You stepped close.

“I’m not trying to compete. I’m trying to erase it.”

Before she could answer, your palm slapped across her face. Hard.

She gasped. Then laughed—low and cruel. “Oh, sweetheart. You think he won’t come crawling back to me the second he remembers what I taught him?”

Your hand was still tingling. You didn’t reply. Because Sukuna walked up behind you.

“…He won’t,” he said.

Hitomi turned, eyes darkening.

“Sukuna—”

“I should’ve ended this a long time ago,” he said. “Whatever the hell we had—whatever I thought I owed you—it’s over. She’s not you. Thank God.”

You didn’t breathe.

He looked at you. “She’s better.”

Your heart clenched. But not because of what he said. Because for the first time— You believed it.

Hitomi stared at him. Then at you. Then left. Without another word.

You didn’t say anything when he found you again, sitting behind the gym, knees pulled to your chest.

You didn’t look up. He crouched beside you. Silent. Finally—

“I panicked,” he said. “When she showed up. It was like being eighteen again. Like I owed her my fear.”

“I don’t want you to be scared of her,” you whispered.

“I’m not,” he said. “Not anymore.”

You looked at him. Red eyes. Bruised mouth. Worn expression.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Silence. Then:

“Say it again.”

He looked up. “What?”

“Say you didn’t think you deserved me.”

He did. You kissed him anyway. This one was soft. Slow.

Your mouth on his like you had all the time in the world. Like forgiving someone didn’t have to be loud.

His hands shook against your waist. He kissed you like he didn’t believe it was real. Like he thought you’d vanish if he opened his eyes.

When you pulled back, he was crying. Just a little. You wiped it away with your thumb.

“I don’t care if the whole campus knows,” you said. “I don’t care if my father sends the army.”

He laughed, broken and stunned.

“You’re a mess,” he said.

You smirked.

You smirked. “I’m your mess.”

He leaned in.

“And I’m done running from it.”

It was supposed to be just another dumb campus party.

You weren’t even going to go. But Sukuna texted you one word: “Come.”

So you showed up. You wore red. Not the classy kind. The kind that screamed, I dare you to look away. And the second you walked in, every head turned.

Especially when Sukuna crossed the room, grabbed you by the waist, and kissed you in front of everyone.

Mouth on yours. Tongue. Teeth. Claiming. The whole campus saw. Phones out. Flashes. And just like that— You were exposed.

Your father wasn’t yelling. He was seething.

“A thug?” he said. “A dropout with a criminal record and a history of violence?”

You stood silent, staring him down.

“You’re throwing away your entire future over what? A cheap thrill?”

Sukuna, beside you, clenched his jaw.

“I’m not a thrill,” he said quietly. “And I never touched her until she wanted me to.”

Your father glared. “You think that makes you noble?”

You stepped forward.

“I think,” you said, “it makes him better than half the men you shake hands with every day.”

That shut him up. Sukuna took your hand. Your father looked at you like you weren’t his daughter anymore. Maybe you weren’t. You were finally just you.

He kissed you goodbye that night and didn’t come back. No texts. No calls. Three days passed. Gojo found him first. Drunk. Bleeding knuckles. Sitting outside his apartment with an open bottle and a shattered rearview mirror beside him.

“She deserves better,” Sukuna told him.

“She deserves you,” Gojo snapped. “If you don’t want to lose her, fight like it.” So he did.

11:59p.m, one last knock came from your window. You opened it.

He looked ruined. Exhausted. His hoodie stained, bruises under his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You didn’t speak.

“I got scared. Thought if I pushed you away first, it’d hurt less.”

“Did it?”

He shook his head.

“I thought you were too good for me,” he said.

You smiled, eyes glassy. “Maybe I am.”

He blinked. You stepped closer.

“But I still want you.”

His hands shook when they touched your face.

“I love you,” he said like it hurt.

You kissed him like it healed.

A month later. You sat on the back of his bike, wind tearing through your hair.

No more secrets. No more shadows. Your father didn’t approve. But you stopped living for approval a long time ago.

He held your hand now like he’d never let go. You teased him like you always had, bratty and smug. He called you annoying, called you beautiful, called you his.

And when you leaned in to kiss him at the red light, you tasted everything— The pain. The longing. The past. The future. And every ounce of the fight it took to make it here.

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