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021894s · 10 months ago

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SIMS ANATOMY - JAKE SIM

SYNOPSIS: you, a top cardiac surgeon, find yourself increasingly frustrated by the distraction over the hospital’s new head of neurosurgery, Dr. Jake Sim. Despite your initial annoyance, you can't help but notice Jake's charm and undeniable skills. As you keep running into each other, Jake’s persistent yet respectful flirtations begin to break through your professional exterior.

PAIRING: neurosurgeon! jake x cardio surgeon! reader

GENRE: workplace romance, situationship

WARNINGS: explicit smut, unprotected sex (don’t), oral (m and f receiving), angst, language, MDNI!!

wc: 12k

You step out of the OR, still riding the adrenaline high from the successful triple bypass surgery you just completed. The intricate dance of sutures and clamps still echoes in your mind as you head towards the nurses' station to update your patient's chart. You’ve always prided yourself on your precision and dedication, and today was no exception.

As you settle into the chair, logging into the system, you can't help but overhear snippets of conversation from the nearby nurses. Their voices are hushed but excited, and despite yourself, your ears prick up at the mention of a new doctor.

"Oh my god, have you seen Dr. Sim yet?" one nurse gushes, her voice practically dripping with admiration. "He's the new head of neuro. I can't believe he's not married with kids."

"Seriously, he's so handsome," another chimes in. "I thought doctors like him only existed in movies."

You roll your eyes internally, feeling a twinge of annoyance. These nurses should be focusing on their patients, not swooning over some new doctor. You know the type—charming, overconfident, used to turning heads wherever he goes. You’ve seen it a hundred times. It’s frustrating to think that professional women, who you’ve seen handle the toughest of medical crises with unflinching composure, could be so easily distracted by a pretty face.

"He smiled at me in the break room," another voice adds, dreamy and far away. "I nearly melted."

You resist the urge to scoff out loud. Instead, you channel your irritation into the chart in front of you, updating the post-op notes with meticulous detail. Your patient, Mr. Harrison, came through the surgery well, and you want to ensure there are no loose ends in his care plan. His vitals are stable, and the grafts look good. You make a note to check on him in an hour.

The chatter continues unabated. "I heard he’s a genius in the OR," someone says. "Apparently, he’s revolutionized some new technique in neurosurgery."

"Brains and looks? Not fair," another nurse quips, and they all dissolve into giggles.

You finish charting, your irritation only growing. It’s not that you begrudge the nurses their moment of levity—being a nurse is hard, often thankless work, and they deserve a bit of fun. But the object of their admiration rubs you the wrong way. You’ve had to work twice as hard to be taken seriously in a male-dominated field, and the idea of a doctor coasting on his looks and charm irks you.

Shaking your head slightly, you stand up and grab the chart. There’s still a lot to do, and you don’t have time to dwell on some pretty boy neurosurgeon. If he’s really as good as they say, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. And if not, well, you’ve never had a problem putting overconfident doctors in their place.

As you walk away from the nurses' station, you hear one last wistful sigh. "I can't wait to see him in action."

Neither can you, you think, but for entirely different reasons.

You step out of the OR, mind still buzzing with the details of the successful valve replacement surgery you just completed. you head to the cardiac unit to check on post-op patients, but something feels off. The usually bustling ward is eerily quiet, with only one nurse, Olivia, stationed at the desk.

“Olivia,” you calls out, her voice cutting through the silence. “Where is everyone?”

Olivia looks up, a hint of guilt flashing in her eyes. “They’re at lunch,” she replies a little too quickly, her tone unconvincing.

you narrows her eyes, knowing Olivia well enough to sense when she’s not telling the full truth. “Olivia...” you say in a stern voice, crossing your arms.

Olivia shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. “Okay, fine,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “They’re in OR 2’s gallery.”

Confusion flickers across your face. “Why would they be in the gallery?” you ask, your irritation growing.

“Dr. Sim is clipping an aneurysm,” Olivia admits, unable to meet your eyes.

That’s all you need to know, storming off towards the gallery, your footsteps echoing through the hallways. The idea of your nurses neglecting their duties to watch a surgery infuriates your. Jake’s presence in the hospital had already been a source of frustration, and now he was serving as a distraction for your team.

Reaching the gallery, you push open the door and stride in, your eyes scanning the crowd of nurses huddled around the glass, their attention glued to the procedure below. you spot Jake in the OR, skillfully clipping the aneurysm, his focus unwavering.

“What is going on here?” you demand, voice slicing through the murmurs. The nurses jump, turning to face you with wide eyes. “Why are you all here instead of attending to your patients?”

One of the nurses, Carla, steps forward, stammering. “We... we just wanted to see Dr. Sim’s technique. It’s supposed to be groundbreaking.”

your glare is icy. “I don’t care how groundbreaking it is. Your patients come first. Get back to your stations, now.”

The nurses scurry out, their heads bowed in embarrassment. you watch them go, your anger simmering. Jake’s impressive skills might have captivated your team, but to you, he was nothing more than a distraction. you couldn’t afford to have the nurses slacking off, not when lives depended on their diligence.

you turn back to the OR, eyes locking onto Jake. For a brief moment, your gazes meet through the glass, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps? Or was it amusement? Shaking off the thought, you storm out of the gallery, determined to keep your team on track and your own frustrations with Jake in check.

You catch sight of Jake coming out of the OR, his surgical cap still on and his scrubs marked with the evidence of a long, intense procedure. He’s engrossed in conversation with another surgeon, but as you approach, he looks up and meets your gaze.

“You must be Dr. Sim,” you say, your voice firm.

Jake smiles, wiping his hands with a towel. “Dr. Y/L/N, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply, not missing a beat. “Seeing as you’re the reason my nurses are disappearing during their shifts to watch this so-called groundbreaking technique of yours.”

His smile falters slightly, and he raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize my surgeries were causing any issues. I’m sorry if they’ve been a distraction.”

“They have,” you state bluntly, crossing your arms. “My team’s focus should be on their patients, not on observing other procedures or a certain brain surgeon, no matter how impressive they might be.”

Jake’s lips curl into a playful grin. “Oh, so you think I’m impressive?”

You feel a flush of annoyance, typical behavior for a neurosurgeon, always so full of themselves. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it,” he teases, taking a step closer. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to maintain your stern demeanor. “My team doesn’t have time for distractions, Dr. Sim.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, his tone still light but his expression more serious. “I understand, and I’ll make sure to address it with the staff. I didn’t mean to disrupt the unit.”

You study him for a moment, gauging his sincerity. Despite your irritation, there’s something about his demeanor that disarms you slightly. You can’t help but notice his deep brown eyes, plump lips, and the way his Australian accent is way more attractive than it should be. You understand, in that moment, why the nurses might be so captivated.

“Good,” you say, your tone softening just a touch. “I appreciate that.”

Jake smiles again, this time a bit more warmly. “And if it’s any consolation, your reputation as a top cardiac surgeon is well-deserved. I look forward to working alongside you.”

“Likewise,” you reply, giving him a curt nod before turning to leave. As you walk away, you can’t shake the mixture of irritation and intrigue. Jake Sim might be causing headaches for your unit, but there’s no denying his skill and charm. You just hope he proves to be more than just a distraction.

A few days later, you find yourself in the hospital’s busy hallway, reviewing patient charts on your tablet. The hum of activity around you is a comforting backdrop until a familiar voice interrupts your focus.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” Jake calls out, his voice carrying that unmistakable Australian lilt. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You look up, and there he is, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Dr. Sim,” you acknowledge with a nod, trying to keep your tone neutral. “What can I do for you?”

“Just thought I’d say hello,” he replies, pushing off the wall and sauntering over to you. “And maybe ask how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you respond, keeping your eyes on your tablet.

“Busy as usual, I see,” he notes, glancing at the screen. “You ever take a break?”

“Breaks are for people who don’t have critical patients to tend to,” you reply, not looking up.

He chuckles, the sound warm and annoyingly pleasant. “You know, there’s more to life than work. Maybe you need someone to remind you of that.”

You finally look up, raising an eyebrow. “And I suppose you think you’re that someone?”

“Could be,” he says with a confident grin. “I mean, who better to show you the lighter side of things?”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Confidence is a necessity in our line of work,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “But I’ve heard it helps in other areas too.”

“Oh really? Like what?” you ask, despite yourself.

He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Like convincing brilliant surgeons to step out of their comfort zones once in a while.”

You scoff lightly, shaking your head. “I don’t need convincing, Dr. Sim. I have my priorities straight.”

“Of course you do,” he replies smoothly. “But even the best of us need a break sometimes. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you out. Just offering a bit of friendly advice.”

You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. “Friendly advice, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a wink. “Think of it as a, professional courtesy.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite your best efforts to stay stern. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he says, flashing that infuriatingly charming smile. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to saving lives. But if you ever need a reminder of what fun looks like, you know where to find me.”

later that day, the hospital corridors are quieter than usual as you make your way to the elevators, finally heading home after a long shift. The soft hum of the building is almost soothing after the constant noise of the OR. You press the button and wait, your mind already shifting to thoughts of a hot shower and some much-needed sleep.

The elevator dings, and as the doors slide open, you see Jake standing inside, leaning against the back wall, his expression relaxed but alert. He looks up and his face lights up with a familiar, playful smile.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets, stepping aside to make room for you. “Heading home too?”

“Dr. Sim,” you reply, stepping in and pressing the button for the ground floor. “Looks like it.”

The doors close, and the elevator begins its descent. The enclosed space suddenly feels a bit smaller with the two of you in it.

“Long day?” he asks, glancing over at you.

“You could say that,” you respond, leaning back against the wall. “You?”

“Same here,” he says, a hint of fatigue creeping into his voice. “But it’s all part of the job, right?”

You nod, a brief silence settling between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s an unspoken tension, a mix of mutual respect and something else you can’t quite put your finger on.

“So,” Jake breaks the silence, a teasing note in his voice. “Any plans for the evening? Or are you one of those surgeons who lives and breathes work even at home?”

You raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And what about you? Do you have a life outside the hospital, Dr. Sim?”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and genuine. “I try to, when I’m not dealing with brain surgery. But I’ll admit, it’s a challenge. The job can be all-consuming.”

“Tell me about it,” you agree, your tone more relaxed now. “Sometimes it feels like there’s no room for anything else.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s important to find some balance,” he says, his voice sincere. “Even if it’s just little moments here and there.”

You look at him, considering his words. There’s more to Jake than the cocky, flirtatious persona he often projects. “I suppose you’re right.”

The elevator dings again, signaling your arrival at the ground floor. As the doors open, you both step out into the lobby, the cool night air from outside brushing against your skin.

“Need a ride?” Jake offers, his tone casual but there’s a glint of genuine concern in his eyes. “It’s pretty late.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply, appreciating the offer but not ready to blur those professional lines just yet. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Count on it,” he says with a wink. “Have a good night, Dr. Y/L/N.”

“You too, Dr. Sim,” you respond, turning to head towards your car.

As you walk away, you can’t help but feel a strange mix of irritation and curiosity. Jake Sim might be a distraction, but there’s no denying that he’s also starting to become a presence you can’t quite ignore. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not entirely a bad thing.

The next day, you find yourself scrubbing in for a complex procedure. Today’s case is a particularly challenging one: a patient with both a severe cardiac condition and a cerebral aneurysm, requiring the combined expertise of both cardiac and neuro specialists. As you meticulously scrub your hands and arms, you hear the familiar voice of Jake Sim beside you.

“Looks like we’re working together today,” he says, his tone a mix of professionalism and that signature playful edge.

You glance over, meeting his eyes. “Seems like it. Ready for this?”

“Always,” he replies, his confident smile never wavering. “I’ve been looking forward to this case. It’s not every day we get to tackle something this intricate together.”

You nod, appreciating his enthusiasm despite your initial reservations about him. “Agreed. The patient’s condition is precarious. We need to be perfectly in sync.”

Jake gives you a serious nod, his demeanor shifting. “Absolutely. Let’s make sure we give them the best outcome possible.”

You both finish scrubbing in and enter the OR, where the patient is already prepped and waiting. The atmosphere is charged with a mix of tension and anticipation, the surgical team moving with practiced precision. As you take your place on one side of the patient, Jake positions himself on the other, eyes meeting over the sterile field.

“Ready to start?” you ask, your voice steady and focused.

“Ready,” Jake confirms, his expression equally determined.

The surgery begins, and the OR fills with the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft hum of machinery. You work methodically, your hands moving with practiced precision as you navigate the complex landscape of the patient’s heart. Jake mirrors your concentration, his focus unbroken as he tackles the aneurysm with equal skill.

“Forceps,” you request, your voice calm and controlled.

“Here,” the scrub nurse says, passing the instrument with a fluid motion. “How’s the heart looking?” jake asks

“Stable,” you reply, glancing up briefly to meet his eyes. “How about the aneurysm?”

“It’s going well,” he answers, his tone steady. “We’re almost there.”

As the surgery progresses, you find yourselves falling into a natural rhythm, your movements synchronized in a way that surprises you. There’s a subtle, unspoken understanding between you, each anticipating the other’s needs and adjustments.

“Nice work on that bypass,” Jake comments, his tone genuinely appreciative.

“Thanks,” you reply, a small smile forming behind your mask. “Your precision with the aneurysm is impressive.”

“Coming from you, that means a lot,” he says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice.

Hours pass, but the intensity of your focus never wanes. Finally, as the last suture is placed and the patient’s vitals stabilize, you both step back, a sense of accomplishment settling over you.

“Great job, everyone,” you say to the team, who respond with nods and murmurs of agreement.

Jake meets your eyes, his expression one of respect and something more. “We make a good team, Dr. Y/L/N.”

You nod, feeling a surprising sense of camaraderie. “We do, Dr. Sim. Let’s hope the patient has a smooth recovery.”

As you step out of the OR and begin the process of de-scrubbing, you can’t help but reflect on the day’s events. Working alongside Jake, seeing his skill and dedication firsthand, has shifted your perspective. He’s still cocky, still flirty, but there’s depth and talent beneath that exterior.

“Drinks tonight to celebrate?” Jake asks, a teasing glint in his eye as you both head towards the locker rooms.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe another time, Dr. Sim. But good work today.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, dropping the formalities for a moment. “Seriously, it was an honor working with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” you admit, giving him a genuine smile before heading off to change.

The next few weeks bring more opportunities for you and Jake to work together, and each collaboration reveals another layer of his skill and personality. Despite his initial cockiness, Jake proves to be a dedicated and talented surgeon, and you begin to see him in a new light. The more time you spend together in the OR, the more you find yourself appreciating his expertise and even enjoying his company.

One evening, you find yourself finishing up some paperwork in the quiet cardiac unit. The day had been long, but fulfilling, with several successful surgeries under your belt. As you look up from your desk, you see Jake approaching, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "You still here?"

"Just wrapping up," you reply, setting aside your pen. "What about you?"

"Same," he says, stepping into your office. "I was going to head out, but I thought I'd check in on you first."

"Checking in on me, huh?" you say with a hint of amusement. "What for?"

"Well, I was thinking," he starts, a bit more serious than usual. "We've been working together a lot lately, and I wanted to say thank you. For trusting me in the OR and for being an amazing colleague."

You feel a warm glow at his words, appreciating the sincerity behind them. "Thank you, Jake. You've been a great partner in the OR. I couldn't have asked for a better neurosurgeon to collaborate with."

Jake smiles, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. "You know, I think we make a pretty good team."

"I think so too," you admit, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's been nice, working with you."

"Nice, huh?" he teases, his playful side emerging once more. "I'll take that as a high compliment coming from you."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Don't let it go to your head, Sim."

He chuckles, but his expression soon turns more contemplative. "You know, I've been thinking about what I said the other day. About balance and taking breaks. It's something I'm not great at either."

"a little hypocritical to be giving me advice then no?," you reply, your tone light but teasing. "It's hard to switch off when our work is so demanding."

"Exactly," he agrees. "But I've realized that maybe we could help each other with that. Maybe we could find a way to balance things out a bit more."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"How about we start with something simple?" he suggests. "Like taking a real break. Maybe grab a coffee together, no work talk allowed. Just two colleagues, taking a breather."

You consider his offer, the idea surprisingly appealing. "Alright, Dr. Sim. Coffee sounds good."

Jake's smile widens, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Great. Tomorrow morning, then? Before our rounds?"

"Tomorrow morning," you agree, feeling a flutter of anticipation.

The next morning, you find yourself at the hospital’s small café, waiting for Jake. The early hour means the space is quiet, with only a few other staff members milling about. When Jake arrives, he’s carrying two steaming cups of coffee, a smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he greets, handing you a cup. “Thought I’d get us a head start.”

“Thanks,” you say, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. “So, what’s on your mind, Dr. Sim?”

“Just enjoying the company,” he replies, sitting down across from you. “And maybe getting to know the person behind the scalpel a little better.”

You chuckle, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

“Let’s start simple,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “What do you do when you’re not saving lives?”

You think for a moment, realizing how rare it is for you to talk about anything other than work. “I like to read, mostly. And sometimes I go for a run. It helps clear my head.”

“Sounds nice,” he says, nodding. “I’m more of a swimmer myself. It’s the one thing that keeps me sane outside the OR.”

“Swimming, huh?” you ask, surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a swimmer.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Y/N,” he says, his tone teasing but with a hint of seriousness.

“Maybe,” you admit, feeling a strange curiosity about him. “But I’m starting to think I’d like to find out.”

The conversation flows easily, and you find yourself genuinely enjoying the time with Jake. As you talk, you see different sides of him—his passion for his work, his dedication to his patients, and even a vulnerable side that he rarely shows.

When it’s time to head back to your respective departments, you feel a sense of connection that wasn’t there before. Maybe Jake Sim is more than just a distraction. Maybe he’s someone worth getting to know.

As you part ways, he gives you a warm smile. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time,” you agree, already looking forward to it.

And so, a new routine begins. Coffee in the mornings, shared surgeries, and increasingly personal conversations. The barriers you once held up start to crumble, and you find yourself drawn to Jake in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Weeks pass, and the connection between you grows stronger. One evening, after another successful surgery, Jake catches up to you in the hallway.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” you reply, curious.

“I was thinking,” he starts, looking a bit nervous for the first time. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. I’d like to take you out for dinner. No work, just us.”

You feel a flutter of surprise and anticipation. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “What do you say?”

You consider for a moment, then nod. “Alright, Jake. Dinner sounds good.”

As he walks away, you can’t help but smile.

The evening of your date arrives, and you’re both excited and a bit nervous. You’ve chosen a smart but casual outfit, and after a final check in the mirror, you’re ready. Your heart flutters with anticipation as you hear the sound of a car pulling up outside your apartment.

When you open the door, Jake is standing there, looking effortlessly charming in a blazer and jeans. His eyes light up as he sees you, and he smiles warmly.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says with a grin. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sim,” you reply with a smile, feeling a bit flustered. “You look pretty sharp yourself.”

He gestures to the car parked behind him. “Shall we?”

You nod and follow him down to the car. As you slide into the passenger seat, Jake starts the engine and glances over with a playful smile.

“So, are you ready for an evening of fine dining and even finer conversation?” he asks, his tone light and teasing.

“I’m definitely looking forward to it,” you reply, settling into the seat and feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity.

As he drives, the conversation flows easily. Jake talks about his day and a recent surgery he performed, and you share some anecdotes from your own work. The drive is filled with laughter and engaging conversation, making you feel more at ease.

When you arrive at the restaurant, Jake parks and opens the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. The restaurant is a cozy bistro with warm lighting and a relaxed atmosphere. Jake leads you inside and to your reserved table, which is positioned by a window with a view of the city lights.

“This place looks lovely,” you say as you take your seat, admiring the ambiance.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jake replies, settling into his chair across from you. “I thought it would be a nice spot for our first dinner out.”

The evening progresses with delightful conversation and delicious food. Jake is attentive and charming, making sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself. As you both talk about various topics, you find yourself opening up more than you expected.

At one point, Jake asks, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

You think for a moment, considering the question. “I’ve always wanted to take a cooking class. I love to cook, but I think it would be fun to learn some new techniques and recipes.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Jake says, nodding. “Maybe we could take a class together sometime. I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook Italian cuisine.”

You smile at the thought. “That could be fun. I’d be up for that.”

As the evening progresses, the conversation turns more personal. Jake shares stories about his family and his upbringing in Australia. He talks about the challenges of being far from home and the sacrifices he’s made for his career.

“It’s not always easy being so far away from my family,” Jake admits. “I miss them a lot, especially during the holidays.”

“I can imagine,” you say sympathetically. “My family is close by, and we have our own share of drama, but I’m grateful for their support.”

Jake nods, appreciating your understanding. “Family can be complicated, but it’s important to have that support system.”

You both continue to share personal stories and insights, finding common ground in your experiences. By the end of the evening, you feel a genuine connection with Jake, one that goes beyond professional respect.

When the check arrives, Jake insists on paying. “It’s my treat tonight,” he says with a smile. “Consider it a small thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“Thank you, Jake,” you reply, feeling touched by his gesture. “I really appreciate it.”

. The night air is crisp and refreshing, and the drive home is filled with easy conversation. When you arrive at your apartment, Jake parks and turns to you with a hopeful expression.

“I had a great time tonight,” he says softly. “I hope you did too.”

“I did,” you reply with a smile. “Thank you for such a lovely evening.”

you hesitate for a moment, then look at jake with a warm smile. “Would you like to come up? Maybe just hang out and talk some more?”

he considers the offer, feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity. “That sounds nice. I’d love to.”

He smiles and follows you up to your apartment. As you enter, the space feels even more welcoming with the soft lighting and cozy atmosphere. You both get comfortable on the couch with drinks, and the conversation continues to flow effortlessly.

You find yourselves talking about everything from past relationships to future aspirations. As the conversation flows, Jake starts to open up about his past relationships. “You know, I’ve had my fair share of relationships that didn’t work out. One of the biggest challenges was balancing the demands of work and personal life. It’s not easy to find someone who understands the hours and the emotional toll.”

“I get that,” you say sympathetically. “It’s hard to maintain a relationship when your job takes up so much of your time and energy. My last relationship ended for similar reasons.”

Jake looks at you with genuine curiosity. “What happened?”

You take a deep breath, reflecting on your past. “We were together for a few years, and it started out great. But as time went on, he couldn’t handle the unpredictability of my schedule and the stress of my job. We drifted apart, and eventually, we just grew in different directions.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jake says softly. “It’s never easy to end a relationship, especially when it’s someone you care about.”

“Thanks,” you reply. “It’s part of life, I guess. We both moved on and found our own paths.”

Jake nods, taking a sip of his wine. The easy conversation slows, a new, more, intimate silence settling between the two of you.

Jake shifts slightly, closing the gap between you. his eyes locked on yours. you could feel the heat radiating off his body, and you suddenly felt very aware of your own. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

your heart raced as Jake leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. you responded eagerly, parting your lips to allow his tongue to explore your mouth. you could feel the heat building between you as you kissed, your bodies pressed together.

Jake's hands began to wander, tracing patterns on your back. you could feel his fingers brushing against the zipper of your dress, and you shivered with anticipation.

Jake pulled away from the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "May I?" he asked, his hand hovering over the zipper.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. Jake slowly unzipped the dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he did so. You felt a thrill run through your body as the dress fell to the floor, leaving her standing in just your matching black bra and panties.

Jake's eyes roamed over yourbody, taking in every inch of you. You could feel yourself growing wet as he looked at you, his desire obvious and reflecting your own.

Jake stepped closer to you, his hands reaching out to touch you. You could feel his fingers tracing the lace of your bra, you shivered with pleasure. He leaned in and began to kiss your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

a soft moan escapes as Jake's lips moved down your body, his hands following close behind. “you’re so fucking beautiful” He reached your breasts, his fingers tracing the outline of your nipples through the lace of your bra. You could feel yourself growing wetter with every touch, your body begging for more. “been thinking about this since the first day I saw you”

Jake reached behind You and unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. He cupped your tits in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your nipples. You moaned as he touched you, your body responding to his touch.

Jake's mouth moved lower, his lips brushing against your stomach. you could feel his breath against her skin, and she shivered with anticipation. “w-ant you” He reached for your panties, “relax baby I got you”, his fingers tracing the outline of your pussy through the fabric.

you gasp as Jake's fingers slip beneath your panties, his fingers exploring your folds. you could feel yourself growing wetter with every touch, your body begging for more.

Jake pulled your panties down, his eyes locked on your pussy, “shit baby, you’re so wet f’me, such a pretty pussy” He leaned in and began to kiss your inner thighs, his lips igniting the heat pooling in your lower belly.

Jakes mouth moved lower, his lips brushing against your pussy. a loud moan leaves your lips as he began to lick at your entrance, your hand instinctively going between your legs to run your fingers through his black locks. “fuck, jake feels so fucking good don’t stop” he hums in response, the vibration going straight to your core.

he’s practically making out with your cunt licking and sucking, his saliva and your juices combined, making a mess on your couch, but that was the last thing on your mind right now. “fuck i’m c-cuming” your orgasm rapidly approaching. “yeah baby cum on my tongue, fuck can’t get enough of you, you taste so sweet”. at his words, your orgasm hits you like a wave, your body shaking with pleasure.

Jake stood up, his eyes locked on yours. you could see the desire in his eyes, and you knew what he wanted. you reached out and unbuttoned his pants, fingers brushing against his hard cock.

Jake stepped out of his pants, his hard cock springing free. while he wasn’t remarkably long, he definitely made up for it in girth. You reached out and wrapped your hand around it, stroking it gently. “ah shit baby” you could feel him growing harder in your hand, your excitement noticable.

he pushed you down onto the couch, climbing on top of you. “condom?” he asked, stopping in his tracks before he gets too ahead of himself. “it’s fine, just put it in” you reach down between you two, taking hold of his length as you begin to guide his cock into your dripping heat. his cock twitches at the thought of feeling you with nothing in between, “fuck, are you sure?”, “yeah, m’on the pill, just fuck me already please” your walls clench around nothing, needing to feel him inside you more than anything.

without another word he slides in. the stinging sensation quickly turning into one of pleasure. your pussy gripping him tightly as he sets a pace that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “so fucking tight, pretty, you’re squeezing me so good. pussy was made for my cock mhm?” you can’t even find the words to reply, the pleasure all too much to even think straight.

“feels so good jake” your words encourage him, his thrusts growing more quick, chasing his release as well as your own. the room is filled moans and the sloppy, wet sounds of his cock pounding into your hole. “s-so close, faster baby, want your cum inside me” you don’t have to tell him twice, his hips snapping into a pace that has you seeing stars.

“cum for me baby, cum on my cock” his hand reaches between you to rub your clit in quick circles, sending you over the edge “fuck! i’m cumming!” your release consumes you, his following not too long after.

he collapses next to you on the tiny couch, the both of you panting and out of breath as you come down from your high. “that was amazing” you turn your head to look at him, his eyes closed from pure euphoria he just experienced. “amazing is an understatement. it was fan fucking tastic” you let out a laugh at his pure honesty, a comfortable silence settling in the room.

he pulls you in by your waist, positioning you so your back is against his chest, a more comfortable position since your couch is definitely not meant for this. “i had a good time tonight” you can’t help the smile that grows on your face “me too”

as if the universe was against you, a beeping noise cuts through the silence, ending your moment. his pager was going off, they probably needed him back at the hospital, the realization of your jobs hitting you like a truck. “way to ruin the moment” he says getting up to check the pager “I gotta go, i’ll see you at work?” you smile at him nodding. he quickly gets dressed and presses a quick peck to your lips “get some rest” he tells you before rushing out the door to make his way to the hospital.

you can’t help but be a little disappointed. The obligation of your job was one of the many reasons you didn’t date, simply because it didn’t work. why did you expect this to be any different?

you drift off into a slumber, too tired to let your thoughts cloud your mind.

The next morning, the hospital is bustling with the usual chaos as you walk through the corridors towards your office. Despite the busy environment, your mind keeps drifting back to the night before with Jake. The memory of his touch, his kisses, and the intimate conversations you shared fills you with a warm, lingering sense of connection.

As you turn the corner, you see Jake standing near the nurses’ station, discussing a case with a colleague. He looks up and catches your eye, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. There’s a new glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a mixture of warmth and mischief.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/L/N,” Jake calls out, his tone playful and a bit louder than necessary, drawing the attention of nearby staff. “Did you sleep well?”

You feel a blush rising but manage to keep your composure. “Good morning, Dr. Sim. I did, thank you. And you?”

“didn’t sleep much, had a lot on my mind,” he replies, his grin widening as he walks over to you. “Must be the excellent company I had last night.”

Several nurses and doctors nearby glance over with curious expressions, but Jake seems unfazed. He stops just a bit too close, his presence commanding your attention. “I was hoping we might catch up over lunch. I’ve been craving some more of those conversations we had.”

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the smile that’s threatening to break through. “Is that so? Well, I’ll have to check my schedule.”

Jake chuckles, leaning in slightly. “You do that. In the meantime, if you need anything at all, you know where to find me.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “Or maybe I should say, you know where to call me.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at his audacity. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Sim.”

He winks at you before stepping back, returning to his conversation with the colleague but not without a lingering glance over his shoulder.

Throughout the morning, you find yourself running into Jake more often than usual. Each time, he manages to throw in a playful comment or a flirty remark, making it clear that last night’s intimacy has only fueled his interest.

In the break room, you’re pouring a cup of coffee when Jake slips in beside you. “we meet again,” he says, his tone light. “I was just thinking about how good you look in scrubs.”

You roll your eyes but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Really? I’m sure you say that to all the doctors.”

“Only the ones who make a lasting impression,” he replies smoothly, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

Later, while reviewing patient charts at your desk, you receive a text from Jake. It’s a picture of a heart drawn on a napkin, with a message: “Couldn’t help but think of you during rounds.”

You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. It’s clear that Jake’s flirting isn’t just a passing fancy; there’s a genuine interest and warmth behind his actions that makes your heart skip a beat.

Weeks turn into months, and your relationship with Jake settles into a comfortable, intimate rhythm. Without any formal labels, your connection grows deeper, rooted in shared moments and unspoken understandings. Lunches in the cafeteria become a regular occurrence, interspersed with stolen glances across the OR and late-night encounters that leave you breathless and wanting more.

You find yourself looking forward to these moments, the thrill of sneaking around adding a layer of excitement. During shifts, Jake’s flirtatious comments become a highlight of your day.

One afternoon, you’re in the break room, reviewing patient charts when Jake walks in, his usual confident stride and easy smile making your heart skip a beat. He leans against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Hey, beautiful. Busy?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Always,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the turmoil in your chest.

Jake walks over, his presence commanding your attention. “You look like you could use a break. How about a coffee?”

You glance at the clock, knowing you have a few minutes to spare. “Sure, why not?”

As you walk to the “coffee shop” side by side, jake quickly takes a glance around to make sure no one is watching and pulls you into the on-call room, the tension between you palpable, you can’t help but feel the thrill of anticipation. The moment the door closes behind you, Jake’s hands are on your waist, pulling you close. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s both urgent and tender, a mix of passion and familiarity that leaves you breathless.

“You’ve been on my mind all day,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming over your back.

“you pulled me away for this?” you let out a slight chuckle. “mhm want you so bad” his lips move down to your neck “jake we’re at work.”

your eyes shut closed, enjoying the feeling of his soft, plump lips on that sweet spot behind you ear that he always found instantly. “doors locked, no one’s coming in here” he mutters out.

you give in, your hands immediately going to his pants and undoing the tie on his scrub bottoms. “well in that case, I wanna suck your cock” you whispered, lowering down into your knees in front of him. Jake's eyes widened in surprise, but then he grinned.

"Fuck, yeah," he said, dropping his pants and boxers. His cock was hard and thick, the tip already glistening with precum, your heart pounding with excitement.

you reached out and wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking it gently. Jake groaned and closed his eyes, his head thrown back. you leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock, tasting the salty precum. Jake's groan grew louder as you opened your mouth and took him in, lips sliding down his veiny shaft.

you started to suck, head bobbing up and down as youworked his cock. Jake's hands were in yoir hair, guiding you as you sucked him off. you could feel his cock throbbing in your mouth, his balls tightening as he got closer to cumming.

"yeah, baby," Jake groaned, his hips thrusting forward as he fucked your mouth. "You're gonna make me cum so hard."

You moan around his cock, the sound vibrating through his shaft. You could feel his cock twitching in yourmouth, his balls tightening even more. you continued faster, fingers digging into his thighs as you worked him.

Jake's groans grew louder, his thrusts more urgent. you could feel his cock swelling, his precum flowing freely. you sucked harder, cheeks hollowing as your mouth got him to his release.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Jake groaned, his hips bucking as he came hard in your mouth. You swallowed, throat working as you took every drop of his cum. Jake's hands were in you hair, holding your head as he came, his hips still thrusting as he emptied himself into your mouth.

When he was done, you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jake's cock was still hard, but it was starting to soften. You stood up, smiling at him.

"Did you like that?" you asked, voice soft and seductive. Jake grinned, his eyes still glazed with pleasure.

"I loved it," he said, pulling you into a kiss. "That was amazing."

As the weeks went on, you and Jake continued the little rhythm you had set in place. He flirted with you every chance he got. The both of you ending up in each others beds more often than not.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, you’re sitting in your apartment, staring blankly at the schedule in front of you. Your mind keeps drifting back to Jake—the way he looked at you during lunch, the warmth of his hand on your back as he guided you through the crowded cafeteria. The realization hits you like a tidal wave: you’re falling for him. Hard.

It terrifies you.

You’ve always prided yourself on being focused, dedicated, and in control of your emotions. But with Jake, everything feels different. The boundaries you set for yourself are blurring, and you’re not sure if you can handle the implications.

The demands of your job loom heavily over you. The long hours, the constant pressure, and the emotional toll of the medical field leave little room for anything else. As you stare at the schedule for the coming weeks, packed with surgeries and patient consultations, the reality sinks in: maintaining a relationship would be nearly impossible. The thought of trying to juggle your career and a growing emotional commitment to Jake feels overwhelming. After much soul-searching, you come to a difficult conclusion. It’s not fair to him or to yourself to continue something you can’t fully sustain. With a heavy heart, you decide it’s best to end things, believing that stepping back is the only way to preserve the little balance in your life.

The next day, you’re in the break room, trying to focus on patient charts when Jake walks in. He greets you with his usual easy smile, his eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Hey, what are you up to?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

“just charting, the usual,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the turmoil in your chest.

Jake walks over, his presence commanding your attention. “You wanna step away for a bit and grab lunch with me?”

You hesitate, the words on the tip of your tongue. You want to say yes, but the fear of what it might mean if you keep going down this path holds you back. “Actually, I have a lot to catch up on. Maybe another time.”

Jake’s brow furrows, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Everything okay?”

You force a smile, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed with work.”

He doesn’t push, but you can see the worry in his eyes as he nods and leaves you to your charts.

Over the next few days, you start to pull back, keeping your interactions with Jake strictly professional. You avoid the on-call room, decline his offers for lunch, and keep your conversations short and to the point. It’s not easy, and you can see the confusion and hurt in his eyes every time you brush him off.

One evening, you’re leaving the hospital when you run into Jake in the parking lot. He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, his expression serious.

“Y/N, can we talk?” he asks, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.

You nod, knowing you can’t avoid this conversation forever. “Sure.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and I don’t understand why. Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. “No, Jake, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About what we’re doing.”

Jake’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the weight of your decision pressing down on you. “I’ve realized that I can’t keep up with a relationship right now. Our jobs are so demanding, and I’m constantly running on empty. I don’t think I can give you the attention and commitment you deserve.”

Jake’s expression shifts from confusion to hurt. “Y/N, I thought we were making this work. Why now? What changed?”

You struggle to keep your voice steady, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “It’s not about you. It’s about me and my inability to balance everything. I’ve been trying to make it work, but I can’t keep up with both my job and a relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Jake’s eyes drop to the floor, and he takes a deep breath, trying to process what you’ve said. “So, this is it? You’re just… ending things? before they even started?”

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “I think it’s best. I care about you a lot, but right now, I can’t handle more than what I’ve got.”

Jake remains silent for a moment, then looks back at you with a pained expression. “I get it, Y/N. If this is what you need, then I respect your decision. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I’m so sorry, Jake. This isn’t what I wanted, but I need to focus on my career right now. I hope you understand.”

He nods, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and acceptance. “Yeah, I understand. It doesn’t make it any less painful, but I get it.”

As you turn to leave, you feel a deep ache in your chest, knowing that you’ve made the right decision for yourself, but also feeling the weight of the loss. The break room seems colder now, and the empty space where Jake used to stand feels like a gaping hole in your heart.

Adjusting to life without Jake is more challenging than you anticipated. The hospital, once a place of shared glances and flirtatious banter, now feels strangely empty. The absence of his smile, his reassuring presence, and the warmth of his touch leaves a void that’s hard to ignore.

At work, you focus intently on your patients and your responsibilities, but the familiar routine feels different. The small moments that once brought you joy—a playful comment during a surgery, a quick coffee break together—are now replaced with an uncomfortable silence. Conversations with Jake are limited to work-related topics, and every interaction is laced with a professional distance that feels foreign and awkward.

In the OR, you work side by side, your focus on the patient and the procedure. Jake’s skill and calm demeanor are still impressive, and you find yourself appreciating his expertise even more now. But the casual camaraderie you once enjoyed is gone, replaced by a formality that feels both stifling and isolating.

During breaks, you find yourself missing the easy conversations you used to have with him. You used to share small victories and frustrations, but now those moments are spent in solitude or with other colleagues who don’t quite fill the gap Jake left behind.

Despite your best efforts to maintain your composure, you can’t help but feel the pangs of loneliness. Your personal life remains focused solely on work, and the connection you once had with Jake seems like a distant memory. You remind yourself why you made the decision, focusing on the demanding nature of your job and the need for balance.

Gradually, you begin to adjust, finding solace in the routine of your work and the support of your colleagues. The initial pain of Jake’s absence dulls over time, replaced by a newfound focus on your career and a deeper understanding of your own needs. Though the void remains, you learn to navigate your days with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication.

You’re passing through the hospital lobby, your mind preoccupied with patient charts, when you spot Jake standing near the information desk. He’s engaged in a conversation with Dr. Choi Miyeon, the oncology attending. Your steps slow involuntarily as you notice the easy laughter between them.

Jake’s smile is wide and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that once made your heart flutter. But today, the sight of that smile, directed at someone else, sends a pang of jealousy through you. Dr. Choi, with her poised demeanor and confident air, seems to be enjoying his attention, and the familiarity between them feels almost too intimate.

You try to focus on your task, but your gaze keeps drifting back to the two of them. Jake’s hand gestures animatedly as he talks, his face lighting up in a way that you haven’t seen directed at you in weeks. Dr. Choi’s laughter is soft and melodic, and she tilts her head slightly, clearly engaged in the conversation.

The sight of Jake looking so at ease with someone else brings an unexpected rush of emotion. You find yourself clenching your jaw, trying to ignore the gnawing sense of loss that accompanies the jealousy. It’s a reminder of the connection you once shared and the void left behind by your decision.

You force yourself to look away, turning back to your work with a renewed determination to focus on your patients. But the image of Jake’s smile and the easy rapport he shares with Dr. Choi lingers in your mind, leaving you with a mixture of regret and longing that’s hard to shake.

As you continue with your tasks, the memory of Jake’s interaction with Dr. Choi lingers, clouding your focus. Every time you glance up from your charts or interact with colleagues, your thoughts drift back to that moment in the lobby.

In the break room later that day, you catch sight of Jake entering, still visibly animated from his conversation with Dr. Choi. He looks up and sees you, his face lighting up with that same welcoming smile that used to be exclusively for you. The sight of it only intensifies the pang of jealousy you felt earlier.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jake says, approaching you with his usual warmth.

“Hi, Jake,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. You make a deliberate effort to maintain your professional composure, avoiding any mention of the earlier encounter.

Jake seems to sense a change in your demeanor but doesn’t press. Instead, he casually starts discussing the upcoming surgery, his tone light and engaging. You nod along, responding with the necessary professionalism, but your mind is elsewhere. You keep picturing him with Dr. Choi, the way they interacted so naturally, and it’s hard to ignore the twinge of regret.

As you wrap up the conversation and head to your next task, you can’t help but feel a deepening sense of frustration. The realization that you still care about Jake more than you initially admitted weighs heavily on you. The professional distance you’ve maintained seems more like a barrier than a solution, and the void he left behind is harder to ignore than you thought.

Later that evening, as you drive home, you replay the scene in your mind, questioning your decision. You wonder if stepping back from Jake was truly the right choice, or if you were merely trying to shield yourself from the possibility of a meaningful connection. The jealousy you felt is a clear sign of unresolved feelings, and it becomes evident that the emotional aftermath of ending things is more complex than you anticipated.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re left grappling with the realization that you might have made a mistake. The lingering image of Jake’s smile, coupled with the undeniable ache in your chest, leaves you pondering whether there’s a way to reconcile your fears with the genuine affection you still feel for him.

But it would be utterly selfish of you to go running back to him when he’s seemingly started to move on. This was all your doing after all. He had every right to find what you couldn’t give him in someone else.

The ache in your chest refuses to fade. The image of Jake smiling at Dr. Choi replays in your mind like a loop, and the jealousy you felt transforms into a deeper, more introspective turmoil. You sit in your apartment, the stillness of the room amplifying the thoughts racing through your head.

You replay the conversations and moments you shared with Jake, recalling the comfort and joy he brought into your life. The connection you had felt real and profound, and now that it’s gone, the void seems more pronounced than you expected. The professional distance you’ve maintained does little to mitigate the lingering emotional impact, and the space between you feels even more significant.

The next day, you find yourself in the hospital, struggling to maintain the professional facade you’ve carefully constructed. Every interaction with Jake, though polite and necessary, feels strained and awkward. You avoid his gaze when you can, focusing solely on your patients and tasks, but the undercurrent of unresolved feelings remains.

During a particularly intense surgery, Jake is once again by your side, and the familiarity of working with him brings back a rush of memories. His presence, though professional, is comforting, and you find yourself drawn to him despite your earlier resolve. As you work together seamlessly, the shared glances and brief touches become almost impossible to ignore, reigniting a flicker of the intimacy you once had.

After the surgery, you’re in the on-call room, trying to catch your breath and clear your mind. Jake enters, a small smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, the professional barrier you’ve erected feels flimsy. He approaches you, his tone soft but playful.

“Everything okay, Y/N? You seem a bit distracted today.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. His concern and warmth are genuine, and it only adds to the confusion you’re feeling. “Just a lot on my mind,” you admit, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Jake’s eyes linger on you, a hint of frustration and worry evident. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

His words cut through the walls you’ve built, and for a moment, you allow yourself to consider what you’ve been missing. The idea of opening up to Jake, of sharing your fears and feelings, feels both daunting and inviting.

As the day goes on, you grapple with the decision to reach out to him. The barriers you’ve erected are crumbling, and you realize that avoiding Jake might not be the solution you hoped for. Instead, you begin to consider whether there’s a way to address your fears and find a balance between your demanding career and a meaningful relationship.

The thought of reaching out to Jake, of possibly reconciling your emotions with the connection you still feel, starts to take shape. It’s a daunting step, but one that feels increasingly necessary as you navigate the complexities of your feelings and the emptiness left by his absence.

The days following your realization feel like a mix of regret and self-reproach. You can’t ignore the growing sense of remorse over ending things with Jake. The emptiness left by his absence is more acute than you anticipated, and the thought of missing out on something meaningful drives you to act.

One evening, determined to make things right, you head to Jake’s apartment, hoping to talk things through. Your heart races as you reach his door, and you take a deep breath before knocking.

After a moment, the door opens, and your heart sinks when you see Dr. Choi Miyeon standing there. Her presence immediately sends a wave of jealousy and discomfort through you.

“Doctor Y/L/N?” Miyeon says, her tone a mix of surprise and curiosity.

You stand frozen for a moment, the sight of her at Jake’s door intensifying your doubts. “Doctor Choi,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady.

Miyeon’s expression shifts to one of mild confusion. “Did you need something?”

The thought of Jake being with Miyeon, combined with the realization that you’re intruding on what feels like an intimate moment, makes your decision for you. The hurt and uncertainty you’ve been feeling come to a head, and you realize you’re not ready to face him under these circumstances.

“I uh actually I’ll come at a better time”. Without another word, you turn and walk away from the door, your heart heavy with a mix of regret and frustration. You can hear Miyeon’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop. The realization that you’ve arrived at the wrong moment only deepens the sense of regret.

As you leave the building, the cool night air hits your face, offering a brief respite from the emotional storm you’re navigating. You’re left grappling with the decision to return, to try again, or to accept the possibility that you might have missed your chance. The weight of the encounter with Miyeon only adds to the complexity of your feelings, leaving you to ponder your next steps in the solitude of the evening.

The following days are a haze of frustration and introspection. Seeing Miyeon at Jake's apartment made you feel even more disconnected from him. At work, maintaining your professional facade becomes more difficult as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you.

One morning, you’re at your locker, preparing for your shift, when Olivia walks in, her usual cheerful demeanor tempered by concern. “Hey, Y/N, you okay? You seem a bit off lately.”

You force a smile, trying to mask your turmoil. “Just a lot on my mind, Olivia. Thanks for asking.”

She nods sympathetically. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here. We all have rough patches.”

You thank her and head to the OR, trying to push your thoughts aside. But every encounter with Jake is a reminder of what you’ve lost. You see him in the corridors, in meetings, and every interaction is laced with a painful awareness of the distance between you.

One afternoon, you’re in the middle of reviewing patient files when Jake approaches you. His expression is neutral, but there’s an underlying tension in his eyes. “Y/N, can we talk?”

You nod, setting your files aside. “Sure, what’s up?”

He leads you to a quieter corner of the hospital. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the other night. I saw you at my apartment, and then you just… left. What happened?”

You take a deep breath, the memory of that evening still fresh and painful. “I came to talk to you, to explain that I made a mistake in ending things. But when I saw Miyeon, I realized I couldn’t do it.”

Jake’s expression softens, a mix of understanding and frustration in his eyes. “Miyeon and I were just going over some research. There’s nothing between us, Y/N. But I get why you’d feel that way.”

The weight of your regret feels heavier now, knowing you misinterpreted the situation. “I’m sorry, Jake. I’ve been struggling with everything, and seeing you with her just… hurt. I felt like I’d already lost you.”

He steps closer, his voice gentle but firm. “You haven’t lost me, Y/N. I care about you. But we need to figure out what we’re doing here. This back and forth isn’t good for either of us.”

You nod, feeling the weight of your emotions. “I know. I’ve been scared, Jake. Scared that our jobs would make it impossible to have a real relationship. But I realize now that pushing you away was a mistake.”

Jake’s gaze softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand. “We can make this work if we both want it, Y/N. But we have to be honest with each other, and we have to be willing to try.”

You squeeze his hand, a sense of relief washing over you. “I do want to try, Jake. I want us to work.”

He smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Then let’s take it one step at a time. We’ll figure this out together.”

As you stand there, hand in hand, you feel a renewed sense of hope. The road ahead won’t be easy, but the thought of facing it with Jake by your side makes it seem possible. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re on the right path, ready to face whatever challenges come your way.

The days following your night with Jake are a blend of professional decorum and personal confusion. You both agreed to take things one step at a time, but it's hard to ignore the magnetic pull between you. At work, Jake is as focused and brilliant as ever, but there’s an added layer of warmth in his interactions with you, a silent acknowledgment of what you share.

One afternoon, you find yourself in the break room, sipping coffee and going over department paperwork . Jake walks in, his eyes lighting up when he sees you.

"Hey, Y/N," he says, his tone casual but with an underlying hint of playfulness. "How’s your day going?"

You look up, trying to suppress a smile. "Busy as usual. Just finished a tricky valve replacement."

Jake nods, moving closer. "I heard. You did a great job."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his praise. "Thanks, Jake. How about you? Any groundbreaking surgeries today?"

He chuckles, leaning against the counter. "Just the usual brain stuff. Nothing too exciting." He pauses, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, dinner tonight? My place?"

You glance around to make sure no one is within earshot. "Are you asking me out, Dr. Sim?"

Jake’s grin widens. "Maybe I am, Dr. Y/L/N. What do you say?"

You pretend to ponder, then nod. "Alright. Dinner sounds good."

The evening arrives, and Jake picks you up from your house. He’s dressed casually but still looks incredibly handsome. The drive to his place is filled with light conversation and laughter, easing any lingering tension.

Once inside his apartment, you feel a sense of familiarity and comfort. Jake leads you to the living room, where he’s set up a cozy dinner with candles and soft music playing in the background.

"This looks amazing," you say, genuinely touched by the effort he’s put in.

Jake shrugs modestly. "I wanted to do something special."

The dinner is delicious, and the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about your families, past relationships, and the challenges of balancing demanding careers with personal lives. As the night progresses, you feel the barriers between you dissolving.

After dinner, you move to the couch, a glass of wine in hand. The atmosphere is relaxed, and there’s a growing sense of intimacy.

"Tell me more about your family," Jake says, his voice soft and curious.

You take a sip of wine, thinking about your parents and your brother. "Well, my parents are both retired now. My mom was a nurse, and my dad was a teacher. My older brother is a lawyer. We’re close, even if we don’t see each other often."

Jake listens intently, nodding. "Sounds like a solid family. Mine’s a bit scattered. Parents divorced when I was young, so I spent a lot of time between Australia and the States. I have a younger sister who’s an artist. She’s currently exploring Europe."

The conversation continues, each revelation bringing you closer. You talk about your past relationships, the heartbreaks and lessons learned. There’s a vulnerability in the exchange, a mutual understanding of the complexities of your lives.

As the night deepens, you find yourself leaning closer to Jake, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Y/N," he says softly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I really care about you. I want this to work, despite the challenges."

You feel a rush of emotions, the sincerity in his words touching you deeply. "I care about you too, Jake. I want us to work."

He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. The kiss deepens, your bodies pressing closer together. The desire that has been simmering between you ignites, and you find yourself losing track of time as you explore the depths of your connection.

You found yourself crossing the room to stand in front of him, heart pounding in your chest. You'd reached out, hesitantly, and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. And when he'd looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, you knew that you couldn't resist any longer.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was both gentle and passionate. He'd responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And as you kissed, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins.

You pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes. "Jake," you whispered, voice husky with longing.

"Yeah, baby?" he'd replied, his voice low and rough.

And then you stripped, slowly and deliberately, letting him watch as you revealed her body to him. You’d seen the heat in his eyes as he'd taken in the sight of you, and you knew that you had him.

You moved closer, pressing your naked body against his clothed one. You reached down, unbuttoning his pants and freeing his hard cock, dropping to your knees, taking him into your mouth and sucking him deep.

He'd groaned, his hands tangling into your hair as you worked magic on him. “s-shit baby, taking me so good, that’s it” you sucked and licked and teased, driving him wild with pleasure. when you felt him on the brink, you pulled back, smiling up at him.

"Fuck me, Jake," you commanded, voice husky with desire.

He'd obeyed, lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, spreading your legs wide and burying his face between them. You cried out as he licked and sucked your clit, bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

And then he entered you, driving deep and hard. Your wrapped her legs around him, meeting him thrust for thrust as you made love. It had been passionate and intense, a connection that went beyond the physical and was different from the previous times you had indulged in each other’s bodies.

when you finally reached your peak, collapsing in a tangle of limbs, you knew that you made the right decision. You finally acted on your attraction, and in doing so, you found a deeper connection with Jake.

You both lie there, still engulfed in the bliss of this newfound feeling between the two of you. He can’t help what he says next, feeling as if keeping it in was impossible. “i love you Y/N”.

you snap your neck in his direction, maybe it’s the post orgasm haze but you search for reassurance anyways.

His big brown eyes confirming his words. “I love you too jake”.

The next morning, you wake up in Jake’s arms, the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He stirs beside you, his sleepy smile a welcome sight.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.

As you lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. In this moment, you feel a sense of peace and certainty. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know you can face them together.

At the hospital, the dynamic between you and Jake shifts subtly but unmistakably. The stolen glances, the brief touches, the shared smiles—all are infused with a new depth of intimacy. Your colleagues notice, but no one comments, respecting the unspoken bond you share.

In the weeks that follow, the relationship deepens. You navigate the challenges of your demanding careers, finding solace and strength in each other. The on-call rooms become your private sanctuaries, the moments of stolen kisses and whispered confessions a lifeline in the chaos of the hospital.

One evening, after a particularly grueling shift, you find Jake waiting for you in the parking lot. His presence, as always, is a balm to your weary soul.

"Hey, pretty" he says, pulling you into a hug. "How was your day?"

"Tough," you admit, resting your head against his chest. "But it's better now."

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Come on, let's go home."

As you drive back to his place, the city lights blurring into a comforting glow, you realize just how much Jake has come to mean to you. The fears and doubts that once plagued you have faded, replaced by a certainty that you can face anything as long as you're together.

Back at his apartment, you settle into a comfortable routine, cooking dinner together and sharing stories about your day. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and affectionate touches.

After dinner, you move to the couch, your bodies naturally gravitating towards each other. Jake pulls you into his lap, his hands resting on your hips as he looks into your eyes.

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I know we've had our challenges, but I want you to know that I'm all in. I want to be with you, no matter what."

Your heart swells with love and gratitude. "I feel the same way, Jake. I want us to be together, through everything."

He smiles, his eyes shining with affection. "Good. Because I can't imagine my life without you."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, tender kiss. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms.

As the night wears on, you find yourself reflecting on the journey you've been on together. From the initial tension and uncertainty to the deep, abiding love you now share, it's been a rollercoaster of emotions. But through it all, you've found something rare and precious: a connection that transcends the challenges of your demanding careers, a love that grows stronger with each passing day.

and as you fall asleep in Jake's arms, you know that whatever the future holds, you'll face it together, hand in hand.

taglist: @hyunjinheartbreakprince @jaehoonii @enhaslxt @sumzysworld @justalittle-hee @seunghancore @curiousgworge @blockbusterhee @ribbioniki @chocolate-scoups @ineedsomezzz @theonewithouttheuwus @rairaiblog @chansloverr @armycarat2612 @slutforjaeyun @lovingvoidgoatee @jjklvr9 @fertilizedtoesw @ikeuverse @yohanseyebrowmole @mysticalenchantress @hchoes @en-gine @jakesbbygirl @miszes @simpjay @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @vveebee

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tsukisrants · 2 years ago

Text

First Prize - Jeon Jungkook

pairing: jeon jungkook x afab! reader

genre: smut

word count: 3k

warnings: boxer!jungkook, possessive behavior, violence, spankings, manhandling, dom/sub undertones, name-calling, hair-pulling, fingering, rough sex, spit, creampie.

snippet: “I need these eyes, little one. I need my number one fan, huh? Or I'll lose my mind, and we don't want that, do we?”

A blow.

Another one. The pungent smell of blood intoxicates him.

His, mixed with that of his opponent. Anger rises in his chest, overwhelming and distorting him. Clouding his senses. The gaze of the audience turned towards him. People look at him and devour him with their eyes.

Among them, yours. You, who look at him with your childish eyes. With that curiosity and desire.

Your eyes, his fuel.

Everything around him catches fire. The flames blaze uncontrollably and his body is moved by an intoxicating adrenaline that creates addiction. Despite the pain, the fatigue.

He wins. The opponent falls to the ground. He, on the other hand, stands triumphantly. The shouts rise, the screams caress his ears, and he revels in every moment of glory. He was born for this.

You, on the other hand, tremble. You look at him with dreamy eyes, as you have been doing for a long time now. Since you were dragged, against your will, to one of these fights. You didn't want to come at all, but in the end, you gave in, and thank heaven every day that you did. You saw him, and since then you have done nothing but come back.

Come back to him, for him. Enchanted, bewitched.

At every encounter, you stand in the front row. At every encounter, you have eyes only for him. You scream his name, you smile. You smile and everyone's eyes are on you.

But yours? Yours are only on him. Your gaze belongs to him completely, like every single part of you. And fuck, he likes it. Jungkook lives for the desire he has for you and for the desire you have for him.

At every encounter, he checks if you’re there.

But as always, he does nothing. He looks at you. He observes you, and burns your skin with those dark pits.

Jungkook keeps playing this little game with you for a while.

Then, one evening, you don't show up. You miss a fight. You didn't want to, but exhaustion didn't allow you to move. Too tired from work, you skipped a fight. That night, they had to urgently take Jungkook's challenger to the hospital. Furious, he ended the evening by downing a bottle of vodka, and then picking a fight with a group of idiots, emerging victorious.

Jungkook never loses.

Att the next fight, you are there. You are there, you have returned, and when you look at him, your curiosity turns into confusion, then fear.

In his eyes, the deepest darkness. Jaw clenched, he delivers precise and devastating blows.

He wins, because he can't do otherwise. He wins, and you timidly exult.

He steps down from the ring, chugs down a drink.

He downs it in one gulp, and you remain enchanted watching his neck shine under the dim light of the gym, his Adam's apple moving up and down.

He redeems the winnings, and leans against the wall. His friends congratulate him, now accustomed to his successes.

He crosses his arms, and then you notice.

Jungkook is looking at you.

Your hands tremble, and you look around, as if to make sure that he is really looking at you. You want to run, to escape from him. But your body seems unresponsive. It is no longer yours, but his. Dominated by his eyes.

With a nod of his head, he gestures for you to follow him. Before you can realize it, you are following him. A dark corner, and a hand that grabs you. He pulls you in.

You are in a room you have never seen before, you realize it is the room where he prepares before the fights, before dominating the whole world with the strength of his fists, of his body. "You weren't there last friday," he says.

You gasp, trying to find the words to answer him, completely caught off guard.

"I-I... no, I wasn't there," you reply.

He approaches you, making you step back. Your body collides with the wall, and he towers over you. One of his hands next to your face, and you feel your breath catch. With the other, he grabs your chin.

He forces you to look at him. You part your lips, and you have to forcefully suppress the moan of astonishment that tries to escape from your throat.

"Don't do it again. Don't miss again, I need you there."

His confession leaves you stunned. Your confusion clear and evident on your face.

"I need these eyes, little one. I need my number one fan, huh? Or I'll lose my mind, and we don't want that, do we?"

You shake your head. No, you don't want that. God. He needs you. He just said it, and he did it with his eyes locked into yours. He meant it. He means it.

"I will never miss a fight again, never," you promise him.

As you say it, you truly believe it. You would be ready to do anything for him, and it doesn't matter if you don't really know each other: you belong to him.

He smiles, and Jungkook's smile scares you. It excites you. It makes your panties fucking wet. You feel warmth spreading through your body, your skin filled with uncontrollable shivers.

"Good girl," he says.

His words burn: they set your mind to flames. There’s nothing in the world you want more than to hear those two little words over and over again. As he speaks, the hand that was holding your chin moves. Jungkook rubs his thumb against your lips, his tattoos marked with scratches and splatters of blood make the image even more exciting than it already is.

Jungkook pushes his finger into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue. The taste of his salty skin is enough to elicit a faint moan from you.

"These eyes, little one. They make me want to hurt you, do you understand? I want to destroy you," he growls, hungry.

He pushes his finger even deeper into your mouth, making you gag. Jungkook fucks your mouth with his thumb, and you take everything he gives you.

You cough. He moans at the sight, releasing your mouth.

A trail of saliva connects his thumb to your parted lips, and Jungkook's breath becomes more labored. Heavier.

"Do it. Hurt me. Do whatever you want to me," you beg him.

In an instant, he grabs you by the hair. His hand tightens with force at the base of your neck. The strength with which he pulls you excites you: you love the idea that he can do whatever he wants with you, that Jungkook is so much stronger than you that he can bend you and fuck you whenever and wherever he wants.

A cry of pain escapes you, and he laughs. Jungkook laughs as he drags you by the hair across the room, until he positions you in front of a table.

Once there, he forces you to move as he pleases, shoving you around like a rag doll. He pushes you down, bending you over the table.

You flinch, tears of pain streaming down your cheeks, meeting your lips, still wet with your saliva. You feel the taste of your own tears, let it intoxicate you.

The cold surface of the table against your cheek keeps you anchored to reality, and when Jungkook pushes your face forcefully against it, you find yourself squeezing your thighs together.

You love to suffer for him. You've dreamt of him at every encounter, and finally it's reality. He’s finally giving you the pain that you craved for so long. Too long.

"From now on, you're mine. Say it."

You answer immediately, "I'm yours,” you say.

Then, he spanks you. Hard.

Jungkook's hand collides with your ass, again and again.

Over the skirt you're wearing. The black one, the one you know is a provocation made for him. Designed for him.

The one that hugs your body, short in just the right places.

Then, he pulls it up, making it tangle around your waist.

He grabs your panties, and then Jungkook tears them. They're the pink ones, with the sweet pattern you love.

He loves them even more. Jungkook gets off to the thought of corrupting you, ruining you for anyone else. Scraps of fabric from your ripped panties fall to the ground, forgotten.

"If I see wearing a skirt like this again I’ll make sure you regret it, you hear me? You don’t wear shit like this, not without me, do you understand?", he asks.

In another circumstance, you would have probably screamed and resisted. But now, for him, you would do anything. Everything is so wrong that it feels so fucking right to you.

When you don't respond, he spanks you one more time.

"Do you understand?", he asks again, leaning forward to grab your face, pressed against the table, and forcing you to look at him. Your gazes meet and you feel insignificant under the weight of Jungkook’s.

You love feeling this way. You don't want to be anything other than a little toy for him to use and fuck.

"Y-yes! I understand!", you exclaim. He smiles satisfied, before pushing two of his fingers deep inside your mouth.

In their rightful place.

With his other hand, he unbuttons his pants. He pulls down the zipper, then pushes them down, letting them slide down his thighs. You can't see the scene clearly, but you hear the metallic sound of the zipper being pulled down, the buckle of his belt briefly hitting the table.

He lowers his boxers, stained with his pleasure: a wet spot that marks the level of his desire for you. He pulls out his cock, and you widen your eyes.

It's big. Thick, long, and shining from how wet he is, drops of pre-cum sliding down his pulsing tip.

You want it in your mouth, in your pussy. Everywhere.

"Good girl, lick them for me, make them wet," he encourages you. He fucks your mouth with his fingers, once again forcing you to choke on them, pushing them deep into your throat.

As he watches the scene, he touches himself.

His hand moves quickly against his cock, his hips pushing forward in a desperate attempt to receive more friction. Jungkook grunts and hisses in pleasure, gritting his teeth and wetting his lips with his tongue.

Then, your mouth is left empty.

Jungkook brings those same fingers between your legs, rubbing them against your pussy, before plunging them into you without any regard. "So tight, so warm for be, fuck...", he murmurs. He's not talking to you, but to himself. As if you are nothing more than a little fuck-toy. Nothing more than a flashlight.

Perhaps you really are nothing but that.

He moves his fingers quickly, thrusting them inside you. The sound of your wetness, of your pleasure, echoes in the room.

It’s all so fucking messy. You are wetter than you have ever been before, and it is solely and exclusively for him. Hot droplets of your juices splash down his hand, down his wrist. The veins of his forearm popping out with the strength that he’s using to finger-fuck you.

You feel your wetness trickle down your legs in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers inside you. As he touches you, he rubs his cock against your flushed and sensitive skin, against your ass.

He leaves behind a glistening trail of his pleasure, his pure desire for you. Your ass wet with his pre-cum. When Jungkook deems that he has stretched you enough, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy. You feel empty without a part of him inside of you, and it feels so wrong not to have him inside of your body.

"Open," he orders, tapping those fingers on your lips. You open them, and he forces you to taste yourself, pushing those wet fingers against your parted lips and then against your tongue. "You make me so horny, baby..."

When he's satisfied, he cleans his fingers on your face, on your cheeks.

He grabs you by the hips first, then his hands slide down your body: he spreads your legs, firmly grabs your ass, and keeps you open for him.

From above, he lets his saliva slide onto you, onto your throbbing pussy. He spits on your pussy and the sound is enough to make you moan loudly, gasping his name.

Your fluids mix, becoming one.

He rubs the tip of his cock against you, pushing it inside your pussy.

Just the tip. It's not enough, not even close to being enough for you.

"Beg me. Beg me to give you my cock, come on, you fucking slut," he groans. You can clearly feel that Jungkook is teasing you. The humiliation burns fiercely in your stomach, and only serves to make your pussy even wetter for him.

You are now lost in your own perversion, and decide to let go. To embrace your deepest desires and needs.

"G-give it to me. Please, Jungkook, please... fuck me, fuck me..."

He does. Jungkook satisfies you, because he can't resist when you beg him so sweetly to fuck you. "Fuck, baby," he pants.

He buries himself in you completely, and a moan similar to a scream escapes your lips. Your folds open up to accommodate his length, the lips of your pussy hugging him tightly as your tight walls suck him in.

"You're such a dirty little whore. You like getting fucked like a bitch in heat? You were made to take my cock, made to get fucked like nothing more than a flashlight."

You tremble. You nod and moan. Jungkook laughs as he fucks you. He laughs at the state you're in: desperate and lost in the pleasure that he is giving you. His cock thrusts inside you again and again, hitting all the right spots, driving you crazy.

"Yours. Only for you. Your whore, only yours, y-yours only, J-Jungkook please..."

Hearing you say it drives him crazy. He grabs your wrists and, pulling at them, he holds them behind your back, bending your arms.

With one hand, Jungkook keeps you still, gripping your wrists so tightly that you're sure you'll wear his marks for days. While he fucks you he releases the adrenaline of the encounter, the anger of not having seen you last time, and the explosive desire he has had of you for weeks.

He spanks you. Again, and again. He does it until the mark of his hand is imprinted on your ass, a mark that will last on your skin for a long time.

You are his. His and only his.

You belong to Jungkook.

With each spank, you thank him. He grits his teeth, thrusting into you forcefully and violently. He pushes his cock into your wet pussy with precision and fervor.

The sound of his length slamming into you makes you tremble, it's a sound so obscene, so wet that it brings you close to the edge. He understands, recognizing the signals of pleasure building relentlessly in your belly.

One of his hands slips between your legs, his rough fingers teasing your swollen and pulsating clit. He moves his fingertips against you in fast circular motions, in rhythm with the impetuous thrusts of his cock. You pulse around his length, the orgasm getting closer and closer. "Come. Come on my cock, little one, go ahead," he growls, abusing your clit until all you can do is tremble, caught in spasms. Jungkook's voice caresses your ears and gives you the final push you need to finally let go and surrender to pleasure.

"C-Cumming, K-kookie! F-for you, I'm cumming for you!"

You cum, just like that, trembling and covering his cock with your pleasure. Drops of it splash down his cock, and your pussy pulses against him again and again, making him grunt and moan.

Even Jungkook trembles.

He leans forward, burying his face in the hollow of your neck and bites you. He bites your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your sensitive skin, and Jungkook buries himself even deeper in your hole, now almost at his limit too. You are exhausted, hypersensitive. Your clitoris begs for mercy, and he shows a little compassion by stopping teasing it.

He pants against your neck, his warm breath colliding with your skin, and your body feels like it's filled with pure electricity.

Then, he grabs a piece of skin between his lips and starts sucking. Next to the bite, a purplish bruise now occupies your otherwise pristine neck. Despite the tiredness, despite your body begging for mercy, you take his cock, again and again.

You let him use you to pleasure himself. You let Jungkook use you to empty his balls, thrusting inside you as much and as hard as he wants. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, kitten..."

You beg him to do it, to fill you up, to mark you indelibly. You beg Jungkook to cum inside you, to give you every drop of his thick, warm cum.

"Take it. Fuck, baby, I'm cumming. Christ, can you feel it? Feel it, feel my cum inside you, take it all, every fucking drop." As he says this, he releases your wrists, now adorned with the marks of his hands.

Deep bruises that will hardly fade. He grabs you by the hair and turns your face to the side. He kisses you, bites your lips. Jungkook's saliva mixes with yours and drips onto your chins.

"All my cum in your pussy, little one. The best pussy I've ever fucked, all mine..." With these words, he buries himself in you one last time, fulfilling his promises: he fills you. He claims you. He makes you his.

Hot spurts of his cum fill you, and part of you believes to feel every drop filling your pussy. He thrusts into you and both moan in unison, seized by violent spasms of pleasure.

You both stay still for a while, locked together. Your breaths mirror each other. You both tremble and gasp.

Jungkook gently kisses your shoulder, right where he bit you minutes ago, leaving the mark of his teeth. The gesture is gentle, contrasting with everything you just shared. Yet, it feels so right.

"Mmh, baby. Here it is, the first prize," he whispers, softly rubbing his cheek against yours.You smile, reveling in his tender caresses.

Despite his words, though, you feel that in reality, it is you who have won.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jk x reader #jk x y/n #bts #bts x reader #bts fic #oneshot #boxer jungkook #boxing au #jeon jungguk #bts smut #jungkook smut #jk smut

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scribbledlovenotes · 5 days ago

Text

high. m.r

toxic!mattheo. p in v. dacryphilia. sweet yet chaotic. pretty tame. not edited. mdni.

June 12th – it’s a Thursday; your least favourite day of the week. This is due not only to the combination of classes you have timetabled which seem to just drag on forever, but by the fact that the weekend still feels so far out of reach. The mid-year air feels crisp; wind softly blowing to caress the reddened apples of your cheeks as you fiddle with the scarf you’ve worn, an attempt at trying to hide the lovebites on your skin your friends have already seen. It’s a soft act of denial. You hold a hope that perhaps you’re able to maintain just a snippet of decorum regarding the plumed shades of black and purple artistry which are peppered daintily across your skin.

Your friends are mid-giggle, laughing over a not so successful charm Professor Flitwick attempted during class earlier today when you first feel it – the shift in the atmosphere. The temperature spikes making you hot and flustered even though you’re well aware that there should be a storm rolling in. Your pulse, it begins to involuntarily race. You bite your bottom lip. The crowd of students scattered across the transfiguration courtyard fall into a trained silence as the boys from Slytherin walk in. Tongue drying up and throat tightening, you glance up almost shyly and see him – Mattheo Riddle; weaving his way toward you as his dark curls catch the sunlight of midmorning. Pretty brown eyes that hide a trillion white lies and a smirk sharp enough to cut through even the thickest of skins. He’s both an enigma of precision and perfection and ugh – your heart begins to flutter.

“Ooohhh, there’s Mattheo”, one of your friends whispers, loud enough for your group to hear as her eyes begin to sparkle. “He’s so dreamy; seriously, you’re so lucky to have snagged him.”

“Lucky?”, you manage to scoff inwards while responding; forcing a smile, just knowing that you’ve got a game of charades to play with the audience standing around you. Your friends, well – they think he’s perfect, and lets be honest; they aren’t half wrong. You’d think the same if you weren’t dating him. Or at least, that’s how you felt before he managed to court you into a relationship that you weren’t expecting to fall into. They call him suave, refer to him as charming, mention how attentive he seems – the ‘ideal’ boyfriend, who they presume writes you poetic little love notes and picks you wildflowers to just brighten up your day. Yeah.. something like that. They all can’t help but notice the way he looks at you – with gazes of smouldering intensity that just undo you, along with whispered, quiet promises; and they swoon. Like… pathetically swoon. To the point of drooling.

You know the truth though. Oh, do you. Mattheo is well – a wildfire. One who burns hot and leaves ashes in his wake even when a trail isn’t necessary; and he’s always, always, happy to cause a little disruption. He stops beside you, ignoring your friends barely concealed sighs and heart eyes as he presses a kiss to your cheek that would have any other girl seeing stars behind her eyes.

“Hey”, he manages out with a low drawl; single word filled with an affectionate intensity. His hand brushes across your back casually sending shivers down your spine which are akin to a poetic electricity before draping an arm over your shoulders. “I need to talk with you sweetheart – for your ears only.”

Your friends exchange knowing glances; giggling behind their hands as they begin to whisper comments like ‘oh wow…’ and ‘so romantic..’ and you force yourself to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Romantic? Yeah – sure. Your mind wants you to protest; to say rooted in the safety of your friends gossip but Mattheo’s gaze slowly begins to guide you away, as if daring you to say no which he’s well aware, you don’t have the capability of admitting. You know the look he’s giving you – now isn’t the time for debate, or even suggesting an alternative to his request. You mutter fine beneath your breath and as your friends keep murmuring about how flawless, and ideal, and perfect he is… you let Mattheo steer you away from the comfort of your surroundings. His hand slides down to the small of your back and you step in towards him; hating how his body responds as you begin to lean in toward him, despite everything that you know.

As you pass a group of third years, you catch their comments of ‘gosh, he’s so sweet with her’ and you can’t help but swallow uncomfortably – almost laugh; perhaps cry. Sweet. Yeah. That’s not a word you’d use to describe Mattheo. Or well… anyone with the Riddle last name. Not now. Not fucking ever. His ever so prince charming like façade begins to fade away once he brings you into a quiet corridor where you’ll have privacy and a little space. It’s replaced by something darker; something fuelled by hunger, something not so unhinged but a little more unstable that takes its place.

“You’ve been avoiding me”, he refers to the way over the last few days you’ve kept to yourself – studied alone – tried to maintain a little grounding; a little peace. You sigh, shaking your head as he steps in closer, chest to chest, a hand pressed up against the wall beside your head he’s got you pinned against, his words warm against your ear, the faint scent of whiskey on his breath. You catch it, ugh you always catch it – it means he’s either had a fight this morning over something absolutely absurd or a thought has gotten into his head he’s not happy with but just can’t shake.

“Perhaps I’m just tired of your games, Matt--” “Liar”, he whips in before you’re able to finish talking; noting how your voice becomes unsteady. “You love it when I play with you. Admit it.”

Before you’ve got the opportunity to argue; his lips find yours, at first soft and almost sensual yet the kiss quickly turns starved; demanding. He knows just how to consume you. Just how to lead you on, teetering with a mix of tease and taunt which makes you forget his toxicity. His hands are all over you; grabbing at your waist, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt up your back, pulling you in close until there’s not an inch of space left between you and you can’t help but gasp as he nips at your bottom lip, hard enough to sting before swiping his tongue across it – cooling the ache before his tongue slips into your mouth; not for desire yet for the purpose of claim.

“Tonight..”, Mattheo says like it’s fact, not fiction, “...you’re mine. Seven. You know the drill.”

And goddamn Merlin, help you; you know better than to argue as he pulls back and steps away; the heat of his presence lingering as you’re forced with a clouded conscience to head off to a class you wouldn’t be able to think straight through.

---

That night, the dorm is cast heavy by shadows of green light that shimmer from the glow of the lake which sneak in through windows like a dirty little secret that you can’t escape. You’re on your back against the bed; the emerald curtains which should be closed to allow for a little privacy left open, like an invitation should anyone walk in and Mattheo’s hands are heavy on your thighs; fingers lazily digging in as he presses you further down against the mattress. His lips find your neck and you flinch, his teeth grazing not so gently against your skin, teasing just shy of breaking it. You want to hate this; he loves it. Marking you and leaving evidence of your little rendezvous for everyone to see. Hickey’s bloom beneath his lips overlapping the ones he’d left a few days ago and you know, tomorrow, they’ll be a new claim. More so messy and possessive rather than clean.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this…”, he growls into the crook of your neck as his tone shifts. Sharp and cutting rather than gentle and sweet. “Bet you’d let anyone fucking hate you… wouldn’t you my kitten? So desperate. Whine for me.”

The insult stings; but before you can snap back a clever and snarky response, he thrusts into you; slow – deep. Hitting that spot within that rips a moan out from deep down your throat and your hands clutch at his shoulders; nails digging into the muscle as Mattheo groans low; a primal sound that makes you weak. Your heart races. Your stomach flips. His next words, causing your brain to switch offline and disfunction. “Mine.. only fucking mine.”

The sex on his behalf is almost malicious. Every thrust calculated, every move intended to drive you insane. Mattheo isn’t in a rush with anything. Savouring the way you give in and wilfully unravel beneath him. A hand slides up your body from your thighs; thumb teasing with a harsh flick over a nipple before it wraps around your neck and chokes you to the point that your back arches as you struggle to breathe. He keeps you in place. Keeps you close. He leans down almost tenderly so that your foreheads touch as your eyes roll back and you stutter out a word that doesn’t quite make sense but the moment that you’re in – it’s just the two of you. You’re tangled in a possessive heat, a malevolent ardour and fervour of passion you can’t name.

“Think you can stay away from me huh? I’m going to fuck that idea right out of you sweet cheeks.”

When he snarls, you realise he’s angry – not so much enraged but the kind of anger that’s fuelled by jealousy. You’re not sure what you’ve done this time; you weren’t so much avoiding him the last few days but actually studying. Actually trying to get on top of homework. Actually trying to maintain your grades. You should hate him for the way he uses your body to work through his rage. The first time you slept with him it was nothing short of fucking spectacular. You’d never orgasmed that way before and you swore that night again and again that you probably never would with anyone other than him but fuck… when he moves the way he does, when he’s all fire and need, when he’s acting like he’s obsessed with you, your taste, your cunt, your skin; it’s impossible to think straight. Impossible to breathe.

Tears begin to prick from the corners of your eyes, running down your cheeks not from pain, but from the overwhelming everything of him. You’ve thought to yourself how many times of leaving, of hating him, of calling it quits and as you’re laying there beneath him now – a perfectly submissive little cock sleeve, he notices. He can hear the words inside your head. Something dark flashes through his eyes and he slows down for just a moment; licking a tear away from your skin before kissing you and admitting, “Fuck – you’re so god damn pretty when you cry”, and you know it isn’t sweet talk. It’s a turn on for him.

To be honest, you’re too far gone to care. Your hands tangle into the mess of his hair, pulling Mattheo closer and he whines as you let your nails scrape down the back of his neck, a desperate sound that makes your heart stutter, almost skip a beat. His pace picks back up; he’s losing himself. You begin to try and take control; rolling your hips up off the bed to meet his and he groans oh so lovely, lifting his head to tip it back, letting his eyes drown within the gaze of yours. “That’s it, fucking work for it. Show me just how much you fucking want me.”

He stops trusting; goes still. Forces your cunt to latch onto his cock and milk him dry. It’s almost lazy the way he just lets you take over, but it’s power play, and he’s in control. He watches you with hooded eyes and a teasing smirk that compliments his sputtered taunts. “So – fucking – needy.” There’s a fondness in his voice though. Something rare. It’s buried deep.

One of Mattheo’s hands drops down between the two of you as he toys with your clit to help push you over the edge and hell, it’s almost explosive. A collision of heat and release curling up within your belly and down your thighs, causing you to tremble and go weak. You feel him thrust into you – once, twice, thr… no; his cock just pulses, filling you as he collapses down, peppering the hot skin on your chest with indolent kisses, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your body wherever they can reach. For a moment, Mattheo almost turns tender. Affectionate. Letting you drop your guard down into believing that the relationship you both have count actually mean something – but then he rolls off and reaches out to grab a cigarette from his bedside table and the air around you both shifts.

You feel that ever familiar chill. It’s numbing. His walls go up. Your chest heaves. He lights the cigarette and takes a drag; you rake a hand through your hair, exposed and vulnerable to him.

“You’re free to go.”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. Voice flat. Almost cruel – but he’s not… he’s just done. Used you for what he needs. It’s like the only thing you’re worth to him. Right now. There’s no love. No devotion. No want. No need. It would almost feel easier if you knew that he had another girl for another night yet for some reason he behaves like this even though he claims in texts and scribbled notes and whispers that you’re the only one he needs. Sitting up, you pull your clothes back on and feel your heart begin to sink.

“You’re an asshole you know that?”

Mattheo exhales; turning to glance at you with a half smile as he chuckles, “Yeah, but you’ll be back – won’t you my princess?”

The worst part – he’s right, and he’ll have you thinking about this all week.

As you slip out his dorm with soft footsteps not to bring any attention to the walk of shame you’re about to commit; your thighs throb, the bites on your neck a reminder that will linger for days and you remind, or better - convince yourself that you must love him to let him get under your skin. Why does he have to be so cruel yet so fucking sweet within the same breath?

Tomorrow, when you run into friends to gossip and plan out your weekend, they’ll see the new marks of devotion painted across you with sin and coo over how romantic Mattheo must be. How he must be head over heels for you and absolutely adore you to leave such obvious signs of affection and passion on your skin. You’ll smile – like you always do, and nod along, letting them believe the lie that you and only you are aware of. Because the truth be told, he’s a catastrophic storm that you can’t escape no matter how badly you want to. He’s a drug that you keep swallowing whilst knowing of the side effects. You want to run. You want to distance yourself. You want to come clean and scream at the world that he isn’t perfect and that you’re just a risible little toy for him but when you catch him – watching, waiting; with that knowing signature smirk he wears – waving at you from across the castle with the same hand that plays you like a fiddle, you know you’ll be right back where you started. Underneath him. Tangled within his shadows, chasing a high that he and only he can give.

#sln work #unedited #harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #slytherin #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x self insert #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle oneshot

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roguishcat · 1 month ago

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Snippet Sunday

Thank you so much for tagging me @inkymoonbunny! Can't wait for the next chapter of 'Branded Blood'! 💖

I'm currently working on @the-lady-mienshao 's ask (Astarion finds one of fem! Reader’s books (romance about a human and vampire of course) and she’s terrified that he’ll think she’s with him to sate a vampire kink)

I'm very slow, but I do get things done!😊 (eventually), so this is going to be Part 2 of 'What books don't teach you' (18+ MNDI).

Shelves upon shelves of novels. The biggest and most impressive collection in all of Faerûn. You scoured Sharess' Caress, picked up copies during your travels, and traded with other enthusiasts. You collected the books with fervour others reserve for collecting priceless trinkets and hid these away from prying eyes in the basement of your house.

To say that Astarion was impressed would be an understatement.

"And how exactly are these arranged, my sweet? Knowing your penchant for keeping things in order, one might expect to find a system of sorts."

"Thematically, actually. Started out alphabetically, but then it got confusing once I got my hands on tomes in Elvish and other languages."

"Elvish, you say? I didn’t realise that you are a master of tongues."

"I'm not," you admitted readily, the innuendo going completely over your head. "But I love how beautiful they are. And I figured that wanting to read these might be motivation enough for me to learn."

Astarion hummed in appreciation and ran his fingers along the spines. The books were truly a work of art, fine leather and beautiful designs that winked playfully at you when you tilted your head even a little.

"Whilst this is very impressive, I don't understand why you were never tempted to try the real thing."

"Well," you cleared your throat and pretended that you were very busy going through the scrolls on the table, "maybe I was waiting for you. Waiting to be swept off my feet by a charming, dreamy elf."

"And I'm absolutely certain that I was worth the wait. But enough flowery words."

Astarion looked at you intently, making you fidget and drop a couple of scrolls. He didn't look away from your face. You being clumsy was not news to him. However, Astarion seemed to have great interest in your answer.

Although you confessed your feelings - not that it wasn't obvious to everyone who cared to look that you were completely in love with Astarion- actually talking about the said feelings was still difficult. But you didn't want to lie to him either. So, you chose to settle for something as close to the real reason as you were ready to tell him.

"I told you. I don't have that confidence that comes so easily to some. And I did try once, you know."

"Yes, with the man who was lacking in both skill and manners."

The look on Astarion's face became a touch softer. He put his cool hand on top yours, long digits strocking smooth, warm skin. The comforting gesture was sweet, his nearness welcome.

"Well, at the time I thought that I was the problem. And then I was lucky enough to have you teach me." You took a step towards him and tilted your head up. You very much wanted a kiss but did not know if now was the right time. In spite of you 'being well and truly taken', you still felt nervous about asking Astarion for affection.

Fortunately, he did not seem to notice you nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to think of best way to put your wants into words.

"Oh? What's this?" Astarion moved past you and reached for a book. "Caught in the night?" He raised his eyebrows and then started reading the titles of all the books on that shelf. "Blood to remember? The Count's Courtesan? La petite mort? Darling, it seems that you've had a taste for creatures of the night before we met, hm?"

"Pardon?" You said dumbly.

"Well, my sweet. If I may be so bold, by my very rough estimation, you have at least thirty books with damsels of all shapes being kidnapped and devoured by vampires."

"Forty-two, actually."

"And that is why I feel it's safe to assume that you've got a type. Fangs? Crimson eyes? Eternal hunger that can only be sated in one way? And fortunately for yours truly, I just happen to fit that description."

No pressure tags💖 : @obsessedwhyyes, @rahuratna, @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @arzen9, @clazberryk, @khywren, @vixstarria, @hellethil, @nyx-knox, @pursuitseternal, @busy-baker, @deadly-diminuendo, @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate, @bloodinwine, @xxnashiraxx, @charmandabear, @anacdoce, @larvasmoon, @vividiana, @davenswitcher, @funniestbitchinfaerun, @verbenaa, @pinkberrytea, @dramatiquechipmunk, @nerdallwritey, @marlowethebard, @bardic-inspo, @forget-me-maybe, @whiskeyskin, @lanafofana, @fangbangerghoul, @rivereverie, @starlight-rogue, @bum-dragon, @alwaysmauria, @bhaal-battle-beer-bard, @dez78, @shandoratheexplorer, @ravenswritingroom

#snippet sunday #wip tag game #writing game #wip game #bg3 #bg3 astarion #Astarion x Reader #astarion x you

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kpopsexstories · 2 months ago

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NCT 127 Dating Ban #1: Haechan

NCT 127 can’t date girls. As their gay friend you help them out with their sexual needs.

This is a 100% gay smut story. Check out this post for my straight smut and this post for more gay smut.

Want more stories like this one? Also read the NCT Dream Dating Ban series which takes place before the 127 series.

Pairing: NCT Haechan x Male Reader

Story: Haechan begs you to come for a visit and have sex with him again.

Type of Sex: MEDIUM

Word Count: 2.2k

It's been six months since you last had sex with Haechan. There have been times when you've rolled your eyes and regretted that you gave him your number. Not really though, because at the end of the day you find his pushy eagerness quite adorable.

He's been on you about coming to see him and meet his friends from 127, though he usually only texts you when he's horny, which to be fair is often. Flirty messages, pleads for you to come in every sense of the word, and desperate attempts to have sex again. It can't be easy when you're famous and can't go on dating apps like regular people. You’ve learned better than most.

At times you've played along with his games, when you've been horny too. You've been sexting, and your phone is full of pictures of Haechan's naked body, video snippets of his dick, and endless chats about how good it felt when he last fucked your ass.

Most of the explosive content was unsolicited, but not all. And you've sent him stuff too. He's told you all about the dating ban the company has imposed on the boys and his sexual frustrations are obvious.

Then one day you decided to just to it, to come and help him out like he begged you to. It was a spontaneous decision. Now you're riding the elevator up to the NCT 127 dorm, excited about the reunion but also nervous about meeting his friends.

You can't wait to see what the week with them might have in store for you. It’s sure to be a great one.

Haechan is happy and giddy when he opens the door. He's been waiting for you, purposefully stayed home to greet you. He welcomes you back and gives you a long hug and invites you in.

You quickly learn that he's alone and that actually comes as a relief. You're tired from the trip and you'll be introduced to his friends in good time.

“They're at work,” he explains. “But us dreamies have a break after our last promotion. Mark is with his family, he'll be back before you leave though.”

You chit-chat in the living room of the vast apartment. The 127 boys each have their own room. There are two bathrooms, a kitchen and a communal area with a fancy couch and big screen TV.

There's nothing sexual at all between you during this first half hour in his second home. Just two friends hanging out and catching up. But you won't even make it an hour before sex is on the table.

“Come on, I'll show you where we'll fuck,” Haechan says and gets up from an armchair next to the couch. ”Sleep, I mean sleep! My bed. I'll show you my bedroom.”

He suddenly seems nervous and concerned but is able to laugh about it. You're amused by how silly the man is acting around you which helps him feel relaxed. You might not know him that well, but you have sucked his dick after all.

The bedroom is small but has a desk, a window, a queen sized bed in the corner, and a spacious closet. “It's not much,” Haechan says and sits down on the bed. “But it's more than I need as long as I’m single. I hope you don't mind sharing.”

You leave your suitcase along the wall by the door, then go to sit beside your friend.

“Not at all,” you say cheerfully and throw yourself backwards on the mattress. No more words are needed. “So… This is where we'll fuck huh?”

Haechan turns to look at you. You smirk, only teasing him. But the atmosphere between you suddenly shifts.

You smile affectionately at each other. He leans down over you and you kiss. It's been clear from the start why you're here. Six months later and it's like no time has passed at all.

Vivid memories suddenly return in your head. Images of sex, lust, dicks and orgies. You wonder why you haven't returned to your famous friends sooner.

The kiss turns into a make-out session. Things escalate quickly. There's plenty of evidence on your phone that Haechan has been longing for this moment for a long time. Now that you're here he simply can't keep his hands off your body nor you off his.

He slides inside your shirt and rolls into your arms. Your lips make a low smacking sound as they touch, and the make-out session intensifies when he squeezes your side and begins to grind his body against yours. As the kissing becomes more passionate the sounds grow louder and he begins to moan.

He's horny as hell, incredibly hard for you. You can feel the shaft though his sweatpants. When your hand glides inside his shirt too, he quickly sits up to take it off, only to come crashing down on you again like he hasn't seen another human being for months.

He lands on top of your body and you spread your legs for him, while feeling his bare back and spine all the way down to the seams of his pants. He grinds on top of you, squirming and rubbing his soft skin against yours. All without either of you saying a word.

His hand wanders up your side and to your armpit, and your shirt goes up along with it. As your bodies touch and the weight of the man is pressing down on your crotch, you get so intensely horny that pre-cum is already making you wet.

“Mm, fuck,” you exclaim when a strong sensation runs through your body. You can feel Haechan's grin when his lips press against yours.

His grinding motions grow larger. “Mm, mm,” he moans softly.

Your hand glides over his ass, then slips inside his pants and underwear in one go. You squeeze the soft cheeks lurking underneath them, and when you realize you're about to get naked together already, you think to yourself, this is why I came.

When your shirt is up to your neck you raise your upper body, prompting Haechan to briefly take the weight off you and give you some space. You take the shirt off, and before you know it he's sitting between your legs, tugging at your pants to make them go down.

You glance at his stomach and the v-line clearly visible above his low-hanging sweats and briefs. You raise your ass, helping the man to yank your clothes off completely.

Your dick is freed and Haechan's smirk goes away. He opens his mouth and his eyes become full of desire. He pulls his own pants down, and soon you have the same look on your face when his long cock waves in the air above you.

“The dating ban is killing me,” he says, his voice drenched in sexual desire.

“Really?” you pant and raise your eyebrows. You pull him closer, equally eager to help him deal with his frustrations, and smile. “I couldn’t tell.”

It takes a few moments of passionate shuffling around for the both of you to get fully nude. You suddenly wonder when the others will return, and realize that you've left the bedroom door wide open.

Who cares? It doesn't matter. You're home alone, horny as hell, naked in Haechan's bed. There's only one thing that's really on your mind, and if Haechan isn't worried then neither are you.

You're so ready to feel his beautiful dick inside you again. Haechan's long wait is finally over.

*****

Haechan has been pounding you for a while in various positions when he eventually reaches his peak and goes over the edge. You're on your back with your knees folded around him and legs spread, while he's gliding in your arms and hammering his pelvis lustfully against your thighs and ass.

You stroke and squeeze his back and upper arms. His hands glide up and down your sides. The bed shakes, the mattress squeaks, and he's moaning and groaning while his dick goes in and out of your hole.

“Ahh, fuuuck!” he shouts.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck my ass,” you moan.

“Ahh, ahh, FUUUCK!”

He grinds his teeth and shuts his eyes hard when he comes. “Uuhhrgh,” he gurgles from his throat, and you can feel his dick pulsating as the load is unleashed inside you. “Mm, mmhpfh, fuuuck!”

His hand is holding on to your leg so hard it almost hurts. But the release is quick and effective, and he relaxes his muscles before he's even finished emptying himself.

His hard thrusts gradually decline in strength and size. He opens his eyes and you lovingly look at each other. He bursts out in a huge but temporary grin, before he jolts and thrusts hard and deep inside you a few last times: “Humpfh! Ahh! Ahhhh!”

He starts to breathe deeply, heaving over you while he recovers from the powerful orgasm and long overdue physical connection. “Ahhhh, ahhhh, yeaaahh.”

You start to relax too, your knees unfolding and legs slipping down the sides of Haechan's hot body. “Feel better?” you ask and the smirk returns.

“Much,” Haechan says and smiles wide. “Thank you.”

The sex is hardly over when your intimate moment is suddenly interrupted. “Holy fuck!” a voice says somewhere behind your friend. He panics, abruptly pulls away from and out of you, and rolls off your body and onto his side.

You look in the direction of the door, which until now has been hidden from view behind Haechan's towering shoulders. You immediately recognize the stunned faces staring right back at you.

Johnny and Jungwoo are standing in the doorway, mouths wide open and eyebrows raised high on their long faces.

“Daaamn,” Jungwoo says, echoing the sentiments of Johnny's initial reaction.

Haechan grabs a pillow and puts it over his still hard cock. “What the fuck guys?” he bellows.

For a few seconds that feel like an eternity no one says a word. You hide your face behind Haechan, but he's far from enough to cover your naked body.

“What- what's this?” Jungwoo asks.

“That was so hot,” Johnny says before Haechan can respond.

Haechan answers with another question: “When did you get back?”

Johnny stares at him, and a faint smile appears on his lips. “We never left,” he says while studying your exposed torso.

This is not how you imagined meeting Haechan's friends for the first time. But what's done is done and there's nothing you can do about it now. And as the shock settles, both Haechan and the two men in the door seem surprisingly casual about the whole thing.

There's nothing else to do than to shake it off and act like everything is fine. But to you, who don't know the guys at all but also feel like you know everything about them, it's still a nerve wrecking experience.

Haechan sits up straight but doesn't remove the pillow. You scoot higher up behind him, using his body for protection. Johnny and Jungwoo's postures change, and they appear more casual as they both take a step closer.

“So?” Johnny asks. ”Who's this?”

He's actually asked that question once before, six months ago, but you're not surprised he doesn't remember. You just passed each other in the street and he had no time to stop for a chat.

“Ehm, this is my friend I told you about. He'll be staying for a week.”

“Yeah, we figured,” Jungwoo says and smiles wide. He approaches the bed with determination and extends an arm and hand. “Hi.”

You slowly sit up, peaking out from your hiding place, but cross your legs and pull some sheets over your lower half.

“Hi,” you say and take the hand. “Sorry, it might have cum on it.”

It doesn’t and you don’t know why you said it. Jungwoo doesn’t seem to mind.

“Nice to meet you,” Johnny says politely, as if this is just like any friendly and formal first introduction.

“You too,” you say and look him in the eye while smiling wide to put up a facade.

“We should leave them to it,” Jungwoo suggests when he lets go of you, then gently pushes his friend on the shoulder. The show is over anyway and you’ll have to wait to come another time. Haechan will certainly return the favor tonight.

“Listen, guys,” he says when the two men begin to walk away. “Please don't tell the others about this.”

“Okay,” Jungwoo agrees. ��Don't worry, we won't.”

Johnny nods and smirks but makes no verbal promises. Haechan – and you – will just have to trust them.

They leave and close the door behind them. When they're gone you look at Haechan with a straight face, wondering what he's thinking and feeling in this moment, and whether you should be laughing or crying about having been caught.

“Why not?” you ask.

“I haven't told them how we met,” Haechan admits.

There's a moment of silence between you. Then you both burst out laughing. Yeah, it's going to be a fun week for sure.

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chthonion · 1 month ago

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Hey Chthonion you're very quiet how's it going (also a Harrowing snippet for funsies)

I have been very remiss about answering your approximately three hundred fabulous and uplifting comments on recent chapters of the Harrowing so I want you to know that I have reread all of them like twenty times. My brain is mush right now from getting my dissertation ready for defense. This makes me crave the validation of comments with a powerful hunger while simultaneously having no energy whatsoever left over to articulate anything. If I could call all of you out in my dissertation acknowledgements for the incredible boost you have given me during this time, I totally would.

I have no idea when Chapter 50 will be ready. It's been 95% ready for like two weeks and the last 5% is going very slowly because academia has eaten all my editing energy. But god I can't WAIT to hear what you have to say about that one because it is genuinely one of my favorites in the entire fic.

Anyway, here's a sneak peek to thank you all for being awesome. It is angsty. You have been warned.

“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?” Maedhros’s voice is slow, dreamy; it doesn’t match the force of the words at all. When he turns to look at Annatar, even his expression is empty. “You've never argued that it would be unjustified, no. Instead you just---sit around in my family’s house drinking tea and making friends with Frodo and Finrod, like you aren’t the worst thing that ever happened to them. Holding hands with Celebrimbor, after you tortured him to death. Three Ages of atrocities behind you, and you've just walked back into life to try again.” The calm in his voice ices over, cruelty seeping in at last. “The blood on my hands is a trickle to the ocean of blood you have spilled, and yet you are doing this, and I’m—just—the same.”

#harrowing sneak peek #state of the author #maedhros #maedhros and his approximately three thousand mental health issues

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magicaldreamfox1 · 4 months ago

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dreamy snippets

— unnamed kimchay wip

more kimchay wip ! i've been making a lot of progress on this while procrastinating sugar daddy au and i wanted to share a little more

#in my mind this goes crazy. does it go crazy irl too? let me know #kimchay #kimporchay #kinnporsche the series #kinnporsche fic #taggingmarion #saturntracks #dreamy snippets

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 month ago

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Snippet - A Cake in the Sky - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Meanwhile, in Timebomb land...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"It's..." she stops, "...complicated."

"Big word."

"Uh-huh. Lots of corners to catch yourself on."

"Or paint yourself into."

Jinx smiles. His sense of humor's still the easygoing kind you fall backwards into. "I'm good at climbing outta corners. No fingerprints. No tracks. Not a hair outta place."

"So: a crime-scene?"

"Not yet."

Her cheek's still cradled his chest. She feels his heartbeat quicken. His breath, held in. Then he lets it go, and encircles an arm around her waist.

"We're already a crime scene," he says matter-of-factly. "Question is: do we have an alibi ready, if they find us?"

"We do."

"Yeah?"

"A bulletproof one." Jinx's smile sneaks wider. "See, I'm not really here."

"Where are you then? Safe in bed with six dozen bombshells, catching your beauty sleep?"

"Nope. In a ship docked at the harbor. Celebrating my Big Nineteeth by getting frisky with two smugglers from Bilgewater."

"Simultaneously?"

"Yep." She stretches languorously. Her patented style: flirtation, with talons bared. "They're both major hotties. One's a redhead with a wicked right hook and a gift for knifeplay. The other's a slickster with raven locks and a thing for corsets and rope. I'll have 'em both at gunpoint—that is, until they turn the tables on me. Then we'll see who gets tied down."

"Sounds..." Ekko clears his throat, "...raunchy."

"The best cover stories always are."

From under her bangs, Jinx dares a peek. Starlight dapples Ekko's profile. His stare is both half-lidded and slow-burning. This isn't a game, but he's a pro at keeping a pokerface. For her sake, she sometimes thinks. So he doesn't have to lament the hand they've both been dealt.

Jinx laments for him: a hundred regrets condensed into a single sigh.

"I wish it were true," she says.

"What? Getting railed by a couple of pirates?"

"Not that." Well, maybe a little. "Being somewhere else. Someone else. Doing anything. Or everything. The whole world under my wingspan, and nothing holding me back."

"I think we both know nothing could stop you," Ekko says. "You'd blow a hole through the sky just to keep going."

"Yeah." A dreamy smile. "It'd be such a big hole, too. Like a blue moon. Or a big ol’ cake. I'd take a big bite out of it. Pick the crumbs of Enlightenment outta my teeth. Though I doubt it'd taste better than The Sugarplum Fairy's newfangled cannoli-olee-ohs."

"Cannoli-olee-ohs?"

"You haven’t tried ‘em? They’re neat-o! All whipped cream and powdered sugar. Kinda like an éclair, but crunchy. Though if you eat too many, you'll get the runs. Also: coconut-flavored burps. Which is weird, 'cuz coconut's not listed in the ingredients. Guess the chef just couldn't resist the ol' exotic twist."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Trust me—I’m a connoisseur." She tips a wink. "That's East Demacian for cake slut."

"And how'd you get so, uh, experienced?"

"That's classified." Jinx sucks her cheeks in; mock-zips her mouth shut. "But I'll give ya a hint. Pre-Siege, Topside's local constabulary were confounded by a string of disappearances involving high-end patisseries. Always, at the stroke of midnight, their kitchens would be broken into. All the morning's stock—apricot turnovers, strawberry mille-feuilles, triple-layer buttercream sponge—gone without a trace. Well, nearly without a trace. Mostly crumbs scattered round the sidewalk. And a suspicious amount of melted ganache."

"Wack." The corners of Ekko’s eyes crinkle. "Was it a baker's cult?"

"It was me breaking curfew."

"Midnight munchies?"

"Better." Jinx grins, dimples biting into her cheekbones. "My quest to track down the bundtest bundt cake in Runeterra. Had a three-page list of contenders. Started small: backdoor bakers, cinnabon stalls, doughnut shops. Worked my way up to upscale eateries. Word spread. Rumormongers dubbed me The Sugarplum Fairy."

"After your favorite pastry shop?"

"The shop's name came after. Totally coincidentally! But yeah. Seems the owner was a fan of yours truly's handiwork." A lazy shrug. "Now I pop in at least once a week. For the cannoli-olee-ohs, naturally. But also 'cuz the gals there cut me the sweetest deals. Next time I'm in their neck of the woods, I'll snag ya a boxful, gratis."

A chuckle vibrates through Ekko's ribs. Jinx feels each note: mellowness unbottled. She wants to drink it down to the last chord.

"The notorious Jinx," he says. "Thief of pastries."

"Meh. I prefer confection connoisseur."

"Why'd you quit?"

"Folks started putting out saucers of milk. Like I was a real fey, and a dumb one to boot! Dumb enough to trade lava cake for lactose. One guy left out a shotglass with a swizzle-stick in it. And a note: 'You can steal my creme horns, so long as I can cream you.' Along with his address. In red ink." She huffs, bangs wisping off her forehead. "Perv, much?"

"And what became of him?"

"Got what was coming: a nice box of guano right on his doorstep. Pudding in the mailbox, too."

"And by pudding you mean...?"

"Pureed crow shit. Hand-squeezed."

A grimace crimps Ekko's grin. "Did you wash your hands after?"

"Duh. Didn't wanna ruin my manicure." Sighing, Jinx nibbles on a hangnail. "The whole thing took the wind outta my sails, though. Not to mention: Topside began suspecting it was Fissurefolk doing it. They already blamed us for everything from burned porridge to smashed windowpanes to dead cats. Didn't take long for Enforcers to start dragging anyone with candy in their pockets to the pokey."

"So you dropped the act."

"Uh-huh."

"For the good of the masses."

"Something like that." Jinx's sigh, this time, comes loaded. "Being an icon's not all it's cracked up to be."

Silence spreads, an echo-chamber reverberating with a lifetime of unfinished fights. Chief among them: their differing definition of Icon. To Ekko, it's a girl who turned herself into a lightning rod for every flavor of vice Piltover could sling the Undercity's way—mischief-maker; murderess; harbinger.

But to Jinx?

It is her own identity stripped to the studs of its contradictions. Her end eked out as slowly and surely as Zaun's emancipation: step-by-step, layer-by-layer. From freedom fighter to funhouse mirror to firebrand, until she holds no shape beyond the perceptions of others. No room to carve her niche; no space to break free of the rubble her birth-city's buried her under. Only more boxes waiting to be filled; more scripts needing filling-in.

And on and on, ad infinitum, until perfection wrings her mortal coil dry. Until fate and choice unite in one indivisible line, as inescapable as the bullet.

Until she is erased for good.

An ache blooms in Jinx's sternum. Grows branches between her ribs, where the cicatrix from Silco's knife remains. Once she'd loved the touch; taken pleasure in the proof of possession. Now the mark's as suffocating as steel bars, and the only key's the secret shape burnt into her shoulderblades, where wings beg to erupt.

It's a moment before Ekko breaks the quiet.

"So," he says, "a big cake in the sky. That's what you want for your Name Day?"

Jinx cracks a laugh. It's not a pretty sound: all jagged melody and rough-cut lyrics. But that's only the first wave. Her funny-bone, rusty from disuse, getting a tune-up. The second wave's sweeter. The ghost of the little girl she'd been. The one who'd believed in anything, and everything.

Everything except herself.

Ekko's embrace tightens. Always, he braces himself against the first sharp edge. Then it melts, and so does he: into a moment that's as near to harmony as either has known.

"Yeah," Jinx says, as the mirth subsides. "A cake in the sky. That's it."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane ekko #ekko #ekkojinx #timebomb #jinx x ekko

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paperstorm · 2 months ago

Text

Final snippet from Somewhere in a Song 🥺 Thank you endlessly for caring about this fic if you did!!

Thanks for the tags beloved @carlos-in-glasses @tellmegoodbye @annoyingcloudearthquake @heartstringsduet @ladyknight1512 @strandnreyes @orchidscript @thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe

“Hey,” TK says again, quiet this time, nudging Carlos’s face with his nose.

Carlos props himself on one elbow, looking down at TK’s flushed face and seaglass eyes.

“I just … really love you,” TK whispers.

Carlos smiles. Every inch of him goes warm and fluttery, overwhelmed as he often is when he stops to think about how in love he is. Every day he thinks he loves this man as much as he possibly could, and then by tomorrow he’s always wrong. He brushes their noses together, gently back and forth, before he rests his forehead against TK’s and murmurs, “I love you so much, Tyler.”

TK’s smile feels just for him. They’re alone, so it is just for him, but it’s more than that. TK has many smiles, many beautiful arrangements of his ever-expressive face, but this particular glint of his eyes and flush of his cheeks feels like a secret that only Carlos knows. He wonders if he has a smile like that, a particular glittering fondness in his gaze that only exists when he’s looking at the man below him. He’s sure that he does.

“Did you pack your biggest, yeehaw-ist cowboy hat to bring to Tokyo?” TK asks. His grin shifts to playful and Carlos shakes his head, engulfed with affection.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Are you gonna pack all your most ripped jeans and your super cool leather jackets?”

“Duh. That’s what the people pay to see.”

“What, your exposed nipples?” Carlos laughs.

“Among other things, yes.” The corners of TK’s eyes go crinkly and Carlos dips down to kiss him, suddenly so drunk in love that he feels like he has to sweep his tongue in TK’s mouth or he’ll stop breathing.

TK hums underneath him, pushing his hips up. He’s still hard in his jeans and Carlos grinds against him, lost for a moment in the sparks that dance along his spine.

“Off,” TK mumbles, pushing at the waistband of Carlos’s pants.

Carlos ignores him for a moment. He can’t seem to stop kissing TK sometimes; like he’s water, like he’s oxygen. His lips tingle where they’re brushing against TK’s half-open mouth, tongues meeting over and over in a wet slide.

“Mm,” TK hums, cupping the back of Carlos’s neck with one hand and tickling him lightly on the ribcage with the other. “We have a time limit, remember?”

“I wanna spend hours in bed with you,” Carlos tells him, pushing up to his knees so he can back off TK and they can hastily strip themselves out of the clothes that separate them.

TK smiles at him, hair a little messy as his sweater is pulled off and added to the pile of fabric on the floor. Carlos drinks in the sight of him nude, so much soft skin and the gentle curve of muscle and his cock already shining at the tip. He’s too in a rush to bother with his socks, he just moves back in and holds TK by the waist so their bodies are pressed flush together, the headrush of it making the room spin around them.

“Days, even,” Carlos continues, nonsense tumbling thoughtlessly from his mouth as he kisses down TK’s neck. “Just you and me.”

“Days?” TK laughs, the sound tumbling into a soft moan as Carlos sucks at a pressure point.

“Get a nice hotel room somewhere and then never leave it.” Carlos tips his hips forward, moaning himself as his erection slides deliciously alongside TK’s in the warm sandwich of their abdomens. It sends sparks down his spine and slow pulses of arousal deep in his pelvis. They don’t have time for what he really wants, for them to be connected as intimately as they can, but Carlos can wait for that. He just needs TK, just needs to feel him close.

“You really missed me, huh?” TK teases, but there’s something a little dreamy in his voice as he nudges Carlos’s face for another languid kiss.

“Yeah,” Carlos agrees. He gets lost for just another moment in the majesty of TK’s mouth and then he shoves at him, smiling as TK squawks in surprise and bounces on the mattress.

Carlos descends onto him like he’s prey, kissing his way up TK’s stomach and then dropping himself back down so he can roll his hips with more leverage – a proper deep slide that seems to fill the air around them to the most decadent sparkles.

Tagging @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses

@bonheur-cafe @actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo

@goodways @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript

@lemonlyman-dotcom @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce @hereghostslive

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

@butchreyes @anactualcaseofthetruth @ditheringmind @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh

@irispurpurea @nisbanisba @chicgeekgirl89

@carlossreaders @denizoid @everlastingday @rangersoup @ambernotember

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

#911 lone star #wip wednesday #musician au

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durrtydawg · 2 months ago

Text

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 10 | '999'

Sorry this isn't Sam-heavy but I like this chapter rehhhhh. Good things come to those who wait x

masterlist ✨

Other chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

You thought being back in the UK would’ve been boring. Perhaps... you wish it was.

blood & injury mention

Word count: 4.6k-ish x

London feels different after being somewhere like Jordan.

It’s not just the weather - the biting, damp chill that lingers in your clothes, makes your hair ratty and frizzy all at once, no matter how much surface area your umbrella covers. It’s the pace of things. Slower in some ways, suffocatingly fast in others. The tube rattles, dawdling tourists and miserable commuters create a constant clamour, and cars blur through rain-slicked streets - it’s cold, but damp and sweaty all the same, and yet somehow, in the overstimulating midst of it all, you feel... removed.

Disconnected.

Like part of you is still standing on that sun-drenched plateau in Petra, sand lodged in your stupidly chosen mesh trainers, wind whipping through your hair, the sting of sunburn blooming on your nose.

The real world, much to your sorrow, doesn’t pause for dreamy treasure hunts. Bills still exist. Bosses still get pissy when you disappear for too long.

Sam and Scott have alternated between being holed up in the British Library, sifting through microfilm and archive reels, and travelling slightly further out of the city - Surrey, then Sussex, now across to Kent, tracking down stately homes once in William Campbell’s possession.

And you?

Between pouring pints and wiping down sticky tables, you’ve been scribbling notes in the gaps of your battered notebook - half-formed theories, snippets of leads, anything that might connect Emaan Sadir to a child lost to history.

Names are underlined, question marks scattered, but the pieces still don’t fit.

You flip the pen between your fingers behind the bar at any given moment of peace, scanning the latest page.

Emaan died 1893, Layla died 1872. Baby? A smudge of green ink where you pressed too hard. Boy? Girl? Another scribbled out theory. A tap of the pen. Campbell - last ledger entry 1892, one year before Emaan kicked the bucket. Four sketched bird outlines. Coincidence? Foul play?

You’re stuck somewhere in the middle.

But you’re grateful. Grateful that you even got to go in the first place. Sam didn’t have to bring you. It’s not like you’re some hotshot archaeologist. You’re an ad hoc research assistant at best; enthusiastic tech-slash-moral support with a useless history degree.

And yet, you were there.

And now you’re here, slipping back into normality like a coat that’s grown a tad too tight since you last wore it.

Still, it’s important to count your blessings. At least the weird… shit has stopped. No headaches. No nosebleeds. No ominous figures lurking just out of sight - Not that you ever saw anyone back in Jordan, but Sam and Scott had been paranoid enough about being followed.

Your shift ended twenty minutes ago, but it’s safe to say your sleep-deprived brain is still buzzing - all of this untangling history alongside bar orders and shitty tips? You’re doing enough thinking for two.

You duck out of the spit, climbing into your car.

It’s eight-thirty-something pm. Day shift over. You’re knackered, there’s what you hope is a sticky beer stain on your jeans and your bed is very much calling. You slide behind the wheel, keys jingling as you stick them in the ignition.

The engine sputters, coughs once, then reluctantly rumbles to life.

You give the dashboard a light pat, letting out a breath of relief as the car settles into a steady, if slightly unconvincing, idle.

She’s been cooped up in an airport car park for two weeks, gathering dust and sulking in the British drizzle. You fear she’s on her last legs. Wheels. Whatever. The weird rattling coming from the engine has made that clear enough.

You settle in, adjusting your seat belt, tossing your book onto the passenger seat. Your fingers drum absently on the steering wheel as you wait for the mist to clear from the windscreen.

Sam would have something to say about the green ink smudged along the side of your hand.

Something glib. Teasing, probably. Or maybe he’d just point out, with a lazy half-smirk, that normal people don’t walk around looking like they’ve just done ten rounds against a leaky biro.

You can almost hear it - his voice, dry with some sort of muted amusement. It’s not hard to picture the way his eyes would flick to your hand, then back to your face, with a distinctive kind of warmth you’ve grown to enjoy.

Like you’d done to him on the plane home.

You hadn’t meant to look at him for so long. But he’d fallen asleep on your shoulder, and in the dim hush of the cabin, with the drone of the ventilation lulling you into something close to contentment (despite just recovering from what might be one of the worst headaches you’ve ever had), it had felt impossible not to watch. His hand had twitched once against his thigh - dreaming, maybe - but otherwise, he’d been still. Peaceful, weirdly.

But that wouldn’t explain why you’d kept looking. Why you’d let your eyes stay glued to him past the point of casual observation, tracing the crease in his brow, the way his face softened in sleep, the ratio between how much salt versus how much pepper was stippled across his jaw.

And - God, weird, right? - that that was the second time he’d fallen asleep beside you in the past couple of days.

He’s always going on about his insomnia. That it’s a thing. That he doesn’t sleep well, doesn’t sleep often. And yet-

What is it they say about being around someone you like? Like… like like? Oxytocin? Dopamine? Some chemical thing?

Oh, for God’s sake.

You roll your shoulders back, crack your neck, shake the thought off like a dog would with water.

It wasn’t oxy-bloody-tocin. He was tired. Both times. That’s it.

It was just a long flight.

That’s all.

And you’re reading far too deeply into your own emotions, too, because it had been the same with Scott, hadn’t it?

A harmless, fleeting sort of pitching in your stomach. The kind of admiration that fizzles out before it can become anything invasive - just when his self-awareness of his looks and intelligence and general grade-A excellence in everything started to grate more than inspire.

This will fizzle out too. It has to. Not that you’d realistically get a second glance from either of them. Ha.

Sam already doesn’t take you seriously, does he - and if he ever got the slightest inkling that-

You huff.

More futile overthinking to fill the void.

The windscreen is still fogged over, so you crank up the heat dial a notch, settling back into your seat as the day washes over you. You fold your arms against the cold, watching the mist clear in slow, uneven patches-

Then your phone buzzes violently from the cup holder.

You glance down, and-

What a coincidence.

You smile despite yourself, digging the phone out and swiping to answer.

“Did you know the British Library doesn’t actually let you check out books?”

You huff in amusement, “Every day's a school day, Samuel."

“Stupid, if you ask me.” A faint tut. “I mean, it’s a library.”

You snort, reaching for the gear stick as the mist on your windshield starts to clear enough to drive. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Eh.” You can hear the shrug. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

You pause.

Probably nothing more than one of his usual throwaway remarks, and you know better than to misconstrue something that’s purely his character. But still - something tightens in your chest before you can stop it.

You shake it off, scoffing lightly. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Guilty.”

You roll your eyes, easing out of the car park. “How’s your thrilling week of stately home trespassing?”

Sam groans. “If I see one more oil painting of some smug bastard with mutton chops, I’m gonna start growin’ 'em in my sleep.”

“Eurgh. That bad, then?”

“It’s like these guys never heard of redecorating. Campbell’s family really stuck to the whole ‘evil rich guy’ aesthetic. Scotty boy’s eatin’ it up. A bit too… put-together for my liking, though.”

“‘Course it is.”

A sigh.

“Anyway, I’m currently diggin' through microfilm like I’m some eighties movie extra, but Scott’s down near…” He pauses, exhaling, “Uh… Chatham. Can you, uh, do me a favour?”

You hum, slowing at a red light, brakes squeaking as you come to a stop. “Depends. Am I gonna get arrested?”

“Not if you drive safely.”

"Are you implying I drive unsafely?"

"Well," He says tightly before clearing his throat. "I'm still try'n'a work out why I've had a crick in my neck since you drove us back from the airp-"

“Sam.”

He makes a sort of low 'heh' sound that makes your mouth twist in a suppressed grin. “Alright, look, he just needs an extra pair of hands to make sure he doesn’t… I dunno, fall through some rotten floorboards, or get possessed, or anything, y’know? He’s onto somethin' - or so he says - and I can’t get down there yet.”

You sigh, tapping the wheel. “You really know how to sell an evening.”

“C’mon,” he draws it out, “You’ll love it. Derelict site, middle'a nowhere, definitely haunted. Plus,” he pauses for half a second, reducing volume, “Took me forever to score this chair and I sure as shit am not lettin' it go now.”

“I don’t know… I was going to throw a day-out-of-date korma in the microwave and catch up on Bake Off, but-” You sigh, drawing it out teasingly. “I suppose I could rearrange my schedule.”

“You goin' or what?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You should play it cool. Shouldn’t need the validation nor feel the ridiculous, somewhat embarrassing rush of relief at the idea that, yeah, you are still part of this - that Sam wants you to be. But you do.

You shake your head, already flicking on your indicator. “Of course I’m going.”

A hum of approval, and then: “Atta girl.”

The phrase lands low in your stomach. You glance out at the empty road, mouth twisting in an effort to ignore the stupid little grin tugging at your lips. Pathetic form, really.

You flick the wipers on to clear the droplets from the windscreen as you trundle along a pot-hole-riddled tarmac. “Scott’s already there?”

“Yeah. Pokin’ around.” A rustle of paper. “I’ll get him to send you the details.”

“Sounds good.”

A pause.

Then-

“Hey,” he says.

You pause, too. “…Yes?”

There’s a shift on his end.

“Be careful, alright?”

Your grip tightens slightly around the wheel.

It’s a stupid thing to get stuck on. A normal thing, something anyone would say.

And yet, something in you bristles. You’re not a child. You don’t need to be treated like one.

Hiding an important piece of the Sadir puzzle, and odd physical symptoms of something you've given up trying to decipher aside, you’ve managed just fine so far, haven’t you?

But then, beneath that, there’s something else. A smidgen of warmth melting away the edges of your irritation, soft - insidious. Because he means it, doesn’t he? Because he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t.

You swallow. Push past it. “I’ll be fine.”

“…Yeah.” A pause. “I know.”

Neither of you say anything for a second.

Then-

“Alright,” he exhales. “Go forth, kick some doors down. I’ll tell Scott to give you a buzz.”

You let out a breath. “Thanks, Sam.”

A beat.

Then, quieter, “Yeah.”

And then the line clicks dead.

A text pings through minutes later,

The message is short, clipped. All function, no fluff - typical Scott. You stare at it for a second, thumb hovering over the keyboard before typing out a quick:

Me: On my way. Save any drama for my arrival.

Buzz.

Scottimus Prime: No promises ;)

You huff a quiet laugh, securing your phone in its holder, already turning the car toward the A2.

Address in tow, the hum of the engine and nighttime talk radio fills the quiet, and for a while, you let your mind drift - half-focused on the road, half on everything else. Sam’s voice still knocks around somewhere in the back of your skull, your thoughts curling around words he probably didn’t mean as much as you wanted him to.

You sigh, pressing a little harder on the accelerator and cranking up the radio. Not the time for that.

The satnav’s voice cuts through from time to time, guiding you turn by turn until the lights of the suburbs blur into open stretches of countryside. The road winds on, the sky turning a deeper shade of grey as you leave the familiar behind.

When you finally pull up to the site, the place looks about as inviting as you expected.

The crunch of gravel under your tires gives way to the unsettling silence of an overgrown driveway, the car rolling to a stop outside what was once - presumably - a grand country estate. You sit for a second, fingers still curled around the wheel, as your headlights let you take it in.

It’s exactly what you expected, but somehow worse; its decay isn’t just age, but abandonment. Half-eaten by time. Late Victorian - what remains of it, anyway. A hulking old thing, all crumbling brickwork and weather-stained stone, the kind of house that was probably in a stately homes guidebook once, before it got sold off to some lazy private buyer who left it to rot. Even the health and safety demolition site notices are discoloured from mere time.

You step out of the car, boots crunching against the dirt-streaked gravel, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and thick veins of ivy. The main house looms over you, its façade partially strangled by greenery, roots and vines pushing through the cracks like nature itself has tried reclaiming it by dragging it back down into the ground.

You pull out your phone, tapping out a quick message.

Me: Estoy aquí. Where r you?

No immediate response. You frown, shoving your phone back into your jacket as you step forward, pushing through the overgrown hedges toward the entrance.

The front doors are ajar, hanging slightly off their hinges, an uneven gap leading into the shadowed interior. The wind whistles softly through the broken windows, rattling the few remaining shards of glass still clinging to their frames.

You glance at your phone again.

Still nothing.

The air inside the house sort of reminds you of the men’s bathroom in the pub. Stale. Damp. Generally unpleasant with period features that have gone through decades of maltreatment. Luckily, this isn’t a place you’re expected to tackle hourly with a toilet brush and a bottle of bleach, though it doesn’t make it any less repellant.

You step forward cautiously, boot scuffing against debris. Dust motes swirl in your headlights’ dying glow before the automatic shut-off plunges everything into dimness. Your eyes adjust to the low light leaking in from outside, fingers tapping on your phone’s torch.

You move through what was probably a grand foyer, past the remains of a chandelier that’s lost most of its crystals - robbed, most likely - only a skeletal brass frame left to gather cobwebs. The walls, once probably covered in intricate paneling, are now peeling like old sunburn. Bits of plaster crunch underfoot.

Still no response from Scott. You check your phone again, the little read receipt stubbornly absent.

You grunt.

Your hand tightens around it as you turn a corner, pausing in front of a massive, dust-cloaked portrait, paint discoloured and peeling, laid lopsided on the floor. Another Victorian bastard stares back at you - some dead-eyed, moustachioed old fart with eyes that follow you.

You snap a photo and fire it off to Sam.

Me: Feeling those mutton chop follicles a’growing?

Samalam: 👴🏼❌.

Samalam: Did I use those correctly?

You smirk, but it fades fast. Scott still hasn’t replied. A thread of unease winds itself through your ribs as you pocket your phone and move deeper inside.

You pass a bookcase, most of its shelves emptied, a few yellowed tomes left to sag in their decay.

Reaching out, you trail a finger through the dust, the disturbed particles swirling as you agitate it.

Then - a creak.

You freeze.

Another sound follows, a dull thud from upstairs.

Your stomach tightens.

“Scott?” You sing-song.

No answer. Just the wind wheezing through the shattered windows, rattling loose panes. You roll your shoulders, exhaling sharply.

Still, you move towards the staircase, the wooden steps groaning under your weight.

As you climb, a dull ache curls behind your temples - you pin it down to dehydration and wince, rubbing your forehead. Absent-mindedly, you reach back to wrestle in your bag for your water bottle - only to realise, with a tut, you’ve left it in the car.

You push through the headache and keep moving.

The second floor is worse than the first - colder, somehow. The air is thinner. Your hands graze the wall as you walk, the wallpaper beneath them cracked and dampened.

To no avail, you call out for Scott once more, before you pull out your phone and dial.

The ringing barely has time to connect before a tinny, distant chime of Marimba echoes through the silence.

Scott’s ringtone.

Your pulse kicks up. The sound is muffled, swallowed by the high ceilings, but you can tell - he’s nearby. You take a step forward, turning toward the source, and then you see a bookcase, toppled and broken, its warped shelves forming a splintered barricade between you and the next room.

The sound is coming from behind it.

You hesitate, then press a hand against the wood, pushing experimentally. It doesn’t budge so you try again, planting your feet, throwing your weight into it. Still nothing.

"I hope you’re enjoying this, knobhead." you mutter, breath coming short.

No answer. Just the shrill persistence of his ringtone.

Huffing, you drop to your knees and eye the gap underneath. Just wide enough.

You sling your bag through first.

With a sigh, you flatten yourself, forearms sinking into dust and debris as you inch forward, accidentally shining the torch into your eyes once or twice, which does little to quell your headache. The air tastes stale, thick with rot and something coppery. You swallow against the tightness in your throat, trying not to cough.

Pushing up onto your knees, you shuffle awkwardly through the last of the gap and brace a hand against the bookcase as you rise.

The moment you straighten up, a rush of dizziness blooms behind your eyes, a sudden, tilting sensation that sends the room pitching sideways. You blink hard, stumbling into the wood, exhaling slowly until the feeling ebbs, breathing through it.

Too fast. You got up too fast.

The phone is still buzzing, discarded in the middle of the floor. Odd.

“Alright,” you mutter, turning in a slow circle. “Aren't you bored yet?”

Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. Something’s off.

You reach down and pick it up. The screen is cracked, smeared with something dark along the edge. Your own call flashes across it for a second before cutting out, plunging the room into silence.

Your eyes sweep the room, searching for movement, a shadow, some sign of his usual cocky grin peeking around a corner.

But there’s nothing.

…Aside from a leg.

Sticking out from behind a battered chest of drawers.

Your stomach knots.

"Scott?"

Your voice feels thin. You take a step closer. Another. Your frown deepens.

You round the corner, then you see him. Slumped against the wall.

Your breath catches, and for a second your trainers remain firmly pinned to the ground.

His head is tilted at an unnatural angle, his face half-hidden in the dark. His hair, usually pushed back and hairsprayed to perfection, flops over his brows.

The cold light of your phone skims over his features, and your stomach turns.

A split lip. Bloody nose. Bruises, deep and splotchy along his jaw.

What the fuck?

He moves.

It’s barely anything - a twitch of the fingers, a tiny grunt of discomfort.

Regardless, you gasp, a pathetic, breathy little sound of sheer relief as your body slumps forward, nearly collapsing onto him. “Oh, my God,” you choke out. “What the hell?”

Your hands move automatically, checking his pulse even though you’ve already seen him breathe. You press your fingers to his throat, then his wrist, the way you’ve seen in films. You don’t really know what you’re doing. But the steady flutter is there. He’s okay.

Still, your panic doesn’t fade. Not entirely. It just mutates. Because who on earth has done this to him?

You stumble back onto your heels, trying to catch your breath. “Okay. Alright. Ambulance,” you mutter, grabbing for your phone with trembling hands. “You need an ambulance, we need - fuck.”

As you say it, your thumb hesitates over the screen.

999.

You glance over your shoulder. The broken, boarded windows. The rotted walls. The shattered floorboards and toppled furniture. You’re not supposed to be here.

You’re trespassing.

“Shit,” you mutter again, louder now. “Shit, shit, shit-”

You start pacing in a tight circle, trying not to trip on the wreckage of the room. Call Sam? He’d know what to do. He always does. But he’s an hour-and-a-half away at best - maybe more - and you’d rather not wait around.

You chew your thumbnail, trying to force clarity into the chaos. You could move Scott. Carry him? No chance. Drag him downstairs? You’ll make it worse.

The phone shakes in your hand.

You’re just about to hit Sam’s name in your recents when the floor creaks behind you.

You whirl around.

A man stands in the doorway. Early thirties. Average height. Jeans, canvas jacket, slightly mussed hair - unassuming, completely forgettable in any other context.

Except for the blood crusting his knuckles. And the calm, amused tilt of his head, like he’s walked in on a mildly entertaining surprise.

It doesn’t take a genius.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

You say nothing at first. You can’t. Your mouth opens, closes.

He just watches you.

A sickly silence stretches between you, broken only by the wind outside and the low, unconscious breaths of Scott slumped behind you.

You bolt.

You barely register the choice - your body just moves. Skimming past him, down the hallway, praying your feet don’t catch, and the door you’re going for doesn’t lead to a dead end.

You make it halfway to it before a second figure appears, rounding the corner.

Taller. Broader than the other. His face is hidden by the low light.

You skid to a stop so fast your breath punches out of you.

The second man unfolds from the shadows, arms crossing lazily over his chest. He’s been waiting. He cocks his head, expression unreadable, then lifts his shoulders in a slow, mocking shrug. Oops.

Your stomach drops.

You turn around, pulse hammering in your throat, but the first man hasn’t moved. He’s still in the doorway, still watching you, that same idle amusement playing at the edges of his face.

You take an instinctive step back from him as man number two takes a step forward, caging you in.

Shit.

Your pulse throbs away between your ears. You glance past his shoulder, looking for another way out, but it’s all just peeling wallpaper and splintered floorboards. No exit. Nowhere to go.

He takes another step as the first man dips back into the room where Scott’s incapacitated in a corner. The moment your eyes meet and you realise how close he actually is his, your headache spikes like a blunt nail’s been lodged into your skull.

“Ah-” You cry out and stumble backward, one hand shooting out instinctively - only to hit the wall.

You crash against it and double over, clutching your head. It worsens as he gets closer. You retch, borderline immobile as you try and fail to look up at him, eyes wide and stinging.

“No- no-” Your breath comes in broken, shallow gulps, your knees threatening to give as the pain crests again and again. The same pressure. Pure agony. You know this. You remember this. Jordan. The tomb. The heat. The blood.

Not again.

The man says nothing. He just walks calmly forward.

You don’t know what they want. Who they are - what they’ve done to Scott. Why they’re here. Why this is happening again.

Your legs won’t hold. You crumple to your knees, then to your side, hands clenched in your hair, screaming inside your head. The pain is making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think.

You can’t look up. You’re half-kneeling, half-fallen, your forehead nearly touching the floor, hands digging into your scalp like you can dig the pain out if you try hard enough.

You’re dimly aware of footsteps. The second man grabs your arm. You flinch, try to twist away, but your body won’t cooperate. He hauls you upright like you’re made of paper.

“No-” you manage to croak, your voice barely audible.

You’re dragged backwards, heels scraping over splintered wood, one arm flailing weakly, the other pinned to your side.

Something - your phone - slips from your fingers, landing with a clack. You barely register it, but the screen flashes as it hits the floor.

A burst of light.

Blue and white. The selfie you took at the Petra lookout point.

Your thumb must’ve-

You did call him?

You did.

He’s-

The call’s still-

Is it ringing? Connected? You can’t tell. Everything’s sideways, off-kilter, noise and pain and Scott-

The corridor lurches and tilts with each step, your vision doubling. You think you hear Scott’s name fall from your lips, slurred and broken, but it might just be in your head.

Fuck, it feels like every ounce of pain you’ve ever felt in your life is in your head, so you wouldn’t be surprised.

You’re thrown. Your back hits the floor of the other room hard, the breath knocked out of you in a hoarse oof. Pain ricochets through your ribs, your shoulder, your skull. You curl on your side, blinking furiously, trying to focus. Nothing stays still long enough to make sense.

You don’t even realise you’re crying until you taste salt.

You lie there, blinking over at Scott. You just about make out his face crumpling in discomfort, but not for long. Everything swims. The shapes of the men blur.

“Looks like you two have been busy, huh?” one of them says. Fuck knows who - it crawls through your head, waterlogged.

You blink slowly, unable to move your head, unable to turn toward the voice. Your chest heaves as you try to breathe around the ache - fast, shallow breaths that won’t do your lungs the satisfaction of being filled. Your vision jumps, fractured by tears and panic.

Somewhere behind you, there’s a rustle of paper, the wet shhfff of pages turning. You can’t see it, but you know what he’s handling - your notebook. Your fucking notebook - the one you’ve kept from day one.

The sketches, the translations, the maps stapled in, the snippets of Sam’s handwriting in the margins. The theories all three of you scrawled at 2AM under torchlight on your last night in Jordan. Every dead lead, every almost-clue - weeks of work splayed in the dirt under his bloodied fingers. You sob, another trembling ‘no’ spurting from your spit-slicked lips.

You’re still trying to suck in a full breath, your lungs fluttering shallowly.

“Boss’s gonna love this.”

You don’t know who Boss is.

You don’t want to know.

The second man drops to a crouch in front of you. His face hovers too close. You can smell sweat and something sweet, chemical, underneath it. A quick nudge at your arm and you’re flat on your back.

You can’t focus on his features.

Black spots pop behind your eyes, swimming in and out of the moonlight. You try to move. You can’t. You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing ragged, fists curled tight at your temples as the pain pulses and pulses and pulses.

A copper taste creeps up your throat.

The second man crouches in front of you, and you realise, through the fog, that his expression is enjoying this.

He reaches into his pocket.

“Took this from your buddy over there,” he says casually.

You force your eyes open, just barely.

Something small gleams between his fingers. At first you think it’s a coin. But no - it’s round, and filigree. He twists it, lets it dangle in just above your eyes. Gold. A locket?

The moment you register what it is, a shrill, unnatural sound builds behind your ears. You let out a strangled, involuntary whimper. The air tightens. Your muscles lock.

Tremors begin in your fingertips. Then your legs. Your whole body starts to shake, teeth chattering. You can’t stop it. You don’t understand it. It’s worse than Jordan - worse than the crypt, reading William’s name in the ledger, when Scott told you about Emaan’s lover - and their potential child.

"Just…wondering if you've got anything similar to hand, princess."

You try to answer. To move. To scream. Plea. Shake your head. You can’t do anything. Until, you splutter.

The man leans in, watching with a curious tilt of his head and a smirk. Like a boy prodding at roadkill.

Intrigued.

“Huh.” he hums softly, as if he’s watching you have a reaction to a cheap magic trick.

The copper taste hits tenfold.

Then the warmth.

You're shaking uncontrollably now, whole-body tremors. Your vision pulses in and out. Heat dribbles across your face, something wet dripping down to your chin-

Your vision collapses into stars. Everything becomes blotchy. You spit and grit your teeth, eyes rolling back in an attempt to offset the pain.

Blood pours down your lips, choking you. You gag, spluttering as it slicks your skin, drips down your throat, drowns you.

You meet the man’s eyes - just for a second. He smiles, eyes widening with excitement. Like he’s been expecting this to happen.

"Shit! He was right." He says, excitedly up towards the other man.

Before you can question who, what, or why, everything goes black.

#sam drake #samuel drake #uncharted #samuel drake x reader #sam drake x reader #tsi

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kellycataclysm · 4 months ago

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"You seem a little distracted..."

"Can you blame me? Have you seen my boyfriend...?"

I was very lucky to commission my friend @red-space-ace who drew this really soft and dreamy scene from the first moments of my spicy fic Risky Business. I love the beautiful lighting here and, oh my, how they are looking at each other is just so wonderful. A beautiful moment between two people who know they're in love... they're just not ready to say it yet. It's a little too risky...

I love that Kel picked this fic to work from, as it is one of my favourites! I particularly enjoy the ending! Thank you Kel, so much, for working with me!

Written based on the prompt 'Risky Places' during Kinktober, it was so much fun to come up with an idea situated at the infamous Pelican Town Spa! My friend @cloverfarm chose the prompt when I opened up asks during October!

There's a snippet from the fic below the cut!

Two nights later, she found herself sitting at the edge of the pool, the sultry air clinging to her skin, mesmerised as she watched Harvey pull himself up from the water, droplets cascading down his body, shimmering waterfalls winding down his broad chest, along his stomach, lower... She bit her lip as her gaze fell to his swim shorts, clinging to him, leaving very little to the imagination.

Not that she needed to rely on that anymore. [...]

She couldn’t believe how lucky she was, to be here with the sweetest man she ever met. She thought she’d been in love before and maybe she had, at least some form of it, but with Harvey, it was different, unlike anything she’d ever felt.

Not that she’d told him.

Yet, she found herself blushing once more, eyes greedy as she watched him approach, sitting by her side, kissing her cheek. God, he was so handsome, and he was hers. [...]

The blush on her cheeks spread down her throat as she thought about the way he made her feel; a deep and all-consuming pleasure she’d never known with anyone else. His fingers, his lips, his tongue, his… experience… He’d completely ruined her.

Not that it mattered. She was certain this was it.

#stardew valley #stardew valley harvey #stardew harvey #sdv harvey #harvey stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #lyra and harvey #stardew lyra #harvey sdv #stardew farmer #ao3 writer #ao3 #archive of our own #writers on tumblr #stardew oc

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luckyroll3 · 4 months ago

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Quid Pro Quo: Chapter 4

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, some violence, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 8,077

You slide into the seat across from Chan at your usual table in the student center. He's got his textbook open, papers sprawled with equations and diagrams on the table. But his focus is wavering, his gaze lifting to meet yours with a flicker of something unreadable.

"Hey Channie," you begin, your voice light but probing, "how was the rest of your weekend?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, a practiced ease in his shoulders, but the tightness around his eyes betrays him. "Usual stuff," he says, though the words lack their typical cocksure rhythm. "Yours sounded... eventful." You see his eyes drop to your neck, noting the bruises from the weekend, although they are faint now, the evidence of your escapades already starting to fade.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the dreamy tone from your voice.

Chan looks up from his book, his eyes guarded but curious. "Oh yeah?" he asks, trying to sound casual as he leans back against the chair. "Do tell."

You recount snippets of your beachside escape, careful not to delve too deep into the intimacy shared with Changbin. As your words flow, you notice that Chan's smile seems a bit forced, his laughter a touch hollow, not quite ringing out like normal. His usual quips don't punctuate your sentences. Instead, there's a hush, a thoughtful silence that curls around his clipped replies like fog.

Chan nods, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Sounds nice," he mumbles, shuffling some of his papers. "I'm glad it went well."

"Seriously, Chan, everything was perfect," you say earnestly, meeting his gaze. "I couldn't have asked for a better first time. Thank you."

"Hey, no problem. It was part of our deal," he replies, looking away and fidgeting with the corner of a textbook page. "Just happy I could help."

You lean in, trying to catch his eye. "Is everything okay, Chan? You seem a little... off."

He shrugs, still not meeting your gaze. "Just stressed about the upcoming final. Nothing to worry about."

"You sure?"

"Of course," he quickly counters, a little too swiftly to be convincing. “I would tell you.” His gaze slips away from yours again, finding a sudden interest in the scattered notes before him.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills the room. You can't shake the feeling that something’s not right. You're not convinced that he’s okay, but decide not to push; with his final exam looming, you focus on why you’re there.

You let it go, sinking into the rhythm of tutoring. The two of you diligently review equations and problem sets, but the air between you remains charged with unspoken tension.

You can't shake the feeling that something's different. Chan's usual playful banter is absent, replaced by terse responses and long silences. Every so often, you catch him staring at you with an unreadable expression, only for him to quickly look away when you notice.

After an hour of stilted conversation and halfhearted studying, you decide to try one more time. "Chan, are you sure there's nothing else bothering you? You know you can talk to me, right?"

For a moment, it seems like he might open up. His eyes meet yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. But then he blinks, and the moment passes.

"I'm fine," he insists, forcing a smile. "Let's just get back to these equations, okay?"

You nod, pushing down the nagging feeling that there's more beneath the surface. As you return your attention to the textbook, you can't help but wonder what's really going on in Chan's head.

Later that week, you're curled up in bed, a book forgotten on your lap as you check in with Chan.

You: Hey, just checking in. How's the studying going?

Chan: Slow, but getting there

You picture him there, surrounded by textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You: Keep at it, Einstein You got this, dude 👍🏽

You hope that your teasing draws out that boyish grin, even if you can't see it.

Chan: Will do, coach 😁

****

Chan smiles warmly at your texts before he sets his phone down.

The quiet hum of the desk lamp is the only sound accompanying his thoughts, which are consumed by memories of your tutoring sessions and the undeniable connection he feels with you. He's never experienced anything quite like this before, and it both terrifies and exhilarates him.

He leans back in his chair, letting his head roll over the edge as he stares at the ceiling and thinks about you riding him. He can’t get the image of you moaning on top of him as you came out of his head. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to have sex again with one of his conquests and he wondered what it meant. Although, he didn’t really consider you to be one of his ‘conquests’. He’s not sure what he considers you. This was new territory for him. Chan struggles to keep his newfound feelings at bay. They're different… and confusing.

Just as Chan is wrestling with these unfamiliar emotions, his phone buzzes again with a new text from you.

You: Forgot to mention I found this.

Chan clicks on the link you sent, which opens to a NASA summer internship program for future engineers.

You: Thought of you when I saw it. Assuming you pass Diff Eq (which, I totally believe in you! ️🙃), your GPA will def qualify

Chan: Shit, this is fucking awesome. Thank you.

You: I know it’s not roller coasters, but rockets are basically roller coasters in space 🚀 🚀 And definitely cooler 😆 Plus, I’ll be there next summer too - got recruited for a Women in Astrophysics program How awesome would it be to be there together?

Your message sends a thrill through Chan, not just for the opportunity but because it means he could be in the same orbit as you this summer. He can’t help but imagine the possibilities of spending the entire three months with you.

Chan: That would be amazing. I mean, if you don’t mind me harassing you all summer long.

You: I wouldn’t, so apply fucker! I’ll let you get back to your studying. Holler if you need anything.

Chan: Thanks!

He stares at the phone, at your name, longingly. Then the realization hits him like a punch to the gut: he's caught feelings for you. Real, messy, complicated feelings that go against everything he thought he stood for.

“Shiiiiiiit!” he breathes out while covering his face with the palm of his free hand, now very concerned about what this means. But he can't deny it. He wants you. It’s more than that; he wants to be with you.

He knows he's breaking his own rules, but he doesn't care.

He decides in this moment that he needs to make a plan for how he can keep you.

But that will have to wait until after this final. He sighs as he throws his phone on the bed and flips the textbook page to the next set of practice problems.

****

You’re sitting across from Chan in the library at his final tutoring session. He slides papers over to you. His face breaks into a wide grin, those infamous dimples appearing as he announces, "I passed! And not just barely – I fucking aced it!"

Without thinking, you leap up and throw your arms around him. "Channie, that's amazing! I'm so damn proud of you!"

As you embrace, you feel his strong arms wrap around you, holding you tight. The scent of his cologne – a spicy, woody fragrance – envelops you. A tinge of sadness colors the moment, a silent acknowledgment that this chapter is ending. You suddenly become acutely aware of how long this hug has lasted, how his chest feels pressed against yours, how his breath tickles your ear.

You pull back, feeling a flush creep up your neck. Chan's eyes are sparkling, his hands lingering on your waist. "I couldn't have done it without you," he says softly.

Clearing your throat, you step back, trying to regain your composure. "Well, you did all the hard work. I just guided you a bit."

Chan runs a hand through his tousled blonde hair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We should celebrate! How about drinks tonight? My treat."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before answering. "I can't tonight, Chan. Changbin and I have plans."

His smile falters for a split second before he recovers. "Right, of course. How about this weekend then?"

"Sure, that’s perfect," you agree. "I'm free Saturday night. I can be all yours."

Chan nods as he considers your words. All yours, you said. And that’s exactly what he wants — for you to be all his. "Saturday it is." He pauses, then asks, "So, how are things with Changbin? Still going strong?"

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. "Better than ever, actually. Thanks to you."

You watch as Chan chews on his lower lip, pushing down whatever thoughts are threatening to surface. "That's great. Really great," he replies, a note of dejection in his voice.

****

A few days later, Chan joins the soccer game at the park near campus. Today, he and Changbin end up on the same team. As everyone warms up, Chan watches as Changbin jokes and laughs with the other players. Everyone loves him, even the opposing team. He can see why you love him too.

Chan grits his teeth as he watches Changbin effortlessly dribble down the field, avoiding defenders with swift footwork. But Chan can’t concentrate on the game. All he can think about is you and Changbin together. He wonders if Changbin made you shiver and moan the way he did, how quickly Changbin made you cum, how many times you’ve let Changbin fuck you since your anniversary night. It’s all driving him fucking insane.

When Changbin scores a goal, his teammates cheer and rush to congratulate him. Chan hangs back from the rest of the team, clapping half-heartedly.

During the water break at the end of the first half, Changbin jogs over to Chan.

“Hey man, how’d your final go?” Changbin asks, clapping Chan on the back with genuine warmth. “It was earlier this week, right?” He shares that you were talking about him and his exam all weekend. “Now I’m just as fucking invested in you passing too,” he laughs. He wipes the sweat off his face with a towel before tossing it onto his duffel.

Chan feels a flare of irritation at the casual mention of your name. "Oh, I did well. Passed with an A actually," he replies, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice.

Changbin's eyes widen. "No way, nice job!”

“All thanks to my favorite tutor.” Chan takes a long swig from his water bottle and licks his lips, his jealousy simmering just below the surface. Against his better judgement, he adds, “It was a really big help when she agreed to our tutoring trade.” Dark Chan on his shoulder is cheering him on as he lights a match and tosses it into the dry bush.

Changbin's brow furrows in confusion as he chugs a lime-colored Gatorade. "Trade? What trade?" He sticks the bottle into his duffel.

"Just a simple quid pro quo. I helped her prepare for your anniversary weekend and she comped my tutoring sessions," Chan replies nonchalantly, the underlying insinuation clear as day. “It was a win-win. How was your anniversary by the way? You two have fun?” Chan smirks as he squirts gasoline onto the already out of control flames.

The implication lands like a punch to the gut, and Changbin reacts accordingly — anger rises within him instantly and his hands clench into fists at his side. Seconds later, his right fist connects with Chan's jaw before anyone can intervene. Chan stumbles back with the force of the blow, shock registering on his features before it twists into anger. The other players are just as stunned at the sudden violence.

"You son of a bitch," Changbin growls through gritted teeth. “How fucking dare you!” he spits out furiously as he lunges at Chan again and grabs him by his shirt.

Chan shoves him back and takes a wild swing, the punch grazing Changbin’s cheek. The fight erupts, a storm of flying fists and tangled limbs. Soon, they are grappling fiercely, trading blows as their teammates shout and scramble to break them apart. It takes four of Changbin’s frat brothers to drag him away from Chan just as things threaten to escalate further.

“Bin! Chill dude,” one of them shouts. “That’s enough!”

“Get the fuck off me!” Changbin shakes loose, elbowing and shoving them off of him one by one with ease, breathing hard, his face flushed with rage.

“Shit! I’ve never seen him this mad before,” another one whispers. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Fuck this!” With a furious glare, Changbin grabs his duffel and storms off the field, his expression dark with betrayal.

Chan straightens up, wiping blood from his lip, a twisted sense of satisfaction settling over his features. As blood drips from his nose, he tilts his head back, but his smile is victorious despite the pain from getting his ass kicked. In his mind, the score has been settled, even if it means wounding the one he's come to care for most.

****

You’re hunched over your quantum physics textbook, trying to focus on the advanced equations when your dorm room door flies open with a bang. Changbin bursts in, his normally warm eyes blazing with fury, his face flushed with anger, a bruise forming on his cheek. His duffel drops to the floor with a thud.

"Have you been sleeping with Chan?" he demands, his voice cracking with emotion, raw with anger and hurt.

The question is a cannonball that hits you square in the chest.

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you force yourself to stay calm. “Changbin, what are you talking about?” But you know exactly what he's talking about.

Changbin’s fists clench at his sides. “Tell me about this tutoring deal with Chan. What did you trade?” His words are sharp, cutting through any pretense.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to come clean. Your throat tightens, but you keep your voice even. "It was an exchange. I wanted to be more... experienced, gain experience. For you," you explain.

His lack of response is a vacuum that sucks you towards him. You rise from your chair, closing the distance between your bodies.

His silence is deafening, and you rush to fill it, words tumbling out.

"Everything with Chan was a learning experience, nothing more. Purely educational. I approached it from a practical perspective, like a class. You know how my brain works. I needed to make sense of the mechanics." You're pleading now, trying to bridge the emotional gap you feel growing between you with earnestness. You grab his left fist in both of your hands, rubbing your thumbs in slow circles on his wrist. "I don't have feelings for him, Changbin. I love you. Only you. I’ve only ever loved you."

Changbin looks at you, searching your eyes for any hint of dishonesty.

His jaw tightens. “Maybe you don’t have feelings for Chan, but he clearly has feelings for you," he counters, a growl underlying his words. “You just can’t see it.”

"That's not true," you argue, heat rising to your cheeks and feeling a surge of defensiveness despite knowing deep down that you’d seen signs of something in Chan’s eyes and there may be some truth to what Changbin is saying. But you quickly push those thoughts aside. "Chan knows the rules. It was just —"

"Rules?" Changbin interrupts as he rips his hand away from yours forcefully, his voice rising. "What kind of 'rules' are involved when fucking someone else's girlfriend?"

You flinch at his words, guilt and frustration warring inside you. He’s never been so angry with you before. "It wasn't like that!’ you protest trying to justify your actions, feeling smaller under his accusatory gaze. “I did it for us, for our relationship!" But even as the words leave your mouth, doubt creeps in.

“You keep saying that. You did this for us, for me, for our relationship. So what? You would test things out with him and then do them with me? Is that why you’ve been so eager to move things forward.”

“I wanted to be incredible for you. To reward you. Are you saying you didn’t enjoy any of it?”

“Of course I did, but that’s not the fucking point.” He rests his face in his palms as he lets out a frustrated sigh. “This is not how you show someone you love them. This is psychotic.”

“So, you’re saying I’m crazy for wanting to make our first time special?”

He looks up at you with sadness and disappointment. “I’m saying you don’t give your virginity away to the campus fuck boy extraordinaire.”

“‘Give my virginity away’?!?! I didn’t know I needed to protect my fucking virtue. Does this mean my family no longer gets the 3 cows and 5 goats that were promised?” you question sarcastically.

“No one’s saying that.”

“That’s exactly what you meant,” you huff. “I wasn’t a virgin because I was committed to staying chaste and pure until marriage or whatever other fucking reasons people have. You know I don’t believe in that patriarchal, misogynistic bullshit. I’ve just never been interested in sex before you. And I didn’t want to be awkward with you. What does it matter if I got all of that out of the way before you? You’ve fucked other girls.”

“Not while we’ve been together!” he yelled. “Are you telling me you don’t see anything wrong with fucking someone else while we’re in a relationship?”

“I told you, it wasn’t like that. It didn’t mean ANYTHING. It was just fucking sex.”

“So, is that what we did? Just fucking sex??”

You go back and forth, the argument escalating, words flying from each of you like daggers.

Finally, Changbin sighs and takes a step back, his expression unreadable. "I need to think about this," he says, his voice low and cold. "About us.” He picks up his bag. “And I can’t even stand to fucking look at you right now."

Before you can respond, he's gone, the door slamming behind him with a sharp finality that echoes long after he's left.

Silence blankets your room, a heavy, suffocating shroud over the remnants of the confrontation. You sink onto your bed, your mind reeling. You sit there, surrounded by the ghosts of whispered confessions and heated accusations. You think about the decisions you've made and how hurt Changbin seems.

You can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Did you really need to test things out with another guy before furthering your relationship with him? Was it worth hurting him like this?

But you’re also pissed. Anger bubbles inside you as you realize that Chan not only broke the rules but also maliciously threw this situation in Changbin's face. He shattered your trust.

You lie down, throwing your arms over your face and breathing deeply.

A few hours later, you hear a notification ping on your phone. It’s your calendar, reminding you of your plans to celebrate with Chan at the bar. You swipe it away, too emotionally drained to deal with people tonight. Twenty minutes later, you decide to keep your plans, determined to confront Chan head-on.

Upon arriving, you spot him leaning against the bar in the dimly lit corner, a drink in his hand as he talks to Minho. He doesn't see you approach, too caught up in his conversation.

"Chan," you say, your voice slicing through the murmur of the crowded space. “We need to talk.”

Chan stiffens as he hears your voice, his eyes darting towards you before quickly looking away again. He mutters something to Minho, before turning back to you, his expression hardening.

"What’s there to talk about?" he asks flatly, still not quite meeting your eyes. His words slur slightly. He’s clearly been drinking for a while already. Your gaze drops to his busted lip before shifting back up to his eyes.

Minho glances back and forth between the two of you. He shoots you an apologetic look before quietly walking away to serve someone else at the other end of the bar.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Don’t fucking play with me. You know what. I want to talk about Changbin. About why you felt the need to provoke him like that."

Chan scoffs. "I didn't do anything. I just told him the truth about our extracurricular activities."

You frown, struggling to keep your temper in check. "You knew exactly what you were doing. This whole arrangement was supposed to be discreet, but you used it to hurt Changbin. Why?"

Chan looks away, his jaw tight. He scoffs again, his lip curling in a sneer. "Oh, so now you care about Changbin's feelings?” He looks you square in the eyes. “Funny how you didn't seem to give a shit when you were fucking me behind his back, moaning my name."

You grimace at his crass words but remain resolute. "You knew what this arrangement was about, Chan. You're the one who crossed the line by deliberately throwi…”

Chan slams his glass down on the bar, the loud sound cutting you off. He looks away, his eyes settling on the rows of liquor bottles on the wall directly opposite him.

When he meets your eyes again, there's a flicker of something vulnerable there beneath the bravado.

“Fuck,” he says softly. He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his blonde strands shifting out of place. "I’m sorry; I don't know. I was angry… and jealous. He said something to me about you and I just... I lashed out. I fucking lost it."

“What are you jealous about?”

“You!” he says forcefully, his usual charm nowhere to be found as he pounds his fist once on top of the bar, replaced by a turbulent sea in his eyes. "This is your fault! You made me feel something for you; you made me fall for you," he accuses as he points a finger at you, his voice low and raw. “The hugs, the desserts, the laughing, the gifts, the conversation.” He pauses and sucks air in between his teeth. He continues, this time in a softer tone. “The way you call me ‘Channie’ like my mom does, how you listen to my crazy stories without ever judging me,” he pauses again, sighing before continuing, “the way you look at me when you’re beneath me…. How was I not supposed to fall for you?” His voice is a mix of anger and confusion. You let him talk, allowing him to get everything off his chest.

"Chan, listen to me," you start, calm against his storm. "We agreed—no strings attached. This was always just a quid pro quo arrangement. Just physical. That’s how you wanted it." Every word is deliberate. “You broke your own rules. No feelings, no clinginess. Remember? You broke them; I didn’t. I never caught feelings for you Chan.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you close, desperation lacing his touch as he slips them around to your lower back. He leans in close to whisper against your ear, "So all of our moments together meant nothing? I can’t believe that’s true." He nuzzles his nose against your neck, kissing and sucking the thin skin gently before pulling back slightly to search your eyes.

"Of course they meant something," you admit gently, allowing the truth to flow softly between you. "You're a great guy, Channie, and we have developed a relationship. We're friends. All those things you mentioned… They are what friends do for each other. More than that; I consider you one of my best friends now." Your hand comes up to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric. "But that’s it. I’m sorry. I'm in love with Changbin. Always have been, which I’ve told you since the beginning. That’s never changed for me. Whatever else you’re feeling, that's on you, not me.” You take a deep breath. “What’s on me is that I should have ended this after your birthday party," you say softly.

The air shifts, a moment of understanding flickering in his eyes before it's veiled again by doubt. "Friends…?" he echoes, a whisper lost in the swell of music and chatter.

You look up at him earnestly. "Only if you can accept that." You touch his face gently. “I absolutely adore you. I want you in my life… as my best friend, Chan. But it’s up to you. You need to figure your shit out.” You kiss his cheek and let the words hang in the air between you, leaving the next move to him. You remove his hands from your waist and give them a gentle squeeze before letting go. They drop lifelessly to his side. With one last look, you turn away, the warmth of his gaze on your back as you navigate through the crowd and out the door, the weight of decisions and desires trailing behind you.

****

The morning sunlight streams on your face, casting warm golden rays on the frat house as you hesitantly approach. The campus is dead, not surprising, given that it’s 7:00 am on a Sunday morning. The only people out are those who you assume are doing their “walk of shame”; you are too, though yours is for slightly different reasons.

Each step feels heavier than the last. Your heart races in your chest, a flurry of emotions swirling inside you as you prepare to face Changbin. You haven’t heard from him since he stormed out of your room, and you haven’t reached out, determined to give him space for the night to cool off. But when dawn approached, you couldn’t wait anymore. Taking a deep breath, you turn the doorknob and step inside. They never lock the front door.

As you step into the living room, your eyes fall on Changbin and several of his frat brothers sitting in front of the large TV playing some video game. They are spread out between the couch, the floor, a couple beanbags, and chairs from the kitchen table. By the empty bottles of beer, cans of energy drinks, and bags of snacks surrounding them, you assume they’ve been up all night playing. You’ve barely slept either, awake most of the night thinking about how to fix this fucking mess you’ve created.

Changbin’s eyes glance over to you briefly before settling back on the screen, his face impassive as he continues to press the buttons on the controller.

One of his brothers nods at you and you give him a weak smile. You sit in the empty recliner to the left of the couch and wait. Your pulse races, your palms damp with anxiety. You’re here to mend things, to stitch the seams of a relationship frayed by truth and jealousy. You curl your feet under you and watch them play as you wait.

When the round ends about half an hour later, you look towards the couch. "Changbin," you start, voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Can we talk?"

His intense eyes lock onto yours, and you feel a flutter in your stomach – equal parts nerves and longing. Finally, he gives you a slight nod. He sets the controller on the coffee table and stands with a groan. Silently, he turns and walks towards his room. You follow behind.

He stands aside so you can enter first, closing and locking the door behind him. You both sit on the bed, a respectful distance apart while a chasm of silence stretches between you. He waits, eyes searching yours for something unspoken. His eyes are filled with a mix of hurt and uncertainty.

You swallow hard. Finally, you can't take it anymore, the silence.

The words bubble up, urgent and sincere. "Changbin, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. More than anything. Is this... can we move past this? I need to know if we can move forward from this. You are my future. You have to know that I’m desperately in love with you."

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck coiling tight. You see the weight of hurt in his gaze, but also a glimmer of something else. He looks down and runs a hand through his hair, as he thinks deeply.

“You promised you would never let me go,” you add, your volume so low that you can barely hear yourself. “Never.”

A blanket of silence settles back over the room. For a few moments, it’s just the sound of the two of you breathing.

"I'm sorry that I overreacted last night," Changbin starts softly. "I was pissed, hurt, confused." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat before continuing. "I've been thinking a lot," he begins slowly as he looks back up at you. "About us, about what you did with Chan."

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it, you think. He's going to end things. You brace yourself for the inevitable fallout and wonder how bad your breakdown will be. They’ll probably have to restrain you…

But then Changbin surprises you. "I understand why you did it," he says, his voice softening. "I don't like it, I’m still furious about it, but I get it. I get how this made sense for you. You know I love how your brain works. And… I love you too much to let this destroy us."

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave. "Really?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

After a long pause, he sighs and nods. "I can move past it.” He reaches out to take your hand. His touch sending a familiar spark through your body. “But I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," you reply without hesitation.

"From now on, if you want to try anything new, any additional learning experiences… you come to me. Let me be the one to teach you. I’ll show you everything you want to know.” His gaze unwavering, his eyes hold a new intensity, a silent plea for trust.

"Of course," you agree, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. "I promise," you breathe, leaning in closer. "Only you, Changbin. Always."

His lips curl into a small smile as he leans forward, closing the distance, to press your foreheads together. “Good,” he says softly before his lips find yours in a kiss that seals your vow to never take this man for granted again. It’s a mix of tenderness and fervent hope, a promise of continuity and new beginnings.

This is more than just a makeup kiss; it's a reconnection of your souls, a restarting of the fire that’s always been there between the two of you, smoldering just below the surface. His hands are in your hair, gripping it gently as he angles your face perfectly, deepening the kiss. Your hands roam over his muscular back, feeling the contours of his body through his shirt, fueling your desire.

Suddenly, this isn’t enough. You both need more. You need to feel all of him against you, skin to skin. Changbin breaks the kiss only for a fraction of a second to peel off your t-shirt, throwing it behind him. Simultaneously, you tug his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it next to your shirt. As you continue to kiss furiously, you both shed the rest of your clothes in a frenzy, creating a pile on the floor with the items.

Changbin breaks away to look at you, his eyes full of adoration and something else, something that makes your heart race even faster. He suddenly reaches over to the nightstand drawer, pulling out a small foil packet. He meets your gaze with a silent question. A question to which you respond by nodding eagerly. This is what you both need right now, this physical connection that reaffirms your love for each other.

He rolls on the condom before settling between your legs. His lips find yours as he slowly enters you. You moan into his mouth as he starts to move within you, setting a slow pace that only serves to increase the intensity of your pleasure.

You feel like you’re soaring, the sensation of being connected with him in every way is overwhelming in all the best ways. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as he thrusts into you deeper, but keeping his speed the same, slow and controlled.

He’s also kissing you with the same unhurried pace as his hands roam lightly over your body. You’re lost in a sea of sensations, your mind consumed by him and him alone. Eventually, his hands find yours, interlacing your fingers before sliding them along the smooth sheets until your arms are above your head. He holds them in place there, while he continues to fuck you, oh so slowly.

His body shifts slightly, hitting a spot inside of you that makes white-hot pleasure shoot through your body. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out his name. Changbin finds that spot again and again, each time sending waves of ecstasy through you, the buildup excruciating.

You can tell he’s close too; his movements becoming more erratic and desperate. His forehead rests against yours as he continues to thrust into you relentlessly.

He groans your name, then adds, “I love you so much.”

His words send a surge of emotion through you, tears brimming in your eyes. You wrap your legs around his body and pull him closer, then deepen the kiss between you two.

"I love you too," you whisper against his lips.

With one final thrust, both of you reach your climax together, crying out each other's names. While Changbin’s body tenses, yours shudders beneath him. Changbin collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as he presses kisses against your jaw, neck and shoulder.

After a few moments of catching your breath, he rolls off of you and pulls out gently before removing the condom and tossing it towards the small garbage can beneath his desk. He chuckles when it misses, falling back onto the bed with a sigh. He then curls up next to you, pulling the covers over both of your naked bodies. When he notices the tears on your cheek, he uses his thumb to gently wipe them away.

You lay there, tangled up together, letting a comfortable silence fall between the two of you. Lying there wrapped in each other’s arms, you realize that this — this raw passion, mixed with vulnerability, trust, and love — is what you share, and always will. Eventually, even as the sun climbs higher in the sky, the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

****

Chan paces his room, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his hair as he worries about how he fucked this all up. Chan has come to really adore you. The thought of losing you – even as a friend – is more painful than he ever could have imagined. But how can he fix this?

His eyes land on the books you gave him as a gift. Next to them is a framed photo of him surrounded by a group of giggling girls at a party. He’s slept with almost all of them. He flips the frame down, not wanting to look at it anymore.

Chan sits on the edge of his bed, the silence around him amplifying his turbulent thoughts. He tries to make sense of the feelings that have taken hold of him. The walls of his fuck boy persona crack, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

"Is this really what I want?" he whispers to himself, staring at the floor. “What do I want?”

Some hours later with a newfound resolve, Chan picks up his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. His breath hitches as he presses 'call,' the sound of the rings echoing in the silence. He’s lost count of the rings and he’s about to hang up when you answer.

“Hey,” you say softly, surprised by the call. You ease out of Changbin’s bed, not wanting to wake him, and snatch his recently discarded hoodie from the floor, pulling it on to cover your naked body before exiting his room to sit in the hallway.

"Hey, it's me.” Chan’s voice comes out more vulnerable than he intends. “I... I wanted to apologize for everything," he starts, each word laced with honesty. “I know I fucked up, and I'm sorry. I projected my feelings onto you and Changbin, and neither of you deserved that. Shit, I really like the guy. I don’t know why I was so hell bent on screwing with him."

“Thank you, Chan,” you say, touched by his sincerity. “I think he likes you too. Well at least he did before you told him you fucked his girlfriend,” you tease, unable to stop yourself.

He laughs half-heartedly. “Too soon. Way too soon.”

“Sorry,” you say with a chuckle, glad that the two of you can still joke with each other.

“I’ll apologize to him too, at a later point in time when he doesn’t want to rip my arms from my body. Because he totally could. You know it took four guys to pull him off me?”

“I heard. But he should be fine. We talked, we made up, and we’re good. I’ll leave you boys to hash out your own shit, though.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You two are perfect for each other.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen. You were right. We did develop a strong bond. I consider you one of my best friends too. I’ve shared things with you that I’ve never told anyone else.”

“Me too,” you agree softly.

“And if you’ll have me, I would like to be in your life. As a friend.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he exhales, sounding relieved. The two of you are silent for a few moments before Chan speaks again. “So, I submitted my application for the NASA internship.”

“You did?” you ask excitedly.

“Yeah, on Friday. I won’t hear back until February though.

“Love it! I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you get selected. They’ll be sending me site options in February too. Hopefully we can be stationed at the same one.”

“Yeah, that would be cool.” Another pause. “Hey, I've been thinking, it might be time for a new deal.”

“I don’t know Channie,” you say hesitantly. “Our last deal ended up being nuclear reactor meltdown levels of catastrophic.”

He laughs loudly. “I know, I know. But just hear me out. I need someone to help me unlearn my ways."

“Your ways?” you ask confused.

“Yes. Can you tutor me in how not to be fuck boy?”

His admission hangs in the air, a confession borne from the raw edges of self-revelation. On the other end of the line, your response is soft, a gentle affirmation that stirs something deep within him.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "Okay, Chan. We can try. But is that what you really want? I kinda like Bang Chan. He’s fucking great. He’s my best friend."

“I kinda like him too,” Chan admits. “But he’s also a bit of a mess right now. I need to clean him up, make him presentable for the future. You know, grow up a little.”

You pause, considering his words. “Growing up is overrated,” you say, but there’s a note of seriousness beneath your playful tone. “It’s not like you have to choose one or the other, you know. You can be both.” You hear him hum in approval and can picture in your mind how his head nods slowly in the way that he does when he processes something. “Well, how about you figure out if you really want to give him up. And whichever way you go, I’ll be there. I’ll either help you clean up your ways or be your personal wing woman. That’s what best friends are for.”

“Okay, deal. I’d like that.”

“Deal.” You smile quietly to yourself. “And what would I get in exchange?”

Chan laughs, the sound warmer, more genuine than before. “Oh man… Let me think….”

“Come on, don’t make me wait forever,” you tease, shifting your weight as you sit cross-legged in the hallway.

“How about… unlimited access to my brilliant engineering mind? I’ll help you with all your mechanical problems.”

You snort. “Like you ever fixed my bike.”

“I could if I wanted to,” he retorts playfully. “I just didn’t have time this semester. It’s on my list.”

“Uh huh…” You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Fine, how about this: I’ll buy your beer anytime we go out. Lots of beer… and shots. As much as you want.”

“That you’re paying for? Not Minho?”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Yes. Out of my own pocket.”

“Now you’re talking. Top Shelf?”

“Mid. You know I’m on scholarship.”

“I can work with that.”

Another pause, this one more comfortable, as if both of you are soaking in the new terms of your relationship.

“So,” Chan starts, hesitating. “Are we good now?”

“Yeah. I think we will be,” you confirm, though you know it’s not that simple. You need to clear any potential complications with Changbin.

“Ok good.” You hear the smile in his voice, the relief, the lingering uncertainty. This won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. “I’m glad we cleared the air.”

“Me too.”

You both linger on the line, not wanting to let go of this newfound clarity and the tentative hope it brings.

“Get some rest,” you finally say. “You sound exhausted.”

“I will. You take care, okay?”

“You too, Channie.”

“I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.”

Chan exhales, a sound of relief mingled with newfound determination. You’re still there, just in a different way. And as he hangs up the phone, he lets himself believe that perhaps there's more to life than the fleeting pleasures he's known—perhaps there's a chance for genuine connection, for growth, for friendship... and maybe even for redemption. And perhaps, it’s also just fine for him to simply be who he is.

You walk back into Changbin’s room, closing the door quietly behind you.

“Hey,” he says groggily. “What are you doing?” He rubs his eyes.

“Nothing babe. Just stepped out to take a call.” After a few seconds of back and forth in your head, you add, “with Chan,” and wait for his reaction.

“Hmmm.” He lifts the sheet and beckons you back to bed. You climb in and snuggle against his bare chest as he wraps his arms and legs around you like a koala hugging a tree branch. “What did he want,” he said calmly.

“To apologize.” You look up and lock eyes with him. “He would also like to apologize to you, if you’re open to that.”

“Maybe next week. Right now, I still want to rip his fucking arms off and beat him with them.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what he predicted you would do,” you say with a chuckle.

Changbin smiles. “As long as he’s appropriately terrified.”

“You won’t mind if we stay friends, would you?”

“Are you going to do it anyway?” Changbin raises an eyebrow at me.

“Probably.”

“Why did you even ask then?” You shrug, causing Changbin to laugh. “No, I don’t mind. You’re lucky I love you.” He kisses you gently. You decide you’ll wait to tell him that you and Chan might be spending the entire summer together, when tempers and tensions have fully dissipated. “You know, I kinda like that bastard too.”

“I knew it!” you whisper excitedly, tapping your fingers on his pecs.

“But I will break his scrawny ass in half if he ever says any disrespectful shit about you again.”

You smile and give him a quick kiss. "I know you will. That's one of the many reasons I love you."

You snuggle closer, resting your head on his chest, comforted by his protective yet understanding nature. There's still healing to be done, but you feel a sense of hope about the future. With Chan, the path forward is less certain, but you're willing to walk it with him as a friend.

For now, you're content here in Changbin's arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you towards sleep. The world feels full of possibility, new adventures on the horizon. But you know you won't have to face them alone – your two favorite men will be by your side. There's comfort in that thought as you drift off, Changbin's warmth enveloping you.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this messy ass story. Leave me a comment, let me know your thoughts or any requests.

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