#i think there will be a third but no promises

[undyingdecay]

Hey I realized an ask I sent in a while back was kinda long and would like to shorten it so you can better work your magic in it! So here's a shortened version: perv!Bob making you keep his cum inside you all day because he just wants himself to be with you any way he can... NO other reasons...

see — bob’s not slick. he thinks he’s being subtle when his hand slides down between your thighs after he’s already fucked you through the mattress for what feels like the third time that night, his fingers lazily pushing his own cum back inside you when it threatens to leak out. like he’s helping. like he’s doing you a favor. and the look he gives you when you tense around him, the soft, breathy “oh god” he lets out — it’s so transparently needy it makes your stomach flip.

its never enough for him

not the fucking, not the come-drunk haze in your eyes when he pulls out, not the wrecked little noises you make when he fingers it back into you after, mumbling something about “don’t waste it, baby, s’meant to stay there.”

he’s obsessive. clingy in ways he won’t admit out loud, but you see it in how his eyes follow you around a room, in the way his fingers ghost over the waistband of your panties hours after, already thinking about how he could stuff you full again if he asked the right way. always thinking about you carrying some part of him with you.

he gets weird about it after sex, too. clings a little tighter, murmurs nonsense against your shoulder about how good you feel, how perfect you are, about how he doesn’t ever wanna leave. and you should’ve known it was coming the second he whispered, voice rough and sticky-sweet, “can you—can you keep it in for me, baby? just for a little while? please?”

it’s not like you didn’t expect it — he gets like this sometimes. possessive in a soft, almost pathetic way. desperate to leave something of himself behind. not because he wants kids (you’d made that clear early on and he swears he’s fine with it, says it doesn’t matter) — but because he’s obsessive. because he wants you so full of him you feel him for hours after he’s gone. because he likes the idea of you sitting at work, shifting in your chair, thighs sticky and aching and his cum still clinging to your insides.

and he’d text you about it too, the perv. sweet, sappy little messages like “thinking about you. miss you already.” ollowed by something filthier, like “jus' wanna keep filling you up please?”

when you get home it’s worse. he’s all over you, nosing at your neck, whining about how much he missed you, how he’s been thinking about you all day. his hand sneaks under your skirt without so much as a greeting, his fingers gliding through the mess between your thighs like it belongs there — and he gets so fucking hard at how much of him’s still left inside you. it makes his breath hitch, his voice go tight when he mutters “you’re s' pretty, y’know that? s’perfect. s’fucking perfect.”

and you tease him about it, of course you do — tell him he’s a sick little perv, that you oughta make him clean you up with his tongue, and the way he whimpers at that, pupils blown wide, cock leaking against his stomach, it’s almost embarrassing. almost.

he loves the idea of it though — of you walking around with him still buried deep inside you. like it’s proof. like it makes you his in a way words or rings or promises never could. and he’ll ask too, between ragged breaths and sloppy kisses: “don’t want kids, know you don’t, but—fuck—could pretend, yeah? just for a sec, just for me?”

and you let him. 

[angelacostumery]

Guess who finished another corset? (it's ME)

This guy comes from a 1874 pattern (specifically this one)

I made some not-so-minor additions to the pattern since most corsets run very small and I am not.

This was a rare occasion where the first mock up was way too big, but it still showed some promise!

(or maybe I just have low standards? idk)

The second mockup was made from denim, here is it straight off the sewing machine.

I took it in quite a bit because the back edges were touching which is a no-no. The gap here is much more preferable but it still had, um, issues...

I could basically fold the cups down and completely expose myself. More boning will help with that, but the gores had to be taken in, too.

This was the third fitting that day and it kind of looks th same but with more markings on it, so I did something I guess.

I made a new pattern based on that and then blah blah blah lots of sewing/cording/boning/progress.

More progress, all the boning added, binding done, etc.

Finally had enough progress to baste in closures and do another fitting. Some parts of this looked good. Other parts, however...

See typically you don't want the neckline to gape like two inches away from the boob.

So when adding the trim I also gathered that bit down. You can add a drawstring to accomplish this but the corded sections were so thick I didn't see that working well.

The end result is much, much better.

And that was about it. Obviously, there were a lot of steps to constructing this and hopefully, I will have a video up about that this weekend, but most of the pictures I took were about the fit so that's what I have to offer here.

There is some rippling, it isn't perfect by any means. But I think I can use the excuse of being out of practice for this one and I will take full advantage of that.

This is quite comfortable to wear and very light (cotton over lightweight canvas with buckram, corded, and boned elements for structure..)

I used d-rings at the center back instead of eyelets since I have always found eyelets prone to ripping out over time, no matter how I attempt to prevent that from happening. Worse case these rings will bend and can be replaced.

This was my first time trying it on since "finishing it" -- will aim for a more even lacing gap next time and wear it with a chemise, I just wanted to highlight the fit difference in the bust which is most notable when against bare skin.

I really like the line of the back and front silhouette, and think this cups my stomach better than any I've made in the past. There is still a bit of a gap at the bottom edge, so I might bend the busk a bit more to resolve that.

But overall, a much better result than I anticipated.

[jackrrabbot]

fidus achates

dbf!jack abbot x fem!reader

word count ~12.2k (sorry guys, omg)

content warnings/description: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, AFAB reader, age gap (jack is early forties and in the military, reader is mid-twenties), dry humping, phone sex, filming, hurt/comfort, single internal thought of jack wanting to knock reader up, camping inaccuracies

author's note: santos and garcia exist in this story even though it's before jack is even a doctor at PTMC. just go with it! enjoy :)

masterlist

you and jack take a short camping trip together without the watchful eyes of your father. this is the catalyst.

“Make sure Jack watches over you. I don’t need you getting eaten by a bear. Sacrifice him, if you—”

Your phone’s speaker crackles and your dad cuts out, but you get the gist of what he’s trying to say.

“Dad.” You chuckle. “We’re going to be fine. Promise. It’s a short trip—we’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon. I really wish you could’ve come along, though.” You pout, even though he can’t see you over the phone.

“I know, honey. But one of our military buddies—you know him, Thomas—really needs a helping hand right now. Someone’s got to be there for him, and both Jack and I can’t be away camping. It’s better that he goes so you can spend some time with him. When is he deploying again?”

“Almost right after we come back, I think within a day or two.”

“Yeah, see—I would’ve asked to reschedule the trip, but he’s going to be gone for another who-knows-how-long. You’ll have to go without me, honey.”

You sigh. “I know. It’s just always been our tradition, you know? But, you’re right, it won’t be so bad. Actually, it—... it’ll be good to spend some alone time with Jack. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out, just the two of us.” A loose thread on the hem of your jean shorts scratches your thigh, and you pick at it, anxious about seeing him again after so long.

“Are you implying I’m the third wheel? He’s my best friend, you know.”

You groan, “Daaad.”

He laughs heartily into the phone, tickled by your reaction. “I’m just yanking your chain. I know you two get along. You’re closer in age than he and I are, anyway.”

“Only barely. He’s still old enough that he could be my father.” A very young one, but still. “You’re just… way older.”

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. “Haha, hilarious, honey. But no funny business, alright? Regardless of what you say, I know how you look at him. And it’s not a look that’s appropriate for a daughter to give her dad.”

You gape, affronted by his implication. “W-What are you talking about? Actually… don’t answer that. Jack’s going to be picking me up soon. I’ll talk to you when I get back, okay?” You’ve never wanted to hang up a phone call so fast in your life.

“You better. And remember what I said, alright?”

“Of course. Bye!”

You hang up the phone just as you hear a heavy knock on your apartment door. Leaping from the couch, you rush over to open it, not before taking a deep breath in and out and adjusting your tank top and shorts. 

With an unhooking of the chain and a turn of the knob, you open the door.

Jack stands before you, dressed in an army T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, grinning wide when he sees your face.

He takes in your appearance like a breath of fresh air. It’s been far too long since he last saw you. Life has had her way with him over the past several months after coming back from deployment, and he’s been preoccupied—and unable to make time for you. 

…and your dad.

Now, he’s deploying back overseas in the next two days. This trip—and seeing you again—are the only two things that have been keeping him motivated while he’s been back. Days and days of counting down the clock until he could see you again.

He only wishes he had more time.

“Jack, you’re here,” you whisper, disbelieving he’s right in front of you. He looks… good. Strong. Like he could fold you in half. 

You return his smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a hug. 

When you two part, he squishes your cheeks with a single hand, puckering your lips. “Sure am, kid. Are you ready?” 

Babbling, you nod and respond, “Lemmejusgrabmybackpack.” He finally lets go of your face, and you both laugh.

“Are you sure you didn’t need me to bring anything else?” you ask.

“Just your pretty self.” He snaps his fingers. “And your cooler. We’ll need that. I’ve got ice in the trunk ready.”

“Oh, right. I nearly forgot. Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Jack grabs your wrist, and you turn to face him with a tilt of your head.

“Invite me in, and I’ll carry everything to the car.” He lets go of your wrist and leans over the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you, a vampire?” You raise a brow, confused. 

“Well, it must be the reason why I still look so good at my ripe old age,” he jokes, but doesn’t budge. He wants—needs—your consent to let him in. To cross the threshold. 

Because, really, he’s not so sure he’ll be able to behave himself around you on this trip. Letting him in now is future insurance just in case he does something against your father’s wishes. It’s not his fault if you give him permission to. 

He’ll try to be a good soldier, though.

He waits with bated breath, heart skipping a beat when you roll your eyes and quip, “Oh, you’re an arrogant one at that. Figures. Come on in then, bloodsucker. You can bite me as repayment for carrying my things.” You wink, gesturing for him to come inside.

“Don’t tempt me.”

The car ride to Raccoon Creek is only forty-five minutes long, and while you’re normally antsy during drives longer than your own commute to work—which is only a five-minute walk away from your apartment—you feel relaxed with Jack behind the wheel.

You hate driving, but he makes it look easy. His right hand is on the steering wheel, making a smooth turn down the winding road leading to the park, while the other casually hangs out the window.

Jack begrudgingly let you plug in your phone to listen to your playlist the entire way, complaining about the state that modern-day music is in.

Whatever, old man. Good music definitely still exists.

You’re about twenty minutes away from the park and too excited for your own good. Your knees bounce in sync with the music, the water in your bottle sloshing with every movement as it sits between your legs.

Jack sees you shaking out of the corner of his eye. “Calm down, kid. It feels like an earthquake in here.”

“Sorry, I’m just excited. I always loved going camping as a kid. It’s usually a tradition I share with my dad, but… it’ll be fun to share it with you now, too.” You look over at him with a grin.

Jack’s fingers twitch against the wheel. You’re too sweet on him.

“I’m excited too, angel. But let’s keep the shaking to a minimum, okay?” With his eyes still looking forward, Jack takes the water bottle from your lap and places it into the cup holder. Then his rough palm greets your knee and squeezes, grounding you. 

His hand lingers—thumb brushing over the soft, moisturized skin—but then pulls back a beat too late. And you notice. But you don’t do anything. Because your mutual attraction may be all in your head—key word, mutual—and you’re a good girl.

And good girls listen to their dad’s rules. Even if you’re sitting in the car alone with temptation itself.

You fan yourself lightly to stop yourself from overheating and point to the GPS. “We still have a little bit farther to go. I’m gonna take a quick nap. Wake me when we’re there?” You lean toward the open window and take in the cool breeze and the scent of the crisp summer air that passes by.

“Will do. Get some rest.”

You sit in the car, bleary-eyed and yawning, as Jack takes a second to check in at the park kiosk. He could’ve just checked in online but was too confused by the website and too stubborn to do it any other way than the old-fashioned one. 

It’s too late now anyway. You’re already here.

A few minutes later, Jack comes up to your passenger seat window, crossing his corded, veiny forearms over the edge. You almost reach out and squeeze but stop yourself.

“Alright. We’re good to go. You wanna take a second to use the restroom? Get some snacks? The only other thing we’ll be eating today is whatever we catch.”

You shake your head. “I’m good on the bathroom, and I brought snacks. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Alright. It’s a few minutes’ drive to where our reservation is.”

“Which is where, exactly? You never really shared the details.”

“You’ll see.”

You hop out of the truck and see the start of the trail leading up to where a walk-in site should be—at least, based on the dusty, barely standing post sign that reads, Walk-In 300 ft. Ahead.

Huh, guess you’ll be a little more isolated. 

Based on the Raccoon Creek map, the loop you’re in is tucked in the outer grounds of the campsite, far away from prying eyes and from the reminder that you’re not alone with only nature.

You don’t mind. 

It’ll be nice to have a real camping experience. A taste of the rugged outdoors. Typically, your dad books a cabin outfitted with power, a kitchen, nice beds, and a bathroom and calls it camping. Says otherwise, it reminds him too much of his time during the service. 

You peer through the window of the truck, looking at Jack on the other side.

Maybe your dad’s logic applies to him too. Maybe this keeps him in it—even while on home leave. You wonder if his days are spent just waiting until he gets deployed again. 

You’re saddened by the thought. You want to fill this very short trip with as much joy as you possibly can before he leaves again.

Did Jack somehow know this is what you wanted? 

Or… is he just sticking with what he’s more comfortable with? Quiet nights, haunted with thoughts for company, and the allure nature brings—even if there’s danger in every corner. Whether that be… bears or enemy combatants.

Maybe you’re overthinking, and he just wants you alone. You turn from the window and look ahead to the trail, a dry laugh escaping your lips.

Nah.

Jack pulls you back to land as you start to drown in your thoughts. He steps around the front of the truck and in front of you. “We’ll probably need to make two trips back and forth to get everything set up. You okay with that, angel?”

“Yeah.” You nod, adamantly. “What do you want me to carry?”

“Take the sleeping bags for now and carry your backpack with you. I’ll take care of the tents and the cooler.”

“Got it!” you say with a salute and a few measured paces to the trunk of his car. He shakes his head at you, lips quirked up and eyes crinkling. You unlatch the trunk and pull out the stuff. 

“You’re really excited about this, huh?” he asks as he joins you, amused by your playfulness.

“Of course… this is my first time actually camping. Not… glamping, like I always do with my dad. I’m glad he ended up letting you do all the booking this time around.”

“It’s a whole different experience. I hope you’ll like it.”

You make space for him to grab the tents and cooler. “I most definitely will. Why hasn’t Dad invited you to our trips before now? We should make this a thing. We can plan it around your deployments.”

“Already thinking about next time?” Jack raises a brow at you. “Let’s see if we survive the night first. C’mon, let’s get our stuff over there.”

Jack tilts his head to the head of the trail, and you walk toward it while he follows closely behind. 

After the second car trip and a quick clearing of the brush covering the gravel pad, you’re ready to set up your home base. 

“So you’ve never pitched a tent before?” Jack asks.

You look at him with wide eyes and a confused expression before you remember where you are. “Oh, you mean—uh, no. Never.”

He shakes his head and smirks. “Stay focused. It’s only the one tent, so we’ll do it together.”

You’re taken aback at this sudden news. “O–Only one tent? Didn’t you say… tents? With an ‘S’?” His eyes follow your pointer finger as it draws the shape of an “S” in the air.

“Did I? My bad.” He shrugs, but he hopes it plays off more nonchalantly than it feels. “It fits two people. When your dad said he wouldn’t be able to join us, I thought it’d be easier. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, not at all. I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

“I’m pretty used to living in close quarters. Sorry, I just assumed you’d be okay with it. Don’t worry, we’ll still be in our own sleeping bags. It’ll be fine for just one night.” He winks and clicks his tongue in an attempt to calm you. It works, slightly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, where do we start?”

“This spot is as good as any. It’s level, and since we cleared everything, nothing should be poking us in our sleep.”

Jack picks up the tarp from the ground. “Next: lay the tarp out. Want to do that while I unfold the tent?” 

You nod as he hands you the tarp, and you toss it out over the gravel. 

Jack unfurls the tent. “Alright, now, take one corner of the tent, and I’ll take the other. Pull it tight and lay it over the tarp.” You take one corner of the tent and walk diagonally from him, following his lead.

“All that’s left to do is assemble the poles, slide them through the sleeves here,” Jack says, bending down and threading his finger through one sleeve and pulling it up, “pin them, and bend them so the tent lifts. After that, I’ll stake it down.”

“Huh, I always thought it was harder to set up a tent. It seems pretty simple, actually.”

“That’s just ‘cause I’m here helping you, kid.”

Jack is just finishing up staking the last corner of the tent when you ask, “So, it’s barely noon. What do you have in mind for the rest of the day?”

“We can do whatever you like. But I was thinking we take a hike down to the lake and catch some fish. How’s that sound?”

“Let’s do it,” you say, picking up your backpack from the dirt and slinging it over your shoulder. “Do we need to put our stuff inside the tent, or can we leave it out?”

Jack smiles up at you. “There’s no one around. We’ll be okay. Let’s go.” He stands, then slings the camp chair bag around his back and holds the cooler and fishing pole in each hand. 

You’re about half a mile into your two-mile hike to the lake when you look back at Jack. He quickly glances up to meet your eyes, glinting with the sunlight and… something else. 

…Was he staring at your ass? 

God, you hope he was. It would make you feel a little less guilty to know he also can’t keep his eyes off you.

“Jack, why are you walking so far behind me? I practically have to yell to make conversation.”

“I want to make sure you’re always in my sight.” 

The logic tracks. Your dad did warn him ahead of time that if anything happened to you, he would kill him. And that’s putting it lightly. But still, he doesn’t have to be so far away from you. 

You stop in your tracks, turn around, and stomp toward him. His lips curl up as he watches you approach, and that just irritates you more. He just loves to get a reaction out of you, doesn’t he? Holding yourself back from chirping at him, you forcefully grab the fishing pole from his hands, and it’s quickly stuffed into your backpack, the red floater bobbing in the air from where the pole sticks out.

You thread your fingers through his now-free hand. 

“There. If you walk right by me, you’ll see me at all times, right?”

Jack glances down at your interlocked fingers and squeezes, just a bit. He most definitely could break your hand if he so chose, but his hold is so light that it tickles across your palm and makes you shiver. You clasp his hand just a bit tighter.

He looks back up at you with the same mischievous look he gave you just moments earlier. “I’ve been walking at your pace, sweetheart. Now, you’ll be the one who needs to keep up.”

For the next ten minutes of your hike, you’re nearly out of breath, only getting a chance to breathe when you stop to point out an interesting bird or some pretty shrubbery.

You turn to Jack, pointing at the brilliant, yellow American Goldfinch with the hand not currently clasped in his, but his eyes are locked on yours. A pout graces your face. 

Is he even paying attention? 

You suppose he’s probably more concerned with making it to the lake—before the sun sets—if you keep up this pace. You lower your hand, looking down, and let go of his with the other.

“Hey, what happened? Come back to me.”

You lift your head back up to him, and he pins you with an intense look. 

“I—I’m probably bugging you, aren’t I? I get it… we can just walk the rest of the way without any interruptions. We’re almost there, right?”

He scoffs, and you think he’s going to make a joke, but then he surprises you when he says, “What, are you kidding? Mother Nature is gorgeous, but you’re the only woman I have my eye on.” He kisses the top of your hand gently, relocks your fingers, and pulls you ahead. “C’mon. Just a little more to go. I’ll try to pay more attention to the birds.” 

Jack only lets your hand go once you reach the lake. 

The water is clear and bright blue, and it dazzles beneath the fiery afternoon sun. You're glad you packed your sunscreen and most obnoxious, gargantuan, floppy sun hat.

You swing your backpack around to your front to pull out the folded-up hat, the fishing pole bumping into your hand as it sits in the way. It feels a bit ridiculous once it’s on your head and you see the size of it as you look down at your shadow, but, whatever.

Jack looks at you, appalled, but otherwise makes no comment. 

Hat on, you both walk in step up to one of the piers that circle the lake. There are a few other visitors, but the piers are far enough apart that it doesn’t matter. It’s an intimate setting and perfect for fishing.

Jack sets down the nylon bag with the camp chair and the cooler on the wooden walkway, while you drop your backpack beside them and take off your hiking shoes and socks, wanting to dip your feet into the water.

You look back at him from the edge of the pier when he’s finally set up the chair and retrieved the fishing pole from your bag.

He meets your eyes and pats the seat. “I only brought one chair. I’ll fish while you sit.” 

You nod, lift your feet from the water, then take a few steps and crash into the chair. The hike wore you out more than you thought it would. You don’t even want to think about how your dad would fare if he were here.

Bending over, you reach for your bag, grabbing the sunscreen. You flip the cap, squirt a healthy amount into your hands, and rub it over your arms, legs, neck, and face. Meanwhile, Jack peels off his shirt and lays it next to him as he sits on the edge of the pier, throwing the line over.

The floater plops into the water, audible thanks to the isolated strip of walkway you’re on. Fishing isn’t really something you ever cared for, but since Jack has a permit, you can live vicariously through him.

“Jack… you need to put on sunscreen. Here.” You stretch your arm out to wave it in his face, but he doesn't take it.

“I’m fishing. Do you mind getting it on my back?”

“W-well, how about the front? You’re facing the sun.”

“If you can reach from behind, you can put it wherever you’d like.”

His voice is so smooth and velvety as he says it, and all you can think is, Jack, you can not be saying things like that.

You get down on wobbly knees and sit directly behind him, squirting some of the sunscreen into your hands and gently lathering it over his back. Your eyes connect the dots of freckles that litter his form, and you’re only more entranced as he rotates his shoulders and neck—as if putting on a show for you—and his muscles ripple beneath your touch. 

As much as you’d like to, you don’t linger too long, and soon you finish applying the cream on his back. Shaky hands apply more on his nape, and you circle them to reach his throat, fingers gliding over his salt-and-pepper-covered jawline. You dot his face, careful to avoid his eyes.

He’s just so pretty and a little too confident about it that it makes your head spin. 

You take in a deep—and hopefully silent—breath. Your hands inch down toward his chest, reaching from over his shoulders while sitting on your knees—your chest pressed tight to his back. 

Jack has to hold in a groan as he feels you nearly grind against him to reach over his shoulders, just so he doesn’t get sunburned. You’re so good to him.

You graze his nipples but move quickly to the surrounding taut pec when he flinches. 

“Getting handsy there, angel? Or should I say, devil?” He tilts his head back to you, giving you a sly wink.

“S-shut up. This is for your own good. You already put your life on the line for work. You don’t need to go belly up from skin cancer, too.”

He hums. “Can’t argue with that.”

You loop your arms through his to smear the cream over what you can’t reach from on top of his shoulders.His abdomen noticeably tenses as you glide your fingers over the sun-kissed skin, and you hold back a smile—happy that your touch can affect him like this.

Your fingers trail down to his navel, and even lower, and Jack has to force himself to stop you.

He gently envelops your wrist and says, through gritted teeth, “I think that’s enough, sweetheart. Thank you. Why don’t you sit back now? It might be a while until something bites.”

You reluctantly pull back and place your palms to his back instead. Pressing your cheek against his shoulder and nodding, you whisper a soft “okay,” as your lips brush against the delicate skin.

He shivers, but you’ve already pulled away. The skin on his forehead wrinkles as he furrows his brows in frustration at the situation. He’s trying, but his control is slipping. Slipped. And now he has to try to find ways to justify each and every time he inevitably gets too close. 

You've been sitting on the chair for the past hour, reading your book, when Jack shouts.

“I think we’ve got something!” Jack quickly stands, wrestling with the supposed creature, then reels in what looks like… a catfish? 

“Oh my God, you got one, Jack!” You stand up in a rush, nearly knocking the chair back into the lake.

He looks smug as he dangles the poor fish in front of you. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

The fish seem to be coming in droves now, and after what feels like only a few minutes, the ice-packed cooler holds several species of gutted fish—a nice haul of walleye, bluegill, and bullhead catfish—right next to the pack of beers. At least they’re packed into Ziploc bags.

Luckily, Jack had his army knife handy. Because of course he would.

He stretches in front of you. “God, my back aches. Can I sit?” he asks, pointing at the chair. 

You nod and go to sit by the pier, but as he walks past you, he pulls you back by the waist. He flips himself around just in time before crashing onto the chair, the fabric sinking and taut under your combined weight. You’re surprised it holds. More surprised that now you’re sitting in his lap like a child on a mall Santa. 

“J-Jack, what are you doing? This thing can’t hold the both of us.” You try to wiggle yourself out of his grip, but his hands only tighten on your waist. 

“It’ll hold. I have only the best, and I don’t want your ass to get sore sitting on the pier. Mine did.”

“Oh, and your lap is more comfortable?”

“I’ve been told it’s very comfortable. But I can flip you over and give you something else to whine about, if that’s what you want.” You open your mouth in shock, giving him an incredulous look.

“A-and why didn’t you bring the other chair?” You push because it’s a logical question, but you also want to know if he wants you to keep his lap warm. 

“It would've been too much to carry—even for me.”

It’s a weak excuse, and one you know isn’t true. Disappointment seeps in, but it bottlenecks as you remind yourself that at least you’re in his lap and at least he wants you there.

You glare at him but otherwise get comfortable, submitting to him a bit too easily. His arms bracket you in from where they now rest on the arms of the chair, and you twist your body, draping your legs over his. 

You press your palm to his chest, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. 

His shirt is still lying on the edge of the pier, damp from the harshly fought battles with the fish, and you swirl your fingers over the small tuft of chest hair trailing down his chest. His dog tags shine a bit too bright in your eyes, and you close them to imagine them as if they were dangling in front of you while lying on your back and taking his cock. 

Oh God, the thoughts are getting worse.

Your face starts to heat, not only from the warm weather but also from the close proximity. You’ve always shared a comfortable companionship, but over the past year or so things have been increasingly… intimate. Not obviously, but a few lingering glances and touches more than normal add up. It’s been over half a decade since you’ve met, and you’ve been attached at the hip since day one. But now you think you’re ready to take the next step in your relationship.

If Jack were to feel the same way, well, it’s something your father would just have to accept. You’re both well into adulthood. You’re mature enough to admit you’re helplessly attracted to him.

But Jack is still Jack. He teases, flirts, and touches you, and it burns you from the inside out—but he’s duty-bound to care for you, and he has to balance the act between a dad’s best friend… and something more. Possibly, something more.

Your eyes flit to the silicone wedding band around his finger, the shiny material reflecting the sun. It’s not new—and not something you try to pay too much attention to—but it triggers a core memory from days past, and you decide to bring it up.

“Hey, remember when we first met at Dad’s fifty-fifth birthday and retirement party?”

“How could I forget? The moment when you first became a pain in my ass.” He smiles down at you. It’s a soft look, endearing and warm from the recollection of the memory.

He jokes, but he remembers that day often—remembers how, even after the ache in his heart following his wife’s passing, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel when he first saw you. A light that was quickly snuffed out when your father introduced you to him as his daughter.

You ignore his statement, instead saying, “I was surprised when he first introduced you. I thought you’d be at least as old as him—not twenty years his junior.” 

“Military bonds know no bounds. He was a good role model. I was sad to see him retire, but he served his time. And he knew he had to get out before you went off to college.”

“I still feel so embarrassed and guilty asking you about your ring. I was so naive and… insensitive.” You cringe at the past you.

“You didn’t know, angel. It had been several years since she passed at that point, and I still had it on. It's not your fault you were curious when I showed up alone.”

A few seconds pass in silence. 

“Do you think… you’ll ever find the person? The person who you might set aside that ring for?” 

Jesus, you did not just ask that. 

You shake your head. “Sorry, don’t answer that. It’s not my place to ask you something like that.” You attempt to hide your face in the crook of his armpit, but your stupid hat makes it difficult.

Jack can’t bear the hope—and anguish—hidden in between your words. He tries to reassure you the best he can without cracking his chest open and giving you his heart.

He tilts your head up to him with his thumb and forefinger, finding your eyes beneath the rim of your hat. “Kid, look at me. You don’t have to feel bad. I’m not grieving anymore. The pain is still there, but it’s better now. I loved her—still have love for her—but I know she wouldn’t want me to stay alone forever. But… I never met anyone else, so why take off the ring? It’s as simple as that.”

You try to free your chin from the press of his fingers, but he doesn’t let you. You finally nod in understanding, and only then does he release you from his grip.

“You speak so fondly of her. What you two shared must’ve been really amazing.”

“It was. We were still so young and free at the time. Maybe I’ll tell you more about her someday.” 

“Okay.” A beat later, you add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for this to turn so… melancholy.”

“It’s okay. If there’s one person in the world I want to open up to, it’s you.”

You both lie in the chair in peaceful silence for a few minutes, watching the sun begin its slow descent over the horizon, when Jack starts to doze off. You rest your hand right over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slow and even out. It’s another ten minutes or so before you gently rouse him from his short nap.

“Jack. Jack, maybe we should head back. I’m getting a bit hungry, and the sun’s starting to set,” you say, shaking him awake.

He just groans and stretches his arms before returning his hands to your waist. 

A few harsh blinks and a shake of his head later, he says, “Okay. Vámonos.”

Jack is setting up the swing-over grill and the firewood while you season what you can of the fish. Luckily, you knew beforehand to bring a few packets of salt and pepper. 

Unlike Jack—who’s willing to risk his health eating the fish raw and unseasoned like he’s on Survivor—you refuse to go without any seasoning. The fish isn’t complete without a sprinkle of smoked paprika, garlic, and onion powder, but it’ll have to do.

You admire how the flickering flames lick across his skin, giving him a warm glow, and his ability to withstand them as he lays the fish across the grill. 

The thought is dramatic, but it’s as if he’d suffer through a little bit of fire to feed you. Nourish you. Take care of you. If only he could brave the paternal firestorm to admit what you’ve already admitted to yourself.

As the nose-wrinkling, fishy smell of the walleye and bluefish morphs into a delicious, woody, salty sea scent, your mouth starts to water. You hand Jack a paper plate, and he serves you up some of the fish as soon as it’s ready.

After squeezing a bit of lemon, you pinch a piece off the malleable flesh and take a bite, moaning lightly at the small taste of heaven. It has a robust, earthy flavor, enhanced by the acidity and the salt and pepper.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack stares, unwilling to draw his gaze from you, even to take a bite from his own plate. He feels an overwhelming pride swell in his chest, knowing that you enjoy something as simple as the fish he grilled for you. He’d do this for you again and again, if only to hear your sweet moans of satisfaction—like music to his ears, looping forever.

Even if they’re only for his food.

You continue to eat, a few hours passing by in casual conversation, and after a few shared sips of the beer he popped open, you’re ready to turn in for the night.

“Jack, thank you for dinner. It was fantastic.” You beam at him from across the dying campfire as he sits in the other camp chair. You yawn, stretching your arms over your head, your top riding up. 

Jack watches as the material lifts, exposing your skin.

“I think I’m ready to head to sleep. Are you coming in soon?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just want to watch the stars for a bit longer. I won’t take too long. Meet you in my dreams, angel.”

“Meet you there.”

You discard your paper plate into a trash bag, then rifle through your backpack, grabbing your nightwear before unzipping the tent and heading in. Plopping down onto your sleeping bag, you quickly change out of your dirt-caked and sweaty clothes and into a pair of flimsy sleeping shorts and a tank top.

You’re barely conscious when Jack comes in only a few minutes later, already stripped down to his boxers as the moonlight from the open flap in the tent pours in.

Though it’s dark, and you're halfway to falling asleep, you can still see the outline of his cock through the thin material, soft against his thigh. Your body forces you awake, eyes nearly glazed over and face growing warm, but you dig your fingers into your thighs to keep you calm.

It’s stupidly hot. Scorching. Both because of the cramped space—thanks to the single tent—and the heat of the night air. You try to wait out your discomfort, hoping Mr. Sandman drags you to his realm soon, but maybe you’ve outgrown that. 

Addressing the problem head-on is best.

“Jack,” you whisper. He turns his head to you as he settles inside his bag.

“Thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?” he whispers back.

You’re not quite sure why you’re whispering. There’s no one around for miles. 

“No, I’ve just been tossing and turning all this time. I’m really working up a sweat. Do you mind if I—… if I just sleep over my bag? I know it’s cramped in here—”

“—No problem at all. Don’t want you sweating all night. You’ll get dehydrated.”

You hesitate but unzip your bag—after a few seconds of sheer panic that you can’t locate the zipper—and escape the sweltering insulation.

Of course he’d bring his standard-issue mummy sleeping bags. You probably should’ve brought your own.

It’s a bit darker in the tent now that the campfire has completely died out, and you can’t tell if Jack is looking at you or has his eyes closed. Only his silhouette is visible from the moon and starlight pouring in—his head tilted in your direction and his arms out, mummy bag not fully zipped yet.

You let a breath escape you, your body finally cooling down. The sweat from the heat dries, but now a nervous one takes its place, your emotions working overtime.

Reflecting on today, this is the most touchy, feely, and cozied up together you two have ever been. And it hurts because you don’t know when the next time you’ll be alone together like this will be. During Jack’s brief stints, while he’s waiting to be deployed, you mostly hang out with him alongside your dad. Or, if alone, somewhere in public or with their other military buddies. 

There’s always someone watching. 

Someone who would judge the girl with a schoolgirl crush on her older, widowed, and too-handsome dad’s best friend.

With an ache in your heart from how close yet far you are, you finally settle against the sleeping bag and try to fall asleep again.

What you don’t expect is for Jack to reach for you, pulling your hips into his so you’re chest to chest.

“Jack—Jack, what are you doing?”

“You’re not zipped in, and I realize you might knock me upside the head if you toss and turn in your sleep. It’s better if I keep you restrained like this. For my own safety.”

“But… doesn’t this defeat the purpose? I’m going to get hot while tucked into you.” Your heart can’t take this anymore. 

“Hm… I guess you’re right.” 

Jack's fingers play with the hem of your tank, and you can feel them slip underneath, his warm, calloused hand pressed to your lower back.

His voice is gruff. “Take it off. The top and shorts. I won’t be able to see anything in the dark.” 

You plead, “J-Jack—”

“—It’s okay. I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.” His hand slowly moves from your lower back to snap the elastic of your straps against your skin, urging you to listen to him. 

“Do it.”

He’s so persistent about it you can’t help but give in. This is only the most logical solution to your problem, after all.

You peel your tank off, nipples peaked as the fabric runs over them, and you instinctively know Jack is watching. 

Gentleman, my ass.

The shorts are discarded at the head of the tent next, your underwear the only thing keeping you modest. You return to his chest and settle against him, the cool material of his dog tags stunning you for a second. You’re only too hyper aware of your peaked nipples rubbing against his skin as he wraps his arms around you again. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to get a mouthful of them. But there’s not really a valid reason for that, is there?

After a few heart-pounding seconds of silence, Jack speaks up, “I couldn’t see much, angel. But I don’t have to to know that you’re beautiful. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about this, okay? I just want you to have the best sleep you can. We’ll be leaving pretty early tomorrow.”

You only nod, your face pressed into his armpit and inhaling his heady scent. You fall asleep quickly now.

As you stir, awoken by the alarm on your phone, you see Jack, already awake, leaning over you with an elbow propped up. A soft smile plays on his lips. You’re still drowsy from sleep but feel wide awake the moment you realize the state you’re in. Your breasts are exposed, visible due to the early morning light filtering in through the tent. 

But that isn’t the worst part.

Your legs are tangled with Jack’s, your underwear is soaked, and your core is flush against his thigh. You realize, with shame, you must’ve been grinding on him in your sleep. 

He too must have unzipped himself the rest of the way down overnight, and your body took advantage of it.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head, reaching for your top scrunched at the head of the tent. You quickly rise from where you're sprawled on the tent floor, snatching it from his hand and putting it on.

“Jack, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—” you stutter, trying to move your legs from where they’re straddled between Jack’s, but he keeps you still with a firm hold on your waist.

“It’s alright. It was bound to happen with us being closed in and all.” He moves his hand from your waist to rub circles into your upper thigh, then pinches the soft flesh. Let’s see if he can get away with this one. “I want you to keep going. Take what you need.” 

“What?” You look down at him with a shocked expression, his nonchalance only exacerbated as he chuckles lightly into his fist, elbow still propped.

His serious eyes meet your owlish ones, and you gulp. 

“I said what I said.”

You’re flustered, tripping over your words, and Jack uses the opportunity to pull you back onto his chest and lie you both down again.

He waits. Waits for you to tell him that this isn’t right, that you can both forget this happened and move on. But he wants you to take advantage of him. He’s giving himself to you, even if you don’t realize it yet.

You’re both still for a few seconds, waiting for the other to do something. Say something. You decide to make the first move.

What’s a little more humiliation? Jack’s already seen your tits and felt your wet panties glide over his muscled thigh. And… he seemed to enjoy it. That’s all the liquid courage you need to do what you do next.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around his nape, pulling at the soft, graying curls, and resume the slow grind of your cunt over his thigh.

He just lies there, letting you use him, and watches you undulate on him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. And maybe—based on the way his breath hitches as you moan, and he relishes the overstimulated tears that drip onto his neck—you are. 

Your clit twitches, but you whine in frustration, not yet close. He decides to help you instead of being a willing bystander and grabs your hips to press you harder against his thigh, desperately guiding you up and down to give you the friction you need. 

“Waitwaitwait—Jack, it’s too—too rough, p-please.” 

Please don’t stop.

“Just give it to me. You can.”

Jack sweats as your hot pants collect in the crook of his neck, holding himself back from ripping off your underwear and taking you right here. If this is as close as he can get without crossing the proverbial line, he’ll take it.

You buck more wildly, sloppily against him as your orgasm fast approaches, and he gives you a final push—harshly spanking you, then gripping and spreading the fat of your ass to help you reach your climax. He’s basically doing all the work now, shifting you up and down so fast that your orgasm barrels toward you without remorse.

A gasp escapes you, one delirious with need—the sting of the spank and the relief of his warm, demanding touch, massaging and gripping your cheeks, finally hurling you over the edge. You come with a cry, muffled against his shoulder as you bite down.

Whispers of praise tumble from Jack’s lips, choked out, as he grapples with the ego boost of you coming on his thigh and the pretty mark you left for him on his shoulder. You’re so out of it, you don’t register his quiet confessions. 

“So, so pretty.” 

“You did so good, kid.”

“I wish… we could be like this all the time.” He kisses your sweaty forehead after that last one.

You lie still against him in the afterglow of your orgasm for a few seconds—catching your breath, reeling yourself back to reality—when you notice he’s hard, his cock twitching against his upper thigh and a wet spot forming on his boxers.

You reach delicate hands over to touch him through the fabric, but he stops you, fingers wrapping around your wrist. 

“We need to leave soon. Why don’t we break down the tent now?”

A frown tugs at your lips. “B-but… what about you?”

“Nothing about me. It’s just a natural reaction to us being cramped in here, that’s all. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Let me—”

“—I told your dad I’d take care of you. You needed to get off. I helped you. That’s it.” 

You’re taken aback, mouth open but left speechless. A mix of shame, guilt, and despair swirls inside you—his flippant tone adding heavy droplets of anger to the mix. 

Is he fucking serious?

You feel cheap. Used. This is the moment you finally feel brave enough to do something to push past the boundaries of your relationship, and he shuts it down. 

It dawns on you what he’s doing. He wants this—you—too. His actions over the past twenty-four hours have betrayed him, revealing what you’ve always hoped to be true. That he feels an irrevocable attraction toward you. And your excitement is quickly shut down when you realize he’s not going to do anything more about it than hide behind lame excuses. If he’s going to deny you like this… well, maybe it’s time to move on. You’re done waiting for him.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Tears sting your eyes as you quickly push yourself off him, grabbing your shorts and rushing out of the tent.

Jack watches you leave, pain wracking his chest. He shouldn’t have been so indifferent. So clinical. His no-frills dismissal of the reciprocation you wanted to give—ah, you’re too fucking doting on him. But his job is to protect. To serve. To obey. Giving himself to you has never been part of the equation… as much as he’d like to. 

He knows he fucked up.

Bringing you out here, to the far, isolated loop of the park, was his chance to feel closer to you. You managed to worm your way into his poorly fortified defenses—out in the call of the wild, where he’s usually alone with nightmares from time wasted and lives lost—and he took advantage of his own weakness for you.

But what’s he to do to course-correct? You two aren’t meant to be.

And so, even with a disgusting guilt and for a short while, he feels satiated by what little he could offer you, even if he can’t offer himself.

You’ll get over it.

The car ride home is silent, with only the sound of the wind whipping into your face to quell your frenetic thoughts. He looks over at you leaning on the window, disturbed by the quiet. Even if he doesn’t enjoy your music, he always wants to hear you. Always. 

Once home, he walks you to the door of your apartment, your name leaving his lips before you can close the door in his face.

“I know you’re upset with me. You have every right to be. But… I had a really great time. I’ll miss you. Give your dad a hello and a goodbye for me, okay, kid?”

You look back at him, sighing. It’s not fair that he has to leave tomorrow. You want more time to stew and act like a petulant child. But instead, you drop your cooler to the ground and give him a warm—but respectful—hug. 

“I had a good time too, Jack. Stay safe overseas.” 

He stands stock-still, surprised you responded in kind, but returns your hug. “I’m thinking of you. Remember that.” He cradles your cheek, wipes away an eyelash, and then heads into the elevator.

As you watch him leave, you’re left wondering what the fuck you’ll do now.

“Why couldn’t he come again? You’re really bringing the vibe down, sourpuss,” Yolanda asks, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You’re currently sitting opposite Yolanda and Trinity in a cozy booth in the far corner of a bar, with your hands stretched out and head sideways on the table. You groan.

“He has some finance-bro presentation for work tomorrow. He won’t be able to hang out tonight. But fuck him, right, ladies? Tonight’s girl’s—” You glance up and see them making out, not ignoring you, but too wrapped up in each other for your voice to reach them. While you’re glad to have accepted their invitation to hang out—after not seeing them for a while—you had hoped that your recent fling would be here with you to make this less of a third-wheel situation. 

You met him on a dating app—he’s cute, gentlemanly enough, and decent in bed. He buys you nice gifts sometimes, too.

Trinity breaks the kiss, needing air, and turns back to you. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“He’s not coming.”

She reaches a hand over the table to pat yours. “That’s a shame. We probably could’ve gotten him to pay for all the drinks.”

You laugh, cheering up slightly. “Yeah, probably. Anyway… I think I’m gonna head out soon. I have work tomorrow.” You move your arms from the table and lift your head, rifling through your bag to double-check you have all your personal items. 

Your face feels warm from the few drinks you’ve had, accompanied by a pounding headache, and you're already tired from your long day at work. It’s really time to go.

“Are you sure? It’s still not too late… Why don’t we dance? Or have one more drink?” Yolanda asks, twirling the straw in her empty margarita glass.

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but I’m exhausted. You guys have fun, okay?”

They both give you a sad smile. 

“Let’s call you an Uber.” Trinity says.

You crash into your bed after getting undressed and completing a half-assed version of your nighttime skincare routine. Your phone pings, and you check it to see that Nathan has texted you, wishing you a good night and apologizing for not making it tonight. It’s almost sweet, and you start to smile, until that quickly turns into a frown when he follows up immediately with:

Do you think you could send me a little something, you know, for good luck? ;)

I’ll treat you to the bonus I get if I secure this client tomorrow.

You roll your eyes. You’re not against sending a few sexy pics now and then, but you’ve already gotten ready for bed. Still, the thought of an all-expenses-paid trip to the Maldives does sound good right about now.

You make the difficult decision to get out of bed and dolled up for this amateur photoshoot—the only incentive being an expensive gift in return—and put on your best set of lingerie. It’s just been sitting alone, thrown into the far end of your closet after Nathan gifted it to you not too long ago.

The babydoll dress is a sheer, pastel mesh color that complements your skin tone perfectly, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It pairs well with the thong in the same color, with cute little bows adorning the sides of your hips. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with what you see. He chose a good one. 

Sitting back in bed and on top of your comforter, you try to work yourself up. You flick your nipples through the ruffly mesh and run your fingers over your slit, barely covered by the thong. 

Previous hookup encounters with Nathan invade your mind—as a mood setter—but it doesn’t work. After minutes of trying and trying to get yourself turned on for the man who bought you the lingerie pass, you give up. Instead, your mind flits to Jack and that early morning after you spent the night cuddled together.

Minutes turn into seconds, and you’re already wet, the stringy satin clinging to your cunt. 

You open your phone’s camera and position yourself to take some pictures, snapping a few of your perked nipples poking through the thin bra and your damp thong. More photos are taken, each lewder than the last—the final few exposing your breasts and soaked cunt, bra tucked under and thong pulled to the side.  

Going the extra mile—even though Nathan doesn’t deserve it—you also film a quick video. Featherlight touches graze your nipples, and deft fingers split the seam of your pussy. You give yourself a few light slaps over your clit, making you jump. You tease, barely nudging a single digit inside your hole, moaning Nathan’s name. It’s deadpan, but he won’t notice.

The production is shit anyway. The darkness of the room and the dust trapped in your phone speakers don’t do you any favors for visual or audio, but he’ll get what he asked for. You quickly shoot off the risqué material one at a time, then fall asleep—too tired to change back into your sleepwear. 

The last thought in your mind before entering dreamland: You wish Jack were here to help soothe the ache in your heart and in your cunt.

Jack’s phone pings as he’s lying in his bunker, about to fall asleep. He’s been tossing and turning all night, anxious for tomorrow.

He’ll be home again, this time for a lot longer. He’s itching to see you again after months of mostly radio silence between you two since the trip. He’s sent a few texts here and there, and you’ve responded, but they’re curt. Dry. Diplomatic.

At least when he’s back, you’ll have to see him at some point, right? 

Even if it’s just with your dad—pretending everything is normal between you two—and giving him the cold shoulder when he isn’t looking. Always the good girl, putting on a brave face so Daddy won’t have to worry. He’d be crushed if he found out you couldn’t even stand to be near his best friend anymore. 

Jack reaches under his pillow to grab his phone, sitting up straight in bed when he sees several text messages from you. He opens your text chain, your contact pinned at the top.

Jack nearly passes out when he sees what you’ve sent.

His eyes zip from one photo to the next, too impatient to process each and every one pixel by pixel. You're wearing a pretty lingerie set, but not one that he would pick out. He much prefers a birthday suit—less fuss. A dozen or so images of your perky nipples and sopping pussy greet his wide eyes. 

His heart nearly bursts out of his chest. He can’t see your face—the image is cropped out or just out of frame—but including it might’ve actually sent him to the infirmary. Why didn’t he take more pictures with you—of you—during the trip?

Maybe he thought he wouldn’t have to. Like somehow it could’ve ended another way—with you two together. You don’t need photos when you’ve already got the real thing. It’s wishful thinking, and now the only thing he has as a reminder is a broken heart and a sore wrist from thoughts of you crying on his thigh.

The last message from you is a video, and he adjusts the volume so it doesn’t blast, but at least he’s tucked away in his own quarters—a nice perk of being a long-time sergeant. 

He does it as if lowering the volume absolves the wrongness in his more-than-willing participation and engagement with your lewd messages. Still, his thumb hovers over the play button, trying to convince himself to delete the texts and forget this happened—but it’s a losing battle. 

The short clip plays, and what he hears is like Apollo’s lyre, your moans and the squelch of your cunt seducing him—but one bad pluck of the animal gut in the form of another man's name pulls him from his hypnosis.

It’s a name that doesn’t belong to him. It rots Jack from the inside out, grime curling into his mouth, and he almost spews it onto the floor. 

He already knows you didn't mean to send this to him, but he’s devastated and envious. Ready to march on a warpath leading to the man who let you slip through his fingers with tears in your eyes. He’s replayed that moment of you leaving the tent one too many times, trying to rewrite the story in a way that would lead him back to you. 

Jack should’ve reached for you then. Reassured you that the moment wasn’t just because of a warped sense of duty. 

He wants you.

And you’re no longer the eighteen-year-old girl he initially met. You’re a grown woman, one who’s capable of making her own decisions. Jack chooses courage now, because if he doesn’t act, paltry, meager men will take what’s rightfully his… what has always been. And he fears you’re already being pulled away by forces he can’t control.

The only other obstacle is your dad. But Jack can take him in a fight, if necessary. He hopes it won’t come to that.

He aches for you. Wants to take the next steps in life and move on with you. But he can’t, not yet. Not until he’s back home and he can show you he means it. But now he has all the motivation he needs to try to get back in your good graces.

Instead of deleting the texts, he saves the material, then he does what he thinks is best to rectify the mistake he made all those months ago.

He calls you.

You’re awoken from a light sleep when your phone goes off, vibrating on the nightstand. 

Your eyes adjust to the bright light on the screen as you hold the phone over your face—careful not to drop it—and you see that you have a few missed phone calls from Jack. You sit up in bed.

It’s midnight. What could he want? It’s been—well, since before the camping trip—that you last spoke on the phone. You don’t bother returning his call. Whatever he wants to talk about can wait at least until you're fully conscious. 

You clear the notifications from Jack one by one when you happen to see another one from Nathan:

Hey, did you fall asleep? Where are my pics :(

That makes you freeze, anxiety jolting you into full coherency. You know you sent those off… But if not to Nathan, then to whom?

You immediately return Jack’s call, not even bothering to look through your messages to confirm what you did. You know you sent them to him. Because, maybe, deep down, you wanted to send him those photos.

The line connects, and you speak up first. “Jack?”

He feels his nervousness dissipate, rejuvenated after going so long without hearing your saccharine melody.

“Angel… it’s been a while.”

“I take it you saw what I sent you?” You tug at the bows adorning your hips, loosening them and twirling the slack satin.

“Heard it too.”

You bring your phone to your chest, groaning in humiliation as the soft sheets rustle beneath you. Despite that, you grow hot at his wrecked voice and utter honesty. How is it that after all this time—even on complicated terms—he can still make you fall apart with just his voice?

You quickly bring your phone back to your ear to ask him the burning question. “Did… did you like what you saw?”

Jack’s brain buffers, pulse racing at your shy, innocent, but very loaded question. He doesn’t respond right away but feels the need to praise you for being so good to him. 

“…Yes, God, yes. You don’t know what you do to me, kid.”

Butterflies flutter inside your stomach, and you almost want to throw your phone into the wall from the overwhelming joy you feel at his response. 

“W-why are you calling?”

“Why do you think? I hear you moan another man’s name, and you think I won’t address it?”

“You don’t have the right to be upset. I walked out on you… but you pushed me away.” You pout and chew on your lip. You’re not letting him get away with his behavior that morning.

He’s stunned into a short silence, but ultimately he’s glad you called him out. You’ve been more mature than him throughout everything, and he runs his fingers through his curls in embarrassment.

He puffs out a tired breath. “I know. But that’s also why I want to talk to you. I want to apologize for that day. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Letting you go… well, it’s one of my biggest mistakes. I won’t make it again.”

Coming from Jack, it’s the most heartfelt and mournful apology you’ve ever heard. Would it be too quick to forgive him already? The distance and time apart only make you more willing to throw the water under the bridge.

You start to tear up and begin to say something when Jack interjects, “And I want to tell you that you’re devastating. Just…” He chuckles. “I can’t even get the words out. Stunning. Even if you’re moaning another man’s name.”

Heat works its way through your body at his words. Still, you respond, with a sniffle, “And while wearing the lingerie he bought me.” You throw that in to make him hurt. Just a little bit more.

“You’re really killing me here, you know that?”

You laugh, and he feels as if all’s right with the world again. “Sorry. Thank you for apologizing, Jack. I’m—I’m also sorry for not reaching out to you more. I shouldn’t have held such a grudge against you. I know you only have the best intentions.”

He really doesn’t. Not with your video still playing in the back of his mind. Not when he’s nearly two decades older than you and he thinks about knocking you up. But as long as you want him just as badly as he does, it'll be alright. “I should’ve reached out too. It’s not your fault.”

You both listen to the hushed sound of the other’s breathing through the phone, not wanting to disturb the quietude brought by your mending of fences. 

A few peaceful seconds pass in silence. “So… what now?” 

“You tell me. What do you want, angel?”

“I want—I want you. I… I want to be with you, Jack.” Your voice comes out shaky and in a pathetic whisper, but that only endears you to him more.

“Then you have me.” Jack twists the silicone band on his finger, already planning your life together in his head. He’s going to take such good care of you. That nearly excites him more than the thought of getting you underneath him. Almost. 

“What do we do about my dad?”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ll talk to him together. I didn’t tell you, but I’m coming home tomorrow.”

If you weren’t already sitting up in bed, you would probably levitate. You smack your chest as your heart pumps a little too fast. “You’ll be here? Tomorrow?”

He’s amused by your sweet reaction. “Yes. Wait for me.”

“Okay, I will.” You nod, even though he can’t see you over the phone. “I—I missed you.”

“Me too, sweetheart. More than words can say.”

A moment later, Jack speaks up, addressing you by name. He doesn’t want the call to end. He wants to feel close to you again with a new understanding that he can be a little selfish. Because that's what people who let themselves feel and receive love do.

“Before we hang up, I want to try something. I want you to send your boyfriend a little present.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just… sleeping together. And what present?”

“That’s good. It’ll make this easier. I want you to touch yourself. Make him a video like the one you sent me. I’ll talk you through it, baby. Tell him who you were really thinking about when you made it.”

Your mouth hangs open. The gall. The nerve. The audacity. But his possessiveness and need to claim you in front of the audience of one make you squirm, your cunt starting to leak from just his words.

He tuts into the phone when you don’t respond. “Be a good girl and answer me.”

Affirming words spill easily from your lips. “O-okay. I’ll do it. What—what would you like me to do first, sir?”

Jack groans into the phone as he clutches it, his other hand moving beneath his boxers to free himself, and you giggle at his reaction. 

“Put me on speakerphone. Use one hand to film and the other to pinch and squeeze your tits. Perk them up real nice.”

You rip your comforter away from your body to play with your nipples through the mesh lingerie—sensitive—as the fabric rubs into them. As you tug each one roughly, your other hand shakes as it holds the phone while recording. It’d be so much more difficult to focus if you were also FaceTiming each other. But luckily for you, Jack probably doesn’t even know what that is. You’re patient enough to wait to see him tomorrow. In person.

You moan softly, more enthusiastically this time around than earlier tonight. Poor, poor Nathan.

“Say my name. Say it, baby.” You can hear the lewd squelches coming from Jack’s end as he jerks his cock, and you whine his name—loud enough for the phone to pick up—your nipples stinging from how brutally you’ve tweaked them.

He grunts, “Now, slowly drag your hand down and touch your clit. Make sure you give him a good look, angel.” Jack’s breathing quickens, and you hear him spit, lubing up his already wet cockhead and fisting himself to spread more slick down his length.

You follow his command. You trail your fingers down the slope of your body until they reach your center. Making sure the camera is focused on your cunt, you manage to splay yourself open, giving the lens a nice look at your soaked and slippery folds. Your digits press harsh circles into your clit, and you have to stop yourself from squirming too much to keep the phone from rocking. “J-Jack, I’m—I’m getting close. Pleasepleaseplease keep talking to me. Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

“Already going to come? We’ve barely started, kid.” 

Hearing him call you kid at this very moment does unspeakable things to you. Things it shouldn’t.

He laughs at you, mockingly, but he’s getting close too. He twists his rough fist up and down the length of his cock, putting his phone on the nightstand so he can massage his balls, throbbing and full for you.

It’s really too bad that all his come will be going to waste.

“You want my praise? That it?” he drawls, words slurring as his balls tighten. “You should be here, helping me with this.” Jack punctuates his statement with a rough tug of his cock, hopeful that you get his point through his voice alone. “This is all your fault. You’d like to see how hard and leaky I am for you, hm? I’ll prove to you how much you drive me crazy tomorrow. It’s a promise.”

Jack starts to stroke himself faster, the globs of spit trailing down to his balls and sheets from his hurried pace. He wants you to come first.

“A-angel, please, put the heel of your palm on your clit and three fingers in your cunt. It won’t fill you like I will, but it’ll work.”

He sounds absolutely wrecked, but he’s past the point of total humiliation now. As long as you do what he says, you’ll both be rewarded.

You rub your swollen clit with the heel of your hand, fucking yourself on three digits—and he’s right—it’s not enough. But he’s not here right now, and you need to come. He needs you to come.

“Are you doing it?” When all he hears is a high-pitched “Mhm!” from you, he gives the final directive. 

“Come, baby. Need to hear you. Show him what it’s like when a man really makes you come.”

You finally crest, overloaded with physical sensation and Jack’s praise, ragged and through gritted teeth. You let out a pathetic wail, orgasm ripping through you and making you drop the phone onto the bed next to you with a soft thud. You twitch, worn out, but can hear him shift in his bed, adjusting to make himself more comfortable.

With a strained voice, Jack says, “Good girl. That’s a… very good girl.” He gives you a few seconds to catch your breath. Then, he immediately follows up with, “Stay with me, angel. I need to hear your voice.”

A few more strokes of his cock, and your whispers and quiet confessions push him over the edge. 

He comes with a rumbling groan, thick spend making a sloppy mess over his hand, down his length, onto his sleep shorts, and into his sheets. At the tail end of his orgasm, he idly thinks about making you lick clean his mess. Maybe feeding it to you and watching your eyes glass over with the taste. Tomorrowtomorrowtomorrow.

With that in mind, Jack flops back onto his pillow, exhausted but satiated. He whispers your name, hoping you haven’t fallen asleep yet. You respond with a soft hum, and he lets out a breath. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. I needed that. We both did. Are you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired,” you whisper back, head nestled sideways into the pillow.

“Okay, I don’t want to keep you up too long. You probably have work, right? Sweet dreams, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow. And… you don’t have to send him the video if you don’t want to.” Nathan will know soon enough that only Jack has a claim on you. 

You snort. You already know what he really wants. “I already sent it. Guess I should burn this lingerie set now, huh?” 

His lips curl up in a devilish smirk. He doesn’t deserve you. “Goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight, Jack. Love you.” 

He freezes. He’s not sure if you meant those last two words or if they just spilled out of you due to your post-coital haze and fatigue. But he doesn’t get the chance to confirm, as he can tell from your silence you’ve fallen asleep.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He hangs up. 

Love you.

You’ve just come home from work—tired and nearly passed out—when you hear a knock at the door. He texted you a while ago when his plane landed. Is he here already?

You open the door and see Jack, still in his military outfit and carrying his luggage, dropping it as you jump into his arms.

“It’s good to see you, kid.” He whispers into your neck, inhaling your scent. Your scent’s a little sweaty and like the outside, but you smell like home.

“It’s good to see you too, Jack.” You bury your face into his shoulder, wanting to crawl inside his skin, but content with just a hug for now. You can feel his back muscles even through the thick material of his outfit, and it’s as if he’s gotten even stronger since you saw him last. You’re glad he’s holding you up because you would have quickly dropped to your knees to give him a warm, wet welcome home. But the apartment floor is hardwood, and he hasn’t even stepped inside yet. There’ll be time for that later.

He tilts your chin up from where it's tucked into his shoulder and kisses you. It’s soft and gentle, like a ghost haunted by its past trying to grasp something real. But you’re solid against his touch, and he lets himself feel your lips and soft skin and supple body against his.

He kicks his gear into your apartment and closes the door, then carries you to your bed, still kissing you. He doesn’t bother to ask for permission to enter this time. You’re tossed onto the bed with a soft thud, and Jack bends down to cradle the side of your face with his warm palm, his intense stare meeting your loving one.

“Let me make good on my promise. Are you gonna let me eat out your sweet cunt? Or do you want my cock now?”

Your body shakes, and you make a cute noise in the back of your throat. “D-don’t you want to change first? Maybe let me make you something to eat?”

“No. I want to take care of you. Let me?”

You can’t help but beam at him. It’s no use fighting him. “Okay.” 

You lay your hand over his and notice his wedding band is gone.

“Dad? Dad, are you okay? You’re staring off into space…”

You and Jack give each other a worried look as you sit opposite your dad at lunch. You slightly regret having told him about your relationship. Maybe this could’ve been kept a secret until… nevermind. That’s too morbid. He’ll just have to accept this.

Your dad shakes his head. “Sorry, I—I didn’t expect this, but to be honest, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He sighs. “As long as you’re both happy, I’m happy. I can’t dictate your life anymore, honey. But Jack, if you hurt her, you won’t be dropping twenty. You’ll just be dropping. And I don’t mean pushups. Understand me?”

Jack smiles, turns to you, and brings your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I sure do.”

[purangelblood]

pathetic. . . sub!matt.

He looks so pathetic like this.

On his knees, still trembling and overly-sensitive, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled. His eyes widen a little, and he swallows harshly before speaking up again, pleading, "Please... let me make you cum...”

It makes you smirk. "You really think you deserve to touch me after you bad you were acting?"

His tone is soft, barely above a whisper, "I...I'll be good.." He promises, staring up at you with needy eyes, "Please let me touch you.."

"I don't know..." You tease, tilting your head. "What if you can't make me cum?" He whimpers a little, face growing red at your accusation. "I- I can." His fingers twitching on your knees, awaiting your decision. "Always make you cum, mama... Please, I'll make you feel so good- I- I promise."

A quick order, and Matt is slipping his hands under your skirt, telling you to lay back. He swallows nervously his fingers shaking as they finally reach the hem of your underwear.

He pauses for a moment, looking up at you, "Can I..?"

"Did I not say get to it?"

His face flushes, he stutters out, "Sorry- sorr- yes ma'am." He's biting his lip, letting out a small gasp when they slide off and he sees what he's been begging for all night. His fingers are shaking when he reaches out to touch you, letting out a soft whine as his fingers run through your wet folds.

"So pretty." He murmurs, his eyes locked on yours as he starts lapping at your clit, giving it small kitten licks then flattening his tongue against it. He can't help but let out a moan, his hands squeezing your thighs.

You grab his hair harshly, letting out a soft gasp as you steer him exactly where you want him. He moans against you, enjoying the way his tongue makes you shiver. He starts to lose himself in it, movements becoming needier as he sucks on your clit. His tounge swirls around it and his eyes fall shut, focusing on making you feel good. "Ma-matt—"

He lets out a loud needy whimper against you. He needs to please you, make you feel good in anyway he can. "Mnnn-ngh— please, mama–" He flicks his tongue against your clit again, you're driving him crazy. He's not even keeping up with his actions, just focused on what feels good. His head feels fuzzy, eyes drooping shut as he devotes himself to making you feel good.

Your legs shake, eyes rolling back into your head as your other hands grip the sheets for purchase. "Matt– matt— fuck-" You quiver against his mouth and he moans again, the vibration making you gasp.

He presses his fingers inside you, desperately trying to reach that spot to make you cum. "Taste so good... mama..." He breathes out, voice muffled by your body. He keeps a fast pace, lapping and sucking at your clit as he adds third finger inside you, feeling you clench around his fingers.

"Mhhhh— m'— m'— gonna—"

"Cum, mama—" He moans out, fingers pumping into you faster, "Cum on my fingers, mama. Wanna feel it— please, mama—" His words are too much for you, that feeling in your lower stomach getting harder and harder to hold back.

You squeal as his fingers curl inside you, tongue getting more and more eager. "Please." He whines out, he's relentless now. Not letting up for a second to give you a chance to catch your breath, "Please, baby, want it.. please, please, please cum on my fingers, mama."

You can't hold it anymore, you grip Matt's hair for dear life as you see white. You clamp down around him, his mouth keeps working you through it, helping you ride you it out.

Helpless pants leave your lips, tears blurring your lips as you glance down at the sight before you. Matt sliding his fingers out of you and making a show of desperately licking them. "T...thank you."

akari's note 🪽: i truly did not mean to make this long.. but matt the munchiwiabwjev

akari's beautiful angels ✞︎: @mattslilies @heartsonlyforchris @ifwdominicfike @izzylovesmatt @angelyearner @courta13 @cykss @mf-divaaa-08 @sturnslux3 @everythingaboutbags @sturns-mermaid @starsashley00 @strnilolover @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @salaciousxsturniolo @i-love-matt-sturniolo @feiinformatt @sophieredevil

do you want to be an angel? do you want to be pure? click here! ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

[woozisprincess]

Looking In

Your two closest friends, who are also your otp, are more comfortable around you than anyone else. Like they're really comfortable. Probably too comfortable.

Scoups x Fem!Reader x Woozi

6.4k

Poly fic, fluff, friends to lovers, dense reader, super suggestive, Seungcheol thot activity, CheolHoon argue a lot but it's all in good faith, made Seungcheol really pouty because I like, Jihoon tries to be normal, Vernon listens to your CheolHoon problems, lmk if anything else

--------------------------⊙⁠.⁠☉----------------------------

Whenever Jihoon and Seungcheol were around, you always felt like you were witnessing something that you shouldn't. Moments between them that in no way were intended for the public eye. And for whatever fucking reason, they only seemed to act this away around you. During a group hangout, when the three of you were the first to arrive, it almost felt like you yourself were in the relationship. They giggled and smiled at each other like they shared a secret no one else knew, and then they'd look at you like you were also privy to that secret. You were not. And then as more of your friends filed in, they'd go back to acting how they normally did around people. Still cute, still in love, just much less intimate.

And this has happened multiple times, mind you. Whenever you had the pleasure of third wheeling them for the day, or when you'd stop by Jihoon's place to binge anime while Seungcheol lurked around. It was insane. You felt insane. At first you had fully convinced yourself that you were imagining things, but as time went on, it was clear that it was very real, and that you were the only one experiencing this.

The lovers were undeniably your otp, seeing as you had been rooting for them since Jihoon first let it slip to you that he had a massive crush on Seungcheol. He was all nervous and flustered, made you promise to not say anything. You couldn't help but laugh at how adorable he was being. Did he really not see how Seungcheol looked at him? Truthfully, you're the only reason they're even together. Jihoon was in complete denial that Seungcheol could possibly like him, and Seungcheol couldn't read through Jihoon's Tsundere tendencies for shit. So through meticulous planning, and months of egging the two of them on, they finally confessed to one another. So yeah, you happily take credit.

You assume that's why they're so… comfortable… around you. You really can't find another explanation. You'd always been pretty close to both of them as well, so that's definitely gotta be a part of it. It's just so odd to you.

Well, at least it was odd to you. It's been a year since it all started, and you've grown quite used to their behavior. In fact, you'd even say that you enjoy the special treatment. The way Seungcheol reaches to hold your hand in crowded spaces the same way he does for Jihoon, when Jihoon pulls you as close as he possibly can during movie nights, how they both call you their girl. You don’t think you've even thought about getting a boyfriend since all this started, you really didn't need one when you basically had two. That's why as you sat at your favorite brunch spot with them, you were completely unphased by… whatever they were doing.

You looked at your menu, unsure of what to get this time around. You told yourself that you'd order something different today, but your eyes kept drifting to the Very Berry French Toast that you always ordered.

“What do I even get?” You were mostly talking to yourself, but Seungcheol chimed in anyway.

“I don't know…” He feigned genuine thought as he glanced at his menu. “Maybe we should just order this.” His hand grabbed Jihoon's face, pinching his cheek.

First of all, we is insane, but okay.

Jihoon rolled his eyes, but the flush creeping up his face betrayed him. “You cannot do this every time we eat, the joke is dead.”

“Who said I was joking?” Seungcheol raised his brow.

“Do not-” you closed your menu having decided on your meal. “-start this here, Seungcheol. People are trying to eat.” You were getting the Very Berry French Toast.

“Yeah me too-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon cut off the large man. “Can I please! Just enjoy brunch in peace?”

Seungcheol looked around, once again pretending to think about his answer.

“Maybe… if you give me a kiss.” Seungcheol looked at him smug.

You had no clue how Jihoon did it. Seungcheol was a Leo man. A LEO MAN. But then again, you probably entertained Seungcheol's antics the most.

Jihoon pretended to die, slumping over in his seat and making a cartoonish ‘bleh’ sound. He stayed like that for an entire ten seconds before sitting back up, scowling at Seungcheol, and quickly pecking his lips. Seungcheol hummed triumphantly, fully aware that that was the most he was gonna get in a public setting.

You see, Jihoon would've never done even that if anybody else was sitting across from them. PDA was not his thing at all. But for whatever reason, he could not care less in your presence.

You watched as Jihoon fixed his Jacket after it had fallen from his shoulders due to his award winning death scene. You were actually pretty sure it was Seungcheol’s, a new one of his too. Jihoon sure worked fast.

Soon your waitress arrived to take your orders, quickly jotting down the three meals before scurrying off. As you all waited, you continued with your mindless chatter. Jihoon and Seungcheol held hands over the table and you were very unsurprised when Jihoon eventually reached across to grab your hand as well. You happily took it, you'd have to be insane to turn down Lee Jihoon's open and willing affections, regardless of how peculiar it was. You watched as his eyes lit up just a little bit brighter as he continued to yap about the anime the two of you had finished the night prior.

When the food arrived, they shared with each other, as couples liked to do, and then they shared with you, as they liked to do. You also shared your treasured Very Berry in return. You honestly liked this arrangement, it meant that you could have different meals and still order your tooth rotting breakfast food. A bit of Seungcheol's Hearty beef sandwich, some of Jihoon's healthy chicken salad, all together it balanced out your meal perfectly.

_

“Maybe you're their third person?”

“Their what?”

You sat on your couch with Vernon as the two of you talked about your mornings, a movie playing on the TV that you've only half paid attention to. Vernon is the only person you've told about your relationship with the couple. He's rational and can keep a secret, making him the best person to vent to when you first thought you were losing your mind. You never point out their behavior anymore, incredibly desensitized to it all, but upon hearing that you had brunch with them, the Aquarius man thought of a new theory.

“Third person,” Vernon said simply.

You blinked at him.

“Please elaborate.”

“Well…” he swayed side to side in thought. “Some couples just have a person they're really attached to, and like to do everything with. Kind of like a pet.”

“A pet?” You squinted. “That's super comforting, thanks, Non.” You muttered sarcastically.

“No problem.”

You never knew if he genuinely didn't understand your sarcasm or if he just didn't care. Either way, it pisses you off.

Obviously, the next logical step was to launch a couch pillow at him. He yelped upon impact and immediately did the same to you.

And so it begins.

Your living room was a wreck by the time you were done assaulting each other with pillows. You knocked over a ton of trinkets, busted one of the pillows, and possibly broke something- something fell off of a shelf with a ‘crack’ but you paid it no mind. You had collapsed on the couch while Vernon found refuge on the floor. You both laughed as you shot stupid insults at each other.

At some point you heard your phone ring, you promptly ignored it after realizing that you had left it on the kitchen counter, and were unwilling to get it. But then it rang again, and then you got a few text notifications. So you begrudgingly got up from the soft cushions of your sofa, and trudged to the kitchen.

Missed call from Leo Man 🤨

Missed call from Baby Boy 🫧

Text from Leo Man 🤨

Hey, cupcake!

Baby and I were going to the mall and you said something earlier about needing new shoes so we thought to invite you! 😍

Lmk wassup!

Text from Baby Boy 🫧

Mall

We'll be outside in 10mins

You sighed. Oh your sweet boys.

You did need new shoes, so you decided to take them up on the offer, though Jihoon didn't seem to be giving you a choice. You let Vernon know what was going on and when you left he showed no signs of actually leaving himself. Strange man.

Just as Jihoon said, the couple was outside in ten minutes. You opened the door and slid into the backseat of Seungcheol's bright red truck.

“You miss us?” Seungcheol mused as he put the car in drive.

“It's been five hours, Cheol.” You deadpanned, strapping your seatbelt.

“So?” The man glanced at you, offended, through the rearview mirror. “We missed you!”

“You know, if you keep acting like this you'll scare her off.” Jihoon furrowed his brows.

“What!? No!” Seungcheol sputtered in disbelief. “I don't scare you, right, cupcake?” He glanced at you in the rearview once again, awful concerned about his boyfriend's comment.

Was Choi Seungcheol big and intimidating? Yes. And he could be down right terrifying if you got on his bad side. But to you? Nah. Big softy. A teddy bear even.

You chuckled at his wide eyes. “No, Cheol. You're bout’ as scary as a puppy.”

“Well that's not…” Seungcheol bit his lip in consideration. “I'm intimidating sometimes.”

“You are so picky.” Jihoon laughed at him.

“Okay but you love me!”

“Ehhh.”

Seungcheol scowled. “Well, ____ loves me!”

“You like, strictly complain around her, so think again.” Jihoon muses.

And now Seungcheol was full blown pouting, his plump, rosy lips jutting out in distaste. Very upset that no one loves him. This wasn't true.

He knew this wasn't true. He pouted anyways.

“Jihoon, ease up, I need him to carry my shit.” You repressed your own laughs to maintain the peace.

“I'll gladly carry your things, cupcake.” Seungcheol stated, still frowning. “Jihoon will have to fend for himself.” He'd turn his head if he weren't focused on the road.

“I'm not buying anything???” Jihoon continued his teasing. “Plus, we all know you'd still carry my stuff anyways.”

Sometimes you forgot how much of a fucking brat Jihoon could be around you and Seungcheol. The man was always so cool tempered and quiet around the masses, but when it was just the three of you, he'd leap at the chance to make Seungcheol pout. Sadism.

“I'm not gonna buy you the new Maple Story packs.”

Jihoon gasped and promptly shut the fuck up. Seungcheol smiled in triumph. He's had a lot of victories today. Unbelievable.

You couldn't help but cackle at their bickering. They've only been together for a few months longer than a year, yet they argued like an old married couple. You sighed as the mall finally came into view.

-

“Oh my god, why's he pouting now?” You just came back from the bathroom to find that Seungcheol is, once again, upset about something.

Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I called him Choi Seungcheol.” he mutters.

You blinked. “Ji… you know better than that.”

“It wasn't even on purpose!”

“Cheol, see? It wasn't on purpose.” You tried to mediate.

“Nah, he said it as revenge for threatening to not buy him new fortnight skins.”

“Why-” No. Nope. It didn't matter. Y'all weren't going anywhere unless this was solved. “Jihoon, kiss him!”

“What, why!?”

“It's the easiest way to make him feel better.”

“You kiss him then!”

You looked at the pale man, appalled. “He's your boyfriend!”

“And? I'm sure he'll be plenty happy if you kissed him.”

“I-” You blinked rapidly at the couple. “-I don't have time for this.”

So you approached Seungcheol, grabbed his face, and planted a big, fat kiss on his cheek. When you pulled away, you saw that your lipstick had smudged, leaving a shotty print of your pursed lips on his cheekbone.

Jihoon leaned over to see, clicking his tongue and muttering a ‘Nice.’

A sheepish smile slowly grew on Seungcheol's face as you let go of him. He held his cheek as he suggested you all grabbed something to eat. Fucking Leo's, man.

As the three of you sat to eat in the food court, Seungcheol still hadn't bothered wiping his face, so you did it for him. He complained as you used a napkin to rub away the lipstick, saying that it was proof that you loved him.

“You don't need proof when I'm sitting right here, dumbass.” You mumbled it mindlessly as you finished with your efforts.

You hadn't noticed that both Jihoon and Seungcheol were staring at you, so when pulled back, your eyes darted between the two, confused.

“What?” You raised a brow at them. “Is there something on my face too?” You joked.

Jihoon blinked at you before locking in on his food. “No, you're good.”

Seungcheol just gave you a giddy ass smile as he went to eat his own food.

Okay then…

-

You dozed off on the car ride home, only hearing the couple's soft murmurs over the even quieter radio every now and then.

“She's asleep.” Jihoon whispered as he watched over your still figure in the backseat.

Seungcheol hummed in response. “I'm not surprised. We dragged her out twice today.” He chuckled.

“Yeah…” Jihoon's gaze lingered a little longer before turning to sit properly. “So nice of her to come out. Even with all your pouting.” Jihoon couldn't help the jab that escaped from him so naturally.

“Even with all your nagging.” Seungcheol fired back.

Their hushed laughs flowed throughout the truck, much too gentle for the vehicle’s garish appearance.

“Ugh, what're we gonna do?” Jihoon sighed, covering his face with his hands. “She was so cute when she kissed you.”

Seungcheol agreed as he resisted the urge to feel his cheek where the phantom kiss lingered. “And what she said in the food court…” He recounted.

“Oh my goooodddddd” Jihoon whisper screamed. “Shut up, I thought I was hearing things.” He scrunched his face.

“No, she said that.” Seungcheol confirmed.

In his peripheral vision, Seungcheol saw his boyfriend's cheeks puff out to hold his breath, most likely trying to keep from screaming. And they called him the dramatic one.

Seungcheol smiled as he reached over to grab his lover's hand. Even if it all really meant nothing, he was just happy that you were around.

You don't need proof when I'm sitting right here.

Yeah, he was gonna hold onto that for the next forever.

When the car pulled up in front of your apartment building, Jihoon once again maneuvered his body to look at you. “Cupid, you're back home.” He spoke a bit louder than he had previously been.

The couple watched you stir at the call of your name, fully sitting up when Jihoon patted your knee.

“Shit…” You mumbled, blinking the sleep from your eyes. You looked out the window to find that you were, in fact, at home. “Okay.” You yawned.

You undid your seatbelt and then attempted to stretch your arms in the cramped space.

The lovers felt like they were watching a cat wakeup. Slow blinks, quiet yawns, big stretches. It made them feel all fuzzy inside.

You grabbed the paper bag with your shoes, as well as a different bag with a top Seungcheol had bought for you as well. You swung open the car door and shuffled outside. You then stepped over to Jihoon's door, peeking through his already open window. Like clockwork, you grabbed his hand, bringing it to your lips as you've done a million times before. Then you quickly reached for Seungcheol's hand, knowing damn well he'd have a fit if you didn't. He wouldn't be concerned at all with how you were kissing on his boyfriend, more concerned about getting his turn. You couldn't fully reach to kiss him, so you gave his hand a good squeeze.

“Goodnight, boys.” You mumble with a tired smile.

“You have work in the morning?” Seungcheol inquired. You hummed. “I'll pick you up, okay?”

“Mmmkay.” You agreed.

“Night, Cupid.” Jihoon mumbled, leaning back in his seat, also clearly tired from the day. His droopy eyes gave you a cuteness aggression fit that took the will of thousands to not act on in that moment.

With a bit of reluctance, Seungcheol let go of your hand, allowing you to wander off and take refuge in your home. He looked at his boyfriend and they shared a knowing look. Really… What were they gonna do?

-

You were back to thinking that maybe you were going insane. You had barged into Jihoon's apartment, ready for another anime binge, and when you entered the living area, you witnessed Jihoon essentially pry Seungcheol off of him upon hearing your footsteps. That was normal. Seungcheol, of course, was never the kind to give in so easily, so he continued to kiss his boyfriend all over his face and neck as he tried to greet you. Also normal. Seungcheol's response to Jihoon's complaints of you standing right there as you waited for them to finish their little show, was to offer you to join. Still normal.

The lustful glances at you? Weak. The way Jihoon basically moans as Seungcheol's lips refuse to leave him? Been there, done that.

So what on god's green earth could've possibly struck you as odd? When Seungcheol grabbed your arm and pulled you to sit between the two of them. So simple compared to literally everything else you just witnessed, but it was the only thing that was out of the ordinary. Seungcheol usually got up and wandered further into the apartment as you flopped on the couch next to Jihoon. If the large man ever did come back, he'd take the seat on the other side of Jihoon. So yeah, it was pretty surprising when you found yourself pressed between the two of them like the cream in an Oreo.

Vernon's old theory about them being swingers came to mind. You'd debunked it saying they would've made a move forever ago. And it was true, swingers weren't exactly known for their patience. So as you looked at the two of them, Jihoon leaning on you as he turned on the TV to play the show, Seungcheol's arm falling behind you on the couch, you accepted that this was now a part of the routine.

Other than that, the night was pretty normal. You found yourself laying across the lovers as the episodes went on. You and Jihoon hummed and gasped at the TV, occasionally pausing to stand up and rant about something stupid a character did. Seungcheol laughed at the two of you, saying that ‘It was just a show,’ and that you both needed to calm down. Two sets of eyes glared at the Leo, immediately Jihoon reminded him of how he acts when his favorite team loses a game.

“That's real.” Seungcheol huffed, crossing his arms.

“It's a game!” You shouted at him in disbelief from where you had stood to announce your irritation. “It's literally grown men kicking a ball around!” You gestured wildly.

“Those grown men are skilled, and deserve a win!” He shot back.

“Obviously not if you're crashing out every other night because they can't get one!”

Jihoon cackled at the two of you, falling back on the couch and kicking his legs in the air. “It's true-” Jihoon wheezes trying to catch his breath. “They never win!” He clutched his stomach.

You stood up straight, basking in your victory. Not today Choi Seungcheol. Seungcheol rolled his eyes and pouted, but he still let you flop your legs over his lap without complaint.

You tried to continue the show, but the three of you kept giggling about whatever you were talking about. And as the hours rolled by, and you all grew more tired, you decided it was time to sleep.

Seungcheol threw you over his shoulder, and hauled you to the bedroom when you attempted to walk home at the unholy hour. You could only sigh as you locked eyes with Jihoon who giggled as he treaded closely behind the two of you.

Seungcheol plopped you on the bed while Jihoon went to grab you some of his clothes to use as pajamas. The apartment once had a guest bedroom, but Jihoon had turned it into his photography studio a few years back, leaving only the one room. You never understood why they made you sleep in the bed with them when the couch was still perfectly fine, but you've learned not to question things.

This is just how things are. This is just how they are. And even in all their behaviors, they've never once made you feel uncomfortable, so what was the point in fighting it? You surely couldn't think of a good reason as you slipped on one of Jihoon's oversized shirts, and tied on a pair of his shorts. You exited the bathroom and flopped on the bed where the couple was already cuddling. You'd think the bed would be too crowded, but for whatever reason, Jihoon owned the biggest mattress on the market. Said something about liking his space. Ironic seeing as he drags you and his boyfriend into bed whenever possible.

Jihoon pulled you into the cuddle sesh with little thought.

“Nooooo, you guys run hot.” You whined as you weakly pushed his arms away.

“Yeah we do.” Seungcheol mused.

Well… he wasn't wrong.

Ultimately, you ended up laying on Jihoon's chest with Seungcheol’s arm thrown over the both of you, you all chattered mindlessly while drifting off.

“All this mattress…” You began. “And you guys insist that we sleep like shivering kittens in need of each other's warmth.” You complained half heartedly.

“Awww.” Jihoon cooed at the mental image, his hand running up and down your back. “Those poor kittens.”

“The kittens aren't real, Ji.” You mumbled.

“They are somewhere.” He whispered.

You heard Seungcheol, who you thought was asleep, chuckle at the two of you. “You're both my kittens.” He asserted in a hushed tone.

You rolled your eyes at how cheesy the man was. You didn't bother commenting, but Jihoon sure did.

“That was so fucking corny, babe.” He scrunched his face.

This only made Seungcheol laugh, his mission to make you cringe a success. “I'm glad you think so, babe.”

“Can you like, not, babe.” You tacked onto the ‘babe’ train happening.

“Mmmm, only if I get a kiss, babe.” You don't think there's been a day since you met Seungcheol, that he hasn't demanded kisses from you, or anyone else in the vicinity. The man was such a thot. But hey, If you could pull the way he could, you'd probably be one too.

“How about you both go to bed…” Jihoon chimed in. “Babe.”

You snorted at the delay. He tried not to give in, but he couldn't help himself.

Seungcheol sat up a bit, leaning on his elbow so that he could kiss you and Jihoon. One on Jihoon's lips, one a bit close to yours as he whispered ‘love you's.’

In that moment, as you all were finally falling asleep, a thought dawned on you. One that, perhaps, should've come to you a year ago. Maybe you weren't just their third person, a fortunate witness to their love for one another. Maybe you were their third person, a receiver of the love and devotion that you thought the two of them only held for each other. Your brows furrowed as you pushed the thought aside. Not now. Go to sleep.

-

The next days were… odd. Even more so than usual. The couple wasn't even doing things out of their ordinary, you were just looking at the things they were doing differently. You really tried to push it away, tell yourself you were crazy, but it was no use. Even the level headed Hansol Vernon Chwe, was of no help to you.

“Why didn't I think of that!” Vernon gasped in realization.

You went to him for rational thought, not one of his convoluted theories. But here you were, head in your hands as he further entertained the idea.

“I guess I assumed that they were only exclusive to each other without considering the possibility that they'd be open to a third partner that third partner specifically being you of course because why else would they act all lovey dovey with you unless they wanted you in the relationship as well it actually makes complete sense but we overlooked it due to our closed minds refusing to see-”

“Vernon, literally if you don't shut the fuck up I'm going to rip your tongue out.”

Vernon paused his ramblings, clearing his throat. “All I'm saying, is that I think you clocked it.” he raised his hands in surrender.

You groaned, falling back onto your couch in defeat. “What do I dooooooo?”

“Well… what do you want to do?“ Your friend leaned back into the corner of the couch he always claimed.

What did you want to do? As odd as you felt it all to be in the beginning, you accepted the matter without complaint. And slowly, but surely, the couple had been ingrained into your life, almost like you were a part of the relationship. Always just a boundary or two away from being able to say you were in a throuple. You were perfectly okay with all of it. But you hadn't ever thought about actually being in the relationship. You cared for them both very dearly. Jihoon was your oldest friend, and Seungcheol had thundered his way into your life with a conviction and stubbornness that only he could possess.

Truly, you're grateful to be attached at the hip with them. You always called them ‘your boys,’ because it really felt like they were yours. They were a way around you that they only were with each other, and you took pride in that.

“I mean-” Vernon piped up once again. “-you’re basically dating them already, why not tack on the title and it's added benefits.”

True, true.

In order to fully understand yourself, you thought about your life if you decided to turn them down. A life where they treated you like everybody else. That is if they even still spoke to you. Yeah… no. Not doing that.

Throuple it is.

-

The next time you hung out with the couple, your were practically shaking with nerves. You really had no clue what to say. You considered calling and telling them you were sick, but you realized that they'd probably drop everything to coddle you. Vernon, who never seemed to leave your home, basically wrestled you out the door.

“What if I'm wrong!?” You screeched as he pulled you into the hallway.

“Trust me! You're not!” He huffed as he finally got you close to the elevators. “They want that cookie, ____!” He pushed into the first elevator that opened.

You could only gawk at his words. Foul mouthed boy.

So here you were, in Jihoon's living for what was likely the millionth time, nervously chewing on popcorn while the couple argued about what movie you should all watch. Seungcheol wanted an action movie that you didn't catch the name of, and Jihoon wanted to watch an animated movie that was likely going to make you cry.

Jihoon turned to you with a fire in his eyes. “We won't watch either then! Cupid, you pick!”

Your eyes widened at being addressed so suddenly. You looked between the two of them with furrowed brows.

You picked Howl’s Moving Castle. Seemed like a good in between. Speaking of in between, guess where you were. Sandwiched between the beefy men once again. No surprise there. You watched diligently as Howl whisked Sophie away from the predatory soldiers. The lovers seemed much less invested in the movie they've seen a hundred times, chattering with one another quite literally behind your back. You didn't mind of course, the film was pretty much tattooed on your brain as well, so every now and then you'd hone in on their conversation before going back to focusing on the TV.

You were also plotting. Well… attempting to plot. You still had no clue on how to go about letting them know that you're privy to their own schemes. Do you just say it? Like ‘hey, I know you guys want me, let's do this shit.’ That seemed… not ideal. What if-

Your thoughts were cut off by a small gasp followed by Jihoon's voice. “Seungcheol!”

“Don't Seungcheol me!” The elder's hand flew over his chest, as if wounded.

“Stop being a freak while Howl’s Moving Castle plays!” Jihoon fires back.

The two of them got louder. You only leaned back, trying to decipher exactly what just happened.

“I was just saying!” Seungcheol defended.

“____ is literally sitting between us! Have some decorum!”

“Ain't nothing she ain't heard before!”

Ah okay. Seungcheol was being freaky again. Checks out.

Normally, you'd just kick back and laugh as they went on and on. But today, you were arguing with your own demons, really taking in what was being said in reference to you. Seungcheol was always a flirt, minding at all if you were there to witness sexual way he spoke to his boyfriend, and he always “joked” about including you in their… activities. But Jihoon was keen on not scaring you away with Seungcheol's raunchy behavior. It was one of the things that had confused you a lot in the beginning. Seungcheol's behavior was far from appropriate, but Jihoon was less worried about his man saying sexual things to you, and more worried about you not wanting to be around them anymore. You shrugged it off as a joke seeing as Seungcheol had always been kind of a hoe.

“Oh look what you did, the poor girl is frozen.” Jihoon took in you stiff appearance, convinced that they'd really fucked up this time. “You've actually scared her this time around.” His voice actively became more gentle, in fear of you running off.

Seungcheol's face visibly softened. “Shit. I'm sorry, ____, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He slowly made some space between the two of you, Jihoon followed suit.

You blinked trying to collect your thoughts. “That's not-” You looked at him, taking in how sincere he was being. “I'm not… I was just-” Damn, if only you could form a fucking sentence right now.

The concern on Seungcheol's face only worsened with every second that passed. Jihoon ever so gently places a hand on your shoulder. You turned to face him.

“Hey, it's okay. We know we're a lot. Just… you can tell us if it's too much.”

“No! That's not it!” You shot up from your seat, spilling the popcorn in your lap. You'll clean that up later. “I'm not uncomfortable!” You asserted.

The lovers looked at you, surprised by your outburst.

“I just- fuck, how do I say this?” You scratched at your head hoping to form a tangible thought. “You guys… have always been this way with me. And I've always kinda wondered why… and I think that I've finally put two and two together.”

You glanced at them to try and gauge their reactions, but other than furrowed brows, their expressions gave away nothing. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you continued.

“Call me crazy if I'm wrong.” You chuckled nervously. “But is there a chance… that maybe you both-” Your heart was beating out of your chest. This was it, now or never. “-have feelings for me?”

You flinched at your own words, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn't bear to look at them. What you just said was insane, it was even more so to say to their faces. You readied yourself to be called an idiot and laughed at, or worse, they just look at you awkwardly and ask you to leave. Oh just the thought made it hard to breathe.

“____.” A gentle voice called your name. You finally opened your eyes to find Jihoon standing in front of you with Seungcheol right beside him. “Hey, you're not crazy.” He shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“We're literally insane about you.” Seungcheol added.

Jihoon shoved the taller man in his side, his eye twitching. “Tone it down!” He said through gritted teeth.

You chuckled at the antics, even in your state of semi panic. You adored these fools. The lovers smiled as your laugh reached their ears.

“It's okay if you don't feel the same, we-”

“Are you kidding!?” You cut off Seungcheol. “As integrated as I've been in this relationship, I'd literally cry like it was a real breakup if it ended here.” You ran your hands down your face, exasperated. All that anxiety for nothing.

Seungcheol could no longer help himself. He launched at you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You'd hug him back if you could move your arms. He quickly pulled Jihoon into the hug as well, making sure you were all pressed together like pancakes.

“This is great, Cheol.” You coughed out. “But my lungs are collapsing.”

When Seungcheol showed no signs of moving, Jihoon pinched his side, causing him to yelp.

“What the hell, baby!?” Seungcheol cried out.

“You're gonna kill her before we can even make her our girlfriend!” The pale man scowled.

Seungcheol messaged his side. “Yeah… that would be bad, wouldn't it…” He muttered mindlessly.

You found yourself laughing again. Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose as Seungcheol collected himself.

“Can we do this?” Jihoon pleaded.

“Yeah okay!” Seuncheol started, determined. “How?”

Jihoon's eyes went wide. “Like we practiced, Cheolie!?”

Practiced? All this effort to ask you out? You were extremely flattered. Truthfully, you would've been satisfied with a ‘be our girlfriend.’

“I know, but I can't remember what I'm supposed to say, baby. I'm sorry.” Seungcheol scratched his arm.

Jihoon blinked a few times. “Okay… that's fine.” Jihoon comforted, placing a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Just ask her.”

“Me? Are you sure you don't want to?”

“I'm going to punch you in your beautiful face.”

“Okay! Okay! Understood!”

“Hey, guys?” You spoke up, doing your best not to fall out from how cute they were being. Just the sweetest guys. They looked at you with big, hopeful eyes. “I was wondering if the two of you wanted to be my boyfriends?”

“Yes!”

“Absolutely!”

Both voices hit you at once. You could only beam at two men standing in front of you. “Well that was easy.” You giggled.

“Yeah, and it only took you a year.” Jihoon scrunched his face at you and crossed his arms.

“Hey!” You pointed at him. “Don't give me that! I was being decent!”

“Cupcake.” Seungcheol chimed in, leaning on Jihoon's shoulder. “There was nothing decent about any of this.” He raised a brow at you.

You thought back to all of what was essentially soft core porn you witnessed, and could only nod in agreement. None of this was decent.

“Just because you two are whores, doesn't mean I had to be one.” You raised your brow in judgement.

“If you stuck around to watch, I think that makes you just as much of a whore as we are.” Jihoon narrowed his eyes at you, his lips quirked into a smirk.

Well then…

You looked down at your feet, taking note of the popcorn that still needs to be cleaned up.

“I should clean that up.” You mumbled.

Seungcheol wheezed at the topic change as he moved to do it for you. “I got it, my love.”

Oh. My love. You could get used to that.

Jihoon flopped onto the couch, ensuring to pull you down with him. He basically wrapped around you like a Koala. You reciprocated, tangling your limbs with his and giggling as you watched your boyfriend clean.

Ooh that had a nice ring to it. Your boyfriend. Your's and Jihoon's boyfriend. You and your boyfriend's boyfriend. Yeah that's good stuff.

Seungcheol soon joined the two of you, enveloping you both in his large arms with ease. It helped that you and Jihoon had essentially merged into one person while he was cleaning. Howl's Moving Castle was about half of the way through, and the three of you let it play just to talk over it some more.

“Did you really do that?” Jihoon's eyes widened in horror as you told him about how they had Vernon to thank for being in your presence tonight. “You're neighbors probably heard.” He held his hand over his mouth, immensely worried about the social implications.

“And it only got worse when he screamed ‘they want that cookie.’” You looked off into the distance with a thousand yard stare as you thought about your poor nextdoor neighbors, Mrs Song and her husband. Awful, just awful.

Jihoon choked on air, coughing into his hands. “What!?”

“Well he wasn't wrong.” Seungcheol commented.

“Cheol!” Jihoon slapped his arm.

“Oh my god, she's our girlfriend. What more could you want?” Seungcheol groaned.

“I don't know, maybe buy her dinner first, you freak!” Jihoon scolded.

“We buy her dinner! Often!”

“A proper date! We have to take her on a proper date! Then we can talk about whatever…” Jihoon gestures vaguely at Seungcheol. “This is!”

“What does that even- you know what, never mind.” Seungcheol waved him off. “You weren't even this by the book when we started dating. If I remember correctly, you basically begged me to-”

“Genuine question.”Jihoon cut him off. “Do you ever shut the fuck up? Just genuinely.”

You could not breathe. That's how hard you were laughing. Tears pricked at your eyes as you gripped Seungcheol's arm to find some sort of stability. You hadn't noticed the conversation came to a halt until you managed to catch your breath. You blinked away the tears in your eyes and noticed Seungcheol and Jihoon looking at you. Their eyes were all sparkly and wide, and they had soft smiles on their faces.

“What?” You breathe out.

“Nothing.” Seungcheol spoke up. “We're just… so happy that you're here.” Jihoon hummed in agreement.

You felt your heartbeat quicken. You looked at two lovers, your two lovers, with a full heart. And you were damn happy to be there.

(⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

A/N I really just wanted some CheolHoon in my life. I'm pretty vague about describing people's reactions so I'm trying to get better at that, but I hope I do a well enough job for now. Don't even talk to me about describing surroundings. Plans to expand upon this lil au. Moments with Seungcheol, Moments with Jihoon, make out sesh, bc they don't actually kiss in this, and that's kinda criminal.

But anyways, Thank you for reading! If you liked it, tell me in reblogs or comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Third Party

Fandom: The Pitt - Undeserving Universe

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

As requested by @ahopelessromanticwritersworld : I would love every word of the pregnancy journey with Jack being there for her every single step of the way!!!!!

Warning: brief description of labor

Undeserving | Star A New (Final) | The Pitt Masterlist

You were fast tracked into the ER when Cassie saw you in the waiting room. Jack came out and collected you himself when Cassie told him you were out there.

He pulled you into a room, shutting the door behind him, "What's going on? Why didn't you call me?" concern and worry was written all over his face.

You point at him, "That's why. You always look at me like that and I hate it. Like I'm gonna break or something."

Jack sighs and runs a hand down his face, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be...overbearing. I promised I'd look out for you. So what's going on?"

You shrug, "I've just been feeling sick and nauseous for the past few days. Can't keep a meal down. Keep throwing up. Think it's a stomach bug."

"Maybe, but, um" he clears his throat, "...don't get upset when I ask this...when was your last period?"

You freeze and try to think back if you've had your period this month, "Fuck."

Jack holds his hands out, "Hey, don't worry. It's okay. I'm gonna send you up stairs to the OB/GYN. They'll take care of you."

Panic and anxiety settles in you and you look at Jack with wide eyes, "What if-What if I am-Jack, I don't know how I'm gonna do this-"

He pulls you into his arms and holds you against his chest, "Ssshh. Ssshh. It's okay. I got you. I got you."

___________________________

You sat in a room in the OBGYN department. Your leg is bouncing and Jack is pacing the room.

Doctor Carmichael enters the room, "Congratulations. You're indeed pregnant."

You break out into a sob and Jack immediately rushes to your side. He gives Doctor Carmichael a nod, "Thanks, Lucy."

She nods, "Of course. Let me know if there's anything else I can do." She sees herself out, giving you and Jack some space.

You pull away, eyes red and watery, "What am I going to do?"

"Do you want to keep it?"

You nod, "I do. This baby is part Andrew. I can't-I won't lose more of him...but I don't know how to be a parent. Let alone a single one. I'll be alone."

Jack shakes his head, "No, you won't. You have me, remember? I'll be there. Every appointment, when your sickness is bad, even if you get weird late night cravings. I'll be there. I'm not letting you deal with this alone, Y/N."

You sob into his chest even more, "Thank you, Jack. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're going to be okay."

_________________________________

You break down when you see them and hear the heartbeat. Your little blob of a baby on the screen. Seeing them now, it's become more real. You're pregnant. You're going to be a mom and...Andrew won't be there for them.

You stay at Jack's that night, staring at the picture.

He knocks on the threshold of his guest room, "Hey, food's done."

You sniffle and wipe at your nose and eyes, "I'll eat in a bit."

You hear him sigh and enter the room. He sits beside you on the bed, "You need to make sure you eat and drink lots of water. You gotta stay healthy for your baby."

"i know," you mumble and look at him, "What's for dinner? Chicken alfredo." He stands and offers his hand out to you. You take it with a stand and let him guide you to the dining room.

The table's already set, so all you have to do is sit down. Jack pulls out the chair for you and pushes it back in when you lower yourself. He sits across from you and waits as you take your first bite.

You softly smile at him, "It's good."

He nods in appreciation, "Good," and simply replies before digging into his own plate.

_________________________

You're laying on the bed with gel spread all over your stomach. Jack is sitting at your side, his back is straight and hands on his thighs. His demeanor is intimidating but his presence brings you comfort.

"Heartbeat is still strong and...you want to know the sex, correct?"

"Yes, please," you say with a nod.

Dr. Carmichael smiles, "A baby girl."

You break out into a smile, "A girl?"

"Yup. A girl. Would you like print outs?"

"Please."

"Alright. Let me clean you up here," she takes a towel and wipes off the gel and the ultrasound wand, "Okay. I'll get you those prints and then we'll schedule your next appointment."

"Thank you, Doctor," you grin at her and sit up when she exits the room.

You gently rub your belly, "A girl. Andrew wanted a girl."

"Did you guys ever go over names?" he stands and holds out his hand, helping you off the bed.

"He really liked the name Evelyn, mostly because the nickname Evie, was like the pokemon."

Jack snorts, "God, he was such a nerd."

You chuckle sadly, "Yeah, he was." You hug your stomach and a solemn look appears on your face.

"He'd be overjoyed that you're having a girl. He always seemed like he'd be a girl dad."

"Yeah. He said it was because he grew up with brothers."

Jack opens his mouth to reply but Dr. Carmichael steps back in, "Here you go. I printed out three copies for you." She hands you the papers and you smile at them, "Thank you." You take one of the pictures and hand them to Jack, "For your collection."

"Thanks," he replies with a twitch of a smile. He tunes you and Dr. Carmichael out as you schedule your next appointment with her.

His fingers graze over the ultrasound and he makes a silent promise, 'I got them, Drew. Don't worry. I got them.'

____________________________

Jack is working when you go into labor. You managed to drive yourself to the hospital and get to the OBGYN floor.

"Get Jack! Please! He's working downstairs!" You grit through the pain of another contraction. Dr. Myers, the OB doctor on your case, nods and sends down a nurse to get Jack.

"Doctor Abbot!" The nurse runs up to him, "Your wife's in labor!"

Jack doesn't even bother to correct her before he's throwing off his gloves and rushing out of the ER.

When he arrives, you're already pushing. He speeds to your side, your hand gripping his.

"You got this, Y/N. You got this."

You shake your head with a cry, "I can't. I can't."

"Yes, you can. You hear me? You can do this! You're gonna be a great mom, okay? First, you gotta push, okay?"

You groan in pain as you push as much as you can. You breathe and you push. Breathe and push. Again and again until you hear your little girl give out her first cry.

You collapse into the bed, a sheen of sweat on your face. You tiredly peer up at Jack and he's a little teary eyed, "She's beautiful."

The nurses clean her up before handing her to you. Wrapped in a pink blanket, you're given your daughter.

"Oh my...hey, sweetheart. I'm your mommy," you press a kiss to her little head, "My sweet, Evelyn."

You look up at Jack again, his eyes red and watery, "You did good, Y/N."

You grab a hold of his hand, "Thank you, Jack."

He sniffles and wipes his eyes, "I'll give you two some space."

Your brows furrow, "You're leaving?"

"I'll be back. I left so abruptly. Need to let everyone downstairs know that my niece arrived."

You nod, "Okay. Tell everyone I said 'hi'."

Jack takes one more look at you and Evelyn then exits the room to head back to the pitt.

[slightlovelygirl]

⋆˚࿔ but there was a time…; billie x reader

reader joins in on a tiktok trend following breakup with long term girlfriend Billie who of course sees the post 🫀

warnings. intense/distraught heartbreak (implied depression), angst

wc. 1477

7:36 P.M.

You weren’t trying to get a reaction, you honestly didn’t think she would see it.

When a certain sad trend crossed your feed multiple times in one evening you decided to join in. It was fitting, you were still heartbroken. Point blank heartbroken, not a spiteful ex who wanted the other to feel pain—not yet anyway.

It had been just over nine months since you and Billie split. Five years down the drain. Five years of her contact being pinned to the top of your messages screen. Five years of sharing the same bed. Five years of green room pep talks.

Five of the best years of your life, now dissolved in your tears. So excuse you for not being over it quite yet.

Joining in on the trend, you picked a mirror selfie you took earlier in the week: the one of you before going out to lunch with a friend, your face slightly solemn in the dim hallway light.

Taking a quick deep breath you began scrolling back further and further into your camera roll, to a photo you couldn’t bring yourself to delete quite yet. One Billie had actually taken. It was from her perspective as she straddled your body.

The two of you had been play fighting. Billie illegally tickling you despite a pinky promise made not to years ago; it was broken frequently.

“Wait!” She exclaimed suddenly, dropping herself onto you and taking each of your forearms to stop your wriggling.

“Billieee,” you wined. “Get off of me. You’re too heavy.” You giggled from her weight on your stomach.

But she was too busy looking around to hear you.

“Where’s your phone?” She asked and quickly retrieved it from the direction you pointed.

Hovering over you, her face was soon blocked by the double lensed camera.

“What’re you doing?” You questioned, moving your head to see her. She combated your move with her own.

“Stay still. You look like an angel right now.” Her tone was surprisingly serious as she focused.

You rolled your eyes but did as she said, only letting a sloppy smile stay. Your eyes didn’t meet the camera’s though, they stayed concentrated behind it. Peering past it to see Billie, it’s all you ever wanted to see.

After a moment she dropped your phone again, discarding it to a spot next to you on the bed.

“Seriously doll, ‘m gonna have to make that my lock screen. And screensaver. And your contact photo. And maybe even my profile pic. Need everyone to see how pretty my girl is.” Her ramblings interrupted only by a peck from you in between every line.

“Alright Bee. Whatever you say.”

Your hands slightly tremble as you tap on the intimate memory. Images of the way Billie’s bottom lip caught in her teeth while concentrating when taking the picture flooding your already clouded mind.

After selecting the photos you added the trending text. Over slide one you curated a small list of things in your day to day life you’ve changed: a one room apartment, dinners for one, focusing on friends more, and phone on dnd. And over slide two: but there was once a time…

You tried thinking of a lighthearted caption, but your heart was anything but light. You actually wished it felt heavy, that would be proof it was still there. Proof you were alive.

No, your chest felt empty most days. It was as if with Billie’s departure she took your heart. She probably did, it belonged to her for so long she probably had forgotten to give it back.

Instead you type out how you feel: i really hope she wasn’t once in a lifetime.

Hitting post you let out a shaky breath and promptly force yourself to forget about it.

2:09 A.M.

It takes a third call and a total of 96 seconds for you to wake up. Finally rising to the noise of your phone aggressively buzzing on your nightstand.

Without reading the caller ID, you answer. Assuming it’s an emergency, why else would someone be calling in the middle of the night?

“Hello?” Your voice thick with sleep, it was barely able to push air out to answer.

A weak voice replies. “Doll?”

Her. Billie.

Suddenly you have a different issue, you have no oxygen in your lungs to talk back. Hearing her voice for the first time in nine months was a gut punch.

“Doll, it’s you, right? You haven’t changed your number, right?” The way she ends her sentence, it sounds like a desperate plea.

“Billie.” You finally choke out. Tears brim the corners of your eyes.

“Good. It is you,” she says relieved.

Good? How inconsiderate could she be? Waking up her ex after leaving her high and dry, no word for nine months. In the middle of the night no less, to what? Harass her? Give a half-assed apology because she missed her body next to hers?

“This is good for you? So you get to decide when it’s okay to call? And you think that that is almost a year after you leave me hollow?”

A deep breath crackles over the line. “I’m- Look.” But silence takes over instead.

You listen for what might have been an hour, waiting. Until the floodgates open.

“I would say ‘I’m sorry’ but I know that’s not enough. Not enough for you and not enough of what I want to say.”

You consider interrupting her. Consider being angry and letting her have it. Consider making her feel as worthless as she made you feel that night.

“You’re just, not what I need.” Billie couldn’t even look you in the eye when she said it. Hands in her lap, they shook from holding them still instead of fiddling with the ring on her thumb like she always did.

“Not what you need?” You replied completely taken by surprise. “You couldn’t have told me that five years ago? Before I let you engrave yourself into every aspect of my life?”

You left that night. Everything packed into the few bags your friends lent while carrying your things out of the apartment. Their eyes shooting daggers towards Billie who sat silently at the dinner table with a blank expression, staring down at the empty wooden surface.

She never called after that, no text. Not from her or any one of her family members. Your mutual friends didn’t push you to go out with them anymore, understanding what they reminded you of. Giving you space.

No one expected that space to still be going on nine months later.

So when you decided to stay silent—like she was that night—and listen to what she had to say, Billie was surprised. She expected you to talk over her, tell her to go fuck herself and never contact you again.

But you missed her voice too much to risk this opportunity. Nine months sober from her, it didn’t mean you didn’t miss it. The way her inflection danced around your ears, saying your name like it the most beautiful word constructed by man.

“I haven’t spent a single day not regretting what I did to you. I’ve never been so disappointed in myself.” She took a breath. “You are the single best thing to happen to me, and it scared me. I had never been given such an opportunity as being yours and I didn’t know how to treat it.”

Tears slipped down your face without you noticing.

“A year ago I passed a jewelry store with my mom and she asked me, “When are you going to settle down with y/n?” And it became so real to me then that there was a chance you wouldn’t choose forever with me. Or you would and then one day decide you didn’t want it anymore.”

You were sat up in bed now. Your head tilted back against the headboard. Phone in your lap. Billie over speaker mode.

“That fear ate at me for a few months. Until one night…” It didn’t need to be spoken. You both had clearly thought about it everyday.

“And so I’m calling you to say, I’m not once in a lifetime. I am your lifetime, I want your lifetime. If you’ll have me again, please. I can’t take back my mistake but I will spend the rest of forever making it up to you.”

She took another breath and then, silence. Silence took its turn instead of you.

“Doll? You still with me?”Billie asks, fear taking over again.

You exhale. “Come over. Before I change my number.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “On it,” she hangs up.

Letting out a shaky breath you close your eyes. You won’t forgive her anytime soon, she knew that. But having her by your side during the process will make it much easier.

a/n. i kinda actually hate the way this turned out… 🫠 but hey im posting this at 11:54 so technically still on the 23rd. send requests i’ll do better i promise (i might edit this later)

[camficdiner]

You are sooo talented 🤩

Can I please have

[1.2] [2.6 + Fwb] (he cancels bc of injury and she comes to help- crutches scenario poor guy is useless) [3.1] [4.3]

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 042

🍒 Thank you for this cozy little heartbreak — the kind that lingers in the chest. I hope it makes you smile. I hope it makes you ache.

💬 “Still Showed Up”

✨ Description and prompts:

 Character: Quinn Hughes

 Prompt: Quinn cancels plans due to injury, but you come over anyway to take care of him. He doesn’t expect it. Friends with benefits dynamic, but with an emotional undertone and

 Word Count: 1.1k

 Type: fluff + comfort + quiet emotional shift

🛼🍒✨🧁

Quinn’s text comes through at 3:42 p.m.

hey, can’t do tonight.

tweaked something during practice.

kinda wrecked.

sorry.

You read it twice. Then a third time.

It’s not like you had anything big planned — just a loose agreement, a standing “if you’re free” sort of thing. The kind of arrangement that doesn’t require confirmation, labels, or real emotional commitment.

You’re friends. You sleep together sometimes. You watch dumb movies and share takeout. You make out on his couch, sometimes fall asleep on it. No promises.

Still, your fingers hover over the reply.

no problem. feel better.

But you don’t send it.

Instead, you grab soup from the little place he likes down the block. You stop by the store and get the blue sports drink he always has after games. You bring Tylenol, a cold pack, and one of those ridiculous microwaveable animal-shaped heating pads you joked about last week.

And then you show up at his door.

He doesn’t hear the knock at first. It takes two, then a text, then finally the sound of footsteps.

When he opens the door, he’s a mess.

Baggy hoodie. Hair messy. An ice pack half-falling out of the waistband of his sweats. No shirt under the hoodie. And a look of complete disbelief on his face.

“You came?”

You hold up the bag of soup. “I brought dinner.”

He blinks.

Then steps aside silently to let you in.

He’s quieter than usual.

Not cold. Just… unsure. Like he’s trying to figure out what this means.

You don’t push. You unwrap the soup. Set out the Advil. Heat the little penguin-shaped heating pad in the microwave. He watches you from the couch like he doesn’t quite know how to breathe.

“You didn’t have to come,” he says finally.

You smile. “You said you were wrecked.”

“I thought that’d scare you off.”

“Quinn,” you say softly, handing him the spoon. “I’ve literally seen you cry over the ending of a Pixar movie. You’re not that scary.”

He laughs. It breaks the tension.

You help him adjust the heating pad behind his back.

You tuck the blanket around him.

You refill his water.

And then you just… sit.

Side by side. Watching something dumb. Not touching. Not saying much. Just there.

And he keeps glancing over at you. Like he doesn’t understand.

It’s two hours later when he finally says it.

You’ve both half-dozed off. The TV glows softly. His head lolls toward you, shoulder brushing yours. He mumbles, voice barely above a whisper:

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

You open one eye. “Why not?”

He swallows.

“Because I canceled. Because I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

You blink. Sit up slightly. “And what do you think I wanted?”

He shrugs. Doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I don’t know. Sex. Company. Distraction. Something easy.”

You stare at him.

“Quinn,” you say. “I came because you needed someone.”

He doesn’t reply for a long moment.

Then, so quietly it nearly disappears:

“I didn’t think I mattered like that.”

You don’t know what to say.

So you reach for his hand. You hold it. You let the silence stretch.

And he doesn’t let go.

He almost says more. You feel it in the shift of his fingers. The way his thumb brushes yours like a promise he’s not sure he’s allowed to make.

But he doesn’t speak again.

And you don’t ask him to.

Later, when you finally stand to leave, he says your name.

You turn.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he says.

You shrug, smiling softly.

“You didn’t have to matter. But you do.”

You think you see it then — just for a second — that flicker in his expression. Like maybe he wants more than late nights and fading kisses.

He doesn’t say it.

But maybe next time, he will.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Animorphs #13: The Change thoughts (pt. 1):

Tobias's opening crawl promises a last name ("The other Animorphs can't tell you very much about themselves, but I can," p. 1) and then he never delivers! Le sigh.

This was one of the first Animorphs books I ever read — my third-grade classroom had a copy — and I remember really liking the defamiliarization (though I didn't know the term) of Tobias seeing the image of an ordinary American classroom and longing to be there. It makes you appreciate school through a new light.

"Sometimes I asked myself if I had to do it all over again... if I could never become Tobias the hawk, and only be Tobias the boy, would I actually do it?" (p. 10).

=> 1. Tobias's gender is Hawk, it's canon

=> 2. Love all the hints about how complex the choice was, but again we get hints that it was a choice to go full hawk

=> 3. Y'ever hear of just letting things be? Like, you don't actually need an answer for which of two things is better. Live in the paradox, embrace the liminality

"You think Romeo and Juliet were doomed, just from being from families that didn't like each other? Well, you can't get any more doomed than caring for someone who isn't even the same species" (p. 16). If queer = no gender roles, no romance rules, then these two are nailing it.

Animorphs books can be read here | Book Club schedule is here

[ladykailitha]

Shut Up and Drive Part 4

If you didn't see chapter three, it is not your fault, Tumblr has hidden the damn thing and it's been two weeks. I can see it on my dashboard and even through the app, but site wide and on browser, nada! I even looked through it and couldn't find anything mature to shadow ban it. Hopefully you'll be able to see this one and it'll have the link to the third chapter.

This story is almost complete. I just have one or two more chapters to go and it's done. I am so excited for you guys to see the end.

In this we have Eddie in AP history, along with Robin and Steve. Yes, Steve. I am still on my Steve is smart and a history nerd agenda.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

Monday morning was rife with speculation on who had called the cops. Eddie chuckled as the racers tried double speak their way out of revealing themselves to their peers.

The only one who wasn’t there come Monday was Steve Harrington. The rumor mill was as much a buzz with his absence as they were with cops breaking up the races.

Eddie had his own theory on who had called the cops. It was either King or Chronos. King for being beat to hell and not being able to race and not wanting to lose. Or Chronos for not wanting to go up against King and lose.

Then he spotted Tommy Hagan.

He looked smug as hell and suddenly Eddie got it. Holy shit, that asshole! He knew Chronos was going to beat King or at least get a hell of a lot closer than Titan would have and didn’t want to be shown up in front of everyone.

Eddie was tempted to go over there and punch Tommy in the face, break a nose, knock out a couple teeth, but he promised Wayne he wouldn’t start any fights, but he was allowed to finish them.

Billy Hargrove caught him staring at Hagan, though. “Hey Munson, take a picture it’ll last longer. Never mind, you’d fwap to the photo.”

“You jealous, Hargrove?” Munson shot back. “You worried I’ll stop jacking off to your picture?”

Billy flexed his arms as if he was going to hit Eddie, but just then a teacher walked by, and Eddie fell in step with them, keeping the teacher between Billy and himself.

The teacher looked over at him and then sighed. “I know what you’re doing Mr. Munson, and I do not appreciate being used as a human shield.”

Eddie grinned down at him. “But Mr. Burton, I am merely on my way to class and we are going the same direction. Besides I am sticking to the edict of avoiding fights with my peers.”

Mr. Burton shook his head. “I thought you had Mrs. Click this period and I am certain she is on the other side of the building.”

“Then are you not heading for your own class, Mr. Burton?” Eddie asked all wide eyed. “I assumed that to be the case when I started walking with you, as your class is right across from hers. You know, both being history teachers and all.”

Mr. Burton turned and looked up at him with a small smile. “I can’t pull the wool over your eyes, you got me. You are going the right direction. I just wanted to see if I could trick ya.”

“Mr. Burton! You tease!” Eddie gasped. “They should take back your teacher of the year award for being so saucy.”

Mr. Burton laughed. “How do you think I got the award in the first place?” He winked at him.

Eddie never had a problem with his history or English classes, so he always got along with the history teachers. Well... most of them. Mrs. Click was a damn fine history teacher, but no one liked her.

“I wish I was in your class this year,” Eddie admitted, ducking his head.

Mr. Burton patted his arm in sympathy. “I know. I also heard she’s flunking you and that’s one of the reasons you’re not graduating.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know why I’m forced to take a history class again, anyway. I have enough credits for history. It’s math, science, and PE that I need.”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” Mr. Burton said sadly. “But I’ll see if I can get together with a couple of the other teachers and see you can’t graduate based on your actual credits and not just them having you repeat your senior year ad nauseum.”

“Thanks, Mr. B.,” Eddie replied with a pained grin. “This is me, so I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

Eddie slumped down in the desk farthest from the front of the room and waited for the rest of the students to file in. Mr. Burton might be ignorant about why Mrs. Click was failing him, but Eddie had no such delusions. He was in her AP class and she was so sure he was cheating instead of, you know, actually knowing the subject.

He watched as the other students filter into the class. It was a strange mish-mash of juniors and seniors and then whatever the fuck he was.

The smartest of the juniors were Robin Buckley and Fred Benson. They definitely deserved to be there. Most of the class were seniors and the greatest dark horse of the class, even more so himself was Steve Harrington and as near as Eddie could figure, he was writing Mrs. Click’s tests.

He was that good. And because he was that good, she let him get get away with murder. He loved to stroll in fifteen minutes late with a bagel that he would eat, making a mess.

That wasn’t even the worst part of the bagel. It was the way he would chipmunk the thing, his cheeks bulging with the large pieces of bagel that he would shove into his mouth. Eddie had to moved directly behind the guy so that he wouldn’t go feral at the sight.

But there would be no bagel porn today because Harrington was home sick. Thank whatever higher power was out there for that.

When Buckley walked in and saw that the seat in front of her was empty she sighed with relief. Most likely for a similar but opposite problem Eddie had. While Steve was Eddie’s crush, he was pretty sure Steve was drawing all the attention away from her crush.

Which even as far as girls went, Tammy Thompson was not on Eddie’s radar at all. Like sometimes he could tilt his head and go, ‘oh yeah, she’s cute’ and not want to bang said girl, but Tammy? He just didn’t get it.

Yes, yes. He knew he was being hypocritical with the Steve crush especially with what he told Jeff just a couple of months ago. But Steve seemed to grow on him.

Not that Steve improved upon closer inspection. Steve was still a smart ass with more sass then sense. But instead of irritating him like it had done in the past...Eddie found it...argh...cute!

He kept that shit to himself though.

He suffered through the class and shambled out the door to his next class, which thankfully was was Mr. Cohen’s class. Science fiction and fantasy writing. Eddie had taken it as an elective to see he could get more English credits.

Mr. Cohen was also the journalism teacher and yearbook supervisor. So he was having the class write poems and shit for the Reflections magazine because there was a distinct lack of interest that year.

Poems were just song lyrics not set to music yet, so Eddie was a having the time of his life.

“The king on his steed

A heart filled with greed

Races to fill some other need

He rushes forward thundering at great speed”

Okay so it wasn’t his best, but he got Mr. Cohen to laugh at all of them rhyming so he counted that as a win.

“All right, class,” Mr. Cohen said after the bell rang. “We going to read a relatively new book in the sci-fi genre called ‘Ender’s Game.’ It came out in January but it took me this long to get it approved for this class. So I want everyone to come up and pick up a copy. On the inside of each book is a number from one to twenty-seven, you will put your name on the signout sheet next to the number of your book. Please do not outline, draw in, or otherwise deface this book, if you do or you lose it, you’ll pay for it, do you understand?”

The class nodded.

They all filed up to the front of the class to grab their book. Eddie hung back until almost everyone else had picked up theirs. He strangely got number eight, but he dutifully put his name to next to the number and shuffled back to his desk.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Cohen said. “I want everyone to start reading chapter one to yourselves. Then be ready on Wednesday to talk about your thoughts.”

Eddie started reading the book and was immediately drawn into the world, he was pretty sure he finish the book by tonight.

Which meant he would probably reread the thing several times before the class was over. Which was a plus as far as he was concerned.

He was actually disappointed when the bell rang for lunch. He shoved the book into his backpack and made for the lunch room.

Again not having Harrington gaze at, made for dull lunch. Well he would have to make his own entertainment then.

He got up on the lunch table and starting a rant about how unless the kid enjoyed it and wanted to do something with math or science, students shouldn’t have take them past the basic level. He was never going need to know the golden ratio or e=mc2 or whatever working for the factory down or as a mechanic.

Just as the principal came rushing in Eddie leapt off the table and neatly on his feet.

“Hi!” he said brightly.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to climb up on the furniture of this school,” Principal Higgins snarled. “Just because you were raised in a barn does mean you get you get treat other people’s property like you’re an animal.”

“Ahh...” Eddie said with the tilt of his head. “I wouldn’t go around talking about my mom that way if I were you. It’s not her fault she got cancer and passed away.”

Principal Higgins looked like he had swallowed a very sour lemon. “Just don’t do it again, do you hear me, Munson?”

Eddie just grinned at him, hands on his hips, staring him down. Eddie cocked his eyebrows and tilted his head, daring the principal to put him in detention, suspend him, or out and out expel him.

Principal Higgins did none of those things. He turned on his heel and stormed off, snarling something at one of the lunch ladies as he passed.

“Well that wasn’t very friendly,” Eddie told the assembled students. “Lunch ladies are sacrosanct, everyone knows that.”

He walked up to the offended lady in question and offered to buy her a Coke, one which she gratefully accepted.

He went back to his table and Jeff glared at him. “You do know you only need two years of both math and science, right?”

“And what good is algebra or geometry going do me working at Thacher’s Tires?” Eddie growled back. “All I need is to know fractions and weights and measurements. I don’t need to find pi or know the circumference of a circle to change a fucking tire.”

“No, but you need to know the radius of the tire to make sure you don’t put the wrong one on,” Jeff said cocking his head to the side.

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Well, shit.”

“Hey, leave him alone,” Brian bit out. “He just found out that it was those two classes that held him back. Again. They’re not for everyone. And yeah some basic geometry is required for life, but pass me on needing to know what a fucking cosign is for working at Bradley’s Big Buy.”

Jeff’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Damn, man. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Eddie picked at his pretzels and kicked the leg of their table. “It is what it is.”

“Still,” Jeff said with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I know it’s tough for you.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled and went back to mindlessly chewing on his sandwich.

It didn’t even have mustard on it. It wasn’t like he forgot, it was that they couldn’t afford to get to the store. All the money he made over the weekend went to buying tires for Wayne’s truck. They were starting to get more bald then the owner of the truck and that was dangerous.

Which meant no mustard for his bologna sandwich.

He jumped when something landed square in the middle of his lunch box. He picked it up and it was one of those mustard packets you get at ballparks and the State Fair. He looked up to see Jeff looking at him.

“The deli my mom gets her pre-made sandwiches from,” Jeff said, “comes with little packets of mayo and mustard and since I don’t like mustard I figured you could use the extra.”

Eddie swallowed around the lump in his throat. It was as good as an apology as any. “Thanks, man.”

He ripped open the packet with his teeth and smeared it all over one side of his sandwich. He took another bite and moaned happily, mustard catching on the edge of his mouth.

“Gross,” Jeff said shaking his head and throwing napkins at Eddie’s face, one of them managing to stick to the glob of mustard.

Eddie cackled, wiping off his face. “Mustard is the seed of life, dude. You are seriously missing out.”

“Seed of life or not,” Jeff huffed, “that stuff is nasty. I can smell it from here.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “Mustard isn’t that bad. I like it in my mom’s meatloaf and in my potato salads.”

“But that’s mixed with other things to mask it’s vile nature,” Jeff insisted. “Anywhere else and you’re beggin’ the devil’s pardon.”

Eddie sat back with a smile on his face, already feeling a little better than when he started his lunch.

The lunch bell rang and he packed up his stuff, listening his friends talk among themselves, thinking today hadn’t be a complete bust.

As he made his way to his last class he over heard a couple of rich kids talking about some big party that was happening that weekend because their parents were going to be in Indy for the weekend.

Eddie slowed down as he took in the details. Things were definitely looking up.

~

Jeff's views of mustard are the views of the author. :D

ETA: Mr. Burton is a real person, or was I'm pretty sure he's passed considering he was my dad's teacher mentor when he did his student teaching. My 8th history teacher and he was exactly like this. He would start each class with a joke and it would always be terrible. And yes, he even got teacher of the year for his sass.

Tag List: TWO SLOTS REMAINING

1- @niniel-karenine @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@tartarusknight @gloomysoup @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @stedestielfrattficlover @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @oopsallgender @fearieshadow

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @tinyplanet95

7- @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @ravenfrog @gutterflower77 @swimmingbirdrunningrock

8- @wheneverfeasible @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss @steddieislife

9- @1tsra1n1ngbutterfl1es @a-couchpotato @ollieolive @micheledawn1975 @jamieweasley13

10- @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @pentapoctopus @themoonagainstmers

[eponymous-rose]

My Trip Home, or: The Plane Design that Fails at Triangles

I fly fairly often. I offer that as context - I'm not jetting off somewhere glamorous every week or two, and I'm not even spending every second weekend in a hotel yelling business words at people in suits, but I'm lucky enough that, between a few work travels a year and a couple fun travels a year and now this strange new world of hobby travel, the shine of even my sickeningly optimistic and perpetually delighted perspective on air travel has begun to tarnish. "Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth!" Yeah, and then promptly discovered the surlier bonds of budget air travel.

(This will be a post of incredibly petty complaints!)

I was in California this weekend for a hobby thing, and I was flying the kind of non-refundable, lowest-budget ticket for which the gate announcement is an afterthought. Very "...and the rest" from that first iteration of the Gilligan's Island theme song. Right? We all know this incredibly topical reference. So, alongside the Professor and Mary-Anne, I schlep to my seat and find myself in the window seat in my least favorite of all seat configurations: the 3 seat-aisle-3 seat combo on board the Boeing 737-700.

I shuffle across the two people who paid for a refundable, normal ticket (and hence boarded approximately seventeen years ago), and sit down, ready for my two-hour flight. And promptly think, "Oh no."

For context, my height and weight approximate those of the median American human across all genders. My butt occupies about two-thirds to three-quarters of the seat. I am not especially tall nor especially short. I say this to communicate that I would, reasonably I think, expect people in a wide range of body types - including those several standard deviations outside of my own extremely median one - to be at least moderately comfortable in the seats aboard this extremely common aircraft. The bar is so low that Boeing engineers took that bar as inspiration for space-saving measures.

We all settle into our seats. We take off. The guy in front of me reclines his seat immediately. This is my line in the sand, my probably unreasonable stance that I will argue until the end of time: yes, you can recline on an airplane. No, I don't think you should. To me, reclining your seat falls under the same category as refusing to tip: yes, tipping is a terrible system and the proper response to unfair wages is for the employer to cover the shortfall, but hey, here we are in a reality where those tips are subsidizing fair (or at least legal) wages, and wouldn't you know it, in that reality you gotta participate in the flawed system as an individual to avoid being a jerk. So, yeah, you *can* recline your seat, and it's the airline's fault for smashing us all so close together that those couple inches of space mean you're either destroying someone's laptop, spilling their drink, or dreamily resting your head in their lap for the rest of the voyage, but that doesn't mean you're not a bit of a jerk for doing it. More on this in a sec, I promise you, but suffice it to say that the knees of my extremely median five-foot-seven legs are now lightly kissing the seat in front of me.

The first hurdle emerges in the form of the (genuinely very lovely) person sitting to my left. In the unspoken rule that is very loudly spoken anytime the subject is broached, the middle seat gets the armrests. This is well and good and one of the signal indicators to me of the social contract still being in place aboard an aircraft despite the abomination that is the seat recline. Here, we say to those objectively suffering the worst in our midst, partake of our bounty via these two plastic doohickeys. Lean ye thereupon and rejoice.

The trouble, of course, is triangles.

As an experiment at home, sit yourself down and imagine the wall of a seat in front of you. The armrests are positioned such that, if you let your arms rest down directly next to your ribs, your arms will be parallel with the rests. Now take out an imaginary phone or iPad or book - something that requires two hands to hold it. And remember, you've got your neighbor in your lap at this point and can't hold the device too far in front of you.

The result? Triangles! Your arms are no longer parallel with the arm rests. Your elbows are several inches over both arm rests, pressing directly into the ribs of the median persons to either side of you.

I generally expect a little bit of arm contact when sitting side-by-side with someone in a sardine can speeding through the air at frankly alarming speeds. I don't like it, but it's reasonable. What strikes me as unreasonable - and this has happened each time I've flown this model of plane lately - is having my neighbor touching my torso the entire flight. My torso! How often do you have prolonged contact between a stranger and your torso? Not often! Not often at all! It's deeply unpleasant!

The worst part is that there is absolutely nothing this woman could have done, short of sticking her arms directly forward and up the whole flight, to mitigate this problem. Miserably, we settled into a detente of her elbow in my ribs and mine jutting slightly into the space in front of her forearm. My body reacted to this strange and unwelcome experience by giving me a phantom sensation of being tickled in my left armpit. For two hours.

To distract myself, and for a change of pace, I brought down my tray table, which was approximately the dimensions of a typical sheet of paper. I tried putting my bottled beverage on it and found that whoever had designed the indentations that served as cup holders was perhaps confusing cups with, I dunno, acorns or something? They were very small. I gamely tried to eat the sandwich I'd brought on board, with the approximate range of motion of a full-body cast at my disposal.

A clunk on my toe: new stimulus for my tickled-out body to latch onto, delighted. The man in front of me had dropped his phone, and I was in a position to recover it! There are few things are immediately soul-restoring as being able to render a small service to a stranger.

Relieved, and under his nervous gaze back at me through the crack between his seat and the side of the plane, I managed to slide the phone toward me with my foot... and realized that, were I to try hinging at the waist to pick this phone up, I would end up giving this man a little smooch upon his forehead instead. I asked him to un-recline his seat so I could actually reach it, and managed, with my face completely crushed into the seat in front of me, breathing plastic and the safety information card all the way, to reach down and grab his phone. He thanked me and reclined once more.

Two hours later, we'd landed and the deplaning process had begun. The woman next to me asked if I was in a big hurry to make a connection or anything, but the way she actually worded the question was, "Are you in a hurry to get up?" and I genuinely wasn't sure how to communicate that I was both at my final destination and therefore wouldn't need to push past her to the front of the plane... and that I was at my metaphorical final destination and would probably spontaneously combust if I remained sitting for too much time. I just stared at her with very wobbly liquid eyes and she nodded and we stayed put, her elbow reassuringly in my ribs.

Having had the incredible experience of a cross-country Amtrak train trip across the US recently, I can now definitively say which mode of transport feels more like it was invented centuries ago. On the other hand, maybe all that time just gave trains what they needed to figure out the mystery of triangles.

[paperbacksinner]

if you're still taking requests....could you please write a joe goldberg fic where he like fingers you past overstimulation because he just thinks you look so pretty and doesn't want to stop?? omg thank you so much

Just One More

TW: fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation, praise, crying during sex, Joe cums in his pants

A/N: this req did things to me bro 😭

———

He should’ve stopped a while ago.

You’ve come twice already, thighs trembling, voice hoarse from the way you moaned his name like prayer. Joe had whispered gentle things—“That’s my good girl,” and “You’re doing so well for me,”—while his fingers worked you open and his mouth kissed your tears.

But he hasn’t stopped.

Not yet.

You’re curled into the sheets, legs spread and twitching, slick and swollen and aching, and Joe’s still on his knees between your thighs, his fingers still buried inside you—pressing, curling, slow and relentless.

And he’s just watching you.

His curls are damp with sweat. His pupils are blown. There’s a smear of your arousal on his cheek, and his voice is way too calm for how wrecked he looks.

“You look so pretty like this,” he whispers. “So soft and ruined. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

“Joe—” Your voice cracks. “Please.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, kissing the inside of your knee. “You’re overstimulated. I know. That’s what makes it beautiful.”

He crooks his fingers just right and your back arches off the bed, a sob ripping out of your throat.

“There she is,” he breathes. “Look at that.”

You can’t.

Your eyes are brimming, jaw slack, mouth open but wordless. Every nerve in your body is lit up, every muscle trembling, and Joe is still murmuring filth like he’s telling you a bedtime story.

“Your little cunt’s so greedy. She keeps sucking me in. You don’t even know what you look like, do you?”

You shake your head, lips wobbling.

He leans in, breath hot against your ear. “You look like heaven, sweetheart. Like you were made to come for me.”

You choke on a whimper. “I can’t—Joe, I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” His voice goes even softer. “You always do. You always take it for me. Just one more. Just one more, and I’ll stop. I promise.”

You know he’s lying.

But you believe him anyway.

His thumb brushes your clit again, and your whole body jolts. You sob, tears finally spilling, your thighs trying to close around his wrist but he’s already pushing them apart again with one arm across your hips.

“Shhh,” he soothes, “I’ve got you. I love seeing you like this.”

Your cries turn into broken moans as your body climbs again—too much, too much, but still rising, burning, straining toward the edge you’re terrified to fall over.

But Joe keeps you grounded.

Keeps whispering things you can’t understand anymore, kissing your thigh, telling you how proud he is, how perfect, how sweet.

And when you finally come again—shaking, gasping, crying into your clenched fist—he groans your name like he’s the one breaking.

He kisses your trembling stomach. Your hip. The top of your mound.

You’re still trembling when he finally pulls his soaked fingers out of you, your inner thighs slick and quivering, your chest rising in shallow gasps. Joe’s pupils are blown wide. He’s flushed and panting like he’s the one who just came.

Because he did.

He blinks down at the wet patch clinging to the front of his pants, the shudder in his legs, the lingering throb of his own release, and he almost laughs—breathless, wrecked.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

He hadn’t even touched himself. Not once. His hand never left your body. He just watched—watched you cry and beg and come so hard—and somewhere between your second and third orgasm, he came in his pants like a teenager.

Just from you.

Just from how much he loves you like this.

The mess is hot and sticky in his briefs, and he doesn’t even care. Not when you’re finally going still, soft little noises in your throat like aftershocks. Not when you blink up at him with damp eyes and that fucked-out smile he wants to live inside.

“You’re mine. Mine. Mine.”

He cleans you with the softest towel and the warmest hands. Kisses your cheeks where the tears dried. Pulls you into his chest like something fragile and whispers:

“I’m sorry, baby. You were just too beautiful. I lost myself a little.”

You nod against him, boneless, and murmur: “It’s okay. I want you to.”

And you mean it.

[romanczukowsky]

Caught in the Dark

Pairing: Fred x George x Reader (threesome)

Summary: Being a prefect means keeping order — but what happens when chaos decides to play with you instead? Y/N is determined to finally catch Fred and George Weasley red-handed. Her search leads her to the abandoned third-floor bathroom… where she doesn’t find detention, but a lesson. Tension rises in the darkness as the twins prove that not all rules are meant to be followed — and not all games are innocent.

Content Warnings: erotic tension, psychological teasing, subtle dominance dynamics, consensual touching, enclosed space (no explicit sexual content – more sensual than graphic)

The corridor was cloaked in silence, stretched thin like a veil, as I slipped out of my dormitory, my cloak wrapped tightly around me. I was a prefect — a title that carried weight, but more than anything, I had one stubborn goal: to finally catch the Weasley twins in the act. They never admitted it openly, but they knew I was hunting them. And they? They just laughed, claiming I’d never manage to pin anything on them.

The Weasleys. Fred and George. Two boys always one step ahead, their mischievous grins as unbreakable as their endless stream of pranks.

Tonight, I felt like this might be my chance.

From a distance, I spotted them leaving the common room — quiet, confident. Their shadows flickered along the walls as they headed toward the third-floor bathroom, an old, abandoned space that had long been the subject of rumors. No one really knew what happened there, but the twins seemed to have some secret hiding behind those cracked tiles.

I decided to follow them, careful and silent, step by step, hoping this time I’d catch them red-handed and finally have something to write in my prefect’s journal as proof. But they clearly suspected someone was watching.

Before I could react, the bathroom door slammed shut behind me with a soft but final click.

Darkness fell so thick I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face.

Then I heard their laughter.

“Not so easy, nosy girl,” one whispered, while the other’s hand brushed lightly against my shoulder.

I was about to learn that with Fred and George, there were no games. They knew how to teach a lesson — especially to a curious girl who dared to chase shadows.

The laughter danced in the shadows, low and teasing, wrapping around me like a challenge.

“Thought you’d catch us, huh?” Fred’s voice was smooth, dripping with amusement, as his hand slid from my shoulder down to my wrist, gentle but firm. “But you see, being a prefect doesn’t mean you’re in charge of everything.”

George’s breath ghosted near my ear, his tone equally playful, “Especially when it comes to us. We play by our own rules.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding louder than the silence around us. The cold bathroom tiles beneath my feet didn’t match the heat suddenly radiating through my body. I’d come in looking to expose them, but now I was the one caught in their game.

Fred’s grip tightened just enough to remind me he was in control, then released, tracing a slow line up my arm with his fingers. “You’re persistent. I like that. But being nosy… that’s dangerous. You never know what you might stumble into.”

I tried to step back, but George’s hand caught mine. “Where do you think you’re going?” His smile was wicked, and that glint in his eye told me this was going to be far from a simple reprimand.

Fred chuckled, low and deep, and leaned closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. “We might even show you a secret or two. If you’re lucky.”

My breath hitched, both wary and inexplicably drawn to the dangerous promise in their voices.

“Come on,” George whispered, his lips barely brushing my earlobe, “We don’t bite. Much.”

I swallowed again, caught between the thrill of defiance and the magnetic pull of the twins’ unspoken command.

In that pitch-black bathroom, surrounded by the echo of their laughter and their teasing touch, one thing was certain:

With Fred and George, this was a game I’d never simply win or lose.

I was theirs to challenge — or be claimed.

Their hands didn’t let go. Fred’s fingers brushed the back of my neck while George’s hand traced lazy circles on the inside of my wrist. The cool darkness of the abandoned bathroom suddenly felt electric, alive with unspoken promises and quiet power.

“You really think you can outsmart us?” Fred murmured, voice low and teasing, “We’ve been at this game a lot longer than you’ve been sneaking around these halls.”

George stepped closer, their breath warm on my skin. “And you? You’re stubborn as a Kneazle. I admire that. But stubbornness can get you into trouble. Big trouble.”

I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure. “Maybe I like trouble.”

Fred grinned, his teeth gleaming in the faint light. “That’s the spirit. But remember — trouble with us means you’re not just playing; you’re part of the game.”

George’s eyes locked onto mine, mischievous and dark. “So, what’s it going to be? Keep chasing shadows, or let us show you how the real magic works?”

The silence stretched just long enough for my heartbeat to fill it. Their teasing wasn’t just a game — it was a challenge. One I couldn’t back down from.

Fred leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing my ear. “Be careful, prefect. We like to win.”

“And we never lose to someone who underestimates us,” George added with a wicked smile.

I swallowed, a mix of fear and thrill twisting inside me. “Maybe it’s time I learned the rules from the best.”

Fred and George exchanged a glance, their smiles widening. “Now that is what we wanted to hear.”

The game was on...

Fred and George never took their eyes off me, and the atmosphere in that abandoned bathroom grew almost tangible — thick with tension and unspoken promises.

Fred slowly moved his hand down from my shoulder, and I felt a gentle touch on my thigh. His fingers brushed my skin through the fabric of my skirt, light but deliberate, as if reminding me who was really in control. George, meanwhile, grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, making me drop to my knees on the cold stone floor.

“Kneel down, it’ll be easier that way,” Fred murmured with a smile that was both teasing and warning. George leaned in low, his nose brushing against my cheek, while his hand slid slowly along my neck. “Nosy, stubborn, but sensual. You fit us perfectly.”

Kneeling in front of them, I looked up, my breath stopped at the intensity in their eyes. George's fingers slowly moved along my jaw, gently lifting my face upward.

I gently pressed my lips to the zipper of Fred's pants, a quiet, careful kiss - more a question than an answer. Their smiles deepened, their eyes shining with approval and amusement. Without a word, I moved a little further away, and unzipped his pants, which automatically slid down.

They exchanged glances that promised both mischief and mastery. “Good girl,” muttered Fred, his voice low and satisfied.

George's hand tightened for a moment on the back of my head, guiding me with firm but tender control. “You're a fast learner,” he added, his tone mocking but marked by a certain dominance that made my pulse quicken.

The room grew warmer, the quiet hum of their presence surrounding me like a mystery I was only beginning to understand.

George's hands didn’t leave me, steadying, guiding, but not rushing. I could feel the weight of their expectations — a silent command wrapped in the softness of their touch. Fred’s fingers curled gently into my hair, while George’s thumb brushed along my cheek, anchoring me in the moment.

My lips slowly enveloped the full length of him — unhurried, obedient, and aching to please.

“See?” whispered Fred, in a voice full of satisfaction. "That's how you get our attention.”

George giggled low, the sound vibrating in the quiet space. "And how to hold it.”

The tension tightened, the air between us thick with unspoken challenges and the thrill of pushing boundaries we had not dared to before.

I lifted my gaze to George encountering his shy, mischievous smile. I unzipped his pants, and they slid down on their own.

They smiled, twins in this game of shadows and desire.

Kneeling there, I felt the weight of their gazes on me - intense, playful and utterly commanding. Fred's hands rested lightly on my shoulders, supporting me, while George's breath brushed my skin like a warm breeze.

Without a word, they moved in closer, their presence wrapping around me like a spell. I closed my eyes as their warmth brushed against my lips, and then, with slow, deliberate intent, they traced a teasing path along the inside of my cheek.

A gentle finger combed a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and I felt a shiver run along my spine. Despite the darkness and silence, an unspoken understanding between us filled the space - it was a game, a dance of control and surrender, trust and discovery.

Fred's voice was a low murmur, barely audible. "You're learning, little one. Just remember - this is our world and we make the rules."

I looked at them, my heart pounding. And although I was on my knees, in that moment I felt more powerful than ever.

They both reached their climax almost at once, painting my flushed face with heat and pleasure. George's fingers rubbed my lip so that nothing escaped, and to make sure everything was swallowed.

Fred leaned in and his breath warmed my ear. "You are exactly where you belong. See you next time."

[i-dare-say]

I have a theory about Airplane's original outline, the one he lost which was supposed to be mature and deal with more complicated themes than what PIDW actually became. Some posts on here made me curious about what other people would think of it.

What if Shen Yuan didn't transmigrate into a copy of PIDW, but the actual original outline?

We know Airplane lost the file when his computer randomly died and that he had plans for Tianlang-jun to be the final boss and for Shen Jiu to be a direct parallel to Luo Binghe.

We're not told when he lost the file.

What part of PIDW was he writing at that moment? Was it when Luo Binghe was 14? But he lost the file, discarded the original outline and went for the stallion novel.

While a new universe was born, as Airplane decided to satisfy his readers more than follow his own ideas, the original universe was left unfinished, lost without an ending.

The system has worked in other universes before, so it knows how to deal with this. It takes a soul from another world to finish the story and bring it to its original ending instead of the one in PIDW.

Who better than the author? Airplane, who had to discard his art to make money for a living. He'd be the perfect one for the job.

But, as we know, Airplane doesn't actually change much. The role of Shang Qinghua proves to be too removed from Luo Binghe, and he's not given enough incentive or instructions to do it.

The system learns from this first mistake: next it takes someone who hates the ending of the PIDW universe, and puts them right where the original outline stops, in a role deeply tied to Luo Binghe, giving them clear objectives and punishments if they don't follow the instructions.

It works.

Shen Yuan is dropped into the original outline and actually manages to deliver on all its promises. That's why Shen Jiu's past is revealed, why we get to know the truth of Tianlang-jun's relationship with Su Xiyan and all that the Palace Master did, all plot points that never existed in PIDW.

(Why the characters are much smarter, why the female characters have a personality other than being their archetypes)

You could argue that they do exist in PIDW, hidden under all the monster fighting and maiden fucking. But PIDW is a stallion novel, with tropes and a narrative that follow a certain structure. I can't imagine the events of svsss ever happening in a story like that.

The original outline though? Yeah, 100%. It already had the potential of being complicated, with all those secrets and mysteries, so it's not that hard for it to add the relationship that is born between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu to the mix.

And, this is the reason why we only got to meet Bingge but not his original outline counterpart.

Let's be honest: if a third universe existed other than svsss and PIDW, with a lonely Luo Binghe that never finds love, you bet your ass he would eventually find his way to svsss like Bingge did. But it never happened.

Because Bingmei is him.

[joces-wrld]

IN WHICH— chris keeps putting you back together, just for you to break yourself again

| sort of angst, not proofread.

| the REST of this writing marathon!!

you knock on his door at 12:47 a.m. again.

you don’t even have to say anything when he opens it. your eyes are red, makeup is smudged, hoodie sleeves are pulled over your hands like you’re trying to disappear. he doesn’t ask questions. he just steps aside, lets you in, and holds you when you fall apart for the third time this month.

third time this week, really.

your ex said something cruel again. made you feel small. like you were too much and not enough all at once. and somehow, some—fucking—how you still love him. still think he’s the one.

chris doesn’t get it.

he never will.

but he holds you anyway. makes tea you won’t drink and puts on your favorite comfort movie. he pulls the blanket over your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head like that alone could fix everything.

he knows it won’t. but he still hopes.

“i don’t know why i let him do this to me,” you whisper. “i feel so stupid.”

you’re not stupid. just soft. just hopeful. just too willing to believe a boy, who doesn’t deserve you, will suddenly change.

but chris can’t say that, not without sounding bitter.

so he just says, “you’re not stupid,” and pulls you closer.

you fall asleep on his chest, breathing slow and warm against his hoodie, like this is home. and for a second, he lets himself pretend it is.

you’ll wake up tomorrow, and everything will be okay for a while. you’ll smile at him in the kitchen, steal his phone to take pictures, laugh at something dumb he says. you’ll promise you’re done for good this time. done with the boy who keeps breaking you. done with hurting.

and for a few days, maybe a week, you’ll mean it.

you’ll text chris first. you’ll let him hold your hand in public. you’ll tell your friends how much he’s been there for you, how he always makes you feel better, how he never makes you cry.

but then he’ll text you. him.

and suddenly chris is just a safety net again.

a soft place to land.

a temporary fix.

because you’ll go running back to him, again.

“i just needed closure,” you’ll say. “it didn’t mean anything,” you’ll insist.

and chris will nod like it doesn’t gut him.

because what can he say? he’s just your friend. the one who loves you in all the quiet ways you never seem to notice. the one who memorized your favorite snacks, and your late-night cries, and how you like your hair held back when you’re sobbing on his bathroom floor.

he’s the one who fixes you.

but never the one you choose.

and it’s killing him.

he promised he’d be there till the end, but maybe this is the end. maybe the softest kind of love is the one that learns when to stop being your bandaid. when to stop letting you come back only to leave again.

but tonight, you’re in his bed, asleep, heart shattered. your body curled into his like muscle memory.

and he knows how this ends.

he just doesn’t know how to walk away.

not yet.

maybe not ever.

a/n: this was written in a hospital, sorry if its not the best! i'll probably do another version of this later on

tags— @clairo4life @xsturnkay @h3arts4isa @mf-divaaa-08 @bugs-tags @moond0llie @izzylovesmatt @courta13 @twylas114 @sturniolos1uts

[stargrillzz]

WEAKENING

SUMMARY: Derek, a tough, serious guy, impervious to any kind of emotions, turns out to have a weakness and it's not wolfsbane.

NOTE: My love for Teen Wolf has risen from the ashes. I love that show so much, I need them to make another movie or a spin-off with the same characters. I don't know what you think, but the only good thing about the movie was Eli. Also, reader name's Sage, I'm sorry it was more comfortable for me while writing if reader had a name xoxo

DAY OF ARRIVING LATE EVERYWHERE

mer day in Beacon Hills. You kicked off the sheets with a sigh and swung your legs over the side of the bed.

Throwing on your favorite denim miniskirt and a snug black tank top, you brushed your pitch-black hair quickly, letting it fall naturally over your shoulders. A quick check in the mirror — bright green eyes still sleepy but sharp — and you tugged on your chunky black boots. Comfortable and just rebellious enough for a Thursday.

The smell of coffee and toast hit you the second you stepped into the kitchen. Scott was already seated, fully dressed, motorcycle helmet resting securely on his arm like it was a part of his body. Melissa buzzed around the kitchen in her scrubs, clearly mid-rush.

“You know,” you said, grabbing a banana off the counter and tossing it in the air, “you don’t need to have your helmet on your arm while you eat breakfast.”

Scott didn’t look up, just took another bite of toast. “It’s cool.”

“Mmhm,” you replied, leaning back against the fridge. “If it’s so cool, maybe you could use your cool points to take me to school again.”

He raised a brow, chewing. “I take you every day. Why do you act like it’s some kind of favor?”

“Because one day, you’re gonna be too cool and leave me stranded.”

“Never gonna happen,” he said through a mouthful of eggs.

Melissa passed behind him and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder. “Be nice to him,” she said playfully. “He’s your chauffeur and your brother this week.”

“I’m always nice to him,” you called out as she grabbed her keys.

Melissa gave you both a tired smile, already halfway out the door. “Try not to let the school burn down today. Or yourselves.”

“No promises,” you and Scott said in unison.

The motorcycle ride was smooth, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as you held onto Scott’s sides. The morning sun burned low on the horizon, golden and slow, and the streets of Beacon Hills rolled past in a blur of green trees and brick buildings.

When Scott parked in front of the school, it was still early. Students wandered across the lot in small groups, laughing, talking, and clinging to iced coffees. You slipped off the bike, smoothing your skirt and shaking out your hair, already sticking to your neck from the heat.

“Ugh, how is it this hot before third period?” you muttered.

“You wore boots in June,” Scott pointed out.

“Fashion before function,” you replied, brushing past him.

The two of you pushed through the front doors into the cool hallways of Beacon Hills High, the air conditioning a relief against your skin. That’s when Scott slowed beside you.

You noticed his shoulders tense.

“What?” you asked.

He sniffed once, subtly, then again. “Do you smell that?”

“Um. Hormones? Teen spirit? Whatever’s in the cafeteria?”

“No. It’s—” His eyes narrowed. “Wolves.”

You blinked. “Like, new wolves?”

Scott nodded once. “Strong scent. Close. And—” He paused. “Identical.”

You frowned. “Identical? Like… twins?”

He didn’t answer. Just scanned the hall ahead.

And then you saw them.

Two tall figures walked side by side down the opposite hallway — both broad-shouldered, clean-cut, confident. Like they were born to take up space. One of them glanced your way as they passed, his eyes flicking over you with the casual ease of someone used to being looked at. You turned your head fast, cheeks warm.

“Okay,” you muttered, “you were right.”

Scott didn’t reply, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.

-

By third period, the whole school was buzzing. You, Scott, and Stiles sat at your usual table outside the science lab, sharing theories and leftover chips.

“I’m telling you,” Stiles said, eyes wide, “they’re not just new guys. They’re like... evil Abercrombie clones.”

“Clones?” you laughed.

“Have you seen them? No human has cheekbones that sharp naturally. It’s unholy.”

Scott still looked uneasy. “They’re wolves. I’m sure of it. The way they move… and that scent.”

Stiles leaned in. “Okay, but like… alphas? Betas? Omegas?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just hope they’re normal for once.”

The bell rang, and you split up for class. It wasn’t until later — just before the last period — that things got interesting again.

-

You stood at your locker, swapping out books for calculus, when you felt someone behind you.

Not just someone walking past. Someone watching you. Standing too still.

You turned slowly.

“Sorry,” the boy said, voice smooth, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m new. I think I got lost — I have calculus next, and this place is a maze.”

He smiled.

It was one of the twins.

“I’m Aiden.”

You blinked, caught off guard, but forced yourself to smile politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sage.”

He reached out — not for a handshake, but to take your hand gently and kiss the back of it. His lips were soft. Bold move.

You tried not to react, tried not to laugh, or blush, or punch him. You settled on raising an eyebrow.

“Beautiful name,” he said, his eyes tracing your face. “Almost as pretty as your eyes.”

Okay. Blush.

“Are you from here?”

“Born and raised,” you said, pulling your hand back gently. “Never left.”

“That’s rare. I’ve moved around so much, I barely know where I belong anymore.”

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” you said with a little shrug.

He tilted his head. “Not now that I’m here. I didn’t know small towns came with girls like you.”

You laughed — half flattered, half unsure how to respond. “Okay. Are you flirting with me, or trying to get to calculus?”

“Can’t it be both?”

You were about to fire back when movement behind him caught your eye. Two familiar idiots — Scott and Stiles — waving at you wildly from across the hall.

“Oh, crap,” you mumbled. “I gotta go. Your class is straight down this hallway, turn right, first door on the left. Bye!”

You hurried past Aiden, heart still thudding a little faster than you liked.

-

The loft was quiet when you arrived — but it wasn’t calm.

Isaac sat on the couch, shoulders shaking, wrapped in a blanket. His face was pale, eyes wide. Peter lounged nearby, picking at invisible lint on his shirt. Derek stood with his back to you, tense, arms folded, staring out the window.

“You’re late,” Derek said without turning.

“We got caught up,” Scott replied.

“Someone got caught up,” Stiles muttered, side-eyeing you.

You smacked his arm. “You couldn’t start the Jeep.”

You stepped past the boys and moved toward Derek, lowering your voice. “It wasn’t my fault.”

He looked at you then, over his shoulder. His eyes softened and then, for just a second, he smiled at you. “No, you just delayed us twenty minutes flirting with the new guy,” Scott said behind you.

You froze. Derek’s gaze shifted. Sharpened. Smile completely gone as if it was never there.

“Flirting?” he said, voice flat.

You turned fully to face him. “He asked where his class was.”

Scott lifted a hand in mock defense. “‘I didn’t know small towns had such pretty girls.’”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands.

Peter smirked. “You’re at a disadvantage,” he muttered to Derek, watching the tension like it was a soap opera.

Derek didn’t take the bait. He just looked at you. Not angry. Just... unreadable.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know we were supposed to come right away.”

He blinked once, and the moment passed. “Let’s get back to the point.”

NOSY

The loft was warm with late sun pouring through the huge windows, casting golden shadows across the floor. You pushed open the door with your hip, holding a bottle of peach iced tea in one hand and your phone in the other. Derek had told you to stop by earlier in the day, said something vague about “going over some things.” You knew what that meant.

Training. Again.

You liked the loft. It was always a little too quiet, a little too dark, but it smelled like old books, pine, and leather. Derek’s jacket was still draped over the back of the couch. Music played softly from an old stereo in the corner—something moody and instrumental. You walked in like you owned the place, because honestly, by now, you sort of did.

Peter was stretched across the couch like an annoying cat, one leg propped up on the armrest, flipping through some magazine you were almost certain didn’t belong to him.

“Oh, look who’s here,” Peter said without glancing up. “The sugar-powered prodigy herself.”

“Hi, Peter,” you said flatly, walking right past him.

“You’re late,” came Derek’s voice from the spiral staircase.

You looked up. He stood a few steps from the top, dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled, gaze intense. Why was he always brooding like he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad?

“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” you said, pulling off your jacket and dropping it onto a nearby chair.

“You said ‘around five.’ It’s five-thirty.”

“You’ll survive,” you replied, flashing him a grin.

The next hour was spent doing what you liked least: arguing.

“I’m telling you, I don’t need to learn how to fight,” you huffed, arms crossed as you stood in the open space near the kitchen. “My powers are more than enough.”

Derek paced slowly around you like he was circling prey. “While I’d love to be there every second to protect you,” he said, tone pointed, “there might come a time when I’m not.”

You rolled your eyes. “I could literally fling you through the wall with a single thought, Hale.”

“That’s cute,” Peter chimed in, still from the couch.

Derek ignored him. “You’re just learning how to use your powers. You don’t really know what you’re capable of. And that makes you vulnerable.”

You stepped forward, chin tilted high. “You’re acting like I’m helpless. Like I’m someone who needs to be babysat.”

He didn’t back away. In fact, he stepped closer. “No. I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to watch you get hurt because you were overconfident.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but—

Bzzz bzzz.

Your phone lit up in your hand. Unknown number.

“One sec,” you muttered, walking a few paces away as Derek’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like being interrupted, and he definitely didn’t like you being interrupted.

You swiped to answer, turning your back to him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sage?”

Aiden. You straightened instinctively. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”

“I was wondering… would you want to maybe get coffee? Like, now?”

Your pulse skipped. “Now?” you repeated.

“If that’s okay.”

You hesitated. Glanced back toward Derek, who was very clearly not pretending not to listen.

“Sure,” you said, your voice a little too light. “You mean the place downtown?”

“Yeah. Ten minutes?”

“Perfect. See you there.”

You hung up slowly, face warming.

Behind you, the tension in the room had shifted dramatically. You didn’t even need supernatural senses to feel it.

“Sorry, Der,” you said, already moving toward your jacket. “I have to go.”

“Where exactly are you going?” he asked, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I thought you were staying.”

You hesitated by the door, forcing your expression into something innocent. “A friend called. Emergency. Girl stuff. But I can come back tomorrow. I promise I’ll stay the whole day.”

Derek stepped closer. Much closer. He wasn’t angry—not in the usual explosive way. But something about the way he moved made your throat dry up. He stopped just inches from you, so close you could feel the heat off his chest.

“Girls’ emergency,” he said, voice low.

“Yes,” you whispered, suddenly very aware of how small the space between you was. “Incredibly urgent.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stared at you like he could see straight through the lie. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, and your fingers curled slightly around the hem of your jacket.

And then—without a word—he stepped away. He didn’t look at you again. Just turned and walked toward the stairs, every muscle in his back tight.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he was already halfway up to his room.

Peter, who had watched the entire exchange like it was a soap opera, let out a delighted sigh.

“Little liar,” he said, raising his glass of water like it was champagne. “I like you even more now.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks on fire, and slammed the loft door a little harder than necessary behind you.

YOU LIAR! YOU NOSY!

The café was dimly lit and mostly empty, save for a couple of college kids in the corner and the bored barista scrolling on her phone behind the counter. Warm fairy lights framed the front windows, their golden glow washing over the small table where you sat across from Aiden.

You stirred your iced coffee absently, watching him as he talked. He was charming in a way that felt rehearsed but effective—effortless smirks, confident eye contact, just enough mystery behind his words to make it feel intentional.

“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “you don’t look like you belong in a place like Beacon Hills.”

You quirked a brow. “And what does someone like me look like?”

“Like you belong somewhere bigger. Flashier. Maybe where the coffee doesn’t taste like regret.”

You laughed softly, sipping from your straw. “It’s not that bad.”

He leaned in even closer now. “Still. You’re definitely too pretty"

You blinked at the word. “So… you’re not pretending anymore?”

He just smirked. “I think we’re past pretending.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, confused way. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of being flirted with by an attractive (and admittedly bold)… or the strange pit of guilt forming in your stomach.

Just as Aiden’s hand brushed against yours on the table, his head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward your lips—about to kiss you—

The front door swung open so hard it slammed against the wall.

“Really?” came a sharp voice.

Your head snapped up.

Derek.

In full storm mode.

He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the café in seconds, stepped right between you and Aiden without so much as a glance at the table, and shoved Aiden backward with one hand against his chest.

You gasped. “Derek?!”

Aiden stumbled slightly but caught his footing, laughing as he lifted his hands. “Whoa. Easy.”

“Stay away from her,” Derek snapped, voice low and dangerous, and—

His eyes flashed red.

Aiden only smirked wider. “I wasn’t going to bite her…” he said smoothly, then added with a wink at you, “Not unless she asked to.”

You blinked. “Oh my god.”

Derek stepped forward, fists clenched, growl building in his throat.

“You can’t always protect her, Hale,” Aiden added, smug, knowing exactly what buttons he was pressing.

Derek lunged.

But before he could touch him again, you moved—instinctively, grabbing Derek’s arm from behind, pulling him back, your hands tight around his bicep.

“Derek, stop! What the hell is going on?!”

He was shaking with fury under your hands. His jaw locked, chest heaving. You’d seen him angry before—but this? This was different.

Aiden gave you a cocky little salute. “See you around, Sage.”

And with that, he sauntered out of the café, like he hadn’t just almost gotten mauled in front of the espresso machine.

You turned to Derek, still holding his arm. “What the hell was that?”

His jaw clicked. “He’s part of the alpha pack.”

You froze. “What?”

“He and his brother—they’re both part of it. They’re not just new kids. They’re dangerous. Manipulative. They’re hunting us.”

The information hit you hard—but it wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. Your hand dropped from his arm slowly.

“Oh,” you said after a beat, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Well… damn. He was cute.”

Derek tensed like you’d slapped him. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

“You lied to me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You told me it was a girl emergency.”

Your heart sank. “Okay—yes, I lied. I’m sorry. But you wouldn’t have let me go, and I needed to get out. It wasn’t that big of a deal—”

“Of course I wouldn’t have let you go,” he snapped. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“I’m not some helpless child, Derek.”

“No,” he said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. “But you’re also not invincible. And this is exactly why you need to train. You’re not ready.”

You crossed your arms, stepping away from him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Why does it bother you so much that I missed one day of training? One day, Derek. I train every day with you. Every day. And I already said I was sorry.”

He didn’t answer, not right away.

So you pressed, squinting at him. “Wait… how did you even know where I was?”

He stiffened.

“Derek.”

Still nothing.

Your eyes widened. “You heard my call?!”

He looked vaguely toward the counter, anywhere but your face.

“You were eavesdropping! You’re a nosy wolf!”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, it is the point!”

“You lied to me.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “You know what? I did. I lied. And you know what else? You followed me. Stalked me. So maybe we’re even.”

Derek’s silence was thunderous. His hands flexed at his sides, and you realized he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.

You exhaled loudly, finally letting the tension fall out of your shoulders. You didn’t want to keep fighting him. You were still confused, still trying to sort out why he was so mad.

You stepped toward the door, assuming he was taking you back to Scott’s.

But he wasn’t following.

You turned around. “Aren’t we leaving?”

“We are.”

“…To Scott’s?”

“No.”

You frowned. “Then where?”

He finally looked at you again, voice dark. “The loft.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m not leaving you alone. Not when he’s behind you like that. Not for a second.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the fierce protectiveness in his voice. The heat behind it. It wasn’t just duty. It was personal.

You swallowed hard, nodded once, and followed him out.

And the whole way to the loft, you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d gotten. How tightly he’d clenched his fists. How red his eyes had glowed the second Aiden had looked at you like that.

And somewhere inside your chest, something fluttered and ached at the same time.

PLAY PRETEND

You were at your locker, halfway through switching your calculus book for your lit folder, when it hit you—the prickling weight of someone watching you.

That sensation along the back of your neck.

You glanced over your shoulder.

The hallway was full of movement—students rushing to beat the bell—but no one was looking directly at you.

Still, you felt it.

Then the bell rang.

The crowd thinned.

And before you could even close your locker—

“Hey, stranger,” came a voice.

Aiden.

You tensed immediately. Your hand froze mid-motion on your locker door. Slowly, you turned your head. He was standing right beside you, that infuriatingly charming smile plastered across his face like nothing had ever happened.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped in your chest. Not because you were happy to see him. But because, despite everything, he was still painfully attractive—and dangerously persuasive.

“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not really gonna let one little fight ruin the beautiful friendship we were building, are you?”

He leaned against the locker beside yours, his voice dropping. “We had something good, didn’t we? Maybe even more…”

Your back hit the metal behind you as he invaded your space. His presence was bold—too bold—and yet he moved like it was natural, like he already belonged there.

“Stop flirting with me,” you said, voice low and defensive. It sounded more like a plea than a demand.

But he didn’t flinch. “Don’t listen to Derek,” Aiden said, stepping even closer, his tone softening as if it would make his words easier to swallow. “Whatever he told you, whatever story he spun, it’s not the full truth. I’m not the enemy here.”

You narrowed your eyes, heart thudding a little faster. “Derek didn’t tell me anything. But your red glowing eyes and smug attitude kind of gave it away.”

He smiled. “So you know now.”

“I know enough.”

“Then you should know I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing down at your lips. “I’m here because I want to see you again. Go out with me. Just once. No lies. No Derek. Just you and me.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Why was he making it hard to say no?

You weren’t thinking about accepting—not even for a second. You knew what he was. You knew it was wrong. But still… no one had ever looked at you like this before. Like they wanted you. Like they were dying to be near you.

Your voice slipped out before you could stop it.

“Of course the first hot guy to ever ask me out turns out to be a murderous lunatic.”

His smirk faltered for just a second.

“Sorry,” you added quickly, grabbing your books. “I have to go.”

You turned and bolted down the hallway toward class, heart still pounding. You didn’t even look back.

Not even when you felt him still watching.

Your lit teacher was halfway through analyzing a paragraph from Wuthering Heights when the door slammed open.

BANG.

Every head turned.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Derek.

Standing in the doorway. Handsome. Wild. Intense.

His leather jacket shifted with the rise and fall of his chest. His jaw was locked, brows furrowed, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, commanding.

Whispers exploded around you. Someone gasped.

“Is that Derek Hale?”

“Oh my god, why is he here?”

“Are they dating?”

“Holy shit, he’s hot.”

You sank lower into your chair, mortified. “Derek, what are you doing?!”

He didn’t answer. He was already striding toward you, ignoring your teacher’s confused protests.

“Mr. Hale—sir—this is a classroom—”

Derek didn’t even blink. He reached your desk, grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of your seat in one smooth, forceful motion.

“Derek, seriously—!” you yelped, stumbling after him.

The entire class fell silent.

He dragged you into the hallway, closing the door behind you.

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” you hissed, yanking your arm free. “You can’t just kidnap me in the middle of English!”

“Did you talk to Aiden again?” he demanded, ignoring everything.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I felt it,” he said, stepping closer. “Your heartbeat. It spiked.”

“It wasn’t even a full minute. And he came up to me. I didn’t say yes to anything.”

Derek’s jaw clenched. “But you didn’t say no.”

You stared. “Wait… were you spying on me again?!”

“I’m not spying on you, I’m watching out for you.”

You stepped back, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable—”

He cut you off with a kiss.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just fire.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands finding your waist as your back slammed lightly into the lockers. You gasped against his mouth, the noise swallowed by his kiss as your fingers shot up to his neck, tangling in his hair, holding him to you like your body had been waiting for this.

The kiss was everything—hot, possessive, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for weeks and finally snapped. His body pressed against yours, heat blooming between you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your legs shaking as his fingers gripped your hips like he wasn’t planning to let go.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless.

“What the hell was that?” you whispered, lips swollen, heart pounding like thunder in your ears.

Derek’s eyes were hooded, dark. “Don’t even think about going on that date.”

You stared at him, lips parted, dazed. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

His mouth curved into a dark smile. “Nope.”

“You’re not going to stop stalking me?”

“Definitely not.”

You laughed—nervous, breathless. “You’re insane.”

“You won’t even have the strength to get out of bed,” he growled in your ear.

Your face flushed a deep red.

You didn’t argue.

The second the door closed behind you, you were in his arms again.

Every step forward was another feverish kiss. He backed you up against the nearest wall, mouth on yours, hands lifting you effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.

You whimpered into his mouth. “You’ve been dying to do this, haven’t you?”

He growled low, biting softly at your lower lip. “You have no idea.”

Your jacket fell to the floor. His shirt joined it.

And just when he reached the bottom of the stairs—

“Oh, come on,” came Peter’s voice from the couch.

You froze.

Derek didn’t.

“Remember I live here too,” Peter muttered, rolling his eyes.

Derek didn’t even glance at him. “Get out.”

“I was here first.”

“Peter.”

You were trying to look anywhere but at Peter.

“Fine. I’ll go find something better to do than listen to you two claw each other to death.”

He vanished out the door.

Derek didn’t waste a second. His hands slid back under your thighs, lifting you again, carrying you straight up the stairs to his room like it was the only place in the world that mattered.

And in that moment… it was.