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shy9-29 · 2 months ago

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Love, Lies, and Sim Jake

심재윤 x reader - enhypen campus series

You were the quiet girl with the not-so-quiet crush on Jake Sim—campus heartbreaker, smooth talker, and everything you should’ve stayed away from. But when a bet turns your name into a game, the rules change fast. He didn’t expect to fall for you… and you didn’t expect to find out. Now it’s your move—and this time, you’re not playing nice.

wc. 16.4k

a/n. This took me so long istg but lwk wanted then to be endgame @sheseung

masterlist | req open

It wasn’t supposed to be obvious. You were careful—or at least you thought you were.

Sure, maybe you stared a little too long when Jake walked into class late, hair still damp from a rushed shower, backpack half-zipped like he couldn’t be bothered. Maybe you laughed a little too loud when he made a joke, even if it wasn’t that funny. Maybe your friends caught you scrolling through his Instagram more times than you could count—but you had never said it out loud.

But somehow… everybody knew.

It started small. You remember the moment it all began to slip. One afternoon in the library, your best friend nudged your arm and whispered, “You’re staring again,” followed by the most annoying smirk you’d ever seen. You blinked, cheeks warming, then looked away quickly as Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching in that way he had to know showed off his arms.

“It’s not like that,” you’d mumbled. Lie. Straight lie. But it was your go-to line.

Then came the whispers. The way people started looking at you just a little differently whenever Jake was around. In the dining hall, one of his teammates nudged him and said something under his breath, both of them turning your way right after. You pretended not to notice. But you felt it—the heat in your face, the tightening in your stomach. You hated it.

It was like high school all over again. Like a crush you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried to play it cool.

And the worst part? Jake noticed.

He started looking at you a little longer in the hallways. Smirking when you’d pass by. Saying “hey” like he hadn’t ignored you for two semesters straight. You weren’t sure if he was just being polite—or playing with you. Still, every time your name left his lips, something fluttered in your chest and you hated that you let it.

Then, one night at a party, it all came out.

You were standing by the kitchen, holding a red solo cup you barely sipped from, when you heard it—your name. Jake’s voice.

“She’s cute,” he said casually, too casually, and the room seemed to go quieter around you. “And I’m pretty sure she’s into me.”

Laughter. Someone said, “Bro, everyone knows she is.”

Another voice chimed in, “You’re the first thing on her mind when she walks into class.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as your stomach flipped.

They were talking about you like you were an object, like your feelings didn’t matter.

You tried to shrink back into the corner of the room, hoping no one noticed your face burning hotter by the second. But Jake didn’t miss a beat.

He didn’t stop them. Didn’t correct them. Didn’t even seem surprised.

You were supposed to be doing your sociology reading. That was the whole plan. Laptop open, textbook to the side, highlighter in hand—every prop perfectly in place. But instead of notes, your screen was filled with him.

Jake Sim’s Instagram page.

His latest post? A blurry mirror selfie at the gym, captioned something dumb like “light work.” His abs were obnoxiously sharp, his hair pushed back by a sweatband, and there was a cocky little smirk tugging at the edge of his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing. You didn’t even like gym pics—and yet there you were, zooming in like a creep and biting your lip like an idiot.

You were halfway through stalking his tagged photos when Yuna burst into your room.

“Oh my god,” she said, before even setting her bag down. “Are you stalking him again?” You jumped, slamming your laptop shut like it was something illegal. “No.” She raised a brow. “You literally jumped like I caught you watching illegal shit.”

“I was doing research,” you muttered, trying to sound convincing.

“Research on what? His jawline?” Yuna flopped onto your bed, grinning. “Girl, you need help.”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands. “I know. It’s so bad. I can’t stop.”

“Yeah, no kidding. This is like… phase five of a full-blown Jake Sim spiral.” You peeked at her through your fingers. “Do you think he knows?” Yuna blinked at you. “Girl. Everyone knows.” You groaned again, louder this time, flopping back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’m so pathetic.”

“Not pathetic,” Yuna said sweetly. “Just tragically whipped.” She laughed and tossed a pillow at you, and you couldn’t help but smile through the embarrassment. Because yeah—you were absolutely whipped.

And the worst part? You hadn’t even had a real conversation with him yet.

Yuna stayed sprawled on your bed, scrolling through her phone while you reopened your laptop—this time pretending you were actually going to study, even though your fingers hovered dangerously close to Jake’s profile again.

“I swear, he’s getting hotter by the day,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to her.

“Don’t do it,” Yuna warned without even looking up. “Don’t go back to his highlights. You already watched his Europe trip twice last night.”

“I just like the aesthetic,” you defended weakly.

“You like his face.”

You sighed, resting your chin in your palm, eyes drifting back to his latest Story. Just a casual boomerang of him walking into a party, surrounded by people, drink in hand, that same effortless confidence radiating off of him. He looked like he belonged there—like the world bent to him just slightly wherever he went.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t even bend your willpower long enough to not stalk him for one damn night.

“He’s at that rooftop bar again,” you murmured. “That one near campus.”

Yuna glanced at your screen. “With the LED lights and overpriced drinks? Ugh. Of course he is. He’s always out. Does he even do homework?”

“He’s passing econ somehow.”

“Probably because he flirts with the TA.”

You snorted. “I wouldn’t even be mad.”

Yuna tossed her phone aside and sat up. “Okay, real question. What are you actually gonna do about this?”

“Do?”

“Yes, do. You’ve been drooling over him for months. Either shoot your shot or block his page and join a monastery. This in-between spiral is destroying you.”

You hesitated. The idea of talking to Jake—really talking to him—made your heart race in a way that was more panic than excitement. He was just so… untouchable. Like a poster boy for bad decisions wrapped in designer cologne and half-smiles. And you were just—you.

“I don’t even think he knows my name,” you said quietly.

Yuna gave you a look. “Oh, he knows.”

You blinked. “What?”

She just smirked, grabbing her bag. “I’m gonna leave that there. You think about it.”

And with that, she disappeared out the door, leaving your heart racing in the quiet. Because if Jake did know your name… what did that mean?

You sat frozen for a solid thirty seconds after Yuna left, her last words echoing in your head like a fire alarm.

“He knows.”

She had to be messing with you, right? Yuna loved a good dramatic exit. She lived for chaos. There was no way Jake Sim—resident heartbreaker, campus lenend, the guy with a rotation of girls longer than your Spotify playlist—actually knew who you were.

…Right?

You glanced back at your laptop. His story was still up.

Tap.

Next slide—him laughing at something, dimples on full display, head tilted back like life was just that easy for him. You paused on it, your stomach twisting in that way it always did when you saw him smile. It was gross. You hated how much you liked it.

You shut the laptop again. This was getting out of hand.

Grabbing your phone, you opened your group chat with Yuna and your other two friends.

You:

i hate you why would u say that

Yuna:

what did i do NOW

You:

“he knows” ??? why would u say that and then LEAVE like some cryptic little drama gremlin

Kazuha:

HELP what’d she do

Minju:

this is about jake isn’t it

Yuna:

ok first of all. i am a drama gremlin. second of all. i didn’t lie.

You:

YUNA.

Yuna:

look he asked about you once okay?? don’t freak out

You stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, heart thudding so loud you almost didn’t hear the buzz of another message.

You:

he what.

Yuna:

like two weeks ago. after class. he was talking to beomgyu and i walked up and he was like “hey that girl you always hang with, she’s in my stats class right?”

and i said yeah. and he nodded.

that’s it.

Minju:

girl that’s not nothing

Kazuha:

he definitely knows. also why do i feel like he’s been looking at her lately???

You:

guys stop

i’m sweating wtf

this is too much

You dropped your phone on the bed and covered your face with your hands again, half-screaming into your palms. This couldn’t be real. Jake noticed you? He remembered you existed?

You thought about the times he held your gaze a second too long in class, the lazy way he said “hey” when passing you on campus, the smirk you always thought was meant for someone else.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up. That was dangerous. That was how people got hurt. But still…

Just maybe…

This crush wasn’t as one-sided as you thought.

Jake leaned back against the bench, legs stretched out and sunglasses pushed up into his hair as the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees. The quad buzzed with weekend energy—students lounging on the grass, music playing from someone’s speaker, that kind of lazy chaos that only ever happened when no one felt like doing real work.

Jay sat beside him, twirling a straw around in his iced coffee, eyes scanning the crowd like he was picking out a movie to watch.

“You know what I was thinking?” Jay said suddenly, eyes still tracking something in the distance.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a terrifying sentence.”

Jay smirked. “We’ve never been in a real relationship. Like ever.”

Jake scoffed. “And your point?”

“My point is,” Jay said, sitting up, “we should see who can actually do it. Lock in. Longest relationship wins.”

Jake blinked, amused. “That’s the dumbest bet you’ve ever made—and you once bet Beomgyu fifty bucks you could throw a slice of pizza on the dorm ceiling and make it stick.”

“It did stick,” Jay pointed out.

“Yeah, and the RA made you clean it off.”

Sunghoon, who’d been quietly watching some random soccer game in the distance, sighed like he was already regretting his life choices. “This is so stupid. Why would you guys want to date someone just for the sake of it?”

“Because we suck at it,” Jay shrugged. “We’re trash at commitment. Might as well make it fun.”

Jake tilted his head, thinking for a second. “So what, we just pick someone and… date them?”

“Exactly,” Jay grinned. “No hookups, no games. Real dating. See who lasts longer.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “You guys are hopeless. Seriously.”

Jake was about to respond when Sunghoon suddenly nodded toward a group of girls laughing across the lawn.

“What about her?” he said, jerking his chin in that direction.

Jake followed his gaze—and immediately shook his head, a tight, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Heeseung would kill me.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press it. Sunghoon just shrugged like it wasn’t his problem.

Jake leaned back again, lips pressing into a thin line. His thoughts drifted, uninvited, to you.

He didn’t know why, but your name floated to the surface, soft and unspoken. He pictured your face for a split second—how you always seemed to be laughing with that same small circle of friends, always just there on the edge of his world.

He said nothing.

Instead, Jake pushed himself off the bench, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans.

“Where you going?” Jay asked, glancing up.

Jake just smirked and threw a lazy wave over his shoulder.

“Nowhere. Just remembered something.”

Jake shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked off, head down just enough to avoid the glare of the sun but not enough to miss the way people turned to greet him as he passed. He gave the usual half-smile, a couple nods, but didn’t stop.

He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just didn’t feel like sitting there talking about bets and fake relationships when his mind was suddenly, annoyingly, stuck on you.

Not in a romantic way—God, no. Jake Sim didn’t catch feelings like that. Especially not for girls he barely talked to. That wasn’t how he operated. That wasn’t how this worked.

You weren’t the hottest girl on campus or the loudest or the one constantly throwing yourself into his orbit. If anything, you stayed out of it. And yet… you’d started showing up in his peripheral vision more often than he liked to admit.

Every time you passed by him in class, you did that little thing—tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes flicking to him for half a second before you looked away like you’d been caught doing something wrong. You weren’t subtle. And Jake wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed.

It was kind of… cute.

He kicked a rock off the sidewalk, watching it bounce onto the grass.

He didn’t know why you popped into his head when Sunghoon pointed out that girl. Maybe it was because you felt like the opposite of a challenge—someone easy to talk to, someone safe. Not messy. Not loud. Not tied up in anyone else’s drama.

And maybe, he thought, that wouldn’t be such a bad way to win a bet.

He stopped walking.

But then again… this was stupid. It was Jay’s idea. It wasn’t that deep. And you? You were just a thought. A maybe. An option.

Nothing more.

Jake smirked to himself and kept walking, brushing the idea off like it was dust on his sleeve.

No feelings. No strings.

Just a game.

Jake didn’t think about it again—at least, that’s what he told himself.

The next day, he walked into stats like he always did: five minutes late, iced americano in one hand, phone in the other, no apology in sight. He dropped into his seat near the back, legs stretched out under the desk, and immediately tuned out the professor’s monotone voice.

But then he saw you.

You were in your usual spot, two rows ahead and just slightly to the right. Laughing at something Kazuha whispered to you, pen twirling between your fingers, that same focused-but-not-really expression on your face.

Jake leaned back, tapping his pen against his lip.

You looked soft. Not in the cheesy romcom way—just… not sharp like most people. You weren’t trying to be noticed. You weren’t dressed to impress. You just were. And Jake had a strange moment of clarity where he realized: that might be why he’d thought of you in the first place.

Predictable. Low drama. Quiet.

Someone he could control the narrative with.

Jay’s dumb idea floated back into his head again: “Real dating. See who lasts longer.”

Jake exhaled slowly, like it would push the hesitation out of his lungs.

This wasn’t about feelings. He didn’t like you. He didn’t want to text you goodnight or hold your hand at parties or any of that romcom garbage. But maybe you were safe enough to play the part. Someone who wouldn’t make things messy. Someone who already had a soft spot for him.

He glanced at you again, just as you looked down to write something in your notebook, your brows furrowed in concentration.

He could do it. Just a few weeks, some dates, a little effort. Easy.

Jake grinned to himself, resting his chin on his hand.

He didn’t realize he was already watching you too closely.

Didn’t realize he was starting to wonder how you’d react if he actually said hi.

He just thought,

Yeah. This’ll be easy.

Jake caught himself watching you again.

It wasn’t even on purpose—at least, that’s what he told himself. You weren’t doing anything special. Just taking notes, occasionally glancing at the board, the corners of your mouth twitching every time Kazuha leaned over and whispered something dumb. But for some reason, he couldn’t look away for long.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of it.

Jay:

pick someone yet or u backing out?

Jake smirked, thumbs tapping quickly.

Jake:

working on it

Jay:

clock’s ticking

Jake rolled his eyes, tossing the phone facedown on the desk.

The truth was, he already knew. He’d made up his mind the second he walked into class and saw you laughing like you didn’t have a single clue how close you were to becoming part of something you didn’t sign up for.

But he wasn’t going to tell Jay yet. He wasn’t even sure why.

Maybe because part of him felt like once he said it out loud, it would make it real. More real than it needed to be. And despite how casual he was pretending to be, this wasn’t like hooking up with some girl from a party. This wasn’t sneaking out of someone’s dorm room at 2 a.m. before things got too serious.

This was… a role. A performance. One he’d have to keep up if he wanted to win.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes drifting toward you again.

You didn’t even know he existed—at least, not really. Sure, you might’ve looked at him a few times, maybe had that little crush people liked to tease about, but you didn’t know him. Not the version he showed at parties, not the bored one in class, not the one who smiled when he needed something.

You were still clean.

Jake wondered how long that would last.

When class ended, he stood and slung his backpack over one shoulder, lingering by the exit just long enough to watch you gather your things. You laughed at something Kazuha said again, then turned to wave goodbye to Minju.

And for half a second, your eyes met his.

He gave you a slow, easy smile—one he’d used a thousand times before—and this time, you didn’t look away so quickly.

Jake walked out of the room, his smirk growing.

You couldn’t focus the rest of the day.

Jake Sim had smiled at you.

Not just a polite, passing one. Not the half-distracted, probably-at-someone-behind-you kind. No. It was at you—slow, smooth, like he knew something you didn’t. Like he meant it.

And stupidly, pathetically, you’d smiled back.

Your stomach was still fluttering from it hours later. Even as you sat at your usual café table with Yuna, Kazuha, and Minju, pretending to listen to their convo, all you could think about was that look. That damn smile. The way his eyes had lingered just long enough to make your brain short-circuit.

Yuna caught you zoning out and kicked your foot under the table. “Earth to lover girl.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve been checked out since class,” Minju said, sipping her iced latte like she wasn’t stirring chaos.

“Let me guess,” Kazuha added, leaning forward with a smirk. “Jake smiled at you?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but Yuna cut in with a dramatic gasp. “He did?! Wait—you smiled back?!”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I don’t know what it was, okay? He looked at me and—ugh, I probably imagined the whole thing.”

“You didn’t,” Minju said casually. “He looked at you. I saw it.”

You peeked through your fingers. “Was it like… a weird look? Or just, like, a normal thing?”

Kazuha raised an eyebrow. “Does Jake Sim ever look at someone normally?”

Yuna leaned her chin on her palm, suddenly serious. “Okay, but real talk. If he did look at you, like, look at you… be careful.”

Your heart sank a little. “What do you mean?”

“He’s Jake,” Minju said. “He doesn’t date. He flirts, he parties, he makes girls fall for him and then disappears.”

“I’m not falling for him,” you said too quickly.

Three sets of eyebrows went up at once.

“I’m not!” you insisted, but your voice cracked halfway through, completely ruining your case. They all exchanged knowing looks, and Kazuha patted your hand like you were already a lost cause.

You sat back in your seat, sipping your drink in silence, trying to calm the chaos in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe Jake smiled at a hundred girls a day.

But still, the way he’d looked at you…

It didn’t feel like nothing.

And somewhere not too far from that café, Jake Sim was leaning back against a wall outside the library, scrolling through his phone.

He hadn’t told Jay yet. He hadn’t told anyone.

But your name sat quietly in the back of his mind.

Like a string he’d just started tugging.

Like a move he hadn’t played yet.

And tomorrow? He planned to say hello.

The next day came quicker than you expected.

You tried not to overthink it. Tried not to pick out your outfit with him in mind. Tried not to rehearse fake scenarios in your head where Jake Sim actually acknowledged you again—maybe said hi, maybe made a joke, maybe even asked you a question. Nothing big. Just something. Anything.

But deep down, under the nervous energy and second-guessing, a small, traitorous part of you hoped.

You walked into stats early, which never happened, your notebook hugged to your chest like it might protect you from your own delusions. Kazuha and Minju were already there, chatting quietly, and you took your usual seat beside them, eyes scanning the door more times than you cared to admit.

You told yourself you weren’t checking for him. Just being aware. Just… existing in the same room.

And then he walked in.

Jake didn’t look at anyone at first. Just strolled in like always—relaxed, unbothered, his usual drink in hand. He scanned the room casually, his eyes drifting past people without really stopping.

Until they landed on you.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

A lazy, lopsided grin pulled at his lips as he met your gaze. Not rushed. Not accidental.

Intentional.

Your throat went dry.

And then—like it was the most normal thing in the world—Jake Sim nodded at you. A simple, subtle gesture.

But it felt like the whole room paused around it.

You blinked. Your lips parted, surprised, and then instinctively—you nodded back. Small. Shy. Like your heart hadn’t just punched through your ribcage.

Jake held your gaze for half a second longer, then turned and walked to his usual seat near the back like nothing had happened.

But something had happened.

Kazuha leaned in immediately. “Okay, no. That wasn’t normal. He totally looked at you.”

Minju blinked. “Did he just nod at you like you guys are friends or something?”

You couldn’t even answer. You were too busy trying to regulate your breathing, too focused on the way your hands suddenly didn’t know what to do.

Across the room, Jake sat down, stretched out, and didn’t say a word.

Jay nudged him. “You good?”

Jake didn’t look away from the front. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Just watching something.”

Jay raised a brow, confused, but let it go.

You felt it the second you walked out of class—like a magnet at your back.

You didn’t have to turn around to know he was behind you. His steps were slower than yours, but just close enough that you could hear the occasional scuff of his sneakers on the pavement. And even in the noise of campus—people laughing, bikes zipping by, someone blasting music from a speaker—you felt him.

Jake Sim. Still walking behind you. Still very much a mystery.

“Okay,” Kazuha whispered beside you, leaning in with the most obvious side-eye imaginable. “Do not freak out. But he’s right there.”

“I know,” you hissed, eyes forward.

“I mean right there, like five steps back.”

Minju, on your other side, kept her voice casual. “What do you think he wants?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “Probably just going the same way.”

“Oh, sure,” Kazuha drawled. “Because Jake Sim always just happens to walk behind girls he makes eye contact with for five seconds straight.”

Your face was hot. You hated how your brain had started keeping track of these things—every glance, every nod, every smile like it meant something.

You turned the corner with your friends, and for a second, it felt like maybe that was it. Maybe he was just walking the same direction.

“Hey.”

One word. Smooth. Easy.

Him.

You stopped. Your heart didn’t.

Jake slid into view beside you like he did this all the time, like you weren’t already halfway to spiraling.

He looked straight at you. “You’re in my stats class, right?”

You blinked. Your mouth opened slightly. “Uh… yeah.”

He smiled like he already knew the answer.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said casually, like this wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it. “What’s your name?”

You told him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake nodded, like he was tucking it away. “Cool. I’m Jake.”

Like you didn’t already know.

“I know,” you said before you could stop yourself.

His grin widened slightly. Not cocky, not smug. Just… amused.

“Right,” he said, a little laugh in his voice. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

And with that, he was gone.

No flirting. No teasing. No over-the-top pickup line.

Just your name on his lips. Like he planned to use it again.

Your friends were staring at you with open mouths.

Kazuha grabbed your arm. “I am going to pass out.”

Minju fanned herself. “You talked. To Jake Sim.”

You stood there, blinking at the space where he used to be, your heart still racing.

You didn’t know what just happened.

But whatever it was, it wasn’t nothing.

Jake didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to. He knew you were still standing there, probably replaying the conversation in your head, maybe wondering if you’d said something weird or if he’d meant anything by it.

He hadn’t.

Not really.

(Kind of.)

He let his smirk fade the second he turned the corner, jaw tightening slightly as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He could feel Jay’s voice in his head already, mocking him—“So? Who’d you pick?”

He wasn’t going to tell him yet. Not until it was set in motion.

And it was now. Officially.

He’d spoken to you. Broke the fourth wall. You weren’t a background presence anymore—you were the option. The one he was going to test this theory out on.

Not because you were a challenge.

Not because you were hard to get.

But because you were… interested.

He’d seen the look on your face when he asked your name. That flicker of nervous excitement, like you’d been caught in the middle of something you didn’t want to end. He knew that look. He’d seen it before. Dozens of times.

But this time? He wasn’t here to break hearts. He was here to win.

That was the bet.

Longest relationship.

Play the part. Make it believable.

Easy.

Jake walked into the dining hall like nothing had happened, spotting Jay already sitting with a tray of fries and a bored expression.

“Yo,” Jay said. “You look like you just committed a crime.”

Jake slid into the seat across from him, swiping a fry. “Maybe I did.”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “You pick someone?”

Jake chewed slowly, then shrugged. “Thinking about it.”

“‘Thinking about it’ or already made up your mind?”

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Let’s just say… I’ve got a good feeling.”

Jay laughed. “You’re gonna lose.”

Jake grinned back, calm and sure of himself. “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile, two buildings over, you were still stuck in place—your name echoing in your ears in his voice.

Jake Sim had talked to you. Asked your name. Smiled like he’d meant it.

And you?

You were already in trouble.

You just didn’t know it yet.

You floated through the rest of your day in a haze.

Jake Sim—campus heartbreaker, unintentional walking distraction, the guy you’d spent way too long overanalyzing from a distance—had not only spoken to you, but said your name. Like it belonged in his mouth. Like he planned to say it again.

You replayed it on loop.

“What’s your name?”

“I’ve seen you around.”

“Cool. I’m Jake.”

You. Were. Doomed.

Yuna nearly screamed when you told her.

“HE WHAT?” she shrieked in your dorm room, slamming her phone face down on your bed. “Okay, no. Wait. Start from the beginning. Word for word. Breath for breath. Blinking pattern. Everything.”

“I already told you everything!”

Yuna gave you a flat look. “You barely told me anything. You just stood there in a daze and whispered, ‘He talked to me’ like you were in some kind of Jake-induced coma.”

“I was in a Jake-induced coma,” you mumbled, falling back onto your pillow dramatically. “I think I still am.”

“Okay but why now?” she asked, sitting at the foot of your bed and stealing one of your chips. “Like, what changed? You guys have had stats together for weeks and he’s never even looked at you.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “Maybe he just… noticed me.”

Yuna gave you a look. “Guys like Jake don’t ‘just notice’ girls. It’s either because he’s bored, he’s interested, or he’s got some kind of motive.”

You sat up a little. “You think he has a motive? Like… what? What kind of motive?”

Yuna paused, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t know. But Jake doesn’t make small talk unless he’s getting something out of it. Trust me. He’s hot, yeah, but there’s always something else going on in that beautiful, toxic little brain.”

You rolled your eyes, but a tiny part of you held onto her words. You didn’t want to believe that. You wanted to believe maybe he was just… curious. Maybe he thought you were cute. Maybe—by some miracle—he wasn’t playing a game.

But then again, Jake Sim was known for a lot of things.

Genuine interest wasn’t one of them.

Still, your heart refused to care.

He said your name.

He smiled.

He looked at you.

And for now, that was enough to keep you wide awake at 1:42 a.m., staring at your ceiling, whispering his name once just to hear how it sounded in the dark.

You told yourself it wasn’t for him.

You were just in the mood to look nice today—normal girl behavior. Nothing out of the ordinary. So what if you curled your hair instead of your usual half-tied bun? So what if you put on a little gloss and swapped your hoodie for a top that fit just a little better than usual? You weren’t going to see him anyway. Probably.

(But you left five minutes earlier than usual… just in case.)

You blamed Yuna for the way your nerves spiked as soon as you stepped onto campus. Her voice kept looping in your head like a warning bell.

“Guys like Jake don’t just notice girls out of nowhere.”

You’d rolled your eyes at the time, but it stuck. Still, when you caught your reflection in the hallway mirror outside class, a small smile tugged at your lips. You looked good. Confident. Not for Jake—but if he noticed? That wouldn’t be the worst thing.

He did.

You felt his gaze before you even stepped into the classroom. The weight of it. Heavy, warm, lazy like he wasn’t in a rush to look away. You didn’t dare meet his eyes—not right away—but your heart was already beating in your ears.

Kazuha whispered a teasing, “Oooh, someone came dressed to kill today,” as you sat down, and you tried to play it cool, brushing her off with a laugh. But you couldn’t ignore the glance Jake threw over his shoulder.

And the small nod. Again. Just like before. It was subtle. Barely there. But intentional. And that was enough to keep you smiling through half the lecture like an idiot.

Later that day, back at your dorm, you were practically humming as you kicked off your shoes. Yuna looked up from her laptop, narrowed her eyes, and said immediately, “Okay. Spill. What happened?”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

“You wore lip gloss,” she deadpanned. “You only do that for confidence or crushes. And knowing you? It’s both.” You flopped onto your bed with a dreamy sigh. “He looked at me again.” Yuna groaned. “Girl. You’re spiraling.”

“I’m fine,” you said, rolling onto your stomach.

“No, you’re in the delusional phase,” she said, sitting up. “Where you think he’s texting you with his eyes and secretly planning your wedding. I’m telling you, this is how he gets girls. He makes you feel seen.”

You stayed quiet, fiddling with the edge of your pillowcase.

“I’m not saying he’s evil,” Yuna went on. “I’m saying he’s not… safe. He’s not consistent. And I just don’t want you to be another story where he gets bored and leaves.”

You didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when your heart was still soaring.

“I get it,” you mumbled. “But it’s not that serious. It’s just a crush.”

Yuna stared at you for a long moment. “That’s exactly how it starts.”

But you didn’t answer. You just kept smiling to yourself. Because Jake Sim looked at you again. And in your head, that meant everything.

Jake saw you before you saw him.

You were sitting on the low stone wall outside the library, legs crossed at the ankles, earbuds in, flipping through your notes with a furrow between your brows like you actually cared about the quiz tomorrow. The afternoon sun hit your face just right, lighting up the gold in your lashes, and for a moment—just a second—he forgot this was supposed to be a thing.

A game. A bet. A joke between him and Jay.

He shook it off.

“Go say something,” Jay muttered from beside him, nudging Jake with his elbow.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Relax.”

“Relax? Bro, you were just talking about how easy this was gonna be,” Jay said. “You smiled at her, got her name. Step three is conversation.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He just watched you.

You looked like the type who wrote in a journal at night. The type who doodled on worksheets, who had a playlist for every mood and a favorite pen that no one else was allowed to touch. You weren’t like the girls at parties who clung to him for the thrill of it, who liked the idea of Jake Sim more than Jake himself.

That made it interesting.

Or maybe risky. He hadn’t decided yet.

“I’m giving you three seconds,” Jay said. “Then I’m picking someone else for you.”

Jake scoffed and stepped off the path.

He took his time crossing the grass, casual but with purpose. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever study playlist was pulsing through your ears. He tapped the back of the bench once with two fingers, and you startled slightly, pulling one earbud out as your eyes lifted to meet his.

There it was again—recognition. Surprise. That soft little tilt to your lips like you were trying not to smile too much.

“Hey,” he said, leaning slightly against the edge of the wall. “You always study out here?”

You blinked. “Only when it’s nice out.” He nodded, eyes flicking to your open notebook. “What’s the subject?”

“Stats,” you said, grimacing. “Trying to pretend I understand anything from today.” He laughed a little—easy, smooth, practiced. “Yeah, same. I zoned out after the first ten minutes.”

You smiled, and this time it reached your eyes. “You sit in the back. You always zone out. He raised a brow, impressed. “So you’ve been watching me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then faltered, clearly realizing what you’d just admitted.

Jake grinned. Gotcha.

“I mean—not watching watching,” you rushed to say. “Just, you’re… kind of hard to miss.”

He let the moment hang between you, his smirk lingering before he glanced down at your notes again. “You want help?” he asked suddenly. You blinked. “With stats?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t guarantee results,” he said, pushing off the wall and shoving his hands in his pockets. “But we could suffer through it together.”

Your eyes searched his face for something—for a sign he was messing with you. But he didn’t look away.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Yeah. That’d be… cool.”

Jake nodded once, then stepped back. “Tomorrow. After class?”

You nodded.

He turned without another word, heading back toward Jay with that easy gait that made people move out of his way. Jay raised his brows at him like well?

Jake just said, “Locked in.” And didn’t explain further.

Didn’t mention how your voice had sounded a little shy when you said yes. Didn’t mention the part of him that liked that.

He told himself he wasn’t catching feelings. He was just playing the role. That’s all this was. Wasn’t it?

The next day, you didn’t know whether to dread or look forward to stats.

You’d barely slept. You kept rewriting yesterday in your head—Jake walking up to you, Jake talking to you, Jake offering to help you study like it was nothing. Like that wasn’t the most surreal part of your entire week.

You were half convinced it was a fluke. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe it was some joke. Or maybe—maybe—you dreamed it and none of it actually happened.

But then he slid into the seat next to you like it was his usual spot.

Like it had always been his.

You looked up at him in surprise, your voice caught in your throat. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey,” he said easily, tossing his phone on the desk and leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “You still down to study after this?”

You blinked. “Y-Yeah. Of course.”

He gave you a small, satisfied smile, then leaned in a little closer, voice low enough that only you could hear it. “What’s your Instagram?”

You froze.

You knew this moment was coming. Like, eventually. Hopefully. Maybe. But not this fast. Not like it was casual.

“Oh—um,” you fumbled with your phone, screen lighting up as your fingers clumsily opened the app. “It’s just—my username is kind of stupid, don’t laugh.”

Jake chuckled under his breath. “Now I have to see it.”

You turned your screen toward him, and he leaned in slightly, shoulder brushing yours for a second too long. His fingers grazed your phone as he typed it into his own, brows furrowed in concentration.

“There,” he said a moment later. “Followed.”

Your phone buzzed instantly, the notification lighting up like a siren:

simjyn started following you.

You tried to stay calm. Cool. Normal.

But Jake? Jake was already scrolling through your feed like he had nothing better to do. His eyes flicked up to yours briefly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re cute in this one.”

You almost choked.

He was pointing to a picture Minju had taken of you a couple weeks ago—your hand resting on your cheek, smiling softly at something off-camera. You’d only posted it after three days of deliberation.

“You—what?” you said, breathless.

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “I said you’re cute. You don’t agree?”

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

He laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying the way he’d short-circuited your brain. Then he leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t just sent your pulse into orbit.

“Stats,” he said casually, flipping open his notebook. “Then coffee. That’s our deal, right?”

You nodded slowly, your cheeks on fire.

He didn’t say anything else.

But your phone buzzed again under the desk.

simjyn: looking forward to it

You didn’t know whether to smile or scream. So you did both. Internally.

You didn’t even have to type it in.

The second Jake said, “What’s your Instagram?” you already knew where this was going. You played it off so well—bit your lip like you were thinking, fumbled with your phone a little like you needed to search for his account too.

But you didn’t. You’d known it for months.

@simjyn.

No numbers. No punctuation. Just clean, simple, cool. Like him.

You’d visited it more times than you’d ever admit out loud.

You knew the exact photo he’d posted on New Year’s Eve—black button-up, rings on his fingers, drink in hand, smirk sharper than his jawline. You remembered how his captions were always short, effortless. Sometimes just a song lyric, sometimes a single word. Always just enough to keep people guessing.

You’d watched his stories religiously. Even the ones that weren’t interesting—clips of skateparks, random memes, grainy concert videos. You once spent an entire night reading through the comments on one of his old posts, heart dropping every time a girl left a flirty emoji and he liked it.

And now? That username lit up your phone for real.

@simjyn followed you.

@simjyn ❤️ your story.

@simjyn sent you a DM.

You nearly forgot how to breathe.

What made it worse—or maybe better—was how normal he made it all feel. Like he hadn’t just stepped out of the fantasy you’d kept locked behind your phone screen. Like this wasn’t your real life crashing into the version of Jake you only knew from filtered posts and captions.

You tried to keep your cool, acting like this wasn’t a big deal. Like you hadn’t already scrolled back to his 2019 posts at least once. Like you didn’t already have his account bookmarked under a folder labeled “Just Vibes” (because “Jake Sim” felt too on the nose).

Still, when the class ended and you stepped outside, your fingers twitched with the urge to check your notifications again. And there it was.

@simjyn: looking forward to it.

Like it was just the beginning.

And maybe, terrifyingly, it was.

The days that followed felt like they were moving in slow motion, each one dragging longer than the last as you waited for something to happen.

The moment you’d been hoping for—the one where Jake would finally make it real, where the playful back-and-forth would shift from flirtation to something else—wasn’t happening.

Instead, he kept it casual. Too casual.

Too normal.

He kept up the conversations. Stats class? He would lean over, whispering about the notes, joking about the professor’s monotone voice. He would always walk with you afterward, or grab coffee with you. Nothing over the top. Nothing overtly romantic.

But your heart still raced every time he smiled at you. Every time he leaned a little too close. Every time his fingers brushed against yours as he handed you your coffee or his shoulder bumped yours when you were walking together. You could tell he was making it seem easy. Comfortable. Like you were just friends.

But you were barely holding it together.

Your phone buzzed late one night while you were finishing up homework. You glanced at it, heart skipping when you saw his name pop up in your notifications.

@simjyn: Got a minute?

You stared at the message for a solid minute. Your thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation creeping in. Should you play it cool? Or be honest and show just how interested you were?

You took a breath, tapped the screen, and typed back:

You: Of course, what’s up?

It took a few seconds for him to respond, and when he did, you couldn’t help but feel the subtle excitement surge in your chest.

@simjyn: You free tomorrow after class? Thought we could grab lunch or something.

You stared at the message for a long second, rereading it just to be sure it wasn’t some joke. But no—he’d actually asked. He’d really asked.

And you, being entirely unable to contain the flutter in your stomach, replied without hesitation:

You: Sounds good. What time?

It didn’t take long for him to send the reply, casual as ever:

@simjyn: 1 p.m. sharp. See you then.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as you tried to play it off to yourself. You were going to lunch.

With Jake Sim.

Just lunch.

Still, as you set your phone down, the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. It twisted, deepened, and tightened with something you couldn’t ignore.

This was different.

You weren’t just some girl caught up in the attention of a guy.

This time, it felt real.

The morning of the lunch, you barely made it through your classes. Every few minutes, your mind would wander back to the text. You tried to focus, to pay attention to the lecture, but all you could think about was what you were going to wear. You settled on something comfortable—nothing too dressed up, but something that still made you feel good. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard, but you also didn’t want to look like you didn’t care.

When the bell rang, you gathered your things and tried to move quickly, but not too quickly. There was no way you were going to be that eager.

You got to the café a little early, scanning the tables, heart racing as you waited. And then, just as you began to think he might be late, you saw him walk through the door. Jake Sim, effortlessly cool in a black leather jacket and dark jeans. His hair was slightly messy in that way that made you want to run your fingers through it.

He glanced around and spotted you almost immediately. The moment your eyes met, he gave you that signature, crooked grin. The one that made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” he greeted as he slid into the seat across from you. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

You shook your head, trying not to act too flustered. “No, not at all. I just got here.”

He gave a nonchalant nod, then leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the menu on the wall. “So, how’s the studying been going?”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Same as usual. Lots of work, not a lot of results.”

Jake chuckled, glancing over at you. “I can relate. Stats is definitely not my strong suit. I’ve had to rely on the internet a lot.”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “I can’t believe you’re just now admitting that you’re using Google.”

“Hey, it works,” he said, raising his hands in mock defense. “Why make life harder?”

The conversation flowed easily after that, lighthearted banter about classes, the terrible food at the campus café, and random bits of gossip you both knew. Nothing serious. But somehow, it felt… different. He was relaxed around you. More relaxed than he’d ever seemed before, and it made you wonder if this was just another casual thing to him, or if something else was starting to shift.

Then, after a while, Jake’s tone softened. He tilted his head, studying you for a moment as if weighing his words. “You’ve been acting a little different lately. More… put together, you know?”

You blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged slightly, his eyes still focused on you, but there was a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve always been pretty chill, but you’re, like, shining now. What’s up with that?”

Your heart skipped, a small nervous laugh escaping your lips. “I’m just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting better at balancing everything.”

Jake leaned in just slightly, his gaze narrowing with interest. “I think it’s more than that. You’re definitely pulling it off.”

You stared at him for a second, not sure what to make of the compliment. He said it so casually, like it was just an observation. But it felt different, like he was actually noticing you—really noticing you.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed. “Well, thanks. That’s… sweet.”

There was a moment of silence between you, the air thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, to your surprise, Jake broke the tension with a grin. “You know, I’ve got a theory.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “A theory?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking like he was about to say something way too casually. “I think you might just be trying to impress me.”

The words hit you like a bolt of electricity, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you were supposed to laugh, blush, or run away. “What? No—no,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I mean, maybe a little bit, but… I don’t think I need to impress you.”

Jake smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. “Oh? I’m not that impressive, huh?”

You bit your lip, not sure how to play this. “No, you are. I just—” You cut yourself off, suddenly realizing how much you’d revealed in a single sentence. But Jake didn’t press. He just chuckled, clearly having fun with this.

“You’re cute when you get nervous,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

Your cheeks burned at the comment, but you quickly composed yourself. “Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything to impress you with. I’m just… me.”

Jake leaned forward slightly, eyes locking with yours in that way that made your heart race. “That’s all I need to see.”

His words hung in the air between you like an unspoken promise, and for a moment, you thought you might actually fall for the idea that this wasn’t just a game.

But then, just as quickly, he sat back, picked up his coffee, and took a casual sip like nothing had happened.

You blinked, trying to clear the confusion in your head. Was he playing with you? Or was this real?

Before you could ask, Jake grinned, his eyes flicking to your phone. “Hey, I’ll hit you up later. I’ve got to go catch up with Jay about something.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you meant it to be. “I’ll see you later, then.” He stood up, tossing a few bills onto the table before flashing that same carefree smile. “Yeah. See you around.”

As he walked away, you watched him go, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t figure out if he was just being Jake, or if something else was going on. But one thing was clear. He had your attention, and it felt like you were already in this deeper than you wanted to admit.

The next few days were a blur of moments that felt too good to be true. Every time you saw Jake, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing. He was suddenly everywhere, his presence more noticeable, more… intentional.

It started small—an unexpected text, just a random meme or a “How’s your day going?” message. It wasn’t the kind of thing friends usually exchanged, not unless they were really close. But he made it feel effortless. Like it was normal. Like you were supposed to be texting each other.

When you sat together in class, Jake would lean a little closer, whispering jokes in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. He’d brush your arm with his when reaching for a pen or hand you a piece of paper as if your hands weren’t already close enough to touch. And every time his gaze met yours, there was this flicker in his eyes—a hint of something that made you feel like you were both in on some secret that no one else knew.

“You’re wearing that sweater again,” he’d say, a grin pulling at his lips. “I like it.”

You’d laugh nervously, trying to act casual, but inside, your heart would race. Every time he called you out like that—whether it was for something you wore, the way your hair fell across your face, or the way you bit your lip when you were nervous—it felt like a compliment. A tease. And you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to be flattered or embarrassed.

But then, you’d notice the little things—like how his gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than usual, how his smile reached his eyes, and how he seemed to make every conversation feel like an inside joke. You could feel it. The playful flirty energy was unmistakable.

One afternoon, you were walking across campus together when Jake leaned in and said, “You know, you look really cute when you’re thinking.”

Your mind went blank. “What?”

He laughed softly, his voice low and teasing. “When you get all quiet, just staring at nothing. You’re cute, I can’t help it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Stop it.”

But his grin only widened. He didn’t stop. Not this time. His arm brushed yours as you walked, the skin-to-skin contact sending an electric jolt through your entire body. He kept close, just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, just close enough that it started to mess with your head.

“Really,” he continued, “You should smile more. Makes everything better.”

You couldn’t think straight. He was being so Jake about it—teasing and flirty, but there was something in the way he said it, something deeper, like he was trying to get closer to you than just casual flirtation. You tried to brush it off, but there was no denying it—he was turning up the charm.

The worst part? You liked it. You liked it too much.

But as much as you were getting drawn into the flirty energy with Jake, your friends noticed. Especially Yuna.

“Hey, you’re pulling away,” Yuna said one day as you walked with her across campus. “You’ve been hanging out with Jake a lot lately. Like… more than usual.”

You tried to brush it off, but the protective tone in her voice was obvious. “What are you talking about? We’re just hanging out.”

She raised an eyebrow, giving you a skeptical look. “I don’t know, YN. I mean, I’ve seen the way he’s been acting with you lately. Don’t let him mess with your head. He’s—”

“Stop,” you snapped, more sharply than you meant to. “I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing.”

Yuna stopped walking, eyes wide as she stared at you. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she said quietly. “Jake’s not exactly the type to take things seriously. You don’t want to end up hurt.”

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. But instead of feeling gratitude for her concern, you felt something else—a weird, unexpected irritation.

“I said stop,” you repeated, this time quieter but no less firm. “I don’t need you to remind me every five seconds that Jake’s a bad idea. I’m fine.”

Yuna opened her mouth to argue, but you held up your hand, cutting her off. “Really, Yuna, just drop it. I can handle myself.”

You could see the hurt flash across her face, but you didn’t care in the moment. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to hear about how Jake was playing you, how he was just a game to him, how everyone saw it coming except you. Because you didn’t want to see it. Not now. Not when things were just starting to feel… good.

You walked away from her then, your mind in a whirl. But even as you pushed away your concern for her words, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Something was off, and it wasn’t just with Jake.

And as you thought about it more, as you thought about his flirty comments, the way he leaned in too close when you were talking, the way he looked at you like he knew something you didn’t, you wondered if maybe Yuna was right after all.

But then again… why would you care?

After all, he was giving you attention. He was talking to you. It felt good. And sometimes, that was all that mattered, right?

Later that week, you found yourself standing in front of Jake’s apartment door, the cold metal of the handle pressing against your palm. You didn’t know exactly how you’d gotten here, but somewhere along the way, you’d ended up accepting his invitation to hang out. It wasn’t even that late. You’d just had a weird day with your friends, and now, you were here.

Jake’s voice came through the door before he even opened it. “Hey, come on in!”

The door swung open, and he flashed you that familiar grin that you still weren’t used to, despite how many times you’d seen it. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he said with a teasing raise of his eyebrows.

You didn’t even have it in you to give a smart remark back. Instead, you just walked in, kicking your shoes off as you stepped inside. The apartment was just as you remembered—lived in, a bit messy, but still comfortable. Jake had that careless confidence about him, the kind that made everything feel like it was in its rightful place, even when it wasn’t.

You plopped down on the couch, dropping your bag beside you, feeling suddenly exhausted. Your shoulders slumped, and Jake’s eyes followed the movement with a curious look before he sank onto the couch beside you, casually stretching his arms out along the backrest.

“What’s going on?” he asked, genuinely concerned, but his tone was light, trying to keep things casual, like everything was fine.

You took a deep breath, then sighed heavily, letting it all spill out in a way that surprised even you. “I don’t know what’s going on with me lately,” you said, your voice a little softer than you expected. “I mean, Yuna’s being… overprotective. She thinks you’re just playing with me. And I get it. She’s looking out for me. But it’s like, I can’t get her to understand that I’m fine. That I’m not… that stupid.”

You glanced at him for a moment, but he was just listening, his focus on you in a way that made your stomach flip. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t tell you you were overreacting. He just sat there, waiting for you to keep going.

“I feel like I’m stuck between two worlds. Like one side wants to just… enjoy it, you know? You’re fun, you’re everything I thought you were. But then, there’s this other side, where I can’t shake the feeling that maybe she’s right. Maybe you’re not looking for anything serious, and I’m just… falling for it. But I can’t stop myself,” you vented, your voice starting to tremble slightly.

Jake stayed quiet for a few seconds, his gaze shifting to the floor for a brief moment before looking back at you.

“You’re allowed to feel what you feel,” he said softly, the words coming out slower than usual. “Don’t let anyone make you doubt yourself. Yuna’s just trying to protect you, but you can handle it. If you’re not ready to hear what she has to say, then you don’t have to. That’s your decision.”

There was something in his tone that was different—something almost… comforting. It wasn’t the usual cocky Jake. This was the version of him that actually cared.

You let out a shaky laugh, unsure of whether it was from nerves or relief. “I don’t know if I can handle this… It’s all just so confusing. I don’t even know if I’m reading everything wrong, or if I’m just imagining things.”

His expression softened, and he leaned in just slightly, the casual distance between you both shrinking. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, you know? You don’t have to be perfect. Not with me.”

And before you even realized it, you were leaning toward him. You didn’t even think about it, didn’t even second-guess it. Your body just reacted, your forehead resting against his shoulder, your exhaustion seeping out of you all at once.

Jake didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch. He just stayed still, his body tense for only a second before relaxing, letting you lean on him, letting you take the weight off for just a little while. His arm slowly reached up, resting gently on your back, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There was only the sound of your breathing and the steady, comforting presence of Jake beside you. And in that space, you didn’t feel confused or vulnerable. You just felt… safe.

But Jake? Jake felt something he wasn’t prepared for.

His chest tightened as your weight shifted against him, your head resting on his shoulder. Something in the pit of his stomach stirred in a way he wasn’t used to. The easy, flirtatious banter, the teasing touches, the smiles—it had always felt like a game, a light distraction. But now, with you leaning on him like this, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had crossed some invisible line.

Jake wasn’t the type to let his guard down easily, especially not with someone like you—someone who was already too easy to get attached to. He’d always prided himself on being able to keep things light, keep things easy. But now, as you sat there with your breath steady against his chest, he felt something shift in his chest. It was too strong, too real, too unfamiliar.

He knew he shouldn’t be feeling it. He knew he shouldn’t be letting himself get this close, this comfortable. But there was something about the way you were so trusting, so open, that made him rethink everything. Maybe he didn’t have to keep things light forever. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let things get a little deeper.

But Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull away, and he didn’t push forward. He just stayed there, letting the moment stretch out, wondering what it would mean if he allowed himself to feel whatever this was.

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Sim wasn’t quite sure what was happening to him.

The next day, you were walking with Minju and Kazuha when the conversation inevitably turned to the topic you were avoiding. Your friends had been whispering behind your back, but now, they were cornering you about it, and you knew exactly what was coming.

“YN,” Minju started, her voice soft but firm. “We know you’re close with Jake now, but Yuna’s just trying to look out for you. She cares about you.”

You tried to ignore the feeling of guilt that twisted inside you, but it was impossible to shake off. You had felt bad about snapping at Yuna, but right now, you just weren’t ready to deal with it. Not when everything with Jake was still so… new, so uncertain.

“I know, okay?” you said, your voice slightly more defensive than you intended. You slowed your pace, unwilling to keep walking any longer. You could feel their concerned gazes on you. “But I don’t need to hear it right now. I don’t want to think about it.”

Kazuha frowned, tilting her head as she studied your face. “We just don’t want you to get hurt, YN,” she said, her voice gentle but tinged with worry. “We know you like him, but… Jake doesn’t exactly have the best reputation when it comes to relationships.”

You clenched your jaw. Not this again.

“I don’t need anyone else telling me what I already know.” Your words were sharp, but it was hard to keep your cool. “I’m fine. I’m not an idiot. I know the risks.” You paused, your voice quieter now. “I just… I’m not ready to have that conversation with anyone, especially Yuna. So, can we just drop it?”

Minju gave you a sympathetic look, her eyes softening. “We’re just looking out for you, YN. It’s not about not trusting you. It’s about the fact that we’ve seen this kind of thing happen before.”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “I get it, but… I’m not asking for advice right now. I just want to figure things out on my own. I don’t want to hear how this is going to end before it’s even really started.”

Kazuha took a step closer, her tone easing as she tried to lighten the mood. “We’re not trying to ruin the fun, YN. We just don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”

“I know you care. But please… not now,” you said, holding up a hand to stop any further discussion. You didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to let your friends down, but you just couldn’t handle it at that moment. You needed time to figure out where you stood with Jake before you could process any of their warnings.

Minju and Kazuha exchanged a glance, and even though they both wanted to say more, they stayed quiet, sensing that you weren’t in the right headspace.

“Okay,” Minju said finally, her voice softening. “But we’re here for you when you’re ready to talk. Just don’t shut us out completely, alright?”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of frustration and relief. “I won’t. I promise.”

The conversation ended there, but the lingering tension between you and your friends stayed in the air. You couldn’t shake the feeling that they were worried about you, and that made your chest tighten. But as much as you knew they were just trying to protect you, a part of you didn’t want to listen. You just wanted to figure things out on your own.

And for now, that meant staying focused on Jake and whatever this thing was between you two. Even if it meant pushing everything else aside, at least for a little while.

Jake wasn’t one to let his guard down easily, but over the past few days, something about you had begun to chip away at it. The easy flirtation, the playful teasing—it was all still there, but there was something more now. Something deeper. He couldn’t help but notice how the little things seemed to matter more when you were around. The way you laughed at his jokes, even the ones that barely made sense. The way you smiled at him when no one else was watching. It felt too easy, too natural, like he’d always known how to make you smile. But lately, it didn’t feel like a game. It felt… real.

And that, in itself, was dangerous.

Jake found himself thinking about you even when he didn’t want to. His friends, Jay and Sunghoon, had made jokes about him getting “soft” or “whipped,” but it was hard to shake the feeling that they were right. He did feel something for you. Something he didn’t quite know how to name.

It wasn’t that you were different than the others—no, you were different in a way that made him uncomfortable. You made him want things he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Stability. Connection. More than just a fleeting encounter.

And it was killing him.

He didn’t know why he let himself get closer to you. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to understand him, like no matter how far he pushed, you’d still stick around. Or maybe it was the way you made him laugh even when he didn’t feel like smiling.

He found himself texting you more, asking if you wanted to hang out, even if he had no real reason to. He’d steal glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, noticing the way your eyes would light up when you spoke, the way you’d tilt your head when you were thinking. He even started texting you just to hear you laugh, just to see your name pop up on his screen. It was stupid. It was complicated. And, most of all, it made his stomach twist in ways that were both unsettling and addicting.

That night, things were different. You’d come over to his apartment again, this time without any of your usual defenses. You were quieter than usual, your eyes slightly more distant. He could tell something had been weighing on your mind, and despite all his usual nonchalance, he couldn’t help but want to comfort you.

You were sitting next to him on the couch, a slight distance between the two of you, but it felt like there was something pulling him toward you. He wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was the way you looked tonight, or how vulnerable you seemed, or maybe it was just the growing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, no teasing, no playfulness. Just concern.

You met his gaze, your lips forming a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Nothing. Just… stuff with my friends. You know, the usual drama.”

Jake felt his heart sink at the emptiness in your voice, like something was off. But he didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he leaned closer to you, watching as you pulled your knees up to your chest, clearly lost in your thoughts. Without thinking, his hand found its way to your shoulder, lightly resting there.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he said, his voice quieter, gentler than before.

You hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know if you want to hear it. It’s just… complicated.”

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing along your shoulder. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m listening.”

You met his gaze then, and for a moment, something passed between you. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Jake felt it like a jolt of electricity between you. The weight of the silence was thick now, and the space between you felt too small.

Without thinking, Jake moved closer, his hand shifting from your shoulder to the side of your face, cupping it gently. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away. You just stared at him, eyes wide, like you were waiting for him to make the next move.

Jake’s pulse quickened, his heart pounding in his chest. He had been here before—flirtation, attraction, all of it. But this time, something was different. This time, it wasn’t just about the thrill or the chase. It was about you.

You leaned toward him, your lips brushing against his, tentative at first, like neither of you quite knew what was happening. But then, something clicked. The kiss deepened, slow and steady, and Jake’s entire world seemed to narrow down to that single moment.

It was everything. And it was nothing like he expected.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, you stayed close, your foreheads resting together as if you both were grounding each other.

Jake’s mind was racing, but his body felt weightless, like he was floating. He didn’t know what had just happened. Didn’t know if it was just a moment or if it meant something more. But for the first time in a long while, Jake Sim didn’t want to walk away from something. He didn’t want to pull back.

And he didn’t know how to explain it, but it scared him. More than he cared to admit.

The night of the party, you were already feeling a little on edge. Jake had invited you, and for the first time, it felt different than all the other times. There was a part of you that had been hesitating, unsure of how things were really between the two of you. His texts had been more frequent, his touches lingered a little longer, but you couldn’t shake that nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

You were getting ready when your phone buzzed—Jake had just texted to remind you about the party. He seemed excited about it, but something felt off in the way you were receiving it, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff and had no idea what would happen if you jumped.

As you walked into the party later that night, the music thumping in the background, you tried to shake off your nerves. People were scattered around, some dancing, others talking in smaller groups. You spotted Jake almost immediately—his usual confident grin, that cocky air about him, but tonight there was something different. He waved when he saw you, and his eyes lit up as you approached.

But before you could make your way over to him, you overheard Jay and Sunghoon talking in the corner, standing just out of earshot from where you were. You froze, hearing your name mentioned, and despite yourself, you couldn’t resist the urge to listen.

“Yo, Jake is really into this girl, huh?” Jay’s voice was low, but you caught every word.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sunghoon replied, a laugh in his voice. “I mean, he’s been all over her. This bet’s got him acting like a different person.”

You felt your heart drop, but you didn’t move, too stunned to turn away. You tried to act casual, but everything inside you tensed. You could feel the blood rushing to your face, your stomach sinking.

“Are you sure he’s not faking it?” Jay asked, his voice skeptical. “I mean, it’s Jake we’re talking about. He doesn’t do ‘serious’—he’s just playing it for the win. He’ll probably drop her after.”

Sunghoon didn’t sound so sure, though. “I don’t know, man. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. It’s not like the other girls he’s been with. He actually seems invested.”

You wanted to walk away then. You wanted to ignore it, pretend you didn’t hear, but their words were like a knife twisting in your gut. The truth was, you weren’t stupid. You knew something was off. You had seen Jake be playful, you had felt the connection, but hearing his friends talk about it like it was a game… it made everything you had been feeling seem so much more meaningless.

“But it’s still a bet, right?” Jay said, the doubt lingering in his voice. “That’s what I don’t get. Is he really getting attached, or is he just playing the part? I’ve never seen him act like this with a girl. Not once.”

There was a long pause before Sunghoon replied, his voice lower now, more serious. “I don’t know. It’s Jake. Who can say for sure? But… I think he might actually care. Just a little bit.”

You didn’t stay to hear more. You didn’t need to. The damage had been done.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. You hadn’t expected this, not like this. But the pieces were starting to fall into place. Jake had been different with you—maybe more than he’d been with anyone else. The thought that this could be a game, a bet, was suddenly so clear. You couldn’t just ignore it anymore.

Your heart was pounding, but you forced your feet to move, walking over to where Jake was standing. You pasted on a smile, trying to keep your voice steady, but it felt harder than ever before.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your voice betraying none of the turmoil inside. He smiled, his usual confident grin appearing on his face. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing on the edge of something, teetering between what you thought was real and what you had just overheard.

“Hey, you made it!” Jake’s voice was light, happy, as if nothing was wrong. But something in his eyes made you pause.

Maybe it was time to figure out just how deep this bet really ran. And whether you were just part of it—or something more.

You stood there with a smile stretched across your face, but your heart was pounding so hard you swore Jake could hear it. His grin was easy, his eyes soft when they landed on you, like he had no idea you’d just overheard everything. Like you hadn’t just heard your name tossed around like a prize in a bet.

So, you smiled back.

You smiled even though your hands were trembling at your sides. You leaned in closer when he talked, nodded when he joked, even laughed—though it was a little too sharp, a little too forced. Because you weren’t about to fall apart in front of him. Not when everything finally made sense.

If this was a game to him, then fine. You’d play.

You could act too. You could flirt back, make him think he had you wrapped around his finger. You could give him exactly what he wanted—attention, affection, maybe even more—just to turn it around on him later. Just to prove you weren’t some stupid girl who didn’t know what she was getting into.

“I missed you,” Jake said, brushing your hair off your shoulder as he leaned closer to be heard over the music.

Your breath hitched slightly, just for a second. He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. You looked up at him, eyes wide and soft—just how he liked them. “Yeah?” you replied, your voice light, teasing, even though it shook at the end. “You’re not just saying that because I finally came out tonight?”

He laughed, completely taken with you. “No. I mean it.”

You didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Maybe part of you still wanted to. That was the most pathetic part. But you just nodded, playing along like everything was normal. Like your heart wasn’t breaking and piecing itself back together all in the same breath.

Jake kept talking, leaning in like he couldn’t get enough of you, and all you could think about was the sound of Jay’s voice—He’s really into this bet. And then Sunghoon’s, Or maybe it’s real.

You hated how badly you wanted that second part to be true.

But you pushed the thoughts down, deeper than they’d ever gone, and played your part. You looked up at Jake like he was the only person in the room, like your voice hadn’t just betrayed you a few moments ago. Like you didn’t feel like the punchline of some cruel joke.

Because if he thought you were falling for him—then you were already winning.

You’d play along. Smile. Flirt. Fall—just enough to make him think he won.

But neither of you realized that somewhere along the way, Jake had already stopped pretending.

The party had started to blur around the edges—music thumping, people laughing, the usual chaos of a Friday night. But all Jake could focus on was you.

You were standing by the kitchen counter, half-listening to some conversation you clearly didn’t care about, your arms crossed and your head tilted like you were already somewhere else. Like maybe, you didn’t belong in this room full of noise and people pretending.

Jake found himself watching you a little too long. Again.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to snap out of it, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t go away. The bet. The damn bet. It had been fun at first—a dumb challenge between him and Jay to see who could last longer in a relationship. A joke. Something to pass the time. But now, with you standing there looking like everything he didn’t know he needed, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, slipping past the crowd.

“Hey,” he said, brushing his knuckles gently against your arm. You turned, a bit surprised, blinking up at him.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice still a little unsteady. You were trying to keep the act up—Jake could tell—but he didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know that you had already heard the truth.

“You wanna get outta here?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Jake smiled, but something in his chest twisted.

“Cool. Just—go ahead to my car, I’ll be right there,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the front door.

You gave him a small nod and slipped away without another word, your steps a little faster than usual.

Jake exhaled, then turned around and made his way through the crowd until he found Jay and Sunghoon standing by the back patio, drinks in hand, mid-laugh.

“Yo,” he called out, stepping up to them.

Jay glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Leaving already?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. With YN.”

Jay smirked. “You’re really committed to this whole long-game thing, huh?”

But Jake didn’t laugh. His jaw clenched as he looked between the two of them.

“I’m ending it,” he said plainly.

Jay blinked. “What?”

“The bet,” Jake said again, firmer this time. “I’m done.”

Sunghoon straightened, exchanging a quick glance with Jay. “Seriously?”

Jake shrugged, but his voice was tight. “Yeah. It’s not fun anymore. I’m not… playing.”

Jay frowned, the smirk fading. “You caught feelings.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

Jay let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Sunghoon just nodded slowly, like he’d been expecting this. “Good. About time.”

Jake didn’t wait for more. He turned and headed for the door, his heart beating fast for reasons he couldn’t explain—not even to himself. He just knew one thing:

He didn’t want to hurt you. Not anymore.

When Jake stepped out into the cool night air, his heart was beating fast—but not with excitement, not with adrenaline. It was something else. Something heavier. Something he wasn’t used to.

He spotted you leaning against his car, arms crossed, your gaze fixed on the night sky like you were looking for answers. You looked calm, but you weren’t. You were still hearing Jay’s voice in your head—He’s really into this bet—like it was playing on loop.

Jake walked up slowly, unlocking the car with a soft beep.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost cautious.

You didn’t look at him right away. “Took you long enough.”

He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jay wouldn’t shut up.”

You gave him a tight smile and slipped into the passenger seat, still playing your part.

The drive was quiet. The city lights passed in a blur outside the windows, but inside the car, the silence stretched. You were trying to act normal, casual, maybe even a little detached. But Jake felt it. The difference.

And maybe that’s what made him speak.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not looking away from the road.

You shrugged. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He didn’t believe you. But he didn’t push.

A few more minutes passed before your voice broke the silence again. “Why’d you invite me tonight?”

Jake glanced at you. “Because I wanted to be with you.”

You turned to him, searching his face for any flicker of dishonesty. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I just… like being around you.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than you should have, but your heart ached. Because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

When the car pulled up in front of your place, you unbuckled your seatbelt, hand hovering near the door handle. But you didn’t open it.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said quietly.

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Then, “YN, wait.”

You looked over, and before you could ask what, he leaned in.

His hand gently found your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. His touch was warm, careful. And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t cocky or playful like you might’ve expected. It was slow. Almost unsure. Like he was feeling everything for the first time.

And for just that moment, the noise in your head stopped.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

You just stared at each other—confused, shaken, caught somewhere between a lie and a feeling that had started to feel too real.

You opened the door quietly, stepping out. Before you closed it, you leaned in just a little, voice softer than it had been all night.

“Goodnight, Jake.”

He watched you go, the echo of the kiss still warm on his lips.

And for the first time, Jake Sim wasn’t sure who was playing who anymore.

You lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding with a mix of emotions you couldn’t even begin to untangle.

Jake had kissed you.

And worse?

You had kissed him back.

You touched your lips absentmindedly, remembering the way he held you like you were fragile. Like you meant something. Like you were real.

But you weren’t falling for it. Not again.

No, you told yourself, turning over in bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You are not doing this.

He played you. He made you feel seen, chosen, like maybe—just maybe—you were special. All the soft smiles, the subtle touches, the “accidental” run-ins, the way he said your name like it was his favorite word. All of it had been leading to this. The kiss. The final act in his perfect little performance.

You gritted your teeth and swallowed the lump rising in your throat.

Never again.

You weren’t going to be that girl—the one who got strung along, who ignored every red flag, who made excuses just because he looked at her like the sun rose in her eyes. No. That girl was gone. You buried her the moment you heard Jay’s voice echo in your head: Jake is really into this bet.

This was all a game to him.

So now? You were going to play too.

You’d play the part of the clueless, lovesick girl. You’d give him exactly what he wanted—until you flipped the whole damn game back on him.

And when the time came, when he was fully convinced he had you wrapped around his finger, when he couldn’t tell the difference between real and fake anymore—you’d confront him. You’d look him dead in the eyes and tear the mask right off his face.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d watch his heart shatter the way yours almost did.

But the worst part—the most frustrating, infuriating, confusing part—was how damn convincing he was. The way his eyes softened when they met yours. The way he smiled like he meant it. The way he touched you like he cared.

He seemed so in love with you, it made your chest ache. Like maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all a lie.

And you hated that part more than anything.

Because for one small, dangerous second… you wanted it to be real.

It was one of those rare moments when everything felt almost normal again. You’d been home alone for a few hours, scrolling through your phone, when the text from Jake popped up.

@simjyn: Hey, I was thinking of coming over. You free?”

You stared at the message for a moment, a knot of nerves tightening in your stomach. You had been trying to keep things light with him—after everything that had happened, after hearing about the bet, you couldn’t let your guard down. But part of you still wanted to see him. Maybe part of you was still pretending things could be okay.

“Sure,” you replied, biting your lip. “I’m alone, so come on over.”

Not long after, the sound of the doorbell echoed through your apartment, and there he was, standing outside with that familiar smile. He wasn’t dressed any differently from the usual, but there was something in his eyes today. Something that made your heart skip in a way you hated.

Jake stepped inside, pulling you into a quick hug before you could even react. His hands lingered at your waist, warm and firm as he squeezed you close.

“You look good,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Thanks,” you muttered, stepping back to break the hold, though you could already feel your heartbeat accelerating.

You led him into the living room, where he flopped down on the couch with a sigh of relief, like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.

“So, what’s up?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your heart was beating a little faster than you’d like to admit.

He grinned up at you. “Just wanted to see you,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

You nodded, though the words felt too heavy in your chest to speak. He wasn’t here just for a visit—he’d been clingier lately, texting you more than usual, wanting to be around you all the time.

It should have felt nice, but it felt suffocating. Every time he smiled at you, kissed your cheek, leaned in close like he couldn’t get enough—it made your stomach churn.

“You’ve been… kind of different lately,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the words had more bite than you intended.

Jake furrowed his brow, his expression shifting to something more concerned. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, frustrated by how easily he could shift his tone. “You’re being… clingy. All the time.”

He tilted his head, eyes widening in confusion. “Clingy? I just like being around you. Is that a bad thing?”

You took a deep breath, leaning against the counter to steady yourself. You could feel the tension rising in your chest, the frustration bubbling over.

“Jake,” you began, voice trembling just slightly. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not some… some toy for you to mess with. I’m not a prize, and I’m definitely not some girl to play along with your little bet anymore. If you’re really into me—then fine, but if this is just some fucking joke, then get the hell out.”

His face faltered for a second, just a flash of confusion before his gaze softened, his hands reaching for you. “I—what? No, YN, I’m not playing any game—”

You took a step back, hands trembling at your sides, the anger, the hurt, and the disappointment threatening to spill out.

“I know about the bet, Jake,” you snapped, cutting him off. “I know exactly why you started all this. And I’m done pretending I don’t. I’m not going to be the one who falls for this, okay? Not when you don’t even know what you want.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. Jake didn’t move, his eyes wide, and for the first time, you saw something flicker in them—something that looked like regret.

But it was too late.

You turned your back on him, pacing toward the window, your heart pounding in your ears. “Just go,” you said, voice cold. “I don’t want you here. Not like this.”

“YN, wait—” he started, his voice softer, like he was trying to make you understand. “I’m not lying. I’m not playing games anymore. I—”

“Just go, Jake,” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the uncertainty that had never been there before. But you couldn’t bring yourself to soften. Not when he had already crossed the line.

With one last look, Jake slowly stood up, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Then, without a word, he walked toward the door, the weight of the moment sinking in with every step.

And just like that, he was gone.

You sank down onto the couch, your mind racing. You told yourself you wouldn’t trust him again, you reminded yourself. You wouldn’t fall for it.

But deep down, there was a part of you that still wished this wasn’t the end.

Still hoped, somehow, that Jake would come back. But you didn’t trust that part.

The next day at school was chaos.

You barely made it ten steps into the building before you heard your name—sharp, urgent.

“YN!”

You stopped, heart clenching as you turned to see Jake storming down the hall toward you. His eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of desperation and something dangerously close to hurt. You froze in place as he reached you, his voice already rising.

“You knew.” His words sliced through the tension in the air. “You knew this whole time and you were punishing me, weren’t you?”

Your breath caught.

Students slowed around you. Some stopped walking altogether. You could feel the shift—phones slipping out of pockets, eyes glinting with curiosity. You tried to step around him, but Jake moved with you.

“You acted like nothing was wrong,” he went on, voice getting louder. “You smiled, you kissed me, you looked at me like—like I meant something to you.”

You snapped. “Yeah? Well, welcome to my world.”

His expression twisted like you’d hit him.

“You were playing me from the start,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered with the weight of everything. “I heard Jay. I heard everything. And I kept going, Jake. I kept smiling, kept letting you in, because I wanted to see how far you’d go.”

He blinked like he couldn’t process it, like he hadn’t thought you’d actually know.

“You—” He shook his head. “You kissed me back.”

“You made me believe it was real.”

“I didn’t fake any of it!” he fired back, stepping closer. “You think this is just about a bet now? You think I haven’t lost sleep over this—over you?”

The hallway was dead silent except for your voices. Students were openly filming now, whispering like wildfire spreading through the air.

“Jake Sim and YN?”

“She’s actually yelling at him.”

“I heard it was a bet. Is that true?”

You glanced at them, your fists clenching at your sides, your chest rising and falling fast.

“Jake Sim chasing someone like her?” someone murmured nearby. It stung. It always did.

You turned back to Jake. “You had your fun, right? You got what you wanted. Just leave it alone.”

But Jake didn’t move. His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on you like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

“I didn’t fall for you because of a bet,” he said quietly, voice raw. “But I might’ve lost you because of it.”

That did something to your chest. You hated it.

You hated him for saying the one thing you weren’t ready to hear.

Without another word, you turned and walked away—past the stares, past the whispers, past Jake.

And for once, you didn’t look back.

The next day, you didn’t expect to run into Jay—especially not when you were still raw, still reeling, still angry. But there he was, leaning against the lockers near your homeroom, like he’d been waiting.

The second he saw you, he pushed off the wall and walked straight up, his expression unreadable.

“Why did you chew him out like that?” he asked, no greeting, no hesitation. His voice wasn’t angry, just confused—tired, maybe. “In front of everyone?”

You froze, blinking up at him. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

Jay crossed his arms. “Yeah. Because the guy’s been a mess since yesterday. You acted like he’d—what, humiliated you? Like he was still playing you or something.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter. “The audacity to ask that when this whole thing started as some game between you and him.”

Jay’s eyes narrowed, confusion flashing across his face. “Game?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jay,” you snapped. “I heard you and Sunghoon at the party. You literally said he was invested in the bet. What else was I supposed to think? That everything he said and did was real?”

Jay went quiet for a second, then shook his head, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Wait—wait,” he said slowly. “You thought the bet was still on?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Jay exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck like the weight of it all had just hit him. “YN… Jake called it off. He called it off way before he asked you out. He told us it didn’t feel right anymore. That you weren’t just some challenge or a joke—he wanted something real.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“No, he didn’t,” you muttered, barely audible.

“He did,” Jay said. “I swear on everything. He told us it stopped being about the bet a long time ago. That he wanted to be with you for real, no games. And honestly… we could all tell. He wasn’t faking anything.”

You looked away, suddenly cold all over. Your brain scrambled to make sense of it, replaying every interaction, every touch, every word. Had it all been real? Had he actually cared?

The guilt hit like a truck.

You chewed him out in front of everyone. You looked him in the eye and threw his feelings back at him because you thought he was still playing. Because you were scared.

Jay’s voice was quieter now. “He was falling for you, YN. He still is. But after yesterday… I don’t know if he’ll try again.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You just stood there, heart cracked open, with nothing to say and everything to feel.

You didn’t go to class that morning.

Instead, you found yourself sitting alone behind the school gym, knees pulled to your chest, trying to breathe through the ache in your chest. Everything felt like it was collapsing in slow motion. You were the one who was supposed to have control now. You were the one playing him—so why did it feel like you were the one who lost?

He ended the bet.

He wanted something real.

And you… you’d shoved it all back in his face, right in front of everyone. You humiliated him for something he had already walked away from—because of you.

The worst part? He hadn’t even defended himself.

He just stood there, took it, because maybe he thought he deserved it. Or maybe… because he didn’t want to hurt you anymore.

You remembered the look in his eyes—the way they didn’t hold that smug glint anymore, the way they softened when he looked at you like you were something fragile, something he was afraid to break.

And you had shattered it first.

You rested your forehead on your knees, eyes burning. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for him. Promised you’d get even. And maybe you had.

But it didn’t feel like winning.

It felt like you’d pushed away the one person who had tried—really tried—to love you, in the only way he knew how.

Maybe he messed up. Maybe you both did.

But somewhere between the lies, the games, and the dares, something real had bloomed. And now?

Now it was buried under everything unsaid.

But feelings don’t just disappear. Not like that.

So maybe… maybe this wasn’t the end.

Maybe it was the part right before you decided what kind of story this was really going to be.

here to be added to permanent tag list PART TWO OUT NOW

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gutsby · 9 months ago

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Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

#IN CONCLUSION……….WE MAKIN BABIES #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic

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readwritealldayallnight · 8 months ago

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“-other than that, wasn’t so bad.” Simon says, readjusting the material of the balaclava across the bridge of his nose with his free hand. His other hand is busy, keeping yours warm as you lead him down sidewalk after sidewalk.

The two of you have just finished having Sunday morning brunch at a local cafe, something you insisted was becoming ‘tradition’ after the second time it happened. And according to you, after finishing eating, (Simon never wanting to hear a word about you paying for a thing) the next part of this lazy morning routine calls for strolling about at a pace that he would normally find pointless, if not downright frustrating. But for you, he slows down.

“Butcher’s an interesting first job.” You reply, nodding along in thought. You picture a younger Simon, fresh out of school, probably fresh faced as well. He was likely as tall, though not yet as muscular as the military would make him. A meat clever in hand, bloody apron around his waist, he was likely still inadvertently intimidating people back then the way he does now. “I was mostly just taking babysitting jobs until I graduated. Liked it well enough.”

“I actually had to babysit a neighbour one time, when I was younger. Actual baby at tha’ too.” He tells you with a chuckle, slightly shaking his head at the memory.

“What?” You laugh as well, the image in your mind now swapping out the meat clever in a teenaged Simon’s grip for a drooling infant. “How did that work out?”

“Neighbour comes bangin’ on our door, she’s carryin’ the thing, it’s screamin’ its bloody little head off,” You roll your eyes at the way Simon refers to the child, swatting his arm playfully but listening on. “She tells me her husband thinks he’s havin’ a fuckin’ heart attack. None o’ the other neighbours are home or answerin’ the door. ‘Fore I know it, she’s passin’ me the kid, askin’ if mum can watch her while she drives him to the hospital. Next thing I know she’s gone and I’m left with the thing.”

“Oh my gosh! Well where was your mum?” You ask, in disbelief that you’ve never heard this story from him before, half wondering if he’s pulling your leg.

“She wasn’t home, I can tell you that! Only me and the new lil’ orphan were.” He utters, strengthening his grip on your hand as you start to hunch over with laughter.

“Okay so wait, you were home alone? Oh no! How long did you have to ‘babysit’ for?” You giggle.

“Well technically Tommy was there but he would’ve only been a hindrance, told him to stay in his room.” Simon adds, pulling his hand out of yours, only to wrap it around your shoulder, now that you’ve come to a standstill at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Fuckin’ nearly 4 hours went by before mum came home and took over. Longest hours o’ my life. I think that might’ve been the day I enlisted actually.”

You elbow his side as you continue to laugh, seeing that he’s teasing you at the end now. You open your mouth to tease him right back, but your eye catches sight of the shop you’ve been standing in front of, jaw dropping wider.

“Simon!” You’re pulling him with a strength he would otherwise be impressed by if he wasn’t so suddenly caught off guard, senses kicking into high alert now as his head swivels in search of the cause of your distress. “How have we never seen this before??”

Oh.

He should’ve known better.

He actually had been avoiding taking you down this street for a little while now, but had been too caught up in his story telling to notice the direction you’d taken in him. His subtle effort of wrapping his arm around you to tilt you away from the storefront obviously hadn’t worked out. He opens his mouth to answer, but can only sigh when you’re already making your way towards the entrance of the pet store.

“We’re only lookin’, right?” He asks loud enough for you to hear as he follows you in.

Wrong.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley fluff #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #readwritealldayallnight #cod fic #cod fanfic

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em1i2a3 · 22 days ago

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Moonlight Desires

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve wanted Rhett Abbot since the day you laid your eyes on him. So when the opportunity for a friends with benefits arrangement presents itself you immediately take the plunge, even though there is a risk of hurt feelings on both ends.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut (a lot of it), Jealousy, Angst, Fluff, and Swearing. We love when people don’t know how to communicate their feelings properly and seek arrangements that may cause issues! We love a jealous cowboy though…Can’t say no to that.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all), Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Sensual Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Biting, Scratching, Very Light Choking, Bruising (not intentional bruising…But there’s bruising lol), Spitting ((hopefully I didn’t miss anything)

Author’s Note: Oh how we love a juicy friends with benefits fic. I eat these up, especially when you’ve got two people who don’t know how to communicate their feelings for one another and it tailspins…With a happy ending of course (in more ways than one HA! ZING!) anyways! Thank you for @haydenlizz for your lovely request! I hope this lives up to the ask, and that I met all requirements :), enjoy!

Word Count: 11,698

You knew who Rhett Abbott was before you ever really met him.

Everyone in Wabang did. He was that roughed up boy with grass-stained jeans and dirt-slick boots, who rode bulls on weekends and left class with scabbed knuckles and a crooked grin. He had a laugh like summer and eyes that always looked like they’d seen more than a kid his age should’ve.

He wasn’t exactly a jock, nor was he the best student either. He floated between circles–grinning at teachers, fumbling over flirting with girls he had no intentions of keeping, and disappearing before anyone could really get close to him.

You had a lot of classes together. He’d copy your history notes with a lazy drawl of ‘ya got the best handwritin’ I’ve ever seen,” and sit behind you in English, whispering dumb jokes until you were biting your lip to keep from laughing.

You truly didn’t think he acknowledged you as more than a classmate, until one day he walked you home after your truck died in the school parking lot after a football rally. He had dust on his boots, and rope burns on his palm and arms when he came up to you, and that blue-eyed smirk had softened into something quieter.

”Don’t want you walkin’ alone,” He’d said, “Town gets too quiet after dark…Wouldn’t want anythin’ happenin’ to you.”

After that day you weren’t able to look at him the same, and you’d been half in love with him ever since.

———————

The both of you stayed in Wabang after graduation. Neither of you left for college–you didn’t find a good enough reason, and Rhett just didn’t have the guts to leave, even when he told you–more than once, usually after a few drinks–that he would.

“I’m not stayin’ in this damn town forever,” He’d mutter, picking at the label of a peer bottle, with the porch swing creaking under the weight of both you bodies. You’d glance sideways at him with a smirk.

”Sure you’re not.”

But you both knew the truth. Wabang had its claws in you. It wasn’t just the land or the quiet or the unspoken expectation that you’d stay and carry on what was already here. It was the comfort of familiarity. The way the roads remembered the tires of your truck, and the way the stars always looked better from the Abbott’s fence line.

The way he was still here…That was enough for you…

You didn’t really talk about your friendship. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could sum up in words. It was just a constant.

It was Rhett knocking on your door at 11 p.m. with a busted knuckle and a lopsided grin, asking if you had any more of that whiskey he liked. It was you handing him a bag of frozen peas without comment, and sitting beside him on the couch while a movie played in the background–neither of you really watching it.

It was you keeping a spare key under the doormat for him–just in case.

It was him fixing the squeak in your truck door without you asking.

It was the dumb inside jokes, and shared music taste, and the way you always knew when he was lying to you because of the way he wrinkled his nose and batted his eyelashes.

You didn’t flirt with him, but the tension was always there, crackling beneath the surface like dry kindling waiting for a match. You called it closeness, his mother called it something else entirely, especially when she would see the both of you in action together, or when she would see you watching him.

Because you went to every single bull riding meet.

It didn’t matter if it was fifteen minutes outside of town or two hours into the next county–you were there, usually wedged between Cecilia and Perry Abbott, with your hands clenched tight around a plastic cup, with your heart hammering through your ribs every time he got thrown.

Rhett always spotted you in the crowd, even with his adrenaline spiked high and dirt caked into his skin, he’d look toward the fence line the moment he climbed off that bull–head tilting just a little, eyes sweeping the stands until they found yours. When you waved, he’d smile, soft and crooked, as if seeing your worried face made things worth it somehow.

Afterward, you’d sneak him away from the crowd and bandage his wrists or ribs in the front seat of your truck, your hands careful, your eyes averted, and your voice scolding but warm.

“Y’know you don’t have to prove anything right?” He would shake his head at you, wincing as you tightened the bandages, before reaching for his painkillers, mumbling.

”Ain’t about provin’–just gotta feel somethin’.” And you understood that on another level.

Then there were the weekends where you and him would go out drinking together, with or without Perry.

Sometimes it was a bonfire at someone’s ranch. Oftentimes, it was the back booth at a random bar, with Rhett’s knee pressed to yours beneath the sticky table as you made fun of the live band or ripped each other a new one about the latest town gossip about one another. Then sometimes you would play darts until your aim got too loose to win.

Sometimes he walked you home, and sometimes you walked him home.

More often than not, you ended up in each other’s living rooms, continuing your drinking on the comfort of a worn couch. You’d pass a bottle back and forth, taking sips and cringing. He’d take off his boots and prop them on your coffee table like he paid rent, and you’d push him and tell him to take them and put them at the front door like a normal person.

Neither of you put labels on what you had, and you never asked for more.

But you were in his life the way sunlight lives in dust–not loud or obvious, just always there.

He called you when his truck broke down, when his favorite horse got colic, when his brother went missing for two days and nobody would say why.

You called him when your water heater flooded the kitchen, when your uncle got sick, when your hand shook too much to open a stubborn jar and you didn’t want to cry alone.

He always showed up.

So did you.

And through it all–years, really–people kept asking.

”Y’all together or what?” You’d laugh, and he would smirk, shaking his head ‘no’.

But sometimes, when the music got low and the lights in your trailer softened to that familiar amber haze–when you were half-drunk on bourbon and closer than two people with no claim had any right to be–you wondered:

Why not?

Why wasn’t it more?

You never asked.

And he never offered.

But the ache settled into your ribs like something permanent. Something sharp and quiet and always humming under your skin.

Then lines were crossed…

——————

The night it happened started like any other time you and Rhett hung out.

A six-pack between you on the coffee table. Two bottles already open and held in your respective hands. The same playlist you always put on when the sky turned indigo and the bugs outside started their midnight song. It was low, something moody and twangy, bleeding softly into the corners of your living room like it knew not to intrude.

Rhett was sprawled across your couch, legs wide, his shoulders sinking into the cushions like he’d been there a hundred times–which, to be fair, he had. That old red flannel he always wore after a long day was clinging to him in the heat, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, buttons undone just far enough to show the sweat-shined skin at the base of his throat. His hair was still combed back, only being held by his posture, it he leaned forward tendrils of his light brown locks would certainly fall out of line and get into his eyes.

You were tucked into the far corner of the couch, feet up, knees pulled close to your chest, wearing a faded band tee and your usual cotton sleep shorts–barely-there, worn soft from a thousand washes. No bra. No effort. Just comfort.

Not for him, not really at least.

But still—there was something about the way his eyes kept flicking toward you between sips of beer. Something about the way he lingered, just a second too long, on the exposed stretch of your thigh or the slight sway of your chest when you shifted to grab another bottle.

The air was thick. Summer-heavy. The kind of slow heat that settled into skin and made everything feel a little lazier, a little looser. You were both warm from the drinks, buzzed from the day, and quiet in that way that only ever happened with people who didn’t need to fill silences.

And then he said it.

“I haven’t had sex in a while.”

You blinked, the words falling like a flat rock into the still water between you. He was staring at the beer label, picking at it with his thumbnail like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. But his voice was too casual. Too practiced. The sentence didn’t belong there. Not between that song and the one before it. Not between the rhythm you’d spent years building together.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Wow…So that’s where we’re at now, huh?”

Rhett huffed a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Guess so.”

You studied him then. Really looking at his expression and his body language. His jaw was tight. His posture was just a little too still for how he normally was. His thumb had stripped the label halfway down the neck of the bottle, and his gaze hadn’t lifted once since he’d said it.

“You tellin’ me that because you think I should know,” You said, “or because you want me to do something about it?” That got his eyes on you. Sharp, and steel blue, and more tired than you expected.

“Wouldn’t’ve said it if I didn’t think maybe you’d…I dunno. Get it.” You shifted in your seat, your heartbeat hitching once, then steadying.

”Get what, exactly? Being celibate?” He shot you a look. The side of his mouth twitched–almost a smile, almost a smirk, but weighed down by something heavier.

“Not what I meant,” He muttered, taking a quick sip from his bottle, “Just figured you might be in the same boat.”

You raised your brows. “So what, we’re comparing dry spells now?”

“I mean,” Rhett leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch like he wasn’t deliberately invading your space, “If you wanna get competitive, I’ll win on stubbornness alone.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “You? Stubborn? No way.”

He grinned for real this time–wide and a little too cocky, like he was trying to climb back into comfortable territory.

You took a sip of your beer. “So let me get this straight. You haven’t had sex in a while, and now you’re sitting here telling me that fact for…What? Sympathy? A medal?”

“Didn’t think I needed a reason,” He drawled. “Just sayin’–sometimes you spend enough nights alone, you start thinkin’ too much.” Your eyes lingered on him. And then you said it–because someone had to.

“Sometimes you start thinking about the wrong people.” The words landed hard. You didn’t mean them to…Or maybe you did.

The air shifted. Heavy, warm, alive with the tension that had been lingering between you for years but had never been close enough to touch like this.

Rhett looked at you again, quieter now.

“You think this would be a mistake?” He asked, voice low.

You held his gaze.

“I think it’d be a mistake we’d both want.”

A beat passed. Then another.

His bottle hit the table with a soft clink. He shifted closer–just a little. Enough for the outside of his knee to touch yours. Enough that you could smell the beer on him.

“We’ve been dancin’ around this for a long time,” He said, almost under his breath.

You nodded once. “Yeah. We have.”

He licked his lips, glancing down at yours. His voice dropped to a murmur, like if he said it louder it might break the spell hanging between you.

“So you’ve thought about it then?”

Your breath caught. “Thought about what?”

He leaned in–slow, deliberate, like he was giving you every chance to stop him.

“Us,” He said softly, “Like this.” His nose brushed against yours, a barely-there drag that left your skin tingling. His lips hovered close—too close. Just far enough that you could still pretend it wasn’t a kiss yet. That it was still a choice.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your mouth, the sharp tang of beer on it, the way it mixed with that unmistakable Rhett scent–something dusty, sun-warmed, and sweat-slicked, like hayfields and leather and the faintest trace of musky cologne long since faded.

Your chest rose and fell with tight, shallow breaths.

You could see the flecks in his eyes now–the stormy silver threads inside the blue, rimmed dark where his pupils had blown wide. He tilted his head, just slightly, lips brushing your lower one without quite committing.

Then he whispered:

“Bet you’d taste like trouble.”

You made a sound–something between a breath and a hum, your lips parted on instinct.

And then you kissed him.

You moved first, but he met you–his mouth opening the moment yours touched his. It wasn’t polished or perfect. It was a little off-center, and a little too much, and so goddamn honest you felt your whole body flinch toward it. His hand was already at your hip, fingers digging into the bare skin just above your waistband. Yours went instinctively to his jaw, thumb dragging along the scruff of his cheekbone as you deepened the kiss. He groaned–low and guttural–like he’d been holding it in for years.

Your beer bottle was still in your other hand, cold and slick with condensation. You didn’t even look–you just reached out beside you and set it on the coffee table blindly, fingers fumbling for a second before it settled with a quiet thud.

Your now-free hand went to his shoulder, then up–curling behind his neck, slipping into the back of his hair. He shuddered against you.

“Fuck,” He breathed out, like it knocked the wind out of him.

His hands moved–one gripping your thigh tight enough to anchor you, while the other slid up beneath your shirt completely now–calloused fingers skimming your ribs, dragging heat in their wake as they climbed higher. You could feel his fingertips hesitate at the swell of your breast. And then–with reverence and hunger in the same breath–he cupped it.

You gasped.

Your nipple was already stiff, so sensitive from the heat and the tension that you whimpered the moment his palm made contact. He groaned again, deep and ragged, lips crashing into yours harder now–needier, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he was starving.

His thumb flicked over your nipple. You moaned into his mouth, hips shifting instinctively against him, thighs pressing tighter around his.

“Christ,” He muttered against your lips. “You’re gonna ruin me.” He moved fast after that–his hands firm but careful as he grabbed your hips and pulled you across the short distance, settling you right into his lap, your legs straddling his thighs.

Your breath hitched at the feeling of him–solid, strong, and so thick beneath you. Denim rubbed rough against the cotton of your shorts, right where you were already aching, and the sudden friction made your stomach flutter.

You shifted–grinding once, experimentally.

He hissed.

His hands locked down on your hips. “Don’t do that unless you want me to lose my goddamn mind.” You did it again anyways. This time he growled–low and from the chest, one hand sliding up your back, under your shirt, splaying wide between your shoulder blades to keep you close. You buried your fingers deeper into his hair, tugging at the back as you kissed him again–open-mouthed, hungry, teeth scraping, lips plush and pink and bruised with want.

The heat between your bodies was unbearable now. The trailer felt thick with it. Sweat beading at the base of your spine, sticking your shirt to your skin. You could feel Rhett’s thigh muscles flexing beneath you, hard and solid, his jeans taut across them as he rocked up into your core with just enough pressure to make your toes curl.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead resting against his, eyes fluttering shut.

“Bedroom,” You panted heavily, and he didn’t have to be asked twice. He wrapped his arms around your waist–one fluid, grounded motion, strength rolling through his spine as he stood with you in his arms like you weighed nothing.

Your legs locked tight around his hips.

Your breath stuttered as your back bumped gently against the hallway wall. His mouth found your neck–wet, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his teeth catching once on that spot just below your jaw that made your knees go soft. You whimpered. He groaned. The sound he made was pure need.

“I should’ve done this years ago,” He rasped against your throat. “Should’ve known you’d feel this fuckin’ good.”

Then he nudged your bedroom door open with his foot and walked you straight in.

The mattress creaked beneath your combined weight as he set you down gently–but his hands didn’t leave you. His mouth didn’t, either. Not for a second.

He hovered above you, body bracketed between your thighs, and when his hips rolled down again–hard, and slow, with just enough pressure to make you gasp against his lips. The grind of denim against your already-damp cotton was delicious and mean, a friction that bordered on unbearable. Your hands flew to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, breath catching.

Rhett stopped you.

“Let me,” He said, voice wrecked, eyes already dark and heavy with heat.

His fingers curled around the edge of your shirt, slow, deliberate. He peeled it up like it meant something–like unwrapping a gift he didn’t know if he deserved. And when it cleared your head and hit the floor in a soft flutter?

He just looked at you.

His breath hitched. “Jesus.”

Then he lowered himself again–slow. His lips found your collarbone first, the press of his mouth warm and open. His stubble scraped gently against your skin, rough and deliberate, like sandpaper edged in softness. You arched, gasped, fingers threading deeper into his hair as he worked lower.

Down the slope of your chest. Between the soft curve of your breasts.

“You’re burnin’,” He whispered, kissing a path along the swell. “Can feel your heartbeat.”

You moaned as his mouth found your nipple–his tongue wet and warm, his stubble catching just beneath as he sucked you gently into his mouth, tongue flicking slow, then faster.

Your thighs squeezed around his hips. “Rhett–fuck.”

He groaned against your skin.

He kissed lower, trailing fire along your ribs, your stomach, every exposed inch he could reach. His hands never stopped touching–one roaming up to cradle your breast, thumb flicking softly over the one he’d just worshipped with his mouth, the other gripping your waist like he was holding onto something holy.

You were panting now, nearly writhing under him, and your fingers scrambled at the buttons of his flannel, cursing softly when they wouldn’t come undone fast enough.

Rhett sat back on his knees, catching your hands gently in his. “Let me,” He murmured again.

He popped the buttons open one by one, slow and steady, like he wanted you to watch.

And you did.

You watched as the soft fabric fell open and revealed the toned stretch of his chest–sun-kissed, sweat-slicked, dusted with just a little bit of hair–and there, just over the right side of his chest, was the ink you’d seen a hundred times before but never like this.

The bull rider. The rearing beast, hooves kicked out mid-buck, the rider clinging on, frozen in that impossible eight-second storm.

You swallowed hard. You’d seen it before. But not in this light. Not in this context. Not when he was kneeling between your thighs, flushed and panting, staring at you like he wanted to crawl inside your skin.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” He said, voice a low rasp, “And this ain’t gonna last long.” You reached up, palm flattening over the tattoo, fingers splaying across the hard plane of his chest.

“You look better in this light.” His grin faltered–just for a second. Something moved in his eyes. Something softer than lust. Then it was gone, buried under the groan that tore out of him as he pushed you back down again.

He leaned in, kissed you hard, and whispered–

“Wanna taste you.”

You froze. Your heart skipped.

Then you nodded.

And Rhett wasted no time.

His hands were already at the waistband of your shorts, dragging the cotton slowly down your thighs like he was peeling away something sacred. His eyes didn’t leave yours as he did it, not once. They flicked down only when the fabric passed your knees—just enough to take in the sight of you bare before him.

And when they did?

God, his whole expression changed.

His breath hitched, jaw flexing like he was trying not to say something filthy, and then it softened. You’d never seen him look at anyone like that before–like he was staring at something breakable and holy all at once. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You shifted up the bed slightly, breath coming fast, your back meeting the pillows as you settled deeper into the mattress. The air between your thighs felt electric now, flushed and hot and wanting. Rhett followed–crawling after you like something primal and starved. His palms braced on either side of your hips, shoulders hunched as he ducked his head low.

He kissed your knee first.

Then the curve just below it.

Then your inner thigh.

And then again, higher.

Slow, wet kisses dragging open-mouthed up your leg, the scrape of his stubble leaving heat trails across your skin–just abrasive enough to sting, just soft enough to make your breath catch.

When he reached that sensitive, untouched place where your thighs met, he paused. Pressed his cheek there, the heat of him burning into you.

“Been thinkin’ about this–about you–way longer than I should’ve.”

Then he spread you open.

His hands were firm on your thighs, parting them wider, guiding them over his shoulders until he was fully settled between them, mouth hovering just above your soaked core. You could feel his breath—hot, reverent—ghosting over you.

Then his tongue dragged a long, slow stripe through your folds.

You gasped, spine arching, fingers immediately tangling in his hair.

“Rhett–oh my god–”

He groaned like your moan alone had done something to him, like it lit a fire in his gut. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, keeping them steady as he licked you again–slow at first, then firmer, the tip of his tongue circling your clit with maddening precision.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was messy and hungry and a little clumsy–but it was real. Eager. Worshipful.

He moaned into you, mouth slick, tongue relentless, lips pressing wet kisses to your clit between each sweep of his tongue. You felt like you were unraveling–bit by bit, every nerve ending lit up with the heat of his mouth and the press of his stubble, your legs shaking around him.

“Fuck,” He whispered, pulling back for half a second, lips glistening. “You taste like a goddamn dream.” Then he dove back in.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything except hold on–fingers curled tight into his hair, head thrown back, mouth open with sounds you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

He sucked gently at your clit now, tongue flicking fast, and your body jolted.

“Oh, fuck, right there–don’t stop–”

His hands came up to your hips again, holding you down as your thighs threatened to close around him. His name fell from your lips like a prayer–again and again–and he just kept going, groaning against you like he couldn’t get enough, like he was drunk on the taste of you, the feel of you squirming beneath his mouth.

When your orgasm hit, it hit like wildfire.

Hot, blinding, breath-stealing. Your whole body arched off the bed, a cry ripped from your chest as your hands gripped his hair and your thighs trembled around his head. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. Just kept licking you through it, slower now, more deliberate–like he was helping you ride it out, tasting every bit of it.

Only when your body went limp against the mattress, your fingers slack in his hair, did he finally lift his head.

His lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide with something darker than lust. He kissed your thigh once more, slower this time. Then he looked up at you.

“You good?” He asked, voice thick, rough-edged from use.

You stared at him, dazed. “You just…Jesus, Rhett.”

He grinned, cocky and sheepishly all at once.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” He said, crawling back up your body like a man with a mission, “We’re just gettin’ started.”You laughed, breath still uneven, your skin flushed and damp beneath him. “You sure you don’t need a break?” you teased, brushing sweat-matted hair back from his forehead.

Rhett huffed a breath, half a laugh, half a growl. “Darlin’, if you think I’m done after one taste, you don’t know me at all.”

His mouth found yours again—hot, slick with your arousal, and unapologetically greedy. You moaned into the kiss, your fingers dragging along the ridges of his spine, nails scratching lightly just to feel him shudder.

When he rocked against you again, still fully clothed from the waist down, the friction of denim made you both groan. You reached down without thinking, tugging at his belt buckle with quick, practiced fingers. His breath stuttered as he pulled back just enough to watch you.

“Impatient, huh?” he murmured, voice thick with that rough drawl, eyes flickering dark.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you whispered back.

He didn’t argue.

You popped the button on his jeans, dragged the zipper down slow, and slipped your hand past the waistband to cup him through his boxers. The groan he let out sounded like it came from the center of the earth.

“Fuck–” He rasped, head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder. “Keep doin’ that and I’m gonna embarrass myself.”

You smirked and gave him one last squeeze before helping him shimmy out of his jeans. He kicked them off the bed with a grunt, then slid his boxers down in one quick motion, tossing them somewhere behind him to even the playing field.

And then you saw him.

Hard, flushed, heavy–his erection curved slightly up toward his stomach, the tip already wet and glistening. He was thick enough to make your breath hitch, veins prominent along the shaft, the base dusted with soft, light-brown hair that was trimmed but not overly neat–natural, just like the rest of him. Masculine. Raw. Beautiful.

You stared a little too long.

He caught your gaze, saw the way your lips parted–and he smirked, wicked and self-conscious all at once.

“Like what you see?” He asked, accent thick, almost shy in the corners of it.

“I knew you’d be big,” You whispered, licking your lips. “Didn’t think you’d be this pretty.”

That made him flush–the redness high in his cheeks. His cock twitched against his stomach, and he groaned like you’d physically touched him.

“Jesus,” He muttered, hand bracing beside your head, voice dipping low. “Do I need a condom?” You shook your head slowly, eyes locked on his.

“As long as you’ve got a clean bill of health and no STD’s I somehow don’t know about…”

He raised both hands in surrender, playful but sincere.

“Healthy as a horse, darlin’,” He said, drawl thick, words hot against your mouth as he kissed you again, “But I gotta warn you–I ride real hard.”

You laughed–giddy, breathless–and wrapped your legs around his hips to pull him close.

“Then quit stalling, cowboy,” You whispered, “And show me what all that riding has done for you.” Rhett laughed–low and warm and breathless–as he shifted forward, his chest brushing yours, the heat of his skin pressing close.

“Quit stallin’, she says,” He muttered, mouth hovering just above yours, “Like you ain’t been teasin’ me with those damn eyes all night.”

You felt the blunt head of him brush against your soaked folds, your breath catching immediately at the pressure. He rolled his hips once–just enough for the thick ridge of him to drag slick and slow through your arousal, not quite entering, just testing. Your thighs twitched around him.

“Rhett,” You gasped, fingernails curling against the nape of his neck, “Please.”

His jaw flexed. His hand found your thigh and gripped tight, grounding himself before he finally, finally pushed in—slow, careful, inch by inch.

Your mouth fell open. A cry caught at the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ,” Rhett groaned, voice cracking in half. “You’re so damn tight—fuck.”

The stretch was overwhelming. Not painful, just full—full in a way that made your whole body arch beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your nails scratched across sweat-slick muscle. He paused when he was about halfway in, panting against your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered, kissing your temple. His voice was shredded, barely holding on.

You nodded fast, but your breath was still broken. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Just…big. Just need a sec.”

Rhett’s hand slid up and down your side in slow, grounding strokes, his forehead pressed to yours. “Take your time, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Ain’t no rush.”

You clenched around him, and he swore—soft and low and filthy.

After a few more seconds, you shifted under him, rolling your hips a little—testing. Adjusting.

“I’m good,” you whispered, voice steadier now. “Rhett…move.”

He obeyed.

Slowly, reverently, he sank in the rest of the way—grinding his hips down until he was buried fully, seated deep and pulsing against your walls. Both of you moaned in tandem, loud and shameless, the sound tangled with sweat and need and every year you’d spent pretending this wouldn’t happen.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped. “You were made for this.”

Then he started moving.

His thrusts were slow at first, deep and deliberate, dragging along every sensitive nerve ending inside of you like he was memorizing the exact way to break you apart. His jaw was tight with restraint, eyes squeezed shut, the muscles in his neck pulled taut from the effort of not losing control.

You clung to him—arms around his back, lips on his shoulder, whimpering every time he bottomed out.

Then he shifted—sat back just a bit, bracing one hand beside your head and the other slowly dragging down your stomach until it rested just above your pubic bone. He pressed down lightly.

Your vision whited out.

“Oh–fuck–Rhett–what the–”

He grinned, wicked and lazy, watching your eyes go glassy with pleasure as his hand held you down while he rocked up into you again, hitting deeper.

“You feel that?” He rasped, a small bead of sweat glistening down his jaw. “That’s me hittin’ right where you need it. Got this little trick from a girl back in high school–don’t worry though,” His thumb stroked the skin of your stomach, “You’re already screamin’ way louder than she ever did.”

Your hips jerked beneath him and you cried out, body caught between overstimulation and need, your thighs shaking on either side of his waist.

He growled low in his throat and leaned down again, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. “Told you I ride hard…Hope you got stamina.” You could only moan, helpless under him as he kept you open and trembling, his thrusts still steady but picking up pace, your nails dragging down his back in desperation. Every time he rocked into you with that pressure on your belly, it felt like a bolt of lightning shot through your spine. Rhett’s gaze never left your face.

He watched you fall apart beneath him–watched the way your lips parted, the way your brows drew together like you couldn’t make sense of the pleasure surging through your body. He watched your chest rise and fall in uneven little gasps, your skin flushed and dewy in the soft light of your bedroom.

He grinned–that same cocky little smirk that drove you crazy when he used it in bars or before bull rides, except now it was darker. Hungrier. Wrecked.

“Goddamn,” He rasped, leaning down to press his forehead to yours, his thrusts still deep, still slow–but sharper now, more precise, “You’re makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ faces right now.”

You whimpered, your legs tightening around his waist, and he groaned–like the sound alone made him twitch inside you.

“Could watch you like this all night,” He murmured, voice rough in your ear. “Eyes all glassy, mouth open… You keep squeezin’ me like that and I ain’t gonna last.”

Then, without warning, he dipped his head and bit into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder–just hard enough to make your whole body jolt.

You cried out, hands flying to his back, nails dragging down instinctively. He soothed the bite a second later with his tongue, warm and slow, lips pressing there with something tender that made your chest ache.

“You’re so wet for me,” He whispered against your skin, hips grinding in deep and holding, just to let you feel it. “You’ve been so fuckin’ wet this whole time. Can feel it runnin’ down me every time I slide in.”

You let out a broken sound–half a moan, half a sob–and he shuddered above you, thrusting again. Harder this time. And again. And again.

The headboard started hitting the wall–soft at first, then louder as he picked up speed. A steady rhythm, punctuated by the slap of skin on skin, your moans, his groans, and the creak of the bed springs beneath you.

Your hands were everywhere–on his back, in his hair, clutching his shoulders like he was the only solid thing left in the world. You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. All you could do was feel–feel him, thick and hot and buried so deep it was dizzying, feel his sweat slicking against yours, feel the way your body was building again, tighter and tighter like a storm winding itself up from the inside.

“Come on, baby,” Rhett grunted, his voice catching with every thrust now, like he was chasing the edge of his own pleasure just behind yours. “Give it to me. Wanna feel you fall apart.”

You did.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train–sharp and fast and blinding, your whole body locking up and shaking under him. You screamed his name, voice ragged and high, your nails raking down his back so hard you knew you’d leave marks.

“Fuck–” He choked out, hips jerking once, then again, deeper, harder. “Fuck, I’m gonna–shit…” He buried himself to the hilt, body trembling above you as he let out a raw, guttural sound against your neck. You could feel every pulse of it inside you, hot and thick and perfect.

For a moment, the world just stopped.

The only sounds left were the ragged gasps of your breathing, the thump of your heart in your ears, and the soft whimper Rhett let out as he collapsed on top of you–still buried deep, chest heaving, sweat-slicked and wrecked.

He didn’t move. Just wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your neck like he needed to stay there, skin to skin, where it was safe.

You were still trembling.

He felt it.

He kissed your neck once–soft this time. Then again. Then he whispered:

“Still think it was a mistake?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“No definitely not…I think it should…It should happen more often.”

———————

After that night, it wasn’t just a one-time lapse. It became something else–something raw and frequent and borderline unmanageable.

You and Rhett started sleeping together like your bodies had been waiting for permission and now couldn’t get enough of it. Like something old had snapped and neither of you knew how to put it back. There was no declaration, no sit-down conversation about what it meant. Just a shared, wordless agreement that this was a thing now. A thing that happened often. A thing you both needed like air.

He’d show up late some nights, boots dusty from the barn or the bar, a tired smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. You’d let him in without a word. Sometimes you were already in bed, sometimes he’d catch you in the kitchen still finishing a drink. The routine was always the same: a kiss before the door was fully shut, clothes in a trail to your bedroom, soft groans swallowed against skin as you dragged each other down into the sheets like you were starving.

And he never stayed.

That part was clear from the beginning. He always made a point to wrap himself around you for a while afterward, breath still ragged, one hand splayed against your bare stomach like he needed to feel it rise and fall. He’d press his mouth to your shoulder, sometimes your neck, and hold you like he meant it.

But he always left before morning.

Sometimes he had early chores. Sometimes Perry needed help with something on the ranch. Sometimes he just didn’t say. And you never asked.

You told yourself it was fine. It was what you signed up for. You respected the rules. No staying over. No sleepovers. No falling asleep in each other’s arms.

It didn’t mean it didn’t sting a little every time the sheets cooled beside you.

You didn’t go to his place much–not since you both agreed it’d be weird sneaking around with his dad or his brother still milling around the property. So you didn’t push. You didn’t ask for more. You didn’t press into the soft ache that bloomed every time his truck door shut and the gravel cracked beneath his tires at 2 a.m.

Instead, you adjusted.

The hookups came fast and varied–sometimes drawn out over hours in your bed, all heat and filth and tangled limbs. Other times they were desperate things done in the back of his truck or the passenger seat of your car, fogging up windows and whispering each other’s names like it was a secret that burned too hot to speak aloud.

One night it was on the hood of his truck just off the road behind the rodeo grounds–your back against warm metal, his mouth between your thighs with stars spinning overhead and his hat hanging low on his head.

Another time it was in your laundry room, barely making it through the door before he bent you over the dryer and fucked you with his hand clamped over your mouth to keep you from moaning loud enough for the neighbors.

He never said no when you reached for him. Never hesitated when your shirt came off. But afterward? When your legs were still trembling and his forehead was pressed against yours like maybe he was breathing you in?

That’s when he always started pulling away.

Always with that soft kiss to your shoulder.

Always with a low, muttered, “Gotta go, darlin’,” like he didn’t want to.

And maybe he didn’t.

But he did anyway.

And you let him.

Because friends with benefits didn’t ask for more. They didn’t ask why he always left or why he never let you fall asleep in his arms or why he sometimes looked at you like you were something he couldn’t hold on to for long.

They didn’t ask.

And you didn’t either.

But it was all eating away at you…And it came to a head one night.

It was late when it happened.

Later than usual, even for you two. The town was quiet, half-asleep, shadows stretching long across the pavement as Rhett pulled his truck down a gravel backroad and parked at the far end of a field you both knew well–an open patch behind the Miller place that hadn’t been tended to in years. No one would see. No one ever came back here.

The night was thick with summer, and the windows fogged fast.

He kissed you before the engine was even off–one hand tugging you over the console and into his lap, your thighs straddling him, the other already palming the back of your neck like he was afraid you’d disappear. His mouth was hot and hungry, tongue sliding into yours like he couldn’t stand even a second of distance. Your hands were on his shirt, pushing it up, exposing warm, sweat-damp skin that tasted like salt and beer and him.

It escalated like wildfire.

Your shorts were pushed aside, his zipper dragged down rough and quick, the head of his cock nudging at your slick entrance before you even fully realized you were grinding down against him like your life depended on it.

“Jesus Christ–” He rasped, arms wrapping tight around your back as you slowly sank onto him, both of you groaning in unison, low and filthy. His head tipped back against the seat, throat bare, jaw clenched like the stretch of you around him was something sacred and brutal all at once.

“Always so tight for me hmm?” he grunted, voice thick, hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N…”

You rolled your hips, slow and deep, the sound of your bodies slick and obscene in the quiet truck. The windows had gone fully opaque, the only light spilling in from the moon, catching faint on the sheen of sweat gathering at his collarbones, the curve of your bare thighs grinding down against him. Your hands cupped his face, holding him steady–thumbs brushing the ridge of his cheekbones, your foreheads pressed together.

His eyes were wide and dark and unfocused, his breath a ragged pant. He looked ruined already.

“You feel too good,” He muttered, almost dazed. “Too fuckin’ good.”

You kissed him again–messy, open-mouthed, your moan swallowed by the groan in his throat as you rocked faster. Your hands slipped into his hair, fingers gripping tight, tugging, and he whined. He actually whined.

The sound did something to you–flipped a switch.

You leaned in close, your breath heavy against his mouth, and spit into it.

Not aggressive. Not calculated. Just…Natural. Intimate. A little filthy. A fully primal.

His lips parted instinctively to take it in, and something in him snapped.

Rhett’s growl was sharp and guttural, his hand shooting up to wrap around your throat–not hard, not painful, but firm. Possessive. Like he didn’t even know he’d done it until your breath caught and your pupils blew wide with heat.

“You dirty fuckin’ girl,” He rasped, voice shaking. “You knew what that would do to me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he started fucking up into you with force, the truck seat creaking beneath you, the angle tight and punishing. His hand held your throat like a command, thumb resting right over your pulse point as his other arm anchored you down hard to his lap.

The sound of skin against skin echoed off the fogged glass. Wet. Furious. Desperate.

You were both sweating, trembling, completely gone.

“You like me chokin’ you while you ride me?” he panted, eyes wild, face flushed. “Like when I’m deep enough you feel me here–” He pressed his palm lower, flat against your abdomen where the head of his cock hit deep. “That what you want?”

Your head fell back, a moan tearing from your throat as he fucked up into that spot over and over again. “Yes–yes–right there, please–”

He was growling now, “Gonna come on me, Y/N? Right here in the fuckin’ truck where anybody could see if they tried hard enough?”

Your whole body tightened.

Rhett bit down against your neck, sucking hard at the skin there, and the pressure, the stretch, the grip on your throat–

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train–wracking your body, your hands shaking, thighs squeezing around his hips like a vice. You sobbed out his name, head tucked into his shoulder, fingers clawing at his back.

He came seconds after, hips stuttering, choking out a gasp of your name like it was a confession and a sin all at once. His cock twitched deep inside you, spilling hot and thick, his arm locked tight around your back as he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, shaking.

Neither of you moved for a while.

The only sound was the ragged pant of breath and the faint hum of the cicadas outside, still singing like the night hadn’t just shifted on its axis.

Eventually, Rhett’s hand eased off your throat—replaced with a soft, reverent touch along your jaw.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice wrecked.

You nodded into his shoulder, chest still heaving. “Yeah…Yeah.”

He kissed the side of your head softly. You stayed curled against him, breath finally slowing, your body still trembling from aftershocks and overstimulation. Rhett’s arm was around your back, hand splayed warm and wide across your spine. His other hand had drifted down to your thigh, thumb tracing soft circles in a rhythm that didn’t match the frantic one from minutes ago.

Eventually, you shifted. He did too. Just enough to kiss your shoulder again before helping you carefully off his lap and back into the passenger seat. You winced a little, tugging your shorts up over your hips while Rhett tucked himself back in and adjusted the hem of his shirt.

Neither of you spoke until he reached forward to twist the key in the ignition, the old engine rumbling to life beneath you. The AC kicked in, pushing out sticky warmth, and the windows slowly started to defog as he pulled out of the field and back onto the gravel road.

Your hair was a mess. His collar was damp. You didn’t bother fixing either.

The silence was comfortable. Familiar. Until Rhett’s hand dropped from the gearshift back to your thigh and stayed there. You glanced down at it–at the way his fingers spread, slow and easy, like they belonged there, even though it wasn’t anything to be read into.

“You doin’ anything this weekend?” He asked eventually, his voice still a little hoarse.

You turned your head toward him. “What kind of ‘doing’ are we talking? The biblical kind, or the regular?”

He cracked a grin, that familiar boyish smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “Was gonna ask if you wanted to come to the bar. Saturday. Me, some of the boys…Y’know the usual.” You shifted a bit in your seat.

“Yeah, I’m in,” You said, “But fair warning–you’re drivin’ us there, not back. Because I fully plan on matching you drink for drink and I will end up dancing on someone’s table.”

Rhett huffed a laugh through his nose, patting your thigh affectionately. “That right?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, I don’t mind walkin’ back to your place,” he said, glancing over at you. “Would just have to be prepared for the second trek back to my place.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “You say that like it ain’t something you do every time anyway.”

His smirk faltered.

You leaned your head against the window, voice casual. “You ever think about staying? Just once?”

That landed heavier than you meant it to. Rhett’s hand went still on your leg. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, jaw shifting tight for a second like he was grinding molars behind closed lips.

“I mean—” you added, trying to sound breezy, “Not a demand or anything. Just a question.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then:

“I think about it.”

You blinked.

His fingers resumed moving, brushing lightly now, thoughtful. “More than I should, probably.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him. His expression was unreadable–serious, but not cold. Distant, but not cruel. Like he was wading through something heavier than the question itself.

“So why don’t you?” You asked softly.

Rhett didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter than you’d expected. “Because I don’t know how to make it mean less.”

You stared at him.

He glanced your way. “Stayin’ over, I mean. That ain’t just sleepin’. Not for me.”

You nodded, slowly. “So what is it then?”

He didn’t answer.

Just kept his hand on your thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns into your skin as the truck rolled on, headlights stretching into the dark.

You didn’t say anything else.

And neither did he.

The silence didn’t feel quite like comfort anymore.

Not this time.

———————

The bar was already halfway full by the time you and Rhett walked in, the familiar pulse of country rock vibrating through the wooden floorboards, neon signs buzzing quietly above the heads of locals hunched over whiskey and worn conversation.

You were both a few drinks in by the time it started.

Nothing serious–just beer, a round of tequila shots with the boys, and the hazy sort of warmth that settled into your limbs the way a summer night always did after a long day. Rhett had his arm slung casually along the back of your barstool, his body close but not touching, eyes half-lidded as he nursed a beer and laughed at something one of his buddies said.

And then the guy approached you.

Not from town. Definitely not one of Rhett’s people. He had a clean look about him–more polished than usual for Wabang. Collared shirt. Straight teeth. That too-easy charm of someone who knew they were decent-looking and had never been told otherwise.

You could feel Rhett tense before he even spoke.

The guy leaned against the bar beside you, grinning like he had time to kill and no one to kill it with.

“Hey,” He said, eyeing the bottle in your hand. “That what I think it is?”

You looked down. “A beer?”

“Not just any beer. That’s a Lone Star. You don’t strike me as a Lone Star girl.”

You smirked, humoring him. “Then what kind of girl do I strike you as?”

The man’s grin widened. Rhett went quiet beside you, the fingers wrapped around his bottle flexing just slightly.

The guy kept talking. You flirted back, just a little. Nothing serious. A tilt of your chin. A cocked eyebrow. A laugh that was more out of habit than real amusement.

Rhett didn’t say anything–but he moved. Sat up straighter. Pulled his arm back from behind your chair. His knee knocked into yours once, not accidental, and you felt it. That shift. That heat.

When the guy reached out to brush his hand against your arm–a soft touch, not gross, but bold enough–Rhett stood up.

“Gonna hit the head,” He muttered to no one in particular. But his eyes flicked toward you when he passed, and they didn’t hold that usual warmth. There was something sharp in them now. Hurt, maybe. Something darker.

He disappeared into the back hallway, and your gut twisted a little.

The guy leaned in. “That your boyfriend?”

You gave a half-smile. “Something like that.”

He looked disappointed. “Shame.”

You didn’t respond. Just slipped off the barstool and made your way toward the hallway.

You found Rhett by the back exit door, hands in his pockets, staring at the dusty floor like it had personally offended him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice low.

He shook his head without looking at you. “Nothin’.”

“Rhett.”

Still nothing. Just the dull hum of the jukebox spilling in from the main room, laughter echoing down the corridor behind you.

You stepped closer. “You sure about that?”

His jaw tensed. “Yeah. Just…Tired.”

It didn’t sound like the truth. But you let it slide.

Eventually, the night pulled you both back to the bar. More drinks. Another round of shots. You ended up on the dance floor for a bit, swaying together, laughing when Rhett pretended to be too drunk to spin you. But he never fully relaxed–not the way he usually did. Not the way he always had with you.

When the bartender rang the last call bell, the room had thinned. Most people had filtered out already, and your feet ached from the boots you regretted putting on.

Rhett threw down enough cash to cover both your tabs and stood.

“C’mon. Leave the truck. I’ll get Perry to help me pick it up tomorrow.”

You nodded, following him out into the warm night, the buzz of alcohol still humming beneath your skin.

The walk back to your trailer was quiet. The gravel underfoot crackled in rhythm with your steps, the stars wheeling silently overhead. You walked close enough for your arms to brush, but neither of you reached for the other.

Not yet.

Not after that.

You didn’t ask again what was wrong.

And Rhett didn’t offer.

But whatever it was–it was still there. In the silence. In the sting of it.

And it wasn’t going away.

The trailer creaked softly as you both stepped inside, the screen door groaning a little before it clicked shut behind you. The air was warm–still holding the heat from the day–and smelled faintly like lavender from the aromatherapy humidifier. Rhett toed off his boots near the door, silent, and you locked up behind him.

He didn’t follow you into the kitchen right away.

You moved on instinct–tossing your keys onto the counter, flicking the dim overhead light on low. The soft hum of the fridge filled the silence as you pulled it open and reached for the Tupperware you’d stacked there earlier.

“I got some leftovers from last night,” you offered gently, glancing over your shoulder. “That stew I told you about–still good cold, but I can heat it up if you want.” Rhett didn’t answer right away. He hovered near the small table, one hand resting on the back of the chair, eyes downcast. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but inside his own head.

You set the container on the counter and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard. “Or just some water, if you’re feelin’ it.”

He let out a soft exhale through his nose and finally sat down. “Water’s good.”

You filled both glasses and brought them over, sliding one in front of him before taking the seat across. He took a sip, then held it in his hands like it might anchor him.

He still hadn’t looked at you.

“Okay,” you said softly, careful not to make it sound like a demand. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

Rhett blinked. His jaw flexed. But he didn’t look angry. Just…Tired. Off-kilter. Like whatever was eating at him wasn’t done chewing.

“You’re not usually like this,” You added, resting your forearms on the table. “You’ve been quiet all night. That wasn’t just the beer.”

His eyes finally lifted to yours–and they held something in them you couldn’t quite name. Something you weren’t sure you were ready to see.

He shook his head once, slow. “I dunno,” He muttered. “Feels like somethin’s slippin. And I can’t… Grab onto it.”

You leaned in slightly. “You mean us?”

He looked away again, jaw working. “I dunno what I mean.”

“You’re allowed to say if something hurts, y’know,” You said, voice soft but steady. “You don’t always have to act like everything’s fine just ‘cause that’s what we agreed to.”

There was a pause.

Then: “It wasn’t just the flirting,” He said, so quietly you almost missed it.

You waited.

Rhett’s eyes found yours again, and for once, he didn’t look away.

“It was seein’ you smile like that,” He said. “With someone else. Like maybe… Maybe I ain’t the only one you do that for.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“That’s not fair,” You said gently. “You’ve never asked me to not entertain anyone else. And I haven’t until tonight.”

“I know,” He said. “That’s the thing. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” You watched the way his hand gripped the glass. The tension in his fingers. The way his knee bounced slightly beneath the table, betraying nerves he was too proud to name.

“Rhett,” You said, quieter now. “Were you jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Just sat there, in the dim light of your trailer, with his jaw clenched and his eyes shadowed, the silence stretching so thin between you that it almost hummed.

You rose from your chair slowly, the legs scraping softly against the floor. Rhett’s eyes didn’t follow. His stare stayed fixed on the table, as though whatever lived in the grain of the wood was easier to face than you.

But you didn’t let that stand.

You stepped in front of him, and he still didn’t look up. Not until your hand reached forward–two fingers tilting his chin up gently.

“Look at me,” You said, softly.

His eyes lifted, wary and wide, the blue of them darker in the dim light. He looked vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed–like he wasn’t just holding his breath, but his heart too, trapped in his chest, unsure if it was about to break or leap.

You leaned in, hands rising to cradle his face between your palms, your thumbs grazing the bristle along his jaw. His breath caught. The angle of your touch forced him to keep his head tilted up, eyes locked with yours. There was nowhere to look but you.

“Were you jealous?” You asked again, quieter this time.

He didn’t blink. Just swallowed hard. His lips parted, then closed. Opened again.

And finally, he said it. Barely a whisper.

“Of course I was.”

Your breath stuttered softly. You could feel it—that subtle shift in the air between you. Like something sacred was about to be said. Or undone.

Your hands didn’t leave his face.

“Because you want me to be yours…” Your voice dropped, a breath more than a whisper, “And yours only?”

His lashes fluttered like he hadn’t expected you to say it aloud.

There was a long pause.

Then, a quiver in his bottom lip. His mouth opened. No sound. He closed it again. Tried once more.

“…Yeah.” It came out rough. Unsteady. Real.

Your heart gave a slow, traitorous ache in your chest. His eyes were glassy, like something too honest had cracked open and spilled out of him. You swallowed hard, gaze flicking over his face. You could feel the heat rising in your own cheeks. Something low in your belly tightened at the way he was looking at you now–like you were something holy he hadn’t meant to touch, but couldn’t stop reaching for.

You leaned in closer. Your hands slid down to his neck, your forehead nearly brushing his, and your lips ghosted the space beside his mouth.

“Then claim me for real, Rhett,” You whispered, barely audible. “Not just in the dark. Not just when it’s easy. Claim me as yours.”

Rhett didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

His mouth crashed into yours like it was instinct—like he was answering the only way he knew how. But it wasn’t rough like the others, not rushed or desperate. This kiss was slow. Deep. Laced with something that burned hotter than anything he’d ever let show. Like he wanted you to feel what he hadn’t had the words to say. Like he wanted to taste every part of the ache he’d been trying to bury.

You moaned softly against his lips, and his hands rose to your waist, gripping tight like he was grounding himself. Your body leaned into his, and he stood—just like that, lifting you as easily as breathing.

You didn’t even have to think–your legs wrapped around his waist like they’d been waiting for that cue all night. Like it was reflex. Clockwork.

The kiss didn’t break as he turned, carrying you toward the bedroom. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently at the roots, and he groaned low into your mouth, that sound vibrating straight down your spine.

By the time your back hit the mattress, both of you were already breathing hard. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands smoothing along your thighs, bunching your dress up higher and higher until it pooled at your hips. His gaze drank you in like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“Goddamn,” He muttered, running a hand down your bare leg like he was reverent. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You reached up, grabbing the collar of his shirt to yank him back down. “Then prove it.”

And he did.

His mouth met yours again–hotter this time, wetter. Tongues sliding, teeth clashing. It was messy and full of spit and hunger and the kind of kiss that left you both panting. You felt his hand slip between your legs, fingers stroking through the slick already gathering there, and you gasped into his mouth.

”Always so wet…All for me…” he murmured, pulling back just enough to speak against your lips. “Fuck.”

You didn’t have the breath to answer–not when he was dragging his fingers up and down your slit, teasing the edges of your clit before dipping into your entrance. Not when he curled two fingers inside you and started fucking you slow and deep, eyes locked to your face like he couldn’t bear to look away.

You moaned–loud and shameless–and he swallowed it in another kiss, his free hand cradling the back of your head, holding you in place while his fingers worked you open.

The sound of it was filthy. Wet and obscene and echoing faintly in the room.

He moved with purpose, curling his fingers just right, stroking that spot inside you while kissing you so thoroughly it felt like your bones might dissolve. His mouth broke away only to trail down your jaw, then your neck, biting gently, licking the spot after.

“Want you to come like this,” He rasped, voice ragged. “Wanna feel you gush on my fuckin’ hand before I even get inside you.”

Your hips bucked up helplessly. You couldn’t help it. The pressure was coiling fast–faster than you expected. It was the look in his eyes. The rough sweetness of it all. Like he wanted to ruin you just enough to keep you his.

He pressed his forehead to yours, sweat starting to gather along his brow. “Come for me, Y/N. Just like this…Just on my fingers.” You whimpered, legs trembling as your release built sharp and tight, and then–

It hit.

Your back arched and you cried out, one hand fisting the sheets, the other digging into his shoulder as you came with a shuddering gasp. He held you through it, fingers slowing just enough to milk every last tremor, his mouth brushing your cheek, your jaw, your lips.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” He whispered. “All mine.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Rhett was on you again.

There was nothing slow about the way he pulled your dress over your head—nothing neat, nothing gentle. It caught on your arms for half a second before he tugged it free and tossed it somewhere across the room. His hands were back on you immediately, rough palms sliding up your stomach, over your chest, thumbing the soft weight of your breasts like he’d been starving for the feel of you.

You arched into his touch, mouth parting on a gasp, and reached for the hem of his shirt in turn. He helped you, pulling it over his head with a growl caught low in his throat, like he couldn’t stand another second of skin between you. And once it was gone–thrown blindly behind him–his mouth was everywhere–neck, collarbone, the soft rise of your breast–kissing, biting, licking, like he was trying to memorize you through taste. He pulled one nipple into his mouth with a groan, tongue swirling slow and wet, while his hands gripped your thighs like he needed to feel you under his palms, needed to know you were real.

And then he was tugging at your panties, the fabric sliding down your legs with a quiet, desperate sound. You kicked them off without thinking, letting them land somewhere in the mess already forming around the bed. His belt was next–your hands fumbling with the buckle, too frantic to be graceful. Rhett cursed softly against your chest, helping you, pushing his jeans down with a rough jerk of his hips until they were halfway down his thighs.

He didn’t stop to take them off.

Didn’t need to.

Because his body was already pressing into yours–hot, heavy, solid–and you could feel every hard inch of him, thick and aching, dragging against your slick folds like it was killing him not to be inside you.

He leaned over you, one hand bracing against the mattress beside your head, and with the other–he reached for your hand. Intertwined your fingers with his and pinned them down beside your head, palm to palm, knuckles grazing the pillow.

His eyes searched yours for a beat. Just one.

Then his hips surged forward.

The stretch made you gasp, made your back arch, made your fingers squeeze his tighter as he filled you in one deep, unrelenting thrust. You felt the tremble in his arm, the strain in his breath, and when he bottomed out, he groaned–low and filthy–his forehead pressing to yours again.

“Fuck,” He breathed, voice shaking. “You always feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

Your free hand clutched at his shoulder, nails digging in for something to hold onto. He started moving–slow at first, but deep. Every thrust hit that spot inside you that made your eyes flutter, that made your thighs fall wider open, welcoming every inch of him.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ night,” He rasped, voice pitched low against your mouth. “That dress. That smile. The way you looked at him…”

You whimpered, your walls fluttering around him.

“You wanted me jealous, didn’t you?” He growled, dragging his hips back and slamming forward again. The bed creaked. The headboard thumped once. “Wanted me to lose it.”

“No,” you gasped, breath catching. “I wanted to be yours for real….”

His grip on your hand tightened–possessive. And he fucked into you harder then, still deep, but more urgent now. Less rhythm, more need.

“Mine,” He said, grunting with the hard thrust he gave you. “You hear me? Mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this. Nobody gets to feel how fuckin’ tight you get for me.”

Your body shook with every thrust, with every word.

“Say it,” He demanded, hips snapping harder, “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” You moaned, eyes fluttering. “Fuck, Rhett–You. Only you.”

That broke something in him.

His mouth was on yours again, kissing you like it hurt, like he was drowning in it. His thrusts turned frantic–still deep, still dragging you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips, but now he was desperate too. Desperate to make you feel it.

He reached between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit, and your legs shook again.

“I want you to come around me,” He groaned, burying his face in your neck, teeth grazing your pulse, “I want it to be messy, darlin’. Wanna feel it…I need it.” You were already there–so close, the coil pulling tight, the pressure unbearable with the way he was working your clit and pounding into that sweet, swollen spot deep inside.

And then it hit–white-hot, sweeping through your entire body like a wave crashing over every nerve ending. You cried out, clenching around him as your orgasm shattered through you, trembling so hard your hand almost slipped from his.

Rhett groaned like he felt it in his soul.

“Goddamn…That’s it, Y/N…Just like that–fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so fucking tight.” He thrusted once, twice–then he was spilling into you with a broken, guttural moan. His hips stuttered and he stayed buried deep, pressing down so hard you could feel his heartbeat in the way his cock pulsed inside you.

His hand was still gripping yours. Tight. Like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

When it was over, he didn’t pull out.

Didn’t move.

Just rested his weight over you, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, lips brushing your temple.

“You wreck me,” He whispered, voice wrecked and ruined. “Every fuckin’ time.”

You smiled–soft, dazed–and turned your head to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“And you still come back for more.”

He let out a soft laugh, one that warmed against your skin. His grip on your hand loosened just enough for your fingers to thread tighter, more secure.

“I always do,” He murmured. “Always will…And now that you’re mine…I’m going to stay the night with you.”

#rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x y/n #x reader #lewis pullman the man you are #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman #the hot hot heat of my steamy mind #im screaming #Spotify

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celabi · 27 days ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

shidou + sae + kaiser + ness + nagi + isagi + reo + rin x f reader

throws this at you and runs away giggling

shidou thinks he’s god’s gift to women.

even when he’s standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom in nothing but crusty spiderman boxers with a hole near the waistband, hair an untamed and wild mess, and that signature smug little smirk tugging at his lips.

there you’d be, lying in bed like a goddess in some delicate, sheer lace nightgown, white and silky, barely clinging to your figure, looking like you had just walked out of some teenage boys fantasy. like some playboy magazine cover model come to life.

and him.

he’s standing there like he’s the main fucking event. arms flexed slightly, hip cocked to the side, trying to give you the look, the one where he raises one of his eyebrows and puts on a sexy smoulder he learned when you both watch tangled the other night and won’t stop doing—

“you like what you see, babe?”

he winks, digging his thumb beneath the waistband and drawing back, only to let it slap back against his hip with a loud snap. “it’s your lucky night. spider man’s feelin’ real naughty...”

you blink.

he climbs into bed like he’s about to change your entire life, and the scent of his body spray (which smells suspiciously like the high school gym locker he confessed to you in all those years ago) hits you almost instantly.

you shuffle an inch away, a small grimace on your face which he immediately takes notices of. “what? awe, don’t act shy now, sweetheart,” he purrs, throwing an arm around your waist and pulling you back in, those fucking children’s boxers brushing up against your thigh. “you didn’t marry all of this for nothin.”

you sigh, a hand dragging down your face.

yes. you did marry him. you just didn’t know the spiderman boxers would come with the deal.

sae loved stuff like this.

you were practically bouncing with excitement, eyes sparkling as you dragged him through the zoo with the excitement of a small child.

“monkeys first,” you told him, clutching your camera to your chest. “the little ones that look like they’re judging everyone.”

sae gave a tiny smile, the kind he only ever gave you. “mm.”

you made a beeline for the primate exhibit, and he followed, hands in his pockets, steps a little lazy as he stayed behind.

and yeah, the monkeys were indeed adorable. tiny, scruffy, wide eyed little creatures that climbed all over each other and made judgmental little faces when people threw banana’s into the den. you cooed and laughed and snapped like fifty photos while sae leaned on the railing, watching you as if you were the attraction instead of the small animals.

and then, out of nowhere, he softly slips his hand into yours.

“honey, look.” he murmured, pointing behind you somewhere. you turned, expecting maybe a new baby monkey or something cute.

but no.

seagulls.

plain, loud, not even part of the zoo seagulls, strutting around like they owned the place. annoying visitors and making a mess of the trash can.

“…seriously?” you blinked. “the monkeys are right there and you’re watching birds?”

sae just shrugged, totally serious. “they’re smart.”

one of them squawked and stole a french fry from a kid who began to cry, and you swore you saw his eyes light up.

“see?”

you stared at him like he’d lost it. “you brought me to the zoo for cute animals and you’re impressed by street birds?”

he nodded. “they’re intelligent creatures.”

you sighed, but your lips twitched.

and when he took a sneaky photo of you next to a monkey doing the exact same unimpressed face, you let him.

kaiser was thriving.

lights flashing, fans screaming, reporters yelling his name from every direction, but none of it mattered. because you were on his arm, and you looked so fucking good it should’ve been illegal. and maybe it was, on his poor heart.

you, in a dress that made people double take. and him in a designer suit which basically screamed ‘look at me!’ but still refusing to let go of your hand for even a second.

“look this way, kaiser!”

“over here!”

“pose with the ball!”

“kaiser, who’s the woman with—”

“yeah yeah, i know, i’m hot,” he waved dismissively at the cameras, tugging you closer. “but have you seen her? look at her. look. she’s the star. me? i’m just her soccer groupie.”

you barely blinked, and shielding your eyes from the countless flashes. “you dragged me here.”

“because the red carpet needed flavor,” he grinned, nudging you playfully. “and you’re the whole meal. i’m just the bowl you sit in.”

“what does that even mean—”

cue the camera clicks exploding like fireworks.

someone handed him a microphone and instead of answering questions about his match performance, he started bragging about your skincare routine.

“she does this thing with, like, snail goo or whatever? and her face? glowing. radiant. i tried it once and got a rash.”

you quietly nodded beside him, giving the cameras a blank expression like this was just your normal tuesday.

he kept tugging you in for selfies, making sure they got his good side where his jawline was razor sharp, while you stayed poker faced the whole time, slightly turned away by the dozens of desperate faces trying to get some material of michael kaiser and the new woman on his arm.

“god… i love how mysterious you are,” he whispered in your ear over the raving crowd. “like people are gonna think you’re a secret agent.”

“…i’m literally an accountant.”

“mm, yeah, schatz… the hottest accountant i’ve ever seen.”

he didn’t even look at the photographers when they asked for solo shots. just kept gazing at you like you were the only thing worth capturing.

ness had never liked eating out.

not because the food was bad, no, he’d happily devour three servings if you let him, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of other people talking to you. looking at you. breathing near you. especially men.

and today?

you were barely five minutes into your meal when a cheery waiter stopped by your table, leaning just a little too close for ness’s liking.

“would you like some ketchup with that?” the guy asked with a smile.

you didn’t think much of it, just nodded politely and said, “sure, thank you.”

but across from you… ness stiffened.

his fork hovered mid air, his eye twitching, lips pressed into a thin line. he didn’t say anything right away. just… stared down at his plate like it had killed his entire family.

you glanced over when he doesn’t react to your foot softly rubbing against his ankle. normally you’d get a ‘yippie!’, so it was a little concerning.

“lexis…what’s wrong?” you raise an eyebrow.

“…ketchup.” he muttered.

“huh?”

ness turned to you, his voice a dramatic whisper, “so that’s what you’re into now, huh? ketchup guys?”

you blinked. “…what.”

he pointed his fork accusingly. “he asked if you wanted ketchup. and you said yes. to him.”

“…because he asked?”

“but why him?” he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “if i asked, would you have said yes too? or was it his ketchup you wanted?”

you just stared. “alexis, he’s a waiter.”

ness huffed, angrily stabbing at the fries on his plate. “i’m watching you. and your stupid ketchup.”

he sulked the rest of the meal, still feeding you bites of his burger, still playing footsie’s with you under the table, but glaring daggers at the ketchup bottle like it personally insulted him.

and later that night, you found your phone filled with photos of you and ness under an album label “the mustard to my mayo <3”

nagi had a problem.

you had a shiny umbreon. his favorite. it sparkled, it looked cool, and worst of all, you wouldn’t trade it to him, no matter how many shitty common pokémon he tried to offer you for it.

“it’s my favorite. i evolved it at midnight on purpose.”

nagi, who was laying upside down on your couch with his phone resting on his face, mumbles out a small, “i need it though.”

you didn’t budge, and so… phase two began.

nagi turned into the laziest scammer known to man.

he’d send you trades labeled “ultra rare secret glitch ‘mon” with the sketchiest lineups. rattata, rattata, rattata, shiny magikarp (nicknamed ‘definitely umbreon 2.0’).

“you renamed a magikarp and thought i wouldn’t notice?”

he yawned, rolling onto his tummy. “worth a shot…”

he got more elaborate. once wore sunglasses and a fake mustache, made a fake trainer profile called “pokechoki” and messaged you from across the couch like

“hello i am collector of rare pokémon. would like your umbreon. will give 4 bidoof.”

you turned, deadpan, and nudged his thigh with your fuzzy gengar socks. “nagi, you’re in the same room as me.”

“huh? don’t know of this ‘nagi’ person. i’m seishiro.”

eventually, he climbed into your lap like a giant sleepy cat, nuzzled into your neck, and tried to guilt you with his classic, “if you loved me… you’d give me your umbreon…”

you didn’t fall for it.

but you did catch him later, holding your phone while you were brushing your teeth, trying to sneak trade himself the umbreon while you were distracted.

his defense?

“…is it really stealing if ‘what’s mine is yours’?”

isagi has been so strange lately.

you’re in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone and sipping your coffee when you hear a thud in the hallway.

“i’m okay!”

his voice echoes from somewhere down the corridor.

you raise an eyebrow, not even surprised anymore. your husband had been on a mission lately, a weird mission to prove that even though you’re already married, he’s still “hot husband material.”

his latest phase? doing push ups shirtless whenever you’re nearby. flexing his biceps whenever he opens a jar. winking dramatically when handing you anything.

today was worse.

he strides into the kitchen moments later, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a face filled with determination. a towel thrown over his shoulder like he’s in a men’s health shoot.

“babe,” he grins, “check this out.”

he goes to do a one armed push up right then and there on the kitchen tile, except his hand slips, and he faceplants so fast it sounds like a cartoon slap.

you sit up straighter and raise an eyebrow.

“…honey.. are you okay?” you ask, holding back a laugh.

he stays face down on the floor for a second before mumbling, “still hot though… right?”

you roll your eyes fondly and get up to sit on the floor next to him, nudging him with your knee.

“…you’re lucky i already said ‘i do’.”

he peeks up at you, grinning with a busted ego and a red forehead. “i’d marry you again if it helps my case.”

you kiss his forehead and shake your head. “let’s just keep the seduction off the kitchen floor, yeah?”

reo always had expensive taste.

in cars, in watches, in clothes.

but his favorite luxury? you.

he spoiled you when you were just his high school girlfriend. snuck designer bracelets into your locker, filled your dorm with roses during exams, flew you out for weekend getaways like it was nothing. the other girls were jealous, always whispering, “what does she have that we don’t?”

reo never gave them the attention they wanted. he just kissed your cheek and made you show off the shiny chain around your neck.

now, years later, not much has changed. except you now wear a ring on your finger, and his last name behind yours.

you wake up to breakfast already made, gifts by the door “just because,” and his card in your hand with a small, “go get yourself something pretty.”

he comes home from practice and scoops you up into his arms like a lovesick idiot, still obsessed, still whipped.

and when you pout? even a little? he acts like it’s a national emergency.

“what do you want, baby? tell me. shoes? a trip? my kidney?”

reo’s love language has always been excess, and when it comes to you, there’s no such thing as too much.

girlfriend or wife, high school or forever, spoiling you was always part of the plan.

rin itoshi, even as a fully grown man, was still… rin itoshi.

he might’ve been a world class athlete now, a stoic genius on the field, cold and composed in interviews, but at home? at your home?

he was still that emotionally constipated, socially awkward, emo haired boy who never knew what to do with his hands.

he sat stiffly at your parents dinner table, trying not to breathe too loud, trying not to make eye contact with your dad, silently praying the chair would collapse and swallow him whole.

you, sitting beside him, casually spooning mashed potatoes onto your plate, looked as chill as ever. like you weren’t dining with two parents who were grilling your boyfriend with every polite smile and every “so, rin, what are your intentions?”

you kicked his ankle under the table.

“sit up straight.” you whispered.

he was slouching like he wanted to vanish into his hoodie. and the worst part? he wasn’t even wearing a hoodie. he was wearing a button up shirt, with sleeves, rolled up.

also, you had brushed his bangs behind his ear before dinner and told him he looked cute like that so now his emo fringe shield was gone and he had to make full eye contact with your mom while she passed him the salad bowl.

“thanks.” he mumbled, voice barely audible.

your mom blinked. “sorry, sweetheart?”

you leaned in. “he said thanks.”

rin looked like he was about to throw up from how clenched his jaw was. then, as the cherry on top, your dad broke the very uncomfortable silence and said, “you know, itoshi, she’s quite a handful. you sure you can handle her?”

and rin, already clinging to life by a thread, nodded stiffly and raised a glass of water to his lips.

you patted his back with the most innocent expression in the world. “oh come on, rin. don’t act like you don’t worship the ground i walk on.”

he glared at you. cheeks pink. ears red. small frown.

still the same awkward, emotionally stunted guy from his blue lock days.

but your fingers brushed his under the table, and you smiled at him softly. and maybe, maybe, he could handle dinner with your parents after all.

as long as you didn’t make him talk too much.

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ari-ana-bel-la · 19 days ago

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Answered Calls

Part 2 to this: Unanswered Calls

The sterile beeping of the hospital monitor echoed softly through the whitewashed room, in rhythm with the faint thrum of rain tapping against the window. The IV dripped slowly into her arm, and even though she’d just woken up, Yn felt so heavy. Everything ached — her head, her ribs, even her eyelids. The bright hospital lights buzzed above, and she blinked against the sharp white, her vision blurry, her chest tight.

“Yn?” a soft voice came from her right. Her mother’s voice.

She turned her head slowly, every movement screaming in protest, and saw her parents sitting on either side of the hospital bed. Max’s face was pale, his blue eyes rimmed red. Kelly was holding her hand gently, tears slipping down her cheeks as though they had never stopped.

“Oh my god,” Kelly whispered, choking on a sob as she leaned over to press her lips to Yn’s forehead. “You’re awake. You’re okay. Thank god, thank god.”

Max followed suit, his arms wrapping tightly around her, trembling. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said in a hoarse voice, pressing a shaky kiss into her hair. “I should’ve answered. We should’ve been here sooner. I’m so, so sorry.”

Yn blinked at them, feeling like she was underwater. It hurt, emotionally, more than anything else. But she was used to that ache, the one of always being second — no, third now — to her sisters. She didn’t want to add guilt to the pile her parents clearly already carried.

So she smiled faintly, her voice barely more than a breath.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m fine now.”

“No, it’s not okay,” Max said fiercely, pulling back to look at her. “We weren’t there for you when you needed us most. That’s not okay, Yn. I—” His voice cracked. “I thought we lost you.”

Kelly brushed Yn’s hair gently back from her forehead. “You’ve always been so responsible. So independent. We… we thought you didn’t need us as much anymore.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Yn murmured, her voice fragile. “You’re always so busy with Lily and P. I didn’t want to make things harder.”

That broke something in all three of them. Kelly covered her mouth with her hand, tears falling faster. Max turned away briefly, hiding his face in his palm. And from the wall, Daniel stirred.

He had been silent the entire time, arms crossed tightly across his chest, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack. Now, he stepped forward slowly, his eyes locked on Yn. He didn’t say anything at first — he just leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her gently but firmly, like she was something infinitely precious.

“You’re not a burden, bub,” he whispered into her ear. “Not ever. And we’re gonna talk about that later. I promise.”

Yn nodded against his shoulder, too tired to respond, but comforted by the warmth in his voice, the quiet strength in his presence. He’d always been there. Since she was little, Daniel had always made time — even when her parents couldn’t. Ballet recitals, school events, birthdays — he was never late.

Her parents stayed by her side, murmuring apologies and reassurances until the hours passed like fog. The sun had set behind the hospital window, casting long shadows into the room. The overhead lights had been dimmed. Yn dozed, waking now and then to sips of water and a gentle hand stroking her hair.

And then Kelly’s phone rang.

She answered in a whisper, turning away from the bed slightly. Daniel noticed immediately — the way her shoulders tensed, how her hand came up to rub her temple.

“Hi,” Kelly said softly. “Is everything okay?”

There was a pause, then the volume on her end rose slightly. “What? She did what? Again?”

Another pause. Kelly sighed, exasperated. “Okay, okay, we’re coming.”

Max, who had been adjusting the blanket around Yn, looked up sharply. “What’s going on?”

Kelly turned around with a tight, apologetic smile. “The sitter. P’s been impossible all day. She threw her dinner, tried to cut Lily’s hair, and now she’s screaming because she wants us.”

Max sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course.”

Yn had watched the entire conversation in silence. She could already see it — the look in their eyes. That pull. The need to be somewhere else. To fix something else.

“Go,” she said softly.

Max and Kelly looked at her like she’d grown another head. “No,” Kelly said. “No way. We’re staying.”

“I’m fine,” Yn said again. She even added a smile this time, though it felt cracked. “I’m okay. They need you.”

“You need us too,” Max said, kneeling beside her bed. “We’re not leaving you again.”

But Yn just reached out and took his hand. “Please. I’ll be okay. Dani’s here.”

She turned her head slightly to smile at her godfather, who gave her a look like he knew exactly what she was doing — and hated it — but said nothing. Max and Kelly hesitated, torn. And finally, with one more round of kisses to her forehead and tearful apologies, they left in a rush, already talking about Lily’s feeding schedule and how they needed to call the sitter back.

The door shut behind them with a quiet click.

Silence settled over the room like a blanket.

And then Daniel moved.

He walked over slowly, no longer keeping up the cheerful front. His arms wrapped around her gently as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, pulling her into his chest. They sat like that for a moment — no words, just the sound of beeping machines and the soft thunder of rain outside.

And then, Yn broke.

It wasn’t loud at first. Just a shaky inhale, a trembling of her shoulders. But then the dam burst.

Sobs racked her body, loud and broken, the kind of cries that came from somewhere deep inside — the kind that didn’t care who was listening. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, desperate and aching. Every bit of strength and independence she had built, every time she told herself she was okay, every time she smiled while her parents rushed past her to tend to Lily or P — it all poured out.

Daniel held her tighter, rocking her gently, whispering soothing words against her hair.

“I’ve got you, bub. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his own voice breaking. “Let it out. I’m here.”

She sobbed into his chest, again and again, whispering things she’d never dared to say out loud.

“I thought I was going to die alone.”

“I didn’t want to be mad at them.”

“They didn’t come, Uncle Dany. They didn’t come.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw trembling as he fought the burn behind his eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But I came. I’ll always come.”

She cried until she had no more left. Until her throat was raw and her arms felt like lead. Until she could barely breathe through the tears. And still, Daniel held her, like he had every time before — through scraped knees, and heartbreaks, and disappointments. Only this time, it felt like even more than that.

It felt like the moment everything changed.

The air in the apartment was filled with soft baby giggles and the rhythmic tapping of keys as Yn worked through her math homework. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion—healing after a car crash while keeping up with school wasn’t easy, especially when the people around you slowly started forgetting how close they’d come to losing you.

At first, when she’d been discharged from the hospital, things had been different. Someone—either Max or Kelly—had always been near, bringing her snacks, fluffing her pillows, helping her up the stairs. But that attention faded fast. It always did.

Now, Max was on the couch with Kelly, his arm slung around her as she held Lily up in the air and made silly faces at the baby, both parents giggling when Lily let out a happy squeal.

Yn glanced up from her homework, watching them for a second. Then her eyes drifted to the side as Penelope ran into the room, full of energy and noise. The six-year-old spotted Yn at the table and made a beeline for her, grabbing a colored pencil from the cup and climbing onto the chair next to her big sister.

“Whatcha doin’?” Penelope asked, already scribbling on the edge of Yn’s workbook.

“Homework,” Yn said calmly. “P, don’t draw on that. I need it.”

“But I’m helping,” Penelope said with a grin, her little hand still pushing the pencil over the page.

Yn took a breath. “I know you want to help, but this is something I have to do on my own, okay? Please, just go back to your toys.”

“No!” Penelope said defiantly, trying to grab another pencil. “I wanna help!”

“Penelope,” Yn said a little firmer, gently pushing her hand away, “please stop. I really need to concentrate.”

Penelope blinked at her, lips puckering into a pout. “You’re mean!”

“I’m not mean,” Yn said, jaw tight, trying to stay patient. “I just need space. Please, Penelope.”

But the little girl didn’t budge. She started kicking her feet under the table, humming loudly, then grabbing another pencil. That was it.

“Stop!” Yn snapped, her voice louder than intended.

Immediately, the whole room froze. Max’s head whipped around from the couch. Kelly tensed with Lily in her arms. Penelope’s eyes widened as her bottom lip began to tremble. A second later, she burst into tears.

Max was already on his feet.

“What’s going on here?” he asked as he hurried over, crouching down next to Penelope who had now thrown herself into his arms.

“She yelled at me,” Penelope cried, “I just wanted to help…”

Max hugged her tightly. “It’s okay, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I—I tried to tell her—” Yn started.

Kelly stood now too, swaying slightly with Lily on her hip. “Sweetie, maybe you could’ve been a little gentler, hmm? She’s just trying to be like you.”

“I was gentle,” Yn said, eyes wide, heart racing. “I asked her three times. She wouldn’t stop.”

“She’s six,” Kelly said, her voice light but pointed. “She doesn’t always know when to stop. You’re older.”

“And I’m tired!” Yn snapped, standing up so fast the chair skidded. “I have been trying to catch up on everything while healing from a car crash that you didn’t even show up for! But sure, let's talk about how I was too harsh!”

Max frowned, confused, holding Penelope like a precious thing. “Yn, calm down. This is not a big deal.”

“Not a big—” Yn let out a breathless, angry laugh. “Of course it’s not. Because nothing ever is with me. It’s always about Penelope or Lily. Always them.”

“That’s not true,” Kelly said gently.

Yn was shaking now, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“Yes, it is,” she whispered. “It’s always been true. Ever since Lily was born, I’ve been invisible.”

Max moved toward her. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re not invisible.”

“Really?” Yn snapped. “Because I lay in a hospital bed for hours after crashing my car and no one answered the phone. No one. I could’ve died and it wouldn’t have made a difference because you had Lily and Penelope here, and you wouldn’t have even known.”

“That’s not fair—” Max started.

“No, you know what’s not fair?” Yn’s voice was rising now, louder, angrier, more hurt than anything else. “The way you always treat me like I’m too much or too intense or too sensitive. But all I ever wanted was to matter. To you. To her. To this whole damn family.”

Kelly’s eyes widened as she adjusted Lily in her arms. “Yn, you know we love you—”

“No, you love them,” Yn said, tears pricking her eyes. “You tolerate me. And I’m so tired of pretending like that’s enough.”

She stormed past them to her room, flinging open her closet and yanking a duffel bag off the shelf. She stuffed it with random clothes, socks, charger cords, not really thinking. Her vision blurred with tears.

Footsteps approached her door. Max appeared, Kelly right behind him.

“What are you doing?” Max asked. “You can’t just run away every time something doesn’t go your way.”

“Oh my God,” Yn muttered, zipping the bag. “You really don’t get it.”

Kelly reached for her arm. “Yn, don’t go. This is just a bad moment. You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” Yn spun around, eyes blazing. “You think this is just about today? I have felt like a damn ghost in this house for years. Every time you post a picture with the girls and forget to even mention me. Every time you skip my dance recitals. Every time you call the sitter and not me. I’m not your daughter—I’m the afterthought.”

Max’s expression darkened. “Don’t say that.”

“I hate you,” Yn said, voice cracking. “You’re a terrible father to me. Just like your dad was to you.”

And with that, she rushed out of the apartment, ignoring Max’s call of her name. She didn’t stop. Down the stairs. Through the building doors. Into the streets.

She ran and ran, wind cold on her face, feet pounding against the pavement. It didn’t matter where she was going. Her legs knew. Her heart knew.

Finally, breathless and crying, she reached the familiar door and knocked. Hard. Again and again.

The door opened and Heidi appeared, wearing a cozy jumper and fuzzy socks, a mug in her hand. Her eyes widened the moment she saw Yn—disheveled, red-faced, eyes swollen.

“Oh sweetheart,” Heidi whispered, immediately putting the mug down and opening her arms.

Yn crashed into her, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

A second later, Daniel appeared behind Heidi, looking alarmed. “Yn?”

Yn lifted her head just long enough to reach for him too. He moved fast, wrapping his arms around both of them, holding them tightly.

“I couldn’t stay there,” Yn sobbed into his chest.

“You’re safe,” Daniel whispered, his hand stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head. “You’re safe now. You’re here. I got you.”

Heidi nodded, guiding them both inside, closing the door behind them. “You’re home, sweetheart,” she said softly. “We’ve got you. We’re not going anywhere.”

And between their steady arms, Yn finally let herself fall apart.

It had been over a week since the fight. Since Yn had stormed out of the apartment—red-eyed and furious, shaking with heartbreak—and into Heidi’s arms. Since she had made the decision to stay, not just for the night, but truly stay, at Daniel and Heidi’s place.

She hadn’t returned home since. The only time she’d been back to the apartment was when she knew Max and Kelly were out. She and Heidi had gone together, picking up her clothes, her sketchbooks, her ballet shoes, even the silly little mug she always used for hot chocolate. She had packed everything quietly, methodically. No trace of her left behind.

And she’d blocked both Max and Kelly on her phone without hesitation.

Heidi hadn’t asked many questions that day. She just held Yn’s hand, rubbed soft circles into her back as she packed, and drove her back home—to her new home—with Daniel. The place that didn’t feel temporary. That felt… right.

One quiet evening, Daniel entered the living room with a dramatic sigh, holding a tray with three mugs of steaming cocoa, each topped with a silly amount of whipped cream and rainbow marshmallows.

“Ladies,” he said in a mock serious voice. “Your elixirs of joy have arrived.”

Yn, curled under a blanket with her feet tucked beneath her, giggled. “Did you put the extra marshmallows this time? Or did you ‘accidentally’ eat them again like yesterday?”

“That’s a vicious accusation,” Daniel gasped, feigning offense as he handed her the mug. “I’ll have you know, your marshmallows are safe. Heidi witnessed the whole process.”

Heidi, who was painting her toenails on the other end of the couch, nodded. “It’s true. He was on his best behavior.”

Yn grinned, nestling into the warm drink. “Thank you,” she said softly. Her voice held that tiny bit of surprise every time she thanked them—like she still didn’t fully believe she deserved all of this care.

Daniel leaned over and plopped down next to her, bumping her shoulder gently. “You know you don’t have to thank us for that stuff, right?” he said, sipping from his own mug. “You’re family.”

“Yeah,” Heidi chimed in, setting down the nail polish. “We love having you here. Seriously, we’ve never had this much glitter and noise. It’s amazing.”

Yn laughed, looking down at her cocoa. “I just… I feel safe here,” she admitted. “I can breathe. You don’t make me feel like a burden.”

Daniel put his mug down and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her gently. “You’re never a burden, munchkin. Not even close.”

There was a pause, the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable but full of weight. Yn swirled her marshmallows around before saying, almost too quietly, “I think Max still thinks of me as an inconvenience.”

Heidi set her nail file down. “Honey…”

Daniel frowned. “He’s… struggling,” he said carefully, always the peacemaker when he could be. “But that doesn’t mean you have to forgive him just because he’s your dad. What he did—what both of them did—hurt you. And it’s okay to say that. It’s okay to take space.”

“I’m not ready,” Yn whispered. “I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to hear another ‘you’re overreacting’ or ‘she’s just a kid’ or watch them treat P like she’s the sun and I’m… I don’t know. Just the shadow behind her.”

Heidi stood and crossed over to Yn, kneeling in front of her and gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Then we protect you from that. As long as you need. You’re not alone, Yn.”

“I blocked them,” Yn murmured.

“I know,” Daniel said gently. “And I only messaged Max once. I told him you were safe, and you didn’t want to talk. That’s all he needed to know.”

“Has he tried again?” she asked, voice trembling.

Daniel looked at Heidi briefly before answering. “Yeah. He’s come by a couple of times. Kelly too. But we didn’t let them in. They wanted to talk to you, but… we told them to respect your wishes. That this isn’t about them anymore.”

“They said they deserve to see her,” Heidi added, clearly still angry. “But you know what, Yn? Deserving someone’s presence comes from love, not blood. And they haven’t shown you the love you deserve. We’ll never let them come in here and make you feel like you did that day.”

Yn looked between them, eyes glassy. “You don’t hate me for this?”

“Oh my god, baby, no,” Heidi whispered, hugging her tight. “We’re proud of you. For standing up for yourself. For knowing what you need. That takes guts.”

Daniel smiled warmly, brushing a tear from her cheek. “And look at you now. Ballet princess by day, face-mask bandit by night. You’re crushing life.”

Yn giggled through her tears. “I still can’t believe you let me paint your nails.”

Daniel held up his hands with mock grace. “Excuse me, this fuchsia glitter is art. I’ve been complimented.”

Heidi rolled her eyes. “He got one compliment from the barista, and now he thinks he’s a trendsetter.”

That night, like every night since she’d moved in, they watched their silly show together. Daniel fell asleep halfway through, his head tilted comically against the sofa cushion, one of his hands resting on Yn’s shoulder like a protective weight.

In the days that followed, their routine became sacred.

Heidi drove Yn to ballet practice every afternoon, always staying to watch through the glass with a little smile on her face and snacks ready when it ended. She cheered the loudest when Yn nailed her pirouettes, and on the car rides home, she always gushed about how graceful Yn looked.

Daniel made sure dinner was ready when they got home. They all sat around the table together, sometimes dancing around the kitchen to loud music, sometimes eating in comfortable silence, but always together.

On the nights Yn had nightmares—usually vague, confusing ones about being left behind—Heidi would rub her back until she fell asleep again. Sometimes, Daniel would bring her tea and let her talk if she wanted to. And sometimes, she didn’t want to talk. They always understood.

One rainy evening, while they were baking cookies and making an absolute mess of the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

Heidi froze. Daniel turned off the music.

Yn’s body went tense like a wire.

“I’ll get it,” Heidi said quickly, placing a hand on Yn’s arm. “You stay here.”

Yn nodded, backing away slowly. She knew it was them. She could feel it.

Heidi opened the door, her eyes narrowing. “You weren’t invited.”

Max’s voice was quiet. “I just want to see her. Just for a minute.”

“No,” Daniel said from behind her, suddenly beside his girlfriend, his tone more steel than usual. “You want to make yourselves feel better. But she’s the one who deserves peace, and right now, that means you staying away.”

“We’re her family,” Kelly said, her voice sharper.

“You were,” Heidi shot back. “But family doesn’t make a child feel forgotten. Family doesn’t silence her pain or compare her to their trauma. You had a daughter standing in front of you begging to be seen, and you told her she was overreacting.”

Daniel stepped forward, blocking the door completely. “She’s not ready. And until she says otherwise, this is her home.”

Without another word, he shut the door.

When he turned around, Yn was standing there, eyes wide, face pale.

“Was it them?” she asked.

Daniel didn’t lie. “Yeah. But it’s okay. We took care of it.”

Yn nodded slowly, stepping forward and hugging him tightly. “Thank you for protecting me.”

He bent down to wrap his arms around her fully. “Always, kiddo. Always.”

And as the rain poured outside, the little family in the warm kitchen returned to their cookies, their music, and the love that asked for nothing but acceptance.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

I decided to make a sad ending cause I felt like it, so.... sorry, not sorry!

-♡○♡

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rosemaryhoney27 · 2 months ago

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“Danny vs. Gotham: Rogues, Riddles, and Regret”

aka: Gotham's Villains Realize They've Made a Terrible, Terrible Mistake

Vlad wanted to leave. He wanted to scoop Danny up, fly far away, and pretend the Gotham trip never happened. But Bruce had insisted Danny stay another week for “family bonding.” And Vlad—against his better judgment and his rapidly thinning sanity—had agreed.

What he hadn’t agreed to was sending Danny out on a “light patrol run” with Red Robin and Spoiler.

“He’s a child!” Vlad hissed. Bruce shrugged. “He suplexed a gang leader and sword-fought Damian with a smile.” Tim sipped his fourth espresso and muttered, “Kid’s got better reaction time than half of us. Might as well let him stretch his legs.” Vlad: internal screaming intensifies

Later That Night – Gotham Financial District, 10:22 PM

It should’ve been a routine patrol.

SHOULD’VE.

But this was Gotham. So naturally, they ran into Riddler. And not just Riddler. Riddler with a microphone, a speaker setup, and a slideshow.

“Riddle me this, Batbrats!” he declared, laser pointer in hand. “What flies forever, rests never, has no lungs but can still scream?!”

Danny blinked. “That’s wind.”

Riddler paused. “…I—I wasn’t done.”

“You said it in the wrong order. Classic misdirection. Also, you did this one in Amity Park two years ago. You posted it online.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, it was part of your ‘multi-state riddle tour.’ You rhymed ‘obfuscate’ with ‘paperweight.’ My friend Tucker roasted you for a week.”

Spoiler wheezed. “OH MY GOD.”

Tim was filming. “This is gold.”

Danny smiled like a polite little demon. “If you want new material, I can send you Tucker’s podcast link. He does villain reviews.”

Riddler stared, brain lagging. “I—I have—graphics—”

“You spelled ‘cerebral’ wrong on slide 4.”

“…I hate it here.”

Five Minutes Later

Riddler’s henchmen surrendered unprompted. Riddler ran face-first into a recycling bin while trying to flee. Danny phased him through the lid and said, “Please stay in there until Gotham has better riddles. Thank you.”

Tim couldn’t breathe. Spoiler was crying laughing. Danny handed Riddler a sticker that said “I Tried My Best (And Failed)” before floating away.

But It Got Worse

Because then, Scarecrow showed up.

And naturally, he released his newest fear gas on the group.

“Let’s see what horrors hide in your soul, little ghost,” Crane sneered.

Danny blinked as the gas swirled around him.

Then sneezed.

Then sniffed it.

Crane: “What—what are you doing—?!”

Danny: sniff sniff “Ooh. Cinnamon and despair. Very vintage.”

Crane: “THAT’S NOT HOW FEAR GAS WORKS—”

Danny exhaled, glowing green, and the gas dissipated.

“I’ve been inside the Ghost King’s mind, dude. This is like spa day fog machine levels. You want real terror? I have a VHS of Tucker’s high school poetry.”

Crane dropped his canister and backed away. Spoiler whispered, “He’s ungasable.” Tim, still filming: “That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve seen this week.”

Danny offered Scarecrow a cough drop and a tissue.

“Bless your heart,” he said.

Crane ran.

Later – Back at the Cave

Danny was handing out debrief cookies. Again.

Bruce was watching the security cam footage with the face of a man who was trying to process “he sniffed the fear gas.”

Dick leaned over. “This kid’s either going to save Gotham or traumatize it into behaving.”

Jason nodded solemnly. “He gave Riddler a sticker. That’s psychological warfare.”

Damian looked up from sharpening his sword. “He told me he once bit a cursed toaster.”

Vlad, in the background, was staring at the Batcomputer like it had personally betrayed him. “I—he—he ate fear gas. He corrected Riddler’s grammar. He is not normal.”

Bruce looked at Danny, who was humming while reorganizing the med supplies.

“…He’s a Wayne.”

Vlad: “NOOOOOOOOOO—”

#dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #vlad plasmius #vlad is tired #damian wayne #jason todd is a little shit #the riddler #scarecrow #danny fenton is a little shit

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carnalcrows · 6 days ago

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STUDY ME

pairing: perfect student! male OC x male reader [faceclaim]

synopsis: No one’s ever ranked higher than Haruki Mikage—until you do. You’re new, unsettlingly smart, and partnered with him for a major project. Haruki’s trying to stay composed, but your odd habits, offhanded comments, and freakish talent in the kitchen are messing with his head. He should’ve ignored you. He doesn’t.

content warnings : 18+, academic rivals to something else, reader is creepy-smart and says weird shit unprovoked, golden boy Haruki smokes under pressure, slow burn with freaky tension, blowjob at the end of ch1 (reader giving), reader’s thoughts are not normal, shared trauma over academic excellence, high-school setting, light humiliation kink energy, some bullying, borderline-obsessive chemistry, they’re both unwell but in different fonts. also: the project does get submitted on time. barely.

word count: 3.4k

The paper wasn’t even all the way up on the board before someone in the hallway let out a low whistle.

“Yo, he’s not first anymore.”

The teacher pressed the last corner of the sheet flat against the corkboard with her palm, used a pin to anchor it in place. She stepped back. The crowd surged forward.

Haruki Mikage didn’t move from his desk.

He didn’t have to. He already knew what it said.

He’d been top-ranked every semester since middle school—longer, if you counted the city-wide assessments and mock entrance exams his mother used to post on the fridge like they were participation ribbons. Everyone knew his name. They whispered it before exams, hated him for it after. Professors adored him. Classmates tolerated him. His grades were a forgone conclusion.

But still, there was that whistle.

That murmur again.

The skin between his shoulder blades prickled with something unfamiliar.

He’s not first anymore.

He set his pen down.

Someone pressed a palm to the open door. “Mikage.”

Haruki looked up.

It was Kinoshita from 2-A. Always too loud, always too nosey.

“There’s a new name up there,” Kinoshita said, eyes wide, half in disbelief and half in that messy kind of glee people reserved for perfect students slipping. “You’re second.”

Haruki blinked once.

Kinoshita grinned. “They only wrote the family name. No one knows who it is yet.”

Haruki didn’t answer. He just turned back to his notebook and wrote the date in the top right corner. Kinoshita lingered in the doorway a second longer, waiting for something. A reaction. A twitch. Even a shrug.

He got nothing.

Haruki didn’t even look bothered.

But the tip of his pen was pressed too hard into the paper. Ink pooling.

∘₊✧

He didn’t go look at the list.

Not during lunch, not after school. Everyone else swarmed the board. The hall smelled like shoe rubber and shampoo and stress. A few people snapped photos. One girl squealed. Someone muttered your last name and said, “It has to be a mistake.”

It wasn’t.

Your name was written in blocky black print above Haruki’s, the gap between your scores barely two digits wide—but it was enough. It was real.

You weren’t in his class last year. No one knew who you were. You didn’t even have a photo in the club yearbook. No whispers, no rumors, no posts online. Just a name no one recognized and a score too high to ignore.

That should’ve been the end of it.

One test. One fluke.

People were curious, but curiosity burned out fast here. Unless you were someone interesting, someone visible, someone like Haruki—nobody lasted more than a few weeks before fading back into academic noise.

Except you didn’t fade. You didn’t do anything. You just existed in the background.

Quiet. Distant. Present. Like static. Like a blank space on a page that never stopped drawing the eye.

He should’ve forgotten it.

But your name kept coming up—softly, between other people’s conversations. No one knew where you were from. Or why your name was never on any club roster. Or what kind of person beat Haruki Mikage and then refused to show their face.

Someone in class said you were weird. That you mumbled to yourself. That you drew creepy shit in the corners of your worksheet margins and then never turned them in.

Another said you laughed in the middle of a chemistry lecture, and no one knew why.

Someone else said they saw you eating cold rice balls under the gym stairs, headphones on, eyes closed, mouthing the words to something that didn’t exist.

None of that made sense.

None of it matched the clean, precise writing next to the top score on the midterm report.

But Haruki remembered it anyway.

∘₊✧

The first time he saw you was two weeks later.

There was no grand entrance. You just walked in a little after the second bell, half-zipped jacket, hair a mess, notebooks clutched to your chest like a bribe.

Haruki was already seated. Already organised. Already done with the warm-up quiz.

You didn’t look at him.

You walked past him, past everyone, and sat in the back corner of the room by the window. The only desk that hadn’t been claimed.

You slumped down. Dropped your bag. Took out a pencil that had bite marks in it and started copying notes from the board with a half-lidded stare.

Haruki stared. He couldn’t help it.

There were no rumours about how you looked—no pictures online, no Instagram stories. But this wasn’t what he expected.

You weren’t particularly neat. Or polished. Your uniform didn’t fit right, like it had been ironed two days ago and then slept in. Your fingers were ink-stained. Your collar slightly crooked.

You were pretty. But in a way that felt… accidental. Or wrong. Like a painting flipped upside down.

There was something strange about your face. Or maybe your mouth. It looked like it wanted to smile, but didn’t know how.

You looked up once during the lecture. Your eyes met his.

Then you winked.

Haruki turned back to his textbook immediately, his throat dry.

He didn’t look at you again for the rest of the period.

But he felt you looking.

∘₊✧

The class project was announced the next week.

“Pairs of two,” the teacher said, holding up a glass bowl with folded slips inside. “We’re going to assign them randomly. You’ll have three weeks to put your presentations together. Graded on both content and performance.”

She walked between rows with the bowl.

Haruki reached in, pulled a number: 9.

He waited patiently while the others filed through their slips. Then your name was called.

You pulled yours out. Paused. Tapped it twice against your palm.

You looked right at him when you said, “Nine.”

Haruki’s fingers twitched around his pen.

∘₊✧

He didn’t say anything until after class.

You were still packing up, slow and disorganised. You dropped your folder and didn’t bother to pick up half the papers that slid out. A few had doodles in the margins. They looked like vines. Or veins.

“Haruki Mikage,” he said.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Yeah?”

He stared. Then, “That’s my name.”

You tilted your head.

“I know,” you said. “You're the guy with the stupidly perfect eyebrows.”

He stared harder.

You reached for your bag, smiling faintly. “Are we gonna start working on this project, or are you gonna keep staring at me like I just spit in your bento?”

Haruki didn’t respond.

You laughed softly—barely audible. Like you hadn’t meant to do it.

Then you leaned forward and whispered, “You always look like you’re trying not to judge me. It’s okay. You can. It makes your mouth look sharper.”

His stomach twisted. He stepped back.

You turned and walked off like nothing happened.

Like you hadn’t just said the first thing that’s ever made him lose his breath.

∘₊✧

The two of you met for the first study session in the back corner of the library, because, of course, you suggested it, and of course, Haruki said yes, even though it went against his better judgment, instincts, and every fibre of his tightly-wound existence.

“This is where the ghosts live,” you said, dropping your bag to the floor and immediately sitting cross-legged on the chair. “They’re chill, though. As long as you don’t read anything out loud in Latin.”

Haruki blinked at you over the top of his textbook. “I don’t read Latin,” he said flatly.

You grinned. “That’s good. You’ve got exorcism hands, not summoning hands.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a compliment.” It didn’t sound like one. But also—it kind of did?

You kicked your leg a little, humming under your breath. Then you reached over and grabbed his pen. Didn’t even ask. Just took it. Twirled it between your fingers like a wand and said, “Alright, Harvard. Let’s get this nerd orgy started.”

“…Excuse me?”

You looked at him innocently. “You’re telling me you don’t think studying is a group kink?”

Haruki did not dignify that with a response.

You leaned back in your seat and tilted your head, staring at him like you were taking inventory of something beneath his skin. Then:

“Have you always been like this?”

“…Like what?”

“Like a boy who was genetically engineered to be the president of every club. Like a human version of whatever’s in those vitamin gummies for your brain.”

Haruki frowned, flipping to the next page of the syllabus. “And you’ve always been like this?”

“Unfortunately,” you replied, deadpan. “I tried being normal once. Got a nosebleed.”

He didn’t believe a single word out of your mouth.

He also couldn’t stop looking at you.

Not in the overt, obvious way. Just… his eyes kept landing on the curve of your neck when you tilted your head back to think. Or the way your lips moved when you mouthed words to yourself under your breath. You chewed your pen sometimes, distractedly.

You had a pretty mouth. Haruki wondered what it would feel like around his fingers.

You tapped your fingers against your leg in a rhythm he couldn’t decipher. You made references he didn’t understand.

“Did you know Freud had a raging thing for eels?”

“…What?”

“He dissected like so many of them. Never found the testes. Drove him insane. I feel like you’re my eel.”

Haruki slowly set his pen down.

“I’m… what.”

“I don’t get you,” you said, voice lighter. Not teasing now. Just honest. “You’re like this shiny, polished, student council-approved perfection android. But then you make these tiny expressions when no one’s looking. Like you’re pissed. Or bored. Or like you wanna scream into a pillow for eight hours.”

He stared. Speechless.

You tilted your head again. “Have you ever screamed into a pillow?”

“No,” he said slowly, carefully. “Have you?”

You smiled. “Only when someone's on top of me.”

Haruki’s brain short-circuited for a second.

You opened your notebook like you hadn’t just dropped a sentence that would require him to pray afterwards. “Okay, let’s start with the thesis breakdown. We can decide if you wanna present or I wanna present, but either way, I get to say the weird part.”

“There’s… a weird part?”

“There’s always a weird part,” you said, eyes sparkling. “It’s the whole point of writing anything. Gotta add the bite.”

He didn’t know what you meant, but his pulse ticked up anyway.

You worked surprisingly well together.

You were smart. Not just academically, but weird smart. You pulled random quotes from obscure films, recalled footnotes Haruki had skimmed past, and made connections he hadn’t even considered. And the worst part was—your instincts were always right.

You were completely unserious about your own reputation, but deadly serious about the work. Which meant that Haruki—perfectionist, ruthless, prideful Haruki—couldn’t even hate you for beating him.

All he could do was sit across from you while you explained why you thought the author used soil erosion as a metaphor for emotional decay and pretend his leg wasn’t bouncing under the table.

When the session ended, you leaned over his side of the desk to grab your drink—and stayed there.

You were too close.

Too casual.

Your hair was a little messy. Your breath smelled like melon soda and mints. And when you pulled away, you laughed like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“I’ll text you,” you said, swinging your bag over one shoulder. “Unless you’d prefer I send smoke signals from the roof.”

“I don’t have your number.”

You blinked.

“Oh. Right.”

You held your hand out. Palm up. Waiting.

Haruki hesitated. Then handed over his phone.

You typed something fast, then handed it back.

The name you saved in his contacts wasn’t your name.

It just said: [threat level: weirdly hot]

He didn’t correct it.

∘₊✧

Haruki stepped out onto the rooftop with his blazer slung over his shoulder, tie loosened just enough not to look sloppy. He didn’t really care if people saw the cigarette between his fingers — nobody ever said anything. Not to him. It was the kind of privilege that came with being him.

Top grades. National mock test finalist. MVP of the volleyball team. Editor of the student journal. The golden boy. Your mother’s favorite. Your teacher’s pride. The one who always knew the answer but never rubbed it in.

And here he was, burning through his second cigarette of the afternoon, hoping it would quiet the spinning in his head.

He hated that it didn’t.

The shouting started before he even made it down the last step.

“Why don’t you just eat somewhere else?” someone hissed.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with this freak show today—seriously, you always pick the corner seat like it’s your kingdom or something.”

Haruki’s foot hit the bottom stair.

He knew that voice. Loud. Entitled. A second-year student from the basketball team who walked around like he owned the school just because he had abs and rich parents. The group around him laughed, but it sounded more like barking.

You were sitting alone, lunch in your lap, face unreadable. Picking at your rice like you couldn’t hear them.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. But your hands had gone still.

Haruki’s voice cut in before he could think about it.

“You talk a lot for someone that far below average,” he said flatly.

Silence.

The air shifted.

The guy whipped around, only to pale when he saw Haruki standing there, jacket off, sleeves rolled, cigarette still burning between his fingers.

Haruki didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Keep walking,” he added.

The group scattered. No one apologised. No one even made eye contact. They just fled, like hyenas realising the lion hadn’t left after all.

You glanced up at him with a half-smile. “Wow. My hero.”

“You shouldn’t let them get to you.”

“I don’t.” You popped a cherry tomato into your mouth. “I just added them to the list.”

“…What list.”

You didn’t answer. You just chewed and smiled.

∘₊✧

Later that week.

You opened the door in a loose black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair wet from a shower and sticking to your forehead in damp, clinging strands. You looked cosy in a way that made Haruki’s lungs feel too tight.

“You made it,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “Wanna see something cool?”

Haruki followed you in, expecting weird posters, weird books, and maybe an Ouija board or something.

What he didn’t expect was—

The kitchen.

Clean. Lived-in. There was a wooden cutting board already dusted with flour. Soy sauce, mirin, and sesame oil lined up neatly on the counter. A cast iron pot simmering quietly on the stove, steam curling like the first exhale of a ghost.

You tied an apron around your waist and turned slightly. “Sit.”

He did.

The scent was unreal.

Rich and savoury. Ginger and garlic blooming in oil, followed by a splash of sake and the quiet crackle of meat hitting the pan. Chicken thighs, if he wasn’t mistaken—bone-in, skin crisping in real time as you basted it with soy and sugar.

The sauce thickened into a lacquered glaze, caramel-dark and glistening. You flipped the pieces with casual precision, face calm in a way he’d never seen in class. Focused. Almost elegant.

You weren’t speaking. Just humming. A low, tuneless little rhythm under your breath.

He watched the way your fingers moved—quick and practised as you sliced scallions into fine curls, sprinkled furikake over the steaming rice. You moved like you lived in the kitchen, like it wasn’t a performance.

The food was simple, but the kind of simple that only comes from knowing what you're doing. Like you’d made this a hundred times for someone you cared about.

No one had ever cooked for Haruki before.

He didn’t realise how tightly he was gripping the edge of the chair until you set the plate in front of him and the smell hit him like a memory he didn’t have.

He blinked. “This is…”

“Chicken nanban,” you said. “I made the tartar sauce from scratch.”

Haruki picked up his chopsticks, swallowed something thick in his throat, and took a bite.

The chicken cracked at the surface, still hot enough to burn, still sweet from the soy and vinegar glaze. The homemade tartar had bits of pickles and onion, just sharp enough to cut through the richness. The rice underneath had soaked up some of the sauce, sticky and warm.

It was stupidly good.

He kept eating quietly. You sat down beside him with your own plate and started scrolling through your phone, legs tucked up under you.

“Why do you know how to cook like this?” he asked finally.

You shrugged. “I like taking care of things.”

“…People?”

“Depends,” you said, tone lazy. “You wanna be taken care of?”

He looked at you. You didn’t look up.

The silence between you stretched like sugar—warm, sticky, slow.

He put his chopsticks down.

You turned to him.

And smiled.

Haruki wasn’t sure what he expected your room to look like, but it wasn’t this.

Simple, mostly. Clean. A little lived-in. The walls were bare except for a stack of books pushed into a crooked shelf, a futon folded neatly in one corner, and a secondhand desk with a few pens left uncapped. A soft hum filled the silence — maybe a fan from the hall or the fridge ticking quietly through the wall.

You tossed your bag down and sat on the floor like you didn’t feel the shift in the air. Haruki did. His skin felt too tight. The space between your bodies suddenly felt loaded.

“So this is where you hide,” he said, trying to sound casual.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Then shrugged.

“I like quiet,” you murmured. “It’s hard to find in school.”

Haruki didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all.

You watched him for a long beat, then patted the space in front of you.

“C’mere.”

He hesitated. You raised a brow. And then he moved — sat down across from you with crossed legs and a heart that wouldn’t stop thudding.

You didn’t touch him at first. Just stared. Haruki stared back. He wasn’t used to that, either — being looked at like he was something to be read, not admired. It made him feel strange. Exposed.

“Haruki,” you said, voice softer now, almost uncertain. “Do you ever stop thinking?”

His mouth opened — then closed. He didn’t have an answer.

You leaned in, slow like a question. Gave him time to stop it.

He didn’t.

So you kissed him.

Just once, at first — a slow press, the kind that didn’t demand anything. Then again, this time deeper. Haruki inhaled sharply, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure where to put them. You pulled back only slightly.

“You can touch me.”

The words were soft. Not teasing. Just an offer.

Haruki’s fingers found your shoulders, then your jaw, then finally threaded into your hair like it made sense.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Until you shifted, pushed gently at his chest. He leaned back onto his elbows, lips parted, breath shaky. You sank to your knees in front of him, palms brushing the hem of his shirt.

He watched, stunned, as your hands moved with practised ease — unbuttoning, unzipping, until he was bare from the waist down. The air was cool against his erection. Your breath was warm.

“Wait—” he managed, voice a little broken. “Are you… sure?”

You looked up at him with the faintest smile.

“Very.”

And then you lowered your head.

The first touch of your mouth on his cock made his breath stutter. He’d never—no one had ever—

He clutched at the sheets beneath him, back arching slightly. You didn’t rush. Just took him in slow, deep, unhurried. Your hands on his thighs kept him steady, kept him grounded.

Haruki didn’t know where to look. Your lips, your eyelashes, the ceiling — nothing helped. His brain was static.

You hummed against him, the vibration sending a full-body shiver up his spine.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hands fisting the blanket. “That—wait—don’t—”

But he didn’t want you to stop. Not really. And you knew that.

You pulled back just long enough to whisper, “It’s okay. You can let go.”

And when he did, it was quiet.

His jaw went slack. His head tipped back. Your name curled off his tongue like something reverent. He was shaking.

You swallowed, slow and clean, and wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

Then you looked up at him.

Smiled like it was just another Tuesday.

“You taste like stress and bad decisions.”

Haruki lay there, bare and ruined, heartbeat in his throat.

You stood, grabbed your water bottle, and stretched like a cat.

“Wanna stay for dinner?”

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