#without that being called out in the summary/authors notes

[sometimesanalice]

Call My Bluff

Summary: Rooster and Hangman have always attracted attention wherever they go. You aren't jealous, it’s just getting hard to ignore. It’s a good thing they're more than happy to remind you just who you belong with.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader x Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Length: 5.8k

Warnings: smut and a dash of angst (mdni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the Up the Ante universe, however it can be read on it's own!)

You knew you were staring- casually observing, one could argue- but it was hard to pull your gaze away from Jake at the bar.

He had gone to get another round of drinks for everyone more than ten minutes ago. It was a busy night at the Hard Deck, but not that busy. It really shouldn’t have surprised you though to realize why he was held up, especially with the way his tight white t-shirt was offsetting his end of summer tan. He’s always been too damn charming for his own good, especially when it was paired with that deep rooted sense of southern hospitality.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence to see Hangman getting hit on by another woman. However, it was the second time that night he’d been approached by the same woman with all too interested eyes and an enticing smile.

“If I didn’t know better,” Rooster says, sliding up to you and squeezing your hip, “I’d say you’d look like you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” It comes out a bit too short to be believable.

He just gives you a knowing look, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, you know I think you look gorgeous in pretty much everything. Including that particular shade of green.”

You let out an annoyed huff and take distracted sip of the remnants of your drink, which was now mostly melted ice cubes with an essence of gin.

Bradley just chuckles lightly and takes a quick glance around the room before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head.

“I’m sure I could think of a couple ways to distract you," he offers.

You’ve been enjoying this something with them over the last few months. The three of you fell into everything so easily, but it wasn’t something you’d put a label on yet. You’ve always been the type of woman who likes having all the answers, but with them- with this- for the first time in your life you were ok with not having them.

There were electrifying nights the three of you spent together. And there were peaceful nights you spent home alone. There were times it was just you and Rooster and other times when it was just Hangman and you. There was time spent in beds and out of them. There were sunny days spent on the beach. There were hours spent taking road trips and exploring your new state. There were nice dinners out and quiet nights in. There were reservations made for two and there were tickets bought for three.

It was a new dynamic for you, and something you’d never could have expected. And you’ve been happy.

Really, really happy.

But over the last couple of weeks, it’s been hard ignoring the voice in the back of your head that has been filling your brain with all the what-ifs.

What if this isn’t working for them the way it was working for you.

What if this causal arrangement you have with them isn’t enough.

Or worse, what if you’re being selfish with them.

As you watch Hangman with that smooth smile on his face- but without a trace of those dimples you know so well- as he talks to the pretty girl near his elbow, you can’t help but wonder if this something – with him, with them- comes with an expiration date.

The room feels too small with the crowd of people- with their loud chatter and booming bursts of laughter- and all the too big thoughts swirling around in your head. Everything feels like too much, from the rings of ceramic mugs on the ceiling to the string lights and model planes around the bar to the patches covered walls.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, stepping out of Bradley’s grasp.

He hums, letting you know he’d heard you, giving you your space before drifting over to the pool table where the rest of the Daggers are gathered around.

And then you walk straight out the front door and leave.

You’ve been home for less than an hour when you hear a set of car doors shut with a heavy thud outside of your house. And there’s no question in your mind about who it could be.

The two quick, sharp raps on your front door only a few moments later confirm what you already knew.

You’d turned your phone off the moment you’d gotten in your car, wanting some time to yourself, not in any kind of mood now to be around other people. The only thing you could think of had been getting home so that you could simmer in peace. You had just wanted to get your head back on right without feeling like the walls were pressing in on you.

You open the door to see Rooster standing there looking pissed. His big arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, and lips pressed firmly together in a flat line. Jake is just a step behind him, leaning against the porch post with his poker face already in place, a pretty picture of nonchalance.

“We tried calling,” Bradley rasps, the words clipped and short. You can tell he’s trying to keep his temper in check, but there was no missing the storm cloud behind his eyes.

You blink at him and drum your nails on the side of the door, giving him a flippant shrug. And Jake lets out a low disapproving whistle that grates on your already ragged nerves.

Rooster lifts an eyebrow at you like really. He’s always been the more hot headed one of the two of them. You know this cold shoulder act of yours is pushing his buttons, and you’re surprised he hasn’t called you out on it yet.

Not that you’d probably answer him anyways.

The last thing you want to do is talk.

It was why you left in the first place.

You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to think. And you really didn’t want to deal with your feelings.

Sex was easy. Sex was fun. Sex wasn’t complicated.

Everything else is exactly what you’d been trying to get away from, and instead all you’d done was have it delivered directly to your doorstep.

“I don’t remember inviting either one of you over,” you state, coolly, doing your best to feign indifference.

Rooster’s mouth drops opens, but Hangman is quicker on the draw. “And yet, here we are,” he says, stating the obvious, then mirroring the same brazen shrug you’d given the glowering man in front of you. “Guess the question is, are you going to let us in?”

You know without a doubt that if you said no they’d respect your decision and walk themselves right back to Jake’s truck and out of your drive away. You could have your space to simmer, just like you’d wanted.

What you’d thought you wanted.

…

Or.

Or maybe you just needed to remind yourself what exactly this is. Since there’s not much room to think when you’re too busy coming.

You drag your gaze from Bradley’s smoldering whiskey brown eyes to Jake’s all too observant sea green ones, before spinning away from them to saunter down the hallway towards your bedroom.

Knowing you still have the full weight of their twin stares on you, you reach for the hem of the oversized shirt from your college days that you’d thrown on the second you’d arrive home and tug it up and off, dropping it on the floor right before you turn the corner and out of their view.

There are a few noises you’re able to pick out in the too quiet of your house over your thundering heartbeat as you flick on the switch to the lamp in the corner of your room. The click of the front door being shut and the deadbolt turned into place. The sound of their sturdy soled shoes being toed off at the entry. The low baritone of Hangman’s murmured drawl, although the words that are spoken are too soft for you to make out.

And then the one you’d been anticipating the most, their weighty footsteps coming down the hallway to your bedroom. They’ve always teased you about it, with all of the soft pinks and creamy neutrals, and how it looks too sweet, too pure for a woman who enjoys taking two cocks as much as you do. But you’d seen the gleam in their eyes and the gears turning in their heads when they’d help you set up your pretty white wrought iron bedframe; it was the one thing they’d never commented on, especially since you were more than happy letting them tie you up to it.

You’ve just shimmied out of your panties- still bent at the waist- when you hear Bradley groan behind you. You linger there a moment longer than you need to, making sure he gets a good look at you like this. From reflection in the mirror that’s hung on your wall, you can see that the irritation is still rolling off of him in waves, but so is the heat of his want as he watches you stand back up with greedy, appreciative eyes.

Turning back towards him you let him take his fill of your naked body, one hip temptingly tipped to the side, daring him to be the one first to make a move.

Rooster slowly drags his heated gaze over you before he pulls his t-shirt over his head in that one-handed way that men do before pitching it off to the side. His broad chest is already starting to turn your favorite shade of flushed pink.

“How can a girl as pretty as you be so goddamn frustrating?” he mutters as he flicks open the button of his tight jeans. Only unzipping them enough to release some of the pressure off his visibly hard cock in a way that shows you just how turned on he is.

You feel high off of your own self-satisfaction as it twists and swirls in your chest.

“I think she just likes keeping us on our toes,” Hangman drawls, entering the room. A slight look of amusement coasts over his handsome face as he looks from you to Rooster. Clearly content to wait for the two of you to work whatever’s going on out of your systems.

You skim your fingers up your body and cup your breast in your hand. “What? You don’t think you can keep up, Rooster?” you challenge. He tips his head back up towards the ceiling and forces out a breath through pursed lips. And you’re tempted to see just how far you can push him.

“Oh, darlin’,” Jake chuckles, shaking his head, “You’re determined to trouble tonight, aren’t you?”

“And if I am?” you taunt, rolling your nipple between your fingers. Two sets of eyes hone in on the motion, but no one makes a move. “But if you both are just going to stand there, I’ve got a vibrator that works just as well- if not better.”

You’re trying to goad them. You know it and they know it.

Rooster struts up to you, grabbing a handful of your ass and hauls you against him. He’s thick and firm against your stomach. “If you’re going to act like a brat, then I’m going to treat you like a brat, baby,” he murmurs into the hinge of your jaw, “Now, get on the bed.” He punctuates the order with a swift, firm flat-handed slap.

And for the first time since you’d left the bar, you grin. Feeling entirely too pleased with yourself, even with the lingering sting of his handiwork.

This. This is what you want.

You want demanding fingers and the scrape of teeth on your skin. You want messy mouths and generous tongues.  You want fast and hard and filthy and rough. You want to hear their heavy breaths and moans and curses. You want to give and to take, only for them to reward you with more.

You want as much of them as you can have, for as long as you can have them.

Bradley basically herds you to the bed while Jake watches on with a smirk, not that you needed much convincing anyways. The second you’re stretched across it, Bradley is on top of you wedging himself and those wide shoulders of his between your thighs.

There’s no build up, no gentle lead in. Rooster’s mouth is set on ruination.

He’s had you enough times that he knows exactly how to flick and circle and lave over you in a way that will end with white noise in your ears and starbursts behind your eyelids. His tongue is unrelenting on your clit, showing you no mercy as you start to quake under his touch.

It’s dizzying how fast he’s gotten you so spun up. Your breaths are coming out ragged and uneven as your fingers dig into the fabric of your gauzy duvet. And every time you whimper, he rewards you with a groan that only ripples up and throughout your keyed up body.

You’re right there, so so close to unraveling.

And then he pulls his mouth off of you, “Why’d you leave?”

A shocked gasp escapes you. At the timing of the question and the way he bites the fleshy part at the crease of your thigh.

“Bradley.” You keen as he sucks the very same spot, like he wants to mark you as his own.

“C’mon now, Bradshaw,” Jake tuts, from where he’s leaning against the door jamb, “Our girl was so close.” His ankles casually cross over each other, looking right at home as he watches you get eaten out by another man.

Rooster scoffs. “She can come as much as she wants, after she answers the damn question.” He brings the hand that had been gripping your hip over the center of you. “How about this,” he says, sinking a single thick finger into you, “Consider this a show of good faith.”

And then he has the audacity to send you a smirk.

“Fuck you, Rooster,” you huff, tilting into his touch. Bradley just hums and rolls his eyes, because he knows you well enough to tell when you actually mean it and when you don’t.

“You could be,” he reminds you. Then crooks his finger just enough to show you how devastatingly good it could be if he wasn’t set on edging an answer out of you.

You roll your hips trying to take more. To get him to give more. Anything to get you to that heady place again, where the only thing keeping you grounded in the moment is their bodies against yours.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep riding his fingers.” Hangman’s hot gaze roams all over you as he crosses the room to sit down on the bed next to you. He reaches out and runs a big hand down your sternum, you arch into it offering more of yourself up to his touch. You know he’s feeling every jump of the muscles in your stomach under his heavy hand as he rests it in the soft space under your bellybutton.

You suck in a breath when Bradley teases you with a second finger. He only allows you one heartbeat of hope before he denies you that more, more, more you’re desperate for.

But he wasn’t the only one in the room capable of giving you exactly what you wanted.

“Jake, come on, fuck me.” You look up at him from under your lashes, hoping he’ll be the one to cave first.

“You’re a regular poet laurate, aren’t you,” Jake states, shaking his head at you.

You shoot him a glare. “I’ll write you a haiku later, just make me come.”

You feel a puff of air over your cunt from Rooster’s amused chuckle. It causes you to clench around his finger, but it’s not enough to get you there.

You try to reach for Hangman’s cock, still confined in the snug jeans he was wearing. He doesn’t even give you the chance to undo the top button before he catches your hand in his. “Nuh-uh, greedy girl, none of that.” Hangman presses the palm of your hand over his length, showing exactly what you’re being denied. “Not sure you’ve earned this, not after your disappearing act.”

“Not you too,” you pant. Weren’t sure if it was the weight on your chest or the sheer want of them that was making it hard for you to get a proper breath.

“Yes, me too. I don’t think you realize just how much you worried the old man,” Jake drawls, “You know that can’t be good for his heart.”

The old man between your trembling thighs takes the opportunity to rub his mustache over your needy clit, the friction of it almost makes you jump out of your too tight skin. And for an all too brief moment your mind blanks as need ricochets throughout your body, the only thing you can think of is how desperate you are to come.

Jake collects your other wrist in his warm hand and brings them up above your head. He leans over you, with your faces only a few inches apart you can smell the peppermint of his favorite mints on his breath.

“Leave them up there for me,” he murmurs. It’s a command that’s dressed up like a request.

He pauses a moment and searches your eyes, asking you a silent question with the resolved dip of his chin. You answer by curling your fingers into the edge of your mattress, it’s your first concession of the evening. The only one you’re planning on making.

Jake gives them a quick squeeze before he lets go, “Good girl.” His southern accent is smoother and richer than honey against your ear, it makes your toes curl in response.

“Oh, now you want to behave,” Bradley grumbles into your inner thigh, his slightly chapped lips scraping against your oversensitive skin. “Don’t forget, I’m still waiting for an answer, baby.”

His fingertip on your clit isn’t teasing anymore, now it feels like a taunt.

“Next question.” You dig your heel into his shoulder blade, urging him for more, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

Neither one of you are ready to fold.

You can feel the sweat starting to collect behind your knees where they’re resting over the overheated skin of Bradley’s shoulders as he alternates between slow, shallow thrusts and a featherlight touch of his calloused fingertip against your clit. Every now and then- if he’s feeling generous- he’ll treat you to his tongue, dipping out to taste and tease you.

Rooster takes his time in that thorough way of his to get your legs quivering and quaking. He keeps you teetering there, perfectly and precisely balanced on the edge. Not enough to get you off, but just enough to keep a steady flow of wetness dripping out of you. You don’t need to see his hand to know you’re making a mess out of him. Out of yourself. And probably out of your duvet.

Your body feels like a house of cards, just one breath away from toppling over. gust

“Jesus,” Jake says, his voice husky and rough, “I won’t ever get tired of seeing you like this.” His eyes feasting on your body that’s displayed just for their hungry gaze.

But he might, that voice in your head taunts you. They might.

You press your forehead into his denim covered thigh, it’s all too much and not enough all at once.

This wasn’t what you’d imagined when you’d invited them inside. You’d envisioned hand mussed hair and skin-on-skin and their flushed, satisfied faces. And so far, you were still the only one naked.

“You’re not… This isn’t…” Your fingers flex as your arms strain with the effort to keep them where they are raised above your head. “Why are you still dressed?” you hotly demand, not ready to forfeit this one-sided fight.

“I’m just here for the free show.” Hangman circles his finger lazily around your bellybutton. “You’ve been so determined to be so tight-lipped all night, but that pretty pussy of yours is sure making a lot of noise for a woman who hasn’t even been properly fucked yet.”

You’re hit with the realization that he’s giving you a taste of what you’d been dishing out since the moment they’d arrived, always one to give as good as he gets. It was just as hot as it was infuriating. Because that’s the thing about knowing how to push someone’s buttons was that they knew exactly how to push yours in return.

“You better watch your mout-ah.” You might have sounded almost convincing if Rooster hadn’t pumped three thick fingers into you suddenly, stretching and spreading you around them. You gasp and arch off the bed at the sensation. It’s the most he’s given you all night.

Jake tsks, flashing you his dimples. “But I’m having fun watching his mouth instead,” he says, nodding his head towards Bradley. “Speaking of, you got a little something on your chin there, Bradshaw.”

“That’s because arguing gets her wet.”

You can’t even deny it because the evidence is right there for them both to hear in the slick sound of him thrusting his fingers back into you. You press your head into the bed and try to arch your hips, but Jake’s firm hand pushes them back down, making you whine.

“Rooster, please, I just want to come.” And if it sounds like begging, it’s because you are now.

“And you know what I want, so it seems we’re at a stalemate.” You try to hitch your right leg open further, but Bradley hooks his arm around your thigh and pulls it back in, keeping you in place. “Baby, I’ve got all the time in the world. I’m a patient man. For as much fun as I’m having here trying to get an answer out of you, I’d much rather be coaxing orgasms from you instead.”

The frustration swells and crests inside of you. You’re tired of being toyed with when all you’d wanted was to not have to think for a while.

“Bradley, you can’t seriously expect me to want to have a damn heart-to-heart when your fingers are literally inside of me,” you fume.

“Ok, then.” He pins you with a pointed look and withdraws them, finally calling your bluff. “Can you please tell us what the hell is going on now?”

Jake tips your chin up to look at him, the congeniality replaced on his face with seriousness. “As much as I try to avoid agreeing with him, I think you owe us an explanation for why you left without saying a single word to either one of us, darlin’.”

“I didn’t realize I answered to you,” you say, haughtily. Not proud of yourself for getting short with them when they don’t deserve the heat of your irritation.  

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Hey now, you know it’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then, Jake? It’s not like you’re-” you cut yourself off, pressing your lips tightly together.

Of course he doesn’t let it slide. “We’re not what?”

Him and Rooster exchange a look over the top of you when you don’t elaborate further, some unspoken understanding passing between them. The mood between the three of you shifting immediately.

Hangman tugs you up just enough for him to maneuver himself behind you and cradles you back against his chest, his arms winding themselves around your waist. As Bradley rests his chin on top of your thigh, his thumb making soothing circles on the swell of your hip, “We’re not what, baby?” And you’re not sure you’ve ever heard his raspy voice so soft before.  

The silence stretches as you war with yourself. They know you well enough to know you need a moment. You’d made a career for yourself knowing the right words- the strategic kind- but when it came to communicating your feelings, you’d always found it so much harder to string them together.

This is the exact conversation you’d been trying so hard to run from, but you didn’t want to play games with them anymore.

Sharing your emotions makes you feel a thousand times more vulnerable than being naked in front of them ever has. With them you feel sexy and powerful and wanted, especially when you’re pressed between them like you are now. It’s a different kind of intimacy entirely letting them see the confusing mess of what’s going on inside your mind.

“Does this have anything to do with Rooster teasing you about being jealous earlier tonight?” Hangman asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Because you should know by now that I only have eyes for one girl.”

And there it is- bullseye. 

Your gaze slides over to Bradley, “You told him about that?” He shrugs a broad shoulder, which jostles the thigh that’s still draped over it.

“He was concerned when we realized you weren’t at the Hard Deck anymore, we both were.” Jake cups your cheek and turns your face back to him, encouraging you to rest your head on his shoulder.  “I asked him to fill me in on what I’d missed, because I thought we were having a good night up until I came back from the bar to learn you weren’t anywhere to be found and not answering your phone.”

The wave of guilt that washes over you makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. You’d been so inside your own head that you hadn’t taken even a moment to think about how they’d feel about your impulsive retreat. At the very least, you should have sent a text before turning off your phone.

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, before speaking, your voice quiet and tentative, “You can’t be jealous when you don’t have any real claim to someone.”

It’s not like you can be frustrated at anyone other than yourself. You were the one who wanted to try and keep things discreet. Casual. Because of your job and theirs. People talked enough on their own without you wanting to give them any more fuel to add to the smoking embers.

The rumors of your favorite aviators’ hook up had followed them for years since that first time it happened in Florida, just not many people knew that it had been you from the very start. You’d all kept in touch, but infrequent nights spent tangled in sheets before returning back to your real life was different than all of you being stationed together for the foreseeable future.

The ambiguity of what you all were to each other had chafed at you tonight in a way it never has before. It wasn’t something that you’d all talked about together before. After seeing the interest on the other woman’s face, you couldn’t deny that her and Jake had looked good together. But what you’d been most struck by was just how content and at ease he looked leaning there with an elbow at the bar.

It wasn’t a secret those closest to you all there was something going on between the three of you. After all, Bradley was affectionate and Jake was objectively the least subtle man on the planet. It wasn’t something you were hiding; it just wasn’t something you were actively trying to broadcast to all of NAS North Island.

But for the most part, they’d been following your lead since they knew you liked to keep your cards close to your chest. And while you liked to consider yourself an enigma, they were both looking at you right now like you were a book that only they were fluent in reading.

“‘Real claim’,” Jake repeats back to you, slowly. Like he’s not believing what he’s hearing. “Oh darlin’, where’d you get that idea?”

“Is that what this is all about?” Rooster’s eyes are intense as he looks at you. “Just because we’ve been keeping things casual doesn’t mean this thing between all of us isn’t the real deal. I’m not seeing or sleeping with anyone else. And I don’t want to.”

“I’m not either,” Hangman adds, running his hands along your sides. “I’ve got my hands more than full with you and I like it that way.”

You knew that they weren’t and they knew you weren’t too. Sex has always been the easier thing to talk about. That particular discussion had ended with the mix of their cum dripping out of you and too many orgasms to count.

But what happened if having fun turned into wanting more. You didn’t know how long they’d be fine with this dynamic, with splitting time and attention.

You look from one to the other. From green to brown. “And you’re both truly fine with sharing? I need you to be really honest with me.”

Bradley tilts his head at you, and asks, “You don’t think we’ve talked about this before?”

A surprised laugh almost slips out of you at the mental image of them hashing out their feelings during the commercials between some game on TV, but he’s looking at you so thoughtfully that you know he’s being entirely serious. The fact that this was something they’d already discussed between themselves on their own was news to you, especially considering you felt like you could barely get the words out yourself.

“I had no idea,” you admit, not sure whether to feel sheepish or not.

Jake tangles the fingers of your right hands together. “The way I see it is that even when you’re not with me, I know you’re with someone I know and trust, who cares about you just as much as I do. Someone who’s going to look out for you the same way that I would.”

You almost expect him to tack on a joke at Rooster’s expense at the end, a bit of banter or something to liven the mood, but he doesn’t. And the weight of his words sinks into you.

“And when we’re together? When it’s the three of us?” You reach out with your other hand to run your thumb along Bradley’s jaw, needing to touch him too.

“You know us pilots, we’re a competitive bunch. But we also work as well on our own as we do as a team.” Bradley explains, running his hands along the outside of your legs. “And what we do here together with you, it just feels like an extension of how we are up there.” Jake squeezes your hand in agreement.

“But how is this going to work? It’s already complicated enough when there are only two people in the equation.”

“You’re the one calling the shots here. You’re in charge and always have been ever since that first time in Pensacola,” Rooster reminds you. “We’re both here because we don’t want anyone else. This doesn’t need to be complicated. Whether you’re with him or with me or we’re all together. It’s already working just fine when you aren’t going ghost on us and ditching us without saying a word.”

You know you’re going to have to make it up to him. For as confident and sure of himself as Bradley Bradshaw is, you know the spots where he’s tender and tonight you were careless with them. You’re just grateful he’s going to give you the chance to make things right by him.

“We’re good. This is good,” Jake promises, leaning his forehead against your temple.

You feel like your heart might burst from the sheer affection you have for the two of them.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” you say, apologetically.

Hangman’s lips skim your cheek. “It’s water under the bridge, darlin’. But if you need space, tell us. Don’t just cut us off like that, ok?” You nod in agreement. “So what do you need from us? Do you want to call us your boyfriends?”

“I think I just…” You pause to mull over your words. They already were in all the ways that mattered, you just weren’t sure whether you were ready to define it entirely. At least not yet. “I think I just need to know that you’re happy. Just like this. With how we’ve been doing things.”

“Baby.” Bradley croons. So sweetly, so indulgently. And you get the first real smile you’ve seen from him since he arrived on your doorstep. It’s your turn to smile when he drops a kiss to the top of your thigh. “Are you happy?”

The answer is easy.

“Yes.”

He looks over at Jake. “And are you?”

Jake has his chin propped up on your shoulder. “I’m happy,” he confirms, kissing the spot behind your ear that always makes you shiver deliciously.

“And I definitely don’t have anything to complain about.” Rooster says, gesturing to his spot between your legs. You lightly tug on his hair and he laughs. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m happy too.” He reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“So I was the only one overthinking things?”

“You sure were,” Hangman agrees, “You and that big brain of yours.” He trails open-mouth kisses up your neck. “Now have you straightened out your shit or are we going to have to do it for you?” he asks into the shell of your ear. You can feel the grin he’s wearing, and you’re positive if you turned to look at him you’d see those dimples of his.

“No promises,” you sing.

Because where’s the fun in that?

“There she is,” Bradley murmurs, honeyed and soft. A sigh escapes you when you feel his tongue along the inside of your thigh, even as your heart starts to race.

“That’s our girl.” Jake tips your head back, lips a whisper away from yours and desire reflected in his green eyes. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to kiss me until he makes you come. And then I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you while you apologize to Rooster for being so mouthy. We’re gonna remind you what it’s like to have two aviators wrapped around your little finger. Sound good?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply as he slips his tongue into your mouth at the same time Bradley licks into you. And you know this time you won’t have to beg for an orgasm, you’ll probably have to beg them to stop serving you them.

You feel yourself melt into them. The tension you’d been carrying since even before the bar fades with every one of their touches. Happy and content in knowing that they’re yours just as much as you are theirs.

And true to his word, you’re kissed through an orgasm. And another. And another.

That night, there are two mouths that never leave your body once.

Two sets of hands that are just as capable of keeping you grounded as they are giving you pleasure.

Two warm, strong bodies that give and take then hold you throughout the night.

Two men who- one day very soon - might possibly share your whole heart.

Many thanks to the person who sent me this ask! I had fun writing this one! Thank you for reading!

Many thanks to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse ) as always!

If you want more of them, here is the fic that started it all!

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[max--phillips]

I just saw someone describe Pedro Pascal as tall (he’s 5’11” so like, yeah) but my knee jerk thought was “he’s not that tall tho???” because my ass is 5’10” and I forget that that’s Also Tall

[joelsgoldrush]

“GUILTY PLEASURE” | 8.6k

logan howlett x fem!reader

“I want this like a cigarette / Can we drag it out and never quit?” Guilty Pleasure by Chappell Roan

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ fluff, angst, drinking, dirty talk, slow-burnish, grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader, reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes, age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking, soft dom!logan, wade being the funniest asshole, logan calls reader "kiddo/kid"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

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[peachedtv]

DOUBLE STUFFED ft. Bully!Satoru Gojo + Bully!Suguru Geto

✰ KINKTOBER 2023 SPECIAL...

✰ SUMMARY: Satoru and Suguru never meant to piss you off, but how could they stop when your reactions would always be so pretty? How could they stop when your reactions to more intimate things would be even better?

✰ CONTENT WARNINGS: afab, female!reader, bully!satosugu x reader, noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, multiple rounds, double penetration (anal and v), porn with some plot, marking, biting, semi-public sex (empty classroom), mentions of forced exhibitionism, breast/nipple play, degradation, fingering, squirting, cum eating, oral (fem and male receiving), face fucking, hair pulling, p in v sex, biting, minor blood, crying, creampie, unprotected sex, just a shit load of nasty fucking 😋

✰ WORD COUNT: 7.5k (WTFF)

✰ AUTHOR'S NOTE: having the most insane bully!satosugu brain rot to cope with mfing school

✰ MASTERLIST.

As much as you could hide it well, Satoru and Suguru really pissed you off.

You glare at Satoru, your hair completely drenched and your uniform in disarray. If you were naive, you would’ve mistaken Satoru for accidentally bumping into you and shoving you backward into the fountain as an unfortunate event. Perhaps the first time it could have been. Perhaps the second was just bad luck. Although, by this point, he had shoved you into the pond every single time you were tasked with feeding the school’s koi fish—and you were not some idiot to miss the way Satoru would hold back a snicker as he offered you a hand out of the fountain.

“You okay? My bad, Himiko.” You see Suguru snort from behind him, his palm covering his mouth as Satoru tries to maintain a sorry excuse for a poker face. It was obvious he was calling you by the wrong name to piss you off, to really degrade you down into your place. But what could you do?

“My name is Y/N..” You mumble, refusing his hand with a lithe wave as you stand up with a light shiver, hugging your arms to your chest, consequently squishing your boobs together in a way that has Suguru's eyes wandering to your cleavage. Your uniform was utterly soaked, hugging tightly to your body, and you held back a frown. Honestly, half the reason why Satoru loved to torment you this way was for the view he’d get. Stupid little you wouldn’t even realize your pink lacy bra would be on full display when your thin blouse turned transparent from the water. For a moment, he’d forget to even reply to your correction, prying eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as they traced from your breasts down to the way your skirt hugged your ass, admiring the way that the water dripped from between your legs could be mistaken so lewdly without proper context.

“Oh, right. My bad, Y/N.” He’d play off, patting your head and picking up the packet of fish food from the edge of the fountain, placing it idly onto a stone.

You felt your heart burn, your hands tightening into fists. Satoru really loved seeing you hold back your insults, a smile spreading across his lips every time you had to pause and take a deep breath to regain your composure after his antics—and there was a reason why you never snapped at them, a reason why you always bit your tongue.

Satoru and Suguru weren’t just your average high school fuck boys. Everyone knew Satoru as the closest thing man could get to being god, attributed to his precociously stupid six eyes and infinite void. Even with his status as a student, he still surpassed the strength of his instructors, borderline toying with them during practice spars, directly toying with his seniors during missions, and mercilessly fucking with you at any moment he could get. His power, his status, the admiration, all this built his sky-high ego that fueled a stupid smirk that could never be wiped off his face. Everyone respected him. He was a newborn pillar of the Jujutsu world, after all. And how could little you stand up against that?

Meanwhile, Suguru stood as Satoru's right-hand man. Suguru was Satoru's 'angel' on his right shoulder, the one who would talk Satoru into a foreign concept of mercy. Despite that, the man still found a certain level of amusement at your disarray. Suguru held an excessive amount of reputation alongside his white-haired friend. With his stupid amount of cursed energy, paired with his cursed spirit manipulation, his ever-growing strength paralleled any of the faculty at Jujutsu Tech. Satoru and Suguru are the strongest. Thus, how could you bite back at their antics when even the teachers kissed the ground they walked upon, too fearful to scold them without fearing for the end of their careers.

It was the way that you bit your tongue against them that was the funniest part. Reactions, that's what they fed off of. Your reaction when you were shoved into the fountain, a yelp slipping past your lips before you'd be absolutely drenched, flailing to pull your skimpy skirt over your ass. The same skirt they bribed the teachers into giving you a size too small because 'the school ran out'. Your reaction when Satoru would accidentally slam his shoulder against yours, causing you to swear it was no big deal before you'd pout as you picked up your things. Satoru and Suguru found themselves entranced in the way you'd react to things: to stress, to annoyance, to teasing. They wanted to see more and more of your sweet little expressions.

Satoru and Suguru weren't just your average high school fuck boys, but you were beginning to lose your mind, you were beginning to not care of whatever reputation and power they had.

It didn't start off tame, but it still managed to rapidly skid downhill. Satoru and Suguru's antics kept progressing further and further, pushing your boundaries and dignity to the limit. At first, there was a minor jump from physical annoyances, such as 'accidental' shoulder bump, developing into more verbal degradations. Suguru would slip one of his cursed spirits into the door of the classroom, fumbling with the key pins until you were trapped inside.

"Oh, is poor little Y/N stuck?" Satoru would smile, his six eyes watching through the door as you would desperately toy with the knob, eyebrows furrowed. "Please, just open the door, Satoru! I have a club meeting today." You frowned, lips pouty as you looked to the door pleadingly, unknowing that Satoru was feeding off your helpless and frustrated expressions.

"Why don't you ask nicely?" A smirk spread across Satoru's lips, he could practically taste the humiliation rising inside you.

"What?" Your voice was trailed off, faint. You knew it was needless questioning for clarification as if you hadn't heard Satoru as clear as day.

"Beg us to open the door. Come on now, I know the weak usually have experience begging for their lives, use that skill in a different aspect. You're a smart girl, no?" Suguru chimed in. You felt the back of your neck burn with embarrassment. There was no way they were being serious, right? You glance to the clock. 16:52, your meeting was set to start in 8 minutes.

"Guys, please. Not today, I really need to get goi-"

"That doesn't sound like begging. Now does it, Suguru?" Satoru cut you off, his voice dismissive. Suguru smiled. "No, you're right there, Satoru." You fell silent. The minute hand ticked. 16:53.

"...please open the door." You said flatly, resting your forehead against the door with your hand weakly hanging off the knob. You were growing tired. Tired of their antics.

"You can do better than that." Satoru snorted. The door slightly sank towards you, likely as a result of Satoru leaning his back against it. You bit the inside of your cheek, gripping your hands into fists. You had the power to break down the door. To shove past them. To curse them out. It was becoming too much to hold back. You swear under your breath, sliding your palm down your face to recollect before you let out a deep sigh.

"...please, Satoru. Please, Suguru. I'm begging you to open the door." You tried to lace as much emotion into your speech, but it still held an undertone of absolute irritation that anyone wouldn't be able to miss. Still, the door clicked, sliding open. "See, that wasn't that hard, was it?" Satoru leaned over you, towering as he smirked, his hands dug deep into his pockets. You frown at him, pushing past him and Suguru as your shoes tap against the wooden floors to get to your meeting.

"Cute, wasn't that?"

"You're right on that."

You didn't think it could get worse. Although, the devil truly knew how to make things work. The devil being Satoru and Suguru.

Quickly, the two's antics would turn purely humiliating. They'd have you beg to be let out of locked closets, classrooms, bathrooms, and storage rooms, until it was having you kneel in front of them and apologizing for bumping into Satoru even if it was obviously your right of way. You'd keep your palms resting on your knees, eyebrows furrowed as you looked up to Satoru with your doe eyes, speaking a soft apology with shame rising heat to your cheeks. Your fingers would fiddle together, nails digging into your skin to try and push past the embarrassment. There was a brace of silence in the classroom after you mumbled your apology. Satoru stood tall in front of you, while Suguru leaned against the teacher's podium with his arms folded in front of his chest.

"You know, I don't think sorry is enough anymore." Your chin picks up to look at Suguru with widened eyes. "What..?"

"I think you're right," Satoru added, kneeling down to you as he took your chin between his fingers, redirecting your gaze to him. "You've been causing so much trouble for us, no? I believe you need a better way to make it up to us this time." Satoru's voice was silky, his head tilting as he spoke, eyes trailing down to your neck, collarbones, before resting his gaze on your breasts. You felt confused, and for some reason, your heart began to sink down into your stomach. "How do I make it up to you?" You were hesitant, slow, your voice hiding back its quiver. Satoru smiled.

You choked out a sob, stifled by the fat cock nudging into the depths of your throat. Satoru's hand held your hair back tightly, your scalp burning as he carefully thrust into your face and used your hair as leverage. You blinked through a build of tears, hands weakly pushing against his thighs to try and tell him to let up, to not fuck his cock so deep into your face. With a particularly forceful thrust, the tip of Satoru's dick punches into the back of your throat, your esophagus contracting as you gagged. Satoru held you firmly in place, and tears began to fill into the corners of your eyes.

"Fuck, just like that, pretty girl." Satoru's breath was ragged, his eyebrows knit together as he looked down to you, pulling back before fucking another harsh thrust into the back of your throat. "Breathe through your nose, now. I can't have you passing out on me." Satoru guided you gently, yet the way he gripped your head and held you to bottom out contrasted greatly with his kind tone. It was a lot easier said than done, especially with how large his cock was, stretching your throat and causing a deep ache in your jaw. Satoru groaned when you swallowed, his head falling back as he closed his eyes. He began to pick up his pace, thrusting his hips while simultaneously pulling and pushing your head up and down him. He never failed to hit the back of your throat with each thrust, smiling when your two hands on his thighs would slowly grip him tighter, a silent way to beg for him to slow down. He never did.

Precum leaked from his tip, swathing against your tongue, salty with a lace of sweetness. He felt himself losing his mind. Satoru cursed under his breath. Why hadn't they done this earlier? How could they have let such a perfect little thing like you slip past their gaze all these years? He watched as you turned your gaze up to him, locking eyes. Your mouth was stuffed full of him, tears welled up in your eyes before they ran down your pretty face. This, this was it. This is what he and Suguru really needed. Throughout their years, he and Suguru had had their way with many dumb, pretty doormats just like you. But as Satoru starts fucking your mouth, heavy breaths falling past his lips as his balls began to slap against your chin, he could tell that your holes were going to be the best they'll ever fuck. You shut your eyes tightly, looking up to him pleadingly with him to give you a break, to let you breathe even just for a little bit. He could tell you've never done anything like this before, or at the very least, never with a cock as large as his. Your innocence was only driving him even more mad, having him relish in the way that he and Suguru would be the first ones to break you in. To use you. To fuck all your holes. Satoru's eyes traced down to your throat, watching the outline of his cock bulge in your neck and a build-up of your saliva drip down from your chin onto your clothed tits.

"Fuck... Eyes on me." His eyebrows knit together, voice airy. With one hand still gripping roughly in your hair, his other reaches down to your throat. His palm wraps around the entirety of your neck easily. You're so small compared to him. Like a dumb little lamb that's wandered too far into the woods, too far into a lion's den. He gives your neck a light squeeze when he bottoms out, hearing you gag and your throat tightening around his cock in response. Once he notices your hands practically scratching down his thighs, he builds up the restraint to give you a break, pulling his cock out of your mouth with a grunt. You gasp, coughs and choked heaves of air borrowing through as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Maybe that was enough, you thought. Maybe now, they'd leave you alone, your dignity bruised and purity shattered.

Much to your dismay, Suguru unbuckled his pants, walking towards you slowly. You look at him with wide eyes.

"W-Wait, I don't—"

"Don't what?" Suguru cut you off, lightly tapping the tip of his cock against your cheek with one hand, his other hand pushing his hair out of his pretty face. Your lips quiver, and you turn your face away from him.

"I don't want to do this anymore..." You looked down to the floor, your hands fiddling together nervously while you knelt before him. Suguru clicked his tongue, his fingers running through your hair gently, tucking loose strands behind your ear.

"You really think we care?" You look up to him slowly. His eyes were half-lidded as they stared down into you, cold. He felt like another person. Many times Suguru would be the one to hold Satoru back, Suguru would be the one who kept you just a little bit safer. Between the two, you'd pick him. Suguru seemed kinder. Yet, you realized your mistake soon enough. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Suguru's grip tightened upon your scalp, he looked irritated.

"When are you going to drop the act?" He pushed your head back, craning your neck to look directly up to him, holding you firmly in place, like a dog being punished to stay still and look to his owner from the ground.

"What..?" You felt a sense of dread sink about you. Suddenly, Suguru lets go of your scalp, grabbing onto your neck and manhandling you into Satoru's lap. Satoru is sitting upon the teacher's desk, with your back against his chest, flush upon his lap. You choke, struggling, hands trying to push and pull at the wrist that kept air keenly out your throat. Suguru signals to Satoru, and Satoru's hand replaces Suguru's on your neck, holding you scarily still. You felt trapped. Small. Vulnerable. Sugur's large hands hooked beneath your thighs, pushing your knees flush against your shoulders before Suguru knelt in front of you. Your skirt pooled around your midriff, and Suguru traced his fingers idly from your clit down to your hole through the fabric of your panties.

"I'll make a deal with you," Suguru's eyes flickered to your face, his gaze sharp as he tilted his head. The view was stomach-churning. Seeing one of the pillars of the Jujutsu World, knelt between your thighs as he played with your cunt through your underwear, just didn't look right. Suguru hooks his middle finger into the side of your underwear. "If I check your pussy and it's not wet, Satoru and I will leave you alone. Does that sound okay?"

"That's not—"

Satoru cuts you off. "I think that sounds like a great deal." Satoru laughs. Suguru hums, pushing your underwear to the side and leaning towards your cunt with a curious look. You writhe, struggling against Satoru's hold on your neck. His large hand gives a warning squeeze.

"Wet pussy never lies, does it?" Suguru chimes, you choke out a panicked moan when his finger probes against your hole, his middle and pointer finger spreading your labia with a V. His other hand slips into his pocket, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture.

"Stop—"

Suguru flips his phone screen towards you and Satoru, your pussy on full view. "What do you think, Satoru?"

"I think," Satoru speaks, "Y/N's body is a lot more honest than her mouth, hmm?" His breath hitches against your ear, you could practically feel him smiling against you.

"Please—ah!" You jolt when you felt cold air blown right against your hole. You squirm, clentching around nothing as your hips struggle and your breath writhes. Satoru groans a little in response, as your needless struggling has amounted to nothing but grinding against his clothed erection. Suguru laughs, leaning back in to gently suck onto your clit. You wretch out a moan, biting harshly into your cheek. Satoru begins to knead your breasts with two large hands, completely enveloping your chest with his palms, his mouth kissing and sucking deep marks of purple and blue into the side of your neck while he works his way to toy with your nipples.

Suguru begins to slowly lap at your clit, sucking onto your clit before his tongue swirls about it harshly. You shutter out a moan, your hands grabbing onto Satoru's wrist to hold on for dear life, your legs trembling and trying to close. Satoru clicks his tongue.

"We can't have you hiding from us, pretty girl. How can Suguru make you feel good then?" Suguru rests your legs onto his shoulders, his hands going to grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he continues to suck and lick at your clit, his tongue working wonders and flicking against the bud skillfully. Your breath catches as a lump in your throat, head falling back into Satoru's chest. It's too much. It's too way too much. Tears well up in the corners of your eyes, and you try to push your legs against Suguru's shoulder to no avail.

"T-Too much—" Your voice is weak, shaky from the overstimulation. Satoru gently shushes into your ear. "You can be a big girl for us, can't you?" He hums, his hands grab your wrists and bunches them behind your back. You curl up, body stiffening, opening your eyes to see Suguru looking up at you, staring at you intently and you nearly become lost in his dark eyes.

Soon, you're dragged right back down to Earth when Suguru presses his middle finger against your hole, twisting it until it pushes past your walls, and the heel of his wrist bottoms out against the underside of your clit. You yelp, sharply sucking in a breath of air as Suguru redirects his gaze back to your cunt, humming as he laps up your clit, sloppily pressing the flat of his tongue and dragging upwards before moving his tongue side to side across your bud. Your wrists twist against Satoru's grip when Suguru works another finger inside your hole, stretching you out as he scissors deep inside of you, the pads of his fingers pressing against your g-spot.

Squelches mixed with your struggled moans fill the silence of the classroom, Suguru's tongue pulling away from your clit. With his fingers still inside of you, he stands up, grabbing your chin between his fingers as he leans in to kiss you. You squirm under his touch, closing your eyes tightly, trying to block out what's being forced onto your body. His kiss is full of passion, although it's completely devoid of the kindness and affection that couples usually display. It feels as though he's eating you alive, mouth hungrily enveloping with yours, his tongue pushing past your lips and tasting you completely, muffling all of your panicked sobs and moans. Suddenly, Suguru's fingers begin to pound into your cunt, the heel of his hand slapping against your puffy clit as he slams his fingers in and out of you repeatedly. You feel a knot begin to form in your womb, legs shaking and hips trying to wiggle away from the stimulation. Suguru doesn't slow down. His tongue lapping up into your mouth, teeth biting your lower lip so hard it bleeds as he quickens the pace on his fingers while they curl upwards once fully inside you. A tang of iron spills onto your tongue, and Suguru feels himself being driven halfway insane, drunk off the taste of your pussy, the taste of your mouth, your moans, and your struggled whines.

"I-It hurts." You cry, pussy burning from the stretch as his fingers remain relentless to your cunt. You feel like you're being split in two, and Suguru experimentally scissors inside of you, causing you to shiver and your hips to grind in Satoru's lap.

"I bet," Suguru says. "You're really tight. Relax, and let me in, pretty girl." Your thighs tremble, and Suguru continues to work his way at your cunt, letting go of your chin to rub circles into your clit. Your head falls back as your mouth drops into an O against Satoru's chest. The build-up of pleasure stacks tenfold over itself, completely coiling until it snaps. You cum hard. With a nasty squelch, your pussy clenches around Suguru's fingers tightly, writhing out broken moans as Suguru keeps his fingers deep inside you to curl and probe upwards against your g-spot while he leans back down to suck and tongue at your clit. You sob, his pace persistent and mean, bullying you past your orgasm into painful overwhelms of overstimulation. You feel as though your body is being thrown into overdrive, and your thighs are trembling upon Suguru's shoulders, wrists struggling to get out of Satoru's grip as he holds your arms firmly behind your back.

"Enough, S-Suguru, plea—ah! Too much..—!" You sob, Suguru's fingers continuing to curl and fuck into you, his tongue swishing around your puffy clit. You feel something deep in your pussy snap. You squirt onto his fingers with a scream, tears welling into your eyes as he slams his fingers into you until you're fucked dumb—thighs trembling, chest heaving, and back laid limp against Satoru's chest before he finally pulls his sloppy fingers out of you, his face completely drenched in your arousal.

"That was fuckin' hot." Satoru breathes out, letting go of your wrists and kissing your neck. Suguru licks his lips, relishing in your taste as he lightly slaps your clit, laughing when your eyes widen and your body jolts in response.

"Alright now, upsie daisy." Satoru grabs underneath your arms and pulls you off his lap. You stumble, legs much too weak to stand on your own so soon after your orgasm. Suguru catches you on his chest, peppering light kisses onto the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings on how good you did as he holds you up by your waist. Satoru comes up behind you, pushing your skirt over your ass and pulling off your panties until they pool loosely about your ankles. You sob, your hands moving back to push Satoru away by his hip when one of Satoru's large hands wraps about the entirety of your two wrists, pinning them behind you and arching your back until your ass is flush against his dick and the back of your head is against his shoulder. Satoru's free hand wraps around your neck, holding you in place as you squirm.

"Atta girl, don't be such a cry baby." Satoru kisses your shoulder, pulling his hips back slightly, fucking his cock between your thighs, grinding it against your puffy clit and pussy. You clench around nothing, knees gluing together and hips trying to push back against him desperately. You struggle, wrists squirming to free themselves out of Satoru's mean grip. You scream when one of Satoru's thrusts between your thighs causes the head of his dick to catch into your hole before sliding up to your clit. Suguru smiles at the sight, leaning against a desk in front of you and Satoru as he strokes his cock slowly. Satoru lets go of your neck, still holding you up by the wrists held behind your back, as he takes the base of his dick to press his tip against your hole.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" He muses, voice airy as he slides the head of his dick up and down from your hole to your clit. "No wonder you're so wet." He hums, kissing the side of your neck.

"Stop—oh!" Your voice dies in your throat when he sinks his fat cock into you and bottoms out completely in one thrust, your mouth falling open silent as your eyes widen from the pain. You try squirming away, and the moment you do, Satoru's free hand slides down to press his palm firmly against your womb.

"You feel me in there, pretty?" He muses, licking up the helix of your ear. You sob, trembling in response. You look down to make sure you haven't been split in half, seeing the way Satoru's hand nearly covers the entirety of your lower stomach, seeing a bulge in your tummy from his fat cock nestled deep inside you and against your cervix. Satoru can barely concentrate. He hasn't even begun moving, yet you're already squeezing him so good.

"Fuck... Just like that, baby." Satoru's breath is heavy against your ear, and he bites down on your shoulder to ground himself. You're a strangled mess. Writhing in his arms, your entire body trembling as broken pleas fall upon deaf ears the moment you cut yourself off with your own little moans. Satoru and Suguru can't help but glance at each other, smiling. Fuck, how could such a pretty little thing like you slip past them all these years?

Without warning, Satoru pulls back until only the tip remains inside, before he thrusts his hips forward and bottoms out into you, his hips pressed flush against your ass. You choke out a scream, just as Satoru's hand slaps against your mouth to muffle you.

"Oh common, it wasn't that bad, mm?" Satoru's index and middle fingers push past your lips, swirling about your tongue. "Don't be so loud, unless you want the whole school to know?" Your heart sinks to your stomach, and you swallow, shutting your eyes tightly as you weakly shake your head in response.

"Maybe she really is that dirty of a girl, we'll never know until we try." Suguru muses, pulling out a cigarette from his pants pockets along with those fancy butane lighters with a stupidly long, purple-colored flame. He lights it idly between his long fingers, watching you furrow your eyebrows as the first puff of smoke is blown your way.

"We'd have to start off easy though, she's so sensitive she might die on the spot if we just fuck her in front of a crowd," Satoru replied, slowly pulling his cock out to the tip before sinking back in harshly. You can't even understand what they're saying, Satoru's hand completely shutting you up, his fingers fucking your mouth while his dick has you completely filled to the brim. You feel as though your brain is stupidly empty, overfilled with pain, laced with what you refuse to believe is absolute pleasure. It's too much. The feeling of his fingers in your mouth, against your tongue, his cock dragging against your walls. It's too much. Way too much, and yet Satoru has barely even begun moving.

"Should we start it off with a couple cursed spirits as our audience?" Suguru chimes, head leaning back as the nicotine seems to take its hit. "Nah, that's boring. How about...ah, I know!" Satoru sounds much too cheerful, when he suddenly pulls out to the tip and slams back into you once again. You yelp, muffled sobs passing through the fingers in your mouth as you struggle with your hands pinned behind your back. You moan aimlessly, forced up on your tippy toes to keep taking his dick due to how tall Satoru is compared to you.

"S-Sato—ru! P-Please stop..." A particularly hard thrust stutters you, drowned out by the sounds of him as he begins to pound into your cunt. Perverted squelches drip arousal down your thighs, wetting Satoru's dick, and allowing him to fuck you faster, to fuck you harder. Your legs feel tingly, your clit a puffy, overstimulated mess when Satoru removes the digits in your mouth and uses your own spit to rub circles onto your clit.

"Mmm, how about Nanami?" Suguru suggests. "Fuck her in front of that blonde?" Your heart sinks.

"Oh! That's a good ide- hmm?" Satoru laughs darkly, continuing you fuck into you, his grip on your wrists as relentless as the cock fucking up against your cervix. "God, you fucking clenched around me when Suguru said that. What a dirty slut." Satoru's voice is dark, amused, and even without looking at him, you can bet his usually perfectly kept hair is messy and his face is flushed. He sounds pussydrunk, and his pace begins to stagger.

"No way Mr. Limitless is done already?" Suguru snorts, Satoru scoffs in response. "When you get your turn, let's see how long you last." Satoru rolls his eyes. Satoru becomes annoyed at Suguru's tease, wanting to prove his best friend wrong. And so, he bends you over the teacher's desk, your tits squished against the cold wooden surface as he grabs your hips with both hands, fucking into you like there's no tomorrow. You yelp, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching as you held onto the edges of the desk to soften the recoil Satoru's thrusts were causing to your body. He was so big. Both his dick and his stature. As Satoru leaned over you, pressing his chest against your back as he furthered his markings of hickeys and bites upon your shoulder and neck, you felt as though you were cornered, sandwiched with no way to escape. Satoru fucked into you nonstop, and you swear if he kept up his thrusts he would eventually push right into your cervix and fuck his precum into your womb.

You tightened your hands into fists, sobbing in response to a particularly brutal thrust that fucked you so hard you swear you felt it in your stomach. You haven't been pleading for a while now, your moans cutting off your speech completely, Satoru's dick fucking you too dumb to even know what was going on. Where were you again? What time was it? All of your questions would be fucked out of your mind from the drag of Satoru's cock against your walls alone, a vein catching against your velvety walls before he'd slam back into you with no regard to your pain, to your overstimulation, to your sensitivity. He fucked you mercilessly, like a little human fleshlight, as though Satoru wanted to mold your insides to perfectly fit his cock, to ruin you for any other man besides him and Suguru.

"Shit, you still with me?" Satoru asked, his voice low, breathing heavy. He moved your head to rest your cheek against the desk, and he laughed when he saw your fucked out face, eyes rolling back as he kept fucking into you even as he spoke, even as he was trying his best to hold off filling you up with his cum just to avoid Suguru's teasing if he came so soon. Satoru looked at your fucked out face. And although he felt himself fall in love with the view, he needed something new, something more. Sure, your cock drunk state was a view that engraved itself happily into his mind, but he wanted to completely use every part of you. To take all of your firsts as his own. Satoru's pace suddenly flaters, until it comes to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and you sniffle a little. Tears running from your eyes and down to the teacher's desk you were bent over and pinned down into. Satoru gestures to Suguru. Suguru digs into his pocket lazily, before throwing a small bottle to Satoru.

"It'll be a little cold, but don't worry, yeah?" Satoru mused. Even though he was giving you a warning, it was clear his tone held no sense of concern for you. Your eyes widened and hips jolted when you felt something cold and sticky fall onto your asshole. You were about to turn around, when one of Satoru's hands slammed your head back down to hold you flat against the desk.

"N-No! N-No way, stop!" You struggle violently, and Satoru grips your hair roughly, shutting you up through his aggression.

"Oh cool it. Someone would've fucked this pretty ass soon enough, be glad your first is me." Satoru laughs. He ignores your panic, taking his middle finger and swirling it around the rim of your asshole before he pushes it in gently. You scream, biting your bottom lip until you swore you could taste tangy iron. You shut your eyes tightly. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

"Please...p-please I'm begging you... Stop—ah!" Satoru pays no mind to your pleas, thrusting his middle finger into your asshole slowly, curling the tip and wiggling inside you whenever he bottoms out. His fat cock is still stuffed in your cunt, cockwarming him as he preps your other hole.

"I'm being so kind, no? I'm not even moving and I'm prepping you too! Gosh, be a little grateful, Y/N." Satoru hums, his finger prodding and probing deep inside of you. You've never felt anything like this before, and it feels weird. You try to squirm, to buck your hips away, but you hear Satoru sigh in response, suddenly pulling his cock out to the tip and slamming his hips back into you.

"If you keep being ungrateful, I'll stop caring about you completely." He warns. You sob quietly in response, and the grip in your hair remains firm, pressing your cheek hard against the desk. Smoke from Suguru's cigarette permeates throughout the room, before he drops it onto the ground, stomping upon it and sweeping it up into a small trash can by the door. All you're left with is strangled whines, mewls, and tears that fall down your face, until Satoru works his ring finger into your ass as well. You sob at the stretch, clenching around him to try and push away at the foreign intrusion, yet all that seems to achieve is sucking his fingers deeper. Satoru deems you to be stretched out enough, beginning to pull his fingers out of your ass, before pushing them back in. You buck your hips. You don't know if you're trying to pull away or to the stimulation that's being forced onto your body.

You soon know it to be the prior.

Satoru pulls his hips back, slamming back into you as you yelp and sob in response. He begins to fuck into you while simultaneously fingering your ass at the same speed. Soon, Satoru picks it up. Although he's fucking your ass at a medium pace, the cock pressing against your cervix again and again returns to its previous pounding. You're back to sobbing, moaning aimlessly as you struggle pathetically from the overdrive. You swear you're seeing stars when Satoru adds a third finger into your ass, scissoring the three and curling his fingertips inside you, while the head of his cock presses firmly against your g-spot and cervix, dragging back and forth until your vision feels as though it's fading away. You don't know how long it goes for, but soon, Satoru's three fingers are simply buried into your ass as he focuses all of his energy on fucking your sloppy cunt. His hand releases your head, running down the side of your body to catch your clit between his middle and index finger. You jolt, choking out a wonton cry as he begins to swirl your clit aggressively.

"Cum for me, f-fucking cum." Your body seizes up, stiffening as your eyes roll back and Satoru's cock punches against your cervix. Everything builds up. His cock brutally fucking into you, his fingers pinching and circling your clit, and the three fingers in your ass that begin to pick up their movements as they curl deep inside you. You cum hard, sobbing as your pussy and asshole clench around him, spasming and your legs trembling. If it weren't for the desk you were bent over, you would've fallen completely into the floor, collapsed like an empty fuck doll. Yet you weren't done, not until they were. Satoru fucks you through your orgasm.

"C-Cumming, f-fuck! S-Satoru, too much—AH!" Satoru continues to finger your ass, dick pummeling into you and his pace becoming unsteady when he slams back into you for one last time, tip pressed hard against your cervix before you feel hot spruts of cum filling you completely. Satoru thrusts into you slowly to ride out his high, heavy breaths and degrations falling past his lips.

"F-Fuck, such a fucking whore, huh? Shit..." Satoru leaned over you, chest pressed against your back as he regained his breath before pulling out. You felt a spurt of cum slide down your inner thighs, dripping down from your pussy, and you clenched around nothing. Head empty, fucked dumb, fucked senseless. You didn't even register when large hands pulled you off the desk. You barely even reacted when you were manhandled down to straddle Suguru on the floor.

"Please...enough..." Your voice was weak, your entire body sore and trembling lightly. Suguru shushes you gently, holding the back of your head and cradling you so affectionately. "Shh, we'll take care of you. Wanna feel good, hmm?" Suguru whispered, licking up your neck. You sob in response, knowing that no matter how much you tried to fight them, they wouldn't let you go until they had their fun. Suguru grabs your hips firmly, holding your ass up as he pushes his cock into your cunt. You choke out a moan, grabbing onto his shoulders as your head fell against his chest. You simply cried as he began to fuck you. You thought Satoru surely had molded you into the shape of his cock enough to numb the painful stretch, but you never expected Suguru to be so much thicker. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly, his shirt bunching up beneath your fingers as your desperate cries mixed in with confused little moans as you could only take his fat cock that punched your cervix so hard you felt as though your insides would be scrambled and bruised the next day.

"F-Fuck, n-no more—" You whimpered. Suguru paid you no mind, holding you painfully, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips as he pounded into you with deep grunts. Suddenly, you felt another presence from behind you. Satoru knelt behind you, his cockhead sliding up and down your asshole. You panicked, trying to push your hips away, but Suguru's grip remained bruising. Satoru laughed at your pathetic attempt of squirming away, slapping your ass hard, a sting ghosting where his hand had hit.

"O-Ouch—! Ah!" You yelped in response, and Satoru's hands replaced Suguru's grip on your hips. You were about to open your mouth to protest once more, but Suguru's hands cupped your face and pulled you into a deep, rough kiss. Your moans muffled into his mouth, a confused gasp cut off as his tongue slipped past your sultry lips, your eyes rolling into the backs of your head when Satoru slowly sunk his cock deep into your ass, while Suguru's pace was still unrelenting as he continued to fuck into you like a ragdoll, bruising your cervix and stretching you completely.

Soon, you were an absolute mess. Satoru and Suguru's paces were completely out of sync. Satoru fucked you rough, hard, and fast, his hips slapping against yours as your ass would recoil in response. He held you so firmly, holding no regard for your smaller body as he held you still with too much strength than needed, just to remind you of your place. Satoru moaned each time you'd clench around him, aka each time the tip of Suguru's cock would punch against your cervix once more. Suguru's pace was similarly rough, although he and Satoru would fuck you just out of sync, making sure that whenever Satoru had pulled out to the tip, Suguru's cock would be nestled deep inside of you—and whenever Suguru would pull out your cunt, Satoru would be slamming right back into you. You were nothing but a pretty little fleshlight for the two by now. The two men letting out a series of grunts and low moans as you use your body to their own pleasure, breaths heavy against your ears, deep marks of purple, blue, and bites scattered across your neck, shoulders, upper back, waist, inner thighs. You were completely defiled by them. And fuck, how did they love that. Like a twisted sense of being the first to have something all to themselves, to ruin it for anyone else who wanted to try having a taste.

Your thoughts were completely gone by now, filled with nothing but a cycle: a numb buzz of pleasure that would wind in your womb, a climax to your orgasm, getting fucked right through it, rinse and repeat. How many times has it been? How many times have you cum? You feel as though they have been pounding you for hours, and you shut your eyes tightly, thighs trembling when the coil in your stomach begins to build up once more as Suguru's cock fucked into your cervix, as Satoru's dick pounded into your ass.

"C-Cumming, 'm gonna c-cum..." Your voice was strained, slurred, intoxicated. Satoru laughed from behind you, and Suguru began to circle at your overstimulated clit once more.

"Put on a show."

"Cum then."

You came hard, your grip on Suguru's shoulders tight as you moaned loudly. Suguru stuttered. "F-Fuck, gonna fill you up...make you mine." He rasped, slamming into you one final time before he came deep, hot cum filling you up completely, his dick slowing down his pace to properly jut its final ropes of cum deep into your cunt. Satoru's pace faltered as well, before he gave one harsh thrust that had you recoil forward, pressing your cheek harder against Suguru's chest with a yelp as Satoru bottomed out and filled your ass with his hot cum.

The classroom was quiet. Quiet as opposed to the three mix of heavy breaths, your three bodies tangled together, two cocks stuffing you impossibly full. Satoru was the first to pull out, sitting back on his heels as he pushed his hair back. Suguru grabbed the underside of your armpits firmly, lifting you up and off his dick, a mix of his and Satoru's cum dripping out and onto his abs. Suguru stands up, pulling you up to lay you gently on a table as he leans down to your sloppy cunt. You're completely dazed, and you can only muster a pathetic jolt and whine as Suguru begins to lick your cunt slowly. Your eyes zone out and only occasional whimpers slip past your lips. He laps your pussy up clean, holding your hips firmly as he swirls his tongue around your clit slowly, as though to apologize for being so rough with you. Suguru pulls away momentarily, a string of saliva connecting him to your cunt. His hand slides up the underside of your thighs, pushing your knees into your chest with one hand as he leans down to your ass. His tongue rims you gingerly, and you moan quietly, sobbing so weakly from the final drive of overstimulation.

Once both your holes are clean, Suguru and Satoru gather up your uniform, stealing your panties but being kind enough to fix your uniform. Satoru pulls you up, holding you bridal style as you close your eyes, drifting off to sleep. Suguru stands in front of Satoru, his face still flushed and breath still heaving.

"Should we get plan b?"

"Why the hell would we do that?"

You're watching...

© Peached TV 2023

[thevillainswhore]

Loverboy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.

Warnings: Avengers AU, Bucky’s POV, fluff, crack (my lame attempt at comedy), suggestive thoughts (no smut), just our boy being a lovesick little bean with a big ol’ crush.

Author’s Note: Dividers by @saradika. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier, thank you so much sweetie, I love you!! This was inspired by a wonderful request from @prettyboy56, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy x

“Hi, Bucky.” 

Instantly, he sputtered over his mouthful of cereal, eyes watering from his food going down the wrong way. 

Bucky knew that melodic voice before his gaze even reached its owner. You entered the kitchen, wiggling your fingers at him in greeting. 

Clearing his throat, he swiped his bowl to the side, his breakfast now forgotten about, and directed his attention solely onto you. “Hi—um h—hello, doll.” 

The muscles of your cheeks lifted up to your eyes in a smile that made Bucky swoon. Hard.

Your eyes fell to Sam then, who stood in the corner, fresh from a workout with a shit eating on his face. “Good morning, Samuel.” 

“Mornin’, beautiful. How did you sleep?” 

Bucky fought the growl rising in his throat, the unprecedented possessiveness caving its way through its internal barriers in your presence. 

You grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and closed the door, leaning your back against it to take a big gulp. 

“Not bad at all.” You licked your lips, ridding the dryness that came from a long slumber before your eyes lit up. “Oh, by the way! I drank some of that tea you recommended. It’s helped a bunch—”

Bucky zoned out while you continued to express your gratitude to Sam. He couldn’t help the way his eyes dilated as he rested his head in the palm of his vibranium hand, a lovesick sigh escaping his lips. You were just so gorgeous – a deity in human form right in front of his own very eyes. Bucky had never considered himself so lucky in all his time on earth to be within your vicinity. 

In his own world of oggling, Bucky didn’t notice how the conversation fell short between you and Sam. Neither did he realise how the two of you were staring at him; you with concern and Wilson smothering his laughter with his hand. 

“Bucky? Sweetheart?” He finally registered that you were speaking to him and almost choked, again, on his own spit.

“Mhm?” Bucky murmured, drunk off your attention. 

You smiled once again, so devastatingly beautiful that his left arm whirred in stupor. “Are you okay? You feeling alright?” Not waiting for a response, you walked over to him and Bucky almost let his eyes roll to the back of his head when you lifted your wrist to his forehead. “Jeez, you’re a little hot, Buck.” 

Sam keeled over in hysterics, unable to keep his composure any longer. Meanwhile, a bright red blossom of colour rose up from the skin of Bucky’s neck all the way up to his cheeks. 

Had Bucky not been embarrassingly infatuated by you, the throwaway comment wouldn’t have had any effect on him. But this was you. The woman who had the ability to make him melt on the spot. 

While logic and a basic level of common sense screamed at him that you were talking about his temperature, his mind could only conjure up the fact you had called him hot. 

Bucky saw your mouth moving, however he couldn’t concentrate on the sound of the words coming out of it. You were still touching him, patting his cheeks and sweeping the tendrils of hair that had fell out from behind his ears out of his face. The close proximity of your bodies threw him through a loop and without even realising, his thighs spread further, subconsciously begging you to forego all boundaries and smother yourself against him. 

Gently tapping his nose three times, you managed to gain his full attention again. “You seem out of it, sweetie. Maybe you should go down to the medbay. See if you’re coming down with a fever or something.” 

Sam blew out a breath of air. “Yeah, because that’s what’s wrong with him.” 

You threw a lighthearted glare his way before bringing your eyes back to Bucky. “Promise me you’ll get seen to?” 

How could he refuse when you asked so sweetly? “Anything you want.” He vowed sincerely. 

Scrunching your nose, you chucked his chin and whispered under your breath, “Good boy.”

Bucky almost whimpered when you withdrew your hands and stepped back. He so desperately wanted to follow you and nudge your arm until you paid attention to him once more. Your touch was fire and a cool breeze all at once. Electricity that created static across his stubbled cheek, yet also stoked a warmth through his entire body.  

Peace. He’d never felt anything like it. Never before felt drunk from just the delicate essence of a perfume or experienced the loosening of his limbs, relaxing until his legs felt like jelly whenever you so much as cast him a glance. 

You grabbed a piece of fruit from the table, ready to go down to the gym and train. “Catch you later, Sam,” you called over your shoulder. Meeting Bucky’s eyes a final time, you winked while you headed for the elevator. “Bye, sweetheart.”  

Bucky’s gaze was glued to you, following you out hopelessly until you were completely out of sight. 

He was fucked — well and truly out of his depth. 

Sam crossed his arms and smirked. “You are down bad, man.” 

Bucky swiped a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Fuckin’ tell me about it.” 

“This is serious.” Sam sobered up, his lips softening into an honest smile. 

With an embarrassingly loud thud against the island countertop, Bucky let his head drop. “I have no idea what to do, Sam. I thought this crush would have passed by now but it’s been months.”

“Well,” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Have you even tried asking her out?” 

“And why would I do that?” Bucky asked, genuinely confused. 

Sam sputtered over his words. “What do you mean—Because that’s what people do when they like someone, you dumbass!” 

Bucky had lost enough braincells daydreaming about you constantly. He didn’t need to be told what he already knew. But the pressure of asking you out to then have a chance of being rejected? He would never come back from that. “Yeah, no thanks,” he mumbled.

“Come on, man. What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam asked. 

Bucky lifted his head up and huffed sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she could turn me down and rip my heart out into little pieces, so much that I would hide out in my room for the rest of eternity never to be seen again?” 

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

Bucky sighed longingly. “Let me wallow in my misery alone, Sam.” 

“Why? So you can spend your days staring at her with your googly eyes and drooling over her.” 

“I have never drooled over her,” Bucky snarled. 

A twinkle shone in Sam’s eye, a mischievous grin donning his face. “Then what’s that on your chin?” 

Bucky’s eyes widened and he quickly brought his hand up to his face to check if he did in fact have any wetness coating his mouth. Finding none, he looked back to Sam with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam shook his head with laughter. “You shouldn’t make it so easy to tease you, loverboy.”  

With a growl, Bucky lifted from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen. 

The irritating voice followed him. “Don’t forget training tomorrow morning, loverboy!” 

The sun was shining over the compound the next morning and so came the bright idea from Steve that all exercise activities should be held outside. While the recruits in training buffed up on their sparring with the Captain, the rest of the avengers worked out as they saw fit. 

As usual, Sam took any opportunity possible to annoy Bucky, which brought them together, running laps around the outdoor track. 

“When are you gonna man up and ask her out then, Cyborg? Pretty girl ain’t gonna be available forever.” 

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t run ahead of Sam. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t. Maybe the pace he kept alongside Wilson allowed him to stare at you so clearly in your tight workout leggings and sports bra as sweat sensually rolled over your skin. Maybe. 

“I’m not asking her out, Sam. Drop it.” 

Sam huffed out an annoyed breath. “Listen, man. It’s not as if you’ve got nothing going for you. As much as you’re a grumpy shit, you’ve got them blue eyes the chicks love. Gets them all gooey when you give them intense eye contact, y’know?” He reluctantly added, “And they dig the brooding, bad boy, leather jacket vibe.”

Bucky let out a rare smile within the presence of Sam. “You tryna hit on me, Wilson?” 

“Look, all I’m saying is you have a chance.” Sam slyly glanced over the field. “And if you don’t quit fuckin’ around, that chance is gonna disappear.”  

The smile instantly dropped from Bucky’s face. “What do you mean by that?” 

Sam’s signature smirk came back with vengeance. “Your girls lookin’ kinda cute today. So I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you ain’t the only one who’s got their eye on her.” 

Naturally, Bucky followed his instinct and let his eyes look over at you. You were a fucking wonder, of course he knew that. But heeding Sam’s ominous warning, Bucky allowed his gaze to venture out, only allowing you to blur into the background for a couple of seconds while he took stock of the other male, and female, recruits. 

Low and behold, plenty of other people wantonly stared at you while you completed your circuit, almost salivating over their barely concealed pining. As much as Bucky hated to admit it, the fucker was right. You were the pinnacle of everyone’s attention. 

With the way you were bending over, squatting and looking like an angel amidst the perspiration the sun brought on, Bucky wasn’t sure if he could actually blame anyone for it. 

That didn’t stop the ugly, green eyed beast within him that wanted to tear everyone’s eyes out for daring to glimpse at you. 

It was silly, he knew he had no right to feel any sort of possessive nature for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t belong to him. Still, he couldn’t control the deep rooted urges that whispered the kinds of fun he’d have gouging out eyeballs that looked where they weren't supposed to. 

Knowing he had stirred the pot enough, Sam figured it was time to try and hit the final nail in the coffin in order to make his friend move his ass. “Y’know what gives you an advantage though, man?” 

Bucky continued to death stare the surrounding agents, while keeping up with his steady jog. “What’s that?”

“Guess who’s making eyes at you right now.” 

At breakneck speed, Bucky snapped his head back around to you, only to indeed find you staring at him with a fire in your eyes and your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. 

A violent shudder ran down his spine and for a moment, the whole world stopped on its axis, allowing Bucky to revel in a daydream brought to life. 

That was until his mind snapped him back into the present. The super soldier was majestic on his feet in a fight, graceful yet utterly dangerous out on the field even with the pressure a mission came with. 

However to his utter bewilderment, you happened to be the most dangerous being he had ever come across, because in all of his years as a trained, professional assassin, Bucky had never, never, tripped over his own feet. 

And so, inevitably, Bucky’s face ungracefully met the asphalt of the outside track with an audible thunk. 

A collective of gasps, oo’s, and ah’s, rang around the large group. Bucky could physically feel the coating of red, hot embarrassment climbing up to his now scratched cheeks.  

Bucky couldn’t see the look of shame and pity on Sam’s face as he dropped his head into his hands. All he was capable of was fantasizing faking his own death and moving far, far away where no one who witnessed his fall could ever find him.  

With a painful, deep groan, Bucky managed to roll himself over. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes and allow himself to accept reality yet and so he kept them closed, waiting for the ground to swallow him up or for the beaming sun to slowly incinerate him, melt him into the ground with his shame and dignity. 

But instead of either of those, a shadow casted over him, the harsh brightness behind his eyelids dulling down. Slowly, he peeked an eye open, only for mortification to kick him in the gut when he found you standing over him. 

“You alright there, Soldier?” Your hands were set on your hips, those deliciously curved grooves of your body that he had shamelessly stared at one too many times during gym sessions. 

“Mhm,” he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly. “Just peachy.” 

Even though you’d just seen him eat dirt, in front of hundreds of learning recruits and the rest of the avengers, your smile was kind as you held out your hand. “Need some help?” 

Bucky took your offering, sliding his clammy palm into your dry one and hoisted himself up with your grip. He hadn’t needed your help, he was a super soldier with a metal arm; an agility and strength beyond normal human ability. But he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to feel your soft skin against his. 

He couldn’t look you in the eye as he stood up, aware of your gaze glued to him. “Th-Thanks.” 

“It’s not a problem,” you said. “Although, you’ve got a few nasty looking cuts on your cheeks.” 

Bucky brought his left hand up to his face, hissing when the cool vibranium stung the open wounds. “Ah, it’s nothin’—don't worry about it. Nothing a few hours won’t fix.” 

You shook your head fondly. “Well, how about I walk you to the infirmary and we get some ointment on them? It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious.” 

Bucky choked on his own spit and snapped his eyes to yours. “W-We?” 

Your smile was blinding — so beautiful with an ability to stop time. At least for him anyway. “Yeah, why not? It looks like you could use a hand—y’know, since you’re a little clumsy on your feet today.” The cheeky smirk that followed your words almost sent him to an early grave.

His cheeks blazed. Bucky was sure he looked utterly stupid, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But he couldn’t help the effect you had on him. “I um—I— ha, I guess.” 

Your eyes glinted mischievously. “I’ll take that as a yes?” 

Not trusting his voice to hold steady, Bucky simply nodded. 

“Great,” you approved. “Just one question though, are we going to keep holding hands on the way?”

Looking down to the space between you, Bucky felt his mouth dry when he saw that he hadn’t yet released his hand from yours. “I’m—oh fuck—I’m so sorry.” 

Still, he made no move to slacken his grip. 

You tightened your lips, and he knew you were willing yourself not to laugh for his sake. Sam would have a fucking field day with this. 

Though to his surprise, instead of pulling away like he expected you to, you began pulling him along, hands still interweaved. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, Bucky.”  

His name on your lips was akin to a siren singing her song; dragging helpless seamen to their deaths. A thought crossed his mind then, that he didn’t think he would mind so much if he sank to his reckoning, not if your voice was the last thing he ever heard. 

“Okay.” Bucky followed you blindly, eyes glued to your conjoined hands and disbelieving of his luck. 

You had led the way towards the medbay and found a cozy, private room that the doctors used for small injuries. Bucky sat impatiently on the side of the medical bed, twiddling his thumbs and fidgeting restlessly. Never had he been so close to you, alone. 

Bucky internally prayed with all his faith that you couldn’t hear the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. He was sure if he was hooked up to a monitor, the doctors would be thoroughly concerned about his health. 

Finally having gathered all the supplies you deemed necessary along with a first aid box, you walked back over to the bed and dumped everything next to him. 

“So,” you began, an uneasy conspiratorial tone to your voice that weirdly reminded him of Sam. “Wanna tell me what happened out there?”  

“I—,” Bucky sheepishly scratched the back of his neck while his cheeks bloomed crimson red. “I must’ve just tripped over my own feet.” 

He tried to shrug off his nonchalance, but he knew by your raised eyebrow you didn’t believe him. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing a big, strong super soldier such as yourself has any trouble finding his footing.”

Before Bucky could muster up any other excuse but the truth, you ripped open the packet of a medical wipe and warned him, “I’m sorry. This is gonna sting.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with bravado. 

Bucky wasn’t prepared for the twinkle in your eye as you mumbled under your breath, “I’m sure it isn’t, Sargeant.” 

The breath got knocked out of his lungs. Oh did that do things to him. 

Suddenly, vivid images of you spread out on his bed wearing nothing but his old army hat while you screamed out his rank ran wild in his mind. 

Luckily, you were too preoccupied with cleaning the dried blood of his wound to notice him discreetly palming the bulge in his athletic shorts, trying to hide the effect you had on him. 

“Are you certain there is absolutely no other reason as to why I’m playing nurse right now, then?” Your feline grin was sexy and scary. “No possible distractions that led you off path?” 

There was no way you could read minds, right? Bucky doubled down on his denial, shaking his head from side to side and letting the length of his hair hide the truth in his eyes. 

“I’ll take your word for it then.” You finished up and reached for the healing gel. “I know the serum enhances your ability to repair the cuts, but I’d still like to use this.” Looking into his eyes, you asked, “Only as long as you’re okay with that, of course.” 

Time stopped and the two of you were caught in the other’s gaze. It was such a small gesture, one you probably didn’t even realise meant the world to him. But you asked him for permission on something that would affect his autonomy and if Bucky didn’t already have a hundred ways he was falling for you, that would have been the cherry on top. 

“Yeah,” he breathed airily. “Yeah, I’m good with it, doll.” 

Unseen to him before, you ducked your head and sweeped your hair behind your ear and if Bucky didn’t know any better, he was sure you were shy. 

He couldn’t help the large grin he sported. He was always so enamored with you, quick to falter in your presence and become unsure of himself. Right now though, a small bout of bravery returned. “Ready when you are,” he cheekily murmured. 

You hastily rushed to compose yourself. Clearing your throat, you squeezed the tube of gel, allowing a small drop of the cool liquid on the tip of your finger and stepped between his legs to gently dab it onto his cuts. 

“Okay, you’re all fixed up now.” With a last swipe of his forehead, you smiled. “Don’t worry, Buck. You still look handsome.” 

He tugged his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “You think I’m handsome?”

You giggled. “I would be blind if I didn’t.” 

Bucky blinked at you slowly, still processing your words and trying to calm the excited bubble rising in his throat. 

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, don’t act all coy, Bucky. You must have heard the whispers of the recruits. They stare at you all the time, whispering and giggling to each other.” 

With the most confidence he had ever mustered up, he responded, “Truthfully, I’m too busy staring at someone else to notice, doll.” 

The shock of his sudden boldness was glaringly obvious on your face — it was you this time who held your mouth open, lost for words. 

Bucky’s body screamed at him to tell you that he was in fact head over heels for you. That had he known falling over in front of the full compound would lead him within a hair’s breadth away from you, he’d do it all over again. 

But you seemed to recover after a couple of seconds, clearing your throat and making yourself busy to avoid his eyes. “So, I’ve got another question.” 

“Oh?” Bucky cocked his head. 

“Yeah.” You smiled while placing everything back into the first aid box as you found it. “I’ve been hearing a few rumours around the compound recently.” 

Bucky’s stomach dropped with dread. 

“You wouldn’t know anything about those, would you?” 

“I—” Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have no idea what you mean.” 

“Oh,” you hummed. “So it’s not true then? You don’t have a crush on me?” 

Fuck.

Panicking, Bucky scoffed, though it came off sounding too pathetic, too breezy. “Me? Have a crush on you? That’s—Ha! Nope. No way. Not at all.” 

He watched as you nodded to yourself. Internally, he was begging for the floor to swallow him while he cringed at his own stupidity. 

“Well,” you shrugged. “That’s a shame, I guess.”  

Bucky’s head shot up, eyes wide and shock written over his features. “E-Excuse me?” 

“Oh, it's nothing really.” There was a sparkle in your eye that screamed trouble. “You said you didn’t have a crush on me, so it doesn’t matter.” 

Within seconds, Bucky jumped off the bed and leapt towards you, not even noticing how he had grabbed your hands. “Doll, please. You can’t leave a guy hanging like that.” 

Playfully rolling your eyes, you dramatically exhaled and decided to put him out of his misery. “Leave you hanging? Damn, Buck. It’s not as if I’ve been waiting patiently for you to ask me out for months or anything like that.” 

The air became humid and stuffy and suddenly the clothes attached to Bucky’s body felt too tight and restricting. “You—What now?” 

You rolled your lips inwards, trying to smother your laughter. “Bucky, honey,” you gently murmured. “I’ve heard what the others have been gossiping about. I’ve definitely heard Sam telling the team about your crush on me.” 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That fuckin’ punk.” 

You squeezed his hands reassuringly and offered him a warm smile when he looked at you. “I’ve just been waiting to hear it from the horse's mouth himself.” 

Bucky’s eyes darted between yours, trying to find any hint of decievement. “You’re serious.”

“Mhm,” you whispered. “Deadly.” 

It took him a couple of seconds to let the new information sink in. Clearing his throat, Bucky untightened his fierce grip on your hands and hesitantly slid them down to latch onto your waist. “So,” he mumbled. “Say if I asked you out to dinner tonight… You wouldn’t tell me I’m a fool and break my heart into a million pieces?” 

Butterflies erupted in Bucky’s stomach at the sensation of your hands sliding over his chest to rest against his neck. “No, Bucky,” you chuckled. “I would tell you that I’m looking forward to our first date, tonight. Nowhere fancy, just casual. Six o’clock sharp.” 

Bucky smiled, all beaming and ecstatic. “I wouldn’t dream of being late.” 

“Good.” You leaned up onto your tip toes and ghosted your lips over his ear. “See you very soon then, Sargeant.” 

Tingles shot down Bucky’s spine and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fought tooth and nail to crush the moan that rose up his throat and in his internal struggle, he missed how you’d sneakily slipped out of his hold and started to saunter towards the door. 

He almost begged you to come back; the thought of having to wait for you until the evening was unbearable. But those pesky butterflies that invaded his stomach came back strong and fierce as his gaze became glued to the sway of your hips and the sweet perfume that lingered in your exit. 

“Oh,” you stopped suddenly at the doorway and looked over your shoulder. “One more thing. Don’t go tripping over again, you hear me?” You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Can’t have you falling for me.”

Your damn smirk was intoxicating and Bucky thought himself the luckiest fella alive to be the one taking you out. He licked his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have a little trouble with that request, Ma’am.” 

The clench of your thighs was unmissable. The way your eyes dilated called to him. Bucky had more game than he realised and he kept that new information tucked safely into the corner of his mind for a later date. 

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Your actions told Bucky everything he needed to know and so he wiggled his fingers with a huge grin locked onto his face and watched you longingly as you left his sight. 

The minute he couldn’t hear your footsteps any longer, Bucky pumped his fist up into the air and began dancing on the spot. 

In his own bubble of happiness, he didn’t hear the footsteps of a new person entering the hallway. Only when an amused clearing of the throat echoed from the doorway did Bucky abruptly stop his dancing and slowly swivel to the intruder. 

Sam stood there, all cocky and mirthful with a shit eating grin on his face. “About time you bagged the girl, man. Dont’cha think?” 

Instantly, Bucky growled and grabbed the closest apparatus. With a pair of medical scissors, he charged towards Sam, who was quick to wipe the smirk off his face and skid out of the room with a scream. 

[hausofwoo]

open wide | park seonghwa

pairing: park seonghwa x afab!reader

word count: 5.7K

summary: you start working at a restaurant and everything seems to be going well; you work hard, you made friends, and even when you mess up, your coworkers still have your back… except for the bartender, seonghwa.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, restaurant!au, bartender! and dom!seonghwa, enemies to lovers trope, HATE FUCK, oral (f and m receiving), pussy slapping, dick slapping, choking, hair pulling, edging, fingering, creampie, alcohol consumption, sex under the influence of alcohol (but both consenting), unprotected piv (WRAP IT UP BE SAFE), cumplay, dacryphilia, seonghwa is an asshole and reader is strangely attracted to it, degrading, reader gives switch vibes, VERY descriptive smut scene [i have no shame], seonghwa is HUNG, use of pet names (princess, baby, good girl, little/dirty slut), woosan allegations LMAO, lmk if i missed anything! also feat. server/work bestie!ryujin, server!wooyoung and san, food runner!mingi, and restaurant manager!hongjoong.

author’s note: me n my friend were talking about seonghwa and the thought of him *ahem* slapping his dick on ur face .. and it sent us into a spiral. i had to make dreams come true. thank u to @hausofmingi and T for being my beta-readers and for giving amazing feedback and ideas :-) this one goes out to all the restaurant girlies!

seonghwa was pissing you the fuck off.

working at a restaurant is already hard enough, but to have an enemy that you work with? it’s unbearable.

you were new to the industry when you started at the restaurant, and of course you got treated like you were stupid for the first few months. you almost expected it, since you had friends who worked at restaurants and they warned you that people will walk all over you for being “green.” you learned as fast as you could, making mistakes here and there. but eventually you felt as if you proved everyone there wrong; that you are a good server and you are hard working, despite your mistakes. you built a rapport with your coworkers, and they granted you grace when you needed it. everyone, except for him.

the bartender. god that fucking bartender. your manager hongjoong introduced you on your first day, and ever since you’ve been butting heads.

“this is seonghwa, our bartender,” hongjoong says, pointing out the black-haired man setting up the bar. “he’s been here since we opened, but he’s been in the industry for even longer.”

“oh, wow,” you exclaim, watching him splay out the non-slip mats around the bar.

“yeah, wow,” hongjoong laughs. “this guy can pour exactly an ounce of liquor without even looking. and he’s fast. you’ll learn a lot from him.”

the corner of seonghwa’s mouth quirks up in almost a smug way. he’s good and he knows it. with his legendary status came his cockiness.

“well i gotta grab some paperwork for you to finish up,” hongjoong says as heads to the back. “i’ll be back out in a sec.”

you stand by the bar, basically twiddling your thumbs. “it’s nice to meet you, i’m–"

“look, princess,” seonghwa interrupts. “as much as i love introducing myself to yet another newbie, i have more important things to do right now.”

and that was just the beginning, and not just for your newfound nickname.

the best way to sum up how he continues to treat you is from this one specific experience. you rang up drinks for your table, and you meant to put a vodka soda instead of a tequila soda. you noticed it right away so you immediately cancelled that order and rung it up correctly. you promptly went to the bar to tell seonghwa.

“hey, ignore that first ticket for the tequila soda, i sent a new ticket,” you called out. but when seonghwa turned, he had the drink already in his hand, looking like he was about to set it on the drink pass.

“oh.”

he grabbed the new ticket with his other hand, glanced at it briefly, looked at you, and then slammed the ticket onto the ticket spindle. he turned around and dumped the drink in the sink and started making the new drink.

“hey i’m sorry, it was a mistake,” you defended.

“yeah yeah, it’s fine, princess,” he said with an eye roll. he placed the new drink on the pass. you inspect his face, wondering if it really was fine. he scoffs and pushes the drink forward more. “just take your drink and go, it’s way too fucking busy to be standing around talking.”

maybe it wasn’t a big deal. maybe he was just in the weeds and was taking it out on you. that’s the thing about restaurants, when you’re in the middle of service and everyone’s running around, you kinda end up saying shit you don’t mean. it was never anything personal. you knew that because at the end of service, you’d finish up closing with your coworkers and have a shift beer, laughing it off like it didn’t happen. because it didn’t matter in the end, it was just a restaurant.

but seonghwa never joined. even tonight, when you, the other servers, and even the manager were sat around the bar having your drinks, he just quietly broke down the bar.

“hey seonghwa,” hongjoong calls after him. “don’t worry about the bar, i’ll take care of the rest of it. you guys had a really hard night. have your shift beer and chill.”

“no no, i’ve got it. i’m just gonna finish up and get out of here.” you watch him as he lifts up the floor mats and starts mopping the sticky floor. you turn to your coworker, ryujin, who’s sipping at her PBR.

“i think seonghwa hates me,” you say, just low enough under your other coworkers chatting.

“what?” she laughs. “no no, i don’t think so. he’s just kind of an asshole.”

you glance over at him as he’s wiping down the back counters. you turn back to her.

“i don’t know, he’s just always been kinda short with me.” you look down at your drink and fiddle with the tab. “i feel like he doesn’t really like me. i don’t know what i did.”

“listen,” ryujin starts, placing a hand on your shoulder. “he’s short with everyone. shit, i’ve been here like 2 years and i still know nothing about him. don’t worry about it. he’s just here for a check like everyone else.”

you watch as seonghwa starts to walk back to the kitchen, lifting his sweatshirt off of his form, and a sliver of skin peeks at the small of his back just below his t-shirt. you can’t look away until he’s out of your line of sight, and ryujin starts giggling next to you.

“wait a minute, do you like him or something?” ryujin whispers.

“no no!” you say. “it’s just—i feel like it’s easy for me to talk to everyone here. with him, he just brushes me off. and he started that stupid nickname. ‘princess’. it feels condescending.”

“well i don’t know,” ryujin shrugs. “i don’t think he likes to mix business with pleasure anyway, in any form.”

you nod and look to see seonghwa back at the register, counting the cash and pulling out tips. he walks over and hands each server their share of drink tips, leaving you last. you look up at him, but he doesn’t even look at you. he just places the money on the bar, and quickly turns to go back to the kitchen.

“okay,” you sigh. “well i’m gonna get out of here, i gotta get some sleep. are we still on for sunday celebration?”

“um yeah dude. i’m gonna need it after we deal with the sunday service crowd.” ryujin grabs her bag and starts heading to the door with you.

“sunday celebration.” it’s kind of like a fucked-up weekly tradition your restaurant has. the weekend drives all of the staff mad and then after service sunday night, (since the restaurant is closed on mondays) pretty much everyone working grabs a shift drink and books it to the dive bar a couple streets over. is it healthy? absolutely not. but is it kinda weirdly cathartic? absolutely it is.

and you really really needed it after sundays service. you got stuck with a 15-top who had all sorts of allergies and dietary restrictions. like who the hell has a lettuce allergy? are they just making it up because they just don’t like lettuce? and why the hell are you trying to order a house salad when the main ingredient is literally lettuce? plus their drink orders were nuts. a tequila on the rocks? JUST tequila? and what’s worse is that the guy ordered like 4 of them. you just finished ringing in his 5th one.

you walk up to the bar to grab the drink (because damn seonghwa is fast) and look up to see him turning to you.

“hey, you gotta cut that guy off after that drink,” he says while shaking a cocktail in a shaker.

“yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” you laugh dryly.

“you shouldn’t have even rang this one,” he says, setting the shaker down. “you know there’s a 4 drink max, right? that’s like, a policy we have.”

“oh, i didn’t know that i guess.” you stab the ticket on the spindle.

“yeah i guess not,” he says with a sharpness in his voice, and starts pouring the drink in the cocktail glass. “just don’t do it again, princess.”

yeah, maybe you didn’t know that rule. but why does he have to talk to you like that? you start walking towards your 15-top, past the kitchen. you must’ve been really in your head about what seonghwa said because you completely missed someone yelling “corner.”

what happened felt like hours long, but it was probably only a few seconds. the food runner mingi was walking out of the kitchen with 3 plates of food. when you were passing by the kitchen entrance, it was too quick to move, and down fell all 3 plates. it was a mess.

“oh my god mingi, i’m so sorry!” you exclaim. you immediately grab a broom and attempt to sweep what you can.

“don’t apologize to me, apologize to seonghwa,” mingi says meekly, picking up the pieces of broken plate. “it was going to his 2-top at the bar.”

fuck. you don’t even want to look at him. you know he’s pissed. you finish cleaning the last bit of your mess while mingi goes back and asks for a refire on those dishes. as soon as you throw out the trash, you feel tears start to well up in your eyes. you can’t cry in the front of house, it’s unprofessional. but you can’t cry in the kitchen, unless you want the whole back of house to pester you with questions. the only solution was one place, every server’s safe haven: the walk in freezer.

you close the frosty door behind you, letting out a deep sigh that turns quickly into a billowing cloud. then, the waterworks. you couldn’t even help it, it all became too much. maybe it was out of frustration or stress, either way, you really needed this cry. tears stream down your face, turning cold on your cheeks from the freezing air.

it was mostly frustrating because the whole reason this happened was because of seonghwa. he snapped at you for not knowing some stupid rule, and it caused you to lose focus. it’s his fault.

just when you felt yourself calming down, the freezer door opens swiftly. it was him.

“you wanna tell me why my table’s food was refired?” seonghwa spits, anger in his eyes. “they’re gonna have to wait another 10 minutes and they’ve already been waiting for their food for 20.”

“seonghwa, please,” you huff, trying to hold it together. “can i just have one more second?”

“no! i could be totally out of a tip from a table because of you.”

“dude, it was a mistake!” you defend. you feel backed into a corner. literally, the walk-in was tiny and you were basically pressed up against the cold wall with seonghwa hovering over you.

“you keep making these stupid mistakes. i don’t know why they even hired you, you know fucking nothing about restaurants.”

you stood in shock. you didn’t know what to say. seonghwa had this fire behind his eyes that almost scared you. his chest was puffing up and down, breathing heavily from adrenaline. a bead of sweat falls down his temple, threatening to fall from his face. why did suddenly… he look so… attractive? you were so confused by how your body was reacting. instead of pure hatred, suddenly you felt a pang of lust. what the hell was happening to you?

“you owe me, princess,” seonghwa mumbles.

and in a blink of an eye, he withdraws from the walk-in and slams the door behind him, leaving you completely disoriented.

at the end of service, you were BEAT. you slump back into the bar seat, crack open your shift drink, and take a hefty gulp. ryujin jumps into the seat next to you, already drinking her usual PBR.

“dude, tonight SUCKED,” she groans.

“tell me about it,” you mutter, counting your cash tips. “at least they tipped well, but at what cost?”

“the cost of my fucking sanity, that’s what,” ryujin whines. “please tell me you’re still down for celebration. please please pleeeease?”

“oh i am so down,” you say. you look at your other coworkers. “san, woo? you coming?”

“you bet i am,” wooyoung chuckles, gathering up his stuff. “i’m heading there now. c’mon san.”

san stands and starts heading out the door with wooyoung but then turns back. “wait, seonghwa, are you finally gonna come to sunday celebration?”

seonghwa places down the wine glass he was polishing. “maybe. we’ll see.” he turns to hang up the glass on the rack and for a moment, just a moment, he makes eye contact with you. you look away immediately and decide to put your attention back on your beer. you chug what’s left of it and toss the can in the trash.

“ryujin, let’s go."

you and your fellow servers took the booth in the back of the bar, your usual spot. a couple of them were complaining about the tables they had, some were playing an intense game of darts, while you nursed your mixed drink as ryujin rants about her situationship.

wooyoung slips into the seat next to you, grabbing his beer on the table. “remind me to never play darts with san again. he’s way too competitive.”

you laugh, “you know, you say that, but you always end up playing with him every sunday.”

wooyoung chuckles as he shrugs. he then looks around the bar. “wait, didn’t seonghwa say he was coming?”

“he said he MIGHT come,” san says as he slides into the booth. you can feel yourself retreating as soon as his name was brought up. “but you know him. he never hangs out with anyone outside work.”

“he’s probably still scrubbing the bar,” the food runner mingi chimes in. “that dude is a clean freak.”

“nothing wrong with that at a restaurant!” san says.

“hey i’m gonna grab another drink,” you mumble, standing up. “i’ll be right back.”

you walk over and lean against the bar and wait patiently for the bartender to get to you. you look around, sort of people-watching the sunday crowd. it’s all industry people, you know it. you turn your head back to see the bartender facing you.

“what can i get you?”

“oh, i’ll just take a vodka cran,” you force a smile. he nods and turns to make your drink.

“a vodka cranberry?” you hear a chuckle next to you. “i thought your go-to would be different.”

you look over and see seonghwa leaning on the bar and looking over at you. he wasn’t wearing his work clothes like you’re used to seeing him in. he was wearing jeans and a black tank with a leather jacket. he looked different. he looked…. really good.

“oh, you made it,” you say, trying not to sound annoyed. you gather yourself a bit. “oh, don’t judge me for my drink choice, okay? as much as i love our free shift drinks, i don’t really drink beer outside of work.”

“ah, i see.” he nods, definitely uninterested, and looks at the bartender who had already set your drink down and was waiting for you to pay. you dig through your bag, struggling to find your wallet. seonghwa notices and sighs. “i’ll just get this one and i’ll get a jack and coke.”

“you didn’t have to do that,” you look up to him in confusion.

“it’s whatever, just take your drink,” he doesn’t even look at you as the bartender hands his drink over and grabs seonghwa’s card that he set on the bar.

“oh. well thank you.” you sip at your drink. “i’m going back to the booth.”

he grabs his jack and coke and takes a quick drink. “darts?”

“um, okay?” you stutter, watching him walk past you to the dart board in the corner, and then following him with a look on your face that could only be described as complete and utter confusion.

“san, woo, wanna play teams?” you call across to your coworkers. they perk up and immediately jump over to the dartboard.

“me and san versus you and seonghwa?” woo asks, rubbing his palms together with a chuckle. “let’s say loser buys drinks?”

“i’m not really good at this,” you say laughing. “but i’ll do my best.”

“oh, great,” seonghwa scoffs as he writes both of your initials in the chalkboard by the dartboard. “just show me what you got.” he grabs the darts and places them in your hand, touch lingering a little longer than needed.

“you know,” you say to seonghwa as you close out 18 on the chalkboard, then passing the darts to san. “i really wasn’t expecting you to come out tonight.”

“we’ve begging him for what seems like years, man,” san chimes in, attempting but eventually failing to hit bullseye. yet somehow team woosan is still beating you. he grabs the darts to hand to seonghwa.

“yeah, what changed?” wooyoung says as he leans against a chair.

“i wasn’t really expecting to come out either,” seonghwa admits. “i guess i wanted to see what sunday celebration was all about.” he closes out 17 and 19. why is he so good at everything?

“i mean it’s just all of us getting drunk to get over a shitty shift,” you watch as he tosses the darts to wooyoung for his turn. “so it’s really not much.”

“did you have a shitty shift?” he asks, turning to face you directly.

“w-well, yeah,” you mumble, uncomfortable by the attentiveness. woo quickly hands the darts to you and goes back to a conversation he’s having with san. you look down at the darts in your hands. “look, i know i made a mistake but i really didn’t know that rule about the drinks. and it got me in my head and then mingi came with your table’s food and—“

he rolls his eyes. “you just make a lot of rookie mistakes. you’ll learn.”

you completely abandon the game of darts at this point. “dude, you gotta stop talking to me like that.”

“like what?” he says with a smirk. does he think this is funny?

“like you think i’m stupid or something,” you say, slightly pushing his shoulder. “i’m not stupid. yeah, you’ve been in the industry way longer than me, but we all have to start somewhere.” you grab your bag and walk over to the booth, san and woo protesting behind you. you slouch next to ryujin with a sigh.

“what the hell just happened?” ryujin questions, looking back at seonghwa by the dartboard.

“seonghwa’s being a dick to me, once again.” you exhale deeply. “let’s get another drink.”

as the night went on, your coworkers start filing out one by one. san and wooyoung were one of the last to leave together (something going on there?) and you’re left in front of the bar, struggling to find an uber. your apartment is definitely walking distance, but not at this time of night. the real issue was getting a fucking ride. every uber was at least 20 minutes away. you looked back through the bar window and saw the bartender starting to close up. shit, it’s almost 1 am. you look back down to your phone and consider downloading lyft for maybe the 2nd time in your life.

“what are you still doing here?” you hear a voice behind you. you look back and it’s seonghwa, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

“i should be asking you the same thing,” you mutter. when will he leave you alone?

“can’t find an uber?” he questions, pointing down at your phone.

“yeah, its fine though,” you brush him off.

“you live close by right?” he asks, annoyance in his voice. “i’ll just drop you off.”

“no, really,” you huff. “i don’t need your help.”

“look princess,” he looks to you intently. “i’m not gonna let you wait outside a bar at this hour. i’m not that big of an asshole.”

you consider for a moment. he’s definitely right. it’s late, and staying outside a closed bar this late can lead to trouble.

“fine. but stop calling me princess.”

when he pulls up to your apartment building, you start to have an internal war with yourself. you can’t help but have this anger in the pit of your stomach that’s eating you up.

“you look deep in thought,” seonghwa says impatiently.

“yeah, uh,” you mumble. “i just.. i need to know, why do you hate me?”

seonghwa pulls the car in a spot and parks. “i don’t hate you, necessarily…” he starts.

“you just think you’re better than me?” you pry, irritated.

“i mean, i have been in the industry longer than you…” he smiles smugly.

“there you go again,” you throw your hands up, hatred scratching at your throat. “you are so belittling to me! you think you’re hot shit, huh?”

“do you think i am?” he smiles at the corner of his mouth, and lets out a dry chuckle.

“i think i can’t fucking stand you.”

he looks intently at your face, and you swear, he glances at your lips.

and that’s when he leans in and kisses you. it takes you by complete surprise, and you pull back. you look at each other with a newfound yet curious lust. for a beat, for just a moment, you both look at each other with the same understanding. you want to kiss him again. you grab his face and pull him back in. the kiss was all-consuming. you feel a wave of energy course through you, as if every neuron in you was lit up. it was almost dizzying. he holds the side of your face, grazing past your ear and the holding the nape of your neck. every touch felt like fire.

he slides his tongue through your lips and deepens the kiss, which makes you melt more into him. you feel his arm wrap around your waist and moves you closer. you felt a rush of heat run through you, but then seonghwa pulls back slightly.

“let’s go inside?” he asks, his voice low.

with no reply, you both get out and you take him up to your apartment and to your room, closing the door behind you. he stands close to you, pushing you up against the door and kissing you up your neck and jaw until his lips meet yours again. he slots his leg between yours and presses himself against your heat, grinding as he devours you.

you turn to push him against the wall and sank down to your knees.

“fuuuck,” he groans, smiling as he slips his shirt off. “i like this view.”

“shut up, asshole,” you snap as you unzip his jeans, pulling them down. you look up to see a bulge pressing through his black underwear. god, you can tell it’s fucking big. you graze your fingers over it, teasing him. he lets out a heavy sigh, and you feel him twitch under you.

“i need you to touch me now,” he says grabbing the back of your head.

“yeah? or what?” you tease, just barely holding the length of him.

“c’mon princess,” he says with a cocky smirk. that fucking nickname. he moves his underwear down to reveal his hard cock hanging heavy by your lips. your mouth opens as you stare up at his length. he’s really big. “oh baby, are you already cock-drunk before even touching it?”

you sat in shock at the sheer size of him. he grabs your chin and moves himself closer to your face.

“open,” he says, tapping his dick on your lips. you open up to take him in your mouth, with him groaning at the warm, wet feeling.

twirling your tongue around his length, you earn a pleased moan from seonghwa’s lips. you take as much of him as you can in your mouth, nearly gagging but pushing through. you can feel him twitching in the back of your throat, which makes you hum with satisfaction.

“yeah,” he hisses, pulling his length out a bit and slowly thrusting back into your mouth. “take my cock just like that, baby.”

he pushes into your throat and pulls out again, this time out completely. a string of saliva still connects between his dick and your lips. he grabs himself and slaps it on your face by your open mouth, your jaw going slack and your tongue out to taste him.

“ahh, such a good girl,” he smirks down at you, slapping his dick on your face again. he grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes your mouth back on his cock.

you grab the base and start sucking like your life depends on it, going from the base to the tip, where you swirl your tongue around him. you regain a little control back, stroking and twisting up his length and sucking at his tip, and you can taste the precum pooling into your mouth. you feel him thrusting into your throat, tugging at your hair and pushing you deeper onto him. you can’t help but let out a whimper at the feeling.

“fuuuck, you like that, you little slut?” he tugs you off his cock by your hair. “you like when i fuck your mouth? keep doing that for me.”

you lost all control in that moment. you can only do as you’re told. you open your mouth like a good girl, and suck. he pistons into you, hitting the back of your throat over and over. tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you don’t care. you only want to please him. you moan onto his cock, forcing yourself to not gag from his size. the vibrations in your throat only drive him more mad, and you can tell from his deep moans and the hardening of his cock. he’s definitely close.

the grip around your hair tightens while he continues to bob you up and down his cock. your eyes flutter shut and tears start to fall down your cheeks, and you hold his thighs, nails digging crescents into his skin. he continues to hiss and moan in praise, loving the way you’re sputtering around his cock and leaving spit running down your chin. you take all the power left in you to lap at the underside of his cock, causing him to groan loudly and pull you off of him.

“open wide for me, princess,” he says, stroking himself above you. you obey and lay your tongue flat for him, ready to take his load. he lets out a long moan, spurting all around and into your mouth. you lick up every drop remaining from his tip as he comes down from his high.

just as you regain your composure, he’s helping you take your shirt off and kissing your spit and cum covered mouth. he pushes you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. you fall back and let him slide your pants off, leaving you just in your bra and (fucking soaked) underwear. he falls to his knees as he goes down to kiss your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your wet heat. when he goes to lick the wet spot in your underwear, licking a stripe up to your clit, you let out a small gasp.

“so sensitive,” he grins, lifting his head up and moving to take off your underwear. he grabs your thighs and pushes your legs back so your pussy is in full view for him.

“and so fucking wet for me…” he trails off before he dives down to devour you.

he laps at your wet hole, savoring the taste and the way it contracts around nothing. his tongue leads up to your clit, earning a sharp moan from you. liking the way you sound, he does the same pattern, making you whine with pleasure. he looks up to you, a moaning mess, and flicks at your bud teasingly, as if he’s mocking you. he hums in amusement.

“hold this,” he releases your leg for you to grab, keeping you spread open for him. he places his fingers on your clit, circling a bit before dipping down to your hole, just at the surface. you can’t help but clench. “so eager.”

he plunges his middle two fingers into you, your tightness gripping around him. he lowers his mouth back to your clit, swirling around as he begins finger fucking you. he’s eating you like he’s fucking starved. the stimulation had you gripping the sheets, whimpering.

he hums against your pussy, kissing and sucking at your clit. “mmm, fuck,” he smiles with a moan. “so good…”

you can’t help but grab the back of his head, gripping onto his hair while he works his fingers and mouth on you. he twirls his tongue around your clit all while curling his fingers in you, hitting that sweet spot.

“s-seonghwa,” you let out. “don’t stop, it feels so fucking good.”

out of defiance, he pulls off of you completely, your legs dropping down and making you ache from the loss of being filled. you can’t help but buck your hips up, desperate for him to touch you. he runs his hand back onto your pussy, spreading his fingers around your bud, avoiding touching it. and then, he slaps your wet cunt. you wince, partly from pain, but also from the stimulation. your bundle of nerves prickles and reddens the wet skin.

“mmm, dirty slut,” he laughs dryly, sadistically. “so desperate to cum. you want to cum for me?”

you nod, a little too impatiently.

“tell me.” he circles his fingers around your dripping hole again.

“fuck,” you let out, exasperated. “please, seonghwa. please let me cum.”

with a smirk, he drives his fingers back into you and latches onto your clit, working at a steady but meticulous pace. when your hips start grinding against his mouth, he holds you down, and continues working you. he swirls his tongue around your clit just right, and massages at your sweet spot. you feel your orgasm building in your stomach, like a cord about to snap. you feel heat rush through your entire body like a wave.

“i’m cumming,” you barely moan out, completely overtaken by pleasure. seonghwa relentlessly works you through it, moaning against you as you climax. he laps at your clit, trying to get every drop of your orgasm. he doesn’t stop until you have to grab his head and lift it.

he looks up at you with an intense lust in his eyes, and his mouth and chin soaked from your juices.

“you drive me fucking crazy,” you sigh as you watch him stand up and lean over you. he pushes you back to the head of the bed, on his knees and slotting between your thighs.

eating you out must have really turned him on, because his cock is hanging heavy between you, red and leaking with precum. he guides his dick up and down your sensitive cunt, gathering your wetness up to stimulate your clit. he groans looking down at the sight.

he eases his way into you, gripping your thighs to keep from snapping his hips into you. your mouth goes slack at the sensation, and you try to stifle back a moan. he inches his way into you, thrusting slowly until he bottoms out.

“fuck, princess,” he sighs, and he feels you clench around his length.

he leans forward to hover over you, slowly thrusting into your heat. he grabs the nape of your neck and kisses you deeply, letting you moan in his mouth. each thrust he pounds into you makes you melt into each other more, desperate to feel every inch of one another. the rolls of his hips hitting deep caverns of your cunt makes you dizzy from stimulation. the squelching sound of your wet pussy makes him pull away, now grabbing at your throat hard enough to where it hurts a little, but hurts so good.

“tell me you’re my little slut,” he spits at you, thrusting deeper inside of you.

“i-i’m your little slut,” you say between moans, completely lost in his trance. he has all the power over you.

he releases your neck and lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, making him reach a completely new angle inside of you. he pistons into you with determination, and reaches down to toy with your clit. you begin to see stars.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, relishing the squeezing of your core.

his hips snap into a faster pace, all while mercilessly thumbing at your clit. the stimulation becomes all too much for you, and you feel yourself reaching another high.

“oh my god don’t stop, please seonghwa don’t stop,” you moan, unintentionally clenching around his length.

“yeah baby, cum on my cock,” he smiles down at you. “just like that.”

you can’t even think, all you can grasp is how good this man feels on top of you, how good he feels in you, how full you feel. your breath hitches as a wave of pleasure courses through your body, sending you into a blissed out state. your moans are matched by seonghwa, him fucking your contracting cunt, as if it’s begging to milk him dry. he continues to thrust into your overstimulated core until he releases his hot ropes of cum into you, completely filling you up.

he finally slows down his movement, both your breathing heavy and irregular. he pulls out of you with a hiss, watching your pulsing core as his release slowly spills out of you.

“jesus christ,” he groans at the sight. as if he couldn’t resist, he brings his head down and licks up your core, swallowing the liquid. once every drop is savored, he lifts up to level with you. he then places a kiss on your lips, suddenly soft, and very unexpected.

without a word, he grabs you by the waist and holds you close, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. he softly brushes his fingers through your hair.

and just like that, you both drift off to sleep with only one thing on your mind. what just happened, and what the hell is going to happen next?

a/n: this is my first real fic on the internet yall!! im so new to this but i had so much fun. i hope u did too! stay tuned for part 2, but for now please leave feedback ♥ edit: part two is here :-)

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[nikkento-writes]

Babysitter - Part 2

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.8k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), explicit language, cheating, pregnancy, smut – PIV sex (doggy style)

Summary: You deal with the aftermath of your summer babysitting job turned adulterous summer scandal.

Author’s Notes: Thanks for all the kind words and support on Part 1 of this! I hope you enjoy part 2, and who knows, maybe I'll write a part 3 one day lol. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Taglist: @scorpiosugar @diegojeanne @f4irygard3n @cvixmei @soniiyi - more tags in the comments

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You blink away the tears in your eyes, holding the pregnancy test, hoping that somehow, you’ll blink away the second line indicating that you are indeed pregnant.

“No way.” Chiyo waits for you outside the stall, the apprehension in her voice apparent.

“Yes. I’m…” There’s a lump in your throat you have to swallow before you finish your sentence. “Pregnant.”

Your best friend’s silence on the other side only makes you panic more, but you don’t blame her. What can she really say to make any of this better? To stop your world from turning upside down?

She whispers your name quietly, at a complete loss for words. Then, she clears her throat, sounding as if she’s fighting tears herself. “I’m going to buy you a melon pan. Just…wait for me here, okay?” It’s the only consolation she can offer you in this moment, huddled in a public restroom of a convenience store; you appreciate the effort, nonetheless. You wait for her to leave, completely alone now. As soon as she’s gone, you sob into your hands.

It's not that you oppose being a mother. You’ve always imagined handing a positive pregnancy test to the love of your life with the biggest smile on your face, excited to raise a family together. Ideally, this would have happened sometime in the future, once you’ve established yourself as a full-fledged adult. Not like this: twenty-one years-old, less than a year until graduation without the slightest clue what you’re doing with your life. Worst of all, the father isn’t your husband, a boyfriend, even a friend. It’s Toji Fushiguro, the dad of the little boy you babysat over the summer, the husband of the kind woman who hired you. You still haven’t forgiven yourself for your adultery, the guilt eating away at you since the start of that lecherous summer fling. And now, you have this pee-on-a-stick to remind you how incredibly reckless you were to get involved with him in the first place. How undeniably irresponsible you were to have unprotected sex with a married man. Sure, it was the best sex you’ll probably ever have in your life. But was it worth it?

You wrap the pregnancy test in toilet paper, tossing it in the trash bin. Knowing that no good will come out of sulking in the 7-11 bathroom any longer, you finally exit the stall, washing your hands clean at the sink. Your phone vibrates in your back pocket as you stare at your reflection in the mirror, fixated on your belly, wondering what it will look like round and full of life. It buzzes again, snapping you out of your trance. When you check to see who’s messaging, you almost drop your phone out of shock.

Somehow, someway, the universe has it out for you. Because in the most perfectly disastrous timing ever, Mrs. Fushiguro decides to contact you.

~~~

A week later, you’re sitting on the train, heading to the Fushiguro household. Your stomach is in knots, both from anxiety and from the morning sickness. Sweat beads on your forehead, skin sticky against your clothing in this hot weather. The closer you approach your destined stop, the more and more nervous you get, almost convinced to call the whole thing off.

Believe it or not, Mrs. Fushiguro did not contact you to confront you about the dirty deeds you did with her husband. Instead, she messaged you in dire need of a babysitter once again. She spares you the details, asking if you could meet her in person to better explain herself. And for whatever reason, you agree.

You haven’t come up with a solid plan yet on what you want to do about your little predicament. So far, the only people that know are Chiyo and your parents, who, after the initial shock of it all, have been surprisingly supportive. They advised you to take the rest of the term off, which you were able to get arranged quickly through your school. This gives you several weeks to decide what you need to do. With one issue resolved, it leaves you with the next, and the most pressing: whether or not you should tell the father. The last thing you want is to break apart the Fushiguro family. You’re fully prepared to raise this baby as a single mother, which, with the help of your parents and best friend, seems doable. Besides, you’re not even sure if you want Toji to be involved considering his complete lack of interest in his other child, Megumi. Despite that, you believe that as the father, he has the right to know. Can you gather the courage to actually tell him?

Still lost in your train of thought, you hop off to walk to the house. When you arrive, you spot Mrs. Fushiguro already outside, leaning against her car in the driveway with little Megumi in her arms. They both smile upon seeing you, warming your heart. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever is to come. 

“Hello Mrs. Fushiguro,” you greet her, bowing politely, too shy to meet her gaze. “How are you?”

“Doing really well. Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She lets her son down, who steps towards you until he’s hugging your knee, cooing. “I wanted to talk to you in person about my complicated situation.”

“Is everything alright?” you ask, unable to resist kneeling down to meet Megumi at eye level, making funny faces at him.

She giggles. “Oh, everything is great! The divorce finally went through and I’m living with my new boyfriend now, who’s been the absolute best, especially with Megumi.”

You make a shocked expression, mouth agape, exaggerated for the kid’s entertainment, though you’re pretty much stunned yourself. “Divorce…?”

“Yeah! Toji and I have been separated for a long time now. I’m sorry I didn’t mention that over the summer. You’re still so young after all, no need to rope you into adult things.”

You almost bust out laughing at the irony, but you hold your tongue, continuing to listen to her.

She sighs, flipping her long, beautiful hair behind her shoulders. “That being said, I still care about the guy. I mean, he is the father of my child. Without me or Megumi there on a regular basis, the whole house has gone to shit. It seems like he’s actually taking this divorce pretty hard. So, I want to hire you as a babysitter for my ex-husband. Just for a little while until he can get back up on his feet.”

Another shocked face, which makes Megumi laugh while dread sinks into your chest. “Babysitter…?”

“Babysitter, housekeeper, whatever you want to call it. You did such a wonderful job with him over the summer, even while you were taking care of Megumi! I don’t know what you were feeding him. Whatever it was, he was definitely a little bit nicer when you were around.”

Lewd flashbacks replay in your mind of Toji eating you out sloppily, slurping up all your pussy juices in every room of the house. You focus on the ground, too ashamed to look at her. “Mrs. Fushiguro, I don’t know if I can do this.”

She squats to your level, reaching for your hand, holding it gently in hers. “I know this is a lot of ask. You’re the only one I can rely on for this. Please.”

A sense of déjà vu hits you. There’s desperation in her tone and it tugs at your heartstrings the same way it did when you first met her a few months ago. It doesn’t help that Megumi is now squeezing the index finger of your other hand, eyes full of curious wonder, grip surprisingly strong for such a young child. Would she be pleading with you like this if she knew the truth about you, Toji, and the baby? Even though they were separated during this whole ordeal, it doesn’t make what you did any better; you still decided to do it regardless of their marital status.

Maybe you can use this opportunity as a way to atone.  

You finally look at her, giving the most convincing smile you can muster, trying your best to ignore the wave of nausea washing over you. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

~~~

Mrs. Fushiguro asks you to start at noon the following day, giving her enough time to notify her ex about your temporary employment. When you use the set of keys she gave you to open the front door, you step inside cautiously, not sure what to expect. You’ve been dreading this impromptu reunion all night, wondering if you could even face him.

It’s a mess inside, heaps of dirty laundry scattered all over the furniture, fast food wrappers and empty ramen bowls littered on the kitchen counter. There’s a stench lingering in the stale air in here and you almost think the worse, but Mrs. Fushiguro had warned you about this. Seeing it in person is more heartbreaking than disgusting. Toji really is taking this divorce hard. It wouldn’t be right to burden him with more life-changing news, right?

You begin by gathering all the trash into garbage bags, flattening any cardboard to recycle. By the looks of it, he’s been living off junk food and protein bars for the past month. The refrigerator is near empty, aside from a questionable take-out container in the very back, which you end up dumping along with everything else. You make it your next task to get groceries after you load the washing machine.

When you return from the store, Toji remains absent. Nerves prevent you from leaning against the bedroom door to listen for any signs of him in there. His ex-wife mentioned that he goes out to gamble at the horse races whenever he’s short on cash, so it’s likely he’s there. Still, you’re anticipating his return, mentally preparing yourself for how you’ll behave around him. Given your current circumstances, you are serious about turning over a new leaf. No more funny business with him. Absolutely not.

It’s near dinnertime now and you’ve miraculously accomplished tidying the house and doing his laundry all within a few hours. You even managed to cook soup for dinner, full of hearty beef and fresh vegetables, something to provide nutrients compared to the processed food he’s been consuming lately. You’re stirring the pot when you hear keys jingle from outside the front door. He comes in, clad in a tight-fitting black shirt that accentuates his muscles and grey sweatpants that don't leave much to the imagination. A plastic bag is slung behind his shoulder, clearly from a convenience store. Despite his concerning diet, his physique is still impressive as ever. Just one glance at him has you fluttering below your belly, replaying the erotic memories you share together. You turn to face him, standing up straight, feigning confidence while you fret internally. He looks at you, brow raised slightly, a small smirk forming on his lips.

“Hello sir,” you greet him, bowing politely. Acting as if he’s a total stranger and not the man who rocked your entire world over the summer, now with evidence to prove it.

He sets the bag on the counter, revealing a couple of ramen packets inside. “What’s with the formalities?” he asks, grinning. “If I remember correctly, you were screaming my name nonstop the last time you were here.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks instantly, not surprised by his vulgarity, though still embarrassed. You clear your throat, trying to stay strong. “I’m here to work. Nothing else.”

He walks towards you, his stature casting a daunting shadow as he steps closer and closer, towering over you. His voice is low, borderline threatening to a point that has you trembling. “So you don’t want me to fuck you anymore?”

You swallow hard, composure wavering. “That’s right.”  Even you don’t fully believe it when it comes out of your own mouth, how can you expect him to?

There’s a strange look in his eyes, almost like he’s disappointed by your response. He turns his back to you, mumbling something about taking a shower. You watch him enter his bedroom, hearing him clear as day before he shuts the door with a dull thud. “I guess you don’t want me either.”

~~~

A week into being Toji’s live-in housekeeper, the two of you figure out a routine together that involves minimal interaction. You wake up in the morning to cook breakfast, eating it quickly and leaving the rest for him while you go out. You use this time to go for a walk, meet with Chiyo or your parents, do some grocery shopping, or just sit at the nearby park, enjoying the sun with your baby, who grows little-by-little each day.

Toji is usually gone the whole afternoon, either working out or gambling, so you’re able to do chores back at the house, like cleaning his room. He doesn’t return until dinnertime when tension seems to be at its highest. A big reason for that is because he’s made it a habit to eat right after his shower, shirtless and with his legs crossed on the floor, displaying a perfectly visible outline of his manhood. It’s distracting, to say the least. Chiyo mentioned the other day how you can have an increased libido during the first trimester. That’s definitely proving itself now.

Aside from the half-nakedness, something else surprises you about him. The two of you mostly avoid conversation with each other, eating in silence at the dining table while sneaking furtive glances whenever you get a chance. But he never fails to mutter, “Thank you for the meal,” before washing the dishes at the sink, retreating back into his room when he’s done. It’s the tiniest act of consideration that makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.

Tonight you sit across from each other as usual. You just finished eating the chicken katsu you made for dinner, along with a couple of side dishes you prepped earlier in the week. His abs look especially spectacular today and you find it harder than usual to stop peeking at them.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through me with the way you’re staring,” he says, chewing his last bite.

Shit, caught red-handed. You quickly look down at your empty bowl, mumbling an apology. “Sorry. I just…I can tell your hard work is paying off.”

“Yours too. The house has never been cleaner. And the food has never been better.” He’s looking directly at you, a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you.”

It’s no good. Your hormones are raging, sexual desire courses through you, all from that stupidly handsome grin and a silly little compliment. How did you ever think you could resist him?

You stand up, grabbing everything from the table. “I’ll do the dishes,” you offer, walking them to the sink, trying to calm down.

It’s no use, though. He sees right through you.

He gives you only a minute alone before he follows you, caging you between his big arms, your back to him, his mouth hot on your ear. “Let me help you.”

You let out a frustrated huff, already unraveling from his proximity. The smallest jut of your hips and there it is, his erection pressed to your ass, throbbing and even more massive than you remember it. “Toji, we can’t,” you whine, not making any attempt to separate yourself from him.

He slides his hands around your hips, pulling you in closer, rubbing his rock-hard cock against you. “I know you want it. I know you want me.”

And he’s right. You do. You want him with you, around you, inside of you. In all the ways he’s had you before, in new ways he’s never had but you’ve fantasized about. There’s no denying it anymore. You want him. You want him so fucking bad.

He takes you right there at the kitchen sink, bent over with your grip tight on the edge of the counter, pounding away at your wet, needy cunt. Neither of you bother to remove your clothes completely, Toji’s sweatpants shrugged down his thighs just enough, yours pooled around your ankles, soaked panties at your knees. “Fuck, Toji!” you moan, sticking your ass out to meet his thrusts.

His fingers find your clit, rubbing slippery circles around it. “Say it,” he grunts, increasing the pace.

Drools leaks out from the sides of your lips, too fucked out to process what’s he’s asking you. “What?”

“Say you want me,” he demands, massaging your swollen bud so deep, you feel it all the way down to your fucking toes.

“I want you. I want you, Toji!” you respond breathlessly, squeezing him tight with your orgasm.

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed my good girl.” He continues to fuck you, slowly now, relishing every second of being inside you. “Always so fucking creamy for me, fuck.” He pulls you up to embrace you from behind, fingers still pleasuring you, his other hand at your chin to face you towards him. The two of you kiss passionately, lips smacking, tongues swirling. So sloppy and wanton that it puts you on the verge of another orgasm, completely succumbed to pleasure.

You sleep with him in his bedroom after several more orgasms and a big one of his own, wrapped comfortably in his arms, with his cock and creampie inside you the rest of the night. For the first time in a while, you’re oddly at peace.

~~~

Your reckless decision making has led you into another troublesome scenario. Fortunately, you haven’t had any morning sickness the entire first week of your employment at the Fushiguro household. Unfortunately, it decides to come back today. There’s no way you’ll be able to make it to the bathroom near your room, so you have no choice but to hop out of Toji’s bed and run into his, clutching onto the porcelain bowl until it’s all out. You rinse your mouth off at the sink, hoping Toji didn’t hear any of it. But you know all too well by now that luck is never on your side.

He’s sitting up against the headboard, watching you come out of the bathroom. “Did you just puke in there?” There’s a hint of concern in his normally blunt tone.

You nod, bending down to retrieve your underwear and pants off the floor, avoiding his gaze.

“Are you sick?” he asks, the worry even more obvious now.

Shaking your head, you respond, “No, I just…I’m feeling a little nauseous, that’s all.” You walk towards the door, still not willing to look at him. “There should be leftovers in the fridge, so help yourself to breakfast. I’m going to lay down.”

He calls out your name. “Wait – ”

You ignore him, closing the door shut behind you, letting the tears fall down your cheeks as you retreat into your own bedroom, muffling your sobs into a pillow. After your wild romp last night, this bout of morning sickness has swiftly brought you back to reality. You’re still harboring the secret growing in your womb from the man who gave it to you to begin with.

There’s a firm knock on your door, startling you. “Hey, it’s me.”

In this split-second, you decide to stop with the lies and finally tell the truth. You open the door, Toji standing in front of you fully clothed in his usual attire, a serious expression on his face. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Eyes still puffy from crying, you take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant. And you’re the father.”

His mouth parts the slightest bit, no words coming out of it. The silence seems to linger on forever. You fill it by rambling all the thoughts that have been swimming in your head the last couple of weeks. “Before you start freaking out or anything, I’m telling you so that you know. I don’t expect you to be involved. I’m perfectly willing to raise this child on my own. And besides, I won’t be completely alone. I have my family to help me, my friends too. I’ll be totally fine. This baby is going to be well taken care of, I’ll make sure of it. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn’t know how. But I feel better already because this has been stressing me out. It’s all going to work out okay? I think. I hope.”

After the long spiel, he stares down at the floor, jaw tight, mouth opening and closing, unsure how to respond. Eventually, he says, “I have to go.”

When he leaves the house, you crawl into your bed, bawling until there are no tears left for you to cry.

~~~

You wake up in the late afternoon to an enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen. It’s been hours since you’ve been in bed, moping about how poorly everything went with Toji. His reaction left you devastated. While you always expected to do this alone, hearing his negative response to it hurts more than you anticipated it to.

Curious, you make your way into the kitchen, shocked to find Toji standing over the stove, stirring a pot, the soothing scent of soup surrounding you. “What’s going on?” you ask, noticing a plethora of fresh vegetables laid out on the counter, along with a big bottle of prenatal vitamins and various snacks.

He turns the heat off, covering the pot with a lid. “I’m cooking,” he answers, facing you with a grin on his face. “Bone broth is a good source of calcium. And you need to keep eating lots of veggies so our baby is strong, like me. No more of this instant ramen shit.”

“I thought you were upset,” you say, stepping closer to him.  

“I know. I’m sorry I left like that. I was shocked at first, I’ll admit it. But I started to get excited." He takes your hands in his. "I have a lot of regrets in my life, but being a father isn’t one of them. Being a bad father is. I want to change. I need to change. For Megumi. For our new little one. For you.”

Strangely enough, you believe in his heartfelt declaration. You smile at him, letting him go to stand in front of the stove, taking a whiff of the comforting aroma of the hot soup he made for you, happy tears welling in your eyes. He hugs you gently from behind, nuzzling his nose to you. “I’m going to do it right this time, okay? I know I can do it with you.”

As Toji caresses your belly, kissing you softly along the neck, you feel the weight that’s been heavy on your shoulders ease up. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

[ghostfacd]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

PART TWO

summary: you were the epitome of sunshine, and coriolanus? he was like the storm, the rain, and the everything in between.

warnings: SPOILERS from the movie & book, SMUT (protected cause we wrap it before we tap it! p in v), losing virginities to each other, snow (cause he himself needs a warning), toxic relationship, coriolanus is only in it for himself, mentions of losing virginity, you practically giving everything to snow and getting zero in return

author’s note: erm this is kinda long idek where tf i was going with this, first time writing smut on this account LOL so it might be bad. also this isn’t proofread so there might be mistakes, just ignore! as always, reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, enjoy reading + kisses 💓

You were the epitome of the sun itself, the sparkle, the light, and most importantly, the brightness. Despite being filthy rich, you were still that sweet sunshine Y/N everyone grown to love, the heir to the Cicero family.

Coriolanus Snow hated that about you. Not only were you everything he was not, but you lived such a lavish and easy lifestyle that it made him sick. Why was he stuck eating cabbage while you were off eating the finest thin slices of meat in the Capitol made by your chefs? It wasn’t fair, it just simply wasn’t.

“Well, Coryo!” Your sickeningly sweet voice fills his ears like a mantra.

He turns around, a smirk plays on his face. “My Y/N.”

Hearing him call you his made your heart flutter. You loop your arm through his, passing through the other academy students who were engrossed in their conversations

“Finally the star pupil.” Arachne Crane says, a glass of posca in her hand. “Lovely shirt you’ve got there. What are these cunning buttons? Tesserae?”

He looked at the shirt, shrugging. “Hm? Are they? Must’ve why they reminded me of the maid’s bathroom.”

You held his hands in yours. You knew of Coriolanus’s home life, how he wasn’t so lucky like you to have a gigantic home filled with lovable parents. His mom had died during childbirth, Coryo mentioning to you once how he was supposed to have a little sister. His father—died in the hands of rebels.

“Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous.” Felix suddenly spoke up, taking a bite of the food that was currently on his plate.

“Didn’t daddy teach you table manners?.” Festus sneered, watching the other boy in disgust.

“Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country.” Felix snapped back

Coriolanus took a deep breath in, already feeling overwhelmed by his classmates arguing.

After the announcement of the assigning of mentor to tributes, you could tell Coriolanus was upset. Although he wouldn’t let anyone see, he was visibly anxious and quite frankly, annoyed.

“I mean, cmon, how could it that I got the worst district?” Coriolanus says, head in his hands. “He hates me. He really does.”

“Who hates you Coryo?”

“Dean Highbottom! Isn’t it obvious?” He cries out, hands flinging into the air. You slightly flinch back, never seeing your boyfriend in such state. “He hates me Y/N. He adores you.”

“He doesn’t adore me,” you say, feeling like you were stepping around eggshells talking to Coriolanus.

“He does!” Coriolanus screams in anger, getting up in a hurry.

“Wait, no Coryo, I’m sorry.”

But your words aren’t enough, they’ll never be for Coriolanus Snow, so he walks out without a second thought.

- - -

The next day, Coriolanus apologizes. It’s a breathy, quick 5 second apology, but you being so you—accepted it without a second thought.

You loved Coriolanus, so it didn’t matter how much he hurt you.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You felt quite excited, you and your boyfriend hadn’t exactly gotten to that stage in your relationship, so thinking about sharing an intimate moment with him filled you with giddiness.

His tip had entered carefully through your folds, making you slightly wince as it bullied its way to your walls.

“Coryo..” you breathe out hazily, doe eyes coming to meet his. He sucked in his breath at the sight, never has he felt anything as good as this.

He tries so hard convincing himself he doesn’t love you. That this—it meant nothing to him. He was just here for your money, your possessions as the only daughter of Cryon and Hermione Cicero. But as he felt your nails claw its way into his back, he lets out a slip, a tiny whimper that makes your head foggy.

He spilled into the condom, pulling out with a hiss. Although you told him you were clean, and it was fine if he didn’t wear one, he simply couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to accidentally bring in a child into the world, having no intentions of taking care of anyone besides himself—maybe Tigris, and his Grandma’am.

“I love you,” you say quietly as you sat up, watching him discard the plastic into your trash bin.

“I’m hungry, aren’t you?” He says, putting his shirt on. It kinds of pains you at his total ignorance of the intimate words you just shared, but you nod your head.

“I could use some food,” is all you say, putting on your pajamas from earlier. “What’re hungry for Coryo? I’ll ask the chef.”

- - -

Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom had allowed all the mentors and their tributes roam the arena for about 15 minutes, letting them think of ways to win the game.

You were talking to Bobbin, a boy from District 7 whom you’ve had become closer with these past few days.

Suddenly, the loud scream of Felix catches your attention and before you knew it, loud bombs filled the air as tall lights fell to the ground near you.

“CORYO!” You scream, coughing loudly at the dust filling your lungs.

“Quick Y/N, we don’t have time!” Sejanus screams, grabbing ahold of your hand.

“But Coryo—”

Meanwhile, a tall pole had crushed Coriolanus’s arms.

Well, he thought, this was it.

This was how he was going to die. His girlfriend and best friend hand in hand as they ran out of the arena, the sickening feeling of betrayal filled his guts.

“What’re you doing?!” One of the tributes screamed at Lucy Gray, who was struggling to get the giant metal off Coriolanus’s arm. “Run while you can you idiot!”

But she doesn’t bother, only focusing on getting Coriolanus out. And she does, successfully, before all went black.

- - -

“Coryo? Oh Coryo!” You say, hugging him softly to ensure you weren’t hurting him.

You had felt so guilty after everything had happened. You should’ve never ran off with Sejanus, Coriolanus was your boyfriend, you should’ve saved him.

“Is Lucy Gray okay?” Is the first thing he croaks out, which makes your heart slightly crack.

“She’s—she’s okay Coryo.” You say, brushing a few blonde curls out of his eyes.

“And where were you?” He says, gaze slowly turning into anger. “I was going to die, Y/N.”

“I know! I was going to—”

He cut you off. “But you didn’t, now did you?”

His bitterness towards you makes you want to cry, tears already forming at your lash line.

“Oh now you’re crying?” It seemed like everything you did seemed of inconvenience to Coriolanus, but he opens his arms, letting you reside in them as you let out a few tears. “Always the crybaby, Y/N.” He says, hand holding your head as you buried your face into his chest.

- - -

Coriolanus Snow never believed in love. Not when he used to look at his mother and father when they were still alive, and not when he found himself a girlfriend, you.

Your relationship was merely another step stone towards success, Coriolanus viewed it. You were the heir of your family, you had countless amounts of money, and you were easily fooled by his advances. To Coriolanus, he had hit the jackpot, regardless of loving you or not.

So why did he feel so weird watching you interact with Sejanus? Sure, he considered the former district 2 boy his best friend, but it was only because Clemensia had been spending time at the hospital. The flu, Dr. Gaul described it; but Snow knew better. He was there when she had gotten bit by the snakes, and to be completely honest, if she hadn’t, he’d probably have dated her instead of you.

Clemensia Dovecote was way more smart, and he knew he wouldn’t fall inlove because they were both after the same thing. Power.

But with you, you were head over heels for Coriolanus. It almost made him sick, if it weren’t for your family name.

He clenched his jaw as he saw you throw your head back, hitting Sejanus’s shoulder as you hysterically laughed at something he had said.

What was so funny? Nothing was funny in the Capitol, not now. Maybe he was bitter, he should’ve never cheated in the games. It was stupid, and now he was getting the punishment of getting sent to 12 as a peacekeeper for 20 years.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have cheated. And now he couldn’t even use his girlfriend’s family name as a way out.

He really should’ve known better. He knew you loved him, but he didn’t think you’d love him so much so that you begged your father to let you stay in 12 for a while to be with Coriolanus.

If there’s one thing about you—it’s that you’re a Daddy’s girl by heart, and of course, your father had once again served your request with a silver spoon. He hated that about you. He hated it. You got things too damn easily.

“Hi Coryo!” You say, making your way to him. Your beautiful sundress made him gulp, and he wanted nothing more but to snatch you away, pulling it off so he could get inside of you. But he couldn’t—he was in 12, much to his dismay.

“Y/N,” he says, placing his peacekeeper gun to the back. “Talking to the scums?”

“They’re just people from the district,” you say, frowning at his rudeness. “They’re nice, Coryo. Real nice, you’d like some of them.”

Coriolanus scoffs at that. How oblivious and stupid you were. Him, Coriolanus Snow, liking some of the district 12 citizens? What a fucking joke.

“Go along now Y/N, I’ll see you later.”

You nod, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before you left, leaving the other peacekeepers to whistle at Coriolanus who only responds with an eye roll.

When later eventually comes, he was packing away the Jabberjays in their metal cages, Sejanus being right next to him.

“I saw you earlier,” Coriolanus says nonchalantly, “talking to that woman in the window. What are you playing at Sejanus?”

Sejanus scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re gonna escape Corio. Leave the districts. And I’ll be helping them.”

Coriolanus sucks in a breath, “is Y/N all in this too?”

God, he hoped Sejanus said no. But then again, it’d give him an advantage if he had said yes.

“She is,” Sejanus says, continuing to tell Coriolanus of the plan.

Without Sejanus knowing, Coriolanus had tuned the jabberjay so it could record back the whole conversation. When Sejanus finally leaves, Coriolanus sneaks to where the train bringing the birds back to the Capitol stood, placing the jabberjay in it to send it to Dr. Gaul.

If anything, Sejanus was a blocking point in Coriolanus’s way, and getting rid of him and you were like killing two birds with one stone.

- - -

The next day came and you were peacefully talking to one of the younger girls in the district when you’re suddenly pulled away along with Sejanus.

“Hey! What the hell!” You scream, thrashing in the unfamiliar peacekeeper’s hold. “Get off me!”

You and Sejanus struggle, and Coriolanus almost wants to step in and get you out of his fellow peacekeeper’s arms. Almost.

“Coryo! Tell them they’ve been mistaken!” You cry out, locking eyes with your so called lover.

“You two have been charged with treason towards the Capitol.” The peacekeeper says, his cold gaze and strong hold on you makes you let out a whimper.

“Treason?” You say, “there has to be a mistake! Call my father! Call my father!”

“I’m afraid your father can’t get you out of this one, Miss. Cicero.”

He drags you and Sejanus up the main stage of the district. “Everyone! Pay attention! This is what will happen if you are disloyal to the Capitol!”

Another peacekeeper points a gun behind Sejanus’s back as the peacekeeper who was holding you earlier pokes your back with the cold metal. You felt terrified gazes of the citizens of District 12, including Lucy Gray, stare at you.

“CORYO! TELL THEM!” You scream, begging with your eyes. “Coryo, please. Please.”

But Coriolanus Snow stands still in his spot, not budging a thing.

You thought he had loved you—or at least, cared for you. You gave him shelter when he was at his worst, you gave him your virginity, you held him when he cried about how unfair Dean Highbottom was, you let him into your home, and you always were there for him. You practically did everything for Coriolanus Snow. And what did you get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Your Coryo won’t save you.” The peacekeeper snarls, before firing the gun.

Two gunshots go off, and the body of yours and Sejanus fall to the ground in an instant.

Coriolanus Snow almost wants to barf, his eyes closed for a minute before reopening them again.

Had it really been worth it? Ratting you and Sejanus out so he could get home to the Capitol faster?

He thinks so when your family and the Plinths give him their fortune as a thank you for being such a good boyfriend and friend towards their son and daughter.

If only they knew, though. But Coriolanus would never let that happen, because no matter what, Snow lands on top.

And this? It was just the beginning.

[2blockseast]

i like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it (logan howlett x gn reader)

summary: logan adores admiring you before leaving for an early morning job author's note: hi all! this is my first ever post on here-- how exciting! i'm still new to tumblr so please bear with me as i figure everything out. i like writing things based on music i enjoy (mostly their titles), and i thought this would be a fun little drabble to start. i hope you like it :] writing is purposefully in all lowercase. tags: logan howlett x reader, reader's gender not mentioned, fluff, domestic, established relationship word count: 449

i like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it

logan hated mornings like this, when he had to wake up early while you stayed in bed sleeping peacefully. it was always because of the x-men: calling him in early for a mission or a meeting before the kids woke up, which was, of course, also before you woke up.

he hated having to leave you before you had woken up. although you would barely notice his absence as you slept, he couldn’t help but feel that he was somewhat abandoning you. you tended to cling onto him like a koala when you slept, and having to push himself out of your embrace only made him feel worse. 

he would slowly and gently pull out of your grasp, often replacing his now vacant side of the bed with a stuffy to keep you company. you would rustle around for a moment, confused by the sudden lack of warmth, but would eventually settle back into your calm slumber. he would smile as he watched you, thinking of how beautiful you were. logan always loved to admire you, but there was a kind of softness that came with doing so as you slept.

logan always made sure to let you know how beautiful you were, but you were often quick to reject his compliments, making jokes about how he was a good liar or about how he must’ve been talking about himself. it hurt him a bit, being able to feel how self-conscious you were despite his attempts to show you otherwise. you were so beautiful, yet so unaware. but when you slept, he could coo at you as much as he wanted without protest.

“you’re so beautiful, baby,” he would say, gently stroking your hair. he would trace the details of your face with his eyes, further committing your beauty to memory. 

“i wish you knew how stunning you were,” he would say, leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

he would sit on the edge of the bed complimenting you and kissing your face for several minutes, often making him late to whatever made him get up so early in the first place. despite the x-men’s grumbles about logan being late every early morning, he never cared about being late. looking over you like this had become routine for him, and it always helped him start his day on the right foot. this was like his morning cup of coffee, but 10x sweeter.

as he gave you your final gentle kiss of the morning, you rustled and quietly mumbled: “please don’t go”. 

logan softened, lightly blushing as he stroked your face again. he leaned down and softly kissed your cheek before whispering: “i’ll be back before you know it, beautiful”.

[thetriumphantpanda]

mine, all mine | joel miller

Summary | You & Joel have been skirting around whatever this is for years, until he finally breaks and calls it what it is, in the only way he knows how.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.2K

Warnings | Post-Outbreak, Jackson!Joel, possessive!Joel, rough sex, spit play, unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, cumplay, dirty talk, emotionally unavailable Joel, it's basically just 1.2k of filth tbh, no use of y/n

Authors Note | This one goes out to @undercoverpena who gave me the means to rewatch TLOU. This was the outcome. Enjoy the filth.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s got your wrists caught together in one of his big hands, pressed down into the mattress to keep you still. Your thighs splayed wide, pressed down almost uncomfortably by the width of his hips. His cock is splitting you open and you’re so impossibly wet that you can hear it whenever he pushes himself back into you. He likes it, wild grin on his face whenever that lewd squelch makes itself known, he likes that only he can do this to you, only he can make you this wet, only he can get you to submit so completely like this.

It’s been two years of this. Two years of being pressed into his bed in the dead of night. Two years of dancing around what this is, but enjoying it all the same. You don’t think you need to label it, complicate it, not when it feels this good. You’d happily go the rest of your days not knowing what you and Joel Miller are if it means he’s going to stay like this. It started as stress relief, a lot like how it had been with the other people here in Jackson that had fallen into your bed - him, frustrated from patrol or whatever it was going on with Ellie, you, frustrated with… well, mostly everything these days. When he’s inside you, there are no frustrations, only the low thrum of pleasure across your skin.

Things have changed though, maybe in the past six months. He stands closer to you when you’re at the bar, sometimes puts a hand on the small of your back when someone else tries to talk to you. Subtle messages that say back the fuck off or she’s mine without needing to put real words to it. He doesn’t say it, even here, when he’s deep inside you, doesn’t beg you to tell him who you belong to, but then you suppose he doesn’t have to - you’ve not fucked anyone else since this started, no-one would hold a candle to him, and you know he doesn’t fuck anyone else either.

“You hear that?” His gruff voice asks, pulling you back to the present as his cock drags from your cunt, pushing back in slowly, and you do, that squelch of him pushing back inside you as deep as he can fit, you throw your head back, moan his name, “Yeah you do,” His face buries into your neck, teeth dragging across delicate skin, “Hear how wet I gotcha?”

You let your eyes open, fluttering slowly to reveal how close he is to your face. He’s so fucking beautiful like this - skin covered in sweat, brows pinched together in pleasure, his scars and his wrinkles visible so closely, the grey in his beard and the smattering of hair on his chest pressed against yours, you won’t ever grow tired of this.

“S-so fucking g-good, Joel.” You choke out on another drag of his cock, tip pressed right against the depths of you, dragging deliciously against that spot inside you.

“I know, baby, I know,” He coos, nudging the side of your face with his nose, hot breath so close to your ear as he continues the languid strokes of himself in and out of your spent cunt, “Bein’ so good f’me.”

His praise never fails to make you preen, face rolling to the side, exposing the side of your neck to him that he hasn’t already marked. You feel the tight grip around your wrists loosen, his hand taking hold of your chin instead, pulling you back to look at him, brown eyes glazed almost black with lust as he looks down at you. There’s something different there this time, sure he’s always been intense, but he’s looking at you this time like he wants to devour you whole - to cut you open and eat you from the inside.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” He whispers, hand around your face moving to shake you so your focus is on him and not on the way his thrusts have started getting harder, “Say it.”

“M’yours,” You manage to get out, but he shakes your head again, “Yours, m’yours Joel.”

“That’s right,” He bends, hand still gripping your chin, and licks into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth nipping gently, “My girl.”

You almost can’t believe it, like this is some kind of dream, your wildest fantasy come true that he does want you, that it’s not just your pussy he covets but everything else you bring.

“Y-you mean it?” You speak, breathless, “I’m yours?”

You bring a hand up to his face now, cradling a cheek, thumb tracing his bottom lip, but he’s shaking your hand away, his own still tight against your face, “Open your mouth,” but you’re confused about why, so it takes you a while for your brain to catch up, “Open your damn mouth baby.”

This time you do, lips parted, tongue out, Joel’s fingers sitting in the hinges of your jaw, dragging your head forward a little, then, he purses his lips, opens his mouth and lets his saliva drip from his own mouth into your, caught on the flat of your tongue. It’s hot, probably the hottest thing he’s even done. You curl your tongue over it, dragging your mouth closed to swallow it down, then, you open your mouth, stick your tongue back out and look him straight in the eye to ask for more.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” He mutters, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still pounding into you, the feeling of your slick, made more by what he’d just down, gathering at the base of his cock, dripping down onto the sheets below, “Y’like that, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Is the only thing you can get out before he’s doing it again, letting his own spit drip from his mouth into yours.

This time though, he doesn’t give you the option to swallow it. He lets go of your face, his tongue melding with yours at the precise spot that his spit had just landed on. It’s a filthy, wet, open-mouthed kiss, saliva gathering in your corners of your mouth as you moan into his when he shifts his hips just a little, tip of his cock now bruising into your cervix on every punch forward.

It happens all at once, his lips dragging from yours, his cock dragging out of your pussy as he pushes backwards, cock in his fist for barely a second before the first rope of his spend is spurting across your soaked and aching folds. Joel lets out a growl as the next lands across the soft skin of your tummy, the next between the valley of your tits. He’s dragging a tight fist up and down the length of his cock, squeezing lightly at his tip to empty himself of every drop of cum, painting your skin with it until he’s softening in his fist and you’re trying to catch your breath.

Joel lets his hands grip your hips, dragging his thumbs through the pools of cum across your lower body, rubbing gently through it to spread it as far as he can, “Look nice like this,” He muses, looking down at the mess he’s made of you, from the aching red hue of your spent cunt, to the milky white splashed across your body, “Mine.” He says, with a tone of finality.

“Yours.”

[hvlplvss]

| all webbed up

| colby brock x reader x sam golbach

summary: sam and colby’s annual halloween party commences. they decided to dress matching once again; spiderman and venom spiderman. and a certain girl has a thing for the spider boys.

warnings: mean!dom!colby, soft!dom!sam, degrading, praise, oral (m and f receiving), creampie,

authors note: this is not edited at all. i just wanted to get this out to you guys!! hope you enjoy!!

word count: 3.7k

the annual sam and colby halloween party was something you’d always look forward to. you’d been invited for the past five years, ever since your friendship began with the two boys.

but y/n couldn’t help herself. she secretly liked the boys. she had for a while now, however she never confessed her feelings. she didn’t even want to confront them to herself.

she knew they wouldn’t like her back. why would two of the biggest upcoming youtubers like her back.

y/n had begun editing the boys’ videos three years ago, once she finished off school. she’d studied media and film, giving her knowledge about everything. sam and colby had saw how well the girl did in her studies and her work and immediately asked her to help edit their videos as they were beginning to have tight schedules.

y/n of course agreed. this guaranteed more time with the boys. which it did. after a few months of working with them, they offered her a room at their house, which she also agreed to obviously.

as time progressed, y/n sometimes thought that the boys felt something for her, but she’d then convince herself she was being delusional. however, her bestfriend, lucia, would feed into the delusion and tell her that ‘they look at you as if they wanna fuck you’.

but that’s what bestfriends do. they won’t turn to you and tell you the truth if you really like someone so much. well lucia wouldn’t.

there was a knock at y/n’s bedroom door, she called out a small ‘come in’. colby walked into the room, his eyes immediately noticing her bare legs. y/n sporting an xplr hoodie, which was yet to be released, and which also belonged to sam.

colby shook his head and then looked at her face, “you hungry? sam said about getting take out,” colby asked.

“uhh, yeah. i just need to finish editing,” y/n spoke, quickly turning back to the laptop and pressing a few keys and the mouse.

colby moved towards her bed, coming to lay next to her. as he collapsed onto her bed, he let his head rest against y/n’s shoulder.

“this shit is freaky,” y/n looked to colby, “don’t get how you guys do it constantly,”

colby rolled his eyes playfully, “come on, you did that one video with us,” colby answered.

y/n smiled at the memory, but her face then contorted into embarrassment, “yeah and i literally cried, colby,”

he removed his head from y/n’s shoulder to look at her, “i don’t blame you! you got targeted the entire night. some of the things you faced had never happened to be and sam!” he comforted her, “what if we invited you again, somewhere that’s not as haunted or dangerous? you’d have me and sam, and i could invite a few others so it’s like a group video?”

y/n considered this for a moment, “maybe,” she said uncertainly, “i’ll see how i feel in the future,”

the blond boy then burst through the door, “what you guys up to?”

colby shook his head, “nothing. just tryna get y/n to get in a future video,”

“you should y/n! everyone loved you on the channel, and we loved having you in the video,” sam added.

“you’re distracting me! i’m trying to edit your video!” y/n smiled, pushing colby back.

sam came and sat next to her, on the other side to where colby was sat. the boys sat in silence, while y/n edited the video.

they’d never really understood how she did it. they understood little things and they could probably survive without her. but y/n understood it to another level. she understood what attracted viewers, what made the video look better and she knew secret little tips and tricks to make the video the best thing.

“i don’t know how you even remember all this,” sam spoke up, said boy standing up and walking to the door, “i’m gonna go order take out now. the usual?” he asked. colby nodded looking at sam, and y/n nodded without looking away from the laptop, sam disappears into the hallway.

colby watched for another minute, before speaking “right i’ll leave you to it,” colby pressed a kiss into the side of her head, “our smart girl,” he muttered, moving off the bed and out the door. y/n couldn’t hide or stop the redness that came to her face. ‘our’. colby had called her ‘our smart girl’. the praise had gotten to her. colby knew it would. he’d picked up on how she reacts to things not that long ago, he of course informed sam. and now they’d started using it to their advantages, just like now.

y/n had told the boys that she would head over to lucia’s to get ready for the halloween party. this was a yearly thing that happened. all because sam and colby liked to surprise y/n with their costume and vice versa.

the two girls had gone somewhat matching. cat woman and harley quinn. not matching exactly, but from the same company. lucia had gone with harley and y/n had chosen cat woman. and if she had to be honest, she felt sexy.

a tight black latex suit covered her body, high black stilettos on her feet, a black cat mask over her eyes and her hand held a whip. y/n’s lips were accentuated with red lipstick, standing out against the dark latex. eventually y/n gave up with holding the whip, she decided it was too much and she’d end up losing it anyways.

“come on, lucia,” y/n pleaded, “we’re gonna be late!”

lucia rolled her eyes, “there’s not even a certain time we have to be there. you just wanna go and see your boyfriends!”

y/n groaned at her words. “firstly, they’re not my boyfriends, they’re my bestfriends and my bosses. secondly i want to go now, because i fucking love halloween! plus, sam and colby throw the best parties ever!”

lucia stood up walking over to her closet to pick out her shoes, which she bought specially for this occasion. “fine, you go get in the car! i’ll be there in a second,” she replied, giving into y/n’s desperation to leave.

“thank you!” y/n grinned, kissing her bestfriends cheek and trying her best to run to the car with her heels on.

she jumped in the passenger seat of lucia’s car and waited. she thought about sam and colby immediately. she knew they’d look good tonight, no matter what they wore. her thoughts were interrupted with her phone ringing. she looked at the contact who called ‘sam🤍’. her phone read. she smiled at the name, admiring the picture of her and sam that came up. it was a photo from two years ago; a photo of sam kissing y/n’s cheek.

she then realised she still hadn’t answered the call, so she clicked on the green answer button and put the phone up to her ear. “hey sam!”

“hey y/n! uh- how long till you’re here?”

“i mean, im in the car waiting, but lucia’s is just getting her shoes on, then we’ll be over,”

“okay great. quite a lot of people have already arrived, but we’ll come look for you when you get here,”

there was some rustling on the other end of the phone. “hey y/n!” colby’s voice boomed through the phone.

“hey colbs,”

“how’s your costume?”

“yeah, pretty good actually. think it’ll beat yours this year,”

“is that so? well, your costume won’t be on for very long, anyways,”

what has he just said. y/n’s eyes widened and she bit her lip trying to hide her growing smile. lucia opened the drivers seat door, knocking y/n out of her thoughts of what colby had just said.

“alright, lucia’s just got in the car! i’ll see you guys soon!”

the boys said bye and y/n ended the call. “speaking to the boyfriends are we?” lucia smirked, pulling out of her driveway.

y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that came across her face, “they’re not my boyfriends, once again, lucia!” y/n thought about it for a moment, should she tell lucia what colby just said.

“what you thinking about?” lucia asked.

“i-uh, well, when they just rang me, i mean it was a pretty normal call. then, colby started speaking and he made like a really flirty forward comment, and it seemed like he meant it in that way…” y/n explained with a confused tone.

“what did he say?”

“he said ‘your costume won’t be on for long, anyways’. so i took that as we’ll be taking your costume off soon,” y/n replied.

lucia’s giggled at what her friend had told her, “someone is getting fucked tonight!” she cheered, “by the two guys she in love with!”

“shut up lucia, im not okay! they’re probably just messing around, you know them,” she denied.

the girls walked through the door of the house, which was now fully decorated and it looked amazing. y/n had done quite a bit of it, but sam and colby and insisted on doing the rest.

lucia grabbed onto y/n’s arm and led her to the kitchen where there was an array of alcoholic drinks on the island in the middle. lucia took two solo cups and filled it with things that y/n didn’t even pay attention to, due to the fact she was looking for the two boys. “here you go, miss y/l/n,” lucia said, handing over a cup, “wait- what would your last name be if you guys got married. would you be a y/n brock? or a y/n golbach? or would you go double and do y/n brock gol-”

sam and colby appear behind y/n, “what you saying about us there, lucia?” sam asked jokingly.

y/n swings around to face them, noticing them costumes. how convenient. cat woman and spiderman. two spiderman’s to be exact. neither of them were wearing a mask, but they had the full body suit on.

colby had gone with the black version of spiderman. the venom spiderman, obviously. black being his colour. and be looked good, but he knew that. the black bodysuit hugged his abdomen and chest tightly, showing off what was hidden underneath, which y/n craved to get her hands on.

and then sam. the classic spiderman, the costume was popular, but no one could pull it off better than sam. he looked incredible. just like colby, the bodysuit wrapped around him perfectly, accentuating his body.

sam and colby eyed y/n up and down when she turned to face them, smirks rushing to their faces. “she was saying, none of your business,” y/n smiled sarcastically.

“ouch,” sam replied, shaking his head with a smile.

without y/n knowing, lucia had ran off, leaving her with sam and colby, who gave her a nod, too which y/n didn’t even pick up on.

“so, spiderman and spiderman. i’m a little underwhelmed, was expecting something way better,” she shrugged, placing her hand onto colby’s chest to feel the costume.

“someone’s feeling a bit mean?” colby asked with a cocky smile.

“not mean, truthful,”

“mhmm. well, i could say the same about yours y/n. think i’ve seen another cat woman here already,” sam spoke.

“but it’s okay, you’re the only one with our attention,” colby finished. slapping his arm on sam’s back and walking away with him, leaving y/n there, with furrowed eyebrows.

y/n thought she was making it up, or she was thinking too much into it. being delusional, once again.

y/n poured herself another drink, not noticing the oncoming presence. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing on your own, huh?” a deep voice spoke behind her. she perked an eyebrow and turned, coming face to face with a man she didn’t recognise. “i’m daniel,” he informed.

y/n cringed. she already had her eyes on two boys in particular. and daniel seemed to be pretty drunk already so she knew he’d be pushy, so she was straightforward, “and i’m not interested,” she thinned her lips, downing her drink and then walking away.

she wanted to go find lucia, so she pushed through the crowd of people who had made their way onto the makeshift ‘dance floor’, but a hand grabbed onto her wrist pulling her back.

“who was that?” it was sam.

y/n furrowed her eyebrows. how did he even see her? him and colby had left, there’s no way we could have seen her and daniel. “i don’t know. he just started talking to me,” y/n spoke truthfully.

sam’s hands moved down to y/n’s hips, who looked down, screaming internally at the action. “did you tell him to leave you alone?” sam asked, leaning into her ear and speaking lowly, keeping his hands on the nervous girls hips. she nodded quickly, “good girl,” sam moved his right hand up to the back of y/n’s head, holding her. he brought his hips forwards against y/n’s hips, who couldn’t even believe what was going on.

after a minute or so, y/n could feel another pair of hands join her hips, just a little above sam’s. sam leant into y/n’s ear, “be good for colby while i’m gone,” he spoke. sam’s right hand left one tight squeeze on y/n’s hip before leaving her hip. she watched the blond boy disappear into the sea of people.

that’s when she felt colby pull on her hips to press her bum into his cock, which was already slightly hard. he pressed his head into the crook of her neck, then eventually leaving open wet kisses on her neck. y/n closing her eyes and relishing in the moment, was turned around by colby, who looked at her with a dark stare. y/n’s arm locked around colby’s neck.

before y/n could even think about it, colby’s lips were on hers. kissing roughly and messily. there was a clash of teeth and every so often colby would bite on her lip, cause her to whine, which resulted in colby doing it a few more times for a reaction. colby’s hands moved further down her back, reaching and grabbing at her ass.

colby pulled his lips away from y/n’s, “let’s go somewhere else,” he said quietly, y/n’s stomach doing flips.

colby led y/n up the stairs and into her room, seen as it was the closet one to the stairs. as colby opened the door, y/n saw sam sat on her bed. “took you long enough. thought you’d ditched,” sam began.

“no, i’d never. someone just couldn’t keep their hands off,” colby replied, shutting the door behind me.

y/n looked between the two boys, who now stood in front of her. “i’m so confused, guys. what’s going on?” y/n asked, her brows furrowed.

“oh come on y/n. you’re not that stupid. thought you were our smart girl,” responded sam.

“we’ve seen you looking at us. we know all about your dirty secret,” colby said lowly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “but that’s okay y/n. we think the same about you. isn’t that right, sam?”

he nodded in response stepping forward towards y/n, who was now corned by the two boys. “just wanna make you feel good, that’s all baby. can we do that?” sam asked.

y/n nodded shyly. sam immediately went in to kiss y/n, shocking her at first, but then melting into the kiss. his kiss was different to colby’s. colby was more needy, and rough when he kissed, he would bite on her lip as well. but sam’s kiss was gentler. he didn’t bite on her lip, or kiss her roughly. but they were both amazing either way.

y/n felt colby’s lips on her neck, sucking purple bruises into her skin. he moved her hair out of the way, gaining him more and more access.

sam pulled away from the kiss, “go get on the bed, okay?” y/n nodded, moving over to the bed and sitting on her knees, looking over to the boys who whispered to one another quietly.

the two boys finished speaking and walked over to stand in front of y/n. “you gonna be good for us? hm?” colby asked. y/n nodded, looking up at the two. after a few seconds, colby had removed the black suit, showing his boxers, which had a clear outline of his cock.

“go on, make yourself useful,” colby said. y/n reached for the waist band of his boxers, pulling them down. desperately, she reached her hand forward, gripping onto him in her hand, eliciting a groan from colby. y/n stroked him for a minute, before colby spoke harshly, “come on whore, suck my cock,”

y/n squeezed her thighs together, obeying what colby had said. she leant forward and wrapped her lips around his tip, causing his head to tilt back. y/n moved her head forward, letting his cock slide down her throat.

his hands found their way into her hair, gripping her roots tightly, using them to pull her down and back off his cock. he pulled her off, a string of saliva connecting from her lips to his cock. “be good to sam, yeah?”

“use your words, sweetheart,” sam soothed softly, placing his hand in her hair and gently brushing it out her face.

“wanna make you feel good sam,”

“such a good girl, aren’t you?” sam cooed.

sam pulled down his own boxers, letting y/n have a moment to catch her breath.

there was a clear difference in the way sam and colby acted in the bedroom. colby was assertive, mean, rough and straightforward. sam was more caring, sweet and slower with what he did and said. but they both complimented each other in this situation.

y/n licked up sam’s length, taking him into her mouth, “feels so good, baby. so perfect,”

colby had walked around the back of the bed, so he was now behind y/n. he grabbed her by her hair and pulled her off of sam, a whine escaping her lips. colby pushed y/n onto her elbows. “carry on, who’re. take care of sam,” colby instructed. y/n complied, going back to sucking sam’s cock.

colby reached for the zip on y/n’s latex suit, “as much as i love this, it’s gotta go,” colby uttered. he pulled the zip down, slipping the latex off of y/n.

she wore no underwear, nor bra underneath the suit. “such a desperate whore. just wanted to be fucked, isn’t that right?”

“don’t be mean, colby. she’s just needy,” sam countered, stroking y/n’s hair softly.

colby moved down the bed so he was now face to face with her pussy. “so fucking wet,”

he leant in, licking a stripe up her slit, causing her to moan out on sam’s dick. “that feel good, baby?” sam asked, y/n’s head nodding frantically.

colby moved his head further down, sucking harshly on her clit, causing y/n to writhe in pleasure, moaning around sam’s cock still.

colby brought two of his fingers up to y/n’s entrance, slowly pushing his fingers in. he started off with a slow torturous pace, y/n clenching around his fingers. he took note of this, increasing the pace of his fingers and his tongue, which flicked across her clit.

she could feel her release nearing, colby removed his mouth but kept his fingers pushing in at a relentless pace, “you gonna cum?”

sam removed y/n’s mouth from around his cock, letting her breath and answer colby. “yes,” she moaned, “please let me cum,” she begged.

“i don’t know about that. what do you think, sam?”

sam looked down at y/n. she was looking up at him, begging him to say yes, a blissed out look on her face. “i think she can. she’s been so good for us, haven’t you y/n?”

she nodded, “so good for you,”

“cum. fucking cum on my fingers, whore,” colby said, before diving back in, his tounge resuming to flicking back at her clit.

it didn’t take long for y/n to come undone on his fingers, moaning out and her eyes closing. colby slowed down his fingers, easing out of her. “you gotta have a go with her pussy, it’s fucking amazing,” colby told sam, speaking about y/n to him as though she wasn’t there.

the boys had swapped places now, colby stood in front, ushering her mouth back on his cock. rushing in to put his hands in her hair and pulling her down, causing her to gag around him. sam lined his cock up with her pussy, slowly pushing in, causing him to groan. y/n moaned at the feeling, looking up to colby, who’s head was back and his bottom lip in between his teeth.

as sam bottomed out in y/n. he gave her a few seconds to adjust. she clenched around him, letting him know he could move. sam held tightly onto her hips, pulling out of her and then slamming back into her. y/n’s mouth came off of colby’s cock, moaning out. but colby immediately came back in and put her mouth back around him.

they both thrusted roughly, synchronising their thrusts. y/n moaned out around colby cock, closing her eyes. “keep them open, whore,” colby pulled back on her hair, causing her to whine. “stupid whore, can’t even keep her eyes open,”

sam’s thrust began becoming sloppy, puffing into her. “gonna cum,” sam groaned, “cum with me, y/n,”

he reached his hand around to her clit, rubbing harsh circles. “cum for us, y/n,”she immediately let go, her orgasm washing over her. clenching around sam, as he followed suit. cumming deep inside her.

colby sped his thrusts up, stopped deep in her throat, releasing his cum down her throat.

sam pulled out of y/n, pulling his boxers back up. he walked around to y/n, crouching at her face level, “you okay?” he asked gently.

“i’m okay,” she nodded with a smile.

colby had walked away to pull his boxers back on and also grab a t-shirt for y/n, which actually turned out to be one of his own shirts, which she’d stolen.

“sit up angel,” y/n complied, putting her arms through the t-shirt, colby leaning in to kiss her forehead.

the boys sat opposite y/n on the bed, “so what happens now,” she giggled, a small smile on all their faces.

sam shrugged, “we’ll have to see about that. but something will happen soon. i promise,” he hinted, “but for now, we have a party to get to,”

y/n pouted, “but i just wanna stay here with my favourite boys,”

sam nodded, “i’ll go clear everyone out,” he left the bed and went to grab a t-shirt and shorts, which were his, but he’d given them to y/n. he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

colby scooted up the bed, opening his arms for y/n. who accepted with a big smile on her face.

“y’know, i’ve always had a thing for spiderman,”

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[the-boy-meets-evil]

not according to plan | hjs

summary: your ex-fiance is getting married and everyone you know is going to be there. when he calls to ask if you're coming, you accidentally mention a boyfriend. which would be fine, if you weren't very single. thankfully your best friend comes through with the perfect solution when he sets you up with a friend of his. what could possibly go wrong?

pairing: joshua x f.reader genre: fake dating, strangers to friends to ?? | fluff, slight angst, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~22.1k notes/warnings: johnny suh as the ex-fiancee (sorry, he's not great in this), other idols born in '95 used as background characters, mentions of past cheating, food & alcohol, lots of "dates", reader is referenced as coming from a rich family, mention of being an escort (minus the sex?) smut warnings: making out, multiple smut scenes (kind of, it could be a continuation), multiple orgasms, teasing, they're both v obsessed with each other's bodies, protected sex, fingering, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), scratching/marking, squirting, overstimulation, use of lube, i think that's it (but let me know if it's not)

author's note: this fic is dedicated to the lovely @shuadotcom, i'm so sorry it took me literal months to finish fake dating!joshua but here we are anyway. i'm not sure how this one got so away from me either lmao. banner credit to the beautiful @wongyuseokie who (again) did this very last minute. thank you to @wonwussy & @kwanisms for the mid-fic beta. thank you to @wooahaeproductions, @horanghater, @cheolism, & @hannieween for listening to me talk about this and helping with things like petnames & dates.

taglist at the end (& join my permanent taglist here)

“It’s fine, it’s been years and I’m over it. Plus, I’ve been seeing someone anyway and he’s great. So I wasn’t ignoring your invite,” you say without a second thought. 

It’s just a stream of consciousness. The lie comes flying out of your mouth faster than your brain can process it. That’s exactly what it is, too. A lie. You’re not seeing anyone and haven’t been in a serious relationship since the person on the other end of the call broke your heart. 

“Oh, wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to…well, I didn’t know. My mom didn’t say anything when she said she had spoken to your mom about whether or not you were coming to the wedding,” Johnny says with a little bit of ramble. 

“You know how my mom can be, I haven’t had the chance to tell her yet,” you deflect. 

“I’m happy for you, then,” Johnny says. 

“Thanks, I’m happy for you, too,” you force out. Somehow, it doesn’t sound like the lie you know that it is.

“So, it’s not weird, then? I mean our moms are best friends, so the rest of your family is all going to be there. A lot of your friends will be there. I know you haven’t RSVP’d yet, but…” Johnny starts.

“Nope! Not weird at all,” you utter, hoping that your voice sounds even. “It’d be weirder if I wasn’t there, right?” 

“Probably, yeah,” Johnny says. “That’s great, though. Do you want me to mark you down as a yes? I can even add a plus-one, if you want to bring your partner.” 

“That’s so thoughtful, but I wouldn’t want to put you out. I know how expensive weddings can be,” you say and try to sound sincere.

“No, it’s no issue, actually. We have a few extra seats that we left just in case we forgot someone or didn’t know about someone’s partner,” Johnny presses. “So we’ll see you both there?”

“Yeah, you will,” you hurry out. This conversation needs to be over. 

It’s only an hour after hanging up with your ex-fiancee that your mom calls to tell you she can’t believe she had to hear it from Mrs. Suh that you’re dating someone. Which includes a whole lot of deflecting and promises about when she can meet this mystery man. Another twenty minutes after you hang up with your mom, you get a pointed text from your younger sister. The two of you haven’t ever been all that close, so she shouldn’t be surprised that you haven’t mentioned him. She made her side pretty clear when she maintained her friendship with Johnny’s new fiancée. That new fiancee, a close friend of your sisters, also just so happened to be the girl he cheated on you with. So, she can hardly expect to have a close sister bond. Yet, she seems oddly suspicious that she didn’t know you were seeing someone seriously. 

Your quiet Saturday afternoon turns into a full blown headache all thanks to one call from the asshole that you really thought you left in the past. Of course, now is the perfect time for him to pop back up. Now, when you’re even between any sort of casual sex. Now, when you don’t even have someone that you can call up to pretend to date you. This is going to be one of the worst calls that you have to make when you have to admit you made it all up, that you will absolutely not be showing your face at the wedding, and you will also be changing your name before moving away.

For now, you do the only thing that you can think of doing. You call the only person that can give you any perspective on this whole fucking disaster. 

“Well hello,” your best friend answers. 

“Jeonghan, I fucked up,” you say without preamble. 

“This is gonna be good,” he responds. 

“I just got off the phone with my mom,” you begin.

“What did she want?” he asks, knowing that it won’t be anything good.

“Well, you know, to talk about this new boyfriend of mine,” you continue.

“You haven’t dated anyone in forever,” Jeonghan chuckles. 

“Thank you for that,” you snark. “And then, of course, I get a text from my perfect sister wondering why she’s also just hearing about this boyfriend of mine.” 

“Why do your sister and your mom think you’re dating someone?” Jeonghan asks.

“Oh, well, you know. Johnny called today,” you offer.

“Fuck that guy,” Jeonghan interjects.

“He wanted to know why I hadn’t responded to his wedding invite and assumed it was awkward because I was single, so I told him I was seeing someone,” you finally finish.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jeonghan says into the silence and you can imagine his face.

“Right? My life is a fucking mess and now Johnny thinks that I’m bringing my boyfriend,” you groan.

“I’ll start planning the story for why you suddenly left town,” Jeonghan says. 

“For real, my life is over,” you whine.

“What are you gonna do?” Jeonghan asks softly. 

This is really why you called him. Jeonghan is a shithead, sometimes, and he can be a bit of a chaos demon. He also can be a bit of a schemer, especially when it comes to winning a game. But, he’s unfailingly kind and caring to the people he holds dear. He absolutely hates getting into any kind of real conflict with his friends. There’s that whole side to him that honestly wouldn’t hurt a fly and always has a way to comfort. That’s the side that you get now. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, voice just as quiet. “I’m just…I don’t want to let him win, you know?”

And Jeonghan does know. You’ve been friends since before you started dating Johnny. Even though he never liked him, Jeonghan supported you in your relationship. When Johnny proposed, he called your other friends and set up the best engagement party anyone could ask for. From the outside, nobody would ever know that he hated your partner. Honestly, he’s the best friend anyone in the world could ask for. 

Before he got around to setting up the bridal shower, which he’d been quietly planning for months, your whole world turned upside down. Johnny cheated, had been cheating awhile, actually, and Jeonghan was there to pick up the pieces. Somehow, he was the only one that seemed to make it better, probably because he didn’t want to act like things were okay when they weren’t. It was easy to cry in front of him, easy to be vulnerable, easy to just let the process play out so you could heal. Even though he never liked Johnny, he also didn’t say he told you so. This had never been something that crossed his mind. 

“Okay, you’re gonna hate it, but I have an idea,” Jeonghan says.

“Those are never comforting words coming from you,” slips out of your mouth.

“Usually I’d yell at you, but…” he trails off. 

“I swear, if you’re about to say that we pretend to be dating like some romcom, I will hang up the phone,” you warn.

“First of all, that’s rude, I’m a great boyfriend,” Jeonghan says. 

“I never said you weren’t, Hannie, you know I think you’re gorgeous,” you sigh. 

“That’s true, I am,” Jeonghan says through a laugh.

“But, I also know you remember what an unmitigated disaster it was when we fucked,” you point out, earning an even louder laugh. 

“Wow, and here I thought that it was actually great sex,” he says. 

“I’m not gonna keep stroking your ego, I already admitted you were gorgeous. I don’t need to praise the sex, too,” you declare.

“Stroking my…come on, you’re making it too easy,” Jeonghan points out.

“Funny, because I remember you being the easy one that night,” you say, finally managing to get a shot in.

“I hate you,” Jeonghan snorts. 

“I know,” you answer. “Didn’t you say that you had an idea?” 

Jeonghan clears his throat. “Right, yeah. Well, I know this guy and maybe he can help you out.” 

“What is he, an escort?” you snort out.

“Do you want my help or not?” Jeonghan asks.

“Yoon Jeonghan, are you about to set me up with an escort?” you challenge.

“No, of course not, just trust me,” he says.

Just trust me might be the three most terrifying words that could come out of Jeonghan’s mouth, especially when you’re not usually on the receiving end of his schemes. It’s not like you have much choice, though. The wedding is in six weeks and you have to find a solution, fast. So, what choice do you have other than trusting your best friend? How could this go wrong? 

You still think this is a terrible idea, yet agree to meet Jeonghan’s friend, Joshua, anyway. Apparently, he’s somewhat new to the area, doesn’t know many people, and is incredibly easy to be around. There’s no mention of why Jeonghan thinks he might be willing to pretend to be your boyfriend. A part of you wonders if your friend even told him, but he’s not that cruel. So, whatever the case, Joshua must at least have some idea of what he’s walking into. 

Several days pass between the nightmare of a call from Johnny and you actually meeting Joshua, which only adds to your anxiety about whether or not this is going to work. Johnny is asking for a name for the seating chart and for dinner selections. Your mom wants to know when they’ll be able to meet this new boyfriend before the wedding (because “meeting him for the first time at a wedding is gauche” and we wouldn’t want that). Your sister is convinced that he doesn’t actually exist since you haven’t posted him on social media. That you can at least answer to say that not everyone posts their entire life online like she does. It doesn’t seem to allay her suspicions, though. 

Then, there’s the fact that you’re actually meeting Joshua for the first time at dinner. All you wanted was to go for coffee, yet he insisted. You couldn’t exactly press the point. Not when you’re planning to ask this stranger to pretend to date you just so that you can avoid the embarrassment at your ex’s wedding. On top of that, because Jeonghan really is a demon at his core, you don’t know what Joshua looks like. Don’t know who to look for. Which leads to you doing the only sensible thing and showing up 5 minutes late for dinner, hoping that he’ll already be at the table when you get there.

It works.

When you give the reservation name at the host stand, you’re immediately led back to a table. Without even thinking about it, you smooth your hands down the front of your dress, looking for a small amount of comfort in this situation. It’s not even that you struggle around new people, this is just…well, it’s a lot. It’s out of anyone’s comfort zone. Whatever you’re expecting, it’s not the man sitting at the table the host leads you to. He nearly stops you in your tracks. 

His black hair is perfectly styled down to the pieces on one side that come down over his forehead. The black dress shirt he wears is open at least one button too many, but he makes the exposed chest look work in a way models would envy. Even though his pants are black as well, he makes it look classic and effortless, rather than too dark. That’s all without even acknowledging the soft smile on his face. This man would break a thousand hearts without even saying a damn word. While you’re appreciating him, you miss the way his eyes rake over you appreciatively. Miss the way his eyes trace your curves and the way the dress clings to you. 

In one fluid motion, he’s standing up to greet you, a gentle kiss placed on your cheek. Is it weird if your knees are a little weak? Well, even if it is, there’s nothing you can do. You’re completely captivated. 

“You must be Joshua,” you say. Brilliant, you think. That’s obvious.

“It’s nice to meet you. Jeonghan had nothing but good things to say,” he answers with another smile as he pulls your seat out for you. 

“I feel like he hardly told me about you,” you respond. Joshua raises a perfect eyebrow at that.

“Then why did you agree to go out with me?” Joshua asks. 

“Go out with…is this a date?” The question comes tumbling out. 

Joshua’s eyes widen in genuine confusion. “Is it not?” 

“What, exactly, did Jeonghan say to you?” 

A lot and nothing at all, it turns out. Joshua tells you about how he’s somewhat new to the area, which you knew. About how he met Jeonghan through work, kind of. They work in the same building doing very different things and happened to run into each other getting coffee a handful of times before Jeonghan introduced himself. The two had hung out several times, something Jeonghan had not really mentioned, and gotten to know each other over drinks more than once. The very first time, Jeonghan had mentioned you and Joshua admits immediately being intrigued without pressing for more information. 

In any case, Jeonghan talked about you pretty freely, a fact that’s hardly surprising. Before Joshua texted you, Jeonghan had mentioned, in what Joshua calls an offhand way, that you were sick of dating the same people. According to Joshua, through Jeonghan, you were looking to possibly be set up. (Read: Jeonghan thinks he’s crafty and isn’t going to come out and tell this man what you’re really looking for. Typical Jeonghan, honestly. You know that “offhand comment” was anything but. And you had the audacity to think Jeonghan would have to tell Joshua what he’s getting into. Rookie move.)

Now you’re in a bit of an awkward situation because this man is honestly gorgeous, one of the prettiest humans you’ve ever met. And, already, he seems like he might be sweet with a pretty good sense of humor. It’s just…well, you’re absolutely not looking for a relationship and this is the last person you want to get involved in your mess. Thankfully, you get a moment to catch your breath when someone comes by to take a drink order and suggest an appetizer. It’s just enough time for you to talk yourself into telling Joshua the real story.

To his credit, he only looks mildly surprised as you outline your whole situation, inform him that yes, Jeonghan does know all of this, and clarify why you didn’t actually realize it was a date. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes seem to sparkle a bit when you also admit that he’s absolutely stunning in a way that hurts your feelings. Easier to miss is the way his face barely falls when you say that you’re not actually looking for something right now. Interesting. 

“So that’s the whole thing and now that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you, I’m sure you’ll understand if we never see each other after tonight,” you finish.

“How am I supposed to go to a wedding as your boyfriend in a matter of weeks if we don’t see each other after tonight?” Joshua wonders.

“I…what?” you sputter out. 

“Well, sure, we need to work out a few details, but I’m game,” Joshua says with a shrug.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just really confused?” You don’t even have food yet and this is already the most interesting date you’ve been on, possibly ever. 

“I, uh, may have left a part of my past out when I was sharing what Jeonghan knew about me,” Joshua says. “And honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it or that he did this. I’d be mad if I wasn’t so impressed by how crafty it was.” 

“I’m going to need you to connect some dots for me,” you admit. “Oh and also never tell Jeonghan you appreciate him being crafty. His ego is too big as it is.”

“The first time Jeonghan and I hung out, we went out for drinks, got a little wasted, and I told him about how I got through my university studies without any debts,” Joshua says, pausing long enough for someone to set the appetizer down. “He’s observant, Jeonghan, I’ll give him that. He noticed I had designer clothes, shoes, that kind of thing. And he noticed I didn’t pay attention to the prices of the drinks. So I made a vague comment about being lucky to have found a way through my studies without taking out loans.”

“I’m sure he asked you about that, he loves it when he thinks there’s a scheme,” you note with a smile.

“You’re right about that,” Joshua agrees. “So I, well I told him. When I was in school, I met this woman out one night and she paid me to go to events with her. She wanted, and these were her words, ‘someone young and hot’ with her. And the next four years, that’s what I did. I let people pay for me to go to events with them. Never more than that. I was clear that I wasn’t selling sex or anything, just company.” 

You lean back in your seat with an appraising look. “An entrepreneur from the beginning.” 

“Hey, no judgment,” Joshua says. All you can do is smile.

“I’m not judging, that was really smart and you’re obviously attractive enough for it,” you acknowledge.

“Thank you,” Joshua says. It doesn’t have the air of cockiness Jeonghan’s answer would. He actually seems sincere in accepting the compliment. 

“But, I’m still not going to pay you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” you say, even if it’s a bit reluctant. 

“I wasn’t asking you to,” Joshua shrugs. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“Why would you offer to pretend to do something like this? You don’t even know me,” you point out.

“No, I don’t. But, you seem like a good person. And I like Jeonghan, he’s nice…” Joshua says, stopping when you try to cover a scoff. 

“Nice?” you question when you’re caught.

“Wrong word choice,” Joshua dismisses. “He seems like the kind of person that’s a loyal friend, like he would go into battle to protect you. Like someone you can actually trust.”

“He is all of those things, yeah,” you admit.

“And if those things are true, then him holding you out as his best friend means you’re probably all of those things too,” Joshua reasons. 

“I try to be,” you agree. 

“Plus, Jeonghan did mention you had seriously dated someone that was pretty rich, so I figure it’s probably the guy getting married and it’ll be a nice wedding,” Joshua says with a smile. The joke is obvious by the look in his eyes.

“It’s interesting that he mentioned Johnny, that’s my ex, being rich,” you idly comment.

“Is he not?” Joshua wonders.

“Jeonghan is a lot of things, but he’d never lie to his friends,” you answer first. “So, yeah, he is. Well, his family is at least. His mom and mine run a lot of events together, like galas and shit. That’s how we all know each other.”

“Are you rich, too?” Joshua wonders. There’s that little twinkle of something in his eyes again, but there’s also sincerity.

“I’m still not paying you,” you retort.

“Fine,” Joshua agrees. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” 

There’s a weird world’s colliding feeling to having both Jeonghan and Joshua in your apartment. But, Jeonghan doesn’t like to be left out of things. Once you told him that you and Joshua both knew about his scheming, he offered to help in any way he could. Which is likely just so he’s included. You’ll take what you can get. Now, it means that he and Joshua are sitting on your couch, scrolling through pictures on Joshua’s phone to decide what to include in an instagram post. That’s the first step you and Joshua agreed on. If you’re going to sell this whole fake relationship, then your sister actually is right. There has to be some sort of proof of it online. Which also means that your post has to talk about how you’ve been keeping it quiet and just enjoying getting to know each other without any pressure. Jeonghan takes credit for that, even if you got there on your own. 

“I think I like this one,” Jeonghan says and turns the phone around to show you. 

“Why that one?” you ask. 

“Why not? Don’t you like it?” Joshua worries.

“I don’t know, I feel like my hand is doing something weird,” you point out.

“You look great,” Joshua assures you.

“Oh, ew, you’re not really dating,” Jeonghan complains. 

“You do know you’re going to have to stop saying that, right?” you ask.

“Maybe I didn’t know either,” Jeonghan shrugs.

“No, I’m with her, you’re her best friend and you definitely would’ve known,” Joshua agrees. 

“Why are you on her side already?” Jeonghan whines.

“Because she’s cool and she’s not the one who knew what I did in college and set me up,” Joshua says with a laugh. 

This is how it’s been going for the last hour. You’re not really much for putting a lot of effort into your posts, so this all feels like too much. But, you know that it’s important for it to feel real and it’s important to get it right. You’re honestly pretty happy to just let the guys take the lead and go with the flow of it all. There are going to be plenty of opportunities for you to take the lead. You’re going to take your breaks where you can. 

(That had also meant not putting up too much of a fight when Jeonghan told you to bring multiple outfits with you. Or when you had to change your hairstyle and makeup between the photos so it looked like they hadn’t all been taken the same day. Honestly, this was so much easier for Joshua. Then again, he’s the one doing you a favor. So maybe you can let him have it.)

After you finally get your couple pictures posted, and get a flurry of messages ranging from surprise to congratulations, you move onto preparing Joshua to meet your parents, your sister, and her husband. Jeonghan is actually a lot of help with that because he’s been around them a lot. Well, he’s helpful after he tries to scare Joshua about how intimidating it’s going to be only to give up when Joshua is unbothered. He’s so calm about everything that it’s actually kind of nice to be around. And he has no problem firing back at Jeonghan, which is really fun to watch. 

You go through what your parents are like, what they do both for work and as hobbies. Joshua perks up at the mention of your dad loving music and sometimes spending his weekends just exploring new venues. It seems like there might be more to that, though you don’t press when he waves it off. It’s different when you talk about your sister, two years younger and already married. Not that you’re dying to be married or even care that she got married before you. That’s always seemed like a weird societal expectation, anyway. What does it matter when anyone gets married? If it’s their right person, then it makes sense. You being upset over your failed engagement really doesn’t have anything to do with your sister’s marriage, despite her instance it does. 

It becomes obvious that you’re losing Jeonghan’s attention when you turn down his request to start playing games or watch a movie. It’s not that you don’t want to do those things, it’s just that you have a lot to cover in far less time than you realized. Sure, the wedding is still weeks away. What’s not weeks away is your first dinner with your family. That’s going to be around the corner. The least you could do, you figured, was plan a time before posting pictures on instagram. So, Jeonghan asks if it’s okay to leave and you almost sigh in relief. This will be easier without an extra person.

“Not to pry, but what’s the deal with you and Jeonghan?” Joshua asks when you settle back on the couch with a glass of wine. 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I don’t know, I feel like I was picking up on something,” Joshua shrugs.

“We’re really just friends,” you assure him.

“Sometimes those are the best…” Joshua starts.

“Don’t,” you cut off. He worries for a second before he realizes you’re smiling. “We did try. Not so much a try, I guess, but we slept together maybe 6 months after Johnny and I broke it off and it just wasn’t it.” 

“You and him slept together?” Joshua questions.

“Is that weird for you?” you ask.

“No, it’s just interesting that you’re still so close,” Joshua observes.

“I guess,” you say with a shrug. “He’s great, obviously attractive, but we just, I don’t know. I didn’t feel anything. Neither did he. So, staying friends seemed like the right choice.”

“Interesting,” is all Joshua says. “Have you dated anyone seriously since Johnny?” 

“Not that seriously, no,” you admit. “I’ve gone on dates with different people and some of them stuck around for a bit, but nothing serious.” 

“Not finding the right people?” Joshua presses.

“I just haven’t found anyone that made me feel like Johnny did at the beginning or even like I did when he proposed,” you say. 

“I can understand that, even if I don’t really get it. You’re gorgeous, anyone would be lucky,” he says smoothly. You cover a blush with a slight eye roll. 

“I guess that’s why most of my close friends will also believe that I kept a new relationship on the low. They saw me post-Johnny and have seen me try to date,” you share.

“Yeah that’s good for us, at least,” Joshua agrees.

“What about you, though? When was your last relationship?” you ask.

“Ah, well it’s been a little over a year,” Joshua says. 

“Bad ending?” you wonder. You’re not sure why you press him on it.

“It wasn’t great,” Joshua says with a chuckle. “She, uh, well she decided that she just really would rather be with one of my friends than with me.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” you say, suddenly sorry.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says. “She didn’t actually cheat on me, but she had started getting close to him and sharing everything with him.”

“Arguably worse, in my opinion. Emotional cheating is still a thing,” you say, trying to offer comfort. 

“Thank you,” Joshua says. His eyes are soft and full of care. “And, like you, I have dated since then, just nothing worth talking about.” 

It’s an easy transition from that into talking about your backgrounds. Like speed dating, except somehow more intense. You learn Joshua’s birthday, his parents names, that he’s an only child, and where he grew up. Nothing is too small and you joke about taking notes before you actually go to get a notebook. Joshua tells you his favorite color and his favorite food, tells you about his favorite memories, favorite places where he grew up, and favorite places he’s found since moving here. There’s a way that his face lights up when he talks about his friends that’s drawing you in. You tell him the same. That all feels a little surface level, which you point out. If this is going to work, it has to be deeper, more serious. 

That’s when something seems to almost break down. Joshua suggests that you tell each other the deep stuff, the things that you don’t always admit to someone you’re dating. Or, maybe you admit it and don’t get into the reasons why. When Joshua goes first and admits that he’s happiest when he’s playing his guitar, even if nobody else is listening, his whole face changes. It’s like a completely different version of him. He’s got an open face as it is, that hasn’t changed, but you realize maybe he’s a little guarded behind the smile as well. Maybe there really is more depth than he wants anyone to realize. Maybe this is going to be more interesting than you thought.

“Can I hear you play?” you ask. His face is adorable with his eyes full of surprise.

“You want to hear me play?” There’s an emotion you can’t place when he looks at you.

“I love music, too, Joshua,” you say softly. “I’d love to see what you’re passionate about.”

“Oh, well, I usually play at this acoustic night on Thursdays at a coffee shop downtown,” Joshua tells you.

“You do? That’s so cute!” you say before second guessing it. He looks away like he’s a little embarrassed and you worry for a split second.

“I’d love it if you came by,” he says.

“It’s a shame that we can’t say that’s where we met,” you admit.

“Wait, that would be a good idea, actually,” Joshua says and you smile. 

“It would be, but I also know events like that. It’s always a similar crowd so I’m sure someone will know that I’ve never been,” you reason. 

“Fair point,” Joshua concedes. 

“Why don’t we just say we met on a dating app?” you suggest and Joshua pulls up his face. “Okay, I know apps are lame and honestly, I don’t use them much. But, think about it. That’s the perfect reason why we didn’t bring it up until now, we didn’t want to answer the ‘where did you meet’ question by saying an app.” 

“Okay, yeah, I do actually like that because it’s easy and it doesn’t feel like a wild story,” Joshua says. 

“What about your parents?” you ask. “Do we need to make plans to meet them if you’re also posting about me?” 

“We can figure that out, but they live pretty far away so it would probably just be over FaceTime or something,” he says.

“I also understand if you don’t want to do that because we’re just pretending,” you suggest. 

“No, it’d be cool to have you meet them. Even if the relationship isn’t real, I’d like to be friends for real, so that’s not a total lie,” Joshua reasons. 

“I’d like to be friends too,” you agree. “How long have you been living here, now?” 

“Oh, um, like 8 months?” Joshua says like a question.

“I was figuring like a month or two with the way Jeonghan talks about you,” you laugh. 

“You’ve been friends with him for years, you’re not actually surprised,” Joshua points out. 

“Okay so now I guess we have to figure out when we started dating,” you comment.

“And everything else, but we can do it,” Joshua says. 

You’re a little nervous sitting on your couch waiting for Joshua to show up. Even though you offered to pick him up for dinner with your family tonight, he insisted on being the one to drive. Of course he’s right on time, which you’re already realizing is a trait of his. He’s even a gentleman when he opens the door for you, just like he pulled the chair out the first time you met for the date-not-date. As you put your seatbelt on, you notice that there are a few things in the backseat. 

“What’s all that?” you ask as he slides into the driver’s seat. 

“Flowers for your mom, a bottle of scotch for your dad, and a cheese board for your sister because you said they just moved and she likes to host,” Joshua lists off as if it’s nothing.

“You did not have to get things for all of them,” you point out. 

“Of course I did, but I also wanted to. I’m trying to make a good impression,” he says, making your heart a little light.

“That’s so kind,” you whisper out.

“Oh, I thought of something else,” Joshua shifts. You’re worried you made him uncomfortable until he speaks again. “Are you a pet name person in relationships?”

That makes you snort, something that would embarrass you in any other situation. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, though. “That depends on what you want to call me.”

“That’s a dangerous way to say that,” Joshua answers. His eyes are still on the road, yet you don’t miss the way he reacts.

“I don’t like overly cutesy names,” you say to diffuse a little bit of the moment. “Like, I don’t know, if you want to call me sugarplum or honeybunch or something like that, please don’t.”

“You’re just giving me ideas to take away my fun,” he pouts.

“Well, what were you thinking of calling me? Or are you even a pet name person?” you ask.

“I do like them,” Joshua says. “I’m not sure that I have a go-to or anything. For you, I might say angel or possibly darling.”

“I think I prefer angel, if I’m allowed to pick,” you say after a moment.

“Of course,” Joshua replies. Studying his face, you’re looking for a hint of mocking or insincerity, but there’s nothing to find. This is just him.

“Do you want me to use a pet name for you?” you wonder.

“I’d happily take one, no pressure, though,” he says. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” you tell him. “Something generic like babe doesn’t feel right.”

“Are you saying I’m special?” Now you can hear the light teasing in his voice. 

“I take it back, any more compliments are going to go to your head,” you huff out. 

As you get closer to your parents’ house, you start to bounce your knee with an excess of nervous energy. It’s not until Joshua reaches a hand out to take one of yours that you’re even sure you’re doing it. There’s something calming about it, though. Nothing about him reaching out feels like he’s trying to stop you, just show that you’re not alone in this. Which is more than welcome. The last person you brought to meet your parents was Johnny. Given how that ended and why Joshua is around in the first place, it’s not exactly the most comforting thought.

Once you pull up to their house, you take a deep breath. It’s only to settle your rising nerves, but it also serves to give Joshua enough time to come and open your door. Even though you’ve told him that he doesn’t need to be this sweet, he insists. Without saying a word, he holds out a hand to help you out of the car. Instead of dropping your hand once you’re out, he uses it to pull you into him and wraps his arms around you. There’s this immediate sense of comfort, like you have actually been dating for months. You inhale his cologne without meaning to, something warm and woodsy. 

“It’s going to be fine, parents love me,” he assures you when you pull away.

“I don’t doubt that,” you say, releasing the breath you were holding and your tension with it. 

“So come on, my little granola wrapper, let’s go,” Joshua says as he lets you go to get the gifts out of his backseat. 

It takes you a full few seconds to register what came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?” 

“Is that not the one?” he asks, eyes alight with some kind of mischief. 

“I’m not going to encourage this,” you huff.

“Whatever you say, jellybean,” he throws out casually. 

The second you step into the house, you see exactly what Joshua means. Your mother is fawning over him in a matter of seconds, your father is making plans to show him his records, your sister’s husband is asking when they can go out for drinks, and your sister even holds back the snark. All during the course of the pre-dinner drinks and largely, you think, due to the gifts that Joshua brought. He had a reason for the meaning behind the type of flowers for your mother, a favorite musician who swore by the scotch for your dad, and even bought the cheese board from a small business that customized things. 

Dinner comes along and you still feel like you’ve barely said anything with Joshua masterfully steering the conversation. He even makes it sound good that you met on an app, with his improvised story of wanting to meet people in a new city. According to him, he wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you and was done for the second he saw you sitting at dinner. It’s something real, that you met him for dinner the first time at a fancy downtown restaurant. And you realize you never actually asked what his impression was that first night. More than once, you catch yourself watching his profile as he talks to one of your family members. Everything about him is at ease and you wonder if it really is all fake. Not that you think anything about him is disingenuous, he’s just really good at making people like him. 

The only hiccup doesn’t come until your mother is pulling out dessert. According to your sister, she’s got an excellent pie in the refrigerator that you simply have to try. You’re about to say something when Joshua beats you to it. 

“I don’t think my little sugarplum likes fruit pies, but it sounds amazing and I’d love a piece,” Joshua interjects smoothly. 

Your sister nearly spits out her drink, whether it’s at the nickname or him speaking up for you, you’re not sure. In any other situation, you would scold him for the name, but you’re a little stunned he remembers you don’t like pie. It came up once in a rapid fire of likes and dislikes. 

“You’re right, she doesn’t,” your sister agrees. “I’d almost forgotten.” 

(That’s when you’re sure it was another of your sister’s tests. Trying to catch you in some kind of lie about your relationship. But, it doesn’t work and you feel a little victorious for that.)

The doorbell rings through the house and you look to your mother, silently asking if she’s expecting someone. It’s unusual for them to have company calling this late on a Friday night. It’s usually reserved for dinners with friends or family or galas. Unsurprisingly, your mother doesn’t seem to know who it could be, but disappears to answer the door all the same. When a voice drifts through from the hallway, you freeze on the spot.

“I really just came by to drop that off for my mom, I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d hate to intrude on dessert,” the guest says. 

“Nonsense, you’re not interrupting,” your mother insists. 

“I saw an unfamiliar car, so I figured you might have guests,” he says as they come through the doorway into the living area. 

Your heart stutters a little in your chest, feels heavier for seeing him. Somehow he looks taller and broader than the last time you saw him. He’s wearing his hair shorter and he looks more mature, somehow, like he’s seen so much more of the world than when you were together. Which is probably true, if you think about it. It’s been a couple years and that means he’s had more time working with his father. 

“That would be my car,” Joshua says, getting to his feet immediately and extending his hand. “I’m Joshua.” 

“Johnny,” he answers and shakes Joshua’s hand. Yet, his face looks a little tense and his eyes mostly stay on you. 

“It’s just family,” your mother shares, though Johnny can obviously see that himself, “since our darling daughter finally brought Joshua around to meet us.” 

“I’m glad she did, dinner was wonderful and the company was even better,” Joshua says with a smile at your mother. She nearly blushes at his compliment. 

“Oh, hush,” your mother says with a wave of her hand. “I was just getting some pie if you’d like to stay for a piece, Johnny. Although, I’d hate to keep you from home.”

Joshua sits back down next to you, a little closer than is strictly necessary, and puts his arm along the back of the couch behind you. You feel safe pressed up against his side like that. Johnny clears his throat when he looks away from the pair of you. “Gabby has been out of town all week, actually, so I’m going back to an empty home anyway. I’d love to stay for a piece of your famous cherry pie.” 

“Great!” your mother says and disappears off into the kitchen. 

“What’s got Gabby away?” your sister asks. 

“Just a conference,” Johnny answers. “There was a final banquet tonight and she’ll be home tomorrow.” 

“She’s busy, away this week, bachelorette next weekend,” she says offhand. 

“Keeping tabs on when everything is?” you ask of your sister. She looks at you like you’re crazy and Johnny looks awkward.

“No, I was invited to it,” your sister answers evenly. 

Before you can even answer, Joshua is speaking up. Probably sensing your discomfort. After all, you hadn’t gotten to tell him that Johnny’s fiance is friends with your younger sister. They had gone to school together and been close. Stealing her sister’s fiancée doesn’t seem to have impacted the friendship. 

“You must be excited with the big day getting so close,” Joshua says. He moves his arm from behind you so that he can take your hand on your thigh. It makes you look down at your hands before glancing at him, only to find his gaze on you already. It also means you miss the way Johnny follows the movement. 

“Uh, yeah, I mean, I’m definitely excited. It’s just been a lot of planning,” Johnny says. 

“I bet,” Joshua says. “Thank you so much for inviting me, I know how stressful changes can be.” 

“It’s no problem, I’m happy you’ll both be there,” Johnny says. 

With almost a practiced subtlety, Joshua squeezes your hand. There’s so much in that one movement. A reassurance, a reminder to breathe, a reminder that he’s there, a promise that everything is going to be okay. Your heart hurts seeing Johnny sitting in the living room so casually as if nothing happened, but it doesn’t hurt as much as you expected. Maybe that has something to do with this impossibly kind, completely idiotic person next to you. You also can’t help the way your gaze lands on him. Just in profile, at first, before he senses your look and turns to you with a dazzling smile. It’s like there’s nobody else in the world but the two of you.

The conversation shifts slightly when your mother comes back in with a tray full of pie slices and your father comes back with whatever record he was looking for to show Joshua. Just like that, you survive your first in-person interaction with Johnny. Actually come out of it feeling like you might be able to handle this. The smile you send Joshua while he’s eating his pie is so fond that you’re not even sure who you are. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night,” Jeonghan says in lieu of a hello.

“Hello to you too, I’m good, thanks for asking,” you retort.

“Greetings are for people who remember their best friends, not for people who send a single sentence recap after bringing their fake boyfriend home to meet the family,” Jeonghan states immediately.

“That’s a very long rule,” you note.

“Deserved, though,” Jeonghan says.

“I was tired, Han, it was a long night,” you explain.

“A long night where your ex showed up,” he reminds you.

“That actually wasn’t so bad,” you admit. “Joshua made it feel pretty easy.”

“Oh did he now?” 

You don’t have to be in the same room as Jeonghan to hear the expression on his face when he says that. “It was just easy, Jeonghan, nothing more than that.”

“What did your parents think?” he asks, switching gears.

“They loved him, like actually loved him. My mom was enamored and kept calling him handsome. My dad was talking about music with him and making plans to go check out some acoustic music venue. Even the ice queen couldn’t find anything to fault him for,” you share.

“She’s less of an ice queen and more of a mean girl and a bitch,” Jeonghan adds.

“You said it,” you mumble.

“I mean, come on, who thinks it’s okay for their friend to sleep with their sister’s fiancé? And then stays friends with the girl?” Jeonghan gets really defensive with this. He would ride for you to the ends of the world, which you do love. Just not today. 

“I don’t wanna relive that whole thing, it’s done and over. Nothing to do now,” you say, weariness seeping into your voice.

“Would you want to do anything about it?” Jeonghan asks.

“What do you mean?” You answer the question with a question.

“Like would you want to go back to when you were with Johnny?” Jeonghan asks.

You think about it for half a second. “No.” 

“That was fast,” Jeonghan comments.

“What’s there to go back to? He made his choice and I’m fine, honestly. It was weird seeing him and hearing him talk about his wedding, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought,” you say.

“Is that because of your Prince Charming?” Your best friend, always doing the most, puts this question into a sing-song voice. 

“He’s not a Prince Charming. You’re so annoying,” you scoff. 

“I don’t know, he sure seems to be saving you,” Jeonghan presses. 

“I can’t with…” you start, trailing off at the knock on your door.

“Who’s there?” Jeonghan asks. 

“No clue,” you answer, getting off your couch to go see. 

“I bet it’s Prince Charming,” Jeonghan laughs out.

“Would you fuck…” you begin as you open the door to find the very subject of your conversation on the other side, “off.”

“I’m right aren’t I?” Jeonghan is nearly shrieking with glee.

“Sorry, gotta go,” you say.

“Oh no, no, no,” Jeonghan tries.

You’re stepping aside to let Joshua into your apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow for brunch.”

“Let me know if I need to add one more to the reservation,” Jeonghan says. 

“Goodbye,” you say with an eye roll Jeonghan can’t see, but will surely hear. You hang up as soon as he also says goodbye.

“Jeonghan?” Joshua guesses.

“Unfortunately,” you confirm. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” Joshua says. It’s nothing like when someone says it out of forced courtesy. He actually seems like he’s making sure he’s not intruding. 

“No, not at all, I just wasn’t expecting you,” you admit. 

“Sometimes that’s the best time to come over,” Joshua says with a shrug.

“Does that mean you have a plan?” you wonder.

“Yup,” Joshua says.

“Gonna tell me what it is?” you ask.

“Nope,” he says with a concerning smile, popping the end of nope. “Go put on something comfortable but with layers. And we’re not going hiking or anything like that.” 

An hour later, you’re pulling off the road in an area you’ve never been to, even with as long as you’ve lived here. The views are instantly enough to take your breath away. You can see the whole city below you, all the bustle of traffic and skyscrapers. Somewhere, you know there are people rushing to and fro, too busy to stop and appreciate what’s around them. Straight ahead, you can see the way the low clouds glide around, splitting around the very tops of the buildings. It’s beautiful and it also makes you realize just how small you are. 

While you’ve been appreciating the views in front of you, Joshua has been gathering his supplies from the trunk. By the time you turn around, he’s laying a blanket and basket down on the ground in front of the car. 

“Is this…did you set up a picnic?” you ask.

“I wanted to show you this place and figured some food might be nice,” he says with an easy smile. 

“That’s so sweet,” you say earnestly.

You settle on the blanket next to him and look through the food he’s pulling out. There are some of your favorite things and some things you’re not even sure you’ve seen before. Somehow, though, you feel like they might become some of your new favorites. He even brought plates and he sets about putting one together for you to pick at.

Joshua tells you about how this is his favorite place and he found it completely by accident. He loves being down in the city and around all the people, but there’s something nice about seeing things from this perspective too. It’s like he can just disconnect for a while. Turn off his phone. Read or listen to music. Just be totally alone. It’s how he works through a problem or gets the perspective he needs.

“I can’t believe you’re sharing it with me,” you admit and his eyes light up with his smile.

“I just thought, after last night, you might appreciate having a place to get away from it all,” Joshua says.

You want to say something, anything, really, to acknowledge what Joshua just said. Try to say something. Your throat doesn’t want to cooperate, it seems. Your brain, either. In fact, all you can manage to do is turn away to hide the tears. Joshua is observant, though. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into his chest and runs his hand along your back. He quietly soothes you as you cry out a lot of emotions you didn’t even realize you were experiencing. 

And something about him comforting you, this near stranger who doesn’t actually owe you anything, sets you off more. In the early days of your relationship with Johnny, you know it was good. It must have been. Surely, it was more than a relationship between two people who had known each other for years with families that were intertwined. You don’t remember it anymore. Don’t remember him ever holding you like this without even knowing what was wrong. Don’t remember him taking you on a date like this just because he thought you would enjoy it. Since you haven’t seriously dated anyone since the break-up, he also feels like your only frame of reference. That makes you sad for an entirely different reason. Who loses it over someone just being a little kind?

“I’m so sorry,” you finally say when you manage to pull yourself together. 

“For what?” he asks. 

“For just crying like that and being such a mess,” you say. 

Joshua shakes his head. Moves his hand up to your face and waits for confirmation that it’s okay. When you nod, he gently wipes the tears from under your eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. What you’re going through with your ex, most of us could never even imagine that kind of pain.”

“But still, you barely know me and here you are trying to be kind and all I can do is cry,” you say. 

“First of all, I think last night and the food I put together show I’ve actually learned a lot about you in a short time,” he says and you have to laugh at that. He’s right. “Second, I’m just happy you feel safe enough with me to cry. It’s not healthy to hold all that in. You’re not in this alone.”

That brings you up short more than anything. He’s right, again (an annoying habit, if you’re being honest). You don’t feel any hesitation around him. Nothing to stop you from crying if you feel like crying. That’s unusual, to say the least. Normally, you’ll do anything to avoid anyone seeing you emotional. But, this man you just met is different. He’s safe. You’re not sure how or why, but you know you can trust him. 

“Are you free tomorrow for brunch?” you ask. Joshua gives you a quizzical look for a moment at the sudden topic change. 

“Yeah, why?” he asks. 

“I just need to send one quick text and then I want to do what you said you normally do here. Disconnect from the world and just appreciate the afternoon,” you say and find yourself smiling along with his smile. He really is so beautiful. 

You: add one to the reservation for brunch tomorrow and i’ll call you tonight when i’m home

You switch your phone into Do Not Disturb before the response comes and turn all your attention back to Joshua. 

Over the next couple weeks, Joshua slips seamlessly into your life and your existing friendships. Some of them, like those closest to you that come along to the Sunday brunches, know the whole story. It’s not like they would believe you had kept a relationship secret for that long, anyway. And it’s good to have a few extra sets of eyes and ears helping to sell the story. Other friends get the same story that your family and Johnny got. It’s not that you don’t trust them, you do. It’s more important to keep the circle of people who know the real story as small as possible, though, so that it actually succeeds. All your friends adore him from the second they meet him. The only surprise is how well Jeonghan seems to be adjusting to sharing your time. He wants to give you a hard time, yet he doesn’t. 

You meet all Joshua’s friends and coworkers, too. It feels way easier than it should the first time you join him and his coworkers after work for drinks. They spend most of the time giving Joshua a hard time that he’s kept you to himself for so long. It’s easy to fall into step and you find that you do know him a lot better than you think. So, it’s just as easy for you to jump in when they’re giving him a hard time. He pretends to be annoyed, but you can tell by the way he smiles that he likes it. It’s one of those genuine smiles that makes his eyes bigger and brighter. Everything just feels…easy. Like this whole thing wasn’t actually a bad idea after all. 

Your favorite part might be the first time you got with him to an Open Mic Night and get to see him play. He’s got that easy kind of confidence on the guitar. Like he knows he’s talented, but not in a cocky way. It’s his singing that catches you off guard. His voice moves over the notes with an ease that makes you wonder why this isn’t something he’s doing for a living. He’s got this way of pulling you into songs that you don’t even know. And he’s so kind with the people that show up just to see him play. They all seem just as happy to meet you and know that he’s happy. 

There’s only been one part that’s been difficult. Not difficult, exactly, but not as comfortable as some of the other things. While you and Joshua talked through anything and everything to prepare to start a fake relationship, you covered comfort levels with physical affection. You both say you’re comfortable with physical touch, though he seems to seek it out more than you do. That includes at least some level of PDA as a couple. You’ve never really been one to just randomly make out with a partner in public, but you’ve never been shy about expressing affection either. It was fine, when it was all theoretical. 

In actual practice, it’s been a little more difficult. The first time Joshua had pressed a kiss to the side of your head while you were out with people that didn’t know it was fake caught you off guard. It shouldn’t have, he asked before doing it and you confirmed it was fine. What you hadn’t been entirely prepared for was how it would feel when he did it. Or how it would feel that he was so casual about it, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it wasn’t making you rethink everything in your life. 

Tonight, you’re hanging out with friends at Hyejin’s house. You and her have been friends since before you even started school. So, she knows what’s really going on with Joshua. Your other friends there, though, are mostly not in on it. Which is fine. You’re shockingly comfortable with the song and dance. 

It’s not actually fine. 

It starts the same as any other time you’ve been out somewhere with him. You’re sitting close together on the couch, thighs pressed together, with his arm behind you along the back of the couch. Periodically, his fingers play with the sleeve of your shirt. It’s an absentminded habit and you’re used to it. He’s usually keeping some sort of contact with you in a very subtle way. You learned right away that he did like physical touch, but it was rarely something obvious. One drink in and his affection got a little more obvious. Arm wrapped firmly around you. More kisses pressed to the side of your head. 

Two drinks in and it changes again. He removes his arm from around you in favor of holding your hand. Playing with your fingers while he’s having other conversations, like he doesn’t even realize. Hand squeezing your thigh. Or tracing patterns into the material of your pants. Head dropping down on your shoulder when he’s not talking to someone else. And it’s definitely not fine. You’re nursing your drink, but even if you weren’t, his constant presence would sober you. Since you’ve just finally finished your first, you think maybe a second is a good idea.

It’s not. Joshua gets another drink, his third, and you decline. Instead, you stick with the water you’ve been drinking since you couldn’t even finish your second. You want to be able to respond, whatever happens. Respond to whatever new form of affection unlocks with this next drink. 

“I hope you stick around, you’re my favorite of the partners that we’ve met,” Mimi announces to Joshua when he plops back down next to you. 

You’re glad that you hadn’t taken a sip because it would’ve come out immediately. Mimi has been a friend for a long time as well, and you love her, but she doesn’t know the truth. 

“Don’t I know it,” Joshua agrees, earning a lot of laughter. 

“Have you met Johnny yet? I know you’re going to the wedding,” Taehyung wonders. 

“Yeah Johnny showed up magically the night I brought him by to meet my parents, sister, and brother-in-law,” you say, regaining some composure. 

“I think you traded up,” Joshua says, eyes laser focused on you. 

You’re not so lucky this time and you just took a sip. You nearly choke. “Do you?”

“Definitely,” Joshua insists. 

“I agree,” Jimin says and Mimi elbows him in the side. “What?”

“You’re going to the wedding,” she says. 

“So? He’s a fucking tool,” Jimin shrugs off. 

“Are you all going, then?” Joshua asks. 

“A good portion of us, yeah,” Hyejin says. “Family connections, you know?” 

“I wasn’t invited,” Mimi pouts. 

“Want to come?” Taehyung asks and Mimi laughs. 

“Tae, my love, you can’t just invite people,” Mimi says and shakes her head. 

“I have a plus-one,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I think we all knew I wouldn’t make it to the wedding in my relationship. But, Johnny still thinks I’m bringing someone.”

“Damn, okay. I’m in,” Mimi says. 

“I’m not going either, my family ties weren’t enough to get an invite,” Jeonghan says without any sorrow in his eyes. 

“That’s because of what you said to him after the break up,” Hyejin interrupts with a laugh. 

“I don’t remember saying anything that bad,” Jeonghan shrugs, and examines his finger nails to show how little he cares. 

“Remind me to show you what he said some time, it was fucking gold,” Hyejin says to Joshua.

“Do you have it saved?” you ask.

“I should have it framed, honestly,” Hyejin says. “Get you a best friend like Jeonghan, for real, for real.” 

“Hey, that’s my best friend, get your own,” you joke. 

“That’s a shame you won’t be there though, Han, I could’ve used the familiar face,” Joshua says.

“Like you’re going to be paying attention to anyone but your date,” Hyejin teases. 

“Can you blame me? I still can’t believe how lucky I got,” Joshua says without any hint that he’s pretending. It makes your heart skip a couple beats as you try to catch your breath. 

“Ugh, I’m so single,” Mimi whines. 

“Maybe not after the wedding,” Hyejin teases. 

The conversations devolve from there into separate, smaller chats. Joshua is back to tracing patterns into your leg. Without warning, he pops his head up and places a quick peck on your lips before dropping his head onto your shoulder again. He’s so nonchalant about it that you’re not really sure it even happened. You’ve kissed a couple times like that, quick pecks in public. But, it’s always been when you’ve talked about it. It isn’t until you look up to meet Jeonghan’s eyes that you know it all really happened. 

Joshua, unaware that he’s just turned your world a little upside down, moves his head to look at you again. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

It’s barely a whisper and you know he’s not drunk. He’s not sober either, though. And you’ve had drinks around each other before. He’s just never been quite so glued to your side or free with the compliments. You’re also not usually so singularly focused on him. A fact that doesn’t go entirely unnoticed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. 

“I’m kinda hungry,” he continues in a bit of a whine. 

“Well you were the one who thought skipping dinner was smart,” you tease him. 

“But my little honeybunch,” he teases back. You snort and miss the way several of your friends watch the interaction because they know how you are about weird pet names. 

“Try again, sweetheart,” you answer. 

“Sweetheart, I like the way that sounds,” he says, distracted. 

“Just a little longer and we can leave and get something to eat,” you say and he sighs. 

“Fine,” he concedes and kisses your cheek, just barely a whisper away from the corner of your mouth. 

About half an hour later, you say your goodbyes. Despite your suggestions, Joshua continued drinking instead of switching to water. It’s as fine as it can be, though. He’s just an affectionate drinker. He wraps an arm around you, slipping a hand into your back pocket so that he can whisper thanks again. You do your best to shrug it off and let him drape his arms around your shoulder instead. 

The car ride is quiet, initially. You pick a playlist that he made for you after you first met. Something he seems to enjoy. You’re nearly back at his place when he says that he doesn’t have anything to eat. But, luckily, there’s a place around the corner that he loves that’s still open. He manages to place an order on the app, gets something for you as well, and pays before getting there. All you have to do is walk in. 

“I hope you’ll come in and eat with me,” he says when you get back into the car. 

You’re not really sure how to tell him that you don’t want to. Not because you don’t want to spend time with him. Or that you don’t appreciate him ordering something he knows you’ll like. No, it’s so much deeper than that. It’s that you don’t know if your heart can handle it. You’ve got a couple more weeks of this and your heart is taking a beating. All of this is fake. It’ll be over after the wedding. But, the compliments don’t feel fake. The kisses don’t feel fake. The affection doesn’t feel fake. Your heart racing is real, oh so real. You don’t need anyone to tell you that you’re in way too deep. 

None of that comes out, though. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” you say and hold your breath for a second. You hadn’t meant to say that when it was just you. 

Joshua smiles over at you. “Really do like that.” 

Does he know what he’s doing to you? Can he hear your heart hammering in your chest? Can he hear your breath catch? Does he know how insanely beautiful he is? Or that he’s all the more beautiful because he’s so unfailingly kind? 

Probably not, because he gets distracted and starts singing along as the song changes. It’s welcome, but also a little devastating. His voice cuts through you in a way you’re still very unprepared to handle.

After another few minutes, you’re at Joshua’s place. He springs back into action and tries to open your door for you, even though you’re the driver. He settles for taking hold of your hand as he walks to his door, only reluctantly dropping it when he gets to the door. 

His apartment is familiar to you, it has to be for this to be believable. So, he sets the food out and you grab plates. You grab a couple waters from the fridge while he takes the food over to the couch, bypassing the table. You sit next to him, leaving enough space between you that you’re not touching. Hoping he doesn’t think anything of it. 

It’s useless, apparently, because he slides over to press into your side.

What’s worse (not that you thought that was possible) is that he picks things off of your plate and gives you food off his plate. Tries to feed it to you, actually, and pouts when you don’t let him. It takes everything in you not to beg him to be gentle on your heart. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing to you as he smiles and jokes. Doesn’t seem to think twice about playing with your hands or his hand on your leg or any of the things he usually does when you have an audience. There’s nobody here to see and he’s not usually this touchy when you’re alone. Maybe it’s the drinks.

“I like your friends a lot, you know,” he says out of nowhere.

“They like you, too,” you assure him.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I’d assume they like me as well,” you laugh out.

“No, I meant me. Do you like me?” he asks, eyes big and vulnerable.

Please, Joshua, I’m begging you. Be gentle with me, you think so loud you’re worried he might hear.

“I’m actually a little sick of you,” you joke. 

“But, but,” he begins and dramatically throws himself in your lap. 

“You’re the worst,” you say without any bite. Your hands find their way into his hair, softly running through the strands.

“That feels nice,” he says softly. “Can I just stay like this? I’m tired.” 

“Of course,” you whisper.

“You’ll stay with me?” he asks, sounding like he’s about to drift off.

You’re sure he won’t remember any of this. Not because he’s drunk, but he’s on the edges of sleep. So, you answer in a whisper. “Always.” 

Maybe he’s not the one that needs to be careful with your heart. Maybe it’s you that needs to be careful. You know that you could walk away. That you could just remind him that this is all fake and there’s nobody around to see now. That’s not what you do. So, maybe you’re just as much to blame. 

Sunday Joshua: thanks for taking care of me last night Joshua: idk why the drinks hit me so hard Joshua: when did you leave?  Monday Joshua: is everything okay? Did i say something stupid? Tuesday Joshua: i don’t wanna sound clingy but are we still getting together at your place after work?

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you need to respond. You know that what you’re doing isn’t fair to anyone. It’s not like Joshua can somehow read your mind to realize you’re spiraling. It just feels a little paralyzing. This is a weird limbo of knowing you might be in over your head, but still believing this is all fake. 

Jeonghan: hey dummy i know you’re ignoring joshua so i’m coming over tonight  Jeonghan: i told him you’ve been busy at work and i haven’t heard from you either but we have some talking to do

Leave it to Jeonghan. You had almost forgotten, with how well you’ve gotten to know Joshua, that it was Jeonghan who introduced you in the first place. Of course he would text your best friend when he couldn’t get a hold of you. Does that make you feel better? Not really, you think, because it feels like a real relationship in a way. Oh well, you can talk about it with Jeonghan. If he shows up, that is.

And he does, less than an hour later.

“I’m here,” he announces when he comes in the door.

“Thanks for knocking and giving me the chance to pretend I’m not here,” you call back.

“Your car is outside and you have your location turned on,” Jeonghan says. 

“Right,” you answer as he comes through the hall holding a bag from your favorite take out place.

“At least I come bearing gifts,” he says.

“You’re an angel, do you know that?” you ask and reach for the bag.

Jeonghan snorts. “I’m gonna remind you of that the next time you call me a demon.” 

“Well, Lucifer was a fallen angel,” you reason with a shrug. 

“I hate you,” he says.

“I know,” you answer. 

Jeonghan busies himself with taking out the food and making sure you have napkins. Tells you what he wants to drink when you get up to go into the kitchen. Calls for you to grab some utensils as well. By the time you sit back down with him, he’s flipping through a streaming service trying to find something to watch. It’s not at all what you’re expecting and you just let it happen. The two of you have been friends long enough to know you should just let things play out.

With some mindless show on in the background, Jeonghan talks about work and your friends and everything else that’s been going on the past few days. Like it’s been weeks since you last saw him. Mostly, he talks about how Taehyung has been blowing up his phone asking for advice about Mimi, which is actually news to you. Sure, you saw him ask her if she wanted to go with him to the wedding. What you had not expected was for him to actually be interested. Which he is, if his messages to Jeonghan are anything to go by. It’s been everything from advice about talking to her to what kinds of things she might like as a surprise. They would probably be cute, you think. 

“Yeah, well, sometimes feelings catch us off guard,” Jeonghan says when you admit your surprise.

Damn. Did you really walk right into that?

“True,” you admit, knowing that’s the best answer you can give.

“Talk to me,” Jeonghan urges. 

“About what?” you ask to buy more time.

“Joshua,” he says.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you state. That makes him fix you with a look.

“Clearly there is or you wouldn’t be ignoring him,” he says. 

“We’re not really dating so I don’t owe him constant updates. I’m not ignoring him. I just have other shit to do,” you say without looking at him.

“Would you like to be?” he asks. That does make you turn to him.

“Like to be what?” you ask, though you think you know.

“Really dating him,” Jeonghan says.

It’s a crossroads kind of moment. You could say that you don’t want that. That would be a lie, though, and Jeonghan doesn’t like it when you lie. Can always tell the second you say something that’s not true. The truth is that you’ve spent nearly every moment since that stupid night at Hyejin’s place thinking about what you actually feel for your fake boyfriend. 

“I don’t…know,” you say slowly and earn a smile because it’s not a lie.

“I was there the other night too, I saw the way it all played out,” he says.

“I mean, does it matter? This is all fake and soon, it’ll be over,” you say.

“Of course it matters and it’ll be over soon? Please,” Jeonghan scoffs. “I know he’s told you that he wants to keep you in his life after Johnny’s wedding. So, what? You’re just gonna be like okay, that was fun, let’s never talk again?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say quietly.

He rolls his eyes. “Try again, buttercup.” 

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s just nice,” you say, avoidant as ever. 

“He looks at you like he’d give you the moon if you asked for it,” Jeonghan snorts out.

“He’s just nice, Han,” you disagree.

“Maybe,” your closest friend concedes, a rare move for him. It feels weird all the same. “Whatever it is, text him back. He misses you and I don’t want to hear anymore about how he’s worrying he upset you.”

“He’s been worrying that he upset me?” you ask. Your heart constricts at that.

“Yeah, for some reason he actually likes your company,” he says. “Can’t relate.”

You smack Jeonghan on the arm. “Says the man who shows up at my place unannounced when I ignore him for a day.”

“No, I was just bored,” he argued. “And you’re way too stubborn to sort out your shit on your own.”

 “I’m not stubborn, but fine, I’ll text him,” you relent.

“Now,” he says.

“What?”

“Text him now so that I know you actually did it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but pull your phone out anyway. Angling it away from Jeonghan so that he can’t see your screen. He’s such a nosy brat sometimes.

You: hey, i’m sorry. It’s been really busy and i had a lot on my mind You: wanna do something tomorrow?

The response comes right away and you ignore the smug look on Jeonghan’s face as you quickly make plans. If Jeonghan was anyone else, he would probably just let you be since he ultimately got what he wanted. But, he’s not anyone else. And he’s as caring to his friends as he is calculating when he wants something. So, he’s not doing it to be cruel, not at all. He just wants you to consider what you’re actually feeling. 

You’ll never tell Jeonghan how much you appreciate him talking everything through with you. Never tell him how good it feels to get all the thoughts out of your head. To his credit, he’s not smug and he doesn’t tell you that he’s been right about your feelings all along. He just listens, supports you when you need it, and encourages you to keep thinking through everything that’s going on.

As a make-up for slightly ignoring Joshua (over your own internal freak out), you take him to dinner at your favorite restaurant. It’s this tiny little hole-in-the-wall that people seem to walk past. The kind of place where you couldn’t overspend even if you tried because the couple that owned it just wanted to share good food. The kind of place where they know everyone by name. It makes you feel instantly at ease. 

Joshua doesn’t say it, but he also kind of can’t believe you wanted to show him some place that meant so much to you. All he could do was watch, with so much fondness, as you spoke to the couple about everything under the sun. Watch as you turned slightly red when they scolded you for taking so long to bring Joshua by. Smile as you promised the both of you would be back. Despite trying to pay, you beat him to it. Even leaving a massive tip because you insisted the couple had undercharged you. They made a big show of not wanting to take the tip and you only reminded them the cash would stay sitting on the counter. You weren’t taking it back either. 

You don’t really think about it when you take a picture of you and Joshua to upload on Instagram. At least, you try not to. Later, when you’re home and winding down for the night, you pull the picture back up. It’s amazing just how happy both of you look. You don’t need to read the comments to know that you’ve never looked so happy in your life. Every part of you wants to pull back again. It’s overwhelming. But, Jeonghan’s voice plays in your head and instead you push past. Make more plans that could break your heart. You have to just trust that he won’t. 

It isn’t until the weekend that you’re able to see him again because your schedules didn’t quite match up. That doesn’t stop him from calling you at night, though. Insisting that he wants to know how your day was, even if you can only spare a few minutes for a call. (Which never ends up being the case. You fall asleep on the phone with him twice. His voice is just so soothing when it’s all deep and soft.) 

Again, Joshua tells you the date is a surprise. He can be a little bit of a demon, when it suits him. Sure, he likes to pretend he’s not. That he’s above the chaos. Then, he does something like this and he can’t really escape it. But, he’s so sure he knows what you like that he’s positive you’ll enjoy the date. You remember how that chat had gone, too. You were ready to go to sleep, but unable to say goodnight. 

(“I have our next date planned,” Joshua says, voice soft to match the calm of the night.

“What is it?” you wonder.

“A surprise,” he answers.

“What if I don’t like it?” you ask back.

“You will,” he assures you.

“You sure seem to think you know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah, I do. Don’t worry, you’ll like this too,” he says.

There was no point in denying it. That confidence sent a bit of a shiver through you.) 

It turns out that the date is at a winery where you’re painting with wine. You have to ask him to say it again because you’ve only ever heard of wine and paint classes. Painting with wine is entirely new to you. It sounds fun, though, and you know how crafty Joshua can be, have seen all the projects around his apartment. So, even though you’re definitely not that artistic, you’re excited to see this as well. 

Admittedly, by the end of the session, your painting isn’t bad. It was a bit weird to use wine in that way, but they let you drink as well. Which makes it a lot easier to just go along with the idea of painting. Joshua’s painting, on the other hand, is beautiful. Not for the first time, you think his talents might be wasted at an office job. You’ve seen the bracelets he makes and now you’ve seen him paint. You’ve heard him sing and play the guitar. He’s impossibly artistic in a way that should make you jealous. Instead, it just makes you more endeared to him. 

You snap a picture of him and his art when he’s not looking and upload it before he can even realize it. It’s only when a notification goes off on his phone that he realizes. He doesn’t even say anything, just gets a sparkle in his eyes that makes you weary immediately. He’s busy tapping away on his own phone before a notification sounds on yours. Maybe you weren’t the only one to steal a candid shot if the picture of you laughing with a glass of wine in one hand and a paintbrush in the other is anything to go by. It’s the caption that really ruins you, though. Just a simple “think I’m addicted to her light”. It’s so simple and also so much sweeter than yours. You fight through the urge to run away. 

Which lasts until you get home from dinner. It was the perfect date, truly. Joshua always seems to know exactly how to plan out a day so everything works. After sipping wine and painting, he took you to one of his favorite restaurants. Nothing too pretentious, just kind of unassuming. The kind of place where you get good food and even better conversation. It’s (mostly) easy to keep your mind off the way your heart keeps racing.

When you’re back home, you’re not so lucky.

Back home, alone in your apartment, there aren’t any distractions. Nothing to stop your mind from all the ways that it can sabotage your own happiness. Nothing to stop you from thinking about how nobody, not even Johnny, has ever planned out such thoughtful dates for you. Nobody has ever taken the time to really know you like Joshua. Even if you won’t admit it, he knows you better than anyone you’ve ever dated. Which is terrifying, since this is all fake. And he hasn’t even known you that long. 

So, you do the rational thing and you pull back again. Answer his texts so that he doesn’t send Jeonghan over to figure out what’s wrong, but don’t make solid plans. Talk a lot about a work project that you really need to get done ahead of schedule so that you’re not stressing leading up to the wedding. And you throw in some easy suggestions in the meantime so that it still seems like you’re making an effort. 

Lunch on a work day so that it has a set ending time. Which still tugs at your heartstrings a bit because he takes a longer lunch just to meet you closer to where you work. 

An event where your parents purchased a table for charity because he’s in high demand with your family around. And he can’t be as affectionate. 

His Open Mic Nights, but with the excuse that you can’t stay too late because of your project and he should stick around with his friends. You’ll get home safely.

Small little things that keep you around him and keep up your conversations while still giving you time to breathe. You’re sure that you’re pulling it all off. And then, the wedding is around the corner. The finish line is in sight. 

You: I’m not going to the wedding You: you don’t have to come pick me up Joshua: what are you talking about? You: i’m not going Joshua: but it’s literally in a few hours? You: yeah and i don’t wanna go, so you’re off the hook You: thanks for everything, but you don’t have to pretend anymore

Even if you know you’re being a little petulant, you don’t really care. This whole thing was supposed to be about protecting your heart. Protecting your pride. Not showing up to your cheating ex-fiance's wedding alone and looking like some kind of loser. It was not supposed to be about your heart getting clobbered anyway. So, you’re doing the only logical thing you can think of. Ignoring your problems. Avoiding both the wedding and Joshua. What you’re not prepared for, though you should be, is the knock that comes at your door half an hour later. 

Joshua is on the other side of the door and your heart actually stops. He’s got his tux on and his hair styled back off his face. His eyes are soft as they take you in, noting that you have your hair and make up done. Though, you’re still in your sweats. You got at least that far before you decided this was a stupid fucking decision. 

“Can I come in?” he asks when you don’t say anything.

“Sure,” you say and step aside. 

“You look like you’re getting ready,” he comments once he’s inside.

“I was, until I texted you,” you answer. “Speaking of, why are you here?”

“Because we had plans,” he says. 

“Yeah to go see my ex-fiance marry the girl he cheated on me with. Oh, and for you to pretend to be my boyfriend so I didn’t look pathetic,” you say with a huff. 

“You’re not pathetic. He’s an asshole,” Joshua says. He doesn’t swear often, so it catches you a little off guard. 

“Well, whatever, you don’t have to go. So, I’m not really sure why you’re here,” you say. 

“You’re being so cold. What’s going on?” Joshua asks and reaches out to you. Instead, you duck away from his touch. 

“Nothing is going on. It was stupid to care what Johnny thought or to try and save face somehow,” you say. 

“It’s not stupid. He hurt you and you didn’t deserve that,” Joshua urges.

“You really don’t know me that well. Maybe I did deserve it. Maybe I was awful to him and he had no choice,” you say.

“We both know that’s not true,” he says.

“Do we?” you challenge. 

“Yes, we do,” he presses. “There is nothing you could do that justifies cheating instead of just breaking it off. But, I also know you didn’t do anything wrong. Jeonghan and I talked about it.”

“You spoke to Jeonghan about my relationship behind my back?” you question. 

“What is going on? We’ve been hanging out for weeks and getting to know each other. I just wanted to know more about someone I was going to be helping. And I like knowing you,” Joshua says and you have to look away. You don’t need the reminder of how much time you’ve spent with him.

“Yeah, sorry about all that time we wasted. I’ll pay you back for the tux or anything else you had to buy to pretend to date me,” you say and he looks genuinely confused.

“I don’t…want you to pay me back for anything. It wasn’t a waste of time. I did this because I wanted to,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to pretend anymore because I’m not going to the stupid fucking wedding. It was a really bad idea in the first place,” you say.

Joshua clenches his jaw and looks away. Like maybe he’s frustrated. “What is going on? Do you still have feelings for him?” 

“For who? Johnny?” you ask, so insanely caught off guard that you forget you’re mad.

“Yes,” Joshua says tightly.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you bark out.

“Well? You’re being really weird and now you don’t want to go to a wedding that we’ve been planning on,” he starts.

“Yeah, which should make you happy, since you don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend anymore,” you say.

“Because you’re still in love with Johnny,” Joshua finishes like he hadn’t even heard you.

“Oh my god,” you nearly scream. “I’m not fucking in love with Johnny. This isn’t about him.”

“So, you don’t want to go to the wedding and it has nothing to do with him? That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. 

“No, I don’t want to keep doing this,” you say, gesturing between the two of you. “I don’t want to keep pretending to date you when I -”

You clamp your mouth shut. Unable to believe that you almost blurted out how you feel.

“When you what?” he challenges. “What? Is it that bad being around me? Is that it? Are you just sick of me? Ready to toss me aside?”

You laugh bitterly, not even able to appreciate the irony in the situation. “No, Joshua, I don’t want to toss you aside.” 

“Then, what? What am I supposed to think when you’ve been pushing me away for the last couple weeks? And I have to act like I haven’t noticed all the ways you’ve kept me at arm’s length since we went to the winery. Why did you just decide, literally today, that you don’t want to go to the wedding after all?” he asks, rambling. He’s pacing in front of you. “Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?”

“Because I don’t want to get hurt!” you blurt out. “Because I don’t want to go to my fucking scumbag of an ex’s wedding where everyone is going to be giving me these looks of pity or focusing on my relationship with him when all I want is this.”

“This? What?” he asks, coming to a stop.

“This, Joshua, you and me. Having this just all be pretend is breaking my heart. I can’t keep doing it. It was supposed to keep me from getting my heart broken. It sucks and I hate it and I just wish it wasn’t pretend. I don’t want to go to the wedding and have you be so sweet and kind and caring when I’m going to know it has an expiration date. That it’s all just been for show,” you admit. You turn away, clutching your arms around your center because you’re so tired. And so exposed. So vulnerable. It’s awful.

The tears won’t stop, so you don’t notice how Joshua has closed the space between you until he wraps his arms around you from behind. Pulls you back against his chest and presses a kiss into your hair.

“So, let’s stop saying it’s pretend,” he whispers. 

“What?” you whisper back.

He turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him and gently brushes away the tears. “Let’s stop saying it’s fake. It doesn’t feel fake, does it?”

“No,” is all you can manage.

“So, it’s not fake and we’re not pretending,” he says.

“But,” you start to protest. 

“I knew I was in trouble, really deep trouble, as soon as we left your parents’ house. I was just waiting for you to catch up,” he says as he gently runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe away a tear . Your eyes go wide.

“That was barely a week in,” you say and he just shrugs. “And I’d dumped all my bullshit on you.”

“I think that’s actually what made me like you so much,” he says. “It was supposed to be fake and we were trying to get to know each other well enough to pull it off. But, instead, I just realized you were actually perfect.”

“Perfect? I was broken,” you joke and he shakes his head.

“No, you’ve been hurt. Who hasn’t? You’re also strong, kind, funny, a fiercely loyal friend, and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, inside and out,” he says. 

“That’s so, you’re so sweet,” you say and try to hide your face. He doesn’t let you. “You like me?”

“I’ve liked you the whole time. I did think it was a date, after all,” he says. “And do you think I’m that affectionate with everyone?”

“We were pretending,” you argue.

“I wasn’t,” he argues back.

“Our closest friends thought you were,” you disagree.

“And was anyone else there in my apartment when I was still being affectionate?” he asks.

“Well, no, but…” you start.

“I heard you say always,” he tells you.

“You did?” you ask, sure that it’s been your secret this whole time.

“We don’t have to go to the wedding. But, if it’s just because you don’t want this to be over with me, then it’s not going to be over. I’m yours for as long as you want me,” he says so earnestly it nearly makes you blush.

“Careful, you might get sick of me,” you joke.

He puts a finger under your chin so he can look you in the eyes. “I’ll say it again. I’m yours as long as you want me. I won’t get sick of you.” 

“I…” you start and don’t know where to go. So you do the only thing you can think of and kiss him. It’s clear he’s a little caught off guard, but he recovers quickly. His arms wrap around you to hold you tight against him. It’s the first time you’ve really kissed him and you’re so screwed because he really is perfect at this too. 

“So, do I get you for the rest of today?” he asks.

You take in his tuxedo again, for real this time. Appreciating how well it’s tailored and how amazing he looks. With a sigh, you say, “you know, it’s a shame to waste such a nice tux.”

“Are you…I thought we weren’t going,” he stutters.

“I’m probably gonna have to fix my makeup in the car, but why not? I want to show off my super hot and very real boyfriend,” you say and watch him choke on air. 

“You can’t just say…” he starts.

“Damn, sick of me already?” you tease.

“You know I’m not,” he answers and moves to follow you.

“No, no. You don’t get to see me changing. I’ll be back out in a second,” you say. 

You’re in the middle of shimmying into your dress when you realize that you do still have a lot to talk about. A lot to figure out. This whole situation has been unusual, though, so it probably makes sense that there isn’t a template. Once you have your shoes on, you walk back into the living room, prepared to say something, only to find Joshua speechless.

“You look…” he starts.

“You’ve seen the dress already,” you say and smile.

“Not on you. Not in person. You look amazing,” he says and crosses to pull you into his arms. “Are you sure we have to go?”

“Yes,” you say and swat him. “But, I do know we have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m not in a rush,” he says and allows you to step away.

“We might need to be in a bit of a rush,” you say, checking the time and gathering all your things. 

“Let’s go, then,” Joshua says and offers his arm. 

The wedding passes in kind of a blur. In truth, you barely even register Johnny or what he’s doing beyond the actual ceremony. The reception is so massive that it’s easiest just to focus on the people around you. Especially when you’re at a table with your friends. Thankfully, you’re not at a table with your parents or your sister. It does mean, though, that you’re sitting next to Hyejin, who has definitely realized that something shifted between you and Joshua. So, she’s trying to sneak in a question any time she can. Which is hard, given that Joshua is more attached to you than ever. And Hyejin doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to you. All you manage to let her know is that it’s real now and that you’ll fill her in after the wedding. (You’re also thankful that people seem to be cooing over Taehyung and Mimi since they’re the shiny new topic.)

It’s also nice to have Joshua there because he’s a built in way to excuse yourself from any conversation that you don’t want to be part of. It’s easy to just say you’re going to go back to the table. Or, in the case of a good song coming on, he’ll be quick to drag you to the dance floor and away from whatever conversation you’re stuck in. He’s a good dancer, too. You don’t miss the way Hyejin catches your eye when the first slow song comes on and he pulls you close to him. But, that’s a conversation for another day. All you wanted was to appreciate the way his hand felt on your lower back or your hand felt in his. 

When it was finally time to leave, Joshua led you out of the event, arm around you to guide you. Neither of you were drunk, but you had still hired someone to take you to and from the wedding anyway. A gift from your parents to appreciate you “doing the right thing” and coming to the wedding. For the sake of the families. It made you roll your eyes at the time, yet you’re thankful now. It would be far better than having to take an Uber or trying to get a room at the hotel (and risking seeing everyone else staying there the next morning). The ride home also gave you the chance to talk. Really talk. Neither of you cared much that someone else was driving (and he had the partition up, anyway), as you talked about your feelings honestly for the first time. 

As it turned out, you had a lot to say. Both of you. You hadn’t been nearly as good at hiding your feelings from Joshua as you had been at hiding them from yourself. He had hoped you were going to admit them to him after that night at his apartment. Instead, you avoided him. Yes, he knew that you had been avoiding him. You also weren’t very good at picking up on the signs he dropped about his feelings for you. He admitted that he could have just said something, but he was trying to be subtle so he didn’t scare you off. Trying to let his actions speak through more affection. You admit you were scared to think it was anything more than it actually was. Scared of your feelings. Scared of getting hurt again. Joshua completely understands that and admits that he’s a little scared, too, because you’re definitely more important to him than he was anticipating. He’s also confident that you can work through it together. It gives you a feeling of hope. Makes everything about you feel lighter. You see that relief reflected in Joshua’s eyes when they scan yours. 

The car pulls to a stop and he gets out first. He holds his hand out to help you out of the car. You’re not really sure what comes over you.

“Come up with me,” you ask, but it’s more of a statement. 

He hesitates, conflicted. “I don’t know if I should.”

“Why?” you ask, clearly confused.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave,” he answers and you smile.

“Then stay,” you shrug, “at least for breakfast.” 

Without waiting for him to respond, you turn and head for the front door of the building. It means you miss the way he freezes in place, but you can guess at that by how long it takes before he catches up to you. He’s unusually quiet and still beside you as you go up the elevator and then behind you as you unlock the door. 

“I’m gonna go change,” you announce after you drop your keys by the door. You look back at Joshua, appreciating him in the tuxedo one last time. “I’ve got some clothes in the spare room that should fit. They’re Jeonghan’s ” 

You take the opportunity to breathe for a second, to let it settle in that you asked Joshua to come in with you and stay the night. Then, you set about changing out of your dress. Carefully clean your face free of the make-up. Brush through your hair and twist it back off of your face. Once you’re in comfy clothes and bare faced, you head back out into the living room. It’s odd that you don’t even feel self-conscious about Joshua seeing you like this, you’re instantly comfortable. 

Joshua’s back is to you in the kitchen. When he turns around, you see that he’s put together a little platter of snacks. You also were right, the t-shirt and shorts he picked out seem to fit him well. Jeonghan is a little slighter than Joshua, but he wears most of his clothes on the baggier side. 

“Thanks for the clothes,” he says when you both meet on the couch. “I was worried when you said you had spare clothes they were gonna be from an ex or Johnny or something.” 

Your laugh is sudden and clearly catches Joshua off guard. “I wouldn’t have kept any of Johnny’s clothes. I gave them all to charity.” 

“I’m sure he was thrilled with that,” Joshua laughs.

“They made a killing reselling them,” you laugh in response. “Wanna watch something?”

“Sure, you pick,” he says.

You start clicking through your saved list to find something that the two of you can watch. Once you settle on something, Joshua motions you over. Even if you want to pretend you’re considering it, you can’t. Every part of you wants to be close to him. When you slide over, he pulls you in tighter to his body and you fit like you always belonged there with him. 

If you thought he was physically affectionate when he was pretending, it’s nothing compared to now that he knows you’re both in this. He has one hand running along your arm or the other along your thigh. Sometimes he reaches out to take one of your hands. Other times he presses kisses into your hair. It’s pretty clear right away that he’s not paying much attention to the show. 

If you’re being honest, you’re not really either.

Everything is distracting. The way his fingers on the bare skin of your arm raises goosebumps. The way his kiss in your hair makes your eyes close in appreciation. The way he squeezes your thigh and short circuits your brain. 

You can’t help it. You turn your head so that you can look at him. He caresses your cheek, so gentle. Runs his thumb across your lip. You’re holding your breath, just waiting to see what he’s going to do. When you feel like you’re going to go a little bit insane, his hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in. It’s exactly like the first kiss before the wedding. At least, at first. It’s gentle, but full of so much desire. It’s also slow, like there’s no rush to any of it.

The position is really uncomfortable, though. You shift your legs so they’re draped over one of Joshua’s. He doesn’t miss a beat. It just allows him to pull you closer. There’s something incredibly intimate in kissing him like this. There’s this weird contrast of desire and comfort. It’s heated, but also a little lazy. Like you have all the time in the world. Which you do, you think, now that you’re being honest about your feelings.  When Joshua pulls back from the kiss, you chase his lips for a second before realizing that he’s pulled away. The way he looks at you nearly melts you into the couch.

“I don’t want to assume where this is headed, but maybe we should take it to the bedroom?” he asks. It’s cute, the way he’s a little shy. Like you didn’t invite him in to spend the night. Yeah, you’re in way over your head. At least it seems like he might be too. 

You pull your legs back so that you can stand up. His eyes track your movements as you reach your hand back to him. He accepts it without a word and lets you lead him to the bedroom. Even if he’s seen your bedroom before, this feels different. You’re waiting for him to look around, but his eyes are glued on you. Joshua even waits for you to lead him all the way to the bed, so you direct him to sit on the edge. 

Once Joshua is seated, you step between his legs and tilt your head down to kiss him. He wraps his arms around you so that he can pull you against him. There’s barely any space between you. It sends a little bit of a shiver as his hands run up your back and back down. The touch is gentle and caring. Like he’s trying to put everything he feels into it. Something about it just makes you feel so insanely safe. 

He’s the one to break the kiss again, but this time it’s to move back onto the bed and grab your hand to pull you along with him. It’s easy to just follow suit and get comfortable laying next to him, bodies facing each other. The kissing picks up when your lips meet again. Joshua kisses you breathless with a passion you’re eager to explore. One of his hands rests on your hip, casually sliding beneath your shirt and caressing up your side. You press your body further into his and capture his moan with a kiss. It feels like you’re a bit drunk off each other.

When Joshua’s hand moves back down, you take the chance to throw your leg over his hip, allowing you to press further into him and feel how this is turning him on. Part of you knows that he’s still waiting for you to set the pace. Or that he wants things to be a little slower. So, you help him out and roll the two of you over so that you’re straddled on top of him. Putting his hands on your hips, you lean over to kiss him again. In this position, you can also grind into his lap. You delight in how he’s already getting hard beneath you, enjoy the way his hands grip the soft flesh of your hips.

He pulls back and looks at you with blown pupils. “Baby, please don’t tease me.” 

“No silly pet name?” you tease him. 

“Not when you’re getting me this turned on like a horny teenager,” he whines. 

“You mean like this?” you ask, injecting as much innocence as you can when you slowly drag your clothed pussy across his dick again. 

Joshua throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and grips you tighter. “Yes.” 

“So you don’t like it?” you ask, grinding a little more. 

“Fuck,” he hisses out. And somehow that’s the thing that almost breaks you. Why is that one swear so hot on his lips? 

Without saying anything, you sit up a little bit, still making sure you’re straddling Joshua, so that you can pull his shirt off him. Your eyes go wide because you’ve never seen him shirtless. You’ve seen him in well fitted suits or shirts, but this is entirely different. His chest looks like it was sculpted by an artist. All your attention is on your fingers running along his chest and you don’t see the way it makes him a little shy. 

His hands reach for your own shirt, playing with the hem like he’s asking permission. So, you move his hands aside and pull it over your head, leaving your skin bare as well. You watch him drink you in, feeling almost empowered by the desire you see in his eyes. He pulls you back towards him so that he can get one of your breasts into his mouth. The way he teases your nipple with his tongue has you clenching around nothing. You can feel how wet it’s making you and try your best not to squirm when he moves from one breast to the other. 

“I need you,” you utter. 

“I need you, too,” he says against your skin. His hips buck up into you almost involuntarily. 

You slide off of him and pull your shorts down and he gasps that you don’t have any underwear on. It isn’t like you were expecting anything, you just wanted to be prepared. While he’s still a little drunk on the sight of you fully naked, you help him discard the rest of his clothing. The sight of his cock springing free, precum leaking out, has you wanting to get your mouth on him. 

But, you’re realizing, what you really want is to feel him inside you. After so much tension and wondering, you just want to have this moment together. You want to be as close as two people can possibly get. You want all the intimacy and to be able to see his face. It’s this thought that pushes you back to the bed to lay with him. 

Joshua repositions and runs a hand down your body. Lets his fingers run along your thighs and tease their way up to gather some of your wetness. Your eyes close as he runs a finger up your slit. It’s such a little amount of contact and it makes you moan anyway. 

“Damn, are you this wet just for me?” he asks and presses a kiss into the first bit of your skin he can reach.

“I want to feel you,” you admit. Joshua makes you press a finger into your pussy, but you stop him. Confusion takes over his features.

“I thought…do you not want this?” he asks. 

“I do, but I want…I want all of you,” you admit. “I want to feel you deep inside of me. I want to be completely ruined by you. I want to come together.” 

“Shit,” he hisses, hand stilling against your body. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“I want to taste you soon,” he says, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

The thought of him between your legs makes you shiver. It’s almost enough to forget that you want this first time to be together. “Deal.” 

“Do you have condoms? I wasn’t exactly expecting…” he says, trailing off.

“That drawer,” you say and point. 

He rolls himself off of the bed to open the drawer. You’re not sure why you expect his hands to be a little unsteady when he rips open the wrapper and rolls it onto himself, but he’s so calm. Maybe it’s just you that’s a little nervous. At least, that’s what you think until you catch the look on his face. It has to be the same as yours, naked want mixed with a little bit of uncertainty. Everything else has been so easy with you, what if this is where it goes wrong? 

“Just lay back,” he urges you, voice calming any lingering nerves. His voice drops to a whisper, like the next statement is just for him. “You’re so beautiful, every single inch of you.” 

It makes your heart constrict in a way that you’re not really prepared for. It would be nice if your feelings could stop flooding in all at once like a dam breaking. It’s overwhelming. You do as he says, though, and lean back against the pillow. Joshua gently spreads your legs apart and takes another moment to appreciate you. He can’t seem to help himself from running a finger along your entrance. 

Even though he would fully be within his rights to tease you, he doesn’t. He lines himself up at your entrance and looks to you for final confirmation. All you can manage is a nod. You know he wants to hear you, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. So, he accepts the nods and slowly presses into you.

“Fuck,” you hiss as you adjust to him. 

“Are you okay?” he worries.

“Feels good,” you say with a slight whine. “It’s just been a bit.” 

He presses the rest of the way into you and then stills so you can get used to him. It’s really overwhelming. Not just because you’re finally feeling him inside of you. More so because he’s looking at you with more adoration than you’ve ever felt in your life. Like this is it for him. Like you’re it for him. It’s too early to be thinking of love, but you really don’t know if anyone has ever loved you so completely. You think he’s probably it for you too. 

Once he finally starts to move, you know it’s going to be over entirely too fast. He starts with slow thrusts, testing what you want. You dig your fingers into his arms as a way to ground yourself. To anchor yourself to him and in the moment. When he picks up the pace, your mind goes entirely blank. It’s just the right speed. While you love the hard and fast fucking, there’s something so much more intimate about this kind of in between speed. 

“God you feel so good,” he whines as he snaps into you again. “So tight and perfect.” 

“You’re so - oh my god,” you moan out, unable to finish the sentence as he hits you just right. 

Joshua moves one of your legs so that it’s over his shoulder and presses further into you, hitting deeper than you were prepared for.

“Fuck, Joshua, holy shit,” you scream out. 

“Love the sound of my name on your lips,” he manages as his thrusts pick up pace. 

You want to respond that you love saying it, want to say anything, but the thrusts are entirely too much. As if it wasn’t already too much, Joshua adjusts again so that he can press his thumb against your clit. He rubs circles in time with his thrusts and you think that you might see stars. You throw your head back, eyes pressed shut.

“Look at me, baby. I wanna see you when you come,” he urges, his own voice sounding ragged. 

Despite wanting to focus on the pressure building between you, you do as he asks. Your eyes meet his and it’s that look that makes that coil snap. You’re coming hard and digging your fingers into whatever you can find to release some of the tension in your body. This might be the best orgasm you’ve had. 

When you come back to this plane, Joshua has stilled inside of you. One of his hands gently caresses your face as he mumbles quiet praises. It’s so impossibly tender.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you can move,” you assure him.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles. 

His pace now picks up to something fast and hard with one of his large hands anchoring your thigh to his body. Your hands grip any part of his body that they can reach and you relish the way he hisses when your nails drag patterns down his skin. Marking him so that he belongs to you. Just as you belong so completely to him. 

It seems impossible but you can feel the tension building low in your stomach again. His thrusts are so hard that you feel like his cock might split you open and something about it just works for you. You hadn’t thought anything about him would translate to this kind of hard and fast sex, but it’s somehow better than you could have imagined. With him so focused on chasing his own high, you rub circles on your clit to bring yourself over the edge again. You tumble over the edge for a second time just as Joshua’s thrusts get erratic. You do your best to take over the rhythm before slowing down. 

Joshua collapses on top of you, cock still buried in your pussy, and sighs. His weight on top of you feels like the best security you’ve ever had. Your hands find their way into his hair, gently stroking and scratching his scalp. As he comes back around, he presses his head further into your hand. 

“Hey,” you say when he looks up at you.

“You’re perfect,” he responds and you can’t keep the smile off your face. 

“You were pretty perfect yourself,” you say. 

“Am I too heavy, I could…” he starts and you pull him tighter against you.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. 

He doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles his face into your neck. But, you know that you can’t stay like this forever. So you don’t protest when he gently pulls himself up and gets out of the bed. You’re right behind him, leading him into the bathroom so that you can get both of you cleaned up. 

After getting cleaned up, dressed, and doing your respective night time routines, you and Joshua are settled back into your bed (on top of a fresh set of sheets). Although you’ve never been much for falling asleep cuddling, you can’t imagine leaving any space between you and him. When he wraps himself around you, all you can do is smile and settle deeper into his perfect chest. Honestly, every inch of this man is perfect and you’d be annoyed if you weren’t so helplessly attached to him. 

And it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in a long time. You wake up with his chest pressed into your back and his arm still wrapped around you. It sounds like he’s still asleep based on his breathing and so you’re just considering slipping out of the bed. He moves in his sleep and pulls you tighter against him, making you feel that he’s semi-hard again. You press back against him, almost testing if he’s really asleep. 

He’s not. 

Joshua’s hand, already against the skin of your stomach and underneath your shirt, moves further up to your breast. His hand squeezes your breast and then he brushes his thumb over your nipple. Your body responds to his touch embarrassingly fast, which only seems to spur him on. He’s got your nipple between his fingers before you press back into him again, wiggling your ass against his dick without pretending you’re doing otherwise.

“Good morning beautiful,” Joshua says in a raspy voice into your ear. 

The warmth of his breath along with the pressure of him rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger has you suppressing a moan. In the quiet of the morning, he hears it anyway. He removes his hand from your breast and you want to pout at the loss of contact. That is, until his hand works down between your legs, roughly grabbing hold of your pussy through your shorts. He runs his middle finger through your folds, likely feeling the way your shorts are getting soaked through already. 

“Feels like someone might have woken up ready,” he says into your ear, voice sinfully low. His finger is still slowly teasing you through the damn material of your shorts. Somehow that makes it feel hotter. 

“I wonder why,” you retort, undermined by the way you squirm under his touch. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks and stops his movements. 

Your hand immediately moves to his. To guide him back to your cunt. “Please don’t. Want to see what those hands can do.” 

His mouth is still by your ear, so you hear the dark chuckle and feel the air tickle you. He moves your hand aside along with your shorts as he slips his hand inside the fabric. His middle finger resumes the previous pattern almost lazily. You’re about to ask him to stop teasing you when he presses a finger inside you suddenly.

“Fuck,” you nearly scream. 

“Is someone a little sensitive?” he teases. He’s a fucking demon and you would gladly sell your soul so he didn’t stop. 

The way he pumps his finger inside of you is entirely too slow. But, when you try to meet his rhythm, he stops. Just when you think you might actually die, he inserts a second finger. It makes your back arch, pressing your ass further against his now very hard cock. He hisses and pulls his fingers out from you. As you’re turning over to adjust your position, you see him insert his fingers into his mouth. Holy shit. He really is the hottest man you’ve ever met. 

Instead of letting you carry on in any way, he pushes himself up and repositions. You’re not really sure what he’s doing until he reaches for your shorts to pull them off. His focus is on you, silently asking for permission again. All you can do is nod. 

“Told you that I wanted to taste you,” he reminds you once your shorts are off. 

“Are you sure…” you start to ask before he cuts you off.

His head snaps up so he can meet your eyes. “I’ve been waiting to taste you for weeks.”

That shuts you up pretty effectively. What can you really say in response to that? Anything you might have said dies in your throat as he licks a messy stripe up your folds. He quickly settles, using one hand to keep you spread open for him, and licks into you. It’s all you can do to keep your eyes on him as his head bobs between your legs. You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him in place even though you know he’s not going anywhere. (And okay, maybe it’s more to ground yourself to him than anything else.) 

It shouldn’t be surprising that his attentiveness translates this well, but it is a little surprising how well he seems to know your body. The way he knows just when to switch from licking into your cunt to flicking his tongue over your clit. The way he knows when he needs to add a finger and then a second. The way he can tell everything your body needs before you even realize it. 

By the time he pulls himself up your body, he’s got you nearly panting from the build up. The kiss he presses to your lips is sloppy and a little desperate. Like you’re both totally fucked out. His fingers inside you keep a relentless pace as he hooks them, hitting that perfect spot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you yell out, breaking the kiss. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire in an entirely different way from the night before. 

There’s nothing in the world but Joshua and the way he coaxes everything out of you. The way he has you squirting on his fingers. You’re not even sure if the praise coming out of your mouth makes any sense and you’re definitely not sure what he says in return. It’s all you can do just to appreciate the moment. 

You think that you’re going to get the chance to get your mouth around his cock now that he’s given you another mind blowing orgasm. But, by the time you get your breathing under control, you see that he’s rolling a condom from your drawer onto himself. He pulls you to the edge of the bed so that your legs are hanging off. It’s instantly stronger than you’re expecting from him and pulls a gasp from you. 

Without even thinking, your legs fall open. Joshua seems to have found a bottle of lube, too, and spreads it over his cock. When he lines himself up at your entrance, you expect him to ease in like the night before. He doesn’t. He snaps his full length inside of you in one motion and you’re so overstimulated, but it feels so good.

“Fuck me, Joshua, oh my fucking god,” you say and clench down around his dick. 

“Shit, that feels so good,” he hisses. 

“You feel so good,” you moan. 

“You have no idea,” he answers and starts thrusting. 

It’s a complete haze from the moment you hear his skin slap against your own. Every coherent thought leaves your head. There is nothing in the world but you and him and the way you make each other feel. He leans over your body, crowds your space. Steals sloppy, desperate kisses. Praises you constantly and in broken sentences. It’s all you can do just to hold on, so sore and so unable to stop.

Your hands grip into the sheets around you that are completely rumpled. You try everything to keep your eyes on Joshua’s face. Memorize the way he looks when he’s concentrating. Appreciate how totally gone he is because you’re sure it’s the same look you have. Delight in the way his eyes get even wider when you clench your pussy around him. 

It feels a little like he’s using your body to chase his own high, except there’s total comfort in that. All you want is for him to feel as good as you do. All you want is for him to get that release, especially since you haven’t been able to get your mouth on his cock yet. 

“Harder Joshua, please. I know you’re close,”  you beg and he obliges immediately. 

Even though you’re trying to meet the rhythm, you can’t. It’s too erratic and too unpredictable. So you pull him down to you again and kiss him. Slip your tongue inside his mouth and let the kisses get as sloppy as they need to. You feel how close he is and only kiss him harder. He breaks the kiss for the last few thrusts, groaning as he comes. You’re right there with him. 

(Later, he tells you that he’s never seen anyone hotter than you when you come. It would make you embarrassed in any other situation. But, you realize that you’ve never been with anyone that’s come close to him, so maybe it’s okay to accept his praise. Maybe you deserve it. Maybe this is the person that you’ve been waiting for.)

Now, you really do have to get up and clean up. As tempting as Joshua’s offer to shower together is, you don’t want it to turn into shower sex because that’s just not sexy (or practical). Neither one of you can seem to guarantee keeping their hands off the other. Instead, you tell him that he can use the shower in your guest room. It’s fully stocked and there are still more spare clothes in there. He insists that he should get some laundry going because you must be running out of clean sheets and you definitely made a mess. 

With Joshua cleaning up some around the house, you’re the first out of the shower and dressed. Pleasantly sore in the kind of way you really enjoy. You’re sitting on the couch and scrolling through your phone, trying to decide if you want to order food or just cook what you already have. Before you can make a decision, there’s a knock at the door. It’s impossible to guess who it could be. Even Jeonghan wouldn’t bother you like this. Although he’s been texting asking for an update after you told him you finally got your shit together, he wouldn’t show up like this. 

When you open the door, you’d give anything for it to just be Jeonghan. Instead, you see a face that you’ve been seeing entirely too much lately.

“What are you doing here, Johnny?” you ask with a heavy sigh. 

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

“Why?” you ask.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he pleads.

“Johnny, it’s the day after your wedding. What the fuck are you doing on my doorstep?” you ask, arms crossed. 

“Are you really going to make me do this in the hallway?” he asks. 

“I don’t see any reason to invite you inside,” you retort. 

“It’s about your, uh, boyfriend,” Johnny says a little awkwardly.

“Joshua?” you ask because that actually piques your interest a bit.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“No. What about Joshua?” you ask.

“This is really awkward. It would be better if we were sitting down…” Johnny starts.

“My little honeybun, is everything okay?” Joshua asks from inside the apartment. He must be out of the shower. 

“Babe, we talked about the pet names,” you remind him as he joins you at the door.

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t expecting him to be here,” Johnny says.

“I’m her boyfriend, so I know why I’m here. What are you doing here?” Joshua says without hiding any disdain.  "Are you really her boyfriend, though?" Johnny challenges. You stiffen almost imperceptibly, but Joshua must notice it because he wraps an arm around you protectively. "Of course I am. Why are you here?"

“I needed to talk to her,” Johnny says stiffly.

“About you, apparently,” you say with your eyes on Joshua. 

“Right, so can you give us a minute?” Johnny asks with his eyes on Joshua.

“No, he can’t. If you have something to say, just say it. Then you can leave us alone,” you say.

“Fine, if you really want it to be like this, fine,” Johnny says. “I knew he looked familiar when I saw him at your parents’ house with you. It just took me a while. I ran into him at a couple of functions back when I was in college and traveling all around for my dad.” 

“Okay? And? I’m sorry, but I’m not sure why I care,” you say even though you know where he’s going.

“He was always with older women,” Johnny presses. 

“Can you just make your point so we can get back to our day?” Joshua asks.

“Fine,” Johnny says, irritated. “The whispers were that women paid him to come to the events with them. That he was selling himself to them.” 

You actually snort at the phrasing. It takes you several seconds to compose yourself. You wonder what the point of Johnny doing this and if it’s his way of trying to keep you on the hook. Then you realize that you don’t really care what he does. For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely happy. 

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” Johnny says. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I know how Joshua helped pay for his education. And like why am I going to give him a hard time over seizing an opportunity? There’s nothing wrong with profiting off of someone wanting his company platonically,” you say. 

“You’re assuming he wasn’t also sleeping with them,” Johnny says, a little stubborn.

“No, I’m not assuming. I know he wasn’t because we’ve talked about this. He told me all about it without even being prompted. And unlike certain people in my life, I have absolutely no reason to doubt him. I know I can actually trust him,” you say. “It was also years before we met. We’ve all got history.”

“Nice dig,” he says. 

“It’s not a dig, Johnny. Not everything is a slight,” you say with a sigh. “Where does Gabby think you are?”

“What?” Johnny asks. 

“Your wife,” you clarify. “Where does she think you are?”

“Oh, well, that’s not important. I just said I had some errands to take care of,” Johnny says and you roll your eyes.

“We’re done, Johnny,” you say.

“Wait,” he says as you’re moving to shut the door. “I know I fucked up, but…”

“There’s no buts. Not anymore,” you say. “Maybe there was a point where I’d want to hear the buts and the apologies and all that. I’m happy now, though, and you can’t even tell your wife that you came to see your ex-fiancee the day after your wedding.” 

“It’s not like…” he starts and you start to close the door at the same time.

“It’s exactly like that. Goodbye, Johnny,” you say. 

The second you close the door, you feel a giant weight lifted off you. You just feel tired. It’s obvious that there aren’t any feelings there anymore, so him pretending he cares as a pretense to see you just feels irritating.

“Are you okay?” Joshua asks, eyes raking over you.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, really. I think I knew when I saw him at my parents’ house that time you came over for dinner that I was completely over it,” you say. “I’m sorry he tried to bring something like that up or make it a big deal.” 

“I don’t care. It’s like you said, I did it and I’m not ashamed of that,” he says. “But, uh, I really wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” you ask.

“For defending me and for saying you trust me,” he says. It makes you a little shy for a second, so you look down.

“Oh, well, it’s not a big deal,” you say. 

Joshua closes the space and tilts your chin up to look at him. “It’s a huge deal to me. I know we started pretending, but trusting me means the absolute world.” 

“You make it easy,” you admit. 

That seems to render him a little speechless as well because all he does is pull you into him in the tightest hug he’s ever given you. Your body fits into his like a puzzle piece. Which sounds sappy, even if in your head, and you don’t actually care. It’s the safest and the happiest you’ve ever felt.

“What?” he asks when you pull away.

“Nothing, I just think this is going to work,” you say. 

Joshua smiles at you, that genuine smile he saves for when he’s at his happiest. “Yeah, I think so too.” 

i hope you enjoyed this fic! let me know your thoughts 💕

tag list: @aaniag, @gyuminusone, @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @amoryeonjun, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @klecksstorys, @sunflowergyeomie, @straykidswhoo789, @holistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @matchahyuck, @sonybear40, @kimseokgen, @hyneyedfiz, @miujunhui, @graybaeismytae, @hyucksrealm, @livixxn, @sharonxdevi, @coupsystar8, @sana-is-ms-rmty, @pyeonghongrie-main, @naajaeminsgf, @beomesbabe, @magicshop913, @deletingthekisses, @lissiesykes (strikethrough means i couldn't tag, check your settings!)

[egcdeath]

something old, something new

pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: when your childhood best friend asks you to get married, how are you supposed to say no?

word count: 7.2k

warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no explicit sex scenes), marriage of convenience, fluff, mentions of alcohol, patrick is a bad friend (but he improves), friends to spouses to lovers, fake dating, yearning and pining, everyone is bad at communicating, many feelings are being repressed, mentions of dieting in an athlete way, one singular creepy old man, no use of y/n

author’s note: i cannot get this tennis man out of my head!! i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

It wasn’t every day that you could count on hearing anything from your childhood best friend, but it seemed like whenever you did hear from Patrick Zweig, it was always an ask for something more shocking than the previous one. 

As kids, you spent many evenings doing the homework that Patrick didn’t want to do, despite the fact that you didn’t really want to do more homework either. At boarding school, you’d somehow become his personal designated driver, answering his calls no matter what time and groggily picking him up from whatever party he’d found himself at. In your adulthood, you found yourself becoming a go-to stand-in for him at events he didn’t feel like attending. The amount of times that you’d shaken hands at charity galas and introduced yourself as Patrick’s girlfriend, despite not having a single romantic encounter with him, was frankly astounding. 

It seemed like whenever Patrick needed something, you were the first person he reached out to. After his parents, of course. 

You dreaded knowing the reason behind the simple hey, text message you’d just received, but you were sure that you’d find the reason out sooner rather than later–and that whatever the reason was could not have been good. 

Like clockwork, only an hour after you’d received his message, Patrick appeared at the doorway of your apartment. He came to you equipped with his secret weapon, the kicked puppy look that he often used on you before he asked you for a ridiculous favor, like breaking up with his girlfriend for him or telling his mom that he still wasn’t joining the board of the family business. 

You sighed as you took his less-than-stellar appearance in. Downtrodden expression, wrinkled and sweat-stained shirt, as if he’d gone to the gym to sweat out his feelings before coming to you, and eyes so red-rimmed, you wondered if he’d been crying. 

If you had to guess, he’d either been arguing with his parents, who knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his tennis friends, who also knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his latest girlfriend, who probably confronted him about his own wrongdoings. Regardless of who had upset him, he had obviously come to you to lick his wounds. 

Like always, Patrick stalked inside without asking you for any further permission. The two of you had done this song and dance more times than either one of you would like to admit. 

“How are you?” he asked, stopping in your kitchen to steal an apple from your decorative bowl of fruit.

“I’m good,” you said with hesitation, eyeing him once more. He really looked like shit. If he hadn’t looked so sad, you would’ve told him exactly how much shit he looked like.  

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I am?” he questioned, a little pathetically.

“No,” you walked off to your living room, fully expecting him to follow you. You were unsurprised when he did exactly that. “Let’s just get right to it. Why’d you come over here?” you asked as the two of you sat down on your couch. 

“My parents are cutting me off,” he explained, voice breaking as he spoke.

Surely, this couldn’t all be over an empty threat. They seemed to threaten Patrick with this every few days. In fact, you’d been in the room with him when his parents promised that he’d never see another dime from them–more than once. Every time, it ended with them coming to their senses and throwing more cash at him. 

“That’s what, the twentieth time?” you laughed. “They always threaten to cut you off. What’s different this time?”

“This time, they mean it.”

You laughed even harder in his face. If you had a quarter for every time you’d had this conversation, you’d be richer than the two of your families combined. 

“I’m serious,” he inched closer to you. “They’re tired of funding my ‘tennis habit’. They want me to get serious about life. To join the board and start a family. My dad showed me an edited draft of his will and everything”

“So?” you prompted, trying to figure out where you fell into the equation. Hopefully he wouldn’t try to put you up to something absurd, like seducing his father into convincing him to not threaten Patrick’s inheritance.

“So, tennis is the only thing I care about.”

“Okay…” you trailed off. “What would you like me to do about that?”

“I need you to help show my parents that I have a vision for the future.”

“Again, Patrick, what exactly are you asking me to do?”

“Marry me.”

You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but it certainly was not that. Your mouth instantly dropped open and you were sure that you were gaping like a fish. Maybe if he had asked you ten years ago, you’d have instantly said yes, but you’d let that naive dream die after you’d come to realize the transactional subtext of your friendship.

“What?”

“I want you to marry me. I was thinking… you remember when we were younger and we made that pact, that if we weren’t married by the time we were adults, then we’d get hitched?”

You continued to stare at him, completely dumbfounded and not believing a single word coming from his mouth. “I… I…” you couldn’t even form the words. “We were kids!”

He gave you a halfhearted shrug, as if that didn’t matter at all, and as if he didn’t just ask you to be legally and romantically bound to him forever.

“You are fucking unbelievable! You haven't talked to me for anything other than asking me a favor in years, I barely know you’re alive apart from the random drunk texts you send me, and now you want me to marry you? Do you even hear yourself?”

You scoffed and stared at him in disbelief. “And that has to be the worst proposal in all of human history. First you tell me that tennis is the only thing you care about and then ask me to marry you? You’re a joke.”

He let you finish your rant, but after a beat he finally asked. “…Is that a no?”

———-

Stranger things had happened to you than marrying your childhood best friend just a month after he’d randomly popped back up in your life. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you walked down the aisle on a beautiful beach off of the Amalfi Coast.

The last few weeks had been an absolute whirlwind, with what felt like every second of your time consumed by making guest lists and invitations, booking hotel rooms, and finding a dress that you liked enough to get married in. Obviously, you knew this was more of an elaborate scheme than a celebration of love, but you wanted it to be nice anyway. For all you knew, you may never get married again.

You don’t know what possessed you to say yes to Patrick. Maybe the small, desperate part of you that had been begging him to truly see you since you were old enough to realize he didn’t, or maybe the desire to finally have that fairytale destination wedding you’d been dreaming about from the time you learned what a wedding was. Regardless of the reason, both of your families were overjoyed by the union. In one fell swoop, you’d been able to satisfy both of your parents’ desires for you to settle down, and you’d done it with someone both pairs approved of. 

You had to give props to Patrick, the ceremony was beautiful. Given the short timeline, the two of you decided to divide and conquer the planning of the event. You were sure that he’d outsourced the work, since he was still in the middle of his tennis season, but whoever he hired did an excellent job at giving you the wedding you’d always wanted. 

Despite the very short timeline everyone had been given, you were able to wrangle all of your close family and friends to Italy to watch you elope. Your parents had insisted on inviting second cousins and shareholders to your wedding, but you’d somehow convinced them that you and Patrick wanted a smaller, more intimate ceremony. It was probably better to have less people there, lest someone notices the artificial nature of your union. 

Part of you felt like you’d pulled off the greatest prank of all time as the two of you stood up in front of your small crowd, gazing as lovingly as you could manage into each others’ eyes while the officiant said his spiel, but the other, more logical part of you filled with dread as the reality of the situation began to set in. Patrick seemed to have a way of always dragging you into a shitty situation, and you hoped for both of your sakes, that that wouldn’t be the case for your marriage.

After what felt like a lifetime, Patrick began to recite his vows, claiming to have loved you since you were children, and promising to continue to love you ‘till death did you part. If you had been marrying literally anyone else, your knees would go weak with swooning. 

Unfortunately, you were cursed with the knowledge of the reality of your situation, one where your vows sounded more like: “We only have to stay married until I retire, which should be sooner rather than later. We don’t have to do anything together: no galas, no family dinners, no family vacations. Hell, you don’t even have to come to my games. And we don’t have to be exclusive either. This is basically just a title, so feel free to see anyone you want to. I can already see the worry in your face. Stop that. We can hire someone to make us prenups, so the divorce will be an easy, clean split of our assets. See? It’s not that bad.”

The dichotomy between the words he’d said to you a month ago and the bullshit he was spewing now almost made you laugh, but that was clearly not the reaction you were meant to be having when the love of your life was publicly declaring their feelings for you. 

Once he finished declaring his romantic, empty words, you began to read off your vows. They fell in a similar vein to his, a proclamation of a lifetime-spanning love that didn’t really exist in the first place. But when you glanced up at him from your slip of paper, he was really selling it. He stared at you like he adored you, like he wanted to study every inch of your face after running off with you into the sunset.

The ridiculousness of it all finally hit you like a freight train, and you managed to pivot the laugh that was creeping up into your throat into a weepy sounding crack of your voice. Surely people cried during their own weddings. 

You finished off your vows, doing your best to pretend like this whole ordeal wasn’t the most ridiculous scheme you’d ever been dragged into. You imagined a world where he was less selfish and you were less selfless, one where you were exchanging these vows with sincerity, and it helped you to get through the words that you knew were almost completely meaningless. 

The two of you then took turns placing the ring on each others’ fingers, with Patrick giving you a ring with the largest diamond you’d ever seen, and you giving him a band that had been passed throughout your family. He’d agreed to give you the heirloom back once you divorced, so you couldn’t complain too much about giving it away in the first place.

The announcement of being able to kiss the bride rang out in your ears, yet you still found yourself surprised when Patrick eagerly wrapped his arms around you and kissed you passionately. Cheers erupted around the two of you, and you pulled away as the officiant declared you Mr. and Mrs. Zweig.

You had successfully tricked your audience, and yet, you still had the strangest feeling. 

Your reception felt far more natural than your wedding ceremony. After a change of outfit, a huge bowl of pasta, and a few flutes of champagne, you were feeling substantially better about the arguably poor decision you’d just made. You chatted up your friends, who jumped at the opportunity to comment on how cute of a couple you two were, did some light matchmaking between single guests, and placated both of your parents with manufactured acts of affection. You even managed to get Patrick out on the dance floor, after he swore to you that he didn’t dance. 

By the time the two of you were stumbling back into your villa, the woes of the day had practically been forgotten. When you were having this much fun, who cared about a massive, potentially life altering decision? 

You immediately made a beeline to the bathroom, anxious to get into your comfortable pajamas and to wash your face after a long day of wearing tight, extravagant dresses and a heavy layer of makeup.  

“So what did you think of your big day, Mrs. Zweig?” Patrick called out from the other side of the bathroom door, where you were sure he was also preparing for bed. “Was it everything you wanted and more?”

“I think this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you paused as you thought about something before confessing, “but it was everything I wanted and more.”

“Yes!” he celebrated from where you couldn’t see him, though you could perfectly envision the goofy look on his face. “I owe it to you after everything I’ve put you through. I just hope you weren’t too let down by the groom.”

“What?” you drew out before blowing a raspberry. “Of course not. You looked very handsome today,” you complimented in between splashes of your face. 

“You looked pretty beautiful, yourself,” he complimented you right back. 

“Aww, thank you, honey,” you emphasized the pet name. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I like that,” you heard the squeak of the bed from behind the door as you assumed that he’d sat down.

“Hey, you’re the one who made me marry you,” you pointed out. “Am I more than you bargained for?”

“Of course not, babe,” he emphasized his own pet name, which sent you into a fit of laughter. “It’s just so weird to hear you refer to me as anything other than an asshole.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re still an asshole,” you replied as you walked out of the bathroom, donning an old shirt with the logo of your boarding school and an equally old pair of shorts. “Just a married asshole.”

You took in the sight of your now-husband as you made your way to your side of the bed, surprised to find that you quite liked the sense of domestic bliss you were feeling. The bed dipped as you sat down and glanced back at Patrick with the slightest bit of hesitation. 

“Is this weird for you? I can go to the spare room, if you want me to,” he offered, surely in reference to the two of you sleeping in the same bed. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him, setting a steady hand on his knee. “What kind of couple would we be if we didn’t spend our wedding night together?” you teased. 

“The kind of couple that marries for convenience?” he suggested.

“Hey, who’s to say that this isn’t love? I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids. Maybe some of it lingered, or some shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he looked at you with that sleazy smirk that you both loved and hated. “What happened?”

“Hmm… I think I realized that you’re a dick,” you matched his smirk with a challenging one of your own.

“Huh. Did you have this realization before or after you started seeing Dan Thompson?” he questioned.

You were surprised by the mention of your first boyfriend, particularly because you weren’t sure that Patrick remembered any detail about your personal life, let alone your love life. “I realized it after you started treating me like your workhorse.”

“Oh okay, so you had a crush on me while you were with your boyfriend. Good to know.”

“Shut up,” you groaned and turned away from him as you finally full laid down. 

“Would it make you feel better to know that I also had a crush on you?” you heard the bed sheets rustle as he scooted closer to you, and you turned back to face him. 

“You’re lying.” You couldn’t see any world where that would make sense to you. In your youth, it seemed like Patrick was always off somewhere with a new person, and none of those people were you. Not that you had an issue with it, but the thought that the two of you might’ve had crushes on each other at the same time without either of you pursuing each other felt kind of weird. 

“Nope. You’re the first person I ever jerked off to,” he said as casually as if he were telling you what he ate for breakfast, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you gently pushed him, but your hands lingered where they sat on his chest. “Was that supposed to be romantic or something?”

“That’s not romantic to you?” he asked with all the sincerity of someone who was fully committing to a bit. 

The two of you broke out into laughter. Once you finally caught your breath, you began once more. “This is gonna be a long marriage.”

“Hopefully,” he remarked in response. 

“If you keep talking to me like that, I will literally go get our marriage annulled, like right now.”

“Please don’t,” he whined, grabbing one of your hands from his chest and kissing your fingers. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Every time you promise to make something up to me, an inconsistent fairy gains its wings.”

“Hey,” his tone suddenly became very serious, completely catching you off guard. “I really am sorry that I’ve been a terrible friend. I don’t know that I’ve ever said it, but I am. You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t even know how I convinced you to do this for me.”

You almost started to laugh, unable to take the absurd situation seriously. You’d been waiting years to hear him genuinely apologize, and now hours after you’d married solely as a favor to him, he was finally telling you what you wanted to hear. 

“Please. I’m serious. I know you think I’m a piece of shit flaky ashhole, and I am, but I want to be a better husband to you than I ever was as a friend.”

You felt your heart stop beating for a second. The word husband sounded so foreign in his mouth. You couldn’t quite pin how you felt about it, but you knew you felt uncomfortable with the intimacy of his words. 

“Patrick, please shut up,” you squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly a little overwhelmed with the Patrick of it all. In fact, you couldn’t think of anything more encapsulating of your experience with him than the whiplash you got from that moment. He could be a complete asshat, but his occasional moments of earnestness kept you following him like a lost puppy, accepting his apologies and granting him ridiculous favors, despite your better judgment. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer to you to get a good look at you. You swore you felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 

“I’m fine, I just-“ am overwhelmed by you being sweet? Can’t believe that I’m hearing you say this to me after so long? Also can’t believe that you and I are married?

None of the right words seemed to come to you, so you did the second best thing you could think of. 

You pecked his lips and pulled away as if you’d just touched a hot handle. You didn’t know what had come over you, and immediately began to apologize profusely. 

“Oh my god, I don’t know-“ you were cut off by his hands on your face, greedily and sloppily pulling you back in for another kiss, this one far more passionate and confident than the first. 

Your kiss was messy but fervent, years of pent up sexual frustration and non-sexual frustration behind your every movement. As you kissed, you moved to straddle him, feeling a little ridiculous in your ratty old clothes, but that didn’t stop him from groping you over your pajamas like you were the hottest thing on the planet. 

Maybe the strangest thing to happen to you that day wasn’t even your wedding.

——

That night was the first in a series of very strange events. You couldn’t even fully wrap your head around what was happening in your marriage. You just knew that the two of you had become closer friends than you’d ever been before, and that you slept together when either of you had the urge. It was basically a no strings attached situation, except, legally, all strings were attached. 

If you were confused by your arrangement, you were sure that your friends were even more lost, something they proved to you as they interrogated you over brunch. 

“So, just so we’re clear, you married him as a favor?!” your friend asked in complete disbelief. 

“Well… yeah, basically.”

“Shit. Can I ask you for a favor of a million dollars?” she joked, leading to the laughter of your other friends at the table.

“Well, that’s different. At least with our marriage, we both benefit. He gets his parents off his ass about being so focused on tennis that he doesn’t have any future prospects, and I get my parents to stop trying to marry me off to every single rich boy they find.”

“But you’re not like, actually married. Like you guys don’t have feelings for each other?” another friend questioned.

You sipped your mimosa before explaining your situation for what must’ve been the fifth time that day, “we’re basically friends with benefits.”

“But you’re legally married? Like, the wedding was official and stuff?”

“Legally? Yeah. But it’s literally just that,” you clarified. 

“Legal marriage and sex?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, hoping that they were finally catching on. 

“Then… are you guys seeing other people?”

“Oh yeah, what ever happened to that one model guy you were seeing?” another one of your friends pitched in. 

“It didn’t really work out,” you addressed that with an understatement. He rightfully flipped his shit when he found out you were going to be marrying someone else. “But neither of us are seeing other people. I don’t think either of us want to risk bringing anything back to one another.”

“That sounds pretty committed to me.”

“Not really,” you dismissed.

“Then why are you even together?”

“How many times do I have to explain how we both benefit from this?”

“No, not legally, or socially or whatever. Why are you hooking up with him? Aren’t you scared you’ll mess up your friendship or something?”

“Well, the sex is really, really good. But I’m really not worried. There's no romance between us. We’ve been friends for so long that it’s just… weird to look at him like anything other than my friend. It’s basically a loveless marriage of convenience.”

Your friend shot you a skeptical look. You just shrugged her off. 

———

The moment you found out your afternoon meeting had been canceled, you reached out to your assistant to make arrangements for you to go to Patrick’s tennis game. He’d been on a winning streak, and though he insisted that you didn’t need to come to his games, you knew that he secretly liked having you there. 

Over the past few months of your marriage, you’d grown to realize that he often didn’t say what he actually meant. Like the time he told you that he preferred to live alone, before breathily confessing in your ear that he slept better by your side. Or when he swore to you that he loved the pancakes you’d served him, despite the food being some of the worst you’d ever put in our mouth and him being on a diet. You almost found it sweet that he tried to prioritize your feelings over his own, which was surely a result of overcompensation from the way he had treated you for the majority of your lives. 

You arrived at his match just in time to watch him take a break, making your way into the stands and finding a seat where you’d have the best view of your friend as possible. You didn’t expect him to scan the audience and find you until much later on, but you were pleasantly surprised when the two of you made eye contact and he absolutely lit up. You waved, then gave him a thumbs up in hopes to communicate your support from far away. 

While you couldn’t always make it, you liked to play the role of supportive tennis wife. Getting dressed up and making an appearance not only publicly legitimized your sham of a marriage, but helped you to reconnect with some of your former boarding school classmates, who were often in the stands supporting a friend or a loved one. You also just liked to watch him play, as witnessing the passion and ferocity he had out on the court was extremely entertaining, and even at times, mildly arousing.  

With their break ending, Patrick went back out on the court and played just as well as you expected him to, crushing his competition, and looking up into the stands at you to celebrate once he’d scored the winning point. 

At first, it was surprising how proud his wins made you feel of him, a feeling that you explained to yourself by arguing that if he wasn’t giving his absolute all to tennis, then your marriage had basically been all for nothing. Although that did still ring slightly true, the truth was that you were simply proud of Patrick. Whether you liked it or not, the two of you were a unit now, which meant that his wins were your wins and vice versa. In some ways, it was kind of nice to be part of a team. Or at least his team.

You met Patrick down on the court, where he paused from packing his bag to immediately greet you with a kiss to the forehead, a small act of intimacy that was typically reserved for situations far different from the one you were currently in. 

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaimed, pulling you in for a half-hug. 

“I didn’t know I was coming either,” you instinctually wrapped your arm around him in response to his half-hug. “Great job out there. You kinda demolished him!”

“I did, didn’t I,” he said just loud enough for you to hear, still wanting to appear like a good sport. “I have to go get ready for the press conference. Do you want to meet me at my hotel?”

“Of course. You don’t mind me staying for the night?” you probed, despite knowing the answer. He wouldn’t have asked you to go to his hotel in the first place if he’d minded.

“You know I never mind you staying for the night,” he gave you a cheeky wink.

“You’re so sleazy,” you commented with fake disgust.

“You started it,” he replied, reluctantly pulling away from you and reaching into his bag to grab his hotel keycard. “I’ll text you when I’m heading back.” 

The moment you received a message about him being on his way to the hotel, you made a very lengthy phone call and request to the restaurant in the building. Technically, he shouldn’t be eating any of what you ordered, on account of him being on a strict diet plan, but you figured that he deserved it after playing the way that he did. Besides, Patrick liked thoughtful acts of service, and you figured that this would count as one.

“You know me so well,” he practically gasped as he stepped into the room, taking in the platters of food you’d laid out for him.

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t?” you teased, though your sentiment was somewhat accurate, and it was clear that the two of you had grown to know each other far better over the past few months, you hoped that your friend wasn’t interpreting your words in too serious of a way. 

The two of you laid out on the pristine hotel bed, eating the feast that you’d ordered without much dialogue between you, other than a comment on how good something was, or a request to pass an item to one another. It felt oddly domestic, and oddly enough, you liked it. Maybe you liked it even more than you’d been willing to admit.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he announced after tossing his napkin onto a cleared off plate.

“Want some company?” you offered, raising your brows at him in a playfully suggestive manner.

“Is that what this is all about?” he feigned offense. 

“Maybe,” you trailed off. “Or maybe I just wanted to celebrate the greatest tennis player of all time,” you purred.

“Come on. You and I both know that is far from the truth.”

“Well you’re the greatest player in my heart,” you praised, much to his chagrin.

“Ugh. Shut up and come shower with me.” 

As you sleepily ran your fingers through his damp hair, you were surprised when he broke his silence with a comment seemingly out of the blue. It was more of a mumble than anything else, but you’d grown accustomed to his muffled words over the course of your marriage. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he randomly complimented you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me to get into my pants, right?” you asked with a hint of laughter in your tone.

“I’m not trying to,” he pecked your arm–the limb he had the easiest access to at the moment–as if he was trying to emphasize his point, though all it did was bring heat to your cheeks at the reminder of the way he’d pressed slow and meaningful kisses along your calves and inner thighs while the two of you were in the shower. “You just looked so good today, I couldn’t not comment.”

“I don’t look good every day?” you asked facetiously, trying to deflect from the warm and fuzzy feeling his compliments and affection were making you feel. 

“Of course you always look good,” he reassured you rather than playing along with your game of joking instead of addressing your feelings. “I just don’t tell you that enough.”

You weren’t even sure how you could respond to that. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to mince words tonight, but you couldn’t bear to match his genuinity with cheap jokes. The only real, genuine thought to pop into your head were three ridiculous words that you immediately batted away. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than randomly declaring your love to a husband who wasn’t really your husband in a marriage that wasn’t really a marriage. 

Out of ideas, you hit the lamp on your side of the bed. “I appreciate it. Goodnight.”

“Night,” he parroted back to you, remaining snug against your chest, despite the fact that your hands had stopped threading through his hair. 

Deep down, you knew that those three words had been on the tip of Patrick’s tongue, too.    

——

Being in the social circles of filthily rich people meant you often found yourself at random charity events, hosted by the nonprofits of families and business owners looking for a particularly large tax break for the year. Over the years, you’d felt that you’d seen and participated in it all: marathons raising awareness for a serious, but extremely rare disease, date auctions to raise money for a cause that certainly didn’t justify you having to go on a date with a man almost forty years your senior, or galas for nearly-extinct sea creatures that were essentially used as an excuse to stand around and network while drinking expensive alcohol and eating hor d'oeuvres.

You seemed to find yourself at a lot of events like the latter, including the one you were standing at now. The gala, which took place in the art exhibit it was raising money for, was a rather standard one, filled with the typical suspects who regularly attended those events. 

It was slightly ironic to be at the event with Patrick as your plus one, as this was the exact type of event he would’ve texted you about an hour before it began to ask if you would play his concerned partner for the night who told everyone a flimsy excuse about him being under the weather. 

It also served as somewhat of a reminder to you of the massive growth that your friend had undergone since the two of you became legally bound to one another. It finally felt like Patrick saw you as a true friend, instead of a reliable person who would do his dirty work. It finally felt like he cared. In some ways, your marriage was the best thing to happen to your friendship. 

Patrick returned to where you were standing, this time with two flutes of champagne and a delicious looking appetizer in his hand. 

“You’re too kind,” you said as he passed you your drink. 

“Anything for my wife,” he mockingly bowed in front of you and you chuckled and shook your head. Over the past year, the two of you slowly became slightly more comfortable with referencing each other as husband and wife, but only really as a joke. You guessed that in a lot of ways, that’s what your marriage was—a ridiculous inside joke.  

He was just about to feed you a hor d'oeuvre when you were approached by a wildly unwelcome figure: the man who had purchased a date with you a few years ago. Despite your one very awkward, stilted date, he never really seemed to get over you–which he made a point to prove at every event you both happened to be at. And unfortunately for you, his generous donations landed him on the guest list for the majority of these events. 

You were used to fighting him off on your own, as he seemed to come and flirt with you regardless of how inappropriate it was for the setting of the event, or even when he already had a beautiful young bombshell hanging on his arm. At this point, you’d learned to just tune his every word out and flee as soon as you possibly could. He was annoying, but he wasn’t dangerous.  

“Hey, honey,” he greeted you way too comfortably. You’d given up on asking him to call you by your name a very long time ago. 

“Hi, John,” you reached out to shake his hand and cringed internally when he kissed the back of your hand. 

“Oh honey, who is this?” Patrick immediately lept in, surprising you with his unsubtle passive aggressive tone and ridiculous use of a pet name. 

“You don’t remember me? I swear, we’ve met a few times.” John asked, trying to smile despite clearly being agitated by the presence of competition.

“Some people are more forgettable than others,” he said with a shrug. “How do you know my wife?” He emphasized the word and you pushed down the small inkling of pride you were feeling. Whether it was from watching Patrick try to scare this annoying man away from you, or being so proudly referred to as his wife, you couldn’t be sure.  

“Finally settling down, eh?” he directed at you, then directed his next statement to Patrick. “We went on a date back in the day.”

“It was for that one date auction thing,” you quickly added context, but paused when you took in John’s less than pleased look. He was a large donor at your own family’s nonprofit, and you were sure that your parents wouldn’t be too pleased with you if they found out he pulled out over you hurting his feelings. “We had a lot of fun, though.”

“We definitely did,” he chuckled and smirked. You wanted to punch him in the mouth. “We should definitely do it again sometime.”

It was clear that Patrick was not taking kindly to seeing you be flirted with so brazenly in front of him. Part of you wondered why he would be possessive, since part of your initial deal was that you could see whoever you wanted, even if that happened to be a creepy old man with a lot of money. The other part of you was enjoying seeing him so fired up. Particularly, seeing him fired up over you. 

“Our schedule is just so busy. Between work and us trying to start a family, I just don’t know when we’ll have time to see you again.”

Trying to start a family? That was definitely news to you. Although, the idea didn’t sound awful. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to start a family with their closest, most dear friend? 

“Well, she knows where to find me, right, honey?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, looking into your glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I are going to go check out the exhibit,” Patrick announced, grabbing your hand and taking a step away from John. 

“You two have fun,” he said before clapping Patrick’s shoulder and leaning in to begin a stage whisper. “Make sure you treat her right and cherish her. If you don’t, I might have to swoop in and do so myself.”

He winked at you and you bit back a gag. 

“Don't you worry your wrinkly little head. Nobody lov- cherishes her more than I do,” he theatrically patted his back much like he’d initially done to him. “See you around.”

Did he almost say what you think he almost said? Surely you misheard him, or he was just playing up your relationship to scare away that creepy man. It really wasn’t anything to think twice about. 

Once the two of you had walked away far enough to be out of earshot, you finally addressed what had just happened. “Thank you, bodyguard. You don’t even know how much I despise that man.”

“He seems like he’s the worst,” he agreed with you, looking back over his shoulder. 

“That’s because he is,” you emphasized. “This is so random, but did you mean what you said earlier?”

Patrick suddenly paused, his face going pale like he’d just seen a ghost. You were a little confused by this reaction, as he’d said nothing to warrant that level of fear. 

“Do you actually want to start a family? Obviously not now, while you’re still playing tennis, but maybe eventually? I know we don’t have the most traditional marriage, but, I don’t know. Neither of us are getting any younger, and it might be fun to co-parent with my best friend,” you were clearly rambling now, but luckily, Patrick came in to rescue you for the second time that night. He looked far less aghast now. 

“I would love that,” he said to you with a genuine smile. You matched his with one of your own. 

———

“Do you have any big plans for retirement?” a reporter asked for the final question of the press conference. 

“Mostly just eating a lot of burgers. And maybe learning how to play pickleball,” Patrick responded, never one to give a serious answer to questions that weren’t explicitly about tennis. 

It was a ridiculous note to end on, but it felt right. You’d found that to be the case with most things in your life that pertained to him–most notably your marriage, which ended up being far more than you ever expected it to be.

After the press conference had come to a close, Patrick met you outside by the car, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, then leaning down to peck your baby bump. 

“How does it feel to be retired?” you asked, ruffling his hair while he was still bending down.

“It feels like you might divorce me,” he joked. Obviously your marriage deal was only meant to cover the time that he was still playing tennis, but after years of a complicated marriage that suddenly became significantly less complicated once you finally confronted the fact that the two of you very obviously loved each other, it seemed unlikely that your union would end any time soon. 

You glanced down at your baby bump, then back up to him skeptically.  “I hope you’re not being serious.”

“Come on, I never know with you. You’re the one who friendzoned me the entire first year of our marriage!” he exclaimed.

“That was a lifetime ago,” you countered before taking his hands in yours. “If you’re really worried, I have zero intentions of ending our marriage.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he grinned, stepping away from you. “Let’s get going. I don’t want us to miss our reservation.”

You nodded and obliged, passing him the keys before heading to the passenger side of the car.

Once you sat down, you were overcome with the urge to say something. You had spent so much time bottling up and pressing down your own feelings, that it was now hard to resist letting things out when they came to you. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you blurted. “And I love you. So much.”

Patrick smiled at you genuinely, before his look turned into a slightly more devious one. “I love you so much, too. One might even say I love you more.” 

“Don’t even start with that,” you laughed, not in the mood to have the kind of back and forth with him that you had at least once a week. Considering that you were carrying his child, you were pretty sure that you were the winner of the love competition.  

“Fine. We love each other equally,” he conceded.

“That’s more like it.”

You tried to think back to one specific moment where your marriage had crossed over from being one of convenience, into a union with genuine feelings attached, and realized that you weren’t exactly sure. It could’ve been the first night you spent together, when you’d finally allowed yourself to consider what your relationship might look like beyond a simple friendship, or maybe it was even earlier than that, when you gazed into Patrick’s eyes as you read off your vows. The look of pure adoration he gave you was one that you had grown familiar with throughout the course of your marriage, but you hadn’t realized at the time just how genuine he had been. Or maybe even the moment Patrick asked you in the living room of your apartment, when you’d been the first person he thought of to carry out his ridiculous scheme, and you’d said yes despite every logical part of your brain that screamed at you to say no. 

Whenever it began didn’t particularly matter. What mattered now was that the two of you fully intended to spend the rest of your lives together.