#COMPLETELY BLINDSIDED ME. WHAT THE FUCK.
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eyyo WHAT THE FUCK was that season 2 finale
#suitor armor#really stupid personal tag#i am. DISTRESSED.#COMPLETELY BLINDSIDED ME. WHAT THE FUCK.#THINGS WERE GOING SO GOOD UNTIL THEY WERENT!!!!!!
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#ok so mini rant session#i am doing a bit better today - little less distraught over getting fired from a job i thought i was doing pretty good at and i was trying#really hard and genuinely enjoying#and just more baffled because truly i had no warning and i was completely blindsided#i was in the middle of a 3 month trial and i would have a review at the end in which i would be offered a permanent position if it went well#and i thought i was making my way towards that! granted i was still making mistakes but genuinely not of such a great scale i thought it#called for my immediate dismissal#that being said i was still VERY MUCH IN TRAINING. i had only been there A MONTH AND A HALF learning COMPLETELY NEW SYSTEMS#and i was told that i had been there a few weeks already and that i wasn’t catching on quick enough. that there were some areas i was#understanding and others i just simply wasn’t#and i asked what areas specifically so that i could learn more and try harder#and they didn’t give me a specific answer.#ok and so. so. i have this insecurity.#that at first impression people will like me. that they may think i’m pretty or kind or funny or whatever#but then they spend time with me or get to know me and realize that that’s all bullshit.#that i’m actually not pretty and im mean and loud and selfish and lazy and rude and etc etc etc#MASSIVE fucking insecurity in that like that’s why i genuinely don’t have friends or a significant other#and that genuinely i’m just a Bad Person#and when i was fired? i was told ‘a persons true colours show after a few weeks’#so that’s MAJORLY fucking me up.#when i was hired i was boasted to about my boss’s hiring process and how she’s ’only been fooled twice’#and the morning before i was fired in a meeting my supervisor told everyone that i was doing quite well.#so yeah i truly had no fucking warning. at fucking all.#hurt and confused and angry and baffled and did i mention hurt#anyways if you’re still here i’m sorry i know this is not a good look for me
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#I was watching old talks machina episodes earlier and then all of a sudden Brian starts talking about Wizard and Glass#and then Liam jumps in and starts going on about how the Dark Tower is just different and so good and on how the first book is just poetry#and it just completely fucking blindsided me out of nowhere and I started crying actually#one part of me was like thank god they understand somebody understands this is actually a thing#but mainly I'm still left here like what the fuck is it about these books that makes them the way they are#like when you look at it it's just bits and pieces of a nice story with a lot of weird shit thrown in#but when you read it it's like you're reading fate itself#it's also so weirdly disconnected from Stephen King in my mind it's really weird#he just wrote it down#which is strange because I think of Tolkien all the time with lotr which is like the only thing that is distantly able to compare in scope#but I don't think of King being the author of this story at all beyond the second act of Drawing. And he's fucking in it.#anyway I just wanted to mainly log this for myself#also I'm taking this as a sign to start working on my Blaine is the truth shirt design I thought of a month ago
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WHAT.
#sorry i just saw stellarlune spoilers and OH BOY was it a big spoiler. like what the actual fuck#i'm still processing this there is NO WAY that happened. like why would she (shannon messenger my mortal enemy) do that whta in the WORLDDD#i need to block the tag i cannot be BLINDSIDED like that again ong#still making my way thru the series but im on neverseen rn i think#i got past keeper and everblaze pretty quickly but i think im gonna pull an all nighter tmrw to try and finish the rest#i started rereading wayyy too late but i completely forgot how close the release date was so#the only person who will understand this post is ash#<3 you bestie#i will rant to you and be open to rant to abt stellarlune by saturday probably !!#okay. enough incomprehensible gibberish from me
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... Animal crossing, man.
#meg is rambling#so. on your birthday in acnh you get a letter from your character's mum.#and it says 'maybe it's time to give broccoli another go?' and 'no matter what you'll always be my baby'#and those two lines hit me like a tonne of fucking bricks.#it's been just over 2 months since my mum died. and i never liked broccoli. and just. yeah. that hit hard.#i completely forgot about that letter so it kinda blindsided me when i saw it and read it
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What’s the word for when you see a witch blog you haven’t seen in a while and at first you’re like “Aw yay I remember them from a while back when I was just starting out on witchcraftin, I think I liked their posts a lot at the time, nice to see they’re still around :)” and then something doesn’t feel right and then it clicks:
You unwittingly read a book that was your very first exposure to Atlantean alien ‘what if the pyramids…weren’t made by the people who lived there’ bullshit once because that blog specifically recommended it based on an ask you sent; said reading filling you with a new form of thermonuclear wrath that made you physically sweaty?
Asking for a friend.
#devil rambles#I fucking hate Atlantis shit so much#I need you to know the cover and description gave no indication that’s what it was about#completely blindsided me
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fwb!heeseung
cw nsfw under cut, female reader, infidelity, jealousy, almost choking, public sex, exhibitionism, possessive!heeseung, maybe a little toxic!heeseung too, anal (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), taking pics/videos during sex (and then sending them to bf), boyfriend ends up unintentionally cucking, squirting, this is more like headcanons cause i’m lazy sorry
nsfw link
this is the type of shit heeseung would send to your boyfriend 😵💫
fwb!heeseung who starts off as a friend at a party. you don’t even really remember what led up to you being naked in his bed the next morning, but you do remember every moment of him railing you in his bed. so when he offers to continue fucking, like a fwb, you accept.
fwb!heeseung who finds himself falling in love with you as your relationship progresses, sneaking kisses when you’re not even having sex, just because he can kiss you.
fwb!heeseung who is so surprised that you suddenly have a boyfriend, who is so blindsided and hurt that he fucks you on the floor, not really caring if you got bruises in the midst.
fwb!heeseung that refuses to stop seeing you even when you end up getting a boyfriend. he pretends he’s listening when you tell him why you can’t fuck anymore, and then he’s right back to being all up in your personal space, leaving kisses scattered across your body.
fwb!heeseung doesn’t know when to stop, and he’s a very persuasive guy. it doesn’t take much for him to convince you that you two could ‘still lowkey fuck’.
fwb!heeseung who knows no boundaries, still acting the very same in front of your boyfriend. he’ll grip you by the waist, hug for a second too long, say flirty comments to you right in front of said boyfriend. your boyfriend isn’t stupid, he knows heeseung likes you, but he trusts you too much to think it’s going any further than heeseung’s ‘failed’ advances. at this point, you don’t know how your boyfriend hasn’t caught on yet.
fwb!heeseung who takes every chance he gets to fuck you, pulling you into the backseat of his car as the parking lot is completely stranded save for a few other cars. he’s too big to have car sex, but he also really doesn’t care. he doesn’t really care to keep you quiet, more so does it just to placate you, and is always egging you on to be louder. “come on, tell me who’s fucking you this good,” he chuckles breathlessly, rutting up into you as you bounce on his cock, whimpering his name and little begs for him to help. “fuck, let everyone else know.”
fwb!heeseung who takes you at every party, leaving your boyfriend downstairs alone for however long heeseung wants. he’s not letting you go until he’s done with you, that is for certain. he bends you over the bathroom sink, hand gripping your hair and forcing your back against his front, “so you can see who’s ruining you. not him, not anyone else,” you whimper as his cock hits at a specific angle, slamming against that soft spot that heeseung knows like the back of his hand by now, “me.”
fwb!heeseung who is always trying to find something on your boyfriend for you to break up with him, even coming up with the silliest accusations. “he shit himself in the eighth grade at an assembly.” “i heard he’s actually part donkey.” because really, your boyfriend is an angel, and it frustrates him that he’s seemingly perfect.
fwb!heeseung who convinces you for a quickie in between classes, in a quiet, lone hall. his hand is shoved against your mouth and nose, almost totally constricting your airway. your breaths are short, almost like a gasp for air as his hips slam into yours with his other free hand circling your clit, “you gotta be quiet, remember?” he croons, his breath heavy in your ear. “don’t want baby to find us,” he snickers, using the nickname you used for your boyfriend earlier. you blink, saying through his hand despite the spots in your vision, “who?” he grins at your response, pace quickening to reach your orgasms.
fwb!heeseung who takes advantage of the fact that your boyfriend is always at basketball practice, thankful that he’s always so busy, he doesn’t have time to take care of you. but heeseung? he does, and even if he didn’t, he’d skip it just to be with you. he always uses this against you, too. “he’s not even here to take care of you,” he hums, head between your thighs, placing small kisses on them. “what would you do if i weren’t here, hm?” before you can even answer, his mouth is already sucking on your clit.
fwb!heeseung who sends nudes to you when he knows you’re out with your boyfriend. you both know he hopes your boyfriend sees them so you can finally, completely be his. he first sends a picture of his clothed crotch, hand gripping his hardened cock, sending a ‘wyd?’ when he knows damn well what you’re doing. when you don’t respond, he sends another picture with his sweats off, his cock threatening to slip out of the waistband of his boxers. when that doesn’t get a response, he texts, ‘wish u were here :( wouldn’t have to take care of this by myself’ and another video of him palming his cock, slipping it out of his boxers and slowly starting to jerk off. he always makes sure to leave the audio on, just for you.
fwb!heeseung who always overstays his welcome at your apartment, staying for so long he either narrowly misses your boyfriend arriving or he’s still there, stuck in your closet or under your bed or wherever else he’s decided to hide this time, as your boyfriend is none the wiser. you somehow manage to sneak him out, always sending a long text that you two should finally stop. but he refuses, always convincing you with a press of his lips on yours. the thrill and his love for you is too exhilarating for him to stop.
fwb!heeseung who takes videos and pictures of you; pictures with his dick in your mouth with your eyes teary, looking up at him. pictures with him fully inside you, a bulge from his cock protruding from your lower abdomen. pictures with his cum leaking out of your hole, others with his cum on your face, your stomach, your ass, wherever. there’s pictures of him, too, head buried between your thighs. “what would your boyfriend think if i sent all of our little memories to h—him? show him the you that sluts it out for dick, so desperate for it that you fuck other men instead of your boyfriend.”
fwb!heeseung who gets tired of the back and forth shit, who decides that you must love him, too, if you allow him to fuck you without a condom, if you allow him to fuck your ass, if you allow him to cum inside you. if you’ve stuck with him this long, you have to.
fwb!heeseung who sends a video to your boyfriend while he’s at practice, no words, just the video of him fucking your ass with the audio still on with you moaning his name.
fwb!heeseung who decides just showing your boyfriend pictures and videos of you on his cock isn’t enough, still fucking you through your orgasm just as your boyfriend comes through your door. heeseung pulls you up by your neck, back against his front like so many times in a stranger’s bathroom. he squeezes, capturing your attention, “we have a visitor.” when you gasp in horror and try to get away from him, his hand tightens around your neck, making your body contort in pleasure as your airway is blocked, different colored spots appearing in your vision. your back arches against him, head thrown on his shoulder as he continues hammering into your ass. “go on, tell your boyfriend how you were never really his— you were always mine, weren’t you, baby?” he laughs, “we were literally still fucking when you got together, and we never stopped.” and your boyfriend stupidly stands there, watching in a mixture of hurt but arousal. heeseung can’t help but cruelly make fun of him, releasing his hold on your neck to force you to look at your boyfriend, “look, your boyfriend enjoys seeing you get fucked by another man, probably ‘cause he k—knows he’ll never get you like this. not like i can. tell him i’m better than him. tell him he will never know your body like i do.” you’re already shaking your head, grinding your ass back against him when he slows down. “tell him you love me.”
fwb!heeseung who is so pleased and happy when you finally scream out through your sobs that “i-i love hee—heeseung! i love you, heeseung.” and he finally lets you come, helping you out with a hand on your clit and his other hand constricting your airway. but none of you expect the gush of clear liquid wetting your lower bodies and your bed. neither of you notice when your boyfriend finally gathers himself and leaves the room to take care of his own little problem— heeseung too preoccupied with slowly pulling out of you and taking care of you, like he always does, and you too preoccupied with heeseung and coming down from your intense orgasm.
fwb!heeseung who is no longer fwb!heeseung and is now bf!heeseung, but is every bit of the menace he was before. definitely still takes you in a quiet hall, in the bathroom of a stranger’s party, in the back of his car, in your bed, in his bed. still the same heeseung, just now your boyfriend, heeseung.
#heeseung.txt#enha.txt#writing.txt#enhypen smut#heeseung smut#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#heeseung#lee heeseung#kpop smut
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Okay. I’m going to wait to do a second watch before I articulate most of my other feelings here, but I want to address one thing.
I’m seeing a lot of posts like, “I related to Izzy because I am also queer and older/disabled/depressed. By killing him off, the writers are saying that I deserve to die.”
Guys.
I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid. I totally understand grieving a character that you relate to. But speaking as a writer, I just want to point out that trying to write with the shadow of “what is the absolute worst and most harmful way a reader can interpret this” will smother your ability to create. Twisting yourself in knots, trying to think up the worst-faith takes possible and scotch-guarding all your writing decisions against them is exhausting to the point of making you just not want to write anymore.
And we’ve seen the writers deliberately choose not to do this in Season 1. Remember all those terrible “Izzy is racist” takes that the writers and cast seemed completely blindsided by? That happened because the writers and directors and actors weren’t going over every scene with a fine tooth comb, ferreting out every shot or line of dialogue or micro expression that could possibly be interpreted as racist, and scrubbing it off. Because there comes a point where your story is what it needs to be, and you have to accept that some people will interpret it in ways you didn’t intend them to. And if you can’t accept that, you’ll never find the courage to put your work out there.
The point of diverse casts and writing teams isn’t to achieve a state of, “Nothing bad ever happens to a character from a marginalized demographic ever again.” It’s to achieve a status quo of these types of characters just being people in the world of the story. Not symbols, not representation boxes to tick, not tokens that you can point to so that you can say, “Here, we acknowledged this type of person exists, now where’s our woke points?”
OFMD is full of characters of color, queer characters, older characters, characters of differing body types. And in stories, things happen to characters. Some fall in love. Some make the same mistakes over and over. Some turn into birds. Some die.
Izzy’s character represents a lot of things, but he does not represent every older, disabled fan or fan who has struggled with suicide, any more than Jim represents all genderqueer fans, or Olu represents all black fans. That’s not how the writers were handling him. They were handling him like a character, because that’s what you have to do.
Again, I understand being sad. I am so, so fucking sad. But this idea of, “Any time something bad happens to a character I relate to means that the writer thinks I deserve these bad things to happen to me,” will poison everything you engage with eventually. Because stories are full of things happening to characters, and they won’t all be good things. And the more representation we get, the more often bad things will happen to characters we relate to.
But good things will happen too.
Queer couples get married. Disabled women run off with their favorite husbands. Middle-aged characters change careers. A multiracial polycule finds a home at sea. A fat man covered in tattoos stars in a drag show and all his friends cheer. All these things happened in the same show as Izzy’s death. This is what this world is.
Anyway. I know emotions are running high and I’ll probably get blocked or unfollowed by a few people for this. But I’m just trying to find my peace where I can, and if anyone else finds this useful, cheers.
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10:47 PM ☆ k. mingyu
☆ PAIRING: nonidol!boyf!mingyu x f!reader (could potentially be considered afab as no gendered terms are used)
☆ GENRE: SMUT (18+ only please or get blocked)
☆ SUMMARY: you and your boyfriend plan to take a shower together and well, things change.
☆ WORD COUNT: 1.5k
☆ WARNINGS: making out, necklace pulling, nipple play, teeth scraping, marking, fingering, clitoral stimulation, bulge/size kink if you squint, eye contact, foul language, multiple orgasms, spitting, lots of praise from mingyu, cumming inside. mentions of aftercare!!
☆ AUTHORS NOTE: ohhhhh boy buckle up. my first svt work! idk what made mingyu my member of choice but here we are! as always be nice, feedback is always appreciated. lmk your thoughtssss.
TAGLIST LINKED IN PINNED POST!
and a big thank you to lia @miupow and ari @silvergyus for allowing me to share this with them first and tell me if it sucks! <3
“we’re wasting water, you know.” you slightly joked, tangling your fingers into mingyu’s hair as he pressed light kisses to your jaw.
the two of you had planned to take a shower together, but decided to turn on the water for it to warm up. one thing led to another and now here you were; half undressed and making out on the bathroom counter.
“that’s your fault.” mingyu spoke lowly, his face in the crook of your neck. the room was getting hot and steamy by the second as the water was still running.
His hands slipped underneath the large t shirt that you were wearing, and you let out a whimper when he started to toy with your nipples that hardened under his touch.
“mingyu.” You softly spoke his name. like a quiet plea for something, and mingyu knew exactly what it was.
He quickly pulled the shirt off of your body, and you pulled him closer to you by his necklace.
“pulling on me.” He mumbled against your mouth before kissing you deeply, his body now slotted perfectly between your legs. You ran your fingers through his hair with one hand as he kissed below your jaw; his teeth scraping you every so often.
You hummed, leaning your head back to expose your entire neck to him.
His hands were roaming, and your mind was too in a haze to follow them. Mingyu pulled the fabric of your underwear away from your cunt, immediately slipping two of his fingers inside of you.
You immediately let out a whine as Mingyu muttered ‘fuck’ under his breath. He was fucking into you with his fingers hard, practically going to his knuckles each time.
Having to hold onto his upper body with one hand; you were afraid you’d fall, but knew you couldn’t possibly hurt Mingyu no matter how hard you gripped onto him.
You happened to look down at mingyu’s fingers disappearing in and out of you; your underwear completely ruined from your arousal. with his free hand, he lifted your chin to kiss him. The kiss was soft in comparison to the way his fingers were pummeling you.
“I’m gonna take these off, okay?” His face was close to yours as he pulled his fingers out of you, moving to pull down and take off your underwear all of the way.
You hummed, allowing him to move your legs further apart even more; whimpering when his fingers were inside of you again. This time you could tell that he had three inside of you.
“Gyu….fuck. Oh my god.” You were practically seeing stars and he wasn’t even using his cock.
“I know baby, I know.” Mingyu was sort of leaning over you, his breathing heavy. “Look at me.”
You looked up at him, and he almost lost it.
“Fuck. You look so pretty.” He kissed you. “God I want to ruin you. Fuck.” He kissed you again, this time it was sloppy, his teeth hitting yours.
“I’m gonna cum, gyu. Fuck.” You whimpered; legs already starting to shake.
“I know, I know.” Mingyu was watching the way his fingers disappeared inside of you. “I can feel you clenching me; I got you.”
It crashed into you; blindsiding you. because all of a sudden you were trembling, whining Mingyu’s name over and over again. You thought you might have slipped on the counter because Mingyu suddenly put his hand against the mirror behind your head to stop you from hitting it.
“Are you okay?” Mingyu had a stupid grin on his face having rocked your world with just his fingers.
You nodded, but breathing hard. “Yeah, yeah. Want you to fuck me, gyu. Please.”
“Yeah, you can take me?” Mingyu kissed you, one of his hands sneaking down to press down onto your now over sensitive clit; making you whine.
“Yes, I always do.” You reached for his underwear, hooking your fingers underneath the waistband and maneuvering them down.
Mingyu watched your every move, hips bucking forwards when you wrapped your hand around his length; pressing your thumb against the tip that was leaking with precum.
Mingyu’s hand quickly replaced yours. “Hold your legs for me?”
You put your hands behind both of your knees, doing as mingyu said. He hummed in approval as you felt like you were nearly bent in half.
Mingyu tapped the head of his cock against your clit, then subtly sliding between your folds. Surely he was making a mess out of you. Unexpectedly, he leaned down, letting a glob of spit fall directly onto where your clit and his cock met.
A moan slipped right out of your mouth, making mingyu lock eyes with you.
“Yeah, you like that?” His voice was low as he lifted your chin up.
You hummed in response, sort of unable to form the words. Just nodding as Mingyu leaned in to kiss you.
At the same time, he pushed his cock inside of you; going slow on purpose so that you could feel every inch of him.
“Hghh…fuck.” You whined as you couldn’t even kiss him back. Your legs were shaking again as he was inside of you all of the way.
“Already shaking….” Mingyu muttered under his breath, watching where your bodies connected; he replaced your hands with his and held your legs apart.
You couldn’t protest, because he was right. He was probably going to make you cum soon.
“Mingyu. Please.” You barely finished the sentence, fighting back a moan to speak.
“Yeah, say my name.” His voice was breathy, almost slightly unsteady. “Let me hear you.”
You were desperately grabbing onto him; probably leaving marks in the path of your fingernails. It was egging him on, grunting as he was slamming into you now;knowing you enjoyed it.
“Fuck.” Tears were brimming at the corners of your eyes. Mingyu must have noticed because he made you look at him again.
“Look so pretty…” He let out a slight whimper, making your cunt clench. Mingyu looked down, watching his cock move in and out of you. You followed his gaze, letting out a high pitched moan when you saw what he was looking at. “Fuck, can you feel me right there?” He pressed two fingers to your lower stomach.
You frantically nodded to appease him because he would ask again. “Yes!” You squeezed your eyes shut; not sure if your eyes were burning from sweat or tears.
“You’re so close. Clenching me so fucking good.” Mingyu’s voice had a slight whine to it; like he was going to cum almost any second.
“Feels so good, yeah.” You moaned, eyes drifting shut as Mingyu was pounding himself into you.
You moved your hand in between your legs to rub slow circles onto your clit; making your walls clench and you nearly yelped.
Mingyu grunted, watching you make yourself fall apart. Finally he pulled your hand away, replacing your fingers with his and finally you broke.
“Mingyu!” Your moan sounded more like a sob, and if Mingyu couldn’t see your face he’d think that you were crying. Your nails dug into his arms only to scrape down his biceps, making him suck a breath in through his teeth. surely he’d deal with any marks at another time.
You felt like the room was closing in on you; probably chanting Mingyu’s name over and over.
“Yeah, take it. Take it.” Mingyu grunted, watching how your body shook; shut tightly.
He grabbed your jaw, making you look at him. Mingyu kissed you softly, but moaned against your mouth before biting onto your bottom lip.
“Cum in me…” you spoke, locking eye contact with him. You knew that was his ultimate weakness.
“Yeah?” Mingyu answered, moaning loudly when you reached your hand to twirl your fingers around his chain necklace.
“Mhm.” A whine slipped out of your mouth as Mingyu seemed to be fucking into you harder than before. “Please.” You were pulling on his necklace again.
“Fuck!” Mingyu swore, slamming his cock fully inside of your cunt before cumming inside of you.
You bit down onto your bottom lip, and you were afraid to move because of how much of a mess he just made of you. When he pulled out, you winced at the feeling of him dripping out of you.
Mingyu was already looking, feeling quite satisfied himself. “Look so pretty like that; me dripping out of you.”
He used two of his fingers to try and push it back inside of you, making you let out an audible cry.
“Too much. You ruined me….im exhausted.”
“Exhausted?” Mingyu asked, brushing a few stray pieces of hair out of your face. “Now we really have to take a shower.”
“I know…but I don’t want to…wanna go to sleep.” You had a pout on your face that usually Mingyu could never say no to; this time he wasn’t backing down.
“No, no we’re going to. I’ll help you wash up, you can just stand there in the water. Then, we can turn on the tv, get into our pajamas, and watch a show in our nice warm bed.” He was kissing you in between sentences. “I can even make you a late night snack. Sound good?”
You sighed, after all you could never say no to mingyu.
“Yes, help me down okay?”
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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏
✧.* CHAPTER 11 || The Thorn and The Petal
[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?
[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, angst, & fluff.
[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4k
[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.
[ [ chapters mlist } ]
——"WELL, CONSIDERING THE FACT THAT he's my professor, I thought it'd be pretty obvious that he's one of the hardest on the list." Gojo's voice flew through your ear.
You had him on the phone as you lay on your stomach across your bed. Talking to him is something you want to limit as much as possible but you can't try anyone on the list completely blindsided so, sadly, you still need him.
"Then there's Nanami. As far as I know, he's not interested in sleeping with just anyone-- you'll most likely have to get to know him a bit." Gojo explains. You're taking little notes of this in a journal of yours since it's a lot of information to keep up with. "And uh, you said you met Choso already...?" The man over the phone asks.
"Mhm, ran into him in the hallway. He doesn't seem like he'll be hard to win over." You say casually.
Gojo pauses for a second. Then he sighs, "Yeah, the worst-case scenario with him is that he'll catch feelings for you."
A brow rose in suspicion, "What makes you think he'll catch feelings for me?"
"He's not like the other guys on the list. Aside from..." Gojo takes a second to think, "I guess, Nanami, I'm not sure Choso is used to or even understands the concept of a hookup."
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning, he'll grow attached."
"Okay well," You hesitate. "Let's just hope he doesn't."
"Right." Gojo chuckles a little, nearly sounding relieved.
You write some more stuff into the journal, trying to devise a plan for each man. "Okay and, can you just tell me the last two people on the list?"
"Oh. Well, there's Sukuna, who happens to be Choso's older... half-brother? I really don't know how their family works but, yeah." He answers, sounding a little confused on the matter himself.
You're quiet for a long moment, white noise heard through the phone. It takes you a few minutes to really process what that idiot just told you. First a professor and now you're learning that you have to fuck two people who are related...
"Gojo..." You let out a stressed sigh. "Y'know what, never mind."
"Nono, what is it?" He urges, interested in hearing how you feel about it.
He knows it's probably not the most easy thing to accept but, that doesn't make him care any less about how you feel.
Your eyebrows are tensed, "Half-brother?"
"Okay I know how it sounds but, I'm pretty sure they hate each other," Gojo tells you as if it's supposed to make things sound good.
"Oh my god," You reply, voice sarcastic, "That makes it so much better."
"Listen-"
"No Gojo, I really think I'm done listening. Who's the last person?" You divert.
The sound of him taking a deep breath can be heard, "Fuck, you're not gonna like this one either..."
"What is it?"
"It's Naoya... Who happens to be..." Gojo swallows hard, "Well, he's..."
"He's what?!" You huff, "Spit it the fuck out Gojo."
"I'm like fifty percent sure he's Mr. Fushiguro's cousin or something."
You scoff in pure disbelief. "Why am I not fucking surprised?"
"I'm sor-"
"Apologize to me one more time and I promise you, this will be our last conversation ever." You cut off.
You then drop the phone in your hand onto the bed, putting the man on speakerphone and moving your fingertips to massage your temples. A migraine is on the rise within your head and you don't know how much longer you can put up with this shit.
You swear the only good thing about this is the fact that you're getting paid.
Suddenly, as you think harder about the situation you're in, tears well up in your eyes. This shit sucks. It fucking sucks. You don't wanna do this. What if you get caught doing something with Toji? Or, what if one guy finds out about the other and then you experience a spiderweb effect of everyone figuring your little scheme out?
How can you get out of this situation? Why did it have to be you of all people? Why won't Gojo just find someone, anyone else to do this bullshit for you? Yeah, you need the money-- which is another thing for you to cry about because you can't get a proper job to save your life, but you still hate everything about this.
Before you even realize it, you're sniffling and wet spots are forming against the bed below you.
Gojo's still on the line, wondering if he's hearing things correctly. You hear him call out your name softly, almost as if he genuinely cares about you. The sound of his gentle tone alone makes your crying get a little worse.
"F-Fuck off," You choke out.
You then move a hand to hang up on him because you don't want him to hear you crying like this but he starts talking and you start listening before you press that bright red button.
"Wait, shit, listen. I know I'm an asshole, I know this whole thing is fucked up, I know I'm treating you terribly right now but..." Gojo trails off and you think you hear a thud on the other side of the phone. Did he just hit something? "Fuck, I know you don't want to hear this but I am sorry, honestly."
Your voice is a small whisper as you wipe your face off, "Screw you and your sorry."
"I... I-I'll triple it." Gojo suddenly offers.
You swallow and sniffle a bit, "Triple what?"
"The original price. I'm changing it to six thousand." He says.
You can tell he's serious about it too because as you stare at your phone in shock, you see another deposit made to your account to make up for the interactions you had with him and Geto.
"P-Per person??" You ask to clarify.
"Yes, it's... it's the least I can do, right?" Gojo sighs. Even though you want to ignore it, you can hear how disappointed in himself he sounds.
For another long moment, you're quiet. The least he can do? Bullshit. He's the one who put you in this damn situation in the first place.
"...No..." You end up mumbling out.
He scoffs lightly, "No?"
"The least you could do is delete the video and let me go." Your voice is as delicate as ever, gently hitting the man's ears in a way that makes his heart throb.
Gojo grits his teeth and although you can't see it, his head tips back against his bedframe as he stares up at his ceiling. His hands raise to his face and his words are a little muffled, filled with distraught, "...I can't do that, sweetheart. I can't." He breathes.
The man sounds almost pained at the thought of letting you go.
You scowl at the phone, eyes watering all over again, "S-Stop it with the damn nickname, I hate it-, I hate you."
Gojo has a broken little smile on his face and the voice you hear over the phone is full of hurt, "I know but-," He clears his throat a little and you hear him inhale deeply, "Fuck... you don't really mean that do you?" He whispers.
You don't know why you don't respond instantly like you were before. It's like the sound of his voice was getting to you. Why does he sound hurt too? This isn't affecting him the way it is you so, what the hell is his problem?
"...I don't know," You mumble, "I don't even fucking know anymore."
It goes quiet after that.
You couldn't hear much from your phone but the softest sounds of him moving. It was gentle movements though, not like he was doing anything inappropriate but almost like...
You don't want to think about it or even take a guess but it genuinely sounded like the man could've been crying over the phone.
As soon as you think about it, you scoff at yourself and shake your head. Gojo Satoru, crying because you said you hate him? Yeah right.
"I should uh," You sniffle a bit, "I should go-"
"I'll make it up to you." He suddenly sighs. "All of it. I swear, I'll make it all up to you, okay?"
Again, his words and the tone of his voice are yanking at your overworked heartstrings. "...Promise?" You whisper, having no idea why you're giving him this chance in the first place.
Gojo's smiling at his phone, hearing the change in your voice and feeling relieved that you're actually listening to him, "I promise."
With one last quiet okay slipping from your lips, the phone call ends there.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
Within minutes after that ridiculously angsty phone call, you receive a text from someone that instantly has you blinking away your tears.
It's Choso.
It had been maybe a little over an hour and a half since you ran into him in the hallway but, here he was texting you already. It was a simple text that read; 'hey ik we just met and all but, can I call you?'. You had to blink a few times to register what you were reading.
After you mentally prepare for it, you go ahead and respond with a simple yeah in response. Seconds later, the male is calling-, no, FaceTiming you.
You think your heart sinks into your fucking toes. Your eyes are slightly reddened and puffy from the crying you just did and you do not want him to see you right now.
Regardless, you answered the call and have the camera directed toward the ceiling. Choso's stupidly handsome face pops up on your screen and you're smiling already.
"Hey uh, ok I know this is kinda awkward but my brother wouldn't answer and I wanted to show this to someone," He tells you, his voice like a calming balm to your ears.
"You could've just sent me a picture y'know..." You say, your tone noticeably light due to the tears you just shed.
Choso pauses for a second, staring at his phone. "Okay, scratch that for a second, are you okay?"
"Uhm, yeah? Why?"
"You sound like you were crying." He points out.
How the actual fuck can he tell?
You chuckle at him, "I wasn't."
"Then you sound upset. Did something happen?"
"Nothing I feel like talking about right now but, thanks for asking. What did you wanna show me?"
"I won't show you unless you tell me something." Choso says in full seriousness, "And plus, you're not even showing your face which further believes me to think you were crying."
Again, you laugh, "I uh, I just look a mess right now. And the only thing I'll tell you is... I dunno, I had an argument with my..." What the hell do you even refer to Gojo as at this point?
"Your boyfriend?" He suddenly fills in for you.
"No!" You huff, giggling at his assumption, "I don't even have a boyfriend."
You see him smiling a little, "Girlfriend, then?"
"No, Choso. I'm single."
"Ohhh." He hums, sounding genuinely surprised. "My bad, did you fight with a friend?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess you could call him that." You say, shrugging a little.
"Damn. It must've been a big argument."
"What makes you say that?"
His shoulders raised, "You don't even wanna call him your friend."
You scoff a little, "He's just... an asshole."
"One that made you cry?" Choso asks, arching a brow in suspicion.
"No," You roll your eyes, "I didn't cry, Choso."
"Show me your face then."
"I don't want to."
He scoffs, "That's how I know you were crying."
You hate the way the man is reading right through you. "I wasn't." You argue.
"Lying to me when the truth is obvious is crazy," Choso says dramatically.
"I'm not lying."
You see him shake his head in disappointment, "Damn, I might need to remember this as a red flag of yours; pathological liar." He tells you with his voice both serious and playful at the same time.
"You really don't believe me, huh?"
"Not until I see your face, no."
"Fine," You lift your phone slightly, only showing your face from the nose up.
Choso stares for a minute before suddenly smiling fully and holy shit is the sight sexy. The phone is quiet as he stares at you, almost dazed like how he was earlier. You feel a little awkward and have the urge to put the phone down but when he blurts something out, you end up freezing.
Choso tilts his head and his gaze is scrutinizing, "Your eyes are so fuckin' pretty, I'm gonna lose my mind." He compliments abruptly.
Your heart definitely stopped for a minute, maybe three. The way you drop your phone and sink your head into your blanket like a blushing and giggling teenager is comical at this point. The man's words made you smile so hard that your cheeks were starting to hurt.
"Don't... Don't say shit like that so suddenly," You say, chuckling through your words.
He shrugs and sits back into whatever chair he's in, "But it's true. Fuck, show me your full face this time."
"G-Gimme a second," You sigh.
"Why?"
Does he not realize how attractive he is right now? You can't even conversate normally.
"Cause' I... I need a minute." You mumble to him.
The corner of his lips is up in a smirk and damn the way he looks at the phone. "Did I just make you nervous?" He asks, his voice suddenly a little lower.
You scoff, "No."
"Liarrr," He taunts.
"I'm not lying."
He clicks his tongue, his eyes low on the phone. "Then show me your face, princess."
Jesus, the nickname caught you off-guard. You can't do this. Why is Choso so... so... hot? Sexy? Attractive? You don't even know what word to use for the man at this point.
"Fuck. Fine." You end up sighing.
Then, you slowly move to lift your phone and prop it up with a nearby pillow. Since you're laying on your stomach and you're wearing a loose tank top, your chest is pressed against the bed below and Choso has a full view of that and everything else from your neck up.
He blinks a few times and you pray that he doesn't say anything that'll fluster you again.
To your surprise, it seems as though you'd flustered the man without saying anything. Choso's head turns to the side as he looks away from his phone and you get a lovely view of his jawline. Damn, he's got quite the side profile.
You watch him inhale deeply and then peek over to his phone from the corner of his eye as if that'll change the sight on his device. You simply blink innocently at him as if you're unaware of the way you look right now.
"You alright over there?" You ask in an almost sultry tone.
Choso clears his throat and nods, turning to face his camera again, "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?"
He stares intently before saying, "You're somethin' else, y'know that?"
A chuckle leaves you as you tilt your head, "Am I?"
"Yeah. But uh, now that I can see you..." His eyes dart past his phone and you watch as he looks back and forth between the device and whatever is in front of him.
Your eyebrow raises in curiosity as you watch him, "What is it?" You ask.
"Oh, it's what I wanted to show you." He says and you watch him stand up and look down at his phone one last time. "Okay, it's not perfect but I hope you like it."
For a second you're still confused but when Choso flips the camera around, sheer surprise takes over your expression and your jaw literally drops. It was by far one of the most beautiful things you'd ever laid your eyes on.
"Don't freak out, I hope this isn't weird," Choso says quickly as he backs up a little and gives you a full view.
The man had painted you.
It was unique too. Not just like a normal portrait but like how you appeared in his eyes which just so happened to be so very beautiful. His art in general includes darker colors and you can see other paintings behind his newest one, all fitting in with his theme.
"Y-You painted me?" You say dumbfoundedly, "I thought you majored in graphic design."
He laughs, "I do but that's just for school. I paint in my free time."
"Choso you just saw my face for the first time a few hours ago, how the hell did you..."
"I honestly can't explain that," He says with a shrug, "When I got home I uh, couldn't get your face out of my head, and well, if I didn't draw or paint you I think I was gonna go crazy."
You study the art a little more. It's you but at a side profile, your gaze is downwards and you think for a second before you realize it's a painting of you as you were looking at his other art on his phone earlier. Choso painted an image of you from his perspective and boy was it beautiful.
There was predominantly black paint and he has this smudgy yet clean art style you don't think you've ever seen before.
"Choso that's beautiful, oh my god," You gasp, eyes wide and a smile prominent on your face.
You're so distracted by the canvas you're being shown that you miss as the man screenshots the reaction you have.
"You want it?" He offers simply.
You don't even know what to say, "Uhm, I dunno, i-it's your art."
"Yeah, but it's you."
"Kinda narcissistic for me to have a portrait of myself, don't you think?"
"Kinda stalkerish for me to have a portrait of a girl I just met, don't you think?" He asks in return, mocking you.
You giggle, "You're the one who decided to paint me."
"True. Alright then lemme ask this," He turns the phone back around to himself and you watch him sit back down, "Can I keep it?"
You blink. "It's your art."
"It's your face." The man fires back.
"I-," You sigh, "Yeah Choso, you can keep it."
He smiles, "Thanks."
"No, thank you. I didn't think I could look that good." You sigh, feeling all bubbly and light inside.
Choso tilts his head as he looks at his phone, "Have you seen yourself?"
"Don't give me that." You roll your eyes playfully, "Have you seen your art? You could make a pile of shit look good."
"I can't make anything look good, I can only work with the beauty that's already there."
Your voice gets caught in your throat for a second. When you swallow down the compliment he's given you, you can't stop yourself from smiling. "Y'know they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder right?"
"I'm aware. And in this case, I'm the beholder and you're someone I find beautiful." He responds.
Damn the way he's quick with all these comebacks. "I think your gaze is filtered." You say with a shrug.
You see him raise a brow, "By what?"
"I dunno, delusion."
Choso laughs wholeheartedly at you. "My gaze is delusional because I think you're beautiful? Wow."
For a long moment, you'd forgotten about everything again. You forgot about your rules, the list, the situation you're in-- all of it. For once, it felt peaceful, blissful even.
"I'm joking," You tell him, watching as he sighs in relief. "But on a serious note, thank you for this."
"For what? The painting?" Choso asks.
"Yeah, that and uh, calling me. You have some interesting timing."
"Oh yeah, no problem. I'm glad I made you feel better."
The way you and him have these little conversations so seamlessly is something you never want to end. He's so sweet and refreshing to talk to that you wish you could forget about the list and just run away with the man.
"Who says I was feeling bad...?" You reply to him.
Choso rolls his eyes, clearly seeing through you, "I don't like liars y'know..."
You pout, "Whatever."
"And I'm being for real, I'm glad I made you feel better. I uh, hope you and your friend fix things."
You scoff, "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what he did."
"No, I would." Choso protests. He doesn't know the details but he's being genuine, "If whatever you guys were arguing about was enough to make you cry then, clearly you care about him."
Your head shakes slowly, "You don't have enough context on the situation to come to that conclusion."
"You didn't deny it-"
"I don't care about him." You cut off. "Trust me when I say, I hate him."
Choso chuckles at you. He didn't take your words seriously one bit. "Ehh, sounds like an enemies-to-lovers situation..." He comments with an innocent little shrug.
"Oh hell no, this isn't that." You assure the man.
He gives you a skeptical look, "You sure?"
"I'm positive."
"Damn." Choso blinks, "He really fucked up didn't he?"
"You have no idea."
"I wanna ask more buuut I don't wanna be nosy soo, m'kay." Choso results in saying. "Even so, I still hope you and him get through whatever it is you're going through."
You sigh, "I don't but, thanks Choso."
"No problem, princess." He says sweetly.
Fuck, he keeps catching you off-guard with that. It makes your brain get to stuttering and your face gets hot, "Don't call me that..."
"Why? It's fitting."
"No, it's not." You argue.
"Alright," He glances away to think before saying, "How about angel?"
You sigh, "Stop."
"Pretty girl?" He continues.
"Choso." You call.
He doesn't listen, "Doll? Baby?"
"You're still going..."
He pauses for a minute to think before uttering, "Sweetheart?"
Fuck that made you think of Gojo. You think your body freezes for a second at the thought of the man alone.
"Love?" Choso adds on, having no idea of your little history with these damn pet names.
"You can stop now," You say sternly. "Seriously."
"Alright, alright, my bad. I'll stick to the first one." He hums, "Unless you seriously don't like it...?"
The way he holds nothing but consistent care for your feelings toward things is truly endearing, "Nah, the first one's fine."
Choso nods, "Alright then princess, I'll talk to you later."
You're smiling all over again, "Bye Choso."
The two of you give a little wave to each other before the phone call comes to an end.
Oh, you definitely feel like a teenager all over again. The way he painted you the same day he met you, the way he speaks so charmingly to you, the way he... fuck it's everything about him
Scew Gojo and his shitty little promise of making things up to you, based on the one phone call you had with Choso-- there's nothing that white-haired bastard can do to fix the paining fact that your real chances with Choso are slim to none because you'd never be able to tell him about the list.
And god forbid the man finds out about it.
Butterflies are still stirring in your stomach, the feeling being the after-effect of talking to Choso. You don't want to like him but it's already difficult. You actually shouldn't and really can't like him.
You've gotta distance yourself going forward. You have to.
The question now is, will you be able to?
GOJO SATORU ✔︎
GETO SUGURU ✔︎
TOJI FUSHIGURO ☐
KAMO CHOSO ☐
NANAMI KENTO ☐
??? SUKUNA ☐
??? NAOYA ☐
mlist || previous chapt || next chpt
#the f*ck list#the fuck list#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo x reader#choso x reader#toji x reader#nanami x reader#sukuna x reader#naoya x reader#geto x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#nanami kento x reader#choso kamo x reader#kamiverse#kamiversee#smut fic#jjk smut#gojo smut#geto smut#choso smut#toji smut
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one of your girls (jungkook x reader) (part 1)
we don't gotta be in love, no
i don't wanna be the one, no
i just wanna be one of your girls tonight
~
i wanna take your light inside
dim me down, snuff me out
~
give me tough love
leave me with nothin' when i come down
pairing: fwb!jk x oc, brief jimin x oc
tags: smut, angst, a little bit of fluff (like teeny tiny)
warnings: two smut scenes, kissing, marking (hickeys), fingering, brief handjob, protected sex, slight dom!jk, sub!oc, praise, dirty talk, grinding, edging, oral (f. & m. receiving), throat fucking, dacryphilia, spit kink, brief masturbation (m.), squirting, brief anal play, back shots, cum shot, multiple orgasms (you'll see), aftercare
word count: 5.8k
a/n: been in my feels lately i had to write it out lol; wrote this in one sitting my hands actually hurt omg; inspired by the song "one of your girls" (ik don't roast me idk why it's stuck in my head fml); if this gets taken down then bye bye i literally just wrote it here directly lmaooooo; anw enjoy !!!! part 2 / drabble i (flashback)
..••°°°°••..°°••....••°°..••°°°°••..
You knew what you were getting yourself into the night you said yes to Jungkook. You knew you'd fall for him, be under his spell. You knew you'd end up getting hurt. You prepared yourself, you really did, yet you were still surprised when you woke up each morning and he wasn't beside you in bed. You felt your heart break a little bit more when you saw him with another girl, whether she'd be one of your friends or a complete stranger to you.
You tried to guard your heart. Reminded yourself to prepare for the worst. Forced yourself not to fall, not to be blindsided. I'm just having a little fun, you told yourself for the nth time.
jk: u busy tonight?
you: not really! just writing a paper that's due next week
That was sent hours ago and you mentally cringe at your reply. You always find yourself oversharing to Jungkook when you didn't even need to. You wanted to make it seem like your whole situationship was just casual. Like you didn't care. He rarely shared much about his personal life and so should you. But that hardly happened. You didn't want him to think that you cared, that you were clingy or waiting for him to text. You didn't even wait five minutes before replying and he hasn't even texted back.
You know what his text means. He wants to fuck and that's it. But he doesn't say it outright. No, never. He wants to make it seem like he cares, that he wants to know how your night is going. But he just wants to know if you're free to fuck and once you reply, he'll keep that as a reminder in the back of his mind, like he has a mental list of girls he can sort through at the end of the night when he's bored or when he wants to have a little bit of fun.
You know you're just one of his girls on his roster and you're fine with that. You're not his girlfriend and he's not your boyfriend. Though it does seem like that on some days, which is when you get the courage to not reply to his texts. When you try to shut him out and move on. He usually shows up outside your lecture hall with a cup of coffee in hand, bunny smile on his face as he waits for you to walk into the hallway. Like he's waiting for you, picking you up from class like a good and loving boyfriend.
It's all for show and it's only to get himself on your good side again. It works every time. You don't question yourself anymore. Jungkook likes the chase, likes the adrenaline of going after girls and trying to get them to fall for him, or sleep with him, or whatever. It's all the same to him.
You sigh again as you check your phone, hoping for a reply but knowing he won't text back. It's a Friday night and he's probably at some party. You go through your texts and open the conversation with your best friend.
jihyo: see u later! im picking u up so u better be ready >:(
You can't help but laugh at her insistence. Jihyo knows what you're going through since you tell her everything. You tell her you don't care though, that you're not looking for a relationship right now and your "thing" with Jungkook is just casual. But you know she sees right through your lies. It's even more obvious when you ghost all your friends and lock yourself in your apartment every night. She's trying to make you forget and move on and have some actual fun so you indulge her every time.
You get ready in less than an hour and actually put some effort into your appearance. You're not sure which party you're going to but you won't be surprised if Jungkook will be there as well. Maybe if you look hot enough he'll choose you tonight.
You hear a knock on your door and open it immediately, finding Jihyo laughing at something her boyfriend has just said. Most of the time you end up hanging out with her and Mingyu because she's always dragging you with her to keep you from being lonely. You don't mind it though because they're fun people to be with. Even though Mingyu is Jungkook's roommate and best friend. But Mingyu isn't anything like Jungkook. He looks at Jihyo like she's hung up the stars and moon. Loves her with all his heart and doesn't leave her second guessing. You always wonder why him and Jungkook are friends when they're so different.
Jihyo turns to smile at you, but it's still the lovestruck smile she gave Mingyu just seconds ago. You know you have the same kind of smile reserved for Jungkook. You wish you didn't but at the same time you're glad you do, like you have a part of yourself only Jungkook can see. Even though he doesn't do the same.
"You look so hot tonight!" she squeals as she pulls you in a hug. You laugh and roll your eyes, making eye contact with Mingyu as he nods his head in greeting. Jihyo steps back and grabs your hand, dragging you out your apartment so fast you barely have time to lock the door behind you. "Let's go before all the good drinks are gone."
It's a short but fun walk to the house where the party is being held. You find yourself laughing with Jihyo and Mingyu the whole time. They're the type of couple that doesn't make third wheeling a bore.
Loud music blares in your ears the moment you step inside. You feel your heels sticking to the floor. A typical frat house throwing a typical Friday night party. You immediately take shots with Jihyo and Mingyu. You need it to be able to survive the night since you already feel yourself tensing up at the possibility of Jungkook being in the same place as you.
You spot your other friends and hangout with them for the rest of the night. It's when you're playing beer pong with Jimin as your partner do you see Jungkook at the other side of the room. He's talking to some girl which is nothing new. It shouldn't phase you but it does. You thought you were going to be his pick for the night since he texted you a while ago.
You feel your heart fall at the sight of them, your chest physically hurting that you make Jimin throw the ball twice for the both of you since you can't focus. You feel all the fun and happiness slowly leave your body. You feel your stomach churn at the way he's got her trapped against the wall, tattooed arm placed beside her head, mouth whispering right against her ear. She's smiling and giggling at whatever Jungkook is telling her. You wish that were you.
"Forget about him," Jimin mutters in your ear. He's watching your beer pong opponents take their turn as you're watching Jungkook and the girl.
You shake your head at Jimin, turning your head to smile at him just to make it seem like you're okay. Just like Jihyo, he sees right through you.
Jimin's another close friend of Jungkook. They're not so different. Jimin likes to sleep around but he makes it clear that he doesn't want anything serious. Always nice and gentle with the girls he sleeps with. Jungkook makes it seem like you're his and only his. You wonder again why they're friends.
"Seriously, Y/N," Jimin says, a little bit of urgency in his tone. It's probably the look of longing on your face that raises concern in your friend. Everyone sees how broken you look when you catch Jungkook with another girl.
"I know," you say after a while. You talk just a little bit loud enough to be heard over the music. "Jungkook and I just sleep with each other. It's casual and that's it."
You hear Jimin sigh. He nods his head and it's his turn to throw the dirty ping pong ball. You've had this conversation with him and Jihyo numerous times already, sometimes it's the both of them and sometimes it's on separate occasions. You say the same thing every time. You think your friends are starting to give up on you. Maybe you should as well.
You force yourself to have fun for the rest of the night, always trying to be in a room where Jungkook isn't. You're not sure if he's spotted you. You don't know which hurts more—him not spotting you because he doesn't even bother looking for you in the crowd, or him spotting you but not talking to you because you're not his choice for the night. Either way, he doesn't care. You know he doesn't but you wish you did. You thought you'd catch his attention with the black dress you're wearing. Or with the way your hair is styled. But it doesn't work and you tell yourself that it's okay. You always see him in your peripheral though, either talking to someone or flirting with that girl.
You decide to leave when you see Jungkook leaving as well, fingers tangled with the girl's. She looks like a giggling mess and you can't blame her. Everyone falls for Jungkook's charms. You try not to dwell on the fact that they're going to have sex.
It's Jimin who walks you home. He can tell you're sad so he talks about his day and his classes, avoiding Jungkook's name even though you're positive that they hung out today. Jungkook's intertwined in so many people's lives it's hard to leave him out. But Jimin makes an effort just to distract you. You're grateful for it though and he keeps up the act all the way to your apartment. He asks if he can use your bathroom and you say yes, mindlessly changing into your pajamas once the bathroom door closes behind you. You thought you'd have a little bit more time to finish changing but you suddenly hear Jimin swear behind you. You live in a little studio apartment so there's not much room to hide.
"Oh fuck— Shit," he says. You turn around laughing to see him with his hand over his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbles.
You're in your underwear but you don't mind. "It's not like you haven't seen me like this before," you chuckle.
"Still," he reasons.
Because you're stupid and heartbroken and hurt, you walk up to Jimin and gently grab his wrist, bringing his arm down to his side. You look at him looking at anywhere else but you. Eventually he looks down at your body for a split second and you laugh at him.
"We shouldn't," he whispers.
You shrug your shoulders. "Just a little bit of fun, right?" you ask with a smile on your face. "Like old times?" you giggle.
Jimin lets out a scoff but it's more of a laugh. Like he can't believe you're both doing this again. "You sure you're not drunk?" he asks as he makes eye contact with you. Bingo. You got him.
"Nope," you say sweetly.
"But Jungkook?"
You roll your eyes to mask the hurt. "Don't care."
Jimin looks at you intently to make sure you're not bluffing. While you wait for his answer you unclasp your bra and let it fall down your shoulders, exposing yourself to him. His eyes widen at the sight.
"Okay," he breathes out. He suddenly holds you by the waist to place you on the kitchen counter. It has you giggling at him.
"Eager?" you ask when he starts kissing your neck. You feel him drag his teeth across your skin, like he's thinking if he should mark you up or not. You stretch your neck out even more and feel him biting at your skin, sure to leave a bruise.
"Just excited," he mumbles against your neck. You feel him smile.
You unzip his pants while he's busy sucking your nipples. He's hard already when you start pumping your hand up and down his cock.
"Feels good, baby," he moans in your ear. You're still wearing your underwear but Jimin doesn't mind, just pushes it to the side to insert two of his fingers inside your pussy.
"Oh," you choke out. He finds your spot right away and rubs his fingers against it. He doesn't make you come, just fingers you to make sure you're prepped. It's quick when he takes his fingers out and grabs the condom in the back pocket of his jeans. You watch him tear the packet open and roll the condom down his length.
You both don't say anything else as he pushes his cock past your tight walls. Doesn't give you a moment before he starts pounding, his skin slapping against yours.
It's always like this with Jimin—just quick and easy and no feelings attached. You both don't do it much, it happens at the most random times. Usually when you want to forget or when he's stressed from school. And after this you're both back to being friends. It's never awkward. You wish it were like this with Jungkook instead.
"Jimin," you moan when he starts rubbing your clit. "Gonna come."
"Go ahead, baby," he breathes out, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and leaving his lips there. You push yourself to release and Jimin follows right after. You're both breathing heavily when he pulls out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the bin. He zips up his pants and starts looking for something on your bed. You're still trying to catch your breath when you feel a shirt being put over your head. Jimin's sweet like this—does aftercare in the most platonic way possible.
"There," he says after helping you wear the shirt he found. He doesn't know it belongs to Jungkook. You don't think he minds if he does though.
"Thank you," you say quietly and give him a small smile.
"Anytime. I'll see you around, okay?" He kisses your forehead and you watch him leave your apartment.
The silence engulfs you and you think you should feel disgusted with yourself—that you're pining over a guy but you just had sex with another. With his close friend out of all people. But you push the thought to the back of your mind as you jump down from the kitchen counter and walk into your bathroom. You're just like Jungkook, you tell yourself. Just casually sleeping around and nothing else. He doesn't care and you don't either. You feel a teeny bit better.
You take a warm shower to wash all the remnants from tonight. You actually take your time just to clear your jumbled up mind. It's almost 30 minutes later when you step out and check your phone while you're drying off, heartbeat stopping at a text you've received almost an hour ago.
jk: u up?
jk: hey reply to me :(
jk: coming over
Your eyes widen at the last text. It was sent just 10 minutes ago. You don't know where he's coming from but the campus isn't that big so he'll probably be here soon. You quickly finish drying off and change into comfortable clothes. You hear a knock on the door the moment you finish changing. You take a deep breath before walking to the door and opening it.
You notice Jungkook's wearing the same clothes from the party but his shirt is a bit wrinkled. You think he just came from the girl's place. Probably fucked her and is here now because he's not satisfied. You should feel disgusted and mad but you're not. You're no better. You just slept with his friend.
"Hi," you mutter.
He smiles at you and leans in to kiss you on the lips. "Hey, sweetheart." It has you swooning.
You step to the side to let him in and he walks straight to your bed, sitting down to take off his shoes before lying down comfortably. You follow him and sit down on your bed right by his waist. He stretches out his arm to drape it over your thighs and you start tracing his tattoos absentmindedly. This is your usual routine.
"Did you stay in all night?" he asks. Just a little bit of conversation before he does what he's really here for. At least he has a little bit of decency. You don't mind though, it makes you think that he cares about you when he asks things like this.
You shake your head and smile at him. "Nah, Jihyo and Mingyu dragged me to that frat party." You can tell he's trying to hide his surprise.
"Oh, I didn't see you there," he mumbles.
"It's okay." You shrug. "There were a lot of people."
"We could've played beer pong together, I know you like doing that every time you're out."
Your heart clenches at his remark. You're surprised and hurt every time he remembers little things about you. "I was with Jimin, don't worry." Jungkook doesn't know the double meaning to it.
He nods and runs his fingers across your thighs. "Missed you. Sorry I didn't reply to your text earlier, got caught up in something." You know that's a lie. "Just got back from the party too, that's why I came here late." Another lie.
You nod and smile as if you believe him. And you force yourself to because it's easier than knowing the truth. It's silent for a moment before he mumbles c'mere and brings you on top of his lap.
"Missed this," he says quietly as he squeezes your thighs. His hands trail up your waist till he's squeezing your tits beneath the shirt you're wearing. You start grinding on his cock, getting out of breath too quickly. You missed this too. It's been a week since you last had sex with Jungkook which is a long time for the both of you.
"Kook," you pant. He's pinching your nipples knowing that's where you're most sensitive.
"I know, sweetheart. Take your shirt off for me, hm?"
You nod your head dumbly and do as you're told, watching Jungkook stare at your body. He stops moving beneath you and you're about to ask what's wrong when he brings his hand up to touch the hickey on your neck that Jimin left.
"Who's this from?" he asks. You can't tell if he's mad or just curious. Jungkook isn't showing any emotions on his face and you're starting to get nervous.
"Just..." You think if you should tell him the truth. You look into his eyes and try to see if there's any semblance of care. You don't know. You really can't tell. Then your eyes trails down his body, to his neck and the wrinkly white shirt he's wearing. There's a red stain on the collar and you know it's lipstick. From the girl he slept with earlier. "Someone," you finally mumble.
"Someone?" He continues rubbing the spot gently until he presses down on it with his thumb. He doesn't press down too hard, but it's with enough force to have you hissing slightly.
"It's from Jimin," you finally say. He doesn't say anything but raise an eyebrow at your reply. You don't know if he already knows that you and Jimin have slept together. He doesn't look so surprised, or maybe he is and he's just really good at schooling his expressions.
He makes eye contact with you again and you feel his hand going to the back of your head, grabbing a handful of your hair to press your lips against his. The kiss feels urgent and rushed, his tongue instantly slipping in your mouth and tangling with yours. You're on top of him yet you feel defenseless as he holds you by your hair and kisses you hard. You let Jungkook do as he pleases and forget about the little conversation you just had. You start grinding on his cock again and he reciprocates this time, hips moving against yours.
Before you know it, he rolls you over and pins your arms above your head. You stare at him with wide eyes and he smirks at you in return. He holds your wrists with one hand and takes off your shorts and underwear with the other. He's fully dressed while you're not and you know you're at his mercy. He knows this too as he spreads your thighs apart with his hand.
"Keep your hands there," he whispers. You hold your bed frame for good measure. You just want to please him. He trails kisses down your body, from your neck to your nipples to your tummy. He stops by your thighs and you feel his breath against your skin. You squirm beneath Jungkook to get him to do something, to touch you and pleasure you. He shakes his head, still with that damn smirk on his face. He starts kissing your thighs, close to your pussy just to tease you.
"Didn't know you and Jimin have a thing going on," he says against your skin. You shiver at the vibrations his voice provides.
You feel Jungkook bite down on your inner thighs. "We don't," you choke out. He scoffs and starts kissing your pussy. Just light kisses that start making you crazy because you just want his mouth on you. "We're just friends," you say weakly.
He looks up from where he's laying between your legs. "Like us?"
Us.
You know what he means but at the same time you don't. You're friends with Jimin like you're friends with Jungkook. But you don't long for Jimin like you do for Jungkook. You don't yearn for Jimin the same way, don't look for him in every place you're at, don't pine for his affection or his touches. Jimin isn't like Jungkook and you both know that. You just don't know if you're different from the other girls Jungkook fucks.
"No," you say truthfully. It's said with defeat and desperation because you know he's not going to touch you till you answer him. "Not like us."
You know Jungkook won't pry anymore because he finally starts licking your pussy, starting with your outer lips until his tongue is inside your hole licking every crevice. Then he starts sucking your clit and that's when you truly lose it, legs going around his head to keep him against your cunt.
"Fuck," you almost scream. You're so close already that you should feel embarrassed but you're not. Jungkook knows your body too well. No one holds a candle to how good he eats you out. "Please," you whimper.
"Please what, sweetheart?"
"Please make me come!" you beg. "Need it, need it so much." You starting grinding your hips against his mouth.
"You're so desperate," he chuckles. It's said meanly but the comment flies over your head. You don't care anymore; you just want some sort of release. "But not yet."
You suddenly feel cold because Jungkook removes his mouth from you, standing up and getting out of the bed to remove his clothing. You continue holding the bed frame above you because you want to be good for him. You watch him strip his clothes off till he's naked just like you, tattooed hand wrapping around his cock.
It's long and thick and it splits you open every time he fucks you. You really don't know how you manage to take him every time.
Jungkook is so mean and unfair with the way he's teasing you right now, pleasuring himself while you lay on the bed. You're about to open your mouth to complain when he finally nods his head, motioning you to get up. "Kneel. Hands behind your back, okay?"
You nod your head and get in position on the bed, head tilting up to look at his cock. It's so hard and the tip is already leaking. You just want your mouth around him.
"Open," he says.
You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, just the way Jungkook likes. As expected, he spits directly into your mouth and you swallow right away.
"Good girl. Now suck."
He brings his cock to your lips and you immediately start sucking. You push your length all the way in till you feel him at the back of your throat.
"Gotta take all of me in, pretty. Or else I won't fuck your little pussy."
You know Jungkook takes his threats seriously so you back up a little to catch your breath before taking him in your mouth again. God, he's so big and thick your jaw is already starting to feel sore. But you power through and keep taking him in your mouth until your nose touches his tummy. You try not to gag around him but it's no use. You also feels your eyes tearing up.
Jungkook doesn't care you're struggling. In fact, he loves it because he's got that stupidly handsome smile on his face. He strokes your cheeks for a while and you try to even out your breathing.
"I wanna fuck your throat, sweetheart. Can you take it?" he asks sweetly.
You know it's a rhetorical question but you nod anyways, as much as you could with a dick down your throat.
"Let me in then."
You close your eyes and relax your throat even more. Jungkook holds your head then and pushes you towards him even deeper. You're helpless since your hands are behind your back. You gag again and start feeling lightheaded.
"There we go," he finally says once his whole length is in your mouth. You feel the tip down your throat. You're struggling so much but you try not to move. You just want to please him. "Gonna move now," he mumbles and starts moving his hips. You let him fuck your throat for God knows how long. You're full on crying when he stops and withdraws his length halfway out your mouth. You take the time to gasp for air and you even cough a little, head bowing down to regain your breathing. You faintly hear Jungkook laugh above you.
"I'm not yet done, love. Was just feeling nice enough to give you a little breather."
You nod your head and look up at him, mouth opening wide to let him know you're ready again.
"You just let me do whatever I want, huh?" he chuckles. You're not sure if he means something else but to you it does. You willingly let Jungkook do anything to you. Even if it results in heartbreak.
He stares at you for a while and spreads the spit and precum that's on your lips. "So messy." Then he's back to inserting his length inside your mouth. The glide is smoother this time since you're already prepped. "There we go," he groans out. He stays still and feels the imprint of his dick on your throat. "Look so pretty for me."
Jungkook starts moving again but thankfully his pace is slow this time. You're sure you'll have a sore throat by tomorrow.
"Keep your eyes open, okay? Wanna see you cry."
You look at him while he's fucking your mouth, looking at the way his cock moves in your throat. You're starting to lose your breath and you think Jungkook could tell as well because he grants you reprieve and steps back. You're coughing more this time, hands catching yourself in front of you. You barely get enough time to regain your breathing before you feel Jungkook grabbing your head and bringing your lips to his.
"Did so good for me," he says against your mouth.
You're trembling in his hold and you grab his arms to steady yourself. "Fuck me please," you try to say but your voice comes out hoarse and ragged.
He kisses your cheek and then your jaw. "I will, don't worry," he coos. "Always gonna give you what you want." Another lie. You know that's not true.
You're putty in his hands as he maneuvers you to the position he wants to fuck you in, which is on your hands and knees with your ass high in the air.
"Just like that," he whispers. He pushes down on your shoulders even more so that you're wide and open for him. He starts rubbing your pussy and you can't help but moan out loud. "You're so wet, sweetheart. All from sucking my cock?"
You nod wordlessly from your position on the bed. "Jungkook!" you scream as he plunges two fingers in your pussy. He's ruthless as he fucks his fingers fast and hard, hitting your g-spot right away. "Please," you cry out. You're so wound up and tense and you just want to come already but he won't let you.
You hear Jungkook chuckle from behind you. "Still so tight, baby. Thought Jimin stretched you out already." You're about to reply but you feel his thumb press against your rim and your senses go haywire, mind going blank because you're so overwhelmed.
"Please, please," you beg quietly. You're crying again and you'd do anything at this point to get Jungkook to fuck you. He withdraws his fingers from your holes and you hear the crinkling of plastic behind you. You turn your head slightly to see him slipping a condom on. Jungkook has never fucked you raw and you never asked why because you already know the answer. You'll get hurt hearing the truth anyway.
He holds your hips to steady you. He rubs the head of his cock up and down your folds. "You want this?" he asks roughly.
"Yes. Please."
Finally, finally, Jungkook pushes his cock in your pussy. It doesn't take long because you're so wet he slides right in to the hilt.
"You feel so good around me." He stills for a moment and you grab your ass to spread your cheeks even more.
"Please move, Kook."
You hear him groan. "God, baby, you're filthy." He starts fucking into you and your mind goes blank. You feel his thick cock slide in and out, the tip already kissing your cervix.
"Feels so good," you mumble incoherently. Jungkook fucks you quick and hard, holding your hips so tightly you know it's going to bruise. You feel his balls slap against your clit which adds even more pleasure. You feel yourself getting close again and arch your back.
"Can I please come?" you ask through your moans. "Please let me come, Jungkook. Please—"
"Come," he finally says. It's the only word you need to hear before you let go, that coil in you snapping and bringing pleasure all over your body. You don't know you're moaning so loudly you're almost screaming. You feel your pussy just gush and it gets so wet and sticky you're surprised Jungkook doesn't slip out. It's so filthy that you hear squelching noises as well. Your orgasm goes on for so long you don't know how you're still holding yourself up.
"You creamed my cock so much, baby," Jungkook says. He slows down his pace but he's still moving so you can ride out your high. "Got me wet and even your sheets."
You barely hear him and there's just a buzzing sound around your head. Your body feels so heavy and you just want to collapse but you arch your back even more for Jungkook.
He laughs. "Think I fucked you stupid." He increases his pace again and you just kneel there and take it. "Gonna make me fucking come," he growls as his hips snap against yours. "Fuck." He fucks you some more and you groan every time he hits your g-spot.
Suddenly, he pulls out so fast. "Don't move," he groans. You stay in place and watch him remove the condom off, hand going to stroke his cock as he brings himself to his release. You feel his come on you, right on your pussy and asshole. "Fuck, baby," he groans. You feel even stickier with his load on you. Then he bends down to kiss your neck, and then your cheek, and then a gentle one on your lips.
"You okay?" he asks quietly. His arm goes to wrap around your waist and you slowly start sinking onto the bed.
"Mhm," you mumble and try to keep your emotions at bay. You always feel so overwhelmed after sex with Jungkook. You let a few tears fall down your cheeks but it's the kind of tears of relief from an intense orgasm.
Jungkook presses his front against your back, not caring that his come is still on you. He starts kissing your face again then rubs his nose up and down your throat. "Just breathe, yeah?" he says quietly. You nod weakly against his hold and do just that. The both of you say nothing as you try to calm your racing heart.
You don't know how many minutes pass by until Jungkook stands up. You don't have the strength in you to move your position on the bed or ask where he's going. A few minutes later you feel a wet rag on your back. You let Jungkook clean you up while the both of you still don't say a thing. Then he's moving you on the bed again so your head is on the pillows and he's right behind you, lying down comfortably to be the big spoon. You feel him kissing your head.
"Sleep," he mumbles against your hair. With Jungkook holding you and with his steady breaths guiding yours, you fall asleep right away.
..••°°°°••..°°••....••°°..••°°°°••..
You don't know what time it is when you wake up but there's still sunlight peeking through your curtains so you suppose it's still morning. You turn to face the other side of the bed only to find it empty. You don't know what time Jungkook left, if he stayed the night or left the moment you fell asleep. You're used to it already but it doesn't mean you're not hurt. Your heart constricts at the empty space beside you. You move again to lay on your back and cover your face with yours hands, letting out shaky breaths while trying not to breakdown. God, maybe Jimin was right. Just forget about him.
But it's hard not to. It's hard to forget about him when you have sex constantly, when his touches are gentle but also rough. When he wants you to reply to his messages and when he wants you against his body. It's hard because he's friends with your friends. It's hard when he takes care of you after every intense orgasm. It's hard when he makes it seem like he wants you just as much as you want him.
#jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook one shot#bts one shot#jjk one shot#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x oc#fuckboy!jk#fwb!jk#jungkook smut#jungkook angst#mine#sab writes#jk#fwb!jungkook#fuckboy!jungkook
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we could hide away
(late night talking part 4)
Summary: when a photo of you and harry is leaked, your relationship suffers. can you manage to mend it despite hurt and miscommunication?
Warnings: pure angsty, fluffy goodness, smut (f and m receiving)
A/n: thank you as always for everyone’s support on the previous parts 😭🫶🏼 it means the world to me , especially for the very idea that inspired me to start writing again! please let me know if there’s anything you want to see from our babies, any requests etc in general. i don’t know how much i like this part, my head is sooo fuzzy but i wanted to get it out, so edits may be made in the next few days !!
part one
part two
part three
my masterlist can be found here!
The first thing you heard the next morning was the incessant buzzing of a phone. Notification after notification, call after call. You woke up groggy after passing out in Harry’s arms, still fully clothed on top of the duvet. A headache hit you instantly, a cruel reminder of your perfect night. Harry woke up as you peeled yourself out of his hold, stretching your arms above your head before padding over to the kitchen for some water. His eyes were glazed over, still half asleep as he reached over to shut his phone off.
Harry scrolled through the notifications silently, eyes wide as he clicked on screenshots and messages. You placed a glass of water on his nightstand, crawling back on the bed beside him and wrapping an arm around him from behind. He placed a strong hand over yours, fiddling with the giant S ring you were still wearing. “Fuck, I’m sorry baby, gotta take this,” he mumbled, voice raspy and dry, as he slid off the bed and strode out to the balcony, phone to his ear immediately.
You watched as he shut the door behind himself, placing his phone on the table as he paced around the small space, hands dragging through his messy hair. Your phone was tucked under your pillow, completely drained of battery since you hadn’t managed to charge it. You leaned over to plug it in, eyes still fixed on Harry. Whatever he was talking about, whoever he was talking to, it seemed heated. He was fiddling with anything he could find, jaw tensing up as he breathed in and out. “We can talk about this later,” he said, slamming the sliding door behind him as he re-entered the room. He marched immediately into the bathroom, banging and crashing as he went. You walked over to find him slumped over the sink, cold water dripping off the end of his nose and the point of his chin.
You had no idea how to act. You didn’t know whether to comfort him, stay out of his way, share his anger. Whatever this was, was it even any of your business? It was in your nature to comfort, however, so you walked over and placed a gentle hand on his back. “Hey,” you said softly, pushing his hair out of his face with your free hand. “What’s happened?” Harry turned around and gave you a small smile, pulling his phone out of his pocket to show you. You were totally blindsided, your mouth falling open. It was a couple of grainy pictures, Harry and you in the hotel hallway yesterday morning. You in just his robe and some socks, walking down the hallway with his hand pressed against your lower back. You walking into the room, your hands laced together. The photos were captioned:
exclusive: harry styles pictured with a mystery woman in london
He scrolled to the next screenshot, the same pictures, now captioned:
who is harry styles’ rumoured girlfriend? we’ve narrowed it down!
He continued scrolling, showing you at least 25 posts and news articles about the pictures. They were taken from behind, so it wasn’t even obvious it was him, let alone you. Even still, your perfect, private little bubble had burst. “Harry I- I didn’t even know someone was there, how did this happen?” you looked into his eyes as you spoke, searching for some kind of answer or clue as to how he felt. Just as his lips parted, his phone rang again. He listened to the voice on the other end for a few minutes, nibbling at the skin around his fingers. One strong hand pushed through his hair once the call ended, grabbing a thick fistful of curls as he threw his head back, eyes closed. Harry still hasn’t said a real word to you since he woke up, and seemed to be holding a lot back from whoever called him. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to say. It hurt him that people sought to invade his privacy. It angered him that your relationship was at risk of being exposed because people couldn’t resist selling stories about his life. It infuriated him that he now had to spend the day dealing with his management instead of nursing a sore head with you.
Harry strode into the living room to pull his trainers on, grabbing his trademark Pleasing tote bag from a hook next to the door. He slipped sunglasses onto his head, pushing his unbrushed curls out of his face. You lingered on the opposite side of the room, arms wrapped tight around your chest. “Harry, where are y-,” you started, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as he interrupted you. “Need to sort this out. Y/n, I don’t want to ask but I need t’know. Was this anything at all to do with you?” He asked. You couldn’t believe he was pointing the finger at you. “Harry, no! No. I wouldn’t- I’d never,” you told him, hurt at the accusation. He nodded curtly, then disappeared out of the room, leaving you wounded and alone.
—
You’d decided to head to Joanie’s after Harry left, needing quality time with your best friend. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been around much,” you rushed into your best friends arms as she opened her front door. She pulled you inside, thrusting a pre-made cup of tea into your arms as you slumped in the corner of her ragged sofa. “I’ve been seeing someone,” you started to explain. “He’s been here in london with me, but I think that’s all over now.” You spilled as much as you could to your best friend, twisting the story slightly to keep Harry’s identity secret.
Wiping your hands against your thighs, you stood up, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from your purse. “Do you have a lighter?,” you asked Joanie, scanning the room. You’d never particularly enjoyed smoking but it was just habit for you to have a couple of ciggies when you were sad or stressed. It started when you and Joanie were much younger, newly 18 and enjoying pubs, clubs and boys far too much. Every time one of you had your heartbroken, got rejected at the club or simply drank too much, you needed to share a pack. Now 6 years down the line, it was a dirty little secret you shared, one that Joanie’s long time boyfriend and new husband didn’t even know about.
You sat on the little brick wall outside her house, talking about your plans for the show tonight. “I want to be where we were on Tuesday,” Joanie sighed dreamily, flicking the ash from the end of her cigarette. You smiled meekly in response, dreading even being in the same venue as Harry, let alone so close to him again. “Did you see he was spotted with someone?” Joanie gasped, slapping her hand down on your knee. “I wouldn’t have married Tom if I knew Harry was dating.”
“Oh yes, your marital status is the one reason he’s gone for somebody else,” you scoffed, the pair of you collapsing into each other in a fit of giggles. You were so glad you had your best friend by your side through all of this, even if you couldn’t be totally honest with her. Joanie had always been the perfect opposite to you - the smart to your silly, the rose-tint to your pessimism, the light to your dark. Or whatever way it needed to go. She always managed to oppose your views and feelings, but in a way that gave both of you exactly what you needed. She lifted you up, mellowed you out, always opposite sides of the same coin. You had even spent your teenage years trying to convince school friends that you were destined to be best friends. Joanie was born on the hottest day of that year, and you on the coldest. It took fourteen years for life to bring the two of you together, but you felt as though you’d known her from birth. She was your soulmate, and it was eating up at you that you couldn’t tell her everything about Harry.
—
On the other side of London, Harry was sprawled across an armchair stuffed far too firm to be comfortable, though he knew that was the point. His long fingers were tapping a rhythm across his thigh, his eyes glued to the empty space left by his still-missing S ring. The tan line left behind sent a twinge through Harry’s chest. He regretted questioning you as soon as he’d said it, though he really didn’t know you well enough to be sure you weren’t involved. For all he knew, this could have been your plan all along. Get friendly with Harry Styles then sell your story to make a quick buck. Truthfully, he felt as though he could trust you, wanted to trust you, but he’d been burned too many times to fully count on his instincts.
“You best start explaining this, H.” Jeff’s voice was kind but stern, a cloud of frustration hanging over his head. Harry held his hands up in surrender, telling his manager, “it’s just a girl I’ve been seeing. Didn’t realise I had t’tell you and the world about it.”
“Harry- I’m your manager, for fucks sake. If you’re out doing things that could make a good story, it’s wise to tell me first. You know we need to get on top of things before anything like this happens.” Jeff’s words were now laced with annoyance. Annoyance with Harry, with the situation, with the media. When Harry failed to say anything further, Jeff pushed again. “So? Tell me what there is to tell and I can find a way out of this for you.”
Harry explained as much as he could, leaving out the raunchier details. He started to speak about ‘kiwi girl’ (as twitter had affectionately nicknamed you), when Jeff held up a hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there, H. Do not tell me this girl is a fan.” Harry’s silence and hanging head was a dead giveaway that you were, in fact, a fan. “And I’m assuming this is the same girl you upgraded the night after?” Harry nodded this time, standing from his seat to pace the length of the room instead. Jeff’s head was in his hands, sighing as he half-yelled “rule number one is you do. not. sleep. with. fans,” slamming the tip of his pen into the table with every word.
“It’s not-“ Harry started. “Not like that, I know. It’s never like that, mate.” Jeff finished for Harry, eyes finding the back of Harry’s head. “Listen, let’s set up an opportunity for more photos with a different woman. Make out you’re having a bit of a phase. Takes the heat off, means you can keep playing with your little fuck-toy in private.”
“She’s not my little fuck-toy,” Harry growled, his irritation threatening to explode out of him. “And I’ve been fucking doing it in private. All of it. Haven’t been with her outside the hotel, not since the first night. Haven’t entered and left at the same time, done everything to keep it fucking private.”
“And no one knows it’s this girl?”
“No, mate. No one else.”
The frosted door swung open, Glenne’s high heels tip-tapping across the marble floor with every step. “Harry!”, she beamed, pulling him in for a lingering hug. “Has my lovely husband been tormenting you?” She looked Harry up and down, eyes full of love and care. He chuckled bitterly, his tired eyes following her back across the room to where she perched on the edge of Jeff’s desk. “This isn’t such a big deal, you know.”
“No, seriously!” she insisted as both men scoffed. “It’s hardly a scandal. ‘Young single man spotted with woman’. It’s not exactly the headline of the century.”
“It is when the world finds out she’s a fan. He’ll be tormented by young girls for the rest of his career now,” Jeff told his wife. “So we don’t let that part get out - not unless you’re serious about her, H. Her family and friends might know if you’re spotted together again, but by the time it has to come out, you’ll be off the market. If you’re not serious, not seeing her again, how you met never has to leave this room. Besides, you’ve been tormented by young girls for years already.”
Harry had no idea how Glenne did it. She always managed to find the best solution, easy fixes that passed right under his and Jeff’s noses. “That works for me,” he sighed, the rubber band snapping from around his chest, finally able to breathe fully and deeply. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out quickly, praying it would be from you. It was Anne.
mum: Just got to the station. Think you have a bit of a situation so will see you later !! Xx
“Mum’s here. I need to go, Jeff. Thank you, Glenne,” Harry muttered as he fled the office, holding his hands up in a prayer position. He sent you a quick text as he left, having not heard from you since he’d left you this morning. Harry was relieved to have a plan, but his heart was still heavy. He should have warned you how quickly things can get real when you’re associated with him. He was so used to fooling around with other women in the industry, women who already knew the ins and outs of life with a celebrity. If the world learned your name, your life would be changed irreversibly. He’d seen what it had done to others, how the media had shared their private details, their families details. You might have known it was a risk, but neither of you had seen this coming so quickly. You hadn’t even discussed it, it was far too soon to even think about what would happen when the bubble burst.
—
You and Joanie had ended up in almost the exact position you were for night one, just as she wanted. You were wearing your red outfit today, wishing you’d worn that on Tuesday to match with Harry. Everything came back to Tuesday. A white denim skirt hugged your hips, carefully hand-painted red hearts dotted all over the material. You’d paired it with a bright red off the shoulder top, and Joanie next to you was wearing the same but in inverted colours. You were glad to have her close by your side tonight, glad to have been able to tell her the bare minimum about your aching heart. She’d insisted on bringing a funny sign tonight, desperate to catch Harry’s attention and make you smile. ‘my bestie had her heart broken, can you cheer her up ?!’, the sign read. You would keep your fingers crossed for the rest of your life if it meant Harry didn’t see the sign, didn’t notice you at all tonight.
He seemed more muted than usual, his dances and energy toned down in comparison to his usual self. You wondered if he’d tried to contact you at all today. Your phone had barely charged before you left for Joanie’s, then died again on your way over. You hadn’t bothered to charge it up since, preferring to ignore the internet for today at least. Harry knew where you were if he wanted to see you.
Joanie’s fingernails were digging into your arm, her screams bordering on nutty as Harry pulled his guitar strap over his head, mere feet in front of you once again. His eyes had glanced over you a few times, but he hadn’t noticed you. Either because he didn’t want to, or his mind was elsewhere. “Don’t tell me he’s going to-“, Joanie started, screaming again as the opening chords to ‘boyfriends’ echoed through the stadium. You couldn’t help the tears that immediately welled in your eyes, threatening to spill down your blushed cheeks. You hadn’t even thought about crying all day, hadn’t felt as though you needed to and now it was all pushing to the surface.
Boyfriends
Are they just pretending?
Joanie wrapped an arm around your waist, using her thumb to wipe a tear from your eye. You rested your head against her shoulder, giving a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You weren’t even sure what made you so upset, but your heart couldn’t stop aching now that you thought about what had happened that morning- then it hit you. Harry hadn’t even asked you how you felt this morning, thought for a second how these pictures could affect you. After how attentive he’d been for days, it felt like a slap in the face. Had he been pretending? Did he only want you in his bed, only care when it was your secret?
They don't tell you where it's heading
You kept your eyes fixed on Harry, his dark pupils scanning the crowd in front of him through heavy eyelids. They lingered on you for only half a second, not long enough for anyone to notice but long enough for you to watch his breath catch in his throat. His eyes clouded over, blinking rapidly as he cleared his throat and looked away from you.
And you know the game's never ending
He stepped back from the microphone, signalling to the crowd to sing for him as he turned his back, the gut-wrenching glisten of tears in his eyes visible for a split second.
He whispered something to Sarah as the song finished and stepped closer to the microphone, his rich voice suddenly crooning, “baby, you were the love of my life”. Harry’s eyes looked anywhere except for you, hurt and shame written all over his face. He knew he’d acted like a dick today, from the way he handled the situation with you, to the way he spoke to Jeff, to the way he made almost no time for his darling mum and sister before the show. He needed to make it all alright, most of all with you. He silently prayed that you’d know these songs were for you, feel what he was trying to convey.
He moved over to the opposite side of the stage, turning to point at Jonny’s place when he mentioned it. Yours and Joanie’s faces flashed up on the screen, Joanie waving her sign around like a mad woman while you wiped your teary eyes. You laughed at the sight of the two of you, you made an insane pair. Harry was watching the screen as he sang, desperate to let his eyes linger on you without actually doing just that. He blew a kiss to your general area as the band played out, girls around you screaming. He walked past you on his way back to the main stage, watching you subtly catch his kiss with the hand still trying to dry your eyes. That soothed him a little, lifted his mood just enough to get through the remainder of the show.
—
Harry explained everything to Anne and Gemma after the show, head in his hands as they sighed and groaned at his story. “Harry Edward, you’re a very bad man sometimes,” Anne gasped, swatting at his knee. “You got this poor girl obsessed with you, then you ditch her at the first sign of trouble?”
“Oi, I didn’t ditch her!,” he said, his vibe not too far from that of a petulant teenager’s. “I needed to deal with the business side, needed t’sort out Jeff.”
Gemma placed a hand on Harry’s forearm, “have you spoken to her? Explained it all? Y/n is probably going out of her mind right now, H.”
“I think her phones off, we haven’t spoken all day,” Harry sighed. He didn’t have the words to explain to himself, or his family, why this felt like a much bigger problem than it was. Why his heart was so much heavier than it should have been for someone he’d only known for 4 days. “It’s getting late now, go and get some rest darling. See if you can reach her tonight, you’ve got us all day tomorrow.” Anne rose from her seat, tugging on Harry’s wrists to get him moving. She pulled him in for a cuddle when he stood, knowing a mother’s hug can make the biggest problems seem smaller. He held her tight, taking a deep sniff of her floral, earthy scent. She smelled like home. It always seemed to calm him down.
“You did amazing tonight, my special baby boy. Love you so much, we can’t wait to get some proper time with you tomorrow,” Anne said, a radiant grin spreading across her face. She never wanted to see him torn up about anything, hated watching him fall in and out of love every so often, healing the hurt and heartbreak he wore so well. But having her little boy in her arms was more than enough to warm her heart.
—
Harry knocked on your door, feeling sheepish. He was usually far too stubborn to trail back with his tail between his legs so soon, but this was different. You hadn’t done him wrong, hadn’t bought him anything other than joy. You were the innocent pawn in someone else’s game, a game that he hadn’t realised could, and had, hurt you both. He let the gift bag he held fall to his side when you didn’t answer, his clenched wrist going limp.
He knocked again after a few minutes, and again a few minutes after that. He couldn’t hear anything inside, but that didn’t mean you weren’t in there. He turned on his heel, deciding to head back upstairs, hoping he’d at least get a text from you before he slept. Then he saw you, trudging towards the door, eyes fixed on your phone screen. Your hair was hanging down your back in a messy braid, the t-shirt Harry had loaned to you on Monday night engulfing your slender frame. You looked up as you got nearer, brown eyes locking onto his. Stopping in your tracks, you felt the wings of a thousand butterflies knocking against the inner walls of your belly, heart beating like a ticking time bomb. The hallway was silent, the weight of a thousand things you wanted to say to each other but couldn’t find the words to say hanging over your heads. “Hey,” you smiled, reaching for your keycard. “I just went to get some food, is everything okay?”
Harry let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding, stepping forward to wrap you up in his arms. Your bodies melted into each other, your hands splayed against Harry’s back, cradling him so tight you thought you might never let go. “Everything’s okay,” he mumbled, pink lips spreading into a warm smile. Holding onto each other, just being close, was enough to make it right.
You let the two of you inside, unpacking your food onto the countertop as Harry lingered behind you. “I got sushi, there’s enough for two if you want to stay,” you offered.
You both sat on the bed to eat, giggles cutting through a peaceful silence as you watched reruns of the Office. Harry’s fingers found yours after a while, his thumb tracing shapes on the back of your hand. “I got you something,” he told you, standing up to grab the gift bag from where he’d left it.
Your eyes were wide with curiosity as you untied the white ribbon, pulling a handwritten note from a tiny envelope.
‘heard you got your heart broken. thought this could cheer you up’.
You shook your head as you read it, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. “I told her not to take that sign,” you laughed. “I tried to tell her a bit this morning but it’s a little hard to explain.” Harry grinned, “it was sweet. Though I bet she’ll be mortified if she knows she told me I broke your heart.”
A dark green velvet jewellery box sat in the bottom of the bag, slimline and dainty. You looked up at Harry, as if unsure this was for you. “Open it,” he smiled, words coming out small. Inside was the most beautiful necklace you’d ever seen. A tiny chain, the perfect shade of gold to complement your other jewellery. At the bottom of the chain sat a tiny H, studded with imitation diamonds. You bought the box closer to your face, fingers tracing delicately over the elegant design. “H,” you whispered, totally taken aback by the gift. “For Harry,” he smirked. “Do you like it?”
You were stunned, your mouth trying and failing to form words. All you could do was keep tracing over the pendant, eyes glancing between the necklace and the man sitting in front of you. “I love it, Harry. I really do,” you eventually managed, grateful tears filling up your eyes. You set the box down beside you, closing the distance between you and Harry. He held a warm hand to your cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to the end of your nose. “Turn around, let me help you put it on.”
He secured the chain around your neck, peppering soft kisses across your back. “It’s beautiful Harry, really. I can’t thank you enough,” you sighed, fiddling with the H as you spoke. You leaned back against his chest, turning your head slightly to nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry baby, I really am,” he spoke. “Didn’t mean t’rush out on you in such a hurry.”
“Harry, it’s f-“, you interrupted, wanting to put the whole day behind you now that you had him back. “It’s not fine. Didn’t like you seeing me so pissed off, I wanted to get away and sort it all out. But I hurt you.” He was speaking softer now, his voice gentle. “You didn’t Harry, I was confused that’s all. I didn’t know what any of this meant, for you or for us.”
“And I should’ve spoken to you, got on the same page so we could handle it together.” You pulled away from him as he spoke, turning your body around to face him again. You could see the shame etched into every line on his face, the way he’d beaten himself up all day showing in his eyes. You rested your hand on the side of his neck, thumb stroking the sharp edge of his jawline. “You got it sorted though?” you asked. “All sorted, princess. Had to tell everyone everything though. Even told my mum,” he smiled meekly. “Yeah? Told her how pretty and perfect I am?” you grinned, fluttering your eyelashes. “Told her you’re the prettiest girl in the world. After her of course.”
He really did think you were the prettiest girl in the world. Especially now, in his t-shirt, wearing his initial around your neck. Your hair was messy, your skin fresh. The evening light seeping in from the window was illuminating you from behind, giving you an angelic glow.
“Have you showered?” you asked him. “Yeah. But I’ll have another one if it means more time with you,” he grinned, already yanking his hoodie over his head.
—
You were taking turns under the water, laughing and joking as you manoeuvred around each other in the small space. “Give me a kiss,” Harry smiled. “Since when have you asked for kisses?” you laughed, poking at his chest. “Don’t know if I deserve one today.”
“Lucky for you, I can’t deny you any,” you said as you leaned towards him. He held onto the back of your head as his lips met yours. His lips were as warm and as soft as they’d ever been, the tickle of his hot breath sending sparks down your spine. Your tongue darted out of your parted lips, licking a trail across his bottom teeth before slipping into his mouth. Harry moved his mouth to your throat, suckling on your wet skin. “Gonna mark you up, show everyone you’re mine,” he whispered. He ran his tongue over the bruise he left behind, before continuing to kiss down your body, pausing to nibble on your perky nipple. He licked a circle around your belly button as your hands found his wet hair, shifting your body to lean against the tiled wall.
“Open up for me,” he asked, nose nudging into the space where your thighs met. He rested back on his heels, admiring your pussy. “So perfect, my sweet girl,” he drawled, fingers tracing up the inside of your thigh. His warm face was so close to right where you needed him, mouth so close that his tongue could reach out and have a taste. His mouth was watering at the sight of your arousal wetting your folds. He couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to taste you, wet his face with your juices, have you screaming as you came on his tongue.
You were whimpering as soon as Harry’s lips made contact with your pussy, his tongue lapping into your folds. He was eating you like he’d been starving, like your pussy was the first and only thing he’d ever be allowed to enjoy. His nose grazed over your clit as he licked at your entrance, sending your hips bucking into his mouth as the bundle of nerves lit on fire. He chuckled at your body’s reaction, murmuring a slurred, “need daddy to give you more?” You tugged on his curls in response, breathless and unable to speak. He moved immediately to focus on your clit, his lips wrapping around your button as he sucked and popped. He moaned against you, the vibrations shooting pleasure deep into your core.
You’d never found much pleasure from someone’s mouth, yet Harry’s was taking you to places you’d never been before. Your back was arched off the wall, fingertips buried so deep in his hair you could pierce his scalp. Your eyes were grainy, the hot steam from the shower swirling around your head. You felt like you were in a trance, moans and incoherent words slipping out of your mouth uncontrollably.
Harry gripped onto the back of your thigh, steadying himself as he pulled his mouth closer into your entrance. His tongue was licking deeper into you, one finger rubbing circles around your clit. “Harry,” you whimpered, feeling your legs begin to buckle beneath you. Your orgasm rolled over you in waves, your body so limp yet so tense under his touch. His tongue kept fucking into you, his hard cock twitching between his legs as you screamed out a strangled moan. You pulled one hand out of his curls, gripping onto the shower caddy to keep yourself from collapsing. Your head was spinning, stars all you could see as Harry rode you through your high. Between the water dripping from his hair, and your juices drenching his face, Harry thought he could drown. He’d die happily here, nestled between your legs, lips attached to your perfect pussy for eternity.
He pulled away after a moment, pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit before standing, pulling your weak body into his arms. “Always do so good for me, baby girl,” he cooed, pushing the wet strands of hair off of your forehead. He could get drunk off the way you looked post-orgasm, your cheeks flushed and pupils blown. The way your mouth never fully closed and your breasts jumped as your chest heaved. Harry got a kick out of knowing he did that to you, he bought you that pleasure.
His cock bumped against your hips as he helped you out the shower, your hands all over each other as you pushed him towards the granite countertop. “What’s bought this on?” Harry smirked, not used to seeing you take such an active role. It had been established pretty early on that Harry was a giver, all he wanted was to pleasure you, and you had no problems being a taker. But his cock had been calling out to you for days, begging you for a taste. “Where you going?” he asked you, head tilting to the side as your hands slithered down his body, your knees hitting the tiled floor. You stayed silent, pressing kisses up the inside of his thigh. You bit down into the fleshy part near the top, quickly licking over the teeth marks. Harry shuddered as you nipped at his skin, repeating the move up and down both his thighs. You suckled at the skin next to his base, leaving your mark. A perfect little purple bruise, a matching tattoo.
You looked up at him as he reached down to swipe his thumb over your bottom lip, his butterfly tattoo seemingly flapping its wings as he breathed in and out. “Gonna stuff daddy’s cock into that pretty little mouth?” he rasped, his thighs tensing as you hacked spit into your palms. You stroked his member up and down, up and down, again and again as you pressed swollen-mouthed kisses to his thick tip. Holding a hand at his base, you licked a line down the underside of his shaft, then took his tip in your mouth hungrily. He was far bigger than you’d ever had, and you were unsure of how well your usual tricks would work on someone his size.
He whimpered as you took him further in your mouth, your warm cheeks tightening against his length as you sucked. Your hand moved up and down the inches of him you couldn’t manage to take, swirling your heated tongue around his head as you pulled him further out. “Knew you could be a good little slut for daddy,” he drawled, gathering your dripping hair and using it to guide your head up and down his cock. He kept his free hand steadied on the countertop, mouth dropping open as you popped off of his head and moved your mouth to his balls. Harry threw his head back as you suckled at his sack, rolling your tongue against the soft, sensitive skin. Your hand continued tugging against his length as you worked, your nose bumping the underside of his foreskin. “Fuck baby, give me more, please,” he groaned, wrapping your long hair around his fist. You switched your hand and your mouth, fondling his balls while you stuffed his cock back into your mouth. You looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you took his member further than you had before, reaching as far as you could before gagging against his head. His hand tugged at your hair somewhat involuntarily as your throat closed around him, a choked moan squeezing out against his tip. Your eyes were red, tears brewing above your lower lashes. “Taste so fucking good daddy,” you told him, mouth moving up and down faster now, humming in appreciation as his cock twitched in your throat.
Harry had never seen you look so sexy, not when you took his cock so well, not when you were coming on his tongue. Like this, stark naked on the bathroom floor, his cock lodged between your perfect swollen pout, this is what he wanted to remember. Have the image etched in his brain forever, see you like this every time he closed his eyes. His balls felt heavy in your hand, loaded with the cum he couldn’t wait to shoot down your pretty little throat. “Fuck, princess. I’m gonn- gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warned, his voice deep with lust. You moaned against him, keeping your lips wrapped tightly around his girthy member, your perfect H pendant swinging against your chest as you bobbed back and forth. You splayed your free hand against his thigh as it started to shake, looking up his body to see his abs tensing, his pecs twitching as you bought him close to climax. “Come for me daddy,” you whined against him, words muffled by his cock taking over your throat. He pulled his head down to his chest, eyes screwed tight and jaw slack as he came violently, thick cum splashing against the back of your throat. You swallowed around his head, ribbons of cum flooding your cheeks. You moved the hand cradling his sack to stroke his length, riding him through his orgasm. His hips jutted towards you, your hair wound tightly around his clenched fist.
His grip eased up as he came down from his high, darkened eyes opening to look down at you as you removed your mouth from him completely. You had his juices dripping out of your mouth, eyes threatening to spill over as you wiped them with the back of your hand. “Never seen anything so pretty in my whole life,” Harry smiled, rubbing the curve of your neck.
You dried yourselves off, fluffy towels soothing your aching, exhausted bodies. Crawling into bed still naked, you and Harry faced each other, whispering sweet nothings as you kissed over each others faces. He fell asleep before you, one arm draped across your chest, hand still cupping your jaw. Your phone lit up with a text from Joanie,
J: everything ok? you happy?
You snapped a selfie, Harry’s strong hand barely visible in the pitch black room. You sent it to her, captioned simply, the happiest
part five
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#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry edward styles#harry styles x fan#harry styles x y/n#harry styles series#harry styles masterlist#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic
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Badass Aziraphale is fun. We love to see him with all the divine wrath and playing the protector he was meant to be, blinded by love and duty. Eyes everywhere and flaming sword at hand ready to smite or confront anyone that dares step his way
And that's the version we see the most in the fandom. Vengeful angel Aziraphale Guard of the Eastern Gate raining righteous fury over anyone who dares harm Crowley
It's beautiful. Poetic even. I love it
BUT
There is nothing in this whole fandom that's more powerful and gorgeous than protective Crowley
That man knows what is like to lose the love of his life. He has lived it, for as brief as it might have been. All the despair, the lost of hope, the absolute loneliness. He has been there and that's a place he refuses to go back to
All the fear turned into rage. Ready to burn down Heaven and flood Hell to protect his angel. He might not be the strongest and he might not be a match for more than one archangel at a time, but he would rather die than let anyone take Aziraphale away from him again
He would become so blindsided by terror he wouldn't stop to think about the consequences. His only target is Aziraphale and Aziraphale only and he would pull any stunt to make sure he was safe and, do you wanna know the best part? This is canon
We have snippets of protective Crowley all throughout season 2 but this scene? Oh boy, this scene
Crowley doesn't trust Gabriel. He tolerates him because he promised Aziraphale he would help, but he is on high alert
As soon as Shax shows up and threatens Aziraphale, he redirects his fear turned rage towards his main target: Gabriel. Because this is his fault. Beelzebub is looking for HIM. They/Heaven indirectly threatened Aziraphale with being erased from the Book of Life because of HIM. If something happens to Aziraphale because of this stupid charade he got himself involved with because he promised to protect Gabriel, Crowley will hold no punches
He's already full to the brim with the stunt Gabriel pulled during Aziraphale's "trial". Oh no, Crowley hasn't forgotten his words and his righteous smile while he condemned the man he loves to death even though some years have gone by and he is still furious about it
He is a wrong step away from exploding and destroying everything that presents itself as a threat to Aziraphale in the moment.
He is so scared of everything (Gabriel, Beelzebub, Shax, Heaven in general, the Book of Life) that he spends most of the season compressed like a spring ready to pounce at the minimal real show of danger
The only reason he leaves Aziraphale with the demons in the bookshop to go and try to figure out what the absolute fuck is going on is exactly because the demons can't enter said bookshop and he trusts everyone present not to be stupid enough to let them in (I'm sorry, Maggie. I still love you babes)
The worst part is: all his fury, all his rage and fear are useless in the end because Aziraphale walks into the danger willingly and Crowley would face anyone that tried to hurt his angel, but the angel himself
Don't get me wrong, he sees the danger. Maybe a tad to late. After the demons are gone and so is Gabriel and Beelzebub, he let's his guard down and allows himself to truly relax, planning their little breakfast at the Ritz
Because he thinks it's over. He was completely blindsided by Metatron. He himself says "Go angel. No problem. Can't get weirder than whatever the fuck just happened". Oh my poor sweet summer child
But he does see the danger eventually and goes on high alert again, but it's too late. He would never hurt Aziraphale, but he pulls all the weapons on his arsenal to try and stop him from going where he can't follow. Where he can't protect him
And he fails. Like he always feared he would. Not only showing his hand to Aziraphale in a desperate attempt to protect him but also losing him in the process with nothing he can do about it but watch his angel go until the very last second
#im feeling angsty today dont @ me#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#david tennant#michael sheen#anthony j crowley
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📱Distancing yourself from BF!SKZ after receiving hate 📱 (Part 2) (Maknae Line)
☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️
genre: heavy angst, hurt/comfort
pov: 1st & 2nd person
description: Your boyfriend finds out why you've been distancing yourself (Half smau, half written) (I am so very sorry)
pairing: bf!skz & fem!reader
warnings: swearing, break up, mention of self harm, lots of tears, let me know if I missed anything
word count: listed below
screenshot count: 4
©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.
Part 1
Part 2 (Hyung Line)
한 지 성 (Han Ji-Sung) (868 words)
“Jisung, you’re going to burn a hole in our floor,” Changbin calls from the kitchen.
“Don’t mind him, he’s just going through Y/N withdrawals,” Hyunjin explains, not looking up from his latest art project.
“You saw her yesterday,” Chan says, walking into the living room.
You two did see each other yesterday when you went to bring him lunch at the company. It was only a brief interaction, you had to get back to work, but it was enough to make Jisung miss you. Which is why he wants nothing more than to spend today with you.
“Somethings wrong, I can feel it. She called me Jisung.”
“That’s literally your name!” Changbin yelled, throwing his hands in the air.
“No, you don’t get it,” Jisung finally stops pacing and throws himself on the couch. “The only times she uses my first name is when she’s annoyed with me or mad at me. She’s been calling me jagiya, jagi, Sungie, or some other nickname our entire relationship.”
“Did you miss an anniversary or something? Is that why she was she brought you lunch yesterday?” Chan questioned, determined to calm his youngest roommate’s nerves.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out but yesterday was just a day!” Jisung cried.
“Fans were camping outside the studio yesterday, maybe one of them said something,” Hyunjin says without thinking.
Had one of his fans said something to you? Jisung never wanted to make your relationship public, and this is exactly why. Everything was fine until a picture of you leaving his dorm wearing his shirt was posted online. The company gave them 2 choices: confirm the relationship or break up and deny the allegations. Breaking up was not an option. You had been good at avoiding hate comments, but neither of you had anticipated someone saying something to your face.
“I’ll be back!” Jisung shouts before running out.
***
“I completely understand if you want to break up with me.” Jisung wraps me in a hug as soon as I opened the door.
“Sungie, what? Why would I want to break up with you? What did you do?” A heavy weight settles in my stomach. Did he cheat?
Jisung lets go of me and looks me in the eyes. A sad smile creeps on his face as he places his hand on my cheek, thumb swiping just under my eye.
“You’ve been crying.”
After yesterday’s encounter with the fans in front of the JYPE building, I fell down a rabbit hole of hate comments. If a stranger was comfortable saying that Jisung was settling with me and calling me names to my face, I had to know what was being said online. I couldn’t be blindsided like that again. But reading all those hate comments that spanned the entire time Jisung and I have been public with our relationship fucked with my anxiety.
“I was watching a sad movie.” I force a smile.
“You don’t have to lie for me, jagi. I know you’re hurting.” Tears start falling down my face again. I don’t know how he knows, but I’m glad he does.
Ji takes my hand and leads me to my couch. He wraps me in a hug again and rubs slow circles on my back. His kindness only makes me cry harder, sobbing into his neck.
“It’s all so h-h-horrible. I didn’t do anything to anyone. I don’t know how you do it, Ji.” I whisper.
“Listen to this idiot. Crying about getting hate comments and worrying about me.” He coos.
“I’m serious, Jisung,” I pull away from him, “You’ve been dealing with this for years. You get hate but I’ve never seen it bring you down. I read hate comments for one day and I’m falling apart. And you’ve been working late all week and here you are comforting me. They’re right, I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t think that, ever again. How many people are in this relationship? How do they know anything about you or me? There is nothing wrong with falling apart every once in a while. I would be more worried if the hate didn’t get to you. I’ve seen you cry because a baby didn’t wave back at you. And the hate does get to me, but spending time with you remedies that. You’re always there for me, even when I’m having a panic attack in the middle of the night. You always take care of me. Bringing me food at the company. Waiting up late to talk to me after a concert. Just dealing with me in general, I know I can be a bit much sometimes. If anything, I don’t deserve you.”
“Sungie—”
“What do I have to do to make you happy again? Show me the comments. I will talk to every person who has anything mean to say about you.”
“You’re the least confrontational person I know.”
“I’ll do anything for you, you know that.”
“I know, and that’s why I love you.”
“I love you too. But you know I can’t sit here quietly while you’re suffering.”
“Can we deal with it later? I kinda wanna think about something else right now.”
“My offer for a movie marathon still stands.”
“Perfect.”
이 용 복 (Lee Felix Yong-Bok) (886 words)
Felix had been scrolling on TikTok waiting for you to reply when he saw a video of “fans” bragging about DMing you hate. He quickly found out that it was a new trend that fans had taken over to send hate to the partners of various celebrities. He saw that you were the subject of quite a few videos.
Doing some quick math in his head, he figured that your behavior changed around the same time the first video was made.
“Fuck…” he mumbled as he scrambled to get to your apartment.
***
I blink through the tears as Felix slowly shuts my laptop and moves it out of the way. He crawls in between my legs and wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face into my stomach. I didn’t hear him come in, let alone know he was coming over. I put my phone away to try to give myself a break from reading hate comments. I was planning on watching some movies on my laptop to try to get some sleep but I got sucked back in when I saw a new tweet about me.
“Why didn’t you come to me? Why are you doing this to yourself?” Felix mumbles, turning his head so I can hear him better.
“I didn’t think it would get to me,” I whisper, stroking his hair.
“Y/N…” He finally lifts his head and looks at me with his tearful eyes. He has never liked seeing me in pain.
I don’t know how they found my social media. Everything is private. My usernames have nothing to do with my name and my profile pictures don’t show my face. I changed all that when I started dating Felix to avoid this exact situation. As an extra precaution, I don’t follow any of the Stray Kids social media accounts and I try not to engage with anything related to them. I used to get bullied in school and I didn’t want to go through that again, it put me in such a dark place. It made me someone that Felix never met. Someone that I didn’t want him to meet.
“I-I-I wasn’t going to read anything but once I started, I couldn’t stop.” My head falls into my hands and let out a choked sob.
“It’s okay, let it all out.” Felix sits up and wraps me in his arms, gently stroking my hair.
We sit like that for what felt like an hour but was probably only 20 minutes. Felix finally separates from me. I feel his hands wrap around my wrist and pull my hands from my face. My face twitches from Felix touching my right wrist. I watch as his face twist in confusion before he looks down at his hands.
“Lix, don’t…” I try to stop him before he rolls up the sleeves of my sweatshirt but fail, too tired mentally and physically to actually stop him. I turn my head before I can see the hurt in his eyes. The bed rises slightly as Felix gets up. It feels so much colder in my dark room. I squint my eyes as the light turns on and Felix makes his way back on the bed. He sets my first aid kit in between us and opens it up.
“Felix you don’t have to—”
“Y/N, just let me take care of you for once. Please?” He breathes, not looking me in the eyes. I bite my lip as he cleans the fresh wounds on my right wrist. He works quickly yet softly. Once he’s done, he checks my left wrist only to be met with old scars, mementos of how I used to be.
“Why?” He asks, stroking my left wrist.
“Old habits are hard to get rid of I guess.” I chuckle. Felix is not amused. The scars are new to him. I’ve always worn bracelets or long sleeves to cover them up. In the past, they were a relationship deal-breaker for many guys. And if they didn’t run, they treated me like a fragile doll. Being with Felix made me happy to be in a relationship with someone who wasn’t walking on eggshells.
“I’m serious. And why didn’t you come to me when all this started?” I finally look him in the eyes. They’re red but finally dry.
“I thought I could take care of it myself. I’m not who I was when I was in high school. Or, at least I thought I wasn’t. But it got so bad so fast and I found myself falling into old habits. I didn’t want you to see that side of me. I would understand if you want to break up with me now that you have.”
“I’m not going to break up with you. I get it. And I’ll take care of the comments. I don’t want you to feel like this, ever again. I want you to come to me more.” He takes my hand to his mouth and kisses it.
“I can work on that. I will work on it.”
“I will work on dealing with the hate, I promise. And in the meantime, I’m confiscating your laptop and phone. You need a break from reading about yourself. I’ll order something for us to each and we can talk some more, okay?”
김 승 민 (Kim Seung-Min) (980 words)
“What’s wrong, Min?” Minho asked the younger boy who wandered into the kitchen for the 5th time in 10 minutes.
“Nothing’s wrong,” He grumbles.
“Are you fighting with Y/N?” He asks, tossing a cheese stick and bottle of water at him. Both hit him and fall to the floor.
“She would have to actually talk to me for there to be a fight.” He sighs, picking up the food from the floor and joining Minho at the table.
“You know, I’ve noticed that you two are really similar. You push people away when you’re upset, she might just be the same way.”
“Yeah, but you guys always figure out why I’m upset and cheer me up. I have no idea what’s bothering her.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Seungmin thought about your behavior over the past couple of weeks. Nothing stands out to him. You two had gone on a couple of dates and you seemed happy. There are no anniversaries or major events that he had missed. You have been spending more time reading on your phone. One time he woke up in the middle of the night to find you reading something on your phone. He thought nothing of it as he grabbed your phone and put it on his side of the bed to force you to sleep. He thought that your quiet sniffling was because you were cold. But you could have been crying. About what?
“Aw shit,” He mutters when figures out what happened.
***
“Go home, Seungmin!” I shout through the door. He used to have a key to my apartment, but in a freak accident, it broke in the lock. With everything, I had yet to make him a new copy.
“Y/N, if you don’t let me in, I’ll scream.” I wait a few seconds, wanting to call his bluff, but I don’t want to take the chance that he’ll actually do it. My neighbors will call the police if he did. That’ll be a fun news day on dispatch.
I open the door and pull him in before he could cause a scene.
“You’re worse than Jisung, you know that right?” I quip, shutting the door behind us.
“Jisung hyung wouldn’t have given you a warning.” He smirks.
“What are you doing here? I told you that I don’t want to do this right now.” I cross my arms and head to my room.
“We don’t have to. I just want to see you. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, but I told you I’m busy.” His eyes trail my body and he scoffs.
“You look like you just woke up. Your hair is a mess and you’re still in your PJs.”
“I’ve been up all day actually.”
“Then you look like you need a break. Let’s take a nap.” Seungmin lays down on my bed and pulls me down with him. He wraps his arm around me and pins me to his chest. I try to get up but his steady heartbeat and scent calm me down. I haven’t been sleeping well for the past couple of weeks. The familiarity of Seungmin quickly lulls me into a deep sleep.
“Let’s break up.” Seungmin whispers as I slowly open my eyes.
“What?” I shoot up and look at Seungmin.
“Being with me is only causing you pain. It’s the only thing I can think of to give you some peace.” His eyes are red like he’s been crying. He must have figured out why I’ve been avoiding him and he couldn’t help but spiral.
“Seungmin, I know I pushed you away, but I don’t want you to leave. None of this is your fault, so stop blaming yourself. How is us breaking up fair?” He finally sits up.
“I never said it was fair. It’s a solution. Can you honestly tell me that you haven’t thought about it?”
He’s right, I did think about how breaking up would put an end to all of this. Only for a moment before I thought about how miserable both of us would be. How I would miss waking up to his sweet smile. The delirious long-distance calls we would have while he was on tour. How he would complain about me cuddling up next to him and whine when I tried to get up. His scent. His voice. Him.
“I’ll deal with it. I’ve been dealing with it because I want to be with you. You’re worth it. I just need a little time to adjust.” I place my hand on his and gently rub my thumb back and forth.
“It’s not worth it.”
“But you are.” I smile softly.
“No, I’m not,” His smile drops.
“Yes, you are,”
“I promise you I’m not.” I kiss him quickly.
“I promise you that you are. If I don’t engage— if I don’t let them see how they’re getting to me, they’ll get bored and stop.”
“If that’s your plan, then why have you been avoiding me?”
“Because I know that seeing me upset makes you upset. I didn’t want you going off on Stay and getting in trouble.”
“You’re literally going through a psychological hell and you’re still trying to take care of me.” He laughs.
“You would do the same for me. You already have. I know you’ve been hiding those comments from me the entire time we’ve been together. Reading those comments about me couldn’t have been good for you either. I know I get super depressed when I read hate comments about you.” I figured out he had taken my phone at some point before our relationship went public and muted any mentions of my name so I wouldn’t see any hate comments. He really thought ahead.
“God, I love you.”
“I love you too. Since you’re here, can we order food and start that drama Jisung recommended?”
“Whatever you want.”
양 정 인 (Yang Jeong-In) (780 words)
Jeongin knew that you were receiving hate. It was only natural in this situation. Some “fans” were bold enough to bring signs to concerts telling him to leave you for them or make comments at fan signs. As far as he knew, you didn’t read anything. If you did, you never let on.
But lately, you’ve been down and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t family or work, you always came to him to vent if something happened. It wasn’t anything he had done, you’d freeze him out for a couple of hours before confronting him about it. And you wouldn’t miss watching a movie with your favorite actor, even if you were mad at him. That much he knew. The only logical explanation is that the hate was finally getting to you.
He spent the whole journey to your apartment talking to Chan to get some advice on what to do.
***
I felt bad for forgetting about the movie. Innie’s right, I had been talking about it for months. But the idea of leaving the house right now is dreadful.
A few pictures of me, taken without my knowledge, have ended up online over the past few weeks. Fans have been having a field day criticizing every little thing about me. They complain about my weight. My style. The way I part my hair. I knew I was getting hate. I saw one comment when Jeongin and I first announced our relationship. I convinced myself that it would die down and ignored it. I lived in blissful ignorance for a little over a year before a comment that a “friend” of mine retweeted made its way on my feed. It went downhill from there.
“Innie? Why are you here? I thought you would go straight home.” I asked when I found Jeongin at my front door looking disheveled and holding flowers.
“I figured out what’s wrong.” He places the flowers in my hand and kisses my cheek before making his way into my apartment.
“You did?” Out of instinct I walk in the kitchen and place the flowers in a vase full of water and walk it out to the living room. Jeongin is sitting in the armchair that has basically become his designated spot throughout our relationship.
“Why didn’t you come talk to me about the hate getting to you?” I sit on the side of the couch closest to him and lean forward with my elbows on my thighs.
“I didn’t know how to bring it up.” I sigh.
“How long has this been going on?”
“About two months, after I went to watch your music bank performance.” My eyes start to sting thinking about the unflattering picture and the comments that ensued.
“Two months? I would have thought two weeks with how you’re handling it.”
“I thought I was handling it, but I'm not. I can’t.” I choke out.
“Okay, we can figure this out. Chan hyung said—” Jeongin gets up from his spot on the armchair and joins me on the couch.
“I think we should break up,” I suggest, not even looking at him. I can’t bear the look on his face.
“Break up?”
“I love you with my whole heart, it hurts. It’s just that this world that you live in… I’m not cut out for it. I don’t belong. I’m not built to deal with so many people attacking me for just existing.”
“I can make it stop. I will make it stop.” He gently grabs my chin and forces me to finally look at him. His eyes are full of tears, but they aren’t falling.
“Jeongin, I’m sorry but I need to put myself first for once. All this hate is slowly but surely killing me.”
“I’ll… I’ll quit! I’ll leave Stray Kids and all of this will stop.” He pleads.
“You and I both know that if you leave, it’ll just get worse. And you love your job. The way your eyes sparkle when you talk about your music or when you nail a new choreography—I can’t take that from you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” I stroke the hair on the back of his head, trying to call him down.
“So, this is it? We call it quits and everything goes away?” The tears finally falling down his face.
“I just want to be happy, but I can’t do that in this current situation. I need you to let me go.” Jeongin closes the gap between us and places both hands on each cheek, pressing his lips to my forehead.
“I just want you to be happy too. I love you, I’ll let you go.”
—
Buy me a coffee?
#feelbokkie writes#stray kids#skz#han#jisung#han jisung#felix#yongbok#lee felix#lee yongbok#lee felix yongbok#seungmin#kim seungmin#i.n#jeongin#yang jeongin#x reader#skz smau#stray kids smaus#stray kids fake texts
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𝟏𝟒. WANT
CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER
↼ chapter thirteen / chapter fifteen ⇀
summary: miguel finally gives in to what you both want
explicit (18+) | 8.6k words
warnings: SMUT, it's seriously just all smut, unprotected p-in-v, choking, light degradation, dirty talk, interrogation as foreplay, praise kink, mentorship with benefits, dirty talk, belly bulge, power play, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, angst, unrequited feelings, eye contact kink
notes: figured i'd add in some fluff before shit gets rough
“Let me go.” Miguel growls. “Lest I change my mind about fucking you silly, you bold little thing.”
Enclasped in the yawning dark of night after twelve, you wonder how you must look to him. The lack of light, on your part, obscures his harsher lines – shadows smudging the sharp apex of his cheekbone, bleeding to his aquiline nose, where the feature dips into an ink-blot puddle with the rest of him. What you can deduce is based on what you can see; hardly anything, really, save for what’s highlighted by the window to your right. The mole by the corner of his mouth, bobbing upwards with the curl of his lips. The red, acute glint of an eye.
Are you as hidden as he is? Is his vision better adjusted to the murk?
You hope not. You pray he can’t pick apart the shock that flits across your face, the spate that washes you off your wit. It’s timidity. A stricken bashfulness you haven’t felt in a long while. Seafoam that froths and clogs the blood supplied to your lungs, draining all warmth to feed the stocks behind your cheeks. Your waterline stings, desiccated by the breeze that whistles in through the aperture left open – and out of everything that occurs to you, what manages to refine into clarity is the urge to high-tail and jump out of it as soon as possible.
Your fingers search for stability on his calf, clasping around its tense length as you clamber off him. Air syphons from you in rapid bursts – in, out, in – to sate a seemingly bottomless need for oxygen. He must be hogging it all, you reason, dismounting from his hips. Him – in all his grandeur, in all his broadness, stealing from you what precious left you can use to calm down. Everything he does feels purposeful in that way, curated with regards to both past and future, his contemplation on both. Like neglecting to mention that this was even a possibility, blindsiding you with the very thing you spend hours fantasising about.
It wouldn’t surprise you if he knew this whole time. If he had somehow read your guilty conscience as fluently as an open book, saw where your fingers gravitated to in your free time. The way he says it – filthy language dripping in promise, so unlike the clinical ways with which he’s approached this before – makes you suspect one of two things. Either he truly recognises what the prospect does to you, and is therefore employing it to petition for his release, or–
Or. He means it.
The rumble in his voice, charred and ready to snap into ashes, supports the latter. And try as you might, you can’t begin to understand it. His desire, if real, has come completely out of left field.
“Well?”
“I–” You swallow the rock lodged in your throat, patting your hips like a solution will materialise in your pockets if you pray hard enough. You can’t help but baulk at your poor planning. “I don’t have anything to undo you with.”
Miguel releases a sharp breath from his nose, tipping his chin back. You glance anywhere but at the skin stretching along the column of his throat, contoured by taut sinew.
“If you point me to the kitchen, I can get a knife?”
“No.” The dismissal comes perhaps a little too quick. He doesn’t seem to consider the possibility, and it does little for your hope. His proposition – fucking you silly – feels like it exists on condition of a time limit. Like the longer you put it off, the more opportunity he’s given to retcon his lapse of judgement. This lust born from adrenaline. You’re familiar, and therefore appreciate how short it can last. “Just let them dissolve.”
Ducking your head, you take the acquiesce to observe the artificial webbing that binds him. It sparkles under indirect moonlight, dull white and wet-like, resembling the morning dew that would bud on blades of grass. Thin slivers branch out from the main line to wrap about his more complicated curves. With a more competent solution, it would prove almost impossible to get out of. You reason that only then would you have remained proud of the handiwork.
“They will dissolve?” He stresses.
“Yea– yes! Give it fifteen minutes.” You squeak, shaking out of your stupor to see him eyeing you incredulously. “What?”
“You expect to get anything done when your webs last fifteen minutes?”
“Hey, it’s not like I’ll be regularly apprehending bad guys back home.” Offence batters you back to your regular snark, conversation swaying until it clicks back into a comfortable tone. “Besides, it’s a prototype.” You shrug, turning on your heel to wander the room you lept into. It’s a clumsy segway away from the point, awkwardness rolling off your tongue in ugly chunks. “So… this is your place huh.”
He doesn’t fall for it. “Tell me how you got in.”
“It’s nice. Big. Of course when you own the building, the penthouse is kinda yours by default.” There’s not much you can see in the dark, the colours and aesthetics of his interior remaining lost on you. But it’s hard to ignore how high the ceilings rise, or the wide sweep of his tiled floors.
“Did you phase through the door?” He attempts to reel you in.
You dodge the line. “Wish you told me you were rich though. I could’ve really milked those rewards. A dog for ten push ups. A motorcycle for a hundred.”
“I wouldn’t get you a motorcycle if you stitched the multiverse back together yourself.” It’s amusing that, out of all baits, he should bite on the most ludicrous. You throw a small smile over your shoulder, forgetting yourself for a minute.
“So a dog’s still on the table?” Yet the sight of him fettered, immobilised on the ground, forces you to face your circumstance once more. His words, those parasitic words that’ve been gnawing on the supple tissue of your brain, worm their way back to the forefront. Bold little thing. Fuck. If he knew. If you recounted for him the events of the past half-day, how you’ve been following him since lunch – would he be more or less inclined to spread you out underneath him? “I jumped through the window.” You add, tentatively, toeing unsteady grounds.
His jaw flutters, tensing, though he doesn’t give much else. You traipse over to said window, winding the casement shut with the crank at its edge. It seals smoothly, expunging the ambient street noise until the room buzzes in its own, overwhelming silence. Given the sudden contrast, you puzzle about how he forgot to close it in the first place.
“You really ought to worry about security.” You continue your blind tour of his home, skimming the wall that guides your path. It’s harder to change the subject now that it’s been spoken out loud, your confession filling the gaps left by the outside tumult. Car horns and traffic, construction and wind – all substituted with a tension that drips like a leaky faucet, adding to a pool bound to drown you.
“How’d you do it?” He asks, hoarse and hedging a more dangerous accentuation.
“Dunno.” You trace the doorway he’d come out of, letting the coated stone frame cool the pads of your fingers. “What’s in here?”
When he doesn’t answer, you take a peek. Based on the rough shapes you make out, it could be an office. Had he been working before you arrived? It’s so late you can scarcely imagine it, especially after the already packed day you observed him to have.
The thought is suffocating enough that you back away, rounding the corner of the living room instead to find yourself in a galley kitchen.
“Fancy!” You shout, echo bouncing around the cavernous space. Counters and other facilities line either side of the spacious hall, one side breaking off into an L-shape by an attached island, which functions to divide the kitchen from the dining room at its end. Floor-to-ceiling terrace doors take up the wall directly opposite you, backing the table with views of the Hudson river. It’s gorgeous enough that you think about revisiting during the day – when the sky pulses cerulean blue and the sun butters the sight with warmth, painting a picture you’ve only read about in architectural digest or seen in film.
One where the title sequence jumps to upbeat music, dancing credits cutting onto screen. The genre that calls for a place like this is doubtfully a sombre one. Perhaps a musical, then, or a comedy. Something where you’re introduced as the main character while sitting out on the balcony, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. You’re stressed about work, or the date that hasn’t texted back, but none of your issues will summit at death. Not when your next meal is always guaranteed, or a shower whenever you’re down. When this is home; not just the house, but the world itself. Clean and functional and packed with life. Slated in shades of green, of life – so different from the red and grey hues of antimatter fallout. How grateful you’d be.
But then you remember where you are, why you’re here. The reality spurs you to move again, stumbling stupidly out of the kitchen to where Miguel is likely fuming at your unwelcome exploration.
(On your way back, though, you take notice of an abandoned object by the fridge. It’s rubber, oddly moulded. Bright pink in a similar shade to Lyla’s glasses. Condensation beads and drips upon its surface, the insides certainly filled with ice, and it takes you a short bout of confusion to realise that it’s a teething toy.
When you imagined Miguel as a father, it was to a child burgeoning school-age. Now, your imagery morphs to accommodate this new information. A baby girl, no more than seven months old. One who might live with her mother given his busy schedule, but visits constantly because he would make the time for her. That is, if the toy is any indication.
You can take comfort in the fact that, if not you, someone else leads that imagined life. Someone more deserving.)
“You hanging on in there?” You call out, checking up on the man whose presence you’d temporarily forgotten. He doesn’t respond. It isn’t as worrying a development until you re-enter the living room and notice it looks bigger, emptier now. A nest of snapped webs cushion where he once lay. “Hello?”
That’s what you get for taking your eye off him. It certainly hasn’t felt like fifteen minutes – maybe ten, at best – but he’s escaped irregardless, shedding the disadvantage as you remained entirely oblivious. Trepidation blossoms like a mushroom cloud in your gut, billowing smoke and the migraine-inducing smell of petrol. He can be anywhere. Judging you from a secret alcove or on his way out, already regretting the salacity he’d resorted to. Each possibility is a shot to your flesh. You hadn’t realised how much you’d been counting on it; to be pinned down the instant he breaks free, fucked until you forget your name. And now, that’s been flipped on its head when he’s…
He’s–
Where the fuck is he?
Trailing the perimeter of the room with cautious scrutiny, you watch the ceilings, the pockets between couches in which he might be hiding. He isn’t in his office when you check, nor had he snuck up behind you into the kitchen. There are a few more doors – a laundry room, a toilet – that remain steadfast and shut. He isn’t in any, though you sense his presence as you always do. This universal force of attraction that draws you in, bound to his centre of gravity, negligent of all things physical. You track it – the direction in which your arm hairs spike, spider-sense tickling – until you reach the bottom of a spiral staircase.
“If I hadn’t made it clear before, you’re a dick!” You hope he internalises it too. The second floor to his penthouse was the first thing you’d noticed on your self-guided tour, yet ascending it felt like trespassing beyond the degree you already have. Based on the amenities you’d counted, there’s only one left that could be stationed up there. His bedroom. A space that is wholly, privately his.
And while you don’t know where you stand on Miguel’s hierarchy of interpersonal relationships, something tells you it’s not at that level.
(Then again, you’ve experienced him in deeper ways. More intimate. And now–
He’s gonna fuck you. That’s what he said, at least. And of course you have half a mind to take it with a grain of salt. Though the credulous part of you poses – a little recklessly – what the harm could be in indulging him.
In indulging yourself.)
“O’Hara.” You warn, tension gnarling in your chest. There’s only one way this’ll end for you. Anticipation makes it pretty clear. So, perhaps you bark his name rough and short for decorum’s sake. To prelude your concurrence, the foot you slot up on the first step. Then, the second – marching gradually upwards, clasping the railing all the while. It’s frigid and bites your goose bumped skin, licking up the heated flesh.
Eventually, the loft sinks below your eye line. Forehead looming slightly over the landing, you try to piece together his whereabouts. It’s no easy feat – his bedroom is trapped in the same tenebrosity as the rest of his place. You have to strain to separate hazy forms; lamps from his towering frame, a dresser and not his crouched self. Through increasing efforts, you find yourself standing in the midst of it all, the trench-parallel staircase long since abandoned for a more preferable angle.
Despite it, you can’t locate him.
Hope wheezes, deflates, shrinks until it inhabits only the pinched area between your ribs. Whatever – you whisper to yourself. It doesn’t matter, even if the gaping hole it leaves behind pulses, devastating to everything on its horizon line. He probably had something to attend to, a commitment more important than this game of yours. You won, anyway. You hadn’t been promised anything but your own satisfaction, and while that’s been long diminished, swapped with notions of his body pressed against yours, you still won. Pinned him down in a plan entirely of your own creation, counter to all odds, when all you’d been given was a corrupt method and told to make do.
That should be enough.
(A lie you have to tell yourself to dissuade from the disappointment of his lacking praise. The need itches violently within you, marring your insides with crimson dissatisfaction. It’ll be your ruin, you think)
“Have it your way.” You say. It’s a last proffer of your will, extended to ears that might not even be listening. You wait a beat, riding the anticlimactic wave, before giving up and heading towards the staircase again.
Until hands pluck your waist.
They’re big, enveloping, heavy clutch seizing the sides of your abdomen. The fabric of your shirt glues to your skin where they radiate steady warmth, and your heart chokes with how high it soars, skyrocketing to pump thundering bursts of blood. The sequence of events that follows is tumultuous, a rapid execution away from the expected, of which you have a hard time understanding yourself. You try to break it down – have to, actually, to abate the erratic flutter of your chest when all of a sudden, you find yourself shoved on a plush surface. Wrists pinned behind your back, face half-smooshed down.
In short, this is how it goes–
You’d been unobservant. Too quick after his absenteeism, your guard had lowered enough that your spider-sense had dimmed with it.
It allowed him to grab you. That much was clear the instant you felt it. Grabbed and hauled you to his bed, across which you’re currently bent. Your terrified shriek still rings in the gagged lull that follows.
So now, it’s his crotch pressing flush to your rear, closely mimicking the position you’d found yourself in that morning in his office. Relentless hold, tungsten wrought around your limbs. Hips curved over the edge, toes barely reaching the ground as the mattress bolsters you upwards. This time, though, he fits his chest to your back so he’s folded above you, mouth caressing the shell of your ear. Your temples bloat with pressure and your tongue wrings dry. On the opposite end, your panties slip over the wettening slit between your thighs. It’s erotic, delicious in the manner that makes it hard to focus on anything else.
Hot air wades through the piqued hairs on your neck when he speaks again. You jerk away from it, face shrilling like a kettle kept over flame. It’s almost impossible to shift under the heavy moor of his body on yours
“That’s how you sneak up on someone.” He whispers, nudging the locks that fall between you away with his nose. The attention is too much too fast, flaying you alive until your innards and secret mortification spill, exposed to the elements. “It’s not so good, is it? Being ignored.”
All you can do is whimper, lower half wriggling for a friction that could abate the ache waxing in your core. It drums to the rhythm of his breaths, expectantly tensing everytime his chest swells. The act is desperate, much like the worm that still cleaves your brain apart. Rumbling promises, blasphemy, about leaps of faith into your mentor’s apartment. Or revelations like being fucked silly.
His voice takes on the same quality when he presses for a reply, canting forward to eject the burden from your lungs. The hard line of his erection stamps onto your ass, roughly illustrating an example for what’s to come. “Hm?”
“N-No.” You stammer, nails grazing the calloused layer on the heel of his hand. His grip readjusts around your crossed arms, momentarily affected by the gentle brush.
“No.” And if you’d been a stranger to the nuances of his expression, you would have assumed he’s unaffected. But you’ve honed an ability to read between the complexities of Miguel O’Hara. (Majorly for self-preservation, however it’s proving useful now.) The mock is hummed in a husky, dulcet note, whipped somewhere in the back of his throat that turns the simple reiteration into a taunt. He’s teasing you.
Fuck, why is that hot? You have to be a special grade of messed up to find his derision sexy.
(You’re convinced anything could be in this moment, though. Reality warped through rose-coloured glasses; except it’s your own, debauched lens.)
“Here’s how this is going to go. Are you listening?” Words gather on your tongue like clods of parched soil, too weak to build or nurture anything. They fall, crumbling in great flakes, until you have to recourse to nodding wildly, face stuffed into his sheets. They smell like him. Softer, sure, but woven with the same cedar-spiked musk, patchouli in diluted volumes. Your pupils roll to the back of your head – and even if you could reign your senses, you can’t stop your bottom from bucking for release at the aphrodisiacal scent. He continues. “You’re going to answer every one of my questions. I want total honesty. That means don’t sell yourself short.”
The squirming must bother him. His free hand dips to your back, smoothing along its subtle arch. He applies just the correct amount of pressure to tame the feral movement of your hips.
It lingers afterwards, warning you to hasten your reaction time. You can’t manage anything other than:
“Ok–Okay…”
But he takes to it.
“Good.”
Shit. It almost feels fucking purposeful. He has to taste the potent head of your desire, the shameful state curling in your marrow. It sucks the soft tissue and imbues the calcium with diffidence instead, until all that’s left is a dependency on approval. Admiration. And he has to recognise it, because how else does he strike exactly what you search for? Good. Gruff and terse but still directed at something you’ve done that’s pleased him. Good. Planting a spot of heaven in your mind, forcing you to spend forevermore chasing a similar rapture. Your consequential whine is high-pitched and needy, muffled on the canyons of his wrinkled duvet.
His palm treks lower, kneading the plump of your ass. It threatens to permanently configure to the valleys of his fingers, the hard press pad of his thumb.
“How did you get in?” He tests. You give him the same explanation you did last, albeit broken with hoarse yearning.
“T-the wind… window.” You cock your head to the side to be better heard, but find yourself face-to-face with him. The sudden eye contact burns a straight hole through you, snapping your skull into a million little fragments. You flinch, synapses firing at you to turn away, scalded as if you’d touched a piping stove. But Miguel catches on faster than you, left hand unwinding from your arms to instead hold your head down in place. Everything is automatic. Instinctual. The both of you resort to whatever path brings the most pleasure. For him, that must mean maintaining mutual gaze. You certainly feel him, harder now, rubbing on the back of your thigh.
And you–
The second you’re released, you shoot to grab his right wrist behind you, rummaging for purchase against the determined path of his fingers. Lower, they skim the cliff where your cheeks meet. You think, if it wasn’t for your leggings keeping them together, he would’ve spread open like a packaged feast already.
But he stops. Doesn’t work to shuck off your pants, or to rip them off entirely (of which you’d be willing, maybe overly enthusiastic about.) He just…
Stops. Then, sweeps the wisps away from your hairline so your face is fully unsheathed to his scrutiny. His handle is familiar in a way that’s crept up on you – successively learnt, like resilience or courage, over the course of your tutelage. You’ve come to anticipate the dry scrape of his palm, the overwhelming warmth of it. Even so, you shiver against him, biting your lip when he asks again.
Stricter this time. “How?”
A small part of you understands what he’s digging for. The complete picture, colours mixed and painted exactly how it’d happened. Yet a haar of delirium creeps up around your memory, obscuring details you’ve no mercy to exclude. And if you could wrap your mouth around them, you wouldn’t be able to choke it out with how close he veers. His nose brushes yours and his lips fold in that tantalising way they do when he’s pushing patience. A little closer and you’d be kissing him.
You don’t, of course. Instead:
“You left it– ah!” His caress picks up again, gliding over to your inner thighs. “Open… You left it open a-and I vaulted over. F-from the hall outside.”
“And how’d you know to find me here?” He probes, tapping the firm plate of your crotch, teasing a descent to where you need him most. Encouragement, you realise. He’s rewarding your compliance in the medium that’s proved successful in the past.
That’s why, when you finally register his request, you blanch.
“I–” The truth flutters on your tongue like a cornered bug, frantically evading every attempt to pin it down for dissection. You’re reminded of the rather extreme lengths you went to to execute your plan, and its aftertaste is foul. You do the only thing you have the strength for, then. Dodge his severe stare and lie. “I guessed.”
No sooner after it exits your mouth does he call you out on it. In a cruel play on irony, he finally reaches your cunt, swirling over the clothed centre. For a blissful, naive moment, you actually believe he buys it. He can’t read your mind, after all, and your eye-contact avoidance can be misconstrued as bashfulness. It seems so when he touches you in the way you’ve been praying for, delicately tracing up and down. All’s well and good. Yeah–
And then he pinches you through the fabric.
Pinches. Gathers your puffy lips between forefinger and thumb, made simple by the thin material, and nips them together until your clit is sandwiched in the smarting hold. Your jaw unhinges for what’s either a silent moan or scream. It’s hard to infer, your body oscillating between various conditions under his command. What feels like a bruise – dull, a gradual onrush of heat that laps at your limbs like water on a sun-drenched shore – melts on your nerves. It blooms and wears down to the colour of ripe plums, deliciously tender in the way all contusions are. Press on the pain enough and you get used to it, start salivating at the thought of doing it again.
(Penance, you muse, then shake it off. This delight is no holy thing. Nothing can fool you to think you’re doing it for a greater reason than yourself.)
Your skin prickles – glitches, more like, body flickering back and forth from materiality in different sections. Its consecutive order is the only factor preventing you from falling through the bed.
Then, when Miguel eventually lets go, you find yourself wishing he’d do it again. Do more. Spank you until you relive the memory every time you sit. Come loose, like when he’d grabbed your face and fucked it within an inch of asphyxiation. You couldn’t speak for the day afterward, and for some reason, it’d please you to carry a similar mark now.
He pulls you from your thoughts by directing your gape to his, locking you onto those carmine irises once more. Vaguely, lined up at the back of your concerns, there’s the throb of your scalp as he uses your hair to steer you around. Tears smudge the bottom of your vision, blurring his already shadowed expression.
“Try again.” He mutters. A thickness accompanies it; molasses poured onto an open bonfire, popping as it hardens. You have no choice but to listen, intoxicated by his perpetual presence. It properly hits you, perhaps all too late, that this is his room. You’re being defiled on his bed, on sheets he wraps himself with every night. And they smell like him, but soon enough, they’ll smell like you too. The very concept – that you might have as much of an impact on him as he does you – could make even the strongest of spider-heroes keel.
“I followed you.” You groan, blinking through the milky glaze that spools over your lashes and douses the world in a layer of euphoria. Though he keeps your gaze on his, you’re unfocused. Delirious. “Since lunch, I’ve… I’ve been f-following you. To catch you at th– what I supposed would-d be the perfect time.”
“Why?”
You expect he knows why, has known why. That he surmised all the answers himself the moment you pinned him down to gloat your victory, and that this whole thing is just an elaborate ploy to squander your ego.
“I w–” You hiccup over the word, unable to voice it. It strikes a primal fear in you, subconsciously altered by the several instances where it went wrong. Want. Though he mouths it, hovering right over you. Want. Guides you into the house haunted by the enormity of your desire. You purse your lips around the letters; the round start and harsh end, teeth clicking before you ever make a proper sound. He circles where your pussy dampens the layers separating you, chest bearing down on your shoulder blades, forcing you to surrender your panting to his more consistent pattern.
And, as you breathe in tandem, air ultimately supplies power to the verb.
(Or, he does.)
“I wan–wanted to win.” You relent, echoing the confession when he flattens two fingers over your clit, winding it in firm circles. “I wanted to win.” Then again, over and over, coherency petering out until you’re left blabbering in splintered heaves. “I… wanind. W–” Miguel works you through it, contrasting the catharsis with a sort of gentle pleasure. Not enough to make you cum, not yet. Just peeling back petals to expose a bud in early development. Making you aware of it, of yourself.
“There we go.” Beyond the hazy realm of your current cognizance, you hear clicks coming from where his fingers rub you. You’re wet enough now that it’s soaked through your panties and leggings alike, and that’s him having barely done anything. He notices it too – or otherwise enjoys the way your clutch tenses around his wrist, humiliated – because his thumb soon wedges itself into the divet between your folds, teasing your hole. “And what do you want now?”
Why ask? Your body has been begging for it, striking fervent flashes of light, rolling between his arms as you disperse all your energy into convulsing flesh. What do you want? Everything. Everything he has to offer you – more praise, more nicknames born of success and not strife. For him to rip a hole at your crotch and slip his cock in until you’re stretched over it. A ripple of universes, each plea and possibility greater than the last. Seaweed lashes around your ankles and you find yourself tripping into the wave, skull inundating with so much seawater that all you can yell out is: “More!”
Miguel’s thumb creeps away, objecting to your answer. Too simple. Not the type he was looking for. You whine, nails digging into skin to keep his hand where it is, and drive forth.
“This! More of- of…”
His fingers follow soon after. It’s a noiseless deterrent, but an effective one nonetheless. If you didn’t catch the hint, he throws the gruff addition. “No.”
“Shit. Shit, I jus’… W-want more– Please please…” Drivelling until you can find the magic plea that’ll get him to yield. It ends up finding you; thrashing up your gut, possessing every muscle to bid a madcap decree. You squeeze your eyes shut and twist away from his face, screaming into the sheets until you can’t stall any longer. “Want you! Miguel, please! Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck…”
It doesn’t hit you when he orders you to bring your knees up and arch your back for him. Or as you crawl to the centre of the bed, thrusting your haunches up to present your ass. Not when you extend your arms in front of your bowed head, and he peels your shirt off to your wrists, twisting it so both are forced together, keeping you bound and in one position. You’re too lost in the woes of titillation – manna sliding down your gullet – to process what you said. Food to feed a thousand. Forever sustained. Godsent. The evidence of it smeared over your chin in drool, over the swollen mound of your sex as he pares off your pants. There’s no space for it as cool air hits you, or when he grabs either ass cheek and pulls them apart to inspect your readiness. No space for anything apart from the thrill blistering down your spine.
So–
No. It doesn’t hit you (for all that it should) that this is the first time you say his name out loud. Not when it feels so right. A perfect seal, trim to the edges of this molten encounter.
(Much, much later though, you’ll wake up in a cold sweat with it still flaming on your tongue. Miguel. Miguel. And when you sober up, turn the memory over in your mind, you’ll clasp your chest while it flops rebelliously, betraying the fact that – despite your mortification – you’ll want to say it again.
And again. And again.)
Given the makeshift handcuffs, there’s not much you can do besides knot your knuckles into his sheets, clinging on against heavenly ascension. There’s a shuffle, the sound of fabric rustling as his one hand remains on your rear, kneading the tacky softness of it as if to say hold on. You moan in spite of it, wiggling your hips impatiently. You’ve waited enough. Evidence to your arousal coats your inner thighs, dribbling from your clenching hole and carving a line down the already damp-with-sweat skin. He, better than even you, should be able to see that.
A hazy picture refines in your mind’s eye in the meanwhile. This scene, reimagined through his perspective. It’s tinged with the liberties of your own ignorance – the extent of your vision ending where your forehead nuzzles into his comforter – but succeeds in that it builds itself off barebone facts. Where night still rages on, dousing everything in parallel values. Navy, black, grey – broken up only by the lurid blue light that would highlight your edges, streaming from the sloped windows on your right. It’d offer a vague suggestion of your form; curves folded in a pose resembling a cat’s stretch, rounding where your glutes plummet to anchored knees. They spread obscenely wide, affording him your unobstructed cunt.
“M- Mmf, pmfeeease. J-jutht… just fuck me already, you b-bastard. Need it so bad.” You wail. The scent of patchouli that had swamped his bed has since been watered down by brine – tears and saliva that mottle your face, glossing it with a sort of wetness that has you sniffing, heaving through the suffocating layer. You’re thankful he stays crouched behind you. If he has to witness your desperation, then let it retain a modicum of attractiveness, in contrast to the pathetic display up front.
“Need it?” He taunts, tapping his cock on your clit. It’s done lightly, the heft of it controlled in his grip. Nevermind, you lapse. You wish you were laying on your back instead, neck propped on a pillow as you crane to watch the gorgeous thing sway between his legs. You haven’t seen it since you’d sucked him off. It’s always been about you; your pleasure, your satisfaction – not that you haven’t tried to return the favour. Several occasions had you reaching for the bulge in his pants, glowing in a post-orgasm high, only to get swatted away to continue whatever the two of you were working on that day.
“Shhh-Shut up! Oh my God, I–” Your temper wanes, a crack splitting its centre, threatening to expand with every hit he aims at it. His length glides between your folds now, absorbing the searing heat like he has any reason to stall further. If you’d been closer to your inhibitions, you’d think he’s hesitant to do it with you – but lust isn’t always an inebriating force. You’re honed in on other matters; the leaden heaviness he grinds on you, fully stiff and about to burst. The way it slips, up and down and back up again, veins catching on every crevice. It’s plenty of indication that he’s as far gone. “Keep t-t-teasing and I’ll… I’ll le-eave.”
“Mhm.” He huffs, but tugs on one side of your ass to pry it further apart. You don’t understand why until he repositions his tip to catch onto the brim of your hole. “I don’t think you will.”
And then he bottoms out.
In one, swift move. Wholly plunges in, groyne slamming your behind with a force that strikes the air straight from your throat. Your jaw falls open, meant for a scream that becomes a wheeze instead, energy diverting to better serve the effort of taking him in. You were under no illusion to his size, his cock searing bright in your memory. Long, thrumming, thicker than what you can wrap your hand around. But it’s almost like he’s gotten larger, somehow – nourished by your walls that squelch and suck him in deeper. The skin around your opening aches like a taut elastic, stinging with the stretch, and in a completely contradictory condition, you wish he should’ve gone slower. Allowed you the time to adapt.
As though he senses your affliction, he returns to your clit, easing things by flicking the swollen bud while he steadily draws back out. Your pussy sheathes every ridge, every vein that adorns his ample muscle, rippling until just his head plugs you shut.
“Solid?” He checks. And it’s so unlike the croons he’s used thus far, so much more like him, that it polishes you up to a clearer state. Sniffing, you count the sensations battering you from all angles. The tension headache. The pressure at your core. The undefinable pleasure buzzing from where his cock continues to stuff you.
It’s better than you could’ve imagined. Intense, yes, but in varying multitudes. None of your begging had taken that into account. You’re no virgin, yet all the people you’d slept with before had been strangers. Back then, it had seemed absurd that things could feel any different when sex sprouted from rich history. (Pleasure is pleasure.) Or more satisfying when, at each thrust, you’re preoccupied with the person behind them and not your own, selfish desires. (Because what could matter more than your next fix?)
It startles you that Miguel is the first non-stranger you’ll get to know in that way. In different ways. With every wave of pleasure, he proves your previous experiences wrong. Cups the foundations of your worldview and slips them over one another; breaks the ground and crust in magnitudes. Rolls an electric ruin on the valley of your legs.
Though, you suppose, that’s always been his role.
(Non-stranger because there isn’t any other word for what you mean to each other. Not friends. Nor lovers. Dancing the wary line between all plights, concurrently. Foolishly. One trip and you’ll find yourself barrelling down onto a term you’re not ready for.
But for now–)
For now.
You shake the tangent off and harrow out a playfulness that got lost in the mix. It flips and curls like a ribbon, bouncing around in your gut, generating the courage necessary for you to push your hips back on him. As you do, you note that it’s just as much of an adjustment the second time. Swifter, smoother now that he’s lubed with your natural slick, but he bulges thicker midway, and it takes force to push past that on your own. Once you manage though, your eager cunt engulfs the rest with ease, seating you on the base. You make sure he has no room to pull out, wiggling onto his crotch until he’s nestled right against your cervix.
Dragging your arms back until you’re situated on your elbows, your neck twists to the side, a wry smile winding across your cheeks. His eyes are closed, fluttering, grappling with your tight clutch. You speak anyway. “You plan on warming your dick forever? Or are you gonna fu–ungh.”
He’s quick. You’re barely able to perceive the furrowing of his brows before he dives to wrap his arms around your midriff. Chest slotting neatly onto your back, hand grinding onto your lower belly, feeling for where his cock dents as he snaps his pelvis back and thrusts into you. Or– doesn’t thrust so much as he manhandles, slamming you back and forth onto the ample breadth. Brutally done, rough in all the right ways. It spurs him, you realise. This back and forth. Snatching the power from him like a bone from a dog, throwing it out for him to fetch. It makes it all the more rewarding, perhaps, when you bend and break and become the dog yourself, snarling under his heavy pet. He’d take greater satisfaction that way, boiling you down to a keening mess.
Which he does, in record time. Nose mashing onto your shoulder blade and fangs extended to skim the flesh there. He kneads your clit and targets a very specific part of you – that patch of spongy tissue on the flipside of your mound – pounding until it memorises the mushroomed shape of his tip. It should hurt. The sounds spilling from you are those of a wounded animal, snivelling like every inhale is your last. The expanse where your bodies meet should rub abrasively, but you’re both sweaty enough that it’s a frictionless process. And you’re both sweaty – both, because he’s affected by this too. Up from his pelvis, to his palms, to his pecs. Bare pecs.
He’s shirtless.
You don’t know how you missed it. Like a shot of espresso as warm as the naked muscle that cradles you; he’s shirtless. Your moans escalate, cranking to a higher octave. They fluctuate, thumping in your lungs to the sharp beat of his pumps. There was no reason for him to strip. Your shirt was used to keep your wrists fastened, and your bra still cups each breast. Your nudity is a given, as it’s always been, but there could be no purpose behind his. Not if what you assumed is true, about power play and how it turns him on. If anything, this only knocks him down to an equal peg. You’re on level ground.
Not that you’re complaining, of course. As it stands, you can feel every part of him. His body is a furnace, rolling coals onto your own, enveloping you all around. Forearm barring your tits, pure brawn keeping you from peeling your frame off his. Abs grate across your back, happy trail chafing the small of it, the vale running along the centre. He noses your shoulder, doesn’t kiss. Just runs his chin and teeth along the curve of it, groaning inaudible phrases in both English and Spanish, of which you strain to pick up on. You want to hear it. To be closer, to be privy to what he has to say about you. About this. To crack open his mind and pick his complicated psyche for the tasting.
And–
And maybe he wants that, too. Maybe he took his top off to feel closer in the most material sense. You won’t fool yourself into thinking he holds similar admiration, but your body has gained definition in the past weeks. Physically, you’re more spider-hero than you’ve ever been. It wouldn’t surprise you if that’s what’s got him going. The fruits of his labour. Your progress. With the way he takes in your form, all the questions, his demeanour cleans up to seem vaguely… proud.
Proud.
Is that it? Did he ask you to recount your achievements because he’s pleased with you? Don’t sell yourself short. That’s what he said when forwarding his interrogation. It would make sense – for all that it settles at the forefront of your brain, refusing to dissolve.
But God, you think, it doesn’t even need to be true. The mere notion lights your nerves until they whistle like soaring fireworks. You watch as pyrotechnics burst behind your eyes, lashes drooping with tears, jaw strained as you clench your teeth. Miguel fucks in short, hard pegs, forgoing pulling out all the way to instead beat your g-spot in rapid succession. His breath bursts hot and heavy, lips – those perfect, full lips – pressed to the shell of your ear. He’s stroking your sore clit with three fingers now.
“Ay, mierda. Shit.” He curses. “I-Is this it, huh? Is this what… all I had to do to shut you up, you needy little thing? A good fucking. Just a little attention and you-you’re happy.”
“Nnnngh. M-Mi… Puh-ple–”
“No. I want to hear it.” He squishes your cheeks together, squeezing with one large hand. When you try to speak again, your words come out slurred. “Use your words.” The grip guides your head back until you can catch his gaze in your peripheral. He’s already looking at you.
“G-Gon…”
“Hm.”
“C-cuuuu… mmuh uh uh–”
“All together now.” He picks up pace, practically battering your insides. It’s enough to threaten your enhanced healing, bruising your walls at a quicker rate than it can work. You’ll hurt in the morning, you’re sure.
(At least, you hope you do.)
“Gon’ugh cum. Gonna– Mig… Please.”
Your spine goes rigid. Blood rushes to your head.
“Do it, then. Go on. Fuck.” His middle and forefinger push past your mouth, hooking behind your teeth to hold it open. “Cum. Cum on my cock, p-pretty.”
The world burns white-hot and bright. You can’t see, can hardly feel him anymore. Just that word, branded onto your skull where it’ll stay forevermore. Pretty. He thinks you’re pretty; or is otherwise too wrapped up in the moment to dispute the intrusive conviction. It should be concerning that you don’t care either way. That, in any reality, it still bestrews a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your gut. Your insides flutter with them, frantic and galvanised at the deluge of dopamine, flooding through every synapse until everything, everything, becomes about the high.
Your orgasm finds you a ragdoll in his arms. Bones liquid, riding the wave that continues to scroll over. He doesn’t stop jackhammering into your spent pussy, still seeking his and draining you of all the evidence of your devastation in the process. You’ve no doubt soaked his lap. That’s if the noises are any indication, downright sloppy from where you’re attached. Schlicks and slaps and low grunts that tell you he’s close.
Before that happens, though, you’re flipped over on your back. He holds your legs together and pushes them high so your ankles sway mid-air. You’re tighter like this – something even you can feel when he re-enters you, cock cleaving you apart. Another, weaker orgasm pulses in your core. You’ve no energy to voice it, let alone moan. It’s all you can do to take him in. The striking sight he’s allowed you access to.
Not as bronzed in this lighting, but fit just the same. Grainy shadows stretch around the canyons formed by sinew, delineating the anatomy of his torso as though it senses your ogling. He’s huge. Bigger, brawnier when not constricted in a tight top. With arms that curve and cut perfectly into his broad chest, bridged by shoulders that seem to have a life of their own. They provide a golden ratio to the trim angle of his waist, partially hidden behind your thighs.
A curl falls over his forehead. It’s heavy with sweat. His palm crushes into your flesh.
“Inside.” You croak, exercising the title that started this all. Bold.
“No me haga eso.” He shakes his head, pinching his eyes shut. “I–”
“Y-You sca…scared?”
“Fuck– Fuck!”
It’s misleading. You’d think – with how his voice breaks, winded and tight – that he’s about to accede. Burst and pipe you full of his seed. But he pulls out, dropping your legs to scramble on top of them. A trade off, you reason. It’s hard to rue with disappointment when his cock finally makes an appearance, fat and heavy in his hand. Your palate immediately salivates with the thought of sucking him clean after this is all over, putting your talents to good use. Maybe, if you do good, he’ll soften enough to call you pretty once more.
That’s getting ahead of yourself, though.
Miguel cups your neck, pinching either side to cut your oxygen supply. Your vision dots with stars – black holes and supernovas, dying suns blazing on your eyelids. It’s the combination of everything; the victory, the suffocation, the weight and magnitude of his presence. The sheets you lay on, the room you occupy, the heights you leapt across. They weave to create a shroud that slowly descends on your consciousness.
You don’t pass out, but you’re barely lucid when he spurts out onto your stomach. Dense, searing fluid coats your skin, pooling into your belly button and reaching the ravine between your breasts.
“I’m–” Voice hoarse, you cough to rid of its scratch. “You c-coulda done, y’know. I can’t… The spider radiation–”
“I know.” He says, then scoops some cum onto his finger. You automatically open your mouth when he reaches over to smear it on your tongue. “Good.”
It’s a peculiar scar, you dwell. Buttressed on his deltoid. Geometrically circular in a way vaccine marks aren’t, with marks like teeth equidistant around its circumference. Blinking heavily, you try to deduce its origins on his otherwise unmarred body, only to give up as you draw blanks, unable to think at all. Sleep looms, a heady fog lurching up your neck.
Miguel sits, picking apart the complicated knots of your shirt. It still circles your arms, looser with his effort thus far. When you flick your study over to his worn face, you find that his attention is centred onto your own blemish. Situated above your wrist – four discoloured punctures in the same size of his claws.
“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen the other guy.” You quip, smiling minutely. The man just shakes his head, pretending to reoccupy himself with his self-assigned task.
What do you say in this situation? When you can’t separate guilt from the fraught expression he dons. It’s not okay that it happened. It’s not fair that you have to bear that memory for the rest of your life. But… you don’t mind. Your self-respect is nonexistent and you don’t mind the fact that he’d resorted to whatever he could when desperate. You've done the same. Worse, even.
You’re about to speak up when a crackle on your left fills the silence for you. A radio he keeps on his bedside shelf, to connect him to all emergency personnel, blares a hurried alert.
“Possible superhuman event. Downtown city hall. Suspect is–”
He sighs, rising to a stand to shut it off. Your shirt slips off your limbs.
“It’s late.” You pose before you can stop yourself. The protest is instinctual – even you don’t know where you’re going with it – and no sooner does it leave your mouth do you cringe. It’s too big now to stuff back into your throat, spoken out loud and stupid. You’re free now, aren’t you? Unbound, literally. There’s no reason to stick around.
“So?” Miguel calls you out on it.
“You– um. Just, good luck.” Is all you come up with, curling into a foetus position to dissuade the embarrassment blooming behind your ribs. Now that his body isn’t on top of yours, his room seems that much colder.
“You’re right.” His briefs slide back up his legs, fitting snug around burly thighs and snapping low on his hips. “It’s late. You can sleep here tonight. I have to go deal with–” He gives a vague gesture to your left, referring to the dispatch call.
“Right.”
He offers nothing else, oscillating between attached rooms in the quiet that follows. A bathroom and closet, you assume; confirmed when he walks out in full spider garb. The sight of his suit knocks you back into place. The fact that it’s more familiar than the bare skin you were only just getting used to is a sobering enough fact.
And you watch as he moves to leave, shucking a window frame open to allow him access to Nueva York’s skyline. Perhaps it’s his back – turned to face you, at a guarded distance once more – that spurs you to ask. A distressed attempt for any tenderness he might have left.
(That wounded animal, raking for solace before death.)
“You opened it, didn’t you?” You ask, pitching the suspicion you’ve been ruminating over for a while.
He stops, turns his head to indicate he’s listening.
“You opened the window. You knew I’d been following.”
You wish the mask didn’t obstruct his reaction. What a small blink, or smile, could do to dissuade the charged pace of your heart. Eventually, though, he nods.
“Why?”
And there’s really one answer you’re hoping to hear. A comfort, along the lines of for you. But Miguel is funny in that way. Sometimes – as seen by the cum that glazes your abdomen, or the soreness between your legs – he gives you what you want. Readily. Seems to want the same thing too, if you’re lucky enough.
And then, there the other times.
“To see what you would do.”
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Adult Education Part 5 | Hangman x OC
Summary: Jessica knows she should just head home for the night, but Jake's sincerity keeps her at Chippy's. He tries to secure a second date and her still elusive phone number as he learns bit by bit just how sweet she can be.
Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing, eventually 18+
Length: 4500 words
Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC
This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist
Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32
There was a first time for everything. At least that's how the saying went. Jessica had never been stood up before. But it was the fact that she was completely blindsided by it that really got to her.
It was 7:34. Jake was more than thirty minutes late. He wasn't coming. She had been stringing him along for too long without giving him her phone number. Or maybe she really was just as dull as she thought she was. Regardless, she was going to have to stand up from her table and walk back past the bar and out the front door. Alone. She recognized two of her students sitting a few tables over, and she wanted to cry. Doing this pathetic walk of shame out of Chippy's would be enough to have her in tears on the drive home. She just knew it.
"Shit," she muttered to herself as she slid off of her stool so her heels clicked against the dirty floor. She adjusted her glasses with the backs of her fingers and then picked up the journals she brought with her along with her purse. Then she tried to keep her face neutral as she nodded at Chippy who looked extremely displeased behind the bar.
"Night, Reedy," he murmured as she walked past. She wished she could reach the big trash can from this side of the bar, because what sane woman keeps giving a hot man scientific journals all the time? She'd throw them away in the dumpster near where she parked. And then she would go home and reevaluate just how she managed to mess this whole thing up in the analytical way her mind wanted her to.
She skirted past her students and pushed the door open to the cool, evening air and the sounds of traffic. She managed to let out the breath she had been holding, but now the tears were right there, and she was hoping to get home before they spilled over.
"Jessica!"
She knew it was Jake. She knew his voice. She also knew she couldn't run to her car in high heels fast enough before he caught up with her. So she turned toward his voice and waited on the sidewalk as he rushed toward her.
He looked like a mess with grease stains on his jeans. His hair was disheveled, and he was all sweaty. "I'm sorry I'm late," he panted, out of breath with his hands on his hips and his head tipped back as he gasped for air.
She wasn't sure what to make of him like this. She didn't know if she even wanted to try. "I'm just going to head home," she replied softly, taking a step in the opposite direction. "It's already 7:40."
His eyes looked desperate when they met hers. "Fuck!" he grunted under his breath, broad chest rising and falling rapidly. "Stay? Please? Just let me get you one drink? And we can talk?" He was so handsome, she desperately wanted to cave and still spend the rest of the night drinking cheap beers and eating peanuts with him.
"Why are you late?" Jessica asked, adjusting her glasses. "I thought you were looking forward to Chippy's." She kind of shrugged like she was already expecting some stupid excuse, and then Jake brought his hand up to her cheek and brushed her hair back with his fingers.
"My truck was in the shop last week, and it appears to be having problems again. Once it stalled out and I couldn't get it started again, I just left it and ran here. Because I have absolutely been looking forward to Chippy's. And you look beautiful, by the way," he drawled softly, fingers tangled with her hair as his breathing evened out.
"Where did you leave your truck?" she asked, leaning slightly into his touch.
"By the Starbucks on Collier Avenue," he replied softly, green eyes fixed on hers.
Then Jessica gasped. "That's like five miles away!"
"Mmhmm," he hummed. "I should have just left it there as soon as it died, but I tried to mess with it first. That's why I'm so late. I'm sorry."
"Oh." She didn't know what else to say. He ran five miles to get here.
"Yeah. Oh," he said with an edge to his voice. "I emailed your university account, but I figured you don't check it after you're done working for the night. And I still don't have your phone number, or I would have called you immediately."
Jessica felt warmth in her cheeks as Jake closed the distance between them like he was going to kiss her. "If you give me another chance and your phone number, I'll buy a new car before our next date to guarantee I'm on time. Or I can just leave early enough to run the whole way."
She giggled softly. "You're funny, Jake."
He just shook his head and said, "I'm pretty serious right now, Reedy." Then his gaze dipped down to her lips, and Jessica could tell he wanted to kiss her. His fingertips were still gently tangled in some strands of her hair. His body was warm as he crowded her against the outside of the bar, and she was flattered that he ran to get to her.
"You must be thirsty after all that running," she whispered, tugging on the collar of his shirt.
He turned his head so his lips brushed along her knuckles, and she gasped as he said, "I'm thirsty for more than beer or water, Jess. But I'd still love to take you inside and get some drinks and some peanuts."
And then she found herself nodding and leading him toward the door.
----------------------------
The bartender was glaring at Jake as soon as he held the door open for Jessica, and it just intensified when he let his hand rest on her lower back. "Reedy?" the other man called out, absolutely scowling as he let his fist rest on the bartop.
"It's okay, Chippy," she replied, glancing up at Jake as she walked toward the only empty table in the dive bar.
"The bartender is actually Chippy himself? The man, the legend?" Jake asked softly as he pulled out one of the stools for Jessica and watched her set her journals and cute little purse on the table.
When she slid onto the seat and crossed her legs, she said, "Yes. Don't mess with Chippy. That man was nice to me when nobody else was."
Jake studied her pretty face as she adjusted her glasses. "Who in their right mind wouldn't be sweet to you?"
She looked down at the journals and pushed them aside like she was suddenly embarrassed. "It's been known to happen."
"Shouldn't though," he replied, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Now let me go mend fences with your main squeeze. I want to be able to show my face in this fine establishment again in the future."
Jessica was smiling brightly at him as he turned toward the bar where Chippy was wiping the same spot with a rag over and over again. "Good evening," Jake said to the older man who still looked like he wanted to snap Jake in half. "Could I get two pints of whichever beer is Reedy's favorite?"
"Sam Adams," he grunted, tossing the rag aside. "And sometimes I get the Sam seasonal kegs for her. When I can."
Jake just nodded. Chippy was a big fan of Jessica's. He really needed to make sure this guy liked him, and he was pretty sure leaving another massive tip was not the answer. "Right. Two Sam Adams pints then, please."
Without another word, Chippy pulled two beers from the tap for Jake, setting them down a little hard in front of him before he scooped a bowl of peanuts.
"Thank you," Jake told him as the bowl of peanuts came thudding down next to the beers.
While Jake dug a ten dollar bill out of his wallet, Chippy grunted again. "She waited a long time for you to show up." His voice was accusatory.
Jake smoothed the bill between his thumb and index finger, stealing a glance at Jessica a few tables away. She was playing with her hair and reading something with a soft smile on her lips. He turned back toward the bar and met Chippy's eyes. "It won't happen again."
"No. It won't. Because next time I'll kick you out permanently," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you can even manage to get a next time, that is."
"That's certainly the goal," Jake informed him.
"Well, a lot of men look, that's for sure. And I think she's oblivious to most of 'em. But not you, for some reason," Chippy said, scowling once again. "Handsome and annoying," he muttered. "Be nice to her or I'll kick you out once and for all." Then he reached for the rag again, completely ignoring Jake.
"Right." Jake picked up both glasses in one hand and grabbed the pretzels, and he headed back to the table and Jessica.
"Did you have a nice conversation?" she asked with an amused expression as Jake slid one of the beers in her direction and sat on the stool opposite her.
He leaned on the table and whispered, "Not particularly. Pretty sure he'd happily kick me out given the opportunity. I had to swear on my life I'd never be late again."
She laughed behind her pint before taking a sip. "His bark is worse than his bite. Mostly. But actually, the head of the chemistry department has a lifetime ban, so maybe not."
"Damn," Jake murmured, taking a sip of his own beer. "Was he late meeting you two times in a row?"
Jessica looked down into her beer, swirling the glass gently, a solemn look on her face. "Something like that...let's just say the fact that Brian Conley isn't allowed in here is just one of the reasons this is my preferred hangout."
"Okay," Jake said softly, wondering if this Conley character had anything to do with the rumors Bradshaw's wife had been telling him about. Regardless, he was going to side with Chippy on this one. Conley could eat shit if Jessica didn't like him. "We hate Brian Conley," Jake told her as they both reached for the peanuts.
For some reason this got Jessica laughing again. "We do," she said as she picked up a few peanuts and held her hand open to him. Jake rubbed his thumb along her palm before selecting one and cracking into it. "Now, did Chippy tell you I like Sam Adams? Or did you guess from last time we were here?"
Jake tossed the shell on the floor and said, "You think I'd leave that up to chance? I one hundred percent asked him just to be sure. And now I know what kind of beer to buy if you agree to come to my place and let me cook dinner for you."
Jessica froze with her hand in the air, ready to throw her peanut shell. "You know how to cook?"
"Yeah," he replied with a smile. "I love it, actually. I usually meal prep on Sundays after I buy all my groceries for the week."
She was gaping at him. "There are two of you with the uniforms and the kitchen skills?"
Jake laughed, realizing she must have been referring to Bradshaw as well. "First of all, he's married. I'm single." She finally tossed her peanut shell and rolled her eyes.
"I finally made a friend at work," she said, cracking another shell and throwing this one at him. "You think I'm going to risk that by even looking at her husband for a second too long? No."
Jake tried to keep a straight face as he said, "Nobody's gonna get mad if you look at me all day long, Reedy."
"Tempting," she said before sipping her drink without meeting his eye.
"And," he added, running his fingers along her palm as she handed him more peanuts, "the kitchen isn't the only room where I have skills."
She met his eyes and adjusted her glasses with a smirk. "Care to tell me more about that, Lieutenant Seresin?"
He nodded and said, "I'm really good in the living room, too. You should see how well I can lay on the couch and watch University of Texas football."
She laughed and said, "I almost forgot for a second that you're from Texas."
"How did you know I'm from Texas? And, oh shit... did all those A&M boys already ruin my chances for me? I almost never wear my boots and hats around, I swear."
Jake grinned as she threw more peanut shells at him. "Stop!" she whispered as she laughed, and Jake loved the sound of it. "The only thing they ruined for me is Lone Star beer and line dancing."
Now he was laughing, because yeah, that made sense. "You're a Yankee, obviously. Don't tell the Texans I've been visiting you at work. They won't stand for it."
"Oh, sounds like Romeo and Juliet," she replied. "Except without the balconies, old English, and hermits giving out free drugs to children."
"Wait," he said, now the one who was laughing too hard. "My condo has a balcony."
"Shiiit," she whispered, eyes wide in feigned shock. "I was hoping this was a comedy, not a tragedy."
"Oh, it's definitely a comedy, Jessica. The audience is in riotous laughter over the fact that I still don't have your phone number."
This time she had to cover her mouth with one hand as she laughed. And when Jake glanced toward the bar, Chippy looked decidedly less aggressive now when he met his gaze.
"You Yankee girls must have a very particular vetting process. You from New York?"
"Massachusetts," she replied, still giggling. "I went to MIT undergrad."
"That explains the Sam Adams. Also, I'm never getting your phone number, am I?" he asked playfully, reaching across the small table and tucking her pretty hair behind her ear again while she laughed. "You've got me showing up to see you at work and running five miles for dates."
"Don't count yourself out quite yet," she said as he stroked her cheek.
"And you got me reading physics journals on my couch while the college games are on," he added softly. "You brought some more for me to take home?" he asked, dropping his hand and tapping the stack on the table next to her elbow.
But now she had a dreamy look in her eyes. "You really read them instead of watching the game?"
"Mmhmm." He nodded and said, "Picked one up at halftime and realized I missed the entire third quarter before I was done reading it."
Her lips were softly parted as she blinked at him. "Yeah. I brought you some more. But you have to promise you'll read them all cover to cover."
"I always do."
"Good. You won't be disappointed."
Jake laughed and looked down at the peanut shell in his hand before he tossed it over his shoulder just to make her smile. "I doubt you could ever disappoint me, Jessica."
God, the way she looked at him when he dished out something sweet could probably bring him to his knees. And the thing was, it was never a line. He wasn't throwing out bullshit to see if landed. He meant every word of it. Her eyes were unguarded as they always seemed to be with him now, and he couldn't believe he almost completely blew this evening with his fucking truck.
It was getting a little late now, and he needed to try to secure the next date while she was still looking at him with those dreamy eyes. He just didn't want her to think he had any certain set of expectations but suggesting his place.
"You know," he started, "my couch is big enough for both of us to watch some football and read some journals together. I could buy some Sam Adams, and we could make dinner together on Saturday night."
He watched her front teeth sink into her lip. She was hesitating. And it was killing him a little bit. "I think I can make that work," she said slowly, sliding the journals across the table as his heart pounded.
"Gonna need your phone number so I can text you my address," he whispered, reaching for her hand before she pulled it away. "Please?"
He drew a little heart on her palm with the tip of his index finger, and a smile bloomed across her face. "You'll find it, Jake. I know you will." And then she slowly closed her hand and stood, leaving him to pick up the journals. "But it's getting late, and Thursdays are early for me."
"Right." He followed her past the bar and watched her wave to Chippy who looked at her with a very kind smile before giving Jake a look of warning. And maybe he needed that warning, because he was looking at the gorgeous swell of her ass and enjoying the way she walked in high heels a little too much. So he nodded at Chippy, and kept his eyes on her wavy hair instead.
Once they were outside, Jessica dragged the toe of one of her shoe a few inches along the sidewalk as she leaned against the building. "Thanks for the three dollar beer," she said with a smile.
"You know, I'm pretty sure Chippy would give them to you for free if you were alone."
Her smile turned into another pretty laugh. "You're not wrong. Do you need a ride back to your truck?"
"Wouldn't mind one since I need to get it towed," he murmured, not quite ready to move from this spot where her face looked so perfect in the dim light. "But I'd be more than happy to run the five miles back."
And then her right hand reached up to tug on his shirt collar, and she didn't look so hesitant now as he eased himself closer, letting his hand rest on the wall next to her. "You have a peanut shell in your hair," she whispered, releasing his collar and brushing her fingers along his temple.
Jake swallowed hard. His lips were just a few inches from hers as he softly said, "That's probably because a beautiful woman was throwing them at me."
Her laugh was quiet and breathy, and then the space between their lips was negligible. And then she was kissing him with her small hand wrapped gently around his neck. Jessica was smiling against his lips, and he wasn't used to it being this sweet. He didn't kiss the girls from the bar like this, and they never teased his cheek with the tip of their nose or ran their thumb delicately behind his ear.
Oh, he was going to crave this now. Soft, exploratory kisses that tasted like beer and peanuts. And the sound of her soft moan as he let his hand trail from the wall near her shoulder down along her side to her waist. Yeah, this was going to become a necessity for Jake.
She brushed her lips along his again before looking up at him with surprised eyes as he held her a little tighter. And then six more little kisses while her hand trailed down his neck. "I was really afraid you stood me up earlier," she whispered, trailing some kisses along his chin.
"I wouldn't do that, Baby. You have any idea how much I wanted tonight to happen?" Jake had one hand full of physics journals and one hand full of Jessica, and he was already thinking about what he might cook for dinner on Saturday night.
With a soft laugh, she started to lead him down the sidewalk to her car. And he got to do even more things he never really did. Like open her car door instead of call her a cab at two in the morning. And lean over from the passenger seat and kiss her cheek gently as she started the engine.
"What's your day looking like tomorrow, Dr. Reed?" he asked, linking his fingers loosly with hers for the short drive to his truck.
"Department meeting, lectures, more lectures, a lab, and then my office hours."
Jake's mind was already working on a plan. "I have a long day ahead of me, too. There's my truck," he said, pointing to the piece of shit he was afraid he was going to have to replace.
Jessica pulled up next to it and put her car in park, but when she reached for the key, he covered her hand with his. "Just leave me here. I'll get it towed to the garage again and then get Bradshaw to drive me home from there. I want you to go right home. It's late and it's dark out."
Jake wrapped her hand around the steering wheel again as she said, "Okay." But the single word was muffled by his lips crashing against hers. He kissed her long and hard one time, and her glasses were a little crooked when he was done. He straightened them out before he reached for the door handle.
"I had a great time tonight. I'm sorry I almost ruined it by being late."
"You made up for it by running five miles," she whispered. "Night, Jake."
And then he was watching her pull back into traffic as he called for a tow truck, keeping his eyes on her brake lights until they were out of sight. Just for good measure he looked up some new trucks for sale as he sat behind his steering wheel, but that got boring after a few minutes. And then he thought about the way Jessica told him she was confident he would find her number.
He lunged for the journals sitting on the seat next to him, and he spread them out to read all the covers. His eyes caught on an edition of Applied Physics from late last year that said Jessica Reed, PhD. on the cover under an article title about combustion in jets.
"It's gotta be," he whispered as the tow truck arrived, and he frantically flipped to the page where her article had been printed. He would read the whole thing later. He wanted to read the whole thing later. But right now his eyes settled on a small, handwritten note. He recognized her writing from the mini lecture he'd accidentally attended, and a smile crept along his lips.
Jake,
If you made it this far, you can call or text me anytime.
Her number was written beneath it, and he was entering her as a contact in his phone when he got out to talk to the tow truck driver. He felt like he just won the lottery as he added the picture of her he had saved from the San Diego State University website as her contact photo.
Jessica, I'm sending you my address for Saturday. You and me, my couch, physics journals, college football and dinner? Please say yes.
It was getting very late now, and maybe she wouldn't respond until tomorrow, but Jake felt like he was on cloud nine. He just kept thinking about how sweet Jessica was. About how he wouldn't mind wrapping her up in his arms for some more soft kisses on his couch.
Once the driver was unloading his truck at the garage, Jake opened a different contact on his phone and made a quick call.
"It's 10:30, Hangman. This better be important."
"Bradshaw. I need a ride home from the garage. My truck is acting up again," Jake replied, trying not to smile at how annoyed Rooster sounded.
An exasperated sigh carried through the phone, and then Jake could hear his wife in the background asking, "Who is it?"
"It's Hangman. He needs a ride."
"Oh, well we can always finish this later, Beer Boy." His wife sounded less annoyed than him, thankfully.
After a brief pause, Bradshaw said, "Give me twenty minutes. I need to get dressed."
"Thanks. Much appreciated," Jake replied. He dropped his keys into the overnight box with a note telling the mechanic he was having the same issues as last week. And then he waited for that blue Bronco to pull into the lot, and when Jake climbed in, Bradshaw looked pissed as hell.
"Do you have any idea what my wife was about to do to me when you called?" he growled, shifting into reverse before Jake even had the door closed.
"Come on, man. Your wife's hot, but I don't want to be imagining what the two of you get up to."
"She was about to reprimand me for turning in sloppy math homework," he said, completely disregarding Jake. "And I'm virtually sure she will no longer be in the mood for that when I get back at 11:30. So you owe me. I don't even know what you owe me yet, but it's going to be big. Because I'm assuming you expect me to give you a ride to work in the morning, too."
Jake cleared his throat and said, "If you wouldn't mind."
"Fuck," Rooster growled as he pulled up to Jake's condo building. "I'll pick you up at 7:30. Get the fuck out."
"Thanks," Jake said, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. Jessica had just texted him back, and he was all smiles even as the Bronco peeled away. He was in.
------------------------
As Jessica undressed in her bedroom, she ran her fingers along her lace bra. She wondered what Jake's favorite color was, because she probably owned a pretty matching set that she would love to wear for him. She should have known this was going to happen; one kiss from him, and she was thinking about spending a lazy Sunday in bed with her fingers tangled in his hair.
"Stop," she told herself half heartedly with a dreamy smile in the mirror. She'd given him the journal with her number inside, and now she just had to wait. He'd probably find it by tomorrow. Maybe she would see him at her office hours again. Her whole body was tingling with excitement as she unclasped her bra, and then she heard the ping of her phone notifications.
She tossed her bra and bounded across the room in just her panties and saw a text from an unknown number.
Jessica, I'm sending you my address for Saturday. You and me, my couch, physics journals, college football and dinner? Please say yes.
She squealed as she flopped down onto her bed. He was good. It took him almost no time to find her phone number. She typed back a message as she thought about his big hands and his southern drawl. After she hit send, she closed her eyes and imagined everything she wanted to do to him in her office as she let her fingers glide along her body.
Don't forget the Sam Adams. See you on Saturday.
-----------------------------
Yes! You run those five miles, Jake! Anyone else just love Chippy? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
PART 6
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