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cake-writes · 4 months

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Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night.

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were away? Why does he want to do anything for you?

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication.

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.

What the hell is he doing?

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way.

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.”

Your birth control must be overdue, then.

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.

He should have known then that he was getting too attached.

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way.

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.

He could get you pregnant.

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.

Kakashi swears. Loudly.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.

He’s already too attached. Way too fucking attached.

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone.

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock to make the entry a little easier.

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

“Mm. Do you want me to?”

His question hangs heavy in the air.

The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.

You want to say no, he realises.

He wants you to say no.

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk.

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership.

His.

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do.

He agrees.

“Just this once.”

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there hasn't been a risk.

Your coy little smile is what prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth.

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go.

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat.

He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well.

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the soft skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl.

“More than okay,” you sigh.

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste.

Later.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?”

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows.

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go.

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you.

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate.

It’s selfish, he knows.

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take.

He wants it to take.

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.

“Close?”

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.

He stamps it down.

“I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?”

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I— shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”

“Really?”

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form.

“Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily.

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.” He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal, that he’s always refused to name.

He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something. He wants them to mean that you’re his.

He’s too attached.

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he snaps his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.

It doesn’t last long. He’s too worked up.

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—”

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.

“Come inside me,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up—

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off.

If he moves right now, he’s done for.

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.

You finish first. Always.

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss just beneath your ear, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy.

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple—

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time.

He laughs softly at that. No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you.

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—”

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.”

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight.

His jaw tenses at the reminder.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?”

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves.

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen.

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee.

Get her there, then pull out.

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch.

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon.

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—”

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now—

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall.

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it.

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—”

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth to assert his control, and still, he recites his mantra.

Get her there, then pull out.

Get her there, then—

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips.

Seeing your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced.

“Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—”

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want.

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own, and you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry.

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white, marking you as his.

It feels good. It feels right.

He’s too attached.

He doesn’t care.

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits.

Why the hell did he do that?

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.

“Did I— Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep and hit your cervix a little too hard. That’s what usually tends to happen.

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.”

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?”

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.”

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur.

They’re happy tears, you said.

You’re happy with him.

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go.

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck.

You laugh and turn him back towards you, gently cupping the side of his face. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight.

He wants to do it again.

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came.

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine?

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He swallows thickly. “I’m fine.”

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.”

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.

It’s cute. You’re cute.

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.

“What?”

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Why aren’t you more upset?”

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this because of my birth control?”

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!”

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then.

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot.

“That’s so bad! What if you actually got me pregnant?”

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?”

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real. “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”

How the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate.

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d run away as fast as he could.

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed.

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.”

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone, never mind the words you speak in it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back.

“Because,” he rasps.

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t face you. He’s too embarrassed.

“Because why?” you ask breathlessly. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?”

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads.

“Hm? Why not?”

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.”

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. Do you know why?”

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation.

He likes that you understand him as well as you do.

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached.

—

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you.

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. I just didn’t think I’d be able to get an appointment that soon. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue. “And what if I don’t want to be careful?”

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself. “You tell me.”

—

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.”

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?”

He shifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye.

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing this is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.”

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission.

Looks like you’re on the same page, then.

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home.

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—”

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused.

You worry your lip between your teeth and nod.

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.”

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?”

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—”

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

#kakashi smut #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi imagine #kakashi #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi

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guacamoleroll · 2 months

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ɪᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ · ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ ʙꜱᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ༉‧₊˚

featured. osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, sigma. content. f!reader. based on a request. mentions of alcohol (dazai), mentions of food, nicknames, slavic dishes. (minor) spoilers for stormbringer. translation at the end. not proofread.

author's note. this was an incredibly fun request! these men either shift between being incompetent, or not being reliant on others, so it took a sweet turn.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. the kitchen can be many things. a refuge from the toils of everyday life. a workshop for the creation of exquisite tastes. an assemblage of conversation over collaboration.

but one thing is certain—a well-endeavored meal can warm the coldest of hearts.

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 arrived home late one evening, tromping through the doorway with the confidence only a drunken man could muster. It had been one of those nights, ones in which he was all too aware of the hollowness of his own heart. One of those days where everything was too loud, the ones where he picked up every minuscule detail, whether he wanted to or not. So, he had taken to a drink or two to fill a void, only to dip into another—before he knew it, the room was spinning, and he found himself kicked out of the bar.

But he still had you to return to, so he gathered any soberness left within him and clambered to place his trench coat and shoes in the spots you had set out for them. He was glad you didn't hear him walk in. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been granted the opportunity to take in the view. You pranced around the kitchen, a lifted twirl in your heel as you stirred ingredients in a saucepan, the domestic mess of powders against your skin.

You were all his. The reason he had a home to return to. His sanctuary from his own mind. He often fretted—though he pretended not to—about the idea of you being taken away from him, a fact that he had come to accept as his reality. But in these simple moments, he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that you encompassed for a moment longer.

His arms fit snug around your waist, his head like a puzzle piece against the curve of your shoulder. "Is that for me?"

You hummed, pressing a peck on his cheek as you leaned into him.

"You'll always have a meal to return home to, Osamu."

Yeah. He'd indulge for just a little longer.

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 did not expect to pass out. He had returned home from a weeks-long mission overseas, anxiously awaiting the moment you reunited and ran into his arms—only for him to arrive early to an empty home. You were at work, and it wasn't his fault the couch clung to him like a vice! For a moment, he thought he had been dreaming of the fresh smell of savory pasta sauce and spices.

Wait. He can't dream.

He cracked open his eyes, his vision steadily straightening out, and trudged into the kitchen with a befuddled pout, his sight narrowing in on exactly what you had been up to.

"Babe."

"Chuuya!" you yelled, almost losing your grip on your spoon before you managed to catch it, clutching it close to your chest as you twisted the knob on the stove to place the heat at a simmer. "You scared me!"

His arms crossed as he leaned on the doorway. "What're you doing cooking in here by yourself?" he asked sternly, scanning the contents of the pot along with your face. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he was mad. But you did know better, catching onto the subtle tilt of his brow, narrowed in simultaneous amusement and disappointment. Cooking was often a partnered endeavor.

You couldn't resist laughter, cupping his cheek as if comforting an upset child. "You've had a long week, and you looked so peaceful lying there. I couldn't bring myself to disturb you."

He would've been quick to argue—you could wake him anytime, no matter the circumstance—but a thought overwhelmed him and kept his mouth at bay. You had done something for him, not with anything to gain, but simply because you cared. He was used to it happening the other way around, but this. . .this felt nice.

So, he relented, his ginger locks tickling your skin as he tucked his face into your neck with a sigh. "Thank you, baby."

𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 had been busy preparing the next phase of his plans, though you supposed he was always busy—too busy to take care of his own basic needs, that was for sure. He was always sorting through different data, exploring multiple angles to achieve his goals.

With the many tasks flooding his brain, he hardly had time to abandon his screens. The skin of his thumb had worn from his subconscious biting habit as he looked over another spreadsheet of banking information, his hands about to slide over the keys yet again.

The scent of stroganoff stirred him from his trance. His eyes shifted to find a steaming plate of the delectable dish sitting next to him on the desk. And he finally registered the firm hand propped against his shoulder, with you looking upon him from above with a sweet but knowing smile.

"Eat."

He wouldn't have customarily taken kindly to such a harsh demand, but he bent to the stern look of your gaze, one that hid behind it a level of care he ravenously craved. You worried for him, not in the same fashion as his so-called "friends," but with the genuine desire to see him thrive, no matter the circumstance.

So, the demon allowed himself a momentary reprieve, kissing a smile into your hand before taking a bite of the dish.

"Delicious, as always, моя милая."

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 had practically burst through the door, prepared to recount the travesties and trials of his day. That was until he caught onto the unmistakable scent of savory pirozhki filling. He followed his nose like a bloodhound, the smell creating a distinct path into the kitchen, where you stood, unaware of the man behind you as you mixed spices into a pan.

"What'cha cooking, dove?" His breath bristled against your ear as he sprung up next to you, using his ability with a shit-eating grin. Your expression mirrored his own, used to the stint of your lover's sudden appearances.

"I found some old Ukrainian recipes online and wanted to try them out." You held out a spoon, and he bit into the filling without a second thought—a mistake. He clutched his throat as his eyes watered, realizing it was too hot for consumption far too late. He finally managed to choke it down, releasing a loud whew!

"Trying to kill me so soon! How cruel!" he exclaimed.

Your laughter roared throughout your home, a shaking hand rubbing his back as you wiped tears from your eyes with the other. "Is it good?"

He brought a finger up to stroke his non-existent beard, humming a quick tune. "Hmm, perhaps a cup of chili powder."

"Коля," you deadpanned. "That's too much."

He sighed, a pout settled on his lips, but you caught the hand sneaking into the interior of his overcoat, snatching his wrist before he poured something irreversible into your dish. He cackled, attempting to pull away as you chased him around the kitchen island.

For a moment, it felt as if you were the only two people in the world—free of restraint. He could feel the bonds tied around him loosen. He could reach out, taste that sensation of freedom for himself. A freedom he had always found in you.

𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀 had arrived back to his section of the Sky Casino earlier than he expected, having a strange lack of paperwork. But he simply decided to take it as a sign that he had been doing good work, and ignored the anxious feelings that always sprung from not having anything to do.

"I'm home—!" he called, but was stopped in the entryway by a sweet aroma. It was intoxicating, and he couldn't resist the temptation to lurk into the kitchen.

"Welcome home, honey!" you called back, your voice echoing down the hallway. He stripped himself of his coat, leaving it folded on one of the benches before he trekked across the threshold, a curious shift in his furrowed brow.

You were baking cookies, fluffy chocolate-chip cookies. He couldn't resist the smile on his face, even if he wanted to, nor could he ignore the bubbling warmth in his heart. But he couldn't help his confusion.

"Cookies?" he asked, dipping his finger into a batch of dough before he popped it into his mouth. "What's the occasion?"

You swiped at him with a flour-coated hand before dusting the rest of it off on a towel. "You've been busy lately, so I wanted to make you something sweet," you stated as if it were the simplest thing. But those few simple words took him aback.

You cooked for him. No one had ever done that before, not without being an employee or attempting to manipulate him—or both. And in a matter of seconds, only enough to let in a sweep of hot air from the oven to warm his skin, he realized something that had long remained empty had been filled. He felt whole.

"Sigma!" you exclaimed, and he realized that he had tears streaming down his face. The look of concern drawn through your strained lips, your furrowed brow, and your shifting eyes only further set in his new reality—he had his family. He had found his home.

"I'm okay, love. Just. . .thank you."

моя милая = my dear коля = kolya

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @ajaxism @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira @sillyspookycat @aureatchi @mxxny-lupin @emyyy007 @betweensinners

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dolcezzatoru · 4 months

Note

people always talk about satoru fucking us dumb but what about him getting lost in the sauce 🙏🏼

oh good god kat your brain is so big and sexy i want to give it head 🙏 this was a pleasure to write i am a big fan of this man !!!!

𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮!

gojo satoru x afab!reader

satoru was always a…passionate man, of sorts, and he was never shy about it either.

it’s been, god, how long now? it felt like days he’s had you go from position to position so he can fuck you at an insatiable pace; on your back, on your stomach, wrapped around his waist, on all fours–it seems like you’ve run through every one so he can use you however he wanted.

not only did you lose track of the time, but you forgot how much he’s made you cum. on his cock, on his fingers, his face, his tongue. any way he could get you, he did. the overstimulation turned to pleasure, and he’d kiss away the sweet tears that pooled in your eyes as he’d beg you for one more round.

that was a few rounds ago.

you were so out of it, he was giving directions and demands and you could barely process them. all you could do was look at your perfect boyfriend. snow-white hair sticking to his forehead, sweat caking his body barely illuminated by the light from a streetlamp peeking into the room through the blinds.

satoru was never quiet in bed, but tonight was different.

“fuck, just like that, baby,”

his voice was a slight whisper, but frantic, needy, and a little deeper than usual.

“god, can you get on top, actually? please? wait, no,” he begged, “wait, just–just lay like that, please, and, uh–fuck…”

he was rambling and moving your legs before he even finished the question. he pressed sloppy kisses to your calves and ankles as he swung them on his shoulders, breathing heavily as he picked up his pace.

“ah, god, fuck, you feel so good, babe,”

satoru barely waited for a response before letting wanton moans pour out from his pretty mouth. overheated, he stuck his tongue slightly out as he tried to stay cool. all he could do was focus on how pretty you looked.

his moans, praises, and saccharine little noises sped up as his pace intensified. your vision was a little blurry, and all you could do was roll your eyes back and lose yourself to the feeling. damn, he really knew how to hit the spot.

“f-fuck, g-gonna…s-s-satoru!” was all you could manage to get out before you snapped, creaming all over him as he leaned down and kissed you through it. he moaned into your mouth as you clenched around him, feeling him paint your walls with thick ropes of cum.

satoru detached himself from your lips to mutter more praise in your ear.

“ah~ fuck, you’re amazing, babe”

he falls a bit onto you as you both breathe heavy, kissing and marking your collarbone–but not pulling out.

“one more for me?” he begs, “please?” you’ve barely caught your breath from the last one before satoru starts moving again.

“last one, promise,” he grins, “god, please, one more,”

you quickly nod, letting him take over. something in the back of your mind tells you he’s not going to keep that promise.

#𓆩♡𓆪 satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #satoru smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #lover kat ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

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lefaystrent · 2 months

Text

"I want to tell you something."

Thomas speaks the words into the quiet of the kitchen. He stares down at the pot of water sitting on the stove. The burner has been lit, and the heat rises. Soon, the water will boil.

"And it's- it's something that I've thought for a long time now. Years. But I've never said anything."

The smallest of bubbles rise to the surface. Over his shoulder, Thomas can see Patton sitting at the bar.

"It's okay. Take your time," he says. His nose scrunches up as he smiles. His glasses reflect a scattering of kitchen light.

Thomas snorts. "I think years is enough time." He breaks a bundle of pasta in half, letting them fall gently into the steaming water. He adjusts the temperature, then shifts on his feet. "I've just...never said anything," he repeats.

"You don't have to say anything at all." Janus sits at the bar instead. He wears a frown, and he's leaned over the surface with his chin in a propped palm, but the patience in his gaze belays his bored demeanor. "If you don't want to, you don't have to. I certainly won't force you."

Want to? No.

Thomas shakes his head and stirs the pot. "I think I need to."

"Do you?" Logan sits at the bar. His arms are folded over his tie, but it's not an intimidating pose. It's careful. Considerate. "I'd like you to take a moment to 'check yourself before you wreck yourself', as they say. Is that how you use that phrase?"

Thomas rolls his eyes, and yet he's smiling. This is a heavy topic, but it's not constricting. He stirs the noodles easily and they begin to fold together like they were made to. "I'm okay. I don't need to think about it more. I'm not anxious, not really."

"Yeah?" And now it's Virgil sitting at the bar. He stops as if he had been caught in the middle of playing with the string of his hoodie. Then he smooths down the front of his clothes. No ruffles here. He nods. "Good. That's good. That's good, right?"

Thomas still smiles. "Yes, that's good." The pasta softens as it swirls around the water. Round and round it goes. When will it stop? Nobody knows.

"Well don't just keep me in suspense!" Remus slams his hand down on the bar. And then he does it again and again, maybe just to hear the smack, smack, smack. He's not grinning maniacally or anything. Just a quirk of his mustache. A glint in his eyes. A cocked brow. "You know I love a good tease... but this is playing too coy!"

Thomas heaves a huge sigh. "I guess I just..." He trails off. He knocks the spoon against the pot's rim to shake off the water. He sets it aside. "I just don't want this to change anything."

The warmth of the burner blankets his face. The stove vent thrums above his head, and distantly Thomas hears the air conditioner click on. A light sheen of perspiration beads across his face, but its not wholly unpleasant.

Would it be bad? If this did change anything?

Roman sits at the bar. His shoulders are low, like all the breath has left him. He watches Thomas calmly with sad eyes. "What have you got to lose?"

In the pot, the pasta swirls and swirls until it's ready.

"I love you," Thomas finally says, and he turns to look over his shoulder to find that it's himself who sits there.

The other him beams proudly. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Satisfied, Thomas flicks off the stove burner and drains the water in the sink. He stirs together noodles, hamburger meat, and red sauce, until its in perfect measures, just the way he likes it.

After making himself a plate, Thomas sits at the dining table. He is alone with himself, and he's alright with that.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #fanfiction #writing #inspired by an actual love confession #it might have been my love confession #casually just showing up to drop a random drabble #im still scared of life #but inspiration is never dead just sleeping

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whimsyfinny · 3 months

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 668

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

——————————————————————

I’m Not Your F*ckng Maid

-Prologue-

Dean was awoken with a slam inches from his face and he sprung to life, almost losing his balance before he realised where he was. He’d fallen asleep at the table with his face in a book and surrounded by heaps of paper - many of which he hadn’t even started to read through yet. Blinking awake and gaining his bearings, he heard a familiar voice ring through the room.

”You boys are disgusting, how do you live like this?” The older Winchester finally looked up to see Charlie lifting a plate of half eaten, day-old pizza whilst kicking several beer bottles aside so she could pull out a chair and take a seat next to Dean, who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

”Yeah well, we’ve been a little busy recently if you haven’t noticed,” his voice was gravelly from the sleep. Charlie put down the plate of old food and sat down, worry crossing her face as she looked at the man next to her. She knew they’d been under a lot of pressure lately with their work, so much so that the brothers were starting to neglect themselves. It had been months since they’d eaten proper food that wasn’t instant or take-out, they rarely went outside, always locking themselves away in the bunker to do research and the bunker itself was getting cluttered with bin bags and pizza boxes. Not to mention the piles of laundry that she’s noticed slowly starting to form its own ecosystem in the washroom.

“Yeah I get that, but you really have to look after yourselves. When was the last time you ate a vegetable?”

Dean scoffed.

“Yesterday, obviously,” he gave her a look like she was from another planet, and she rolled her eyes.

“The pizza sauce doesn’t count, Dean.”

He looked puzzled, raising an eyebrow, “Why not?”

Before she could even humour him with an answer, Sam emerged, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh hey Charlie, when did you get here?” His voice was equally as gravelly as Deans, so she assumed he’d also just woken up.

“Five minutes ago.”

“She called us disgusting Sam. And she said the sauce on pizza isn’t made from vegetables,” Dean gestured to Charlie like she was the fool as he looked up at his younger brother who now stood across from him on the other side of the table. Sam went to open his mouth to respond, but closed it again quickly and furrowed his brows, clearly unsure how to reply to his older brother without opening a can of worms. Charlie huffed.

“You guys need to sort yourself out. I only dropped by because I hadn’t heard from you for a while and thought you might’ve worked yourself to death. I can’t stay long because I’m meeting a friend for a drink. She’s already at the diner waiting for me”

“A friend?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and the redhead smirked.

“I wish, sadly she’s into dudes,” she paused, a thought crossing her mind, “Come to think of it, she’s actually looking for work, you guys might be able to help.”

Dean and Sam shared a glance.

“She’s a hunter?” Sam asked.

“Not exactly. Her uncle was, so she knows about stuff, but from what I know she was just a research girlie,” Charlie peered at the mess of papers on the table, “and it looks like you could use the help.” She looked between the brothers as they stared at each other, like they were having some sort of unspoken conversation. A few moments passed before Dean slapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Sure ok, but we’re coming with you today to meet her,” he went to grab his jacket from the back of his chair, an eagerness in his movements before Charlie put her hand out to stop him.

“Great!” She grinned, before raising her eyebrows and pointing to them both, “but first you guys have got to shower, because I can taste your BO from here.”

——————————————————————

Up Next

Chapter 1

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #Dean Winchester x reader smut #Dean Winchester x you smut #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x female!reader #dean winchester smut

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anton-luvr · 6 months

Note

hi ! can i request bf!eunseok giving fem!reader special treatment and friend group!riize realising it and teasing him about it ? thank youu <3

# ANYTHING FOR YOU.

⚝ bf!eunseok x fem!reader | fluff | highschool au, secret relationship au ⚝ note ; im so sorry that this took so long anon T_T im also not sure if its what you were hoping for, so im sorry if its not :') but thank u for requesting! <3

Along with the end of the year, comes final exams, last minute cleaning out your lockers, and of course - school parties.

And with your class being famous for throwing the best school parties, almost everyone in your year had crowded into your classroom.

Tables were pushed aside to make space, only leaving a few in the center for the best game of all - rock, paper, scissors.

But there was a twist, thanks to Sohee's genius but devious mind.

"Whoever loses has to drink my special drink!" he shouted across the noise, waving a plastic cup in the air.

It was definitely special with whatever the hell Sohee mixes in to it.

There was a combination of every soda in the room, along with a spoon of nacho cheese, a splash of chili sauce, dumplings stolen from Anton's lunch, pizza crumbs, and a concerning amount of pickles.

Not only did it smell disgusting, it also looked disgusting.

But hey, you only live once.

So here you were, up next after Wonbin to play the game against Sungchan, who had been winning five games in a row.

"Hey, are you sure?" Eunseok whispers, gently tugging you back towards him by the elbow.

"Yeah, why?" you ask, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Well, don't get me wrong, but you usually lose in rock paper scissors." your boyfriend says sheepishly, laughing when you jokingly punch him in the stomach.

"I'll win this time, just watch." you boasted, practicing your skills by throwing random signs in his face to show just how prepared you were.

"Sure, you'll totally win." Eunseok teases, pinching your cheek lightly.

You'd punch him in the stomach again, but Sohee announces that it's now your turn.

"Wish me luck!" you squeal before walking up to the table, a determined smile on your lips.

"Ready to lose?" Sungchan asks, looking relaxed.

You scoff, stretching your hand out. "You should ask yourself that question." you retort, challenging him.

"Alright, Sungchan vs Y/N! Start!" Sohee shouts, making another cup of his special drink for the loser.

Things get intense the moment Sungchan starts the game off, the brown haired guy mumbling the chant before throwing out the sign of his choice.

You win the first two rounds, and sweet victory was just one more round away.

Until Sungchan won the following two rounds, the results of your game all relying on the final round.

Your lips are pursed together nervously, confidence slipping away as you try to focus harder.

"Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!" he shouts, and you throw a scissor sign.

Sungchan throws out a rock sign at the same time, instantly winning over you while everyone screamed in surprise and disappointment.

Dread fills your chest when you realize you have to drink Sohee's special drink, the boy already making his way over to you with the cursed plastic cup in his hands.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" the crowd cheers as you take the cup from Sohee, shifting nervously on your feet.

You peer cautiously into the cup to see a marshmallow from god knows where floating above the greyish-brown liquid, a smear of chili sauce at the side while a bittersweet smell hit your nostrils.

"I added more things! Enjoy!" Sohee sings out before joining in with the crowd to cheer you on.

All you can do is sigh and take a deep breath, eyes closing shut to prepare yourself for the mess you got yourself into.

But the cup has barely touched your lips when you feel someone snatching it right out of your hands, and your eyes fly open to see Eunseok downing it all in one go.

The crowd cheers even louder, screams of 'That's so sweet!' and 'He's so cool!' bouncing off the walls.

You're still blinking in shock as he sets the cup down on the table, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand.

"Not bad." he says casually, shrugging.

The crowd just about loses it at this, and you see people shoving Sohee around and telling him to amp up on the next drink.

"No, no, wait!" he shrieks, waving his arms around for everyone to shut up.

"Why'd you drink it for her? She was going to drink it." he asks, eyebrows raised suspiciously at his best friend.

Eunseok freezes with an awkward smile, face slowly turning red as he tries to come up with an explanation.

"I-I just wanted to try it. That's all." he coughs, eyes glued to the floor.

"Really?" Seunghan butts in, smirking at the both of you. "You and Y/N are starting to look like the fire hydrant outside."

"Well, it's hot in here!" you protest, fanning at your flushed face.

"Yeah, and the drink might make her sick!" Eunseok adds.

The crowd lets out an amused 'Ooooh!' at this, and it's Shotaro's turn to say something.

"Don't you think the drink might've made Wonbin sick too? But you didn't drink it for him. What, are the both of you dating?" he teases, giggling.

"Well, so what if we are?" You blurt.

Eunseok turns to look at you so fast, you could hear a small snap go off in his neck.

Everyone starts screaming at this, the noise making you wince.

"You are?" Anton repeats, eyes wide with surprise. "You're capable of love after all!" he cheers, patting Eunseok on the back.

His face turns impossibly redder as he smiles, scratching the back of his head.

"I knew it! I always knew something was going on between the both of them!" Sohee screeches, running over to squeeze Eunseok in a hug.

"Alright, stop bothering them!" Sungchan hollers, knowing the unwanted attention was probably making the both of you slightly uncomfortable. "Who's next?"

He successfully diverts everyone's attention back to the game, and you let out a sigh of relief when the both of you are left alone.

"I'm so sorry about that, I didn't mean to shout it out like that and I was just surprised because you drank it, and I was-"

Eunseok cuts off your ramble with a kiss to the lips, strong and passionate.

"Don't worry about it," he whispers, smiling softly at you as he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear. "It's about time they knew anyway."

His words make your heart race, and you can't help but avoid his intense stare.

"W-Wasn't the drink bad?" you stuttered, trying to change the topic.

He shrugs again, slowly backing you against a corner of the wall.

"It was fine." he says, so close that you could feel his breath against your lips.

"I'd do anything for you." he whispers, and he presses his lips right against yours.

The fact that there are almost a hundred of other people in the room with you fades out of your mind at the feeling of his lips, so warm and so soft but so aggressive at the same time.

It would be embarrassing if you got caught, but as long as it was with your lovely boyfriend, you wouldn't mind.

He'd do anything for you, and you'd do anything for him too.

taglist: @wonbons @mxlly143 @keehobaldboy @shawyle @yenart

#sarah's 400 ! ☆#riize #riize fluff #riize fics #riize drabbles #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize eunseok #eunseok riize

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lustkillers · 9 months

Text

BON APPÉTIT, BABY !

⊹₊ ⋆ summary. - having someone complain about his food was the tip of the iceberg, thank god you're there, right?

┃ tags/warnings. ࿐ ❪ you guessed it, nsfw!! dom!tyler, sub!reader. unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, praising, bondage, choking?? hair-pulling, overstimulation, orgasm delay, crying, freaky deaky stuff!! ❫

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing - tyler x fem!reader.

⊹₊ ⋆ note - RAURF ARF ARF ARF ARF RAUHFDOAH WOOF WOOF WOOF!!! YES CHEF YES CHEF!!! this has been sitting in my drafts forever, so here u go!! i also wanna start writing for him more, someone please request more of tyler!!!!

WAS it him? No one really complained about his cooking, everything he heard from people's mouths were praise for his delicious food.

Maybe today wasn't his day, as many people sent back their food. He watched as the plates were returned to him, the food untouched and barely eaten. This has never happened before.

As the day went on, he kept getting more unhappy looks from the customers and heard more murmurings about his food being bad. He was starting to become discouraged, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

As his shift ended, he clocked out with concealed rage. He walked to his car and slammed the door shut as he got in. He pulled out his phone, his homescreen shining bright right in front of his eyes.

It was a photo of you attempting to cook something, with a pot in front of you and an apron slightly too big for you. You were making some kind of sauce, smiling wide as the camera clicked.

He put his phone away, his hands gripping on the wheel as he went home. He couldn't help but recall all the times you two had spent in the kitchen, cooking together. Suddenly, he was feeling a lot better - like maybe things weren't as bad as it seemed.

You hummed as you waited for Tyler to come back home, the aroma of the dinner you were preparing lingering in the air. When he arrived, you hugged him tight and welcomed him with a warm smile.

He didn't respond, his hands cupping your face as he brought you into a kiss. It was feverish, desperate. You were taken aback for a moment, but it felt so right.

You pulled away, knowing that something was up. "What's up, Ty?" You asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

He paused for a few seconds before he replied, "Just people complaining," he muttered. "'Don't care, jus' need you." His lips connected to yours again.

His hands traveled to your waist, dangerously low. You felt yourself pushing against him and you both fell back onto the couch. His hands explored your body, pushing through fabric and barriers. The heat between you both was palpable as his lips trailed down your neck.

You gasped out at the feeling, now eyeing the food on the table. "T-Ty... The food...!" you stuttered, not sure if you wanted to stop him.

He pulled away and looked down at you, his eyes full of lust and longing. "We can eat later," he said as his hands roughly pulled at your clothes. You felt the heat scorching through you as he embodied everything you had ever wanted.

Your clothes were all off, leaving you exposed. He looked you up and down before kissing every inch of your body, making you moan with pleasure. You felt yourself arching into him, wanting more and feeling the sensations course through your veins.

He pulled away from your body, his hands going to untie his signature blue bandana. He moved slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt yourself trembling - you knew where this was going.

The blue bandana was now tied around your wrists tightly, binding them together. He leaned in and kissed you deeply, his hands exploring your body as you felt yourself losing control. You were now completely at his mercy.

He took off his shirt, then fumbling with his pants. You heard the sound of a belt unbuckling and you felt your heart pounding in anticipation, your thighs squeezing together.

His hand opened your legs once again, leaning towards you for a kiss, his hands traveling up your pussy as he did. You almost cried out in pleasure, feeling electricity travel through your body. He smirked as he saw you quiver, knowing the effect he had on you.

You could only arch your back at the feeling, your hands growing tired of being binded together. He could feel your need for freedom, but he wasn't done with you yet.

His fingers enter your wet insides, lewd noises filling the air. They went at a hard, fast pace, the feeling making you want to close your legs, but his thigh kept your legs open.

He moved his finger faster and faster, increasing the pleasure and passion he was eliciting from within you. You felt yourself getting closer to the edge of climax, crying out; "C-Cumming!! M'gonna cum!!" You exclaimed.

He smirked, now removing his fingers from your pussy. "No, not yet," he said with a wicked grin on his face, which made you whine out. You wanted to cum so badly, going crazy from the pleasure.

He then untied the bandana from your wrists, now flipping you over, your ass up. He then pressed his cock against your entrance, pushing himself in. Your breath hitched as you felt him filling your insides with each thrust, the pleasure intensifying with each motion.

The bandana found itself around your throat, his hands holding on the two ends as he endlessly pounded into you. "Yeah, take it like a good girl..." He rasped out, his thrusts picking up pace.

You only let out strangled moans, the pleasure now too overwhelming. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your eyes rolling in ecstasy. "T-Ty... Please!"

His eyebrow cocked, "Please what? Beg for it, sweetheart," he said with a smirk, releasing the bandana from around your throat, his hand now gripping your hair.

You took in a deep breath, now looking up at him with lust-filled eyes; "Please, please, please! Lemme cum!" You rasped out.

He only smiled, the pleasure of your pleas evident in his face. He grabbed onto your hips, flipping you over onto your back, each thrust now sending you closer and closer to the edge. You didn't care anymore, crying out as you came undone.

Tyler wasn't done though, his hips rutting into your puffed out pussy. The sensation overwhelmed your senses, tears slipping out your eyes. You held onto his biceps, your face contorting with pleasure.

"S-Shit, Ty! S'too much! C-Cumming!" Your legs shook once again, clenching down on his cock. Your sweat beading off your forehead as you cried out once again in pleasure, your eyes blissed out.

Tyler growled out, now thrusting into you roughly. You could feel him getting close too, "F-Fuck..." His thrusts grew erratic, his breathing shallow. He finally spilled himself into you, holding onto your hips as he rode out the aftershocks.

His hips still rutted into your own as he groaned in pleasure; "That's it sweetheart... Take it all..." You felt both of your hearts beating, in sync.

He held onto you, your bodies sticky against each other from the sweat. He finally pulled out, exhaling deeply. However, you tried to crawl out his heavy arms, but to no use, failed.

"Hey," Tyler's voice was thick with emotion, "Where are you going?". You froze in his arms, not sure what to say. He kissed your shoulder softly. "I'm not letting you go that easily." He said, tightening his grip.

"The food, Ty. It's probably cold now..." You whispered, feeling slightly disappointed that all your hard-work was now cold.

He hummed, looking at the food and then back at you. "Thought all of this was dinner?" He smirked, corny.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to answer. He chuckled lightly, releasing you from his grip and leaned in to give you a peck on the lips. "Let's eat, again." He said.

God you couldn't ask for a better boyfriend.

#rory culkin #rory culkin x reader #the expecting #tyler x reader #tyler the expecting #rory culkin smut #i need him so bad #smut

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

Text

Jungkook

ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕠: Notice

Jungkook knows the effect he has on people. So why won't you look at him the same?

Main Tags/Warnings: Model!Jungkook, Actor!Jungkook, Stylist!Reader, strangers/enemies to lovers, mentions of toxic beauty standards

Length: ~4k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

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Jeon Jungkook.

He's not really what you see every day visually in the modeling industry, and from what you've heard, he's also quite the charmer. Clearly he has to have something going on if his constantly changing partners are anything to go by- one google search of his name giving you several articles about different names he's allegedly participating in the sensual bedroom tango with. Not that you're surprised- most male models tend to make use of their name in order to get what they desire.

Kill or be killed- you can't really blame anybody for using what they have.

"Did you know he apparently has a yacht?" Lea wonders, eating her sandwich your brought her this morning, as she sits on a table close to you. "I've never even been on a fucking yacht before. Apparently those things are like, 500 thousand coins! Imagine!" She sighs, making you laugh along with her. "I can't believe someone just spends that much money on a boat of all things." She mumbles, trying not to get her new acrylics dirty with the sauce.

"Maybe once you have too much, you just don't care?" Haru wonders, setting up his camera equipment close by. "I've heard that money loses it's worth to those who have a lot of it." He offers, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts some cables.

"I mean, probably." Lea agrees. "With all the brand deals he has, he's got to have his bank account packed with doubloons." She huffs. "Can't he spare us a million each? He won't miss it, I'm sure.." She whines, finishing her breakfast while you shake your head, laughing.

You're all joking around, but at the end of the day, you'll all probably stay where you are financially and career wise until the end of your days. And you yourself are fine with that- you've accepted the fact that the life Jeon Jungkook for example is living isn't something you yourself would want. That man get's snapped by paparazzi almost daily, he's got no privacy from what you can tell, and he can't even say his opinion without being destroyed for it.

No thank you, you rather stay a nobody than have your entire life displayed for the world to judge.

"What's the concept anyways?" You mumble, looking at Lea who shrugs.

"They said he wants to play director today." She jokes. "So I brought a little of everything, really. We'll see what he wants to do."

You frown. You don't like being so unable to prepare anything- to be put on the spot like that. What if he wants something from you you can't pull off? You don't want to be shit-talked by someone with a name as big as his- that would be absolute career-ending for sure, and you can't have that. You've got nothing else than this.

"I heard he's kinda difficult." Lea sighs, picking up her coffee. "They always only look nice.." She huffs disappointed, before she takes a sip.

You just stay quiet. It's all the same anyways.

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Jeon Jungkook is, indeed, difficult.

Not only is he way too tall for you, but he also moves around constantly, talks over your head as if you're not there, and most of all seems to love making fun of you for no apparent reason other than to piss you off. You're not sure why exactly it has to be you- but it seems like he's chosen his victim, and he won't let go anytime soon.

Just do your job, you tell yourself.

His jokes about your height honestly suck, but no one's brave enough to say it, clearly. Everyone laughs at them and praises his good looks and professionalism while you're just trying to get through this whole ordeal. "A bit tired, huh?" The model looks up at you as he sits on the chair provided, your hands fixing his hair in place just the way he wanted it to. You're glad he's sitting. You hate when he's standing upright, not even trying to bend down a little to offer some help. "And not much of a talker." He chuckles, boldly letting his eyes roam over your face and body while you work.

If he's as observant as he wants to make himself to be, then he won't be too surprised if you don't answer now, either.

And he isn't- he just laughs softly to himself, nothing more than that, and you honestly don't want to know what he's thinking. He's probably judging your no-name branded clothes, ripped tights from having gotten your keys caught on them earlier, and your clear lack of makeup.

You're not the model here, so why bother?

You leave him quickly after finishing up, letting Haru and the others guide the model on where to look and how to pose- though honestly, Jungkook seems rather shit at following directions, always doing somewhat of what he wants instead of what's being suggested.

Why even bring a director when you're gonna do what you want anyways?

"I hate how good he looks." lea hisses at you from where she's standing right next to where you are. "He's so mean! Like, childish-mean!" She whines towards you, and you can't help but snort to yourself because that's hitting the nail on the head for you.

He does act like a spoiled child rather than an adult man on the road towards his thirties.

"Jungkook-ssi, please look at the camera!" One of the directors ask, and only now do you notice that the model looked your way- probably having heard you laugh. Does he think you were laughing about him? Hopefully not, even if it's somewhat true.

You can't have him yap about you to other magazines or whatnot.

So you instantly wipe that smile off your face and go back towards professionalism, and at that, he alerts his gaze as well, going back to what he's been hired to do.

"Do you think there's guys out there who look like him but are nice too?" Lea wonders now that you've both walked a bit morenout of hearing range, avoiding his radar as you hide amongst the other staff and equipment. "Like, I want a hot dude with piercings and tattoos too. But with the old-guy gentleman flavor, you know?" She dreams, stealing a snack from you.

"Dont think so." You huff out, stretching your arms high up to arch your back and legs, even going onto tip-toes as your muscles release all the tension you've been accumulating already. You sigh out in bliss after finishing, your body seemingly reset-

A smirking Jungkook walking right past you, probably having seen you throughout the entire ordeal.

What's that stupid half-smile for, though?

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You shrug. "He looks the same in every photo to me." You tell Haru, who looks at you a bit lost.

He sighs as he clicks through the photos himself, unsure. You know he knows you're right- but at the end of the day, people like those sultry eyes and that cocky expression that man makes in every picture. You're not sure what exactly makes it so appealing- but you're just here to make him look as good as possible. And his hair looks perfect in almost every shot- so that's good enough for you.

That's your job. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's his signature look." Haru tries to justify, his soft voice unsure, however, as if he needs to tell it mostly to himself to be convinced of it. He's never been a fan of shootings like these- he's good at them, sure, but he doesn't enjoy shooting those pictures. He's too soft to say it, but you know he finds them boring and uninteresting. It's basics, nothing exciting, nothing new. But he's being paid for this- so he doesn't complain.

That's his job- nothing more, nothing less.

"Well, then his signature look is boring." You say, leaning back against the table behind you, sipping your can of sugary caffeinated soda- the energy drink by now the only thing keeping you somewhat concentrated. Hopefully Jungkook stops complaining so much so you can all go home soon- he's got the whole week anyways, so why is he so whiny?

Brat. It's only the first day and he's already getting on your nerves- acting like someone pissed in his breakfast, rolling his eyes and staring people down just for the fun of it. And women actually fuck that guy? Nepotism must be crazy.

He probably has sex in front of a mirror just to watch himself.

"Boring, huh." Jungkook's voice chimes up, and you spot him walking closer, now wearing a new set of clothes. The leather pants look awfully tight, especially in his private region- that can't be comfortable, can it?

You frown at him. He got his hair all chaotic again- but it's fine. It fits the theme. You won't retouch it for now.

"She didn't mean it like that-" Haru instantly tries to defend you, the young man intimidated by the model as always. You wonder how he can even operate the camera when he constantly shies away from him so much. Maybe when he looks at him through the lens he can detach the person from the picture? It would make sense. After all, you do the same.

You don't see Jungkook. You see Jeon Jungkook, brand ambassador and model- and it should stay that way.

"I did." You disagree with him, however, before you look back at Jungkook. You don't need to be protected- not for your own opinion. It doesn't have any weight anyway, you doubt that someone like you can hurt this man's ego either. It's at least as big as himself, if not taller, which is a lot, considering that he towers over you despite not even reaching the standard 1.80m height usually desired. Then again, there's quite a few things you could count as not being the standard of beauty. But he makes up for it in confidence- even if he seems to have a little too much of it for your taste. "I did mean it like that."

"What am I supposed to do instead then?" Jungkook challenges, crossing his arms next to you.

The hell were you supposed to tell him? You're neither a model, nor very fashionable. He should ask Lea about that, not you. He's trying to argue for no good reason, and that attitude is starting to piss you off.

"Nothing. It's good like that." You shrug, keeping your cool for now at least visually.

"You said it's boring." He bites back almost immediately. Your distaste grows.

"I did, because to me, it is." You respond calmly. Is he trying to pick a fight with you right now? He really is acting like a child beneath all that fake politeness and forced friendly tone he puts on. "But that's my personal opinion. I'm sure people will like those pictures despite that." You explain.

He plays around with his piercings, and gives you that odd look that you can't distinguish from hatred or being offended.

Unbeknownst to you, he's been trying to figure you out for the entire shoot- wondering what you're really like. Do you like softer guys like Haru more? You seem to have some edge to you, if the glimpse of your bellybutton piercing and the few lines of a tattoo poking out the waistband of your pants would be anything to go by. Maybe you're just someone who likes to be in charge.

He can't offer that, at least not sexually.

He's opening his mouth to say something, before he moves when the director claps, and tells everyone to get back to their respective spots-

Jungkook sitting in front of the camera once more, woth the same signature look, because that is his job.

Nothing more, nothing less.

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If it wasn't for Lea and Haru, you wouldn't even be here.

Sitting in a restaurant, special VIP part that's secluded for the rest of the people here, eating together with stupid Jeon Jungkook, who's busy crawling up your boss's ass. He's sitting right next to you too, which is just as ridiculous- it makes it impossible to have a proper conversation with either of your friends. So you just eat, casually, mostly whatever Lea puts on your plate for you.

You really hate social settings like this. You don't like being reminded that you can't even hold a proper conversation for longer than two sentences.

The moment he puts a piece of meat on your plate instead of Lea, your chopsticks stutter. You don't like this. He just tries to appear friendly- probably because everyone else is watching. You know how this goes, after all, you've been through shit like this before. He'll lure you in, be all nice and sweet, use you as his dirty little secret before he leaves you behind for someone that looks better at his side. Someone of his own profession, most likely- or maybe a singer, or an actress. Someone pretty, tall and famous, someone useful for his career. Someone beneficial.

Someone that's not you.

"You're really not much of a talker, hm?" He asks, sitting next to you with his head on his hand, elbow perched up on the table. He honestly looks a little tired without all the makeup Lea had put on for the shoot today- eyes a bit dull, darkness underneath them shadowing the glimmer they had during work today quite a bit. His skin is also not really as clear as it looked in the pictures taken. He's got a few beauty marks, a noticeable little scar, and some redness around his nose.

He looks like a person from this angle. Not like a model.

"…what am I supposed to say." You shrug, eating what he's offered, because why not? He hums a reply, everyone else at the table conversing with one another, Lea currently seemingly in a heated debate about the height of heels with another staff member across the table.

"Why do you work this job when you hate models so much?" Jungkook asks, catching you off guard as you look at him again. "Or is it just me that's your issue?" He challenges, and you sigh, shaking your head before you occupy yourself with your food once more.

"Was my work okay?" You ask him instead, not looking at him but rather his hands, because you can't stand those eyes he has.

"More than okay- it was just what I wanted." He replies a bit caught off guard, and you shrug.

"Then there's nothing to talk about." You simply reply. Because that's the way you need to keep things, that's how you'll protect yourself and have been for the last few years. You're there to work, not make friends, and especially nothing more than that.

"Oh I think there is." Jungkook chuckles next to you. "I heard you and Kim Yongsun had something going on a few years back when he was shooting for Dazed." He says, and suddenly, you put your chopsticks down, even Lea looing over at you, an expression of both anger and worry on her face. You get up and leave with a respectful bow to your seniors, leaving the restaurant and Jeon Jungkook behind, who's looking at Lea next to him as if to ask what's suddenly wrong with you-

but even she shakes her head, turning back towards Haru next to her, no longer interested in talking to him.

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Kim Yongsun is, at the moment, a very successful actor. Having starred as a leading role in several dramas, he's right now shooting for a full length movie, though the news aren't really as interested in his career-

but more so in his love life, and the baby on the way.

Articles about this perfect and untainted lovestory are all over the place whenever you search up his name- this picture-perfect dream he's created about how he only ever loved his now wife Jane, how he's never looked at anyone before.

Such a liar, but then again- he's an actor, and that's what he's pretty talented at.

Having all of those memories revived made you nauseous yesterday, and it also made you dread coming to work today. But this is your job, nothing more, nothing less.

"There's my pretty bestie!" Lea instantly hugs you the next morning, swaying you around a little childishly, pressing her cheek against yours. With her tall body and a few years above your age, she feels like an older sister that you can trust, years of working together having glued your souls to one another it feels like. "Did you get home safe yesterday?" She wonders, and you nod.

"Went to bed right away." You explain, getting out your breakfast, another one for her as well. She tends to get up late, so you always buy her something on the way- otherwise she would constantly forget to eat.

"I'm gonna have to try so hard not to poke an eye out of that guy today.." The makeup artist growls, pouting as she picks up her sandwich.

"It's natural that he knows though.." Haru softly buts in. "It's not really his fault?" He attempts to justify.

"Yeah maybe, but ever heard of being tactful? I don't tell everyone that you had a crush on Alice either even though that was hella' weird." She bites back, causing Haru's cheeks to flush red. Though she's right- even if Jungkook knows about it, there was no reason to bring that up, especially if he knows the full story of it all. Is he really that mean?

Could be. After all, he's not been exactly kind up until now.

The moment he enters the workplace, he seems almost surprised to see you there as well- greeting everyone on set with a nod. He's here early this time, and you're not sure why he'd do that. He's got almost two more hours until you're supposed to be shooting- so why is he here already?

"I'll protect you." Lea threatens, suddenly pulling you close to sit you on her lap, glaring at Jungkook.

"Lea!" You hiss at her, worried she might get into trouble. She can be a little too 'out there' for her own good- and someone like that guy is not one to mess with. One bad article about your company, and she'll be blacklisted from ever working in the industry ever again.

It's how it works, beneath the surface. Most agencies don't want staff that are not loyal dogs.

"Good morning." Jungkook offers, walking closer with a slight saunter you've come to realize he has almost all the time he walks around. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, and Lea buts in before you can say anything at all.

"No, I'm sorry, Jungkook-ssi." She snarls almost. "We have to start working soon. Please talk to the directors if you have any questions." She says, making Jungkook eye her a little, before he sighs.

"Alright, then I'll do it like this instead." He tilts his head a bit irritated, crossing his arms in front of him. "I'm sorry for speaking out of line yesterday. I didn't mean to upset you." He offers. Lea scoffs.

"Well, you still did." She mumbles, and it seems like now the beast shows it's real face as he looks at her.

"I don't think I've talked to you at all yesterday, so I'm not sure why you're barking right now." He challenges, making the makeup artist visibly surprised at the way he addresses her. "I believe she's old enough to talk for herself." The model argues, and you can practically feel Lea's rage beginning to buzz inside of her, and to avoid any sort of crime soon about to happen, you stand up, and push at Jungkook's shoulder to lead him towards the restroom area where you're a bit more secluded.

"I don't care about your apology." You tell him right away. "Neither do I care if you're truly sorry or just trying to appear that way. We're both here to work, and that's it." You say, while he stands in front of you listening with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Please do not invite me to anything you might want to do for the staff. I'm not interested." You finish your small rant.

"I always wondered what really went down, you know?" Jungkook says. "With you and Yongsun, I mean. He said that you hooked up with him, but honestly, looking at you, I can hardly believe that. No offense-" He waves off any potential anger you might have over the hidden message in that sentence. "-but you don't look like someone who fucks around." He shrugs.

"What do I look like then?" You challenge, now your arms crossed in defense. You don't like this situation in general. You just want him to leave you alone.

"I'm not sure." He admits. "But just between us-" He leans in a bit closer. "Yongsun is a cunt anyways. He drinks straight up coffee creamer- I mean, who the fuck does that?" he says, and at that, you actually have to laugh.

You remember that, years back.

"Listen-" Jungkook sighs. "-I know you probably have trust issues now, I'd have them too if I had to be with someone like that-" He tries to joke, "-but let's try and at least be civil with one another, okay?" He offers.

"You talk as if I was the one constantly picking fights." You bite back, a little annoyed again at the prospect of him victimizing himself right now.

"Yeah- it's a bad habit, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "I try and make jokes whenever I get awkward- and they don't land sometimes."

"You mean most of the time." you say, and he presses his lips together.

"Touché." He clicks his tongue, before he sways a bit on his feet. "Anyways, let's work well together, alright?" He offers his hand, and you shake it-

though you feel like this could be a terrible mistake.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic

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nataliawrites · 1 year

Text

TikTok on the Clock // Daniel Ricciardo

One of the best things to come out of the pandemic lockdown was finally giving in to the urge to download TikTok. You had quickly grown addicted to scrolling through the mix of eclectic videos that popped up on your “for you page” and soon enough decided to start posting some yourself.

It did not take long for Formula 1 fans to make the connection between your account and who your boyfriend is — Daniel Ricciardo was many things but subtle was not one of them and he had a tendency to “accidentally” interrupt you while you filmed.

You kept the account going long after restrictions eased and hopped on many of the trends that made their rounds on the app. This year, you were feeling slightly evil. You have been putting together a compilation of hilarious (if you did say so yourself) pranks that you pulled on your boyfriend since the season began and were just about to hit upload as the countdown began.

You put down your phone and turn to give Daniel your full attention.

Ten

Nine

Eight

Seven

Six

Five

Four

Three

Two

One

His lips taste like champagne.

Happy New Year!

“Hey Dan?”

“Mmh.”

“Maybe stay off TikTok for a bit.”

“What did you do?”

One

You loved the Australian Grand Prix. Your boyfriend’s home race was a spectacle on the track and a great opportunity to spend time with his family off the track.

As usual, you flew out to Perth a bit early before switching coasts for the race. You were busy in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner as you prepared to host everyone that evening. When everything was mostly done, you started recording on your phone and leaned it against the wall inconspicuously before calling for your boyfriend.

“Hey, babe?” You pour a heaping pile of salt on a spoon.

“Yeah?” You can hear Daniel from across the house.

“Can you come taste my sauce?” You dunk the spoon in a pot of your tomato sauce and pick up just enough to hide the salt.

He basically runs to the kitchen, “test taster reporting for duty.”

You bring the spoon to his mouth, “I used your nonna’s recipe.”

His eyes screw shut and his mouth puckers, “my-my nonna’s recipe?”

“Your mom shared it with me. Isn’t it delicious?”

“Yeah,” his voice cracks. “Delicious.”

You look at his face again and fight a losing battle not to laugh as he desperately tries not to offend you and his grandma.

You reach towards your phone as giggles escape you.

Daniel finally realizes he’s been tricked, “are you serious?”

You point the camera towards your boyfriend, “you should’ve seen your face.”

“You’re so mean to me,” he pouts.

Two

“Babe?” You questioned coming through the front door. You had spent the day loading up on groceries and stopping by a few boutiques that caught your eye. This was the perfect opportunity to finally pull one over on your boyfriend.

“I’m in here,” you drop your bags in the foyer and follow Daniel’s voice to where he’s lying on the living room sectional.

Your phone is stuck in your bra, the camera just peaking over your shirt. “My car told me I needed windshield wiper fluid while I was out.”

He lowers his phone but keeps his focus on it.

“So I pulled into a gas station and the guy working there gave me a really good deal. He told me I got it for 50 percent off and it was only $150 for me because of how sweet I was.”

Daniel’s head snaps up as he drops his phone.

“$150?”

“Yeah.”

“You paid $150?”

“Yeah …”

“For windshield wiper fluid?”

“Yeah? He told me it was a good deal!”

“Love,” you can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry, “I could’ve done that for free. He ripped you off.”

“But it was 50 percent off?”

“It costs less than $5 to buy and then you just pour it in!” He gestures wildly, “this is my fault. How do I race for a living and literally collect cars without teaching my girlfriend how to change her own windshield wiper fluid?”

By this point you’re silently laughing which Daniel finally notices.

“Really? Really?” He turns around to face the back of the couch, “don’t talk to me.”

“Awww, baby. Don’t be mad at me,” you coo. “I think it’s cute how protective you got.”

“Still mad at you.” It’s hard to take him seriously with his face shoved into the leather couch, muffling his voice.

Three

You walk into the gym, your phone hidden in the pocket of your leggings, and take in the view of you shirtless boyfriend.

The fans will appreciate this one.

“Dan?”

He pauses his juggling on the stationary bike.

“My back’s really been bothering since I came back from my run. Do you think you can help me stretch it or something?”

He gets off the bike and walks toward you, “do you want me to call Michael? He won’t mind coming over to help with your back.”

“Don’t bother him. It’s nothing major,” you turn away from your boyfriend and quickly stick two pieces of pasta between your molars while he can’t see, “just need to loosen it up a bit.”

“Okay …” he spreads his palms across your back and applies some careful pressure. You bite down on the pasta, timing the crack with his movements.

“Oh my god.” You let your body go limp.

“Love? Are you okay?” He tries to hold you up but you collapse on the padded floor of the gym.

“Is it your back? What did I do? I knew we should’ve just called Michael. Oh my god.”

You take pity on your boyfriend, not wanting him to think that he actually broke your back for longer than a few seconds, “it was just pasta.”

“What?”

“The sound. It was just me biting pasta. It’s a prank trend.”

He lets go of your body and you fully drop to the floor.

“Are.” He pelts you with one of the balls he was juggling.

“You.” And another.

“Kidding.” And another.

“Me?” And another.

You run out of the gym laughing as he continues to chase you through the house, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“I thought I broke your back!”

1K notes · View notes

builtbybrokenbells · 4 months

Text

CAPITAL VICES | ENVY

Envy: the intense desire to have something that someone else possesses.

Masterlist

Listen while reading: Poison - Alice Cooper

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), dom/sub, sir kink, praise, degradation, bratty sub, lots of dirty talk, name calling, overstimulation, forced orgasm if you squint, drinking, swearing, fighting, mentions of cheating, mentions of breakups/breakups, mentions of hookups, mentions of substance/addiction/withdrawal, mentions of divorce/bad past relationships, mentions of death/dying, mentions of loss of a parent/grief, guilt, regret, depression, general sadness, anxiety, jealousy/possessiveness, very brief mention of guns, sorry if i miss any!

😘 as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!!

The haze of smoke in the room was becoming overwhelming, and even though it would normally be enticing, now it seemed nothing short of a nuisance. A basket of fries sat in front of you, ketchup lazily pooling next to the pile of fried food. Although originally put there for a dipping sauce, now it’s only purpose was to make the fries soggy and even more unappetizing. Your hunger seemed to have fled you, but in truth, never really existed in the first place. You only convinced yourself to order it as an attempt to resume some sort of normalcy to what life was like months ago. A triple whiskey sat in front of you, deliciously tempting, but the exact opposite of what you needed to feel better. Ray approached you, a knowing look in his eye and his usual, raggedy towel slung over his shoulder.

“Been a while, darlin’.” He leaned on the countertop, looking down at your untouched order. “Missed ya.”

“Yeah, I guess it has.” You chuckled, swirling your ice around your glass. “How’ve you been?”

“Livin’.” He replied, taking a long look over your face. “And you?”

“Oh, you know.” You forced a smile onto your lips, beginning to realize that coming out was the worst thing you could have done. “Working, sleeping, and working some more. An exciting life I live.” You neglected to mention the days of wallowing that had come before your arrival at the bar and the horrific heartbreak you were experiencing. Now that you did not have Jake to occupy your time, you had decided to return to your weekly Friday night routine; drinking yourself into oblivion at the bar and falling asleep alone. What used to be so fantastic was now gut-wrenching, and the thought of returning to an empty bed was killing you.

It had been about a week since your blowout with Jake, and he did well to heed your wishes. Not once had he tried to reach out, and neither did you. As the days dragged on and no contact was had, you slowly started to understand that the relationship was over, and all you could do was mourn what was once so beautiful. Instead of trying to fix things, you thought it was easier to tend to your wounds in seclusion and move forward with your life instead. You hadn’t even so much as looked at a picture of him or spoken his name, and you didn’t plan on it. If you knew one thing about healing, it was that doubling back only ever made it hurt worse.

You missed him, but not nearly enough to lose your dignity by begging for him to come back. If he did not want you, and sex was the only thing you were good for, so be it. He got his fill, and you would not lose any more respect for yourself by running back to him and trying to get him to see you were worth more than that.

“Not spending time with that guy who was with you the other night?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he waited for a response.

“No, definitely not.” You gave a chuckle, shaking your head. “Waste of my time, Ray.” You reminded, forcing him to recall your many drunken ramblings about men.

“He do wrong by you?” He asked, trying to get to the bottom of your quiet brooding. You shifted in your seat, taking a long sip from your beverage.

“No,” you shook your head. “I started it.” You confessed.

“Don’t think you’d be this upset if he didn’t do anything wrong.” He said, polishing the rims of a few glasses that just came from the dishwasher. You shrugged your shoulders, finding the familiar burn of the whiskey comforting. Finally, you seemed to find some sort of connection to the version of you that lived before Jake, even if it was through cheap liquor and the company of an old bartender.

“He did, but the blame is still on me. He might have done wrong, but I was the one who let him.” You let your eyes focus on the grain of the wood in the bar counter, finding it easier to avoid eye contact.

“Darlin’, I think it’s time you stop blaming yourself for everything. What others do to you isn’t your fault, and you’re allowed to be mad at someone other than yourself.” He sat another drink in front of you, noticing you were already running low on liquor. “That one’s on the house.”

“Four daughters really taught you a thing or two about advice.” You gave a solenn smile. “I’ll try my best.”

“Four daughters gave me a lot more than good advice.” He chuckled, wiping down the table as he spoke. The fatherly tone sent your heart into agony. He was so proud of his children, and nearly every time you visited the bar, you heard about all of their accomplishments and struggles. It was a beautiful thing to see a father love his children so dearly, but you could not refute the jealousy that plagued you every time you listened to the stories.

It was not jealousy over the fact you did not have a good father and they did, because in your opinion, your father was the best one in the entire world. You were jealous that yours was not around to speak such admiration about you to others, and he was not there to pat you on the back and speak his own advice. You missed him with a fervor, and in the last week, it was more intense than it had been in a very long time. You wished so badly that you could have your dad by your side, speaking truth about the stupidity of boys and speaking praise about how you were better than what Jake made you feel.

Your mother, of course, could do all of the same things, and your sister too, but it was not the same. Missing your father was the most difficult thing you had ever done, and it made you want to seclude yourself until the pain passed through. You did not want to reach out to the rest of your family for the same formalities; he was the only person who could truly make you feel better, and it had always been that way. You were angry that he was not here to help you through what seemed like your biggest heartbreak yet, even including the broken marriage that crumbled before you ever grew into an adult.

The heartbreak Jake had caused was violent, devastating and above all, deadly. It came about in such a way because your feelings for him creeped up on you, silent and unforgiving as you fell hopelessly in love with him. You had never got along with anyone else so swimmingly, and nobody else in the world had ever made you feel like he did. Most of all, it hurt so badly because he was the last person in the world you expected to hurt you.

He was the first person you trusted enough to know such intimate details about your life, and the first person in which you opened up to without a paralyzing amount of fear. You knew that you had done wrong, and you should not have let your past experience define what could have been with Jake, and if you could, you would take it all back in a heartbeat. You wished you had the ability to respond without all of the defenses you built up so high, and you wished that you could have swallowed your pride enough to realize that all he wanted to do was care for you. You loved Jake more than you ever thought you could, and if you had the chance to do it all again with the same outcome, you still would.

You knew that his response was due to his own hurt, but it did not take away from the things he said to you. You hurt him so much by rejecting him so bluntly and without hesitation, and you regretted it immensely. Jake was the last person you wanted to treat so poorly, because he was the first person to show you kindness at the hands of another. But, when you thought about his harshness for too long, a wave of nauseous overtook you and tears filled your eyes. You had hurt him, but he had hurt you just the same. You did not want to blame him for his actions, especially knowing that they came from a place of pain, but you could not choke down the bitter taste of his insults. If he could change his mind so quickly, you worried that maybe he thought that way all along.

The hurt also stemmed from your complete transparency with him. You opened up, told him more than you’d ever told anyone else, and moments later, he threw your relationship back in your face and denounced it to meaningless sex. To you, the sex was all but meaningless, and you truly thought it meant just as much to him. After the months of shared nights and memories that would stick with you for a lifetime, you hoped that you meant more to him than sexual gratification. You poured your heart out to him, telling stories of a failed marriage and a dead father in hopes that he would keep it safe and maybe in turn, take some weight off your shoulders. It was incredibly difficult for you to tell him so much, especially when you dedicated your entire life to keeping it hidden. It killed you to know that he would turn into a stranger again even after knowing you so well, and that your biggest secrets were in the hands of someone who you no longer wanted to know.

You were so caught up in your internal brooding that you didn't even notice Ray leave your side, nor did you hear the chime of the bell sound above the front door. It was not like you would have turned to look anyway; your interest in anything other than getting drunk was greatly lacking, and worrying about what others were doing would only hold you back from your intentions. If you found yourself concerned about the happenings of everyone else, it was take too long to get to the level of drunkenness you aspired to be, and you would have to stay at the bar far longer than you wanted.

You were a creature of habit, and despite your lack of desire to be at the bar, you needed to feel like yourself again. The only way you could do that was to carry on as if Jake Kiszka never stumbled into your life at all.

Your second drink was threatening the end when you felt someone take a seat beside you. You would not have turned to look if they did not extend a warm greeting, and even then, you wished you had ignored it.

“Hey, Josh.” You forced a smile, knowing that he was the worst person you could have encountered, only second to Jake himself.

“Fancy meeting you here, friend who is a girl.” You were certain that he had just reached out and stabbed you in the chest. The pain was unbearable, and it was nearly blinding. You kept your eyes glued to the glass in your hand, unsure if you could maintain eye contact without breaking down. Then, a fleeting feeling of fear ran through you. ‘Friend who is a girl’ was an awfully endearing term for someone who just broke his twin brothers heart. Either Josh did not know what transpired between you and Jake, or he was exceptionally good at hiding it.

“It is my favourite bar, after all.” You tried to joke with him, but it only made your chest ache with even more intensity.

“I knew there was a reason Jake suggested this place.” He chuckled, having an a-ha moment as he pieced the puzzle together. “It all makes sense now.” He gave an airy sigh, turning to the bartender to order a drink. “And one for her too, please.”

“Oh, Josh, no need for that-“

“I insist.” He was so similar to his brother that it was scary. As you waited for the drinks, you pondered his elusive words for a moment. From all that you knew about Josh, he did not seem deceitful in the slightest. If anything, he seemed like he was a terrible liar. Josh did not know a single thing that transpired, and you would be damned if you were the one to tell him.

Then, an evil idea infiltrated your sorrowful mind. If you pushed Josh in the right direction, he might have the answers to all of the questions you’d been wondering about in the past week.

Your sin had not only effected your relationship with Jake; now, it seemed to have an impact on every aspect of your life, including relationships with even the furthest of acquaintances.

“So Jake wanted to come here tonight?” You asked, trying your best to put on a mask of confidence. You yourself had never been very well versed in deceit, but you knew that it was your only shot at getting any real answers. God knows you would never reach out to Jake yourself, and his twin brother seemed to be the only chance at finding out the truth.

“Yeah, he was pretty adamant about it. I wasn’t sure why until I walked in and saw you sitting up here all alone.” He gave you a grin, turning to thank the bartender as he slid the drinks your way. “I’ll start a tab, too.” Ray nodded, raising an eyebrow at you, the expression full of inquiry. You waved him off, making it clear that you would stay to chat about it later.

“Thank you,” you replied, taking a sip from your new beverage. He shrugged you off, the gesture small and nothing that was requiring of a thanks.

“Jake was sick all week, so when he asked us all to come out, we jumped at the chance. He skipped practice and everything, which is really unlike him. I’ve seen him pick up that guitar with pneumonia.” He chuckled.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know.” You breathed, realizing then that he took the separation just as hard as you did.

“I’m surprised you didn’t catch it from him. He was so sick he couldn’t even get out of bed. I went over to his place once, but he was asleep so I just let him be.” Josh had no idea, but you were indeed suffering from the same sickness that Jake had. Heartbreak was more deadly than any other virus, and the two of you were plagued with it. Apparently Jake had the same idea as you and was hoping for a peaceful night to drink the despair away. Or, he was plotting for the absolute opposite.

“Yeah, that is strange. He never told me he was sick.” You muttered, lying through your teeth. Of course he didn’t tell you he was sick; he hadn’t told you anything at all since the last time you saw him.

“So was this planned, or is he just pulling a classic Jake move and hoping he’ll run into you?” Josh raised an eyebrow.

“Definitely not planned, so it must be the latter.” You took another long drink from your glass, wondering when the whiskey would satiate the hurt in your heart. When the burn did not even come close to the painful ache, you worried that it might be permanent.

“Something on your mind, friend who is definitely not a girlfriend? You seem off.” You caught his eye, nearly laughing at his statement. He was correct, you were definitely not a girlfriend, and now it was unlikely that you ever would be. You hated the fact that the option was no longer possible, because being his girlfriend no longer seemed like the worst thing in the world. If anything, you almost liked the idea.

“Lots, but nothing important.” You admitted, knowing that you could never profess such feelings to the brother of the man you loved so deeply. Telling Josh before Jake would be blasphemous, and you could not bring yourself to involve him in the mess you made. Well, any further, anyway.

“I think it’s important,” he assured you, trying to hold your gaze in hopes that his eyes would speak the truth better than his words could. You gave him a soft smile, appreciating his kindness but painfully aware that you were undeserving of it. Once he knew the truth, you were certain he would like you a lot less than he did in that moment. You felt guilty that you were maintaining a conversation with him after hurting Jake so much, but you could not explain your need to talk to him. He was the closest thing you had to a friend, even if you did not know him very well. More than that, he reminded you of the boy you missed with such intensity. When you spoke to him, he gave that same sense of home, even if he was not the home you were in need of. He was the vacation while you awaited retirement.

“It’s just work stuff. Had a particularly hard client, and I’m just trying to forget about it.” You lied with ease, the dishonesty beginning to turn your soul black and your morals upside down. For your entire life, you valued the truth, and ever since you met Jake, it seemed like you’d forgotten all about it. You lied to him about your feelings, and now you were lying to his brother, too. You were unrecognizable, the sinful months beginning to morph you into someone you tried so hard to run away from. The devil worked fast, and you had not yet found the strength to tell him to stop. You worried that if you could not find the courage soon enough, you would never recover.

“I’m sure you’ll prove them wrong. If you’re as talented as Jake says you are, I’m not sure how anyone could be dissatisfied with your work.” His name sent another blow straight to your stomach.

When a hand was placed on his shoulder and his attention was pulled in another direction, you were thankful for the break. You needed a moment to regain yourself, and you could not do that with Josh’s burning stare and reassuring words pointed at you. The guilt was eating you alive, and you knew you would have to come up with an excuse to evade his company if you wanted to make it through the night alive.

When you managed to catch your breath and settle the erratic nature of your heart, a hand landed on your own shoulder. You looked back, hoping to find one of the other two boys that did not have any affect on you, but instead, you were met with a sinking feeling in your stomach and an emotionally heavy gaze. You couldn’t believe that he approached you first, but as you looked over at Josh’s smiling face, you realized that it was likely all for the appearance. So, in hopes of avoiding and awkward questions, you threw on your biggest smile of the night.

“Jacob,” you greeted, trying to appear comfortable under his burning touch and unwavering stare. There was an obvious hint of reluctance in his eye which easily confirmed your worry. He was only talking to you on behalf of hiding the truth from Josh. You expected to be greeted with anger, or even distaste for him catching you sitting with his brother, but it did not seem like he felt that way at all. If anything, you felt that behind the reluctance to speak to you, pain was pooling in his expression.

“Long time no see, sweetheart.” The pet name sent your blood cold. What once was so comforting and sweet now seemed like an insult, or a backhanded gesture to get the last laugh.

“Will she be joining our soirée tonight?” Josh asked his brother. The two of you shared a look, and eventually you turned to Josh with a small shake of your head. In that moment, he realized the depth of the situation and a sense of sympathy formed on his face. “I see,” he said, taking a drink from his cup to avoid the awkwardness of speaking again.

“Could I… would you mind… I’d just like a minute alone with him, if that’s alright.” You struggled through the statement, anxiety written all over you. You had no idea what you were doing, but you were too far gone to stop yourself, now. Something about Jake made it so difficult to think before acting.

“Oh, yeah, f’course.” Josh said, nearly tripping over himself to stand. “I’ll grab that booth over there. I’m sure Sam and Daniel will be joining us soon.” He said, not waiting around for a second longer. You watched as Josh disappeared, almost immediately regretting your decision to stay. After a few moments of awkward silence filled with background chatter and obnoxious music, you managed to turn to face him.

“Can you… sit for a minute?” You mumbled, embarrassed to be taking the step. You didn’t notice it, but he was overjoyed that you spoke to him at all. He did come to the bar with intent to find you there, but he certainly did not expect a friendly conversation from you.

“Sure,” he bit down on his tongue, holding back the term of endearment that was begging to be said. He took post in the stool that Josh had previously occupied, looking down at his hands for a moment to gain enough courage to meet your eyes.

You did not know what you were doing, only what you felt in your heart. Had you stopped yourself from speaking and thought about the repercussions, you would have realized how bad of an idea it was to talk to him.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, looking over at his face.

Maybe you even would have understood that apologizing was giving him the key to your heart again, which would inevitably land you just as hurt and broken as you had been all week.

Doubling back on your promise to stay away from him was essentially pointing a loaded gun at your head, and talking to him was equal to pulling the trigger.

“You’re sorry?” He asked, appalled at the thought of you apologizing. When you asked him to sit, he’d been preparing for the cruelest of insults and the worst of your thoughts. “No, angel. I’m sorry.” You has completely thrown him off track, and every thought he had while waking into the bar no longer existed. The only thing that mattered was your sad eyes and your heart that was splayed so delicately on your sleeve. The hurt was gone, replaced with the longing he’d been burying deep inside himself.

“You don’t need to be.” You shook your head. “Well, you do, but not nearly as much as I should be.” You did not have intent to rekindle the relationship, but you did want to settle the score.

At least that’s what you were trying to convince yourself. As you repeated it in your head, your hands were desperate to reach out for him and your body was aching to be held by him again.

“I shouldn’t have responded like that.” You let out a long breath, trying to gather your thoughts as you poured your heart out to him. “I, uh, I don’t like falling in love, and relationships terrify me, but you didn’t deserve that.” You had no idea why you were trying so hard with him, and no idea why you hoped that he would understand. You didn’t want to be with him, and you didn’t want him to feel like that was your intent. It was better left unsaid, but for some reason, you could not will yourself to walk away from him. Even more so, you could not let him walk away from you again. “I do care about you, Jake. I just don’t really know how to do that anymore, and when you said it so bluntly, it scared the shit out of me.”

“Oh.” He breathed, enthralled in the details of your face. He felt himself falling for you all over again, and this time, it did not scare him nearly as much as the last. You tried to deny it, but you felt the familiar gravitational pull pushing you towards him. You were enamoured with him from the minute you caught sight of his face. “I shouldn’t have thrown it on you like that. It was unfair, and I can see that now. I just… it felt right, and I couldn’t stop myself.” He admitted, almost appearing nervous as he tried his best to be transparent with you the same way you were with him. “I promised you, y/n, and I hate that I couldn’t keep it.” You swallowed thickly, your eyes darting to the whiskey glass in your hand.

“I guess I didn’t keep my promise very well, either.” You chuckled. “I couldn’t even admit it, even if we were playing house every day.” You sipped your drink, hoping that it might calm your nerves. When he looked as if he was waiting for you to continue, you did. “I care about you a lot, Jake. So much that it scares me. I felt it, too, and I don’t know why I couldn’t just say it, or at least respond with less… crazy.” You laughed. For the first time since he’d joined you that night, a smile crossed his lips, too. It was blinding, the kind that you couldn’t fake, and it warmed your heart.

“You’ve always been more than sex.” He confessed, profound and sincere. “You are worth the whole world and more, and I’m sorry that I said that. I didn’t mean it, but it doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.” You were so relieved that you felt tears begin to prickle your eyes. For the first time since he walked out of your house that night, the world did not feel like it was ending. “And you look stunning tonight, as always.”

“Don’t push it, Jacob.” You giggled, feeling the need to lean over and kiss him. You held back, not out of fear of love, but because you worried he might not want it. There was no way you could stop yourself if he leaned in first, and the more the seconds passed, the more comfortable you grew with the thought.

“You remember the last time we sat here?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning into you so similar to how he did that very first night.

“How could I forget?” You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure you were wearing the same, tacky dress pants.”

“And you were just as insulting.” He teased, but the look in his eye lead you to believe he was not hurt by your words. Instead, he seemed estatic to hear that same tone of voice again.

“Two condoms in your wallet?” You bit back a smile.

“Three, actually.” He corrected. “Was hoping I could find someone who I could keep with me all weekend.” The look in his eye darkened slightly, letting you know he was thinking of all the filthy things the two of you could get up to with three, uninterrupted days.

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.” You offered, pretending as if you weren’t thinking of the exact same things.

“Am I?” He challenged, leaning just a bit closer. “Don’t tell me I have to do this all over again.”

“A little courtship wouldn’t kill you, Jacob.” You swung your chair in his direction, facing him with the playful look in your eye he loved so much. “How bad do you want it?” You pressed further, leaning down slightly so he had a clear view of the cleavage your dress was allowing.

“I don’t even think I could make it to the bathroom, this time.” The seriousness in his tone was chilling, and in a moment of sheer irrationality, your hand reached over and rested on his. The moment contradicted all he had been afraid of, and although the gesture was small, it was more permissive than anything you’d done in the time you knew him.

He stood, moving towards you and capturing your face in his hands. With great intensity, he leaned down and placed his lips to yours. The kiss was heated, letting you know that he’d been thinking about it just as much as you had in the time spent apart, and neither of you wanted it to end.

For a moment, things seemed perfect.

But, you were far too grown to believe that perfection was possible, and your judgement was momentarily clouded by the yearning of your heart.

When you lived a lifestyle as sinful as yours, the devil had a helping hand in every aspect, and God did not have enough sympathy to grant you enough grace to allow for a moment of peace.

“Too much to say I missed you?” He mumbled against your lips, dreading the moment in which he would have to part from you. It was a phrase the two of you used often, and the answer was almost the same every single time.

“Just enough.” You replied, your heart begging to burst from your chest.

The problem was nowhere near resolved, and all you had done was found an island after being stranded in the ocean. It allowed for temporary relief, but not salvation.

“Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

“If we’re keeping score, I’d owe you plenty of drinks.”

“This is more than enough for me, angel.” He assured you, his lips still hovering over your own.

“One drink, then, and I’ll make it up to you later.” You offered, giving him a sly smile. The filthy invitation was subtle, but he could read you like a book. Filthy was the only thing the two of you knew, and it would not be easy to break out of it, even if you both committed to trying.

“Can we skip to that part? I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“So impatient, Jacob.” You let out a disapproving tsk. “I heard once that the wait makes it all the better.”

“What can I say, sweetheart. You always bring out the worst in me.” His thumb drifted over your cheek, the glimmer of love in his eye returning as if it never left. “Besides, I think we have a lot of time to make up for.” His other hand landed on your thigh, just below the ending of the skirt of your dress. The touch was light, but electrifying. You knew that you could search to the ends of the earth, and you would still never find anyone who even came close to Jake.

“Don’t get yourself worked up, honey. It’ll be a long night for you.” You reached out, your hand landing on his side as you pulled him closer.

“For me?” He raised an eyebrow. The two words sent a rush of arousal straight to your core, and for a moment, you thought you would allow him to fuck you right over the bar top if it meant you could have him again. “Careful, angel. Would hate to have to remind you of who’s in charge.” You squeezed your thighs together to satiate the ache that was steadily growing. He noticed the tense of your muscles under his hand, a wicked look in his eye forming as he realized the mess he was causing between your legs.

“A double whiskey, please.” You tried to keep your voice as strong as possible, but the words came out strained. You were desperate to change the topic, but he was never one to give up so easily. He tightened his fingers around your leg for just a moment, the familiar smirk growing on his lips as he stepped away.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He hummed as he took a seat again, waiting for the bartender to return to the two of you. “Just be sure that’s what you want.” He said, looking over his shoulder at Ray who was serving a group of older men.

“What game are you playing, Jacob?”

“No games,” he promised “I’m just saying, if you want something, don’t be scared to ask for it.” At his words, something inside you snapped. You stood, not the least bit worried about your bluntness, and gave him a hard stare.

‘Self-righteous prick’ you thought to yourself. ‘God, I love it.’

“Meet me in the bathroom.” You said, only loud enough for him to hear. Hiding a smile, he watched you as you stormed towards the bathroom, his eyes focused intently on your ass. With a shrug of his shoulders, he finished the last of your drink, waiting only a moment before he stalked off in the same direction, uncaring about anyone catching you two in the act. When he approached the door to the bathroom, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

He raised his hand to knock on the door, but you swung it open and pulled him inside before his fist even had the chance to hit the wood. Before the door was closed behind you, your lips connected with his in a fervent embrace. As you attempted to push the door shut, your other hand was already unbuttoning his infuriatingly attractive shirt. His hands were on you, roaming every exposed inch of you and familiarizing himself with the feeling of you on his skin.

“And I’m the impatient one?” He smirked against your kiss, unable to hold back his thoughts.

“Shut the fuck up.” You muttered, finally managing to free the last button from his shirt. He reached up, tangling your curled hair in his fist and holding it tightly.

“Watch your fucking mouth.” He warned. Just because he had missed you did not mean that he was willing to give up the control.

“Shut the fuck up, sir.” You repeated, making sure to annunciate the title with as much detail as you could. As much as you missed his company, you missed pushing his buttons far more. “Is that better?

“Do you want me to leave you here all by yourself?” He questioned, the dominance in his voice familiar and incredibly enticing. Perhaps you decided to misbehave just to see it again, because in that moment, you felt at home again. “I will, angel. I’ll go out and order a drink, and you can take care of that ache between your legs all alone.” Your stomach plummeted at the thought of him leaving you on your lonesome. “You don’t like the sound of that, do you?”

“No, sir.” You shook your head, focused on his erection that was pressing into your hip. You doubted that he would do as he said, but you still feared that he might.

“Then lose the fucking attitude.” He ordered, taking a step forward so you were pushed against the wall. “I missed you too, but you need to be good for me, okay? If we’re in here for too long, people are going to notice we’re gone, and then we’ll be in trouble.”

“Okay.” You breathed, agreeing and knowing it was best to get to the point as fast as you could. Avoiding an awkward conversation was in your best interest, and your best interest was his biggest priority. You watched him as he sunk to his knees before you, his fingers bunching up the fabric of your dress and hiking it up to your navel. His lips dusted over your thighs, the sight nearly sending him weak. It had been far too long since he had you like this, but as much as he would have loved to keep you there with him all night, he knew he had to hurry.

“Dressing up for someone, sweetheart?” He asked, letting his fingers trail over the black lace of your thong. He tried to frame his question as inquisitive, but you knew it ran far deeper than teasing you. He was wondering if you had plans to meet with someone else. The thought nearly made him sick, but he felt as though he needed to know the answer.

“No, sir.” You promised. He looked up, catching your eye and living in the moment of sincerity.

“So this is all for me?” He smiled.

“Always.” You reached down, cupping his cheek in your palm. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, feeling the warmth and wishing it could last forever. His fingers hooked through the sides of your underwear as he slowly pulled them away from your hips. He let the flimsy material fall to your ankles, his eyes heavy and clouded with desire for you.

“You’re too good to me, angel.” He purred, helping you free one leg from the thong. Instead of focusing on the other one, he guided the freed leg over his shoulder and placed a trail of sloppy kisses on the inside of your thigh.

The air between you was different, but in no negative way like you previously thought it would be. It was more passionate, more relaxed, and most of all, more loving. The confession of feelings did not change anything between you two like you feared. It only seemed to made the connection stronger, and so much better. You felt like an idiot for turning him away, and you regretted turning him down without a second thought. All that the two of you were doing was loving; the only difference from then to now was the words being spoken into existence. You cared much too deeply about the small word that held so little value, and not enough about the boy who found home between your legs. Now that you had him again, you vowed to never let yourself be so foolish again.

When his mouth connected with your core, you could not contain the pornographic moan that left your lips. A week to most was nothing, just a small amount of time that was easily forgotten. A week without Jake, however, was no less than torture, especially having left things so badly. The feeling of his tongue on you was addicting, and for the last seven days, you were a woman plagued with the worst of withdrawals. One hundred and sixty eight hours without his touch was excruciating, and ten thousand and eighty minutes without the grace of his presence felt worse than any hell that awaited you in the afterlife.

Any time spent away from Jake was horrible, and you never wanted to be apart from him again.

“Taste just as good as I remember, sweetheart.” He pulled away just long enough to slip in the comment, the husky tone of his voice sending your knees weak. “How fast do you think you can cum for me?”

“I don’t know, baby.” You breathed, already missing the feeling of his mouth. He should have phrased his question better; he was not wondering about your ability to orgasm, but rather how fast he could get you there. The answer was up to him, and he was nothing if not keen on a challenge. Without any further conversation, his tongue had found your clit once again, and this time, he was working with intent. “Oh, fuck.” You whined, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging at the roots.

The feeling of your fingers knotted in the locks of hair was exhilarating, better than any substance he could imagine. The taste of your arousal on his lips was like heaven, and he was a fool to have walked away from you. You were the best thing his hands ever had the opportunity to touch, and you were the only thing his heart desired. It did not matter if you were in the backseat of a car, or in a dirty bar bathroom, or even laid on the most expensive mattress the world had to offer; the moment was sacred to him, and it had everything to do with you.

He hummed against you, a wordless praise for the beautiful noises slipping past your lips. When you let his name mixed within them, he knew he would never hear a more beautiful sound. He was certain that the world could not offer any more than you, and his name would never sound half as pretty painted on someone else’s lips. He was unequivocally in love with you, and he no longer felt the need to run from it. This was where he was meant to be, foolishly happy and living with his head between your legs.

You let in a sharp intake of breath as he raised his hand to your cunt and slipped his fingers inside of you. Within seconds, he curled his fingers just right and hit the spot inside you only he knew how to find. He knew you better than anyone else in the world, but more than that, he was the only person who cared enough to know you so well. You were a mess, the sounds echoing off the walls adding to the sexual tension in the room and only driving him into a frenzy. Pleasing you had become his favourite pastime, and he was devestatingly good at it. Your hips bucked forward into his hand and his mouth, and you could feel him smile against you.

Driving you crazy had quickly become his trademark, and he was happy he could put the talent to use once more.

You were dangerously close, your walls constricting against him as you tried to fight the waves of pleasure. You body was sticky with sweat and your hair and makeup was likely ruined, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Jake, just like always. The knot in your belly was begging to unravel, taunting you further with every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue. You hated how easy it was for him to send you in to such a state, but above all, you were thankful that he’d managed to find you amidst the chaos of the world.

As you began to descend into pleasure, the only thing you could think of was how grateful you were that out of billions of people, you were the lucky one to be able to have Jake.

If you told yourself that months ago, you would laugh and spit in your own face.

But the devil was a master at his trade, and this specific trade happened to be all things sex. It was impossible not to fall victim to it, even if it would eventually be the cause of your demise.

“Please don’t stop, m’gonna cum.” You pleaded, your grip tightening around the strands of hair tangled between your fingers. Your legs began to quiver and your mind quickly dissolved into desperate, obscene thoughts about the boy driving you mad. A particularly coarse moan tore from your chest, letting him know how good he was making you feel. Then, underneath the sound of your pleasure, so quiet that you almost missed, you heard him moan against you. It was filled with emotion, showing you all of him at once; the need for you, the weakness he had in regards to you, and the pure joy he felt from pleasing you.

And it sent you into absolute bliss.

You came hard, your body tensing as he held your hips tightly, keeping his mouth on you for as long as he could. He soaked up the pleasure, letting it settle heavily in his bones. It weighed him down with likeness to cement, forcing him to stay on the ground and live solely to please you for the rest of his life. As you came down, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His tongue was still focused on your clit and his fingers moved as if he wanted to force you into another orgasm.

“Jake, please stop.” You gasped, the sting of overstimulation infiltrating every nerve in your body. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to pull his head away from you in reaction to the feeling. He did not stop, and he did not even show any signs of slowing. He wanted you to come again, and he wasn’t willing to back down. “Jake,” you tried again, but you knew that he would not stop unless you spoke the right word. A small part of you wanted to, but a bigger part of you wanted to continue. You had learned long ago that whatever Jake was willing to give you was worth more than anything else, and pain from him was worlds better than pleasure from another.

That was the funny thing about the devil; he forced your hand in believing that his torture was bliss.

He let out another moan against you, his cock painfully hard and strained against his pants. He needed you desperately, but not as much as he needed the taste of you on his tongue. It was more than a necessity; it was a matter of life or death. If he pulled away, he feared his heart would stop and his lungs would deflate.

“Fuck!” You yelped, your abdomen painfully tense and your mind swimming with nothing but a need to slow down. Still, he was like an addiction, and stopping was not an option. You too felt as though you would succumb to death if you had to go without him. He knew that despite your protests, you were close to the edge once again. Your body told him more than your words, and the rock of your hips against his hand and the way your walls clenched around his fingers, inviting them further inside told him all he needed to know.

The next orgasm that ravaged your body set your skin on fire and reduced your brain to mush. You could not speak, nor could you even force his name out. Your throat constricted alongside the rest of your body, and sweat began to bead on your forehead. Your hands were too weak to hold on to his hair any longer, and the only reason you were upright was because of his iron grip on you. This time, when you came down, his movements slowed with the beat of your heart. He moved his mouth first, and then his fingers followed. He looked up at your face, his chin glistening with wetness, and a smile blossomed on his lips.

“How was that, angel?” He asked, slowly rising to his feet. You could not form an answer, instead only blinking at him as you tried to steady your breathing. But, your silence was enough of a response for him, and he guided you towards the countertop before you could even begin to recover.

Your head was still spinning as he bent you over the counter and unbuckled his belt. You watched him in the mirror as he spit into his hand, rubbing himself for a moment before he rested the tip of his cock on you. He caught your eye into the mirror, giving you a small smirk as he studied your fucked out expression. Your eyes were glued to his face, memorizing the details of him too, fearful that you might miss something. The seven days spent apart had done nothing but make you dread what life would be like if you never saw him again. Now that he was there, standing behind you with his hands on you, you never wanted to be apart from him again. You did not want to miss out on a single moment of life with Jake, and you felt stupid for not being able to admit it sooner.

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone low and filled with lust. “Do you want me?”

“I do,” you nodded, your voice raspy and your desperation evident. You caught his eye, a chill running down your spine at the expression he held in his gaze. His jaw was hard set and his nostrils were slightly flared. The sight of him alone was sending you feral, and you didn’t know if you could wait much longer. “Please, Jake. I need you.”

“You need me?” He taunted, pushing his hips forward ever so gently. The feeling of him inside you was thrilling, even if it was just barely. Only the tip rested inside you, and even though you both wanted to go further, the small action was worth more than anything else. You were certain Jake could give you anything, even including the smallest of gestures, and you would thank him until your lungs gave out from a lack of air. Any kindness from him was enough, and you were certain his injustices even bordered pleasure. He was everything, and you couldn’t believe he was yours.

“I need you,” you reiterated, giving him a look of desperation through the mirror. “Please, baby.” You tried again, feeling him push into you a little more. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing that soon enough he would not be able to resist the temptation. “You always make me feel so good.” He took in a sharp breath at your words, finally finding enough kindness to give you what you wanted.

When he bottomed out inside of you, he sat for a moment, completely still as he revelled in the feeling. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back towards the ceiling just enough to expose the muscles of his neck. His adams apple stuck out against his tanned skin, the glisten of sweat on him making the picturesque moment even more beautiful. His shirt was still on his shoulders, but all of the buttons were undone and his chest was bare, begging to be admired. You let your eyes trail all the way from his collarbones, drinking in the detail until your gaze settled on his navel. Then, your stare landed on the sight of his hips meeting yours, thinking about how the two of you fit together so perfectly that it was sinful not to indulge in the ritual.

You clenched around him, biting back a smirk as his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. He let his hand drift up your back, settling in tight hold on your shoulder. “I missed that tight little cunt.” He muttered, finally meeting your eyes in the reflection again. Your stomach twisted into knots, your legs going weak again just at his words. Behind his pupil, you could see the streak of evil that so often ran through him. When your eyes went out of focus, you swore that devil horns sat atop his head much like the first night you shared with him, but this time they were not hidden in the blackness of night. They were in plain sight, and you did not even believe he was trying to hide it anymore.

It was almost funny, how you had been so scared of his hellish nature in the beginning, and now you had fallen in love with it just the same as the rest of him.

He withdrew his hips slowly and steadily, and then with the force of his hand on your shoulder, pulled you back down on him with a strength that made your head spin. A cry of pleasure fell from your lips as he made it a point to keep up the brutal pace. He was sinister, and that much was obvious, yet you no longer held a fear for his godless power. As time dragged on, a part of your soul had turned vile to match the evil of his own, and the two of you had become one. You could not point a finger at him and call him the devil, because you would have to point at yourself in the mirror and say the same. The wicked nature lived within the both of you, taking over and claiming your body as it’s own. You were possessed by the power, and the two of you ruled hell as one. The fate you feared awaited you was no longer terrifying, because you were now the power you once feared.

You cannot play Russian roulette with Satan, because only he would have the knowledge to create a game so sinister. He passed you the loaded gun, and you put it to your own head even with the knowledge that there was six bullets sitting in the chamber.

You were playing a losing game; after all, how could death itself fear dying?

“This is what you wanted?” He asked, the sound of skin on skin filling the room and leaving little room for anything else. “You wanted me so bad you couldn’t even wait until we got home.”

Until we got home. Insinuating that home was only a place where the two of you existed together, and that home to him was wherever you were.

And god, he was right.

That house was nothing without him in it, and the memories made before his time meant little anymore. He was home, and that house was just a shelter to hide away in until he was there to fill it with love. This time, upon the harsh realizations, you did not shy away from the idea. Instead, you welcomed it with open arms and a smile on your face. Jake was home, a place where you could hide away from the rest of the world. He was a hug after a long day, and a warm blanket after facing the violent cold. He was a place to put your sorrow down, and where you could let the walls of defence fall. He was not the only home you’d ever known, but he was the best one you’d ever known.

You wanted to tell him you loved him. The word was lingering in the air, the sweet taste dancing on the tip of your tongue and it’s soft hand was caressing your cheek. Instead, you moaned his name and told him how good he was making you feel. It was not the confession you wanted to make, but it was enough to satiate the craving until you were strong enough to speak the truth. Sex was the only way you knew how to communicate with him, but you hoped that with time, you would finally be able to speak the words he so badly wanted to hear.

“Shit!” You gasped, his cock slamming into your cervix and sending your thighs rocking into the countertop. You could already feel bruises forming, but you could not find it within yourself to care. When you returned home and took your dress off, it was serve as a reminder that he was real and you weren’t just dreaming of someone so wonderful. A loud slur of moans fell from your lips, and his hand came up to clamp around your mouth while he continued at the same, bruising pace.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart.” He reminded, but sounds of pleasure were seeping from his own lips. “Those are only for me. You know that.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but you could tell that he was getting close from the waver of his words. You let out a while, muffled by the strong hand anchored to your mouth. “I know, angel.” He sympathized, feeling the same way. “Cum for me.”

You did just as he asked, unravelling around his cock and dissolving into a mess below him. He watched your face in the mirror, studying every miniscule detail and searing it into his brain forever. He never wanted to forget what you looked like when you were experiencing such euphoria at his hands. He muffled every noise that slipped out, and he kept his rhythm until you relaxed against him. When your eyes fluttered open and flickered up to meet his own, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching his own climax. His hips stuttered and you felt him twitch inside of you as he painted your walls with his release. His stature faltered and he slumped over slightly, wrapping you in a blanket of warmth as his chest pressed against your back. He released his hold on your mouth as he pressed his mouth to the back of your neck, leaving a few gentle kisses on the exposed skin.

“We have a thing for bathrooms.” You breathed, looking at his reflection through heavily-lidded eyes. You couldn’t help but feel pure adoration at the sight of his face, knowing for certain that you would never see a more beautiful person.

“You know I can’t help myself around you.” He gave a lazy chuckle, straightening up as he pulled out of you. “Especially when you wear such slutty dresses. You could at least leave something to the imagination.” He joked.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind next time.” You laughed, pushing yourself up off the counter.

“Don’t you dare.” He warned, knowing that he’d miss it more than anything.

“That’s what I thought.” You smirked, moving to clean yourself off as best as you could. “So… we’re okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, smiling at the question. “We’re okay, angel.”

“I… uh, I’d like to do that other part more often, too.” You confessed. He took a step towards you, wrapping you in a hug that expressed all he felt for you in his heart. He placed a kiss to your forehead, smiling against you at the thought of building a relationship with you. When he pulled away, he also took the time to fix the skirt of your dress. Then, he reached up and swiped away your smudged lipstick with his thumb. “Sex is great, but I really like spending time with you, too.”

“We can make that happen.” He promised, looking to you with an astounding amount of sincerity in his eyes. “I’m so sorry that I said that stuff to you. You didn’t deserve it, and I will do everything I can to make up for it.” He cupped your cheek in his hand.

“I’m sorry, too.” You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes for a moment to savour the innocent intimacy. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Jake. I don’t want to hurt you, ever.”

“I know,” he said, leaning down and placing a small kiss to your lips. Your heart fluttered and your stomach twisted with joy. Slowly, you began to overcome your fear, because you knew that even the scariest of things did not seem too bad with Jake by your side. “Did you… do you want to come and have a drink with us? I’m sure Josh is out of his mind with worry, now. He really likes you, and I think he’s been scared I was going to fuck it up.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, knowing he was right. “Do you want to come back to my house, tonight?”

“More than anything.” He nodded, the words rushing out of him with a long sigh of relief. “I’ll go and order us drinks. Meet me out there in a few minutes?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded, shooing him towards the door. The two of you had already been gone for a suspicious amount of time and you would hate for them to catch on to your act. Jake blew you a kiss as he stepped out the door, closing it gently behind him. You smiled, your cheeks dusting red as you swiped away any fallen mascara specs from under your eyes. You touched up your lipstick and combed your fingers through your hair, and by the time you looked presentable, you could safely leave the bathroom.

You walked out, first noticing Jake by the bar. You sent him a smile, trying to hide the excitement in your eyes as you approached him. It was strange feeling giddy over a grown man, like you were a middle schooler with an embarrassing crush. It was even stranger to know that it was not only reciprocated, but he felt the exact same way you did. You joined his side, smiling at Ray as he fixed your drinks. Jake tucked you safely under his arm, pulling you closer to him as his hand rested on your hip.

“Two double whiskeys.” Ray said, placing the glasses in front of you.

“Thanks darlin’.” You smiled, grabbing yours and taking a long sip out of it.

“Can you combine her tab with mine?” Jake asked, taking a drink from his own cup. You shot him a look protest but he paid you no mind. Ray gave a nod, looking to you as if to ask if everything was alright. You gave him a subtle nod, telling him all he needed to know.

“You head over, I just need to grab my jacket and stuff.” You told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Sure thing.” He said, letting his eyes linger over you before turning to join his brothers.

“So it all worked out?” Ray asked, watching you collect your belongings from your chair.

“Seems so.” You shrugged. “I guess things weren’t as bad as I thought they were.”

“Don’t let him break your heart, darlin’.” He said, collecting the empty glasses littering the counters. “You’re worth more than that.”

“I won’t.” You promised, slinging your jacket over your shoulder and holding your drink tightly. “Thanks for being there for me, Ray.”

“I’ve always got your back.” He promised. “I might be old, but I’ve still got fight left in me.” You laughed at his words, nodding in agreement. “Have fun, sweetheart.”

“You know I will!” You called, turning to face the booth that the boys were occupying. Jake was just reaching the table as you began to walk over to join, but he did not sit down. Instead, he seemed to freeze in his tracks and after a few seconds, sent a nervous look over his shoulder at you.

Fear gripped you, but you continued walking towards him in hopes that you were misreading his expression. When you reached the group, you gave a smile to Sam and Danny, but they seemed to have to force their own in return. When your eyes drifted to Josh, he was looking down at his hands settled into his lap. Then, your eyes settled on an unknown girl who was sitting next to Josh in the booth, who was also making quick work at ogling Jake. You swallowed your pride, looking to Jake in hopes of a quick answer or reassurance that this situation was nothing but innocent.

Before he could explain himself, the nameless blonde stood from the booth with a grin on her face, leaning forward without any hesitation and placed a kiss on Jake’s lips. In truth, Jake did not respond, but to you it seemed as if he did. Your eyes were deceiving you on behalf of your broken heart. He placed a stiff hand on her hip, but not in any attempt to draw her closer. He was silently trying to stop her from taking it any further. He was straight as a board, his muscles tense and trying in every way to exude his distaste for the greeting.

When he didn’t respond with enthusiasm, she pulled away and with intent to cover her own bruised ego, shot you a look of daggers. You watched the two, unsure of what was happening, and completely unwilling to find out. The only thing you could do was laugh, and even that came out awkward and painful. It seemed stuck in your throat as tears prickled your eyes.

“Y/n,” Jake warned, taking a step in your direction and completely disregarding the woman who seemed so intent to get his attention. “Please.” He whispered, no louder than a pin drop. He wanted to explain before your mind got the best of you, but your decision was already made. There was nothing he could say to make you feel better.

The real reason he invited his brothers to the bar finally surfaced, and the room was heavy with the weight of his mistake. He’d been so intent to know if you were at the bar waiting for someone else because he had shown up with the intent to entertain another woman. The question was not one of inquire, but an admission of guilt. He had not invited the blonde girl out because he was interested in anything she had to offer; he had invited her to that specific bar on that specific night because he knew you would be there, dressed up and drinking whiskey while you pretended to be interested in the football game playing on the television. He wanted you to see them together, and he was betting on you having a jealous streak. He thought if he could make you jealous, you’d run straight back into his arms.

What he was not expecting was your warm welcome when he’d arrived, nor did he ever think there would be a heartfelt apology. Maturity had lost him when you’d broken his heart, and he wanted to play dirty. He was so immersed in you while you two aired out your thoughts that he failed to remember the other girl who was on her way to meet him there. You always triumphed when it came to anything or anyone else, but this time, your effect on him had been fatal. He dug his own grave and as he stood amidst the chaos he caused, he worried that he sealed it forever.

You wanted to throw your drink in his face, or to scream until your throat was raw and no more sound could be made. You wanted to tell him every bad thing you were thinking and call him every terrible name you could imagine. Instead of any of that, you seemed frozen in place. Your fingers were clasped around your glass so tightly that it nearly shattered under the pressure. Your lips were glued together despite the insults begging to break free. Your eyes held fire but they were calm, which was even more dangerous. He broke your heart once already, but this time, he’d torn it to shreds and discarded it like it was nothing.

There was power in walking away, and it just so happened that walking was your favourite thing to do.

“Enjoy your date, Jacob.” Your words came out clearer and stronger than you thought they would. You feared the familiar crack in your voice would sell you out, but not even that seemed to want to surface. Maybe it was afraid of your consequential anger, too. Your skin felt like there was a million cuts littering the surface, stinging with every pulse of your heart and stretch of your body. Your nerves felt like they were doused in gasoline and he’d thrown a match your way, igniting you without a second thought. He took a step towards you, but you took a step back and shook your head, shutting down whatever idea was running through his mind. He could see the shine of sadness begin to glaze your irises, and he felt equivalent to the dirt on the bottom of your shoe.

“Just listen to me for a second.” He pleaded, knowing that everyone at the table was watching the circus as it unfolded. Horror was not a good enough description for how everyone was feeling, and nobody knew what to do. Worse than that, nobody knew what to expect. The boys were watching you as if you would explode at any second, and god knows you wanted to. But, you were stronger than that, and he didn’t deserve such a reaction.

“Listen to what? I don’t care.” You said, shaking your head. “I don’t care if she’s your girlfriend, or if you weren’t ever planning on seeing her again after tonight, and I don’t even care if she was leverage to hold over my head. I. Don’t. Care.” Your voice was dangerously quiet. Although everyone was sitting right there, they could not hear a word the two of you were saying over the noisy bar atmosphere.

“Don’t say that.”

“I don’t care who she is, I don’t care what you’re doing, and I don’t care about you.” Much similar to his own experience, the heartbreak had turned you vile. You wanted to say whatever you could to hurt him, and you were doing it without insults and profanities. “Every time I start to think that you might be different, or I start think you mean what you say, you prove me wrong. Every fucking time. I’m done, Jake.” With that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

For a moment, you considered leaving the bar, but you could not give him that much satisfaction. This was your bar, and nobody could take that away from you. You did feel reluctant about returning to your normal seat, knowing that you could not face Ray’s knowing stare and worried questions. Instead, you walked to the other end of the bar in the second bartenders section. You knew her, but not nearly as well as you knew Ray, and not nearly enough for her to show you any concern. You drank down the liquor in your cup, the burn achingly strong, yet not nearly enough to distract you from the sound of your own breaking heart.

You ordered another drink, feeling five sets of eyes lingering on the back of your head. Jake watched as you sat down, confused and hurt about your statement, yet knowing that he deserved it for trying to play such a childish game. He was pained to know he hurt you again, and he was pained to know that you would not respond to any attempts to apologize.

So, he did what he knew best, and he carried on as if you never hurt him at all. He snaked his arm around the other girls waist, giving a short apology for the confusion, and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. If you did not care, then neither did he. If he continued on, he thing that maybe you would be upset enough to confront him.

In that moment, the two of you meant nothing to each other.

Well, that’s what you were trying to convince yourselves, at least.

You were furious, wanting to go over there and blow up at him with every single insult you could think of, to hit him and scream and cry because he hurt you so badly. Instead, you allowed yourself to peek over your shoulder with just enough time to watch him kiss her. You felt like someone had just punched you in the stomach. The air was knocked from your lungs and you felt like you were going to be sick. His lips were locked with another girls while the remnants of his orgasm was still threatening to run down your thigh and yours was lingering on his chin.

That seemed to be the most sickening thought of all.

Jealousy flooded you, making your skin prickle with indignation. The next drink that was sat in front of you was gone almost as soon as it was placed there, and you decided it was best to order two at a time to keep up with the ache in your chest. You looked back over at him again, unable to resist the urge. You saw her laughing, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she smiled up at Jake. She was clinging on to whatever he was saying, clearly hoping he would take her to the bathroom and do the same to her as he did with you just moments before.

As you studied the scene, you knew that jealousy was not the correct term for what you were feeling. You were envious of the situation in the booth. You wanted to be wrapped around him, laughing at his jokes and making relationships with his brothers. You wanted what she had in that moment, and you wanted it with a fervor you’d never quite felt before. You could not call it jealousy, because you were not worried about her taking something that belonged to you. In truth, Jake was never yours. You had ensured that long before the night’s events unfolded. You could not be jealous about something that did not belong to you, and Jake did not and he never would.

Envy was a much better description, because quite frankly, you never would have what she did in that moment. You and Jake could not comprehend simplicity, nor could you find the courage to love each other openly. Even from the very beginning, you and Jake struggled. Whether it was bickering because you refuted your connection, or because you simply enjoyed the struggle, it had never been easy. You were green with envy over something you would never have, and what she seemed to be getting so easily. You were sick at the thought, and pained to know that you’d fallen hard enough to feel such devastating emotions.

You felt a tear slip down onto your cheek as you drowned your sorrows in whiskey. Sometimes, it seemed like your own personal holy water. Once the first tear fell, the floodgates opened and your cheeks were soaked with physical reminders of your own stupidity.

You were crying so hard that your shoulders were shaking with the heaves of your chest, and you could no longer see the glass that was held tightly in your hand.

Then, a gentle touch landed on your shoulder. It was unfamiliar, but comforting, and you felt like you knew who it was before you even turned around. His second hand landed on your other shoulder, and you leaned backwards into the touch until the back of your head landed on his chest. Once he knew you were going to be receptive of his touch, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly while you tried to swallow down your drowning sadness.

“Seems like you’ve been more than a girl who is a friend all along.” Josh hummed, his hold protective and his heart breaking for you.

“I’ve always been exceptionally good at lying to myself.” You rasped, raising a hand to wipe your cheeks clean.

“Mind if I sit?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t.” You sighed, sniffling away another sob.

“Well, I’ve always been exceptionally good at breaking the rules.” He shrugged, pulling out the chair beside you and taking a seat.

“That’s hard for me to believe.” You chuckled, looking over at him with puffy eyes and a red nose. You were in no state to be socializing, but he didn’t seem to care.

“You better believe it, mama.” He said, taking a sip of his own drink. You cocked your head to the side, a small smile stuck on your lips as you processed the pet name. “Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, pulling a coin from his pocket and tossing it down on the table. He seemed to be the beacon of light in the suffocating darkness. His jokes and bright smile soothed your sorrowful soul, and you wondered what it would be like to be friends with him forever. With Josh around, you had a hard time picturing any sadness at all.

“For you, it’s free.” You assured him. “And this is a quarter. I’m not that steep.” You slid the coin back towards him, watching as he stopped it with his finger. Instead of putting it back in his pocket, he tossed it in one of the tip jars sitting on the bar top.

“I’m honoured.” He gave you a grin, breathtaking and beautiful, but so different than his brothers. For twins, their differences were staggering. “He’s an idiot, you know.”

“To each their own.” You shrugged, picking up a shelled peanut from the dish in front of you for something to fidget with. “Has he been dating her the whole time?”

“Her? No.” He shook his head, almost laughing at the thought. “She was the first girl who was just a friend, but she wasn’t really much of a friend at all. More or less just a girl.” He explained, swirling the ice around his glass with his straw. “I think I ran into her the first weekend we moved here. She was sneaking out sometime in the morning, and of course, I had to introduce myself.”

“Don’t know why I’d expect any less.” You chuckled, recalling the first time you’d ever met him.

“Some people never change.” He smirked. “After that, I never saw her again. Which was fantastic, because I didn’t really like her all that much. Definitely not as much as I liked you.”

“That’s good.” You smiled, waiting for him to continue. You felt honoured that josh liked you as much as he did. He seemed protective of his brother, and rightfully so. You wondered why he thought you were so good for him when all you ever seemed to do was cause Jake pain.

“I met a few girls after that, but they never stuck around. You, though? I could see it in his eyes that day. He never wanted you leave.” He leaned back in his seat, seeming like he was racking his brain for the best way to explain himself. “Usually, the girls leave before he even bothers to get out of bed. Then, he started talking about you all of the time, and I realized that this was more than just a drunken accident. When he wanted us to meet you, I knew he was head over heels.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it.” You replied, your distaste for his actions clear in your face. “But, I guess I’m not the best at it, either.”

“I never said he was good at showing it.” He laughed. “I love him, but it doesn’t mean I always have to agree with him.”

“True.” You nodded in agreement.

“I think I had a sneaking suspicion that something was wrong when he came home last weekend and slammed his door hard enough to shake the building and then locked himself in his apartment for days. Maybe you and I were both trying to pry some information out of each other, earlier.”

“Sorry about that.” You buried your red cheeks in your glass as you swallowed the liquid down, ashamed of your actions.

“Don’t be, ‘cause I was doing it, too.” He said, admitting to his own guilt. “You don’t have to tell me about that if you don’t want to, but I’m all ears if you need it.”

“I’m the classic sob story, Josh.” You leaned forward, signalling to the bartender to make you another drink. She gave a thumbs up in response. “Divorcée, dead dad, a knack for self punishment and a plethora of commitment issues.”

“Wouldn’t call that classic. You’ve got quite the collection of pain.” He laughed, finding your blunt statement humorous. “Is that why you were so strict on being friends?”

“Yeah, I don’t do the whole dating thing. Divorce usually does that to a person.” You joked, dumping the last of your ice into your new drink and handing the empty to the bartender. “When I met Jake, I was pretty clear about that, but there’s something about him, I guess.”

“And about you, too.” He reminded.

“I thought Jake was on the same page, but we both seemed to blur the lines. We spent so much time together that it would be more strange for us not to fall in love.” You explained. “When he confessed that he had feelings for me, I panicked. I know I shouldn’t have, but I just don’t think I was ready for anything to change. I hurt him, he hurt me, and neither of us were mature enough to apologize.”

“Until tonight.” He corrected.

“Yeah, but then he invited Barbie to drink with you guys.” You grumped, trying to fake cheerfulness as you said the nickname you’d pinned on her.

“May I add some insight?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You caught his gaze, silently giving him permission to do so. “I don’t think he wanted Barbie to drink with us. I think he wanted you to drink with us, but he didn’t know how to ask. He invited her to piss you off, and that was before you guys talked it out.”

“He sure did piss me off, but he hurt me pretty badly, too.”

“I know, and I’m not defending him.” He wanted to make that abundantly clear. “He’s in love, and love makes him stupid. He doesn’t know how to deal with getting hurt, so he just… doesn’t. Or, he acts like a jerk.”

“You seem to know him pretty well.”

“We didn’t share a womb for nothing.” He grinned. “He’s my twin, but he’s also my best friend. I’ve been there through everything, and I’ve seen it all.”

“So you’re not just a brother of the twin kind, you’re also a friend that is considered the best.” You noted, tipsiness radiating from your statement. You liked the banter that always seemed plentiful between the two of you. It reminded you of your own sister.

“What do you think? Do I make a good friend?” He watched you closely as he waited for an answer. After a moment, you nodded.

“A great one, even.” He smiled at your words and you could not seem to ignore the blush of his cheeks.

“I’m not telling you to go back to him, or to forgive him. Although I would very much like for the two of you to be together, sometimes things just don’t work out. Jake’s a lover by nature, even if he tries to pretend he isn’t, and I know he’s cursing himself as he sits there beside her and not you.”

“Lover by nature?” You inquired, now oddly curious about his life. That was something you never would have pegged him for.

“Oh yeah,” Josh chuckled, the liquor clearly getting the best of him. “He loves to love, and he’s as loyal as a dog. When his last girlfriend broke his heart, he tried to put on this tough act and pretend that love wasn’t his thing. He did the hookups and the failed talking stages, and I think for a while he convinced himself he was truly happy with it. When he met you, I think he realized that happy was the exact opposite of how he’s been feeling for the last year or so.”

“She hurt him pretty bad, eh?” You asked, recalling the pained expression in Jake’s eye the last night you had all went to the bar together.

“That doesn’t even scratch the surface.” He grimaced. “I hated seeing him sad, but I was so happy that he actually left her for good.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him like that.” You didn’t even realize the words that slipped past your lips until it was too late. Josh gave you a sympathetic smile as you scolded yourself for letting such a thing slip.

“I know, mama.” He said, the sincerity in his voice astounding. “Why do you think I like you so much?” Your cheeks turned red at his comment, and you gave him a smile.

“I like you too, Josh.” You mumbled. “Thanks for talking to me. I feel a lot better.”

“I’m glad,” he said, looking past you and over at the pool tables. Sam and Danny seemed to be caught in a game that was headed nowhere. As he did so, you looked back at the booth where Jake was sat with the bubbly blonde. He had moved to the opposite side of the table, presumably so he could get a clear view of you and Josh. When you caught his eye that seemed to be glued to the pair of you, your suspicions were confirmed. You did not hold his gaze, nor did you signal that you even noticed him looking. Instead, you stood and brought Josh into a hug, thanking him for caring enough to check on you.

Envy was not a strong enough word to describe what washed over Jake. Yes, he wished he could be the one that your arms were wrapped around and yes, he desperately wanted to be the person who was listening to the tellings of your heart. More than that, he was furious that Josh thought he had the right to be that person for you, and he was broken at the idea of you allowing him to be. He was reaping the consequences of his own actions, and there was nothing he could do but suffer the wrath of the devil for the sins he had committed.

As you pulled away from Josh, you looked back to the booth and saw Jake leaning over the table to capture his date in a kiss. Your stomach twisted with disgust, and you felt frozen in place. The two of you were caught in a game of pain, but you weren’t even aware you were playing. You did not speak to Josh in hopes of upsetting Jake, but he was kissing her in hopes of hurting you. If you had to admit it, he was doing a fantastic job. Your pain was so loud that you barely heard Josh ask you to join them in playing a game of pool.

When he asked a second time, you mustered a nod as you fought back the urge to vomit. He led you towards the table, but your eyes could not seem to stray from the disturbing scene before you. Jake was fighting a battle that he did not need to fight at all. You had no idea what point he was trying to prove, and no idea why he had the sudden urge to stray further from the love you two were trying to rekindle. As you picked up a pool cue, you decided you did not care. When you lined up the first shot, you both knew you had already won.

He was like poison, drawing you in and burning you with every touch. You loved him so deeply even if you knew he was killing you, and it drove you crazy enough that you would even cause him harm just to hear your name on his lips. You couldn’t bear the thought of not having him, but having him too close always drove you to a bittersweet end. You knew it was time to give him up, but you did not know if you could do that at all. For certain, you knew you could not do it without one last fight.

Even as you tried to convince yourself that you did not care about his actions, the color green was bleeding from the walls. The haze of smog in the room had an emerald hue, and the green velvet of the pool table reflected exactly how your heart was feeling. You were certain that if you looked in a mirror, your skin would be following suit, too. Envy was written all over you, stemming from the unnamed blonde who was wrapped around Jake like he belonged to her. It also grew from the knowledge that Jake was letting her, as if he never had a promise to come home with you at all. You might not have seen it, but when it came to belonging, his heart only lied with you. He was yours, even if he could not express it properly.

What you didn’t see was the green vines that were tangling themselves around Jake’s body, slowly strangling the life out of him as his own envy took hold. He watched as you laughed with his brothers, drinking and carefree while you shot at the balls scattered across the pool table. He wished he could have what they did in that moment; you, with a smile on your face and a laugh stuck on your lips. He wanted you, and everything you had to offer, and he felt like an idiot for letting you walk away this time. He did not want to be in the booth with the girl that meant so little to him, and he did not want his lips on anyone but you. His regret was paralyzing, but his pride stopped him from apologizing yet again.

You were both dying as you stood, and suffering as you watched. Both of you had the power to change, but so much sin had infiltrated your lives that doing the right thing no longer mattered. Any moral, and any idea of right and wrong no longer existed, replaced with wicked evil and blind obedience to a higher power that would ultimately take your life. The devil watched as the two of you sealed your fate, laughing loudly as you walked yourselves into his trap. With one more deadly sin to go, he wondered if the two of you would ever realize your wrongdoing before it was ultimately too late.

The only question that remained was one of fate. How much sin could you commit before punishment was due? You were two people who had been sentenced to a lifetime of imprisonment at the hands of your own godless morale, and you were so blind to your own stupidity that you had not even gone searching for salvation. Better yet, you had not even realized that you were in need of it. When the time came and you were ready to repent, the church would turn you away and laugh in your face.

Religion never seems important until you’ve engaged in so much sin that salvation is no longer an option.

you guys didn’t really think I’d be nice enough to let them stay together, especially with wrath as the last chapter? love you 🫶🏻😉

TAGLIST:

@sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlover @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby

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slutforsilverfoxes · 8 months

Note

hello! may i say i absolutely love your writing??? so i thought i’d request something :) aaron is readers first actual relationship (like her first serious one?) and her family dynamics have been difficult while growing up (absent father, not a really close relationship with her mother, she always felt like more of a flatmate to her yk?), so she hasn’t experienced what it feels like to be truly loved and wanted and aaron has given her that, which makes their relationship even more special and important to her. he’s basically the only person she fully trusts and vice versa. when they get into their first big fight, she gets overwhelmed and is afraid he’s going leave her and thinks things like “i knew this was too good to be true” etc. of course, they make up and aaron comforts her and assures her he’ll never leave her.

if this is something you don’t want to write, that’s totally fine!!! 🫶🏼

Thank you, sweet nonny, for your kind words and the request 🥹 And sorry this took me so long to post!! I hope you don't mind I tweaked a bit to play more on reader's anxiety than the fight aspect- I hope this is what you were looking for 🖤

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x female reader (angsty angst + hurt/comfort)

—————

Stupid, you chastise yourself for the umpteenth time as the apartment door closes behind your partner. Evidently he’s taken all the air in the room with him because your lungs can’t seem to find any oxygen to breathe in. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. What did you think was going to happen?

Rather than staring at the closed door in the vain hope that Aaron will walk back through it, you scrub your hands over your face and head down the hall to his bedroom. You stand on your tiptoes to reach your duffel bag in the closet that’s been sitting on a shelf since he first insisted you keep some things at his apartment. Maybe if you just give him space and then apologize, he won’t leave. After your dad walked out, that strategy had worked on most of your mother’s relationships, however short-lived they happened to be.

Your heart breaks at the thought of losing Aaron over something so seemingly trivial. Why hadn't you fought harder, spoken with more confidence in your voice? Why couldn’t you just let it go?

You had planned a quiet dinner at Aaron’s place to celebrate six months of absolute bliss together. All you had told him last week was there would be a surprise waiting for him at home, courtesy of the shiny new key on your ring you had yet to use. You spent the evening cooking the recipe that you had been buying ingredients for when you bumped into him at the grocery store, a smile on your face while the memory replayed in your head. As the clock neared seven, you left the food in the oven to stay warm and went about setting the table, complete with fresh flowers, candles, and Aaron’s favorite red wine. Music played softly in the background, a series of songs you put together that reminded you of your boyfriend that he was never allowed to find out about. You gave the sauce simmering on the stove another taste test, smacking your lips together before adding another pinch of oregano.

Then, you fired off a quick Can’t wait to see you soon! text to your boyfriend and settled down on the couch with your book to wait for his arrival from Quantico.

You waited… and waited, and checked your phone, and waited some more. As the minutes ticked by and the smile on your face faltered, you reasoned with a sigh that the BAU had probably gotten a case, and he was busy briefing the team before heading halfway across the country. You were no stranger to receiving a text or call from the jet, an apology for the untimely case and promise to make it up to you as soon as he was home.

But this radio silence felt different, and you released your bottom lip from its cage beneath your teeth with a quiet hiss when the familiar metallic taste of your anxiety getting the better of you touched your tongue. A thousand and one scenarios flew through your mind, possibilities of Aaron being hurt in the field or succumbing to another one of those fainting spells that his teammate and friend, Dave, had once warned you about.

Or maybe, just maybe, he had grown tired of you and was trying to figure out how to break things off.

Reaching the six month mark was a new milestone for you in a relationship. Most of your other relationships, if you could even call them that, didn’t make it past the third date. Aaron could probably profile you in his sleep, tell you that the absence of your father in your life and your strained relationship with your mother made it hard for you to recognize genuine connection. That you were a serial people pleaser, even at the expense of your own health and wellbeing, convinced that if you said and did all the right things, you would be worthy of people’s attention, time, and affection.

Hell, the person who cut in front of you in line for coffee could probably tell that about you by the way you insisted they go ahead first.

As the digital clock on the stove flickered to 10:00, your nerves over Aaron’s welfare outcompeted your guilt over bothering him at work. You unlocked your phone to find your earlier text to him delivered but unread, and pressed his contact picture to place the call. He picked up on the third ring, and you released a sigh of relief until he answered with an easy, “Hi, honey, how are you?”

Confusion muddled your features, but you kept your voice even as you answered, “Fine, my love. You got a new case?”

“Luckily no, and I’m so sorry I didn’t respond to your text earlier. I just got caught up trying to finish this report so I don’t have to work this weekend while we…” He trailed off with a quiet curse before coming back on the line. “Baby,” he breathed out, a heavy sigh laced with regret. “We were supposed to celebrate tonight, weren’t we?”

“It’s okay,” you offered immediately, not really answering his question as your gaze flicked up to the wax dripping down the half-eroded candles.

“No,” he responded firmly, and you could hear the distinct shuffling of papers in the background. “It’s not okay. It’s late, so there shouldn’t be traffic now. I’ll be home in twenty.”

You had spent those twenty minutes cleaning up the kitchen and convincing yourself that you weren’t really upset, just worried that he hadn’t eaten all day or taken proper care of himself. Then you changed out of your dress, opting instead for sweatpants and one of Aaron's old law school shirts to appear as casual as possible. By the time you heard his key in the lock, you were ready to meet him at the door with a smile.

“Hi, baby,” you purred in greeting, cupping Aaron's face in your hands and drawing him down for a sweet kiss. He practically melted into your touch, pressing his lips to yours between words of apology. “It’s okay, really,” you answered easily with a shrug. “We can just have what I made tomorrow!”

Aaron’s mouth turned downward at that, and you immediately criticized yourself for mentioning the meal at all. “Sweetheart-”

“Aar, baby, it was nothing,” you attempted to laugh it off, but his brows furrowed even deeper at your insistence.

“Why aren’t you upset? You should be upset.”

“Why?” you challenged in return, smoothing your hands along his arms even as your fear that he was trying to push you away reared its ugly head. “I know how difficult your job is. I don’t expect you to remember every little thing we talk about.”

“Y/N, no.” His voice was firm as he gripped your shoulders and dipped his head down to meet your gaze. “This wasn’t a little thing. Just… give me a minute and then we’ll talk.”

And now, here you are, hastily packing your bag and trying to make your escape before he returns to avoid having that dreaded conversation. The trite It's not you, it’s me and It’s for the best and You should be someone’s priority. Aaron had already sighed out the classic You deserve better before walking out the door.

You jump in surprise at the sound of Aaron’s voice rumbling over to you from the bedroom doorway. “Are we going somewhere?”

You look up at him and his heart breaks at the way your eyes are glistening in the dim light. “I thought I should spend a few days at my place. Give you some space to breathe.” And save you the hard part of saying we shouldn’t be together anymore.

His bags fall to the floor unceremoniously, and Aaron crosses the room in two short strides to cup your face in his hands, brows furrowed, eyes searching yours. “Why would I ever want to be apart from you when I don’t have to be?”

You gape at him in disbelief. “You don’t want me to leave?”

His answer is firm, resolute, a simple, “No.”

“And you’re not leaving me?”

“Absolutely not.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you down beside him, tucking you into his broad chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear when I left. I just went to get my things from the car, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry for assuming the worst,” you whisper. Your voice is so small and fragile, and Aaron tightens his hold on you. “I just thought…”

“You’re used to people not sticking around?” You nod, his starched shirt brushing against your cheek with the movement.

Aaron pulls back a bit to tilt your chin up, his gaze soft yet determined as he looks into your eyes. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. You understand?” You nod again, and he dots kisses all over your face until your mouth turns up in a genuine smile. “You-” He takes a deep breath and pulls your hand into his lap, running his thumb over your knuckles before continuing, “You have made my life- and Jack’s- infinitely better, and I can’t picture our family without you now.”

You lift your joined hands to your mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand. Then, hesitantly, you ask, “Aaron?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you get upset about me not getting upset?”

“Because you deserve the world, angel,” he answers firmly. “And you deserve better than the bullshit I pulled tonight. And…” He trails off, and you can feel the tension mounting in the rise of his shoulders. Placing your hand on his taut muscles, you rub it back and forth in a soothing pattern until he releases a breath and admits, “It reminded me of my marriage, when things started falling apart before the divorce. Haley had gotten so used to my absence or making work a priority that she would just excuse things. First it was little things, like not answering a text for hours.”

“Huh, you don’t say,” you interject, and Aaron’s gaze cuts over to you to find a cheeky smile on your face.

He nudges your shoulder with his own, muttering an apology before continuing, “Then it was bigger things. Holidays and trips and back to school nights. I even- I missed Jack’s first steps, y’know that? I was on a case, halfway across the country, and I didn’t see the video she sent me until days later.”

“Aaron,” you sigh, now tucking him into your chest. “Do you know what Jack’s going to remember? That you were always there when it counted. He’s going to remember the night you went out in the rain to find his special Darth Vader suit for Halloween, and the countless hours you and Dave put in to coach his soccer team to the championship, and the blanket forts and movie nights and walks in the park with ice cream dripping down our wrists until it’s an unsalvageable mess. You’re his hero, you big dummy.”

Aaron shifts until his head is in your lap, looking up at you with a small smile and glistening eyes. “How did we get here?”

“You gave me a key to your apartment and then missed our anniversary dinner.”

“Thank you, you sassy little thing.” He playfully tugs at your hair falling down from your shoulders and framing his face. “I mean, I was supposed to be apologizing and groveling at your feet for my transgressions, but here you are comforting me instead. You really do-”

“If you say deserve better, I’m going to beat you up, Aaron,” you threaten, although the smile on your face says otherwise.

He mimes zipping his lips, then twists his wrist around to glance at his watch. “It’s still our six month anniversary for another hour or so, and the apartment smells divine. You up for a late night meal?”

Leaning down, you nuzzle your nose against his before answering, “Deal. But I’m sitting pretty at the table and you’re serving me, Hotchner.”

“In just an apron and nothing else underneath?”

“Oh, hell yes,” you squeal in delight. “You’re in trouble now, baby. I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth.”

“As you should, my love. As you should.”

__________

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @criminalskies

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projectcaramel · 1 year

Text

Random Headcanon #2

There's a little interaction difference between you and the brothers and the brothers and their kids.

How he responds to his kid

How he responds to you

---

Lucifer

“Please pass the salt, Dad.”

“Certainly.” And Lucifer hands over the salt to your son/daughter. No fuss.

---

“Please pass the salt, Lucifer.”

“Why don’t you beg me for it?” That damn cocky smirk of his. Evidently, he’s in a mood again.

“...Lucifer, behave yourself.”

Mammon

“Pass the salt, Papa?”

“How much does it mean to ya?” He’s joking with a playful glint in his eyes, but he’s teaching your kid some weird quirks.

“Mammon...” you groan, and he laughs as he passes it over.

---

“Pass the salt, Mammon.”

“Here ya go.” Job done.

Levi

“Wouldst thou passeth the wondrous elixir of life, Father of mine?”

Leviathan groans while passing over the hot sauce.

“Why did I let him/her play Shakespeare’s Conquest...?

---

“Wouldst thou passeth the wondrous elixir of life, Oh Gracious Lord of Shadow?”

Leviathan covers his red face in his arm while you giggle.

“Stop making fun of me, MC! Now I won’t pass anything over!”

Satan

“Can you pass the pepper, Father?”

“I’m capable of passing the pepper, yes.” The idiot is smirking without looking up, and your child is on the edge of throwing a temper tantrum.

“Satan,” you growl warningly, and he hands it over.

“The best way to ask is ‘please pass the pepper, Father.’ by the way.”

---

“Can you give me the pepper, Satan?”

“MC, we’ve been over this a hundred times.”

“Can you give me the pepper, Satan?”

“No, I can’t give you the pepper.”

“Can you give me the pepper, Satan?”

“...” And that’s how you end up in a long staring contest that Satan eventually loses.

Asmo

“Would the most beautiful Papi in world grant the cutest son/daughter the frosting~?

You give Asmo a very long look as he, humming, gives your kid the spoon full of extra cupcake frosting.

“What~? Do you want some frosting too~?”

---

“Asmo, be a dear and pass the frosting,” You say, while he’s in the process of picking it up for himself. “You can enjoy it if you wan—”

“You know I could never say no to you, sweetie pie~ Here.” And then he’s taking a picture and posting it to Devilgram with a such a happy smile that you wonder if you should feel bad.

Beel

“Pops, can I have that?” She/He points to the burger on Beel’s plate.

“Yeah,” is his reply as he happily hands over the entire, completely loaded, triple-decker cheeseburger to a five year-old.

“Are you sure you can eat all th—” It’s already gone, and Beel is happily laughing.

---

“Beel, mind if I eat your pickle?” You point at the spear, and Beel shakes his head.

“Nah. All yours, MC. Can I have your toad eyes?”

And so the great food exchange begins.

Belphie

“Pa.”

“Mn... yeah? Sure.”

You’re left confused as you look between father and son/daughter as Belphie passes the wasabi to the other side of the table.

“Belphie, he/she’s supposed to ask you...”

“That’s a pain.” Guess you’re outnumbered, since they both spoke at the same time.

---

“Belphie, pass the—” He almost smacks you with the wasabi as he sleepily brings his chopsticks over to you. “How did you...?”

“You’re not hard to read.”

“Is that a compliment or...?”

#obey me!#writing #obey me lucifer #obey me headcanons #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus!#obey me beel #obey me belphie #parenting

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dbnightingale24 · 15 days

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I'll Wait For Your Love

A StevexReaderxBucky Messy Triangle

Everyone thank my husband because he fixed the wifi! This is only a bit of the final installation of 'My Little Decoy'. You can read the full version here. I didn't finish this as quickly as I wanted to, but it still got done a lot faster than I thought it would (yay anxiety!).

Thank you @fuckingbye for always putting up with my shit, and always making me amazing moodboards because I'm lame as shit. I love you and I can't wait to tackle you with a hug <3.

As always, please heed the warnings and I hope you enjoy it! Here we go!

Word Count: 35,290 (it's called growth)

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), Slight Infidelity, Arguments, Drinking, Smoking, Angst, Swearing, Self Loathing, Fluff, Heartbreak, Lying (by omission), Daddy Kink, Uhh...I think that's it?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: You Cling To Your Papers and Pens, Wait Until You Like Me Again

Summary: When two major parts of your past come back and ask for another chance, do you stand your ground and stay with the life you've created for yourself, or do you decide to test the water after all this time and see if it's worth the leap of faith?

I do not give consent/permission for my works/stories to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

It’s weird. You had made peace with never seeing either man again, yet for the past hour, the three of you have been in your kitchen arguing. Bucky snaps at you, Steve defends you, you snap at Bucky, Steve gets you to calm down, Bucky snaps at him, and you threaten to kick him out. Honestly, for the most part, Steve is the mediator. You’re assuming that they have some level of friendship again, or he just doesn’t want to pile anymore guilt and pressure onto you.

It was clear to you that he hadn’t expected Bucky to follow him and, if he hadn’t been so focused on seeing you, he would’ve noticed Bucky’s car. Apparently, with Maria being pregnant, Steve assumed that Bucky hadn’t even noticed his erratic behavior.

He should’ve been right.

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say,” you sigh for what feels like the millionth time as you stir the white sauce on the stove. “I can only apologize so many times, but it’s not like you were in the dark. You saw the connection between Steve and I, and you decided to pursue me anyway. I didn’t start cheating until long after you had-”

“You being in love with Steve was already cheating!” he shouts at you, and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Are you ever capable of holding yourself accountable? Or is it only when you know you’re in danger of losing me? You never apologized for cheating and you still won’t fess up to it, you never actually apologized for your behavior when we found out I couldn’t get pregnant, and even now, you’re just throwing it in my face that I cheated on you after you cheated on me. Is that what you came all the way here for? To yell at me and make me feel small in my own home? Because, if it is, you can get the fuck out right now. I don’t need this shit from you, James. I didn’t need it then and I sure as shit don’t need it now,” you say firmly as you finally turn to face him.

You don’t miss the small smile that comes to Steve’s face, before he takes a sip from his beer bottle.

Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh before he ran a hand through his hair, “no, that’s not why I came out here.” “Then what did you come here for?”

“I wanted to see you,” he confesses softly.

You turn and open the oven to check on the salmon, “she’s pregnant, James. That’s what you wanted-” “I wanted it with you and you know that.”

“You cheated with her, James. You cheated with her because you knew it would hurt me the most, you fucked her at work, in our house, and went out with her after work very publicly to make me look like a fool. Then, you denied the whole thing to try and make me feel crazy, like I couldn’t see the lipstick stains on my pillow-”

“You hurt me!”

“Because I couldn’t have a fucking kid? You think that was a fun thing for me to find out?!”

“It wasn’t just the baby! You never loved me in the way that you love Steve, and I tried and tried-”

“Then why not just let me go?!”

“Cause I loved you. I love you.”

“Well, you got married to her a year after I left, and now she’s gonna have your child. Looks like you’re doing just fine.” “Don’t be fucking callous,” he scoffs.

“James, you followed Steve to my home to berate me, and you’re gonna sit there and tell me not to be callous? You went out of your way to have this argument, and for what? Because you couldn’t trap me into being in love with you? Go fuck yourself and die on that fucking cross you’re so desperate to hang yourself from!”

“Darlin’,” Steve snaps and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but fuck that. You want me to feel so bad for something I tried to ignore, and that’s not fair! What I did was wrong, but I tried. I defended you, I looked the other way, and never held anything over your head. You constantly went out of your way to hurt me, and I’m supposed to feel bad for finally following my heart? I’m supposed to feel bad because I wouldn’t let you trap me and make me hate myself anymore? Fuck that. I never played you for a fool, you did that shit to yourself, and I refuse to pay penance for it anymore,” you snap as you pour the bow ties into the boiling water. “God, where does your pregnant wife even think you are?”

“I just told her I needed to get out for a while.” “You’re such an asshole. I don’t even like the bitch and I think it’s a low blow. You leave your pregnant wife to tell your ex-wife that you still love her? What the fuck did you think was going to happen? What did you think I was gonna say? You thought I’d see the light and wanna take you back? You married her out of spite, James.”

“I do love her-”

“Well, clearly not enough,” you scoff, “this feels a lot like the pot calling the kettle black, because you love her, but you’re still pining over me? That’s fucking rich, I gotta say. You’re a real piece of work,” you chuckle dryly as you pour yourself another glass.

“I wanted to see you...make sure you’re okay. Nat and Meg won’t tell anyone anything, Meg won’t even talk to me-”

“Well, what the hell did you think was going to happen, James? I’ve been her best friend since we were six. Yeah, she’s not too fucking fond of you after everything that’s happened.”

“So what? You just hate me now?”

“I don’t hate you, you self centered asshole! I should, I have every fucking right to after the last year we spent together, and I wish I did, but I don’t! You’ve been attacking me! I’m sorry that you decided to pursue the one person your best friend was in love with, and I’m sorry that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t love you the way I’ve always loved Steve. I’m sorry that I cheated on you with Steve and it broke your heart even more. However, a lot of this shit could’ve been avoided if you would’ve just stayed away! I’m not your fucking scapegoat anymore, James. You’re finally getting what you want, and you’re still not happy-” “I don’t have you! I don’t have what I want-”

“You had me and then decided to treat me like an object! I can’t do anything about the fact that you treated me like total fucking trash, James! That’s on you, not me,” you state as the timer goes off.

As you turn off the stove top, Charlotte makes her way into the kitchen and sits patiently.

“You know better little miss,” you laugh softly, “go lay down.”

She huffs, but gets up and walks back to her bed nonetheless, and your heart flutters at Steve’s soft chuckle.

“So, that’s it?” Bucky huffs.

“I honestly don’t know what else you expect. I don’t know what more you want to know. Everything you’ve asked, I’ve been honest about, everything you deserve an apology for, I’ve apologized for...what else is there to say? What else is there to do?” you ask as his phone goes off.

Pulling it out (rather aggressively), he mutters, “what the fuck now?” before getting up and storming out, slamming the door shut behind him.

“If he breaks my house, I’ll break his neck,” you mutter, checking on the broccoli, before taking another sip from your glass.

“It’s Maria. She’s been on edge lately. She’s due in two months and she feels like Bucky’s attention is elsewhere.”

“I wonder why,” you scoff. “What about you? Are you gonna rake me over the coals too?”

“You know better than that, honey,” he sighs heavily. “We don’t have to-”

“You might as well, Steve. It’s why you’re here-”

“I’m here because I’ve missed you like crazy, and I wanted to see you. We’ve already gotten farther than I expected us too.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d wanna see me or not.”

“I was never angry with you, Steve. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I still cry over it,” you scoff, rubbing your forehead.

“Then why-”

“I couldn’t do that to you, Steve. I loved you. I love you. Breaking up your friendship with Bucky? Stealing you from the Avengers-”

“I told you I’d go with you-”

“But you would’ve felt guilty. Yeah, you’d still love me, and you’d be happy to make a life with me anywhere, but you’d feel guilty. You and Bucky? I knew it could get resolved once I was out of the picture, and for the most part, I was right.”

“You didn’t give me a chance-”

“Because you wouldn’t have been logical about it, babe. Neither of us are ever exactly smart when it comes to each other,” you smile softly and he chuckles with a slight nod. “Please understand that it wasn’t something I did lightly, or that I didn’t think about how much it would hurt you. It seems like I’m always hurting you one way or another, and I’ve never wanted that.”

“We always find ways to hurt each other, darlin’. We can’t seem to get this dance right,” he sighs.

“No, we can’t.”

“Whatever you’re making smells amazing,” he smiles weakly.

“One of the many perks of no longer being an Avenger, I get to work on my cooking skills.”

“You’ve always been the best cook, babe,” he compliments as he gets up and makes his way over to you.

Having him so close to you still makes your brain so foggy, even after all this time.

“I’ll leave after dinner-”

“You don’t have to,” you quickly interrupt. “Neither one of you do. I have spare bedrooms...” “You’re comfortable with us staying here?”

“I mean, I’m already feeding the both of you and I don’t want you to spend the money, when there’s no need.”

“Still the most thoughtful person I know,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and you lean into his touch. “There is something I have to tell you though.”

“Oh God.”

“They know.”

“They who?” “Everyone. I told Tony I’d be gone for a few days, because no matter what happened today, I knew I was gonna need time to recover, and he kept saying that he needs me to train the new recruits. So, I just folded and told him where I was going.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but I needed to see you, darlin’. I had no right and it’s your privacy, but I knew he wouldn’t let me go if I didn’t tell him.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m the one that left the way that I did...”

“He wants to see you, they all do.”

“Steve-”

“I didn’t promise them anything, I just told them I’d let you know.”

“I guess I owe it to everyone, don’t I?”

“That’s for you to decide,” he smirks as his eyes study your face. “You smell like vanilla and strawberries.”

“It’s my soap,” you giggle.

“I feel like I should be angry with you. You looked me in the eyes and lied to me.”

“To be fair, you did the same thing, Rogers. For years.”

“That’s true,” he sighs, backing up and leaning against the kitchen island.

Your confusion is short lived when you hear Bucky come storming back in.

“Are you staying over or not?” you ask as the second timer goes off.

He glares looking from you to Steve, “do you even want me here?”

“Whether I do or don’t isn’t the point. I’ve already made dinner, it’s getting late, and there’s no reason for you to spend money if you don’t have to. If you don’t have to go back tonight, I prefer you to stay where I know you’re safe. The last thing I need is for you to get into an accident on an almost five hour ride home, because you were sulking and not paying attention,” you mutter, dumping the bow ties into a strainer before transfer them to a bowl.

He looks taken aback (in a good way) , before responding with, “thank you,” and grabbing another beer.

“Ya know, I know you two can’t get drunk off of anything I have, but I do have stronger drinks.”

“This is fine, doll. Thank you.”

Well, at least he’s being nicer.

Soon enough, you’re taking the salmon out of the oven and breaking it up, before cutting up the broccoli and adding both to the bow ties. After adding in your homemade white sauce, you add just a bit of lemon juice and mixing it all in together. You can’t lie, it’s nice to cook for someone besides yourself for a change, even if the situation is extremely awkward.

“Uh, darlin’?” Steve asks softly as you take three plates out of your upper cabinet.

“Hmm?”

“Not to be creepy or nosey, but your phone keeps vibrating,” he laughs.

“Ah shit!”

You completely forget to answer the chat between you, Meg, Nat.

“Take as much as you want,” you tell them before sprinting up the steps.

Grabbing it off of the nightstand, you let out a small groan as you see the string of missed texts in the ‘Three Crazies’ chat.

Ms. Widow: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: What happened???

Ms. Widow: Steve heard me on the phone with Y/N, and hes taking a few days off go and see her.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Oh shit! Oh SHIT!

Ms. Window: I think Buck is going too, or something, cause he took a few days off too. Maria found out and she’s freaking the fuck out.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Fuck.

Ms. Widow: The whole fucking compound is buzzing, and Bruce is more than upset with me. Y/N, I’m really so sorry.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Has anyone said anything to you?

Ms. Widow: No, Tony’s been pacing all day and the team is kind of dumbfounded. No one knew where she was, now, both Steve and Bucky are off to see her. No one knows why the divorce happened...no one knows anything.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Babe, has anyone said anything? Has anyone showed up?

Ms. Widow: Oh God, please answer.

Rock n’ Roll Queen: Starting to get worried here, babe.

Ms. Widow: Please don’t hate me. I’m so damn sorry. I didn’t know Steve was even around.

Y/N: They’re here now, both of them are downstairs eating dinner, and they’re staying over tonight. I’ll talk more after dinner when I’m getting ready for bed. I could never hate you, Nat. You should know that by now.

You place your phone in your back back pocket and run a stressed hand through your hair, pacing before you remember they can both hear you and just stand in the middle of your bedroom. How was everything spiraling so fast? How the fuck were you supposed to explain things without saying too much? Oh God, how the fuck were you gonna deal with Maria?

All of these thoughts were giving you a headache, and you’re growing hungrier by the second. Racing back downstairs, you walk right by the two sets of inquisitive eyes, and make yourself a large helping of the pasta dish into a bowl before showering it with a generous helping of Parmesan cheese.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Steve is first to ask, but the look on Bucky’s face lets you know he’s just as worried.

“Everything is fine, just having a day,” you mutter, grabbing a fork and your drink before making your into your living room, and curling up on the couch.

You honestly aren’t even mad at them, but you’re now trying to navigate how all of this is going to work. You’d closed that chapter of your life, and had dealt with things in your own way, but now? Now, everyone knows and for as much as you hate to admit it, they deserve an explanation. It doesn’t matter that you technically did everything by the book (turning in all your weapons and any sensitive and classified details you had), you still abandoned your friends. The family you got to create. All they want is to see you and know that you’re okay, and who are you to say no? None of them did anything to deserve that.

God, you hope they don’t think you’ll stay. You have no desire for that life anymore, nor do you feel like seeing Maria’s smug fucking face anymore. No, you’re life isn’t exactly quiet now, but it’s a lot more calm and a lot more stable. You have your job, your fur baby, your home-

“Darlin’,” Steve sighs as he sits at the other end of the sofa.

You hadn’t even noticed that Charlotte had sensed your anxiety and stress, and curled up by your toes.

“I’m sorry, this is my fault-”

“I’m the one who walked away like I did, Steve.”

“Be that as it may, I-we disrupted your privacy. No, I didn’t expect Bucky to follow me, but I...I just needed to see you and didn’t think about anything else. I haven’t seen much of your life out here, but I can tell it’s quiet, you’re happy, and you’re finally at peace. Now, you have a million questions to answer and people to answer to. I’m really sorry, honey.”

“It’s...it’s fine,” you sob, not even understanding why you’re crying.

All at once, all of these emotions just overwhelm you, and you feel as if you’re drowning.

“Darlin’?!”

“What the hell did you do to her?!” you hear Bucky faintly yell.

Everything seems to fade around you and all sound is lost. Your family, friends, past...you have to face them all. Everything you’ve tricked yourself into thinking you’ve healed from is all of a sudden back in your life at once; the scabs all feel torn off and bleed again. Without warning, no easing back into it, and you have no idea what to expect. What if everyone hates you? What if no one even wants to see you? Is Maria the favorite now? Is she in your old office? You faintly feel someone wrap their arms around you, and you honestly don’t care which one of them it is, you just cling to them in a weak attempt to bring yourself back down.

“Darlin’, you’re okay, it’s all okay. Buck and I are right here,” Steve promises with worry laced in every word as he softly rubs your back.

He pulls you close and you can tell he’s trying to regulate your breathing with his own.

“I need you to breathe for me, pretty girl. Deep breaths,” he coos softly.

“M...Meg! Please call Meg,” you sob.

“Call Meg!” he repeats harshly towards Bucky, and you hate yourself for how worried they both are.

You pray that they don’t start arguing, because you don’t know what the hell you’ll do, and you can faintly hear Charlotte whining and feel her little paws on your lap. You haven’t had a panic attack since your second night there, and she’s never seen you have one.

This is only a bit of the final installation of 'My Little Decoy'. You can read the full version here.

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟗.𝟖𝐤

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝.

There is supposed to be a sweetness that grows in the absence of great love. They’ve coined a phrase for it, one that never fails to keep your eyes from rolling, one you won’t even waste your breath uttering. People sing about it--all that space someone leaves behind and the way that your heart is supposed to contort and expand with excess affection--and people write poems about it, too.

But it’s been a year and it still hurts; there is no overflow of fondness.

The agony hasn’t dulled yet--and you have found comfort in calling it agony and not pain. It’s something you’ve put great thought into: this is not pain, it is bigger than that. It’s rubbing alcohol on a gash that needs sutures. It’s popping blisters with the heat of the sun. It’s smiling finally and splitting your lip down the middle. It’s jamming grimy fingers into bullet holes. It’s chewing rusty nails. It’s falling one hundred feet from a cliff and into the water on your belly. It’s cracking the hardest part of your skull on the pavement.

Now that it’s been a year, now that you have adjusted to accepting your life in terms of throbbing and aching, you are certain that you would much rather have never loved Jake if it meant losing him.

That’s how your mother tried to comfort you when you told her about the breakup. It was fresh--though it still feels fresh even right now and you assume it will always feel fresh--and you couldn’t talk about it without salt wetting your tongue and your lips growing swollen around the words you chewed out.

“Jake’s gone.” It was all you could manage to say to her.

She was sitting across from you at the little bistro table outside Risotto’s, sipping espresso through a straw so as not to disturb her lipstick. She was glowing that afternoon--wearing a linen sundress with her hair pulled back and her sunglasses big and her disposition sunny.

When you said it, when she finally paused in her chattering about her latest cruise with your step-father, she raised her eyebrows--stunned. She was the last person you were telling--for more reasons than you have fingers--but she was the first person you were telling face-to-face. Meeting her for an early lunch at Risotto’s was the first time you’d left the house in a long while.

“Where did he go?” She asked, tilting her head.

You didn’t feel good. You hadn’t felt good for even one microsecond of one day since the other side of your bed suddenly became so frigid. You knew, also, that you didn’t look good. Unwashed hair, unbrushed teeth, mismatched socks, bleary eyes, a permanent flush in your cheeks. But your mother hadn’t asked you what was wrong; she was never good at doing that. Jake was, though. If he had been there, he would’ve asked. He would’ve known the moment he saw you that you were thoroughly heartbroken.

“Back to her,” you said, your voice thin and wavering. Your cheeks were hot and the saliva on your tongue was sitting thick in your mouth. “His wife.”

Your mother watched your lip tremble. You were already pulled into yourself, shoulders drooping and chest hollow. Your hair was dipping over your plate and into your food when you finally let your face fall into your hands to weep. It made your mother ill watching your hair sweep through the pasta sauce.

Someone walking by had given your mother a strange look as you openly sobbed into your palms, those shrill and shrieking things, and she’d grown hot with embarrassment. So, she paid for her cup of espresso and your uneaten pasta and ushered you into the privacy of the bathroom.

It was hot in there, just as hot as it was outside beneath the San Diego sun. It felt like you couldn’t step out of the heat wherever you went--it just followed you, bit into your skin, blistered you.

You leaned against the bathroom counter, arms crossed tightly over your chest. And your mother stood just before you, feeling out of her element and entirely uncomfortable with the amount of snot dripping down your nose.

“What happened?”

What had happened was Jake woke up three Tuesday's ago, looked at your sleeping form, and then decided that he needed to go back to his wife--whom he’d left for you a little bit over two years prior. For all intents and purposes, Felicity was still his wife; there’d been about a dozen delays in the finalization of their divorce, all seemingly minute and at the fault of precisely no one except the courts.

No rhyme or reason. No explanation. He just waited for you to wake up, held your cheek, and told you he was leaving and that he wasn’t coming back. Then he left. Movers came for his things a few days later. He changed his number. He deactivated every social media he had an account for. He vanished, simply put. Just like that. Somewhere between asleep and awake, he was gone. For good.

“Nothing. We were fine,” you told your mom, holding your face in your hands again. Your breath was hot in your palms, aiding the blush in your cheeks and the heat rash climbing up your throat. “We were better than fine. We were fucking great. We were perfect. And then he just left.”

“Well, there had to have been something wrong,” your mother insisted, gathering one-ply toilet paper by the handful and unceremoniously pressing it against your hands. “He wouldn’t leave for no reason.”

“But he did,” you insisted, shaking your head, gripping the toilet paper roughly. “I’ve thought about it good and-and hard. We had dinner that night. I made mashed potatoes, steak, and green beans. We drank half a bottle of red wine. We did the dishes together. We went to a late movie. We came home and took a shower together. We had sex. We went to bed. Jesus Christ, we were laughing all night! Even just before I fell asleep, he told me he loved me and I told him that I loved him. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. Nothing was wrong.”

Your mother listened intently, picking at her long nails. With her eyes narrowed in thought, she tutted.

“Did you overcook his steak?”

“No,” you told her, flopping your hands at your sides and letting your face angle towards the polished tiles below your untied tennis shoes. “He likes it medium rare and I cook it medium rare.”

“Was the movie bad?”

“No,” you answered again. “It was a Martin Scorcese film.”

She hummed. She kept thinking, kept pursing her lips and squinting at you as you dabbed under your nose.

“Maybe he got water in his ear in the shower.”

You sighed.

“This isn’t making it better,” you told her, sniffling.

You leaned against the counter, your shoulders slumped and your face drenched in salt.

“I’m not trying to make it better,” your mother sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m trying to figure out why he left you.”

It stung to hear her say it. Stung so badly that you flinched inadvertently, just a reaction your body had to the words. It was like the doctors checking your knees for reflexes; you had no control over it.

“There’s nothing to figure out,” you assured her flatly, fruitlessly wiping at your cheeks and staring down at the scuff on the toe of your shoes. “He’s gone. It’s over. That’s that.”

“Maybe he’ll come back,” your mother said.

You shook your head.

“No,” you whispered, sniffling again. “Movers came and packed him up.”

“He hasn’t called?”

“Changed his number,” you told her. Your voice was growing thinner and quieter.

“Well. Maybe he’ll change his mind after a while. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

A beat of silence followed that. You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t really sure what to do other than cry and cry and cry.

“I don’t think he will,” you said finally.

She sighed, then. She wasn’t sure what to say either. She had never been good at this sort of thing--things that required her to give you that undivided attention you were always so insistent upon.

You weren’t sure why you even bothered telling her. You knew that she would’ve sat through your entire early lunch without commenting on your appearance if you’d let her. She would’ve pretended like everything was fine, would’ve asked about work, would’ve kept talking about the country club.

“Wouldn’t you rather have loved and lost than never loved at all?”

Your throat grew hot.

“Please don’t quote Victorian-era poets to me while I’m upset,” you whispered to her. “And that’s not even the way it goes.”

You two were always like this. She never knew what to say to you and when she tried, you were convinced that her attempt was half-hearted and in poor taste because it usually was. Even when you were a baby, she never knew much about what you wanted or needed. It was no different now that you were a grown woman. Simply put: she was bad at caring and you were good at rejecting.

She at least spared you from bringing up the fact that Jake had put his wife in your very position a couple years back--for you.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” your mother admitted, holding her hands on her hips.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut tight.

“Me neither,” you told her.

It was quiet for another moment.

She glanced at her watch.

“You can go,” you told her.

She played tennis every Saturday afternoon--you knew that’s where she wanted to be.

She swallowed.

“I don’t have to,” she said.

What she really meant was: thank you.

“I know,” you told her. Another beat. “Go.”

And so she’d left and then you were alone.

You’re still alone right now.

Or you were until twenty-seven minutes ago when the doorbell rang.

You’d only gotten around to making dinner fifteen minutes before the intrusion so the air was still thick with the scent of Top Ramen. You were sitting on the couch, poking around your bowl of overcooked noodles, watching another episode of The Price Is Right in your dark living room when the chime rang out in the foyer.

If this had happened a little over a year ago, if Jake was still living with you but maybe gone for the evening, you would’ve been frightened. Some unannounced guest at your front door after ten at night while you’re home alone?

But you’d simply set your bowl on the coffee table and meandered through the dark, your slippers shuffling on the unswept tile. You didn’t even check the peephole--you didn’t care to. You just opened the door.

Then he was there. Just like that, just like he had been for years before and not been for a year, he was there. Standing under the dinky porch light in the silky night air, wearing a pair of old Levi’s and a starchy white shirt.

And when you saw him, him with his eyebrows pinched the way he used to whenever he was thinking hard about something, him with his lips in that serious flat line you used to run your finger along, him with his Adam’s apple bobbing so profusely, him with his hands at his sides and clenching around precisely nothing--a strange peace flooded you. You’d been trying so very hard to press forward, to forget about him, to wash off the life you shared. Even if you knew it was entirely in vain, you did because that’s what you were supposed to do. But seeing him there on your porch, shrouded in shadows and awash with a strange emotion you cannot read--and you’ve been out of commission in the reading Jake’s emotions department for a while, anyway--you thought okay, this is it. I have been so overwhelmed with grief that my brain is atrophying and I am imagining things. This is my yellow wallpaper.

For the first time in a year, you felt good. This was your surrender. You were letting go, giving in, allowing yourself to be swallowed. It was like slipping into a warm bath; all the muscles in your body unfurling, all the breath in your lungs escaping, all the pain in your body dissipating.

But then he spoke.

“What’s that face?”

“What?” You choked.

You didn’t even mean to speak to him. It was just an immediate response.

“That face,” Jake said softly, nodding towards your cheek. “I’ve never seen you make it before.”

“That’s just my face now,” you told him.

It got quiet after that. There were no crickets chirping, no cicadas calling, no cars rumbling down the quiet street, no music playing through a cracked window. The night was just entirely silent.

The next few minutes were a blur. You wandered away from the door, still entirely convinced that this was your undoing and that you were taking up company with the ghost of your lost love. He’d taken it as an invitation and followed behind you. When you sunk back down into the sofa, taking your lukewarm bowl of noodles on your lap, he just watched you from the foyer.

He didn’t really know what he was doing there. He didn’t know why he came back other than to fill the gaping hole in his chest that he’d punctured there. It was selfish, he knew. He kept in touch with a few of your mutual friends and every once in a while, when he could afford it, he’d ask how you were. And the answers were never good. But seeing it, seeing you sit in that pitch-black living room, seeing you sit there with your bowl of shitty ramen, seeing your gaunt cheeks aglow in the artificial blue-light from the television, he understood just how bad things were. Really, he thought he had it bad with the nightmares and the guilt. But this was something different entirely.

When he said your name, you just glanced over at him. Your eyes were very dull.

Then he sat on the loveseat, facing you. And you just resumed watching The Price Is Right.

But now the episode is over and your bowl is empty.

So, you look over at him and his face is angled at the television, too. His eyes are so very glassy that you could watch the television in the reflection. His posture is rigid, which is not how he used to sit on the loveseat. He used to throw his entire body on top of it with a heave, used to sprawl out with his limbs askew. He used to take naps there like that. He used to pull you on top of him, used to keep your head cradled against his chest as it rose and fell with a grace you knew you would never come close to possessing.

This is all very strange. Jake knows this is very strange. You just left the door open behind you and ate your cheap dinner and watched TV while he sat there. But what is even stranger is that he didn’t want to immediately retreat. He didn’t feel that discomfort in his bones he feared he would. He even ended up watching the episode with you.

“Are these reruns?” He asks after a moment as a toothpaste commercial plays over the screen. This is the TV he left here--the unreasonably big one that cost a fortune to get mounted.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“When does the new season start?” He asks.

“September, I think.”

It’s quiet for a moment. You’re still looking at him, wondering how long it is going to be until he evaporates.

And he’s looking around the room now, squinting through the dark, letting his eyes fall over all the familiar terrain. The coffee table is amess with mail and car keys and matchbooks; you used to get onto him about crowding it with paperwork and glasses. The mantle that used to house all those trinkets you picked up everywhere is void of anything at all save a sad pillar candle almost burned to the wick. The throw pillows are strewn about, not at all in the precise order you liked them to be, and none of the throw blankets are folded and sitting in the basket beside the couch. It’s April now, but there are no pastel decorations littering the room. It’s just dark.

“How long will you be here?”

His eyes land on you again. You’ve curled into yourself, knees drawn to your chest, and you’re letting your cheek press against the flat of your knees as you look at him. There is something far-away about the way you’re looking at him, something that just isn’t quite there.

“What do you mean?”

“How long are you staying?”

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

You shrug.

“Okay,” you say. “Just lock the door on your way out.”

Somehow, even though he knows the opposite, he feels like the strange one here. He was expecting this to go differently. He thought you would cry and he would cry. He thought that maybe you wouldn’t let him in. He thought maybe you would’ve moved by now. Really, he expected things to go any other way than they are right now.

You’re just blinking at him, fiddling with a loose stitch on the couch.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks.

You shake your head immediately.

“Of course not,” you answer.

His heart is sitting in his throat, pulsing.

A beat passes. There’s a dog food commercial playing now.

“Don’t you want to ask what I’m doing here? Or why?”

“No,” you answer again.

He nods.

“Why not?”

You breathe softly, shrugging. This is the most strange conversation to be having with someone who is just not here.

“Why would I?” You return finally.

He rakes his hands through his hair again, softening into the sofa. He’s missed this sofa very much--he used to take long, open-mouthed naps here with your weight atop him.

“I don’t know,” he answers and he’s telling the truth. “I guess I would want to know if I were you.”

“You’re not me,” you answer even though you do think, in a convoluted way, he must be you since you’re the one imagining him here.

“Yeah,” he sighs, nodding.

“What should we do?” You ask.

He blinks.

“About?”

“Not about,” you answer, sighing. “What should we do now? Go to bed?”

“Are you tired?” Jake asks.

“I’m always tired,” you say.

That hurts. It’s a quick pain that radiates across his chest.

“You want to go to bed with me?” He asks.

You just nod. Of course you do. It’s all you’ve wanted for the past year. Just to lie beside him again, just to fall asleep with his foot nudging yours. That’s it. It’s simple.

You’ve missed him the most there--which is a given. Entirely a given.

He doesn’t know if he should. Things are still strange with Felicity. He doesn’t know where they stand, especially after tonight. Honestly, he doesn’t know where they’ve been standing for the past year besides the edge of a cliff and a stuffy therapist’s office.

“Okay,” he says softly. He nods. “We can go to bed.”

You don’t turn any lights on in the house as you navigate through it. You are good at navigating in the dark; it’s how you’ve been living for the past year. Jake stumbles a few times, feeling around for a doorknob or railing. You don’t reach for his hand and he doesn’t reach for the curve of your waist.

Even when you get into the bedroom, you don’t turn the light on. You don’t wash your face or brush your teeth. You just slip out of your socks, leave them in the heap that sits at the end of your bed, and climb under the unmade sheets.

Jake stands in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He can make out your silhouette beneath the linens, so much smaller than he remembers you being. Maybe you are--especially if you’ve been eating ramen at ten at night for the past year. He can’t make out much else besides the hunky shadows of furniture and he doesn’t try. He slips out of his jeans and his t-shirt, which feels strangely and achingly normal to be doing in this room at your bedside, and then pulls the covers down.

The two of you lie side by side without touching each other.

You can’t believe the peace that has found you so suddenly. This is a peace you have scoured for for twelve grueling months--yoga, acupuncture, retreats, massages, therapy, antidepressants, girl’s nights, blind dates--and never even came close to finding. But here it is now, laying in bed beside you, blinking up at the ceiling. He’s not even touching you, but he doesn’t have to: just knowing that you could reach over and press the flat of your foot against the curve of his calf is enough to untie a knot that’s been sitting in your throat.

Jake, for some reason, feels the same. He’s been having trouble sleeping for a year--an entire year. Felicity doesn’t snore. In fact, Felicity is entirely soundless when she sleeps. And he hates that. Often, he’s thought about the way you mumble throughout the night and the lonesome snores you sometimes let out. Felicity likes to be held, but you liked to hold him. He’s missed it--missed your arms around his waist, your hips against his. And now that he’s in bed with you, now that all this strangeness is becoming normal in the dark room around the two of you, he can feel himself growing tired. Sleep is starting to tug on his eyelids.

“Are you sleepy?” You ask softly.

You used to ask him this a lot. Usually it was accompanied with your fingers in his hair, tugging softly as he laid in your lap as you tried to finish another chapter of a book you’d been reading for too long. Sometimes it was when he was teetering between asleep and awake, when you knew just by looking at his slack face and parted lips that he was sleepy. It used to make the two of you laugh, a sound only the wrinkles in the sheets could hear.

“Yes,” Jake answers.

You swallow. There are suddenly tears in your eyes.

“Okay,” you just say.

“Are you?” He asks.

“You already asked me that,” you say softly.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” you answer.

This is starting to feel real. It is beginning to dawn on you that this is not a figment of your imagination, you have not been subdued by anguish. This is real, he is here, you watched an episode of The Price Is Right together, and now you’re in bed together. It’s almost too much for you--it’s making your chest tight, making your knuckles white. You thought that being around him again would make grief explode out of your chest like something akin to Alien. But here you are--intact somehow.

You want to ask him how long he’ll be there. You want to ask if he’ll be there when you wake up tomorrow morning. You want to ask him what he saw in your sleeping face that made him leave. But you don’t. You’re afraid of breathing too hard, afraid of moving wrong.

“Are you still awake?” He asks.

You nod and he feels it.

“What’s happening?” He asks.

This wasn’t his intention when he came here tonight. Fuck, he doesn’t even really know what his intention was, but he knows that it isn’t this.

“I don’t know,” you answer.

He can tell that you’re choked up.

“Ask me why I’m here,” he demands in a hushed tone.

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“I don’t want to,” you say. “Please don’t make me.”

He bites his lip hard. His throat is thickening with tears, too, just hearing how utterly broken your tone is. Just to know that he is the one that fractured it, just to know that he is the one that’s hurt you--it makes his chest tight.

“Ask me anything. Please.” He’s begging.

“You’re being selfish,” you whisper. There are tears rolling off your cheeks now. You take a deep breath. “It’s not fair that you’re making me ask. You know that I can’t say no to you. You know that.”

He does know that. It’s how the two of you started anyway.

Jake and Felicity were on the rocks, like they always were, when he met you at the beach three years ago. It was late and the two of you were the only cars parked in that sandy parking lot, each of you staring out over the dark water.

Jake knew better than to approach a young woman alone at night--so he did his best to not send creeper-vibes in your general direction, barely even glancing at you. But then he made the mistake of crumpling a piece of straw wrapper between his fingers and tossing it out his window.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when you suddenly laid on your horn after witnessing the entire ordeal.

He looked at you, bewildered, and you were wildly gesturing for him to roll his window down. So he did, his throat entirely dry, and you ripped into him.

“Did you just fucking litter? Right in front of me?”

He didn’t know what to say. He just stared at you, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry?” He managed to stutter out.

“If you’ll litter right there in front of me, then what will you do when I’m not here?” You raved at him, throwing your arms up. “That’s the scummiest shit I’ve seen all day and I work at City Hall!”

He was admiring you without even meaning to. Your eyes were alight with fire, your face glowing in the white light of the moon. The breeze was pressing into your hair, pushing it over your bitten lips. You were beautiful--even when you were yelling at him.

“City Hall?” He asked. “You the mayor or something?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Do I look like the mayor?” You asked, furrowing your brows at him.

He made a show of looking over your bare shoulders and the necklace sitting on your throat and the red in your cheeks. And suddenly, your heart was racing. This perfect stranger who just littered in front of you, the one you ripped into, was suddenly undeniably handsome and absolutely checking you out.

“No,” he answered finally. “Aren’t mayors usually bald men?”

You wanted to smile.

“That’s a bit regressive, don’t you think?”

He grinned. It made your heart stutter.

“What’s your name?”

You bit your lip.

“I don’t give my name out to strangers that litter.”

So Jake had gotten out of his car, raised his brows at you, retrieved the tiny piece of trash you were so upset about, and walked it all the way over to the garbage can. Then he’d gotten back in his car with a grin.

“Now I’m just a stranger,” he said. “Do you tell just strangers your name?”

There was a grin tugging at your lips.

“If they tell me theirs first,” you insisted.

“Jake,” he said without hesitation. “Seresin. C’mon, your turn, City Hall.”

You nodded. Jake Seresin.

You told him your name and he smiled. It made your toes curl.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, nodding.

“Okay,” you said back, shoulders straight.

The two of you ended up fucking hard and fast against the hood of his truck after the first hour. The breeze was warm and salty, your body was soft and supple, and the waves were crashing in the distance. His windows were rolled down so the two of you could hear Fruits of My Labor by Lucinda Williams playing softly from his radio. For some reason, it was the best sex he ever had.

There was a strange pull between the two of you, one that neither of you were willing to reject. He told you that he was married just after that and it strangely did not deter you. You had never been the kind of girl that went after married men, but Jake made you dizzy. You were powerless to interrupt whatever was happening between the two of you.

He left Felicity for you just a month later.

And now he’s lying beside you and he can feel every shuddering breath that you breathe and he feels like his body is going to turn itself inside out.

“Why’d you leave?” You whisper.

He’s guilty. He feels like he’s asked you to do something impossible.

“I keep not doing the right thing,” he says. He practiced this on the way over, practiced everything he’s wanted to tell you for the past year. But none of it is coming to him now that he’s beside you. “Like I left Felicity for you and then I left you for her and I just thought that if I righted things with Felicity, then I would feel better about myself. Because I don’t. Feel good about myself, that is.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper dryly. It isn’t with malice. It’s just an expression, one that you’ve used frequently enough that he doesn’t flinch. “You don’t feel good?”

He’s quiet now.

“I feel guilty.”

You sniffle again. You’re not angry.

“I bet you do,” you say. “I would feel guilty if I made someone feel the way I have for the past year.”

He’s quiet.

“I left because I felt like I had to do the right thing,” he says, quieter now.

He’s telling the truth. He hardly thought twice before he left Felicity and fell right into your life together. You were living together right away and things were good. They were seamless and easy. He kept waiting for something to happen, something that would make him feel guilty about leaving Felicity and moving on with you so quickly, but it never came. His friends loved you. You cooked his steak just right. His mom adored you. You were thinking about getting a dog together. You never argued. He couldn’t get enough of you ever. And you returned that love tenfold.

So that Tuesday morning, after a perfect night for a fucking Monday, he woke up and looked at you. You were sleeping with your face buried deeply in the pillows, your eyes fluttered shut, your face awash with peace. And he cupped your cheek, pressed hair behind your ears.

And then he thought I want to marry you. It was the first time he thought it; his last marriage, which wasn’t even officially over yet, had scarred him to the point of swearing off legal unions entirely. You’d been all for it, insisting that whatever he would give you was enough. And the thing about it was that you were telling the truth and he knew it. Seamless.

Then he got scared--the kind of fear that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention--and he thought of you looking at him the same way Felicity had when he handed her his ring. That pain--it was hideous to witness, hideous to inflict. He couldn’t do that to you.

Guilt found him for the first time, too. Guilt that he loved you more in this one precise moment than he loved Felicity in the years they were together. Maybe loving someone as much as he loved you wasn’t natural--maybe that wasn’t the way the world was meant to work.

So he decided. He was going to leave.

Then he’d left. To preserve you and your feelings. To preserve whatever goodness you two had that was surely fleeting anyhow, even if it hadn’t shown it yet. Felicity, for some reason, had welcomed him back even if they both understood that there was precisely nothing left between them. No amount of therapy could bring back what they had--and even if it could, it would be remarkably dim in contrast to what he had with you.

“And was it?” You ask. “The right thing?”

He pauses. He truly doesn’t know. The ache in his chest says no, absolutely not. But the ring sitting heavy on his fourth finger says yes, it absolutely was. Even if Felicity is so rigid still.

“I don’t know,” Jake answers. “I’ve been wondering about that the past year.”

What you wouldn’t give to have been wondering anything other than your loneliness for the past year.

“Why are you here?”

You’re afraid of the answer. Your fingers are numb with grief.

“I missed you,” he answers instinctively.

That’s when your first sob punctures the quiet bedroom. Every fiber in his being is screaming for him to reach out and hold you, for him to collect you in his arms and hold you tight against him, to comfort you. But he doesn’t move.

“Jake,” you cry, holding your face in your hands. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

His teeth sink into his lower lip.

“Me neither,” he answers.

“I didn’t even think you were real,” you tell him, mercilessly sobbing into your palms. “I thought I’d finally lost my fucking mind. I thought you were a ghost. I genuinely thought I’d gone insane with grief, Jake. Do you know how fucked that is?”

He reaches out, a strange lack of hesitance sitting in his belly. Then he lets his hand rest on your belly. It’s a gesture that’s marked your relationship together. He used to call you Fido because you loved for him to rub your belly; he learned that it was because of the lack of physical touch you’d received from your frivolous mother as a child and he was always, always happy to appease you.

Your breathing steadies, just for a moment. His hand is warm and heavy with familiarity. God, you’ve missed this hand so much that you could stay here and not move for the rest of your life and be content. You could die just like this and it would be okay. It would be good, even.

“I’m real,” Jake says because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I wish you weren’t,” you admit. “It would be a lot easier for me when you go.”

There’s that pain in his chest again. It’s worse than the airframe on his F-18 getting bent as he pulls 9G’s. It’s worse than punching out into the cornflower sky. It’s worse than anything, he thinks, to hear you say this to him.

But he can’t get himself to say that he’ll stay because he doesn’t know if he can.

“Don’t say that,” he just says softly.

“I mean it, though,” you weep. “I wish you weren’t real.”

His eyes flutter shut. This hurts. But it’s a pain that almost feels good--it’s a punishment. He’s punished himself, sure, and his friends have said some things here and there. But it feels good for you to be punishing him now. This is what he deserves. He deserves for you to tear into his flesh. He deserves to bleed for what he’s done to you--ripping you apart until you’re an empty-eyed bag of bones.

He strokes the imprint of your ribs beneath his fingers and lets you continue.

“I wish we never met and-and I wish I just was alone this whole time and I wish we weren’t ever happy together! I wish you just fucking littered and I just fucking let you!”

He takes it. A glutton for punishment.

You don’t move his hand away. You’re angry, but you’re not even exactly angry at him. You’re just angry that it is humanly possible to house all this grief. You’re angry that you have the capacity to love someone this much and be hurt by someone this much. It seems unnatural.

“I don’t,” Jake finally whispers. “You made me feel so happy. So content.”

“But it wasn’t enough.”

“I never said it wasn’t enough,” he whispers.

“You never said anything about any of this,” you tell him.

You’re still crying.

He’s still thumbing your bones through your skin, refamiliarizing himself with the terrain. Touching your skin feels like being wrapped in the very first blanket he was wrapped in as a newborn, very warm and soft. It makes him want to be naked and wrapped around you.

“You’re tired,” Jake says softly. “I’m tired, too.”

“Yes,” you agree. You sniffle hard.

“What if we just sleep and then we talk tomorrow? In the morning? As early or late as you want.”

You’ve never been able to say no to him.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move his hand.

“Jake,” you say because you can’t help it. You almost can’t believe how easy his name rolls off your tongue. You’ve tried so hard not to utter it but here it is, smooth as the inside of a seashell in your mouth. “Please don’t leave before I wake up.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m not going to leave before you wake up,” he promises.

He means it. He owes it to you. He owes it to the pain sitting heavily on his chest.

And even though he doesn’t deserve it and the both of you know that, you turn in the bed. He’s confused at first, alarmed at the sudden movement. But then you’re doing it, clicking yourself into place. You are holding him. Your lips are pressed to his bicep and your leg is threaded through his and he can feel your tears and your breathing and oh my God he has missed this so much that he’s choked up.

This is what you do. You love Jake the way he needs to be loved without him uttering a word to you about it. You just know him, you just understand him, you just fucking love him. Felicity has never been able to understand what he’s thinking, has never been able to give him what he wants without him asking for it. He doesn’t blame her--he doesn’t know what she wants either. But he knows that you want him to press his back against your front, so he does. It’s the least he can do for you.

You’re overwhelmed at the sheer closeness of this encounter. You were so worried he was going to fade into the sheets as soon as you touched him, but he didn't. He’s totally solid beneath your touch. He’s just right there, pressed up against you. He still uses the same aftershave and you’re worried you’re going to get drunk on it--you’ve been limiting yourself to whiffs of his pillow every now and then, always calculating the time wisely. But now it’s just permeating the sheets, sitting heavily in your nostrils.

And his skin--it’s so warm and soft. It just feels right to hold him. It’s not unfamiliar at all.

“Goodnight,” he whispers to you.

“Stay,” you just whisper back.

You’re desperate.

So he nods, lets his face press into that pillow that still smells like his aftershave.

“I am,” he whispers.

“Don’t hurt me,” you beg quietly.

You press a tentative kiss on the bare skin of his back. His eyes water.

“I’m trying not to,” he tells you quietly.

The two of you get your first full night of rest in twelve months in the bed that you used to share. It’s blissful, really. So blissful that when you wake up and he’s not in bed, you think about checking yourself into some sort of institution. Because it had felt so fucking real--so real that you genuinely slept. Like really, thoroughly, actually slept.

You walk down the stairs in tears already, feeling like you’re back at square one even though you never really got past it in the first place. The house is quiet and you aren’t even sure what day it is and there’s dishes to do and sobs to heave--

But when you walk into the kitchen, he’s still here. He’s sitting at the kitchen table that the two of you thrifted your first year together with a steaming mug in his hand and another one sitting across from him--the coffee is the exact shade you like it to be.

When he sees you, you in your pajamas with your messy hair and the tear tracks on your cheeks, he wilts. He thought he was doing the right thing letting you sleep in--because he knows you and he knows you haven’t been sleeping very well at all--and getting coffee started. It doesn’t even dawn on him that you probably thought he’d left again until he sees the way your pupils dilate when they land on him.

“Oh,” you whisper, halting suddenly at the threshold of the kitchen. You sniffle, frowning, swiping your tears away hastily. “I thought you…”

He shakes his head, sinking his teeth into his lower lip.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself and settling into the kitchen chair across from him.

“It’s fine,” you tell him.

It’s quiet for a moment. At the very least, there are birds singing in the gray morning light, hopping from one branch of a eucalyptus tree to the next. The room is washed white and you can see every speck of dust and grime you’ve let build up in the kitchen. The house is just messy--you’ve let it get that way. Without Jake living here, you’ve given up trying to keep the coffee table clear and the shoes on the rack by the front door. It doesn’t matter--well, it didn’t matter.

“I missed this coffee,” he tells you, bringing the mug to his lips again. “Felicity likes Folgers.”

You smile softly. You were the one that turned Jake onto good coffee. He fashions himself as some sort of coffee snob now, one that usually gets his coffee imported. But not with Felicity, you suppose.

You wipe your eyes again. You would’ve liked to have this conversation after a shower--Hell, even just after brushing your teeth. But you’re too afraid to let him out of your sight again. So you settle in against the wood, closing your eyes as it groans beneath your weight.

“How is she?” You ask. It just seems like the right thing to say.

Jake winces. He knows he shouldn’t be talking about his wife right now. He knows that. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to be talking about, but certainly it shouldn’t be Felicity.

But maybe this is a good place to start. Maybe this is the first time he can be honest with someone about the way things are between them--he usually keeps his responses vague with others. People don’t really want to know, especially his friends that were friends with you--the ones that preferred you.

Oh, we’re fine. We’re working on our marriage. Therapy is helping.

With you, though--he can just say it.

“She hates me,” he says, laughing dryly. He’s fiddling with the little chip on the rim of the mug, watching as your fingers slide into the handle of your mug. It’s your favorite--he knows that. “Like, she actually really hates me.”

He won’t look at you, but you’re looking at him. You’re watching that humorless smile tug at his lips, watching him blink away the tired in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

If you were Felicity, you would hate him, too. You would hate you, too.

“Therapy isn’t helping,” he tells you. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud. “Haven’t slept in the same bed for a few months now.”

You nod. If you close your eyes, you can still feel his heaviness in your arms last night.

“So?” You prompt.

There’s a lull as Jake bites his bottom lip pensively. He was really expecting more of a fight here. He was expecting you to be up in arms about him coming back. It’s almost worse that you’re so calm, so welcoming.

He doesn’t know this, but you’re not above begging. If it meant he would stay, you would get on your knees and grovel. But you just wait for him to answer.

“I told her we should refile for divorce,” he tells you, which is true.

Your spine prickles.

“Good for you,” you tell him. “You deserve to be…held.”

He didn’t even have to say it. You know that Felicity doesn’t hold him--he told you that the first time around whenever you held him for the first time in bed. You know that it’s true even now because of the way he went totally slack in your arms.

“I don’t know what I deserve,” Jake admits.

Me, you want to say. Me.

“It’s time for you to tell me,” you whisper.

You take a sip of your coffee and shut your eyes as it warms your chest.

He knows what you mean. He can’t bring himself to look at you yet.

“I woke up and I wanted to marry you,” he tells you.

He hasn’t told a soul this--not even his therapist. He hasn’t uttered it out loud even once.

You furrow your brows but say nothing. Your throat is dry.

“I just…” Jake sighs, blinking at his coffee. “When I met you, things were fine with me and Felicity. We didn’t argue. We were talking about moving houses. But then there was you and everything I thought I knew about love, about my relationship with Felicity, it was just…gone. Shaken up.”

You just nod again.

His heart is racing.

“If I was…if I was a good man, I wouldn’t have had sex with you that first night. Or any of the nights after. If I was a good man, I would’ve stayed with my wife. But I’m not a good man, so I cheated on her and then I left her,” Jake says. He takes another deep breath and sips on his coffee again. “But I just couldn’t help it. I just loved you so immediately.”

“Mmm,” you hum, wiping under your eyes again.

You move to hold your face in his hands as he continues, your face contorting with grief again.

“And then I thought that I could be good for you and I was good for you. We were good. It was all so easy. I felt like I didn’t really deserve it--especially since I just didn’t feel guilty about Felicity. But we agreed to not get married, right? You and me?”

You nod, not moving your face from your hands.

Jake wants to hold you. He knows you’re crying. But he’s going to lose his nerve if he doesn’t continue right now.

“But then I just woke up and we had such a good night--I mean, who has that good of a night on a Monday? I looked at you and I just thought about how badly I wanted to marry you suddenly,” Jake says. His voice is beginning to quiver. “And then I thought about Felicity’s face when I told her I was leaving. I thought about how broken she was. And I-I was so scared that if we got married, I was gonna do the same to you.”

You sigh into your palms.

For an entire year, you’d been racking your brain. You’d been trying to pinpoint the moment he fell out of love with you. You’ve been retracing all your steps carefully, trying to figure out where you went wrong. But you didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was love him the best he’s ever been loved--and he still left you.

“I’m not a good man,” he says.

“Don’t say that,” you snap, looking up at him.

He looks at you finally. Your eyes are rimmed with red and there are fat tears on your bottom lashes.

The two of you just look at each other. You both still want each other so bad that it’s making your bottom lips tremble. You want to make this house his house again, too. You want to hold him every night as he falls asleep. He wants to kiss your throat in the shower and push your hair behind your ears and never litter again.

The both of you feel suddenly how intense things feel right now.

So, Jake changes directions.

“How’s your mom?” He asks.

He’s afraid to talk about anything else. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t ask about that then he will confess his love right here, right now and ruin everything.

“Still a cunt,” you whisper.

He smiles softly.

“How was she? When I left?”

He was worried about you. Of course he was. He knew it was a grand sort of irony, him being the one inflicting all that anguish, but being distraught over the state of your wellbeing. But he knew that you wouldn’t reach out to any of your mutual friends--it would hurt too bad. So that would leave you with your mom, who was never useful when it counted the most.

“Terrible,” you answer him. You’re still crying, but now you’re laughing dryly, too. “Left me alone in the bathroom at Risotto’s to play tennis at the club.”

“You’re kidding,” Jake says, gritting his teeth.

You shrug.

“No,” you answer with a sigh. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m not.”

“She’s a real piece of work,” he mutters. “Was she wearing those ridiculous sunglasses?”

You laugh softly, nodding.

“Knew it,” Jake mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I haven’t missed her.”

It’s quiet again.

“How’s your mom?” You ask.

You’ve missed her, but you haven’t had it in you to answer any of her calls.

“Fine. Pissed at me,” he answers, nodding. “Misses you.”

“Yeah.” You wipe your eyes for the thousandth time that morning. “I miss her, too.”

You finish your coffee. Then you chew on your bottom lip, staring at a stain in the middle of the table that you were never able to buff out.

“Does she know you’re here?”

“My mom?” Jake asks.

You shake your head.

“Felicity,” you answer. You don’t say her name maliciously. You’ve always felt very bad about the way things happened--but now you feel that you’ve had your penance; your year without Jake. You feel like the two of you are even now.

“Yes,” he answers.

Felicity was calm when Jake said he wanted to stop working on things. She agreed. She admitted to having feelings for a coworker, though she hadn’t done anything but kiss him. They had a glass of scotch together. He kissed the top of her head. She asked if he was going to your house. He said yes. And when he left, things were okay. It felt like the first time they’d been honest with each other since he came back.

“And it’s over?”

He nods.

“It’s over,” he confirms. He twists the ring on his finger and then settles it softly on top of the stain you’re staring at. “I mean it.”

You nod.

“I believe you,” you answer. You pause and comb your fingers through your hair. “Does that make me stupid?”

Jake smiles sadly, softly.

“You’re not stupid,” he answers. “You’ve never been stupid.”

You laugh dryly again.

“You don’t have to marry me,” you tell him. You shrug, shaking your head as you look down at the table. “I never expected you to. I don’t care about getting married. I never did.”

Maybe that is what hurts the most--is that all of this could have been avoidable with a single conversation. If he had just gotten on your level. If he had just been honest.

“I want to marry you,” he says. “That’s the issue.”

“Well, if you ask, I’ll just say no,” you tell him.

He smiles gently.

“No you won’t,” he whispers.

You nod.

“I know,” you say. You bite your lip. “I was just saying that.”

“That’s a lot to give up,” he says. “Marriage.”’

“It’s a piece of paper,” you tell him.

He shakes his head.

“It’s a lot more than a piece of paper,” he tells you. “It’s a wedding and it’s taxes and it’s a legal bind. Even metaphorically, it’s more than just paper.”

“It’s frivolous,” you insist.

You mean it, too--you don’t care about getting married.

“But maybe you won’t always feel that way,” he whispers. “Maybe you’ll wake up one day and you’ll want to get married and I will too and I’ll fuck it up again.”

You sigh.

“Yeah, and maybe the moon is going to disappear and maybe the sun is going to explode and maybe all the bees are gonna die,” you tell him. He purses his lips. “It’s all relative.”

He shakes his head again, exhaling.

“What kind of people are we if we both wanna get married but are too scared to do it?”

You grip your mug.

“People that make do,” you say. You sniffle. “People that do what works for them.”

He sighs.

“Will it always work for you? Not being married?”

“Will it always work for you, Jake?”

He pauses. He doesn’t know.

“Maybe,” he answers.

“Before we start talking about all of this again,” you breathe, “I still have to forgive you.”

There’s a lump in his throat.

“I know,” he promises. “I know that.”

“And I am going to take my time doing that,” you insist.

He nods profusely.

“You should,” he says.

A beat passes.

“Jake,” you whisper.

The two of you finally meet each other’s gazes. Jake nods, earnestly letting his eyes rake over the sunken hollows of your cheeks and the darkness staining your undereyes. Your lips are chapped and your nose is bright red.

“Yeah, darlin’?” He returns.

Your skin gooses at the way it falls off his tongue: darlin’.

“Will you stay while I shower?”

He does stay. He sits on the toilet, his hands folded in his lap, and watches the steam fog up the mirror. You feel like you’re washing away an entire year’s worth of filth.

“My towel?” You ask when you turn the faucet off, reaching through the curtain.

He hands it to you swiftly, then settles back down on the toilet.

“You changed the shower curtain,” he says softly, just to say something. It’s one of the only things he’s noticed that’s been replaced. “I like it.”

It’s a mirage of moody painted florals, dark reds and oranges and pinks.

“The other one was too boyish,” you say as you dry yourself off.

Jake laughs quietly.

“Well, I’d say this is the opposite of boyish,” he tells you.

You pull it back, wrapped in the towel, your wet hair sitting limply on your back. He looks at you and you look at him, both of your stomach's in knots. When you bite down on your lip, he watches water droplets roll off your calves and onto the tile.

“What are you looking at?” You ask him.

Beneath his gaze, you feel more three-dimensional than you have in a year. You feel, suddenly, like you can straighten your shoulders and square your jaw. You don’t want to slouch through life when he’s looking at you.

“Your legs,” he says honestly, letting his eyes drag back up to yours. “You.”

You swallow hard.

You feel like you have to say it now.

“You broke my heart,” you tell him.

Now he swallows hard, blinking, but nodding.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know that I did.”

“And it was because you were scared,” you continue. “Really, you could’ve just talked to me. We could’ve worked it out.”

He nods again.

“This has been the worst year of my life, Jake,” you tell him. “And that’s putting it lightly.”

He nods. His eyes are starting to water.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he admits quietly. “And I’m sorry that I did. If I could take it back, darlin’, you know that I would. I would.”

“I believe you,” you whisper.

He exhales shakily. He wasn’t expecting to hear you say that.

“I wanna be with you,” he tells you before he loses his nerve.

You swallow hard and plant your feet on the ground firmly.

“If we’re going to do this,” you say, gesturing between the two of you with your heart racing. “Then you have to be solid. Because if we…if we…and then you leave again, I don’t think I’ll survive. Really, Jake. I don’t.”

“I’m solid,” he says.

It feels like the first time he’s told the truth in a long time.

“You won’t leave?” You confirm. Your voice is quivering.

He nods.

He’s just wearing his t-shirt and his boxers from last night, his hair mussed and his eyes swollen from sleep. He’s glassy-eyed as he gazes at you, his lips flat. You want to run your finger along those lips, want to be close to him. You feel like your bones are beginning to vibrate.

“I won’t leave,” he answers. “I want this. I want you.”

Your breath visibly stutters whenever he says it: I want you. It’s what you’ve been waiting to hear for twelve long months. It’s what you’ve cruelly dreamed of. It’s what you have ached for.

“I forgive you,” you say. So much for taking your time.

Jake watches your cheeks grow pink, watches your hair drip down your shoulders. You’re washed in the low yellow light of the bathroom, your chin trembling.

“Come here,” he whispers to you, his voice thin. “I have to hold you.”

For a moment, you feel like you’re frozen. But then he opens his arms and your feet are moving without you, just propelling you forward and across the rug and into his embrace. Then he’s holding you against him so tightly that your back pops, holding you so tight that you can’t breathe. You’re crying and he’s relishing in the way your body just fits so perfectly there in his arms, the way your fingers feel when they tangle in his hair. He’s missed you so much that he almost feels like this is a fuzzy daydream.

His hair is like velvet between your fingers, his arms like a blanket around you. You’re sobbing, heaving and he’s just hugging you close to him with his head buried in your chest. He’s inhaling the laundry detergent that you buy and the body wash you use and he can feel himself falling into you again.

“I’ve been crying for you, boy,” you whimper to him, hugging him against your body.

He’s kissing you now, his lips dampening from the towel still wrapped around you, but it doesn’t stop him. He won’t stop kissing you. He won’t leave. He will prove to you--to himself--that he is good. He will be good for you.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he promises. He’s beginning to cry now, too. He doesn’t know if its because of the sudden and overwhelming feeling of being close to you or if it’s because he’s missed you so fucking much or if it’s because he hurt you so bad. “I’m gonna make it right, darlin’.”

“I know,” you whimper. “I know you are.”

You stay like that for a long time: wrapped up in each other.

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐝…𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @roosterforme'𝐬 #𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐈𝐬𝐈𝐧𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐓𝐆𝐌 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞!! 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!!

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