description: ohm unexpectedly seeks solace in you mid-breakdown, so you provide a sweet shoulder to cry on.
warnings//content: hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety, death, and self blame, implied thoughts of self harm if you squint, mostly just comfort
a/n: requested. i once again remind myself angst is the easiest sub genre for me to write. also i need an older dark haired man with glasses and pretty eyes to cry to me FR
He had trudged up to your room to bother you. To be a pest, like he always is in your presence. Maybe annoy you until you shared what you were working on, or what you were reading, or anything you were doing, really. He didn't care, as long you gave him attention and your time.
But something happened between his afternoon coffee and his decision to seek you. An unsettled, teetering feeling made it's home in the pit of his stomach, clawing it's way to his chest. A pressure, an unbearable feeling of something tugging at his ribs and squeezing his heart.
Ohm had been thinking about his mother. Using much effort to remember the light lilt of her voice, the gleam in her eyes that only mothers hold. Then his thoughts darkened, to that day... to himself... the moment of finality he could never take back.
It was an unfamiliar feeling. He's used to lows, to the splintering depression that grasped him sometimes, but not the anxiety. That's when he resolved to find you, thinking being himself in your presence and soft spirit could tug him back out of his mind's darkness. But it wasn't until his eyes began to well only seconds after you opened your door that he realized- he came to you for comfort.
He's been perched on the edge of your bed, slumped over with his head hanging. He speaks quietly, lamenting on how his mother's death was his fault and can't quell the guilt. How he wishes it would've been him instead, to spare her. How he believes he deserves all the shitty hands he's been dealt because of what he did.
You simply sit next to him, listening with intent, concern etched upon the face he can't take his eyes away from sometimes. Now he can't even glance at you. Ohm let you rest a hand on his arm at least, having untensed just barely at the soothing feeling of your fingers trailing up and down.
"You were a child, ohm..." you say, only an octave higher than a whisper.
"I should've known better."
No matter what you say, he fights you. He fights with that broken voice and utterly devastated look. You can still see, even you can only made out his side.
"You were a child. It was an accident-"
"It doesn't matter what it was, I did it. It was my fault. You don't understand... what it feels like to- to do that to someone you love."
His voice is breaking your heart. He can't even use the words, unable to speak plainly what he did anymore. You let a moment of silence bush over you both, his quiet breaths and sniffles the only audible noise in the room.
After a few moments of artificial peace, your hand brushes down his arm again- "Ohm, can you look at me?"
A soft request. His eyes stay down on his hands in his lap, thumbs digging into his skin almost painfully. He's wound so tight.
"Please?" even gentler.
You notice his hands and almost hesitantly let your free one slide over his, not wanting to scare him off, but desperately needing to stop him from further hurting himself. It works, his grip loosens under your warm hold. And slowly, reluctantly, he picks his head up and finally meets your eyes.
He's wrecked. Flushed cheeks tear stained, fresh ones gathering under his pretty brown eyes, lip quivering like a child's. You never imagined in a thousand, a million years, that you'd see him like that. Or that he even had this level of emotion in him; his apathetic behavior had made you certain. Seeing this snide, cynical man brought down so low was not a sight you enjoyed.
You gently slide his glasses off, placing them carefully on your nightstand, then bring your hands up to wipe the damp streaks from his face. Your thumbs are soft against his skin, and the realization briefly takes him out of his misery. The ministrations feel good.
"No. I don't understand." you start, eyes shifting back and forth from his own to where your thumbs wipe, "But I do know you can't carry this... immense guilt with you forever."
He's listening. There's nothing else he can do, not with the exhaustion that's hitting from all the tension and tears.
You continue, "You have to find forgiveness. Start somewhere, learn to forgive yourself. I know it's incredibly easier said than done, self forgiveness is... hard. But... let me help you. Please. Don't internalize every single speck of emotion.." you speak earnestly to him, hands now just resting on the sides of his face, keeping it turned to you.
He swallows, eyes dropping lower on your face for a couple vulnerable seconds. Ohm's far from used to this as well, always remarkably good at keeping any and all emotions in check- especially around others. Especially around those he harbors affection for. That rare, rare occasion. But something about you screams safety.
You hesitate on your next words, "It's-"
You start to cut yourself off, not wanting to overstep. You look away almost sheepishly for a moment, and it's Ohm's turn to follow your eyes with his.
"What? You can say it." he rasps, expecting some kind of reprimand for what he believed to be weak behavior.
You take a breath, hearing his permission.
"It's what she would want you to do."
She. His mother. He sucks in a breath.
You had refrained from saying it out of fear that the phrase would offend, that you were putting words in her mouth. You didn't know her, Ohm had told you very little, but you felt in your heart that your words were true.
He exhales and sniffs, "She would think I'm a monster-"
"No." you cut him off, "From what you've told me of her, that's the last thing she would think."
Your gaze meets his, soft but firm, needing to reassure him of this. Speaking again, "She'd want you to be happy. You have to believe that."
He hears the pleading in your tone. How much you genuinely want him to trust you, trust the words you sound so sure saying. And you are- Ohm had not once uttered a single negative thing about his mother. She seemed like an angel.
You realize you'd been holding his face for a moment longer than necessary, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, and attempt to lower them. He catches your wrists however, holding them in place and just looking at you for a long moment. His eyes are still damp but wider now, really looking at you like he hadn't fully taken in your presence until now.
You freeze, feeling his clammy grasp around your skin. A question as to what was wrong almost leaves your lips before he leans into you, head collapsing atop your shoulder, hands freeing you to wrap loosely around your torso instead. This is new. An unfamiliar feeling fills you, immediately reciprocating and hold him to you.
He sighs, warm breath tickling the crook of your neck.
"I know..." he breaths out, muffled.
Another broken breath leaves him, tensing as yet another wave of tears threaten to spill. You sigh into his hair, rubbing over the plane of his back soothingly. He's shrunk down to the size of a child, pressing his weight into you as if searching for any comfort you'll give him. Right now, your body pressed against his is enough.
Maybe he will let you in. Let you help him. He's tired of fighting alone, already soaking up your sweetness and tolerance. He feels, for the first time possibly ever, he might've found exactly what he needs.
description: upon realizing sleep is eluding you for whatever reason, you venture out to the back patio and find ohm already there. a single cigarette and conversation ensue.
warnings//content: sexual implications and references, sexual dialogue, making out and all that
a/n: requested. aware that a certain activity in this oneshot is typically done with a joint, but for the sake of the story, ignore that. also updating layout (but its not doing what i want it to and i'm mad)!! ushering in new era of fics for me!! yippee
1:46 am
Is the time your phone reads as you roll over to check it once again.
It feels like you've been laying motionless in bed for ages, at least for the remaining five hours you need to pass before the sun is up. Maybe it's the inn, the slightly antique-y scent that's stuck to the walls and floorboards and any piece of wooden furniture, or the creaking you hear every so often that the man at the front desk had assured you was just the house "settling". Whatever the reason, you couldn't sleep. So what good was it to lie around huffing in frustration at the ceiling?
Not bothering to slip a robe on over your top and shorts, you lumber out of bed and out the door.
It's almost deathly quiet in the hallway, careful not to disrupt it and shutting the door behind you with barely a sound. You're unsure of where you're going- maybe to take a simple lap around the inn, maybe to raid the kitchen for scraps of food, it didn't matter as long as your mind was occupied with more than just over-tired frustration.
Stepping barefoot down the stairs, arms folded under your chest for warmth, you take a left for the back patio. Surely some fresh air would work wonders.
The glass paneling on the door is fogged, condensation taking its toll with tonight's chill. Should've brought that robe. Even the door handle is cool to the touch as you jerk open the old door, gazing about the serene space until a figure comes into view.
You jump- but it's just Ohm. Another guest at the inn, namely that bratty, cynical little writer who didn't seem to like anyone or anything. However, he seemed to... tolerate you. In his own way, you suppose, though you had no idea why.
"Knock much?" he says flatly, gaze turned upon you with a subtle once-over.
You take a second to observe him, lounging in an adirondack with one leg crossed over the other, still clad in jeans and a couple good layers of outerwear. Smoke escaping in curls from the cigarette held delicately between his fingers. Gradually souring expression on his face.
"Why would I knock, it's the patio not the bathroom." a quick, just as flat retort, too tired to put up with attitude.
"Because it's polite. So you're not just barging into spaces unwelcome. Like you just did." Ohm complains, eyes still fixed on your figure with a glare.
Your footsteps overpower the soft sounds of late night crickets and quiet rustlings of leaves, more noticeable as you get closer. His peaceful isolation has flown the coop.
Sinking rather unceremoniously into the seat next to his, you scoff, "Okay, like you know anything or care about being polite."
He brings the cigarette up to his lips to take a drag, and you use his delayed response to speak again- "Have you heard yourself?"
Ohm blows the smoke back into your face, making your lashes flutter.
"Yes."
No remorse, no defense, not even hesitation- he knew exactly the type of man he was and had not a care in the world.
"And?" you fix him with an incredulous gaze, fanning away the remaining smoke.
"And?" he matches your stare, though his eyes trail down to your bare legs with a little less subtlety this time, "99 percent of humans are complete dumbasses. Why should I entertain them."
His eyes lock on yours again.
You meet them with a tiresome yet delicately amused smile. This man was impossible, speaking in that monotone voice of his that made his words sound like they should be glaringly obvious.
Your eyes flick to his cigarette in the moments of silence that follow- "Share?"
Ohm's previously strayed stare quickly finds yours once more with something of appall, like he'd just been asked to strip and run through the woods alone. But something in his expression shifts as he takes in your hopeful face, something in him relents- it wouldn't be the end of the world to share to a cig with you. Ohm holds it out to you with a small huff, pressing his lips together.
The smile on your face grows in thanks, taking it from his hand and wrapping your lips around the filter to take a long drag. The contrast of the semi-pleasant burn in your throat and the chill in the air sends a small shiver down your spine, making you wrap your free arm around your torso in an attempt to find warmth.
The breeze carries the smoke from your lips into the night, both of you watching the grey wisp. Ohm speaks up again as you hand it back,
"You don't know a damn thing about me anyway." a delayed rebuttal to your earlier words about him, not sharp or rude like his usual tone, but rather... conversational, in a strange way. As if your presence wasn't as dreadful as he believed it would be.
"I know you're an asshole." a smile curls onto your face.
"Hasn't killed me yet." Ohm replies all too casually, taking another drag.
Your eyes wander to his mouth around the cigarette, sweeping up to his eyes behind the gleam of glass over them. The fine lines and years of cynicism that have etched their way onto his face seem to soften in the dim light, rounding out the sharp edges literally and figuratively. It makes your own expression softer, but not enough to relent your onslaught.
Leaning forward to pluck the cig out of his hand, "Maybe you're just... compensating for something."
Your eyes narrow, jumping lower for a half a second- enough time for him to know exactly what you're teasing.
"Wow. what an original deduction."
Deadpan. Sounding thoroughly unamused. Straight-faced... almost too straight faced. There's a subtle spark that passes through his eyes, something that tells you he isn't as unaffected as he portrays. A spark of interest. Challenge. Maybe it's always been there, and you're just noticing it now.
"You're not denying it-"
"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm not compensating for a damn thing. Take that as you will."
Your brow quirks up, watching him watch you from under his lashes- he was playing your game. Boldly, too. Not flustering, not bristling at the vulgarity of your implication. Playing along, flirting even. This man who acted like he'd cheer if the sun exploded tomorrow was flirting with you. It egged you on.
"Mmm, I can't. I'd have to see proof first."
You lean forward towards him slightly, letting your crossed arms under your chest push up your tits. If he wants to flirt and take this a step further, then let him- you can match that. And you do, with a smirk and lowering of your lashes, looking perfectly sensuous.
A muscle in Ohm's jaw ticks. You may as well be handing yourself to him on a silver platter. The shameless way you present your cleavage to him, the teasing lilt in your voice- he struggles to hold on to his one last shred of propriety, the relatively unused sensible part of his mind telling him the continuation of this exchange is a bit reckless, but his gaze falls to your breasts like a magnet anyway.
You knew you had him.
His eyes then find purchase on your lips, the natural flush that colored them, all too tempting. As if realizing himself, his gaze breaks abruptly to the cigarette still burning motionless between your fingers, needing a different sight to fixate on to quell this growing desire.
"You're full of shit," he claims after a tense silence, "Give me that."
Ohm reaches over and snatches the cigarette back, refusing to watch it burn down any more without you taking a puff. His finger clasp around yours for a fraction of a second, brushing down their lengths and over your nails to slide the cig out of your grasp. He doesn't even try to convince himself that touch of skin was an accident, he knows it was quite intentional. The look on your face only solidifies that it was the right move.
The light breeze lifts the thin pieces of hair falling into your face up into the air, revealing the almost predatory gleam in your eyes. Gaze fixed upon him from under your lashes, looking as if you might eat him alive.
You bet he'd be delicious.
The cig now burning down helplessly in his own hand give him an idea, one that makes the unreadable lines of his lips quirk up in a roguish smirk. When the fuck has he ever cared about propriety anyway?
After a few moments of yet another pregnant silence, Ohm leans towards you slightly and speaks up- "You ever shotgun?"
His voice is low, but not shy. Your smile grows.
"Are you offering?"
He shrugs, "Yeah."
The response is so easy, so casual, like he offers to share more than just his cigarette to women all the time. It only surprises you slightly, because of course he wouldn't outwardly fluster and declare his desires for you- it'd go against everything you've ever gathered about him. He's blunt, unmoving. It's kind of hot though.
"Okay." an easy answer.
Something flashes behind his eyes, being given permission and basically confirmation that you want him too.
"Come closer," Ohm reaches out to pull your chair closer to his with surprising strength, now only the armrests separating you.
You shift your body towards him, watching earnestly as he takes a long drag of the cig, brows furrowing before plucking it out. His own body shifts now, face-to-face with you as his free hand slips to the back of your head. He pulls you in gently though the grip under your hair is firm. Your mouth parts, eyes fluttering closed in sweet anticipation set alight as his lips brush and part against yours.
It's not until they cover yours completely that you feel the bitter smoke tickle your tongue, slowly inhaling every wisp he breaths into you. Your own hand finds rest against his cheek, stubble rough under your fingers though you don't mind in the least. It's hot, and not just the smoke- the gentle press of his mouth over yours, bits of saliva gathering in the corners the longer you're together. The intent in his hold that makes it clear he has more in mind with you than a simple, flirtatious smoke.
It's not only his own intent. Neither him nor you break the press of lips and instead lock in a searing kiss. Heads tilting to find a deeper angle, your lips move against his tirelessly, riding the light head high from the cigarette. Ohm's hand grips your hair, fisting the strands in restraint of pouncing on you right here outside- a quiet hum escapes you at the feeling, which he swallows eagerly.
Eventually tongues find their way past the barrier of teeth, tasting the remaining smoky flavor that was shared, not unpleasant paired with the heated touches between you. Your other hand rakes through his hair, tugging him closer slightly, something you realize you've been wishing to do since you introduced yourself. He releases a low groan, making you take note and store it away in your head for later.
Even the shared heat of arousal can't warm you completely, and a shiver runs down your spine as another chilly breeze passes through. Ohm must feel your small tremble, as he, albeit quite reluctantly, pulls his mouth away from yours.
"Was that from me, or are you cold." he asks breathlessly, remaining close enough that his nose brushes over yours.
A serene, pleasured smile appears on your face, "Cold."
You don't even care. You'd gladly freeze out here if he meant he could take you sooner. He drops the spent cigarette, having forgotten all about it until now to rest his hand over your arm, suddenly attentive. The goosebumps that form under his touch don't go unnoticed.
"Mm. You are."
He relents from you momentarily, quickly stripping his first layer, a tan casual jacket, and drapes it over your shoulders.
"Let's take this inside, sweetheart."
There's that petname again, but this time it's almost sincere. Almost. Your mind wants to focus on several things at once- the petname, the jacket he's given you, the sudden attention he's paying you... how he doesn't want to stop.
Ohm stands, your fingers dropping from his pretty face, and offers a hand. You take it of course, and can't help but also take the opportunity to tease him, "You just decided to be nice and give me your jacket when I've been cold this whole time?"
"I was distracted." he claims, voice back to that deadpan grate.
"This entire time?" you tease further incredulously, keeping his hand locked in yours as he leads you to the door.
"Yes." he fixes you with a firm tone and genuine gaze, no room for argument.
Your brow quirks- so that's why he tolerates you.
"Aww, do you like me, Ohm?" you tease with a smirk, pulling his jacket further over you.
Ohm stops at the door, gazing down at you with a shadow of incredulity.
"I don't think you have any room to talk." He brings a thumb up to your bottom lip as he speaks, rubbing away a smear of glistening saliva that remained there from his own lips.
Not denying your tease, but showing you were in the same exact grip of attraction that he was.
You flush slightly, attempting to draw attention away from your cheeks by narrowing your eyes, "Enough of that. Let's go."
Ohm only smirked, eyes sparkling with something close to affection before shoving open the door and tugging you with him.
Rhaenyra could've so easily won the war unscathed with the amount of dragon rider sisters and daughters spawning off on fanfiction to marry those hightower hotties
you won't get with me tonite - jack the narrator + tyler durden
jack the narrator x afab!reader x tyler durden
requested
word count: 7.3k
summary: jack is the only reason you continue attending that stupid blood parasite support group, a group for a condition you don't even have. but you can't stop- not until you bed that man. a chance encounter with jack's weirdo little friend, tyler, might just be a tasty roadblock. or, a wingman.
warnings/content: nsfw mdni!, heavily implied/referenced p in v sex, sexual dialogue, horny yearning
a/n: finally posting this here because i'm so uninspired to write the smut portion! didn't want to hide it on ao3 forever and i prob won't write part two (sorry to anon) for a while so here you go.
Wednesdays and Fridays. 7:30 pm. Blood parasites. Jack.
Three months ago, you were depressed. At least, more than usual. There was a flyer on the bulletin of your apartment building for a support group- not something that may be useful to you, not even something that fit any sort of personal criteria. You'd be there on a lie, a falsehood.
But in some sick way, maybe witnessing others suffering more than you would make you feel better about your own life. Those people have to be worse off than you, right? So you tried it out, arrived right on time with everyone else to blend in, wrote a random name on the 'hello my name is' sticker, and stuck that shit on.
Sitting in the metal fold-out chair, staring at the circle of actually sick people around you, it feels like you're an imposter. Like you're infiltrating something that's supposed to be private, which isn't a pleasant feeling. Your eyes flick over their faces, finding the gaze of the man sitting a few seats to the right to be already looking at you. Can he tell? Do you look that out of place? He looks away the second your eyes meet, gazing off to the rest of the group.
After the meeting itself is over, the group is free to get up and mingle, offering little preservative-filled grocery store cookies and the worst tasting coffee you've had the displeasure of tasting.
That's how you met Jack Moore.
"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," he quips with a mild, dry humor, coming up beside you, "I don't think it's real coffee."
Still standing at the machine, a grimace on your face, you glance over at him- it's the man who caught you eye before, in the circle.
You peer down at the dark liquid swirling around the cup, weighing your options of speaking to this guy-
"What do you suppose it is then? Dirt? Dirt grounds?" glancing back up at him with a raised brow, trying to match his humor though you're sure it comes off as awkward.
"Could be. Tastes like it." he replies with a short huff of a chuckle.
"Yeah, it- does." you discreetly drop the cup into the trash under the table, feeling validated that it's not just you who dislikes the coffee.
The man watches as you do so, a small, amused smile on his face. It looks almost pained, like he was forcing himself into this interaction, his body language uptight- but as long as he was not suspicious of you, might as well socialize.
You're about to blurt out your name in introduction but he does so first, nearly shoving his hand out at you, "Uh, I'm Jack."
Gave him your name, took his hand to shake, formalities.
"You must be new, I haven't seen you before." Jack inquires, keeping your hand in his for an awkward second too long before dropping it.
"Yeah, it's my first night actually."
Was that believable enough? You continue, tripping over the words slightly, "I just, wanted to get extra help, you know? Extra support for my- yeah."
Oh god, you think, I'm screwing this up so bad. That was even less believable.
Jack nods enthusiastically, "Yeah, same here."
It was a short response. You feel awful, talking to this man who was probably dying while you were just fine.
You two fall into an awkward silence, eyes flicking to meet eachother's and then away. Then was 8:30, time to go home, people already meandering to the exit. Jack's blue eyes meet yours once more, and for a moment... you're lost. Like he's captured you. Suddenly you don't want this incredibly awkward, nerve-wracking moment to end. You know you won't be able to help chasing that feeling. If anything, you'll just... have to come back next week.
"Same time next week?" he asks, breaking you out of your trance.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, Wednesday."
He offers a polite nod and walks past you.
So it went. You continued going, just for him. Twice a week you'd see Jack and twice a week you'd make casual small talk. Nothing more, nothing less, he never made any advances. You were just his group buddy, the woman he'd chat with a couple times per session. Occasionally you'd summon the nerve to appear next to him for the ending hug, where both parties were encouraged to let go and cry it out.
It was so nice. His arms encircling your waist, hands warm and respectful taking their place against your back. Your body pressed into his, close enough to feel the steadiness of his heartbeat. You were sure he could feel yours too- it was never steady. In fact, he made it very unsteady.
Sometimes, once his tears make their way out and down his face, he'd tuck himself into your neck and really let go. Trembling, holding onto you just a bit tighter. Time would always slow for you here, and you'd let yourself briefly subscribe to the delusion that this was real, that he actually found comfort in you and not just the convenience of another person. Gently petting his hair down and pretending he was yours. God, you wish he was. Those big blue eyes that stare down at you when you part, wet-faced and teary- it did things to you that such a sight shouldn't.
It became easier and easier for you to cry, the pretense of your fake disease and the guilt that came with it slowly fading into the background as he holds you in his arms. Always reciprocating the comfortable gestures you gave to him.
Jack was a nice guy. He'd always reciprocate, but never try more. Never did what you really wanted. Never let his hand slip lower to the small of your back, never pulled you closer by the hips, never let himself breath into the crook of your neck for a second too long. And that was irking you. You certainly weren't hideous to look at, not unattractive by any means- aren't men supposed to not be able to resist pretty women? So what was the deal?
You upped the ante.
"So- how's your family dealing with everything?" you ask him casually one night, intent hidden behind.
"Uh, they're uh..." he pauses, nodding to fill the space of an odd unsureness, "they're fine. They support me."
"Good, that's great. What about your girlfriend?"
Wait.
"Heh, I don't have a girlfriend. Just me."
Got him.
"Really? Hm." a satisfied smile slithers over your face, sure to add just enough complimentary surprise to your tone.
"What?"
Now to make your move.
"Just surprised no one's made a move on you yet."
Your smile twists into a smirk, lowering your head to look up at him from under your lashes. You know how to play the game. But he doesn't seem to want to play back.
"Oh. I'm just not really looking for that right now."
That flattens you immediately. The slight fade of his small smile, the soft rejection. It dawns on you, of course Jack's not looking for a relationship right now, he might be dying. He actually has blood parasites, unlike you. Guilty again.
"Mmm... well, if you ever are-" you try sheepishly in a last ditch effort, scratching the back of your head.
You're about to finish that lousy sentence when he suddenly reaches out and grabs your arm, pulling it away from your head and out in front of him, gripping almost too tightly. His brows are knit together, gazing crucially at your arm.
"Your skin is clear."
You look from him to you arm, confused and surprised. Jack continues,
"You don't have any rashes or marks... no redness..." he meets your eyes again, scrutinizing.
Whatever small hope you had left for this possible relationship dissipates, and you're left with the color drained from your face. He's found out you're a faker.
Blood parasites affect the skin. Everyone here in this group has or have had rashes and lesions on some part of their body, most commonly their arms. You've seen them before on the people who don't bother wearing long sleeves, and heard about them from the people who do. Apparently they can show up on any part of the body- but it's too late to pull that. You know Jack can already tell from the quickness of your reaction, the widening of your eyes and nervous intake of breath that you don't have any of those on any part of your body.
The one day you don't wear long sleeves since it's warmer out... and he notices. Will he tell on you? Get you kicked out? He's staring down at you with a critical eye, an air of new hostility you've never seen on him before.
"I-" you go to stutter out a response before your eyes fall and land on his own arm, visible as he's still holding yours- there's no marks. He always wears his sleeves rolled up and you've just noticed, there's no marks.
"Neither do you..."
He freezes. Body language shifted from offense to defense in a matter of seconds. You expected him to clap back that the parasites affect his skin somewhere else, but not even a word comes out. He has the same reaction you did. Which means...
"Are you faking?!" you whisper-yell at him, shocked and a bit amused at this revelation.
He gives an aggressive huff and uses his grip on your arm to tug you away to an empty part of the room, away from any prying ears that could listen in on their joint admission. He releases you once you've stopped, but moves closer to speak lower.
"You're faking!" he bites back.
"So are you!"
He huffs, shifting on his feet and rubbing a hand down his face. Obviously he didn't consider that one day he might be found out. Definitely didn't consider he'd be found out by another faker.
"Yeah okay, whatever. I've been coming here for over a year, it helps me sleep. This is my thing."
Here comes the hostility again, getting up in your face like you're the offender even after you now know both of you are the issue.
"What, are you saying there's only room for one of us?"
"Basically, yes, that is what I'm saying."
You pause, taking that into consideration, "Well I don't agree, I think there's plenty of room. No reason two depraved people can't coexist. If a third shows up, we'll kick them out."
His face twists up like he has something to say against every word that came out of your mouth, scowling- "I am not depraved, thank you, I have a condition."
"You just said this helps you fall asleep. This? This place? Sorry, but that's weird." you argue incredulously.
"And why are you here, huh?"
"To make me feel better about my own life." you don't bother sugarcoating it, it's the truth.
He scoffs, "You're no better than me, that might be worse, actually."
"I never said I was."
At this point, Jack is well aware he's not winning this. There is no reason why two fakers can't coexist, he just doesn't like the idea of it. It's his thing, his alone, or at least now it used to be.
"I'll expose you-" he claims in a last chagrined huff.
"I'll expose you."
And there's nothing else he can do. The argument is at a stalemate, and nothing can be done without both parties getting exposed for their deception. He lets out a long sigh, clearly still agitated as his eyes flick around the room only to land back on you with weary acceptance.
"Fine. Just... keep your distance." and with that he storms off, through the room and out the building, only then do you realize it's time to go anyway.
You stand there for a few long moments, eyes still glued to where he was just standing- tonight went very different than how you had hoped. Instead of gaining a lover like you'd hoped, you lost a (sort of) friend. But god, he was so close to you just now, close enough that you could practically feel the upset, humiliated heat radiating off of him. His blue eyes boring into yours... all his attention on you. You craved it. You wanted more.
The smallest of smirks sneak onto your lips- you had him that close for a minute. No way can you keep your distance now.
You continue to turn up, not even considering not showing up due to awkwardness or fear. His annoyance and discomfort at your presence didn't bother you in the slightest, persistence and determination being the only things on the front of your mind. In the circle, you barely listen to the attendees anymore, only gaze at Jack from across the floor, shifting your legs so that short skirt you started wearing would ride up higher on your thighs- but he'd usually just scowl and shift away from you once he noticed.
He couldn't get rid of you. He'd hear the quiet click of your shoes coming up behind him, ready to shove more flirtatious comments and gazes in his face and not have time to get away before you were right in front of him. It wasn't like Jack could scold and shoo you off, there were always other people nearby and he had to keep up appearances. One single word answer after another, an exceedingly awkward hug where only you could cry- he was no longer able to let it all out.
On Wednesdays and Fridays he couldn't sleep.
Jack stopped going on Fridays, replacing it with a brain tumor support group. It turned out that cutting out a day barely helped, his head was still distracted and warped by your presence even if you weren't actually there. It was gnawing at him. You were gnawing at him. And he had about enough of it.
He got to you first one Wednesday after the circle, "I need you out of this group."
"What?" you reply, a bit surprised at his approach.
"I need you out."
"We talked about this, Jack-"
"I can't sleep with you here. You're ruining everything for me, I was sleeping like a baby everynight and now I can't sleep at all. I'm right back to where I started thanks to you." the hostility in his voice sounds almost pleading, angry, but pleading for you to understand.
"I don't see how your insomnia is my problem-"
"I can't let go-" he interrupts, "I can't let go if you're here, and if I don't let go, I can't sleep. I can't sleep with you here." he reiterates, a distressed gleam in his eyes.
It might as well have fallen on deaf ears, as a slow smirk crawls onto your face- "Maybe you could sleep with me somewhere else then, like my place."
For a second that feels like an hour, he stares at you, expression unchanging. Something akin to utter disappointment and hopelessness simmering in his gut before his face contorts into near disgust and rapidly shakes his head.
"No, no no no, that's another thing, stop coming onto me."
"I just want to go out with you." you say it with as much innocence as you can, but it's hard considering just how much he's on your mind.
"I don't. I'm not interested."
"Is it because I won't leave the group? I'll leave if I can still see you, you're- the only reason I still come." you say the last part like an admission, quieter and vulnerable in a way the comment of wanting to out with him wasn't.
It's the truth, despite the slight perverted way you occasionally think about him, you're only here because he's truly won your heart.
"I don't care. I'm not attracted to you and I don't want you here anymore." he's not distressed anymore, just pissed.
It stings. You stare back at him, unsure what to do since he's already made his thoughts extremely clear.
He speaks up again, "I can't keep doing whatever... this is." he gestures vaguely to you.
You feel tears prick your eyes. The man you continued going to these stupid, pointless meetings for rejected you. Maybe you should've seen it coming, but attraction blinds sometimes. With a shaky huff you turn and march out the building, unable to face Jack or anyone right now. You just want to go home and sit in the idiocy, embarrassment, and crushed hopes by yourself.
The chilly air outside hits you like a truck, immediately crossing your arms and wishing you brought a jacket. The meeting hasn't ended yet, which means the bus won't get arrive for around 20 minutes. But if you wait for the bus, you'll have see jack again since you'll still be here. A quiet groan exits your throat at this decision, the idea of walking now looking pretty good.
"Hey."
Turning in confusion, you find a man leaning against the building a little ways away from you. You hadn't noticed him, in fact your heads been so clouded you hadn't even moved from your spot outside the door.
"Hi." a hand comes up to quickly wipe under your eyes, holding back a sniffle.
"You crying?"
"-no."
"Yes you are, don't lie." the man looks almost amused, a hint of a smirk on his face.
It makes you uneasy, but you hold your gaze for a second more to get a better look at the guy- loose jeans, red leather jacket, messy hair gelled in all different directions, cigarette in hand. Posture almost too relaxed to be out here in the cold.
"...whatever."
You look away from him and take a couple steps away from the door, rifling through your memory to figure out how long the walk to your apartment would take.
"You come from the support meeting? What is it, blood parasites?"
That earns him a look of slight suspicion. Why does he know? What exactly is he doing out here?
"Yes." there's tension in your voice now as you look back ahead of you again.
A huff leaves the man, remaining oddly amused, getting cut off by the silence of him taking a drag and exhaling.
"If you don't want me to talk to you, then say it. Be direct, none of this one word crap, and I'll leave you alone."
The light scent of cigarette smoke reaches your nose, as does the conclusion that this man is not normal. Many men would continue to talk through your obvious disinterest, but just as many wouldn't waste the time on you and leave. Somehow he's found a middle, which in your doleful state, for better or worse, makes you too lazy to do as he says.
"Why are you out here?" you decide to ask, sniffing quietly.
The man shifts slightly, probably surprised you're suddenly engaging him, "Picking up my buddy."
He nods in the direction of a sleek, red convertible car parallel parked on the street that's definitely not supposed to be there. Your brows raise just slightly at the car as it sticks out so easily against the bleak backdrop of grey road and buildings. You hum at the image and look back to the man, making lazy conversation.
"Jack? Short brown hair, blue eyes? Are you serious?"
"...yeah?" he hesitates, looking mildly curious and amused at your reaction, "You know him?'
Of all the people this guy could've been friends with, giving a ride to, it had to be Jack. The one guy you want out of sight and out of mind. You let out a long sigh, shoulders dropping and looking up to the gray sky for a moment like it would solve all your issues.
"Yes. I know him. You- you know he's faking, right?" maybe you shouldn't tell on him to his friends just incase he doesn't know, but you're pissed and sad.
The man's eyes widen, smirk curling around the cigarette in his mouth as a flash of realization crosses his eyes.
"No fucking way, don't tell me- you're her? You're the girl that idiot's been complaining about?" he lets out an obnoxious sounding laugh, your face falling slack. He continues, "He made you out to be some frumpy lookin' attention whore."
"Did he say that?!" you exclaim, eyes wide again.
"Might as well have. He hasn't been all that impressed by you."
And now you feel worse. Another perspective, more words that sting. You wish you could wipe that all-too amused smirk off this guy's face and make him feel the hurt his friend made you feel- before you can, he speaks again-
"But what do we have here, you're a looker." he says with pleasant surprise.
It makes you perk up just slightly. At least someone doesn't think you're apparently too repulsive. You shift slightly on your feet, eyes slowly dragging up from the ground to find his for a moment.
"Thanks." you reply weakly.
"Now that leaves the question, are you an attention whore?" he asks, tone almost playful like he's just teasing you.
You scoff, "No. I just- I liked him."
"Mm, got shot by cupid's arrow, did you?"
"...I guess." it comes out as an embarrassed little mumble.
You really shouldn't be talking to a friend of the guy who just rejected you, you know that. But the wound is too fresh, you can't help yourself.
You continue, in the tone of someone complaining to their girlfriends, "You want to know what he said to me?"
"Tell me."
"He told me he's not attracted to me at all, not interested, not anything, he doesn't want me at the group anymore. Actually, he said he needs me out, cause apparently he can't sleep knowing I'm also faking. It's so stupid." you rant, lightly kicking the pebbles under your foot.
Repeating it only makes your blood boil, less sadness and more animosity realizing how dumb his reasoning really sounded. The man shakes his head, looking put off by his friend-
"He's overdramatic. That man is just too much of a pussy to handle a younger, pretty girl being into him."
You sigh, wanting to believe it. That it wasn't you or your looks, it was his own lame issues.
"Trust me, I know him very well." he adds as if he read your train of thought, the light smirk finding it's way back on his face.
"The least he could've done was be honest when I started flirting with him. Why not just- nip it in the bud, you know? ...stupid." you trail off, just think aloud.
Your eyes flick back up to watch the man toss his cigarette and scrape it out, finally pushing off the wall and taking a couple casual steps towards you.
"How's this for you- we go out for drinks and I'll let you rant and complain about my shitty friend as long as you want. I'm all ears."
Now he was talking. There was a slight undertone in his voice, as if maybe his intentions aren't only to provide a listening ear, but you don't care. In fact, maybe you'd even go along with it if he did happen to offer. You'd be flat out lying if you said he didn't look good, not to mention all this pining over Jack had left you rather... pent up.
"Okay. Sure, I'll go." you answer after a moment, a slight semblance of a smile on your face.
He grins, satisfied, "Good girl."
Oop.
You stay in place as he steps past you just a bit too close, his front nearly brushing yours. He rounds the hood of the car, gripping the door with one hand to lift himself and hop over into the seat- showy, not necessary at all, but you get the feeling that's just who is.
"Wait, don't you have to drive Jack home?" you suddenly remember.
"He can find his way back. Let's go." he replies, motioning you over into the all-too visible car.
Knowingly leaving someone stranded in the middle of downtown? Usually you'd object, decline this offer for the sake of the other person, but Jack is that other person. And you don't like him right now. So you open the door like normal and forget about him.
You give this man your name as he peels out into the street, with him answering, "Tyler. Tyler Durden."
Tyler and Jack were unlikely friends. Everything Jack was, Tyler was the opposite. His body language was loose and outgoing, speech open and casual, all but oozing an inexplicable attractiveness that was almost startling.
You learned that soap-making is his main profession, selling it in large quantities for large sums of money to expensive "luxury" department stores. You also learned he was an event waiter and film projectionist on the side- though he declined to tell you why he was smirking through explaining his projectionist job. Tyler practices martial arts, works out everyday, and practicing nudist around the house. Within two hours, you learned more about Tyler than you did about Jack in two months. You wonder if the few details Jack did tell you were even true.
Tyler successfully reeled you in, and by the time you two left the bar several beers deep, you didn't hesitate in accepting the inevitable offer to go back to his place. Sure, it was a dump- but in that dingy, musty old room, is where you had the best sex of your life.
He might as well have been sculpted by the gods themselves. He knew exactly where to touch, where to reach- it's like he had a sixth sense of what made you feel good. Hands would roam up your thighs and over your hips, along your waist and to your chest to squeeze... and then all the way back down between your legs. It wasn't exactly sensual, not in a worshipping, gentle way- it was firm, just a bit rough like he knew just what he was doing to you.
And the sex itself... tear-inducing, toe-curling, hardest orgasm you've ever experienced. There were deep indentions on his back from where your nails dug in, light red marks staining your neck where his hand squeezed around it. You were utterly dazed after, and fell into what might've also been the best sleep of your life, in Tyler's creaky bed.
You woke up alone the next morning but were greeted by him in the kitchen downstairs, specifically with a "Ah, she's up-", and punctuated with a slap on your ass. There was fresh coffee and only semi-burnt toast, paired with two bowls of cereal, one for each of you. It made you smile, you felt welcomed.
And so you fell into a routine and a new era of your life. You stopped going to the blood parasite group, no longer wanting or caring to see Jack- no, you filled that empty hole in your life with Tyler, literally and figuratively. You'd call him up a couple times a week to hook up, usually hanging around his house after and even staying over for multiple days at a time. It was purely casual and you both were aware, developing a sort of friends with many benefits relationship. The house was interesting, he was interesting, even occasionally sporting a new black eye or facial injury when you saw him. You thought it was hot.
One night, sitting across from eachother on the deteriorated armchairs in the lounge, smoking cigarettes, he told you Jack knew about your "relationship". Tyler broke the news as a sort of 'your loss' type-thing, Jack didn't want you so he snatched you up instead. Obviously Jack wasn't happy, which you saw firsthand when he showed up on a day you were still staying over at Tyler's- scoffing and rolling his eyes at your mere presence.
"Why is she here?"
"Can you- make her leave, please?"
"I'm not talking to her."
It was constant, almost pathetic every time you both happened to be at the house together. Tyler started to invite you to whatever activity he and Jack were doing, wanting to make a little trio of sorts, but Jack would not have it. It did sting a bit, no matter how hard you tried to put him out of your mind- truthfully there was a part of you that still wanted him. Even after Tyler's insane skills in the bedroom. Tyler himself caught on pretty easy, noticing the way you'd still gaze at him- he also happened to catch the rare occasion when Jack's gaze would shift to you with something other than animosity... something almost like longing. Eventually he wanted to help out.
"Tell me why you don't like her." Tyler asks Jack after fight club, one activity you were not allowed at.
"Tyler, are you serious?" Jack sighs.
"No, I'm curious."
"I just- I don't. What happened at the group left a bad taste in my mouth I guess."
"How did you not jump on that from the start?" he starts with a scoff and disbelieving look, 'that' being you, "That girl is hot as balls. And you said no to her."
Jack rolls his eyes but Tyler continues, "God, you're missing out. You should hear the noises that come out her mouth, her face when she-"
"Okay, you don't have to be gross." Jack cuts him off with a grimace.
"I'm not being gross. I'm being honest," he takes a step closer, face to face and almost too close to speak again,
"You should see her face when she cums around my cock." it's quiet, tone nearly akin to a threat.
Tyler doesn't break his intense eye contact even as Jack looks away embarrassed, red in the face and trying not to let the image liner in his head. Except that's exactly what Tyler's trying to do, and let's it sink in in silence until he breaks it after a few tense moments-
"She could be cumming around your cock, but oh, you said no!" he accuses, even punctuating it with a smack to the side of Jack's head, "Dipshit."
"Ow! Tyler-!" he cradles the spot that was hit, lightly rubbing the tender area.
"Oh shut up, stop being a pussy. Stop being a pussy." Tyler repeats, still in his face and continues,
"You made a stupid fucking choice. You are missing out. Fix it."
He can feel the nervous, heated energy radiate from Jack, who obviously wasn't expecting this onslaught, and it makes him satisfied. It's working.
"I- I just feel like-"
"Ah-ah. Don't give your reason to me. Give it to her." Tyler stops him with a finger, holding his gaze with raised brows and expectant eyes- he's waiting for an answer.
"...okay. okay." Jack's tone is resigned, stiff and a bit anxious, but he agreed.
Tyler claps a hand over his shoulder, making him flinch for a moment, and squeezes triumphantly. He feels like he's playing matchmaker, taking two friends and bringing them together in a romantic entanglement- even though he might've slept with both of them and just all but threatened one to accept the other. Oh well, it's all the same. Tyler nods in satisfaction and saunters away up the basement stairs, leaving Jack still dumbfounded in place.
That's how you ended up where you are now, this morning with Tyler standing in front of you, saying that you were picking up Jack from blood parasites tonight. Three months. Three months and tonight will be the first time you and Jack are completely alone together.
"Why?"
"Why not? Tell him I'm feeling sick."
"Will he believe that?"
"Doesn't matter, sweetheart. Just do what you're told." Tyler leans forward with a grin, like he knows he something you don't.
He grabs the back of your head to pull you in and place a friendly kiss on top, flashing you a wily smile after. Strange, but you aren't about to argue.
Tyler instructs you to take his car, and soon you're speeding down the darkened streets with nerves bubbling up through your whole body. You know Jack doesn't like you, can barely stand your presence most of the time- it feels like Tyler shoved you into an awkward situation on purpose.
You brake sharply into a parallel parking spot next to the building at 8:30 on the dot, shifting into park and peering at the door impatiently, waiting for the man you've been forced to pick up to emerge. The less you have to wait, the less your mind will wander. The door swings open, a small sea of people filtering out, chattering and shaking hands in goodbye with plastered on smiles. Jack singles himself out from the crowd by evading all the pleasantries, hands in his pockets as he squeezes through and moves automatically to the red convertible he knows to be Tyler's. Until he realizes you're in the driver's seat.
"What are you doing here? Where's Tyler?" his tone is almost accusing, coming to a stop a few feet from the door.
"He's not feeling well, he sent me instead."
Jack scoffs, "Not feeling well? I don't think he's ever been sick in the whole time I've known him."
"Look, he told me to pick you up, okay?" you repeat with a sigh, already tired of his hostility.
He sighs, obviously annoyed but having no reason to argue since this was his ride whether he like it or not. Jack meanders into the passengers seat, shutting the door with a bit too much force and immediately crossing his arms once comfortable.
You glance at him a couple times as you merge back into the road, "Can you at least try to be civil? It's gonna be a long ten minutes to your apartment if you're not."
"Then I guess it'll be a long ten minutes." he says in a huff.
You roll your eyes, deciding to give up since he's acting like an angry little kid. He can't keep his mouth shut for long though, his unofficial vow of silence dissipating after a couple minutes as he takes a breath to start yapping.
"I don't like that you're still seeing Tyler."
"I'll always be able to see him, unless I go blind. He is a real person, you know." you reply sarcastically.
Of course he doesn't respond well to that, and huffs again, "You know what I mean, smartass. You're always at his house, like a... like a fungus."
"...did you just compare me to a fungus?
"I can't get rid of you. You're always with him, every time I see him."
You actually think back for a moment, remembering the recent times you've gone out with Tyler-
"Actually, it's you who's always around. I haven't spent a day with Tyler in a while where you don't show up at some point."
"Wha-" he cuts himself off, brows furrowing as he registers that.
It sounds like you both have the same idea on opposite ends, one is always around when the other is. Neither have apparently spent a day with Tyler by themselves in some time- aside from Jack's fight club nights and your hook up nights. It's almost... too coincidental.
Stop being a pussy. Fix it.
Tyler's voice rang through his ears. He had wondered how he was supposed to fix it when Tyler was always around between the two of them.
In this very moment, the dots start to connect in his head- why Tyler had randomly requested you to pick him up tonight, why one of you was never around without the other anymore... it wasn't random. It was very, very on purpose and planned by none other than Tyler himself. He'd been setting you both up for a while without anyone's knowledge, a bit of forced proximity he took advantage of.
Jack falls quiet, face wiped of any emotion. Did you know what Tyler was up to? You must've confided in him at some point over your feelings... unless he caught on to his own feelings. But he's always incredibly discreet and acts like he hates you anyway, how could Tyler find out? They're not even feelings, more like some weird attraction-
"What?" your voice slices through the rambling in his head, nearly making him jump.
"N-nothing." he shifts uncomfortably in the seat, not daring to look at you, feeling hid face redden from the realizations that are hitting him.
You glance over at him, noticing the change in demeanor but unsure what it was brought on by, staying silent. He looks like he got a bucket of water dumped on him. The silence stretches on until a red light stops the ride, and your slightly hesitant gaze finds the side of his again.
"Why don't you like me?" you shouldn't ask it- it's already been proven that confrontation with him isn't your strong suit.
Jack doesn't answer for a few long, tense moments, keeping his eyes carefully forward. Why did you have to make this worse? How was he supposed to answer that with honesty without sounding like a total dumbass?
"I... do-" he starts, trailing off awkwardly, hesitating to finish his sentence.
Stop being a pussy.
"I do like you.."
The tense silence that follows is only broken up by the low hum of the car, that you wish wasn't at a stoplight so you could have something to do with your hands and head instead of being caught in the quiet. After all of that, all of his complaining and seeming dislike of your presence, his rejection over you, suddenly now he likes you?
"That's news to me." you're unable to hold back a slightly snarky tone, rightfully a bit irritated.
Jack huffs, shifting uncomfortably, "I- I know. I know I don't act like it. I just, uh..."
He hesitates, like he's really questioning if he should make this admission or bail and keep his mouth shut until you're at the apartment... or just jump out of this moving vehicle and spare the future awkwardness. Jack finally looks over at you, eyes latching onto the side of your face. They trail over the slope of your nose, the curve of your pink lips, over the expense of smooth skin that was your cheek... and further down to the side of your neck and other curve, your breasts. His stomach does a weird flip, and he realizes, entirely too late, he's gone for you.
"You're too good for me." it comes out quietly, but you hear- and glance at him even as the light changes and the car moves forward.
"That's why... why I've been rude to you."
You're speechless for a couple long seconds, "...I don't understand."
"I like you. I have, since- since the group. You were just so... open about your feelings, I- I didn't know how to handle it. I mean, look at you... and me." he admits, painfully hesitant like he's physically pulling the words from his throat.
You can hear the tinge of self-depreciation in his final words, when his eyes drift down from yours and settle back over his lap. He lets out a sarcastic huff of a laugh, "God, I sound like a fucking loser... this is stupid.."
And you're speechless again. Stunned, even. He liked you back through your whole plight of flirting, sending hints, worrying yourself over what and what not to say. His rejection was a lie, a boldface lie that you were none the wiser of. You turn into the lot of his apartment building, slowly coming to a stop in the first parking spot you see. Your hands fall off the wheel into your lap, lips slightly parted in revelation, staring at nothing in particular on the dash until your gaze turns to him slouched beside you.
"You... didn't think you were good enough?" you finally settle on saying, tone slightly solemn since that never once even almost crossed your mind.
He nods, refusing to meet your eyes again, "Yeah," it comes out like it should be obvious, "You're young, attractive... a lot younger and more attractive than me. My shirt and tie are wrinkled and I look like I haven't slept in a month." he says, mumbling something about how the last part is true under his breath and rubs his eyes.
"Aren't you only like, 30?" you ask with the smallest of smiles, not understanding his harsh judgement of himself- obviously he's well aware of how you see him.
"That's old enough to be too old."
"I practically threw myself at you, and you rejected me over this?" your eyes continue to burn into the side of his face, a bit more serious again. You continue, "You knew how I felt about you, isn't that all that should matter?"
Jack purses his lips and considers this. Hypothetically, yes, your feelings towards him should be the deciding factor knowing his towards you. But insecurity is insecurity, and Jack happens to be full of it.
"No. I can't let you throw away that part of your life on me. You deserve better than a pissy 30 year old insomniac." he says it with a certain conviction, like that's the truth and the only truth. In his head, it is- despite what Tyler said or told him to do. He's realized in the midst of his confession that maybe he actually cares about you, this witty, sweet and beautiful girl, in a way that won't let him truly have you. He thinks too low of himself, afraid he might ruin you.
It's not lost on you either- you can tell by his tone. It'll take a lot for him to consider truly being with you. However- you're not stupid. You've put the pieces together that this situation was Tyler's direct doing, why the hell else would he have you pick up Jack? It was easy to figure out. You picked him up so you'd be alone together... at his apartment... at almost 9 o'clock at night. Tyler's plan wasn't some miraculous love confession that ended with you two promising forever and a day, it was to let you have the night... just the night. To connect with your bodies rather than your mind... and go from there. Now that, that you could probably pull.
"Probably. Yeah, I probably do." you lie, a pause- "But I want you. I- god, I want you. You're so fucking hot when you're tired.."
His brows raise, finally meeting your eyes in what feels like hours.
"Could you actually not sleep when I was at group?" you ask, your breathing slightly heavier as your skin warms- anticipation rising.
"No... I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking about you. At all." Jack admits, shifting to face you better.
He looked at you, really looked at you. Your eyes... this wasn't a girl who wanted endless affection, this was a girl who wanted relief. Relief. The adult kind. He watched you shift forwards towards him, clothes rustling against the seat, your eyes practically boring into his.
"Jack... you know why Tyler made me pick you up, right?"
He swallows.
"Yes."
"...do you want me?" your voice is breathy, eyes glossy in pure want like he's never seen- how could he not reciprocate.
He thought you looked beautiful like this in the dim, soft light filtering in the car. His lips parted, eyes flicking to your automatically. He swallows again- the moment of truth.
"Yes."
Tongues. Heat. Touch. The most beautiful sounds Jack had ever heard in his miserable life. The most intense, soaking orgasm she had felt in hers. Well worth the wait.
summary: Jack can't stay away from you, and to your chagrin, you can't stay away from him either. The end to yet another night together has you contemplating the whys and whats.
warnings: nsfw, heavily implied sex, implied oral sex
It was all him.
Everywhere. Everything was full of him.
Your bedsheets smelled of his distinct musky scent, mixed faintly with remaining traces of the calvin klein cologne he used to wear. Your left couch cushion held a seemingly permanent indent from where he took a seat so often.
Jack.
Everything was full of him. Including you, most nights, like right now- freshly stuffed with his cum, which replaces his dick as he slides out of you with a grunt and rolls to the side, leaving you staring breathless at the ceiling.
The drywall patterns welcome you once again- shapes and swirls emerging from the bleak grey as you stare blankly, chest no longer heaving like his is.
"-Did you cum?" he breaths the question after a few moments, his gaze remaining fixed on the ceiling like you.
"Yeah." simple. casual.
You always came about a minute before him, every time, without fail. Jack used to care about timing, the connection felt through simultaneous release, but he's been distracted lately. Not zeroed in during intimacy anymore, like his head's somewhere else while his body remains over yours. A loss of connection, but not any less satisfying.
That's the problem.
It should be less satisfying, an emotional disconnect should cause a rift between lovers- but every time his lips meet your neck and his hand finds it's way between your legs, all thoughts of dropping him fly out the window. Something about this pathetic, sad, lunatic of a man drew you in like a magnet.
You feel trapped, even though every time you look down, you're the one gripping the key to the cage.
His body shifts away, the smooth skin of his back facing you now, motionless other than the rise and fall of his breathing. Your head turns to peer at him. This beautiful, angel of a man that once enraptured you and now only has you ensnared.
His touch relights the dimming fire in you each night- you feel it with every thrust of his dick and every drag of his tongue over your cunt. The whines and drawn out moans he tugs from you only serve as proof, that you've fallen victim to this mans undeniable... skills.
He's a whole fucking weirdo and a half, droning on to you nearly every dinner before sex about a man named Tyler you're 70% sure doesn't exist. He shows up at your apartment door with fresh black eyes and cuts littering his face nearly every meeting. He's constantly disheveled, an utter mess, and spaced out beyond your abilities to reel him back.
A weak sigh leaves your lips, chilly in bed. Jack might not be worth the emotional upheaval, but his dick definitely is.
a/n: drabble to stand in place for the fic i was hyping up a month ago and still haven't finished 😭 i'm so on it tho, trust. i think it's the source of this horrible block
does anyone else get the ick from someone liking you back. like. when you realize they like you too. and suddenly you're not attracted to them anymore. or. is that just me
Can we please stop making virgin/innocent readers act like literal toddlers. Thanks.
Virgins still have a general if not very clear concept of how sex works, we're not fucking idiots.❤️ And stop making "bookworm!" Readers only read smut, that's not book worm, thats smut addict. You guys are so annoying. "Oh it hurts! It won't fit!" *Sob sob sob* "you're so pure, I don't want to ruin you" Actually shut the fuck up. Virgin doesn't mean stupid baby who has no basic or full concept of human anatomy.
-Saying as a virgin who knows more about sex than most people in my state and have never attended sex ed.
Innocent reader in general makes me mad because literally anyone over the age of 13 has a general understanding of sex unless you're literally sheltered with no access to the internet and that's neglect. Stop promoting age play even if it's unintentional, it's disgusting and misogynistic. Stop making virgins sound brain dead just because they haven't had sex. And it is that serious because people are gonna think that's how we act in person.
AND STOP ASSOCIATING VIRGINS WITH CHRISTIANITY. You guys are so fucking weird and not in a good way. Do I know this is mean? Yes. Do I care? No, because most of you are in your late 20's-30's typing up this shit and should know the difference between realistic first time and the misogynistic expectations first time. Also virgins masterbate, so I don't wanna hear "what would you know!"
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