seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Ecuador
seen from India
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from China
seen from Italy
can you fix a broken heart
BONUS CHAPTER COMING SOON!
synopsis: years after giving birth azzi tries to reclaim her three point competition crown, while paige tries (and to no one’s surprise, fails) to keep her hands to herself.
cw: suggestive language
a/n: as promised… a glimpse into the future of our favorite couple. hopefully this helps with the post all-star weekend hangover. also. i know i promised it’d be 6k words, but it’s actually closer to 10k. sorry about that.
The One Point Difference
Bonus Chapter: The Bet- Jack's Version
Med School!Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 8, 578
Summary: Jack wins by one point. Unfortunately, he knows exactly what to do with it.
Warnings: 18+ only, minors dni, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, birth control mention, oral sex, fingering, overstimulation, praise, teasing, consensual control, “do what the winner says” dynamic, check-ins, no condom by mutual choice, emotional vulnerability, first “I love you,” Jack being devastatingly patient, Reader being a menace, academic rivals to lovers, established relationship.
Author's Note: Alternate ending because Jack winning by one point deserved its own consequences.
Xoxo, Del
| Chpt. 1 | Chpt. 2 | Chpt. 3 | Chpt. 4 | Chpt. 5 | Chpt. 6 | Chpt. 7 | Chpt. 8 | Chpt. 9 | Chpt. 10 | Chpt. 11 | Chpt. 12 | Chpt. 13 | Chpt. 14 | Bonus Chpt. Pt. 1 | Bonus Chpt. Pt. 2 |
You both flipped the papers open.
For one second, you only saw numbers. Your score. His score.
Then your brain did the math.
One point. One. Single. Perfect. Point.
Jack beat you by one point.
Your mouth fell open.
Jack looked at the papers. Then at you. Very slowly.
You inhaled.
A long, slow inhale.
Then another one.
Jack watched you carefully.
You nodded once. “Okay.”
His brow lifted. “Okay?”
You folded your receipt with extreme precision. “I am going to be very mature about this.”
Jack’s mouth barely moved. “Are you?”
“Yes,” you said.
His eyes stayed on yours. “That sounded mature.”
“Thank you,” you said.
You creased the receipt again. Very carefully.
Very aggressively.
Because Jack would be good about it.
That was the problem.
If you had won, he would have sat there and let you gloat. He would have rolled his eyes, maybe. He would have made one dry comment about your lack of grace. But he would have smiled through it because he would have been proud of you.
Jack glanced at the receipt in your hand. “You’re folding that very hard.”
You looked down.
The receipt was already creased into a tiny, furious square.
You looked back at him. “Respectfully.”
Jack’s mouth twitched.
You pointed at him. “Do not smile.”
“I’m not,” Jack said.
“You’re thinking about smiling,” you said.
“I’m thinking a lot of things,” he said.
Your pulse jumped.
That was worse.
You narrowed your eyes. “You won by one point.”
Jack glanced at his score again, then back at you. “I did.”
“The one point,” you said.
His mouth curved slowly. “Apparently.”
You stared at him.
You opened your eyes. “Congratulations.”
Jack went still.
Only slightly.
But you saw it.
His expression changed, the smugness easing into something softer.
You swallowed. “You did really well.”
Jack looked at you for a long second.
Then his voice came quieter. “So did you.”
Your throat tightened.
Jack set his schedule on the coffee table beside your aggressively folded receipt.
“Dinner choice,” Jack said.
Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
“Movie choice,” he said.
You groaned. “Abbot.”
“Laundry,” Jack said.
You pointed at him. “I will fold everything badly.”
His mouth barely moved. “I know.”
Your breath caught when his gaze moved over you, slower now.
“And one night where the loser has to do what the winner says,” Jack said.
The air changed. Immediately. Your pulse jumped in your throat.
You swallowed. “Within reason.”
Jack’s eyes softened, but his voice stayed low. “Within reason.”
For a second, neither of you moved.
The bet had sounded dangerous before.
It sounded different now.
Because Jack had won.
Because he was looking at you like he had every intention of being patient.
Like he was already deciding exactly how to use that patience against you.
You lifted your chin. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
Jack stood from the couch. Slowly.
Your stomach flipped.
“I’m enjoying it the correct amount,” he said.
You stared at him. “That is not a real measurement.”
“It is now,” Jack said.
You narrowed your eyes. “Do not invent terminology while I’m vulnerable.”
His eyes warmed. “You don’t look vulnerable.”
“I am academically wounded,” you said.
Jack stepped closer. “You agreed to the terms.”
“I agreed under the assumption that justice existed,” you said.
His mouth barely moved. “That was your first mistake.”
You stared at him. “What was my second?”
Jack stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tip your head back.
His hand lifted, slow enough that you could move away.
You did not.
His fingers touched your chin. Barely.
“Thinking I wouldn’t enjoy this,” Jack said.
Your breath caught.
Jack heard it.
His thumb moved once along your jaw. “Still okay?”
You nodded.
His gaze held yours. “Words.”
You swallowed. “Yes. I’m okay.”
His expression softened for half a second. Then his mouth curved.
“Good,” Jack said.
Your stomach dropped.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you.”
Jack’s mouth barely moved. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” you admitted. “I don’t.”
For one second, he only looked at you.
Then his face changed.
Barely.
Like something had landed before he could stop it.
“I love you,” Jack said.
The apartment went quiet.
Your breath caught.
Jack went still.
Not like he was taking it back.
Like he had surprised himself with the timing and nothing else.
You stared at him. “You’re saying that now?”
His mouth twitched, faint and helpless. “Apparently.”
“I just lost,” you said.
“I know,” Jack said.
“I was aggressively folding a receipt,” you said.
“I noticed,” Jack said.
“I said I hated you,” you said.
“You corrected it,” Jack said.
A laugh broke out of you, sharp and disbelieving, and your eyes burned at the same time.
Jack’s hand slipped from your chin to your cheek. “Sorry.”
You shook your head quickly. “Don’t apologize.”
His expression steadied. “Okay.”
You looked at him, your heart beating too hard. “You love me?”
Jack’s eyes softened. “Yes.”
Oh.
Your lips parted, but nothing clever arrived in time to save you.
Jack did not push.
He just stayed there, hand warm against your cheek, eyes steady on yours, letting the words exist between you.
You stepped closer.
Jack’s breath caught.
You touched the front of his shirt, fingers curling lightly in the fabric.
“I love you too,” you said.
Jack went very still.
Then his hand slid around your waist, pulling you into him, and he kissed you.
Not carefully.
Not at first.
He kissed you like the words had broken something open in him.
Jack pulled back just enough to look at you.
His eyes were darker now. Softer too.
“Just to be clear,” you said, breathless, “I am still handling this maturely.”
Jack huffed a laugh and dropped his forehead briefly to yours. “Of course.”
“You won by one point,” you said.
“I did,” Jack said.
“You are being very calm about it,” you murmured.
His hand moved slowly at your waist. “I’m not calm.”
Your pulse jumped.
You swallowed. “No?”
Jack lifted his head. His eyes stayed on yours.
“No,” he said.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then you touched his jaw. “So?”
Jack’s brow lifted slightly. “So?”
You tried to make your voice steady. “What are you going to do with your prize?”
His thumb moved once at your waist. Slow. Thoughtful. Terrible.
“Go put on my shirt,” Jack said.
Your pulse jumped.
You stared at him. “What?”
“The navy one,” he said.
Your breath caught.
The faded navy T-shirt.
The old battalion medic course shirt.
The one he had given you after the first night you slept together.
The one he remembered too.
“That’s your first demand?” you asked.
Jack’s mouth curved. “You complaining?”
“No,” you said.
His brows lifted slightly.
You lifted your chin. “I’m preparing.”
Jack’s gaze darkened. “For what?”
You stepped back, smiling now. Slowly. Dramatically. Dangerously.
“Defeat,” you said.
Jack watched you.
The corner of his mouth moved. Barely. But enough.
“My room after,” he said.
Your stomach dropped.
You tried to recover by narrowing your eyes. “That’s it?”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “For now.”
You pointed at him. “I am handling this beautifully.”
His mouth curved. “Of course.”
“No commentary,” you said.
Jack stayed exactly where he was. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He absolutely would.
You turned and walked into your bedroom before he could see exactly how much his first command had gotten to you.
You changed in your room with the door mostly closed.
Not fully.
Mostly.
The faded navy T-shirt slipped over your shoulders, soft from age and too many washes, the cracked lettering stretched faintly across your chest.
It fell low on your thighs.
Loose enough to feel casual if you ignored the lace underneath.
You did not ignore the lace underneath.
Then you walked across the hall.
His door was open.
Jack was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, one knee bent, one leg stretched out.
Casual.
Relaxed.
Patient.
Then his eyes lifted to you.
And he stopped looking casual.
You leaned against the doorframe. “That is not fair.”
Jack’s brow lifted slightly. “What isn’t?”
You gestured at him. “That.”
His mouth barely moved. “Me sitting?”
“You sitting like that,” you said. “Like you didn’t plan this.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “I did plan this.”
Your breath caught.
He watched it happen.
You narrowed your eyes. “You are playing dirty.”
His mouth curved, slow and private. “I won.”
You hated how much that worked.
You hated it so much you stepped farther into the room.
Jack’s gaze dropped again. Briefly. Deliberately.
Then his eyes came back to yours.
“You put on the shirt,” he said.
You glanced down at yourself. “You told me to.”
“I did,” Jack said.
You shrugged a shoulder. “You didn’t specify pants.”
His jaw shifted.
You smiled.
Jack looked at you for one long second.
Then he lifted one hand from his thigh and held it out.
“Come here,” he said.
Your stomach flipped.
You walked to him slowly, with as much dignity as a person could have while wearing no pants and losing a bet.
When you reached the bed, Jack’s fingers closed around your hand.
Warm. Firm. Gentle enough to remind you that you could stop this at any second.
That almost made it worse.
His thumb moved once across your knuckles. “Still okay?”
You looked down at him. “Yes.”
Jack nodded once.
Then he pulled you closer.
You expected him to tug you into his lap.
You expected a kiss.
You expected slow, because that was the entire problem with Jack Abbot when he had time and permission and a point to prove.
Instead, he moved.
One second, you were standing between his knees.
The next, Jack had turned you onto your back against the mattress, one hand braced beside your head, the other at your waist, his body hovering over yours.
Not rough. Not careless.
Just immediate. Controlled. Certain.
Your breath left you all at once.
Jack looked down at you. His face was close enough now that you could see the warmth in his eyes beneath all that focus.
“You were saying?” Jack asked.
You stared up at him. “That was rude.”
His mouth curved. “Was it?”
“Yes,” you said. “I was being dignified.”
Jack’s hand moved slowly at your waist, thumb brushing the hem of the shirt. “Were you?”
“I was attempting dignity,” you corrected.
His eyes dropped to your mouth. “How was that going?”
“Beautifully,” you said.
Jack leaned down, stopping just before his mouth touched yours. “You’re lying.”
You swallowed. “You’re smug.”
“I won,” he said.
You opened your mouth to argue.
Jack kissed you before you could.
Slow.
Deep.
Devastatingly patient.
Like he had all night and every intention of making you feel each second of it.
At first, you let him.
Mostly.
His mouth moved over yours with maddening control, his hand still braced beside your head, his other hand low at your waist beneath the hem of his shirt. His thumb dragged once over your skin, and your whole body answered before you could stop it.
Your hips lifted. Just slightly. Enough to chase him. Enough to look for pressure.
Jack felt it immediately.
His mouth paused against yours.
You froze.
Jack lifted his head just enough to look down at you.
“You’re rushing,” he said.
Your breath came out unevenly. “I am responding.”
His mouth barely moved. “You’re rushing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds subjective.”
Jack’s hand moved from your waist to your hip, pressing you gently back into the mattress.
The pressure was not enough. That was the problem. It was nowhere near enough.
“Jack,” you said.
His eyes stayed on yours. “What?”
You swallowed. “You’re being difficult.”
“I won,” Jack said.
You sighed. “You keep saying that like it excuses everything.”
His thumb moved once over your hip. “Tonight it excuses a lot.”
Your pulse jumped.
You hated how much you liked that.
You reached for him.
Not even subtly.
Your fingers slid up his arm, searching for his shoulder, his neck, the back of his shirt, anything solid enough to pull him down where you needed him.
Jack caught your wrist before you got very far. Gently. Immediately.
Your breath caught.
His eyes did not leave yours.
“Hands up,” Jack said.
Your stomach flipped.
You stared at him. “What?”
He guided your wrist above your head and laid it against the pillow.
Not forced. Placed.
Like he was giving you time to decide if you wanted to leave it there.
“Both of them,” Jack said.
Your mouth went dry.
“You’re serious,” you said.
His gaze flicked over your face. “Yes.”
You lifted your other hand slowly and set it beside the first.
Jack’s eyes darkened. Just a little. Enough.
He wrapped his fingers around both of your wrists, holding them there with one hand while his other palm settled warm against your ribs beneath the shirt.
“These stay here,” Jack said, voice low, “until I say so.”
Your breath caught hard.
The room seemed to shrink around him. Around his hand. Around the weight of his body over yours.
“You’re enjoying this,” you whispered.
Jack’s thumb brushed once over the inside of your wrist. “Yes.”
Your stomach dropped.
The honesty hit worse than teasing would have.
Jack leaned down again, but he did not kiss your mouth.
He kissed the corner of your jaw instead.
Soft.
Then lower.
Your throat.
The place beneath your ear that made your fingers curl helplessly against the pillow.
You shifted beneath him.
Jack’s hand tightened lightly around your wrists.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to remind.
You exhaled through your teeth.
Jack noticed.
His mouth moved lower, slow against the side of your neck, then to the hollow beneath your throat. He kissed you there once, open-mouthed and warm, before his teeth grazed lightly over your skin.
Your hips tried to lift again.
Jack pressed them down with his thigh.
You made a sound you would have denied under oath.
His mouth curved against your collarbone.
“Jack,” you said, strained.
He lifted his eyes without lifting his mouth. “What?”
“You are taking forever,” you breathed.
His gaze stayed steady on yours. “I know.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You know?”
“Yes,” Jack said.
Then he kissed lower.
Over the faded lettering on his own shirt.
The cracked navy fabric shifted beneath his mouth as he moved down your chest, kissing through cotton like the shirt itself deserved attention. Like he remembered exactly what it meant. Like seeing you in it had done something quiet and irreversible to him.
Your hands flexed above your head.
Jack saw that too.
“Keep them there,” he said.
Your breath hitched. “I am.”
His mouth brushed lower. “Good.”
You closed your eyes.
“That word,” you said.
Jack kissed the soft curve beneath your breast through the shirt. “What about it?”
“You’re weaponizing it,” you replied.
His hand slid from your ribs to your waist, pushing the shirt up slowly.
Inch by inch.
“Am I?” Jack asked.
You opened your eyes and glared down at him.
Or tried to.
It was difficult to glare at a man who was kissing your stomach like he had made a study of it.
“Yes,” you said.
Jack’s mouth touched bare skin just above your navel.
Your sentence disappeared.
He kissed there once.
Then again. Then lower. Slow enough to be cruel. Careful enough to make the cruelty feel like devotion.
Your back arched despite you.
Jack’s hand moved immediately to your hip, grounding you, holding you still while his mouth kept traveling lower.
“Jack,” you breathed.
He looked up from your stomach. “Still okay?”
Your hands curled into the pillow.
“Yes,” you said. “I’m okay.”
His eyes held yours for one steady second.
Then his mouth lowered again.
He kissed across your hip, over the edge of lace, then to the inside of your thigh.
Your knees shifted.
Jack’s hand slid to one of them, opening you wider with slow, patient pressure.
“You’re very quiet,” Jack said against your thigh.
You swallowed hard. “I am trying not to lose my mind.”
His mouth curved against your skin. “How’s that going?”
“Poorly,” you said.
Jack kissed higher.
You squirmed, and he stopped immediately.
You made a frustrated sound. “Why did you stop?”
Jack’s eyes lifted to yours. “You moved your hands.”
You looked up.
One of your hands had slipped halfway down the pillow.
Betrayal.
You put it back.
“There,” you said.
His gaze stayed on yours. “Thank you.”
That should not have worked.
It did.
Jack’s mouth moved higher again, dragging slow warmth along your thigh until your hips shifted, chasing anything he would give you.
His palm pressed flat to your lower stomach.
“Slow,” Jack said.
Your breath broke. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Jack said. “You’re going to let me take my time.”
Jack waited.
Of course he waited.
You swallowed. “Yes. I’ll let you take your time.”
His fingers hooked into the lace at your hip.
“Still okay?” Jack asked.
You nodded quickly. “Yes.”
His fingers stopped.
You swallowed. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “Can I?”
“Yes,” you said. “Please.”
That did something to him.
You saw it in the slight shift of his jaw before he eased the lace down your legs with that same maddening patience.
When he settled between your thighs again, your breathing had already gone uneven.
His hands moved slowly up your legs until you let them fall open for him.
“Good,” Jack said quietly.
Your hands twisted in the pillow. “You’re doing it again.”
His eyes lifted. “Doing what?”
“You know what,” you said.
Jack kissed the inside of your knee. “Use your words.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You are impossible,” you said.
His mouth moved higher. “You said that already.”
“I meant it,” you said.
Jack’s smile brushed your thigh.
Then his mouth followed.
Slow.
Warm.
Higher.
Your breath caught hard when he finally kissed you where you wanted him.
Not enough.
Barely enough.
“Oh,” you breathed.
Jack’s hand slid over your hip, holding you down before you could chase more.
He looked up at you. “Hands.”
Your fingers had left the pillow again.
Barely.
Just enough.
You made a helpless sound and put them back.
Jack waited until both hands were above your head.
Then he lowered his mouth again.
This time, he did not stop at barely.
His tongue moved slow and deliberate, giving you just enough to make your back arch before he pulled back and kissed the inside of your thigh again.
Your breath broke.
Your fingers twisted in the pillow.
You kept them there.
Barely.
Jack’s eyes lifted to yours. “Good.”
The word hit low.
“Jack,” you said, voice breaking.
His mouth paused against your thigh. “What?”
You swallowed hard. “Please.”
Jack’s expression changed. “Please what?”
Your breath caught.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
“Please let me touch you,” you said.
Jack went still.
Then his mouth softened.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “You can touch me.”
Your hands left the pillow immediately.
Jack’s mouth curved. “Fast.”
“You said yes,” you said.
“I did,” Jack said.
Your fingers slid into his hair.
Finally.
His eyes closed for half a second like he had been waiting for that too.
Your chest pulled tight.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Jack opened his eyes. “What?”
You tugged lightly at his hair.
His breath changed.
Your pulse jumped. “You like that.”
Jack’s jaw shifted. “Yes.”
The honesty ruined you.
Completely.
Then his mouth lowered again.
This time, when your hands tightened in his hair, he let you keep them there.
He worked you slowly at first, patient enough to feel almost cruel, giving you just enough, then more, then more again.
A sound slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Jack paused just enough for you to feel the absence.
Your eyes opened. “No.”
His gaze lifted to yours. “No?”
Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Don’t stop.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly against you. “Then don’t hide from me.”
Your breath caught hard.
Then his mouth returned.
You broke slowly after that.
A little more with every pass of his tongue, every careful press of his mouth, every sound he drew out of you and rewarded with more.
“Jack,” you said, breathless.
His hand flexed against your thigh.
So you said it again.
Softer this time. “Jack.”
His breath changed against you.
Then he gave you more.
Your back arched off the bed.
“There,” you gasped.
Jack’s hand moved to your stomach, pressing you back down with steady warmth while his mouth kept its rhythm.
You stopped trying to stay quiet.
You said his name again, then something less coherent, then his name once more.
“That’s it,” Jack said against you, voice rough. “Let me hear you.”
Your whole body clenched.
Your hands tightened in his hair. “Jack.”
“I’ve got you,” he said.
You believed him.
That was what did it.
Your breath broke.
“Jack,” you gasped.
His hand pressed flat against your stomach.
Steady.
Grounding.
There.
“Come for me,” Jack said.
You did.
Hard.
With his name caught in your mouth and your fingers locked in his hair, your body arching into his hold while he kept you exactly where he wanted you.
Jack did not stop immediately.
He worked you through it slowly, softer now, until you were shaking beneath him and tugging weakly at his hair.
“Jack,” you said, wrecked.
He lifted his head at once.
His mouth was soft.
His eyes were darker than before.
“Too much?” Jack asked.
You shook your head, still trying to remember how breathing worked.
His thumb moved once over your hip. “Words.”
You swallowed. “No. Not too much.”
Jack’s expression softened.
Then he kissed the inside of your thigh, gentle now.
“You are terrible,” you said.
Jack’s mouth curved against your skin. “You were very loud for someone having a terrible time.”
Your hand slipped from his hair to cover your face. “I hate you again.”
Jack kissed your hip. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” you said from behind your hand. “I don’t.”
Jack kissed your hip once more.
Then he pushed himself up slowly, moving over you again until his body covered yours and his face hovered above yours.
You lowered your hand from your face.
His eyes moved over you. Soft. Dark. A little wrecked now, despite all that control.
You liked that. Probably too much.
Jack brushed his thumb along your waist beneath the hem of his shirt. “Still with me?”
You exhaled. “Yes. I’m with you.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Good.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You are abusing that word.”
His mouth brushed yours. “I know.”
You kissed him before he could look too pleased with himself.
Jack let you.
For a second, he let the kiss turn hungry, let your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders, let your fingers grip the fabric of his T-shirt like you had been waiting all night for permission to touch him properly. Then you tugged once. Jack lifted his head.
Your fingers stayed twisted in his shirt. “Can I?”
His eyes searched yours. “Can you what?”
You pulled lightly at the hem. “Take this off.”
Jack went still for half a second. Not hesitation. Attention. Like the question mattered because you had asked it.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “You can.”
Your chest warmed.
You pushed at his shirt, and Jack sat back on his knees to help you drag it over his head. His hair caught in the collar for one ridiculous second, already mussed from your hands, and you almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the shirt cleared his head. And you forgot what was funny. Jack looked down at you from between your thighs, bare-chested now, his jeans low on his hips, his hair a mess, his mouth still soft from you.
Your throat went dry.
He noticed.
His brow lifted slightly. “Problem?”
You swallowed. “You are very annoying.”
Jack’s mouth barely moved. “That’s not what you were thinking.”
“No,” you said. “But it is what I’m willing to say out loud.”
His eyes warmed.
You sat up before he could answer, pushing yourself onto your knees in front of him. The movement brought you close enough that your shirt brushed his stomach.
His shirt. Still on you. Jack’s gaze dropped to the cracked lettering across your chest.
His jaw shifted once.
You saw it. You loved it.
Your fingers went to the button of his jeans. “Can I?”
Jack’s eyes returned to yours. “Yes.”
Your breath caught at how simple he made it.
No joke. No smug comment. Just yes.
You worked the button open, then the zipper, slower than necessary because his attention had gone quiet and focused in a way that made your pulse misbehave.
Jack did not stop you. He only watched.
When your fingers hooked into the waistband, you glanced up at him. “Still okay?”
Something in his expression softened.
Then his hand came up, brushing your hair back from your face with maddening tenderness.
“Yes,” Jack said. “I’m okay.”
You nodded.
Then you eased his jeans down.
Jack shifted to help you, careful and practical even now, lifting his hips when you needed him to, moving when you guided him. The prosthetic came next, handled with the same familiar privacy you had learned belonged to him and trusted you enough to share.
You did not make it a moment.
You did not look away like it was something to avoid.
You just helped him the way he let you. Steady. Quiet. Together.
Jack watched your face the whole time.
By the time he was bare beneath you, your breathing had changed again.
His had too.
You looked at him. “What?”
Jack shook his head once. “Nothing.”
You lifted your brows. “That was not nothing.”
His hand settled at your waist, thumb brushing the hem of his shirt. “I like watching you take care of me.”
Your chest tightened. That was unfair. Deeply unfair.
You looked down, because looking at him directly suddenly felt dangerous. “You won. I’m supposed to be doing what you say.”
Jack’s hand slid to your hip. “You are.”
You looked back at him. His eyes stayed on yours.
Then he shifted back against the pillows, stretching out beneath you like he had all the time in the world. Like he had not just said something that made your heart ache. Like he was not still completely in control.
You stared at him. “What are you doing?”
Jack settled one hand behind his head, the other resting low on your thigh. “Enjoying my win.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You’re lying down,” you said.
His mouth barely curved. “I noticed.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That does not look like enjoying your win.”
His hand tightened once on your thigh. Not hard. Enough.
“It will,” Jack said.
Your breath caught.
Then his gaze moved over you slowly.
“I want you on top,” Jack said.
Your breath stopped. For one second, you only stared at him.
Then your eyes narrowed. “That sounds like work.”
Jack’s gaze moved over you slowly. “You’re very capable.”
“I can barely hold myself up,” you said.
Jack’s hands settled at your hips. “I’ve got you.”
Your pulse jumped.
“That is not the point,” you said.
His mouth barely moved. “It’s part of the point.”
Oh.
Your breath caught.
“You planned this,” you said.
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “I won.”
You stared at him.
Then his hand slid up your thigh, slow and warm, stopping at your hip.
“I’m still going to make you go slow,” Jack said.
Your pulse jumped.
There it was. The win. The trap. The terrible, patient point of him.
You looked down at him, trying very hard to appear unaffected while wearing his shirt and no underwear in his bed.
“You are enjoying this,” you said.
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “Yes.”
Your fingers curled against your own thighs.
His gaze dropped to the movement.
Then lifted again.
“Come here,” Jack said.
Your breath came out unevenly. “You keep saying that.”
His mouth barely moved. “You keep listening.”
That was unfortunately true.
You moved over him, one knee on either side of his hips, careful as you settled your weight above him. Jack’s hands came to your thighs immediately, warm and steady, grounding you before you could even pretend you did not need it.
You looked down at him.
He looked up at you.
For one second, neither of you moved.
Then Jack’s thumb brushed over your hip beneath the hem of his shirt.
“Still okay?” Jack asked.
You nodded. “Yes.”
His brow lifted slightly.
You exhaled. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Jack’s expression softened.
Then his hands settled more firmly at your hips.
“Good,” he said. “Slow.”
Your breath caught.
Then his hand stilled. His eyes stayed on yours. “Condom?”
The word cut through the heat just enough to make you pause. You looked down at him, your hands braced lightly against his chest.
“I’m on the pill,” you said.
Jack’s expression did not change. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
Your throat tightened. Of course. Careful, even now. Especially now.
“I know,” you said.
His thumb moved once against your hip. “What do you want?”
You swallowed.
You could feel him beneath you. Warm. Still. Waiting. Not moving until you answered him.
“I want you,” you said.
Jack’s jaw shifted. “Without one?”
Your pulse jumped. You nodded.
His hands stayed exactly where they were. “Words.”
You exhaled. “Yes. Without one.”
Jack watched you for a long second.
Long enough that your nerves started to flicker beneath the want.
“You’re sure?” Jack asked.
You nodded again. “I’m sure.”
His gaze stayed steady. “If that changes, we stop.”
Your chest tightened. You touched his jaw. “I know.”
Jack’s voice stayed low. “Say it.”
You swallowed. “If that changes, we stop.”
Only then did his hands move again. Slow over your hips. Steady. Warm.
His eyes never left yours.
“Okay,” Jack said.
Your breath caught at the simplicity of it.
At the trust inside it.
At the way he could make one word feel like a promise.
Then his hands guided you closer.
Your breath caught as he lined himself up beneath you, one hand steady at your hip, the other firm around your thigh.
He did not pull you down.
He waited. Of course he waited.
You looked down at him.
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “Slow.”
Your pulse jumped.
“You really are going to make everything slow,” you said.
His thumb moved once against your hip. “Yes.”
You swallowed hard.
Then you sank down onto him. Slowly. Inch by inch.
Because his hands held you steady. Because his eyes never left yours. Because rushing suddenly felt impossible with him beneath you, watching every breath you took.
Your mouth parted.
Jack’s jaw tightened. Just enough.
You saw it. Felt it. Loved it.
When you finally settled fully against him, your hands spread over his chest, your body trembling with the effort of staying still.
Jack’s hands flexed at your hips. Not pulling. Not rushing. Holding. Waiting.
“Still okay?” Jack asked.
You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”
Jack’s expression softened. Then his thumb brushed once over your hip.
“Good,” he said. “Now move.”
Your breath caught.
That should not have sounded like praise.
It did.
You tried to move like a person with dignity. Slowly. Carefully.
Like you were in control of yourself.
Like Jack was not lying beneath you, bare and warm and watching you with the kind of focus that made your thoughts scatter before they had a chance to form.
The first roll of your hips made your hands press harder into his chest.
Jack’s breath left him through his nose. Controlled. Barely.
You saw that too. Your mouth curved. “You’re very quiet.”
Jack’s hands tightened once on your hips. “So are you.”
You were not, actually. Not really. But you were trying. That counted for something.
You rolled your hips again, a little less steady this time, and Jack’s jaw shifted beneath you.
There. That was better. Your pride came back for approximately half a second.
Then you tried to move faster.
Jack stopped you immediately. Both hands firm at your hips. Your body stilled above his.
You stared down at him. “Jack.”
His eyes stayed on yours. “Slow.”
“You said move,” you said.
“I did,” Jack said.
Your breath came out unevenly. “You are impossible.”
His thumb moved once over your hip. “And you’re impatient.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I am responsive.”
Jack’s gaze dropped to where his hands held you. Then back to your face.
“You’re rushing,” Jack said.
“I am enthusiastic,” you said.
His eyes warmed. “You’re rushing.”
You huffed out a breath, but your body obeyed before your mouth could argue.
You moved again. Slower this time. A careful lift. A controlled sink. A rhythm so unhurried it made you feel every inch of him, every drag of your body against his, every small flex of his fingers when he had to remind himself not to take over yet.
Your eyes nearly closed. Jack’s hand slid up your side beneath his shirt.
“Look at me,” Jack said.
Your eyes opened. He was still watching you.
You swallowed hard. “You’re making this very difficult.”
His palm spread warm over your ribs. “I know.”
“You keep admitting things,” you said.
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “I’m not hiding either.”
Your next breath caught.
“You are infuriating,” you said.
Jack’s hand slid back down to your hip. “You said impossible.”
“I’m expanding the list,” you said.
His smile came slow. Then his hips shifted beneath you. Just slightly. A controlled upward press that changed the angle enough to make your whole body jerk.
“Oh,” you gasped.
Jack went still. Your fingers dug into his chest. He watched your face. Too closely. Far too closely.
“There?” Jack asked.
Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.
His hands tightened at your hips. “Words.”
You swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Jack’s eyes darkened. “There.”
You nodded quickly. “There.”
Something in his expression settled. Like he had found the answer he wanted. Then he did it again. Slow. Precise. His hips lifted into you at the same angle, and his hands guided you down to meet him. Your arms nearly gave out.
“Jack,” you said, voice breaking.
His hand slid to your waist, steadying you. “I’ve got you.”
You believed him.
That was the problem.
You believed him so completely your body forgot how to brace against it.
He helped you move again, and this time his rhythm joined yours more fully.
Still slow. Still controlled. But deeper now.
Each careful thrust up met the downward roll of your hips until you could not tell which one of you had started moving first. Only that he was guiding it. Only that he knew exactly what he was doing. Your breathing turned shallow. Your thighs started to shake.
Jack noticed immediately. His hands moved to your hips, holding you more securely. “Stay with me.”
You nodded, but your body was already losing the fight.
“I’m trying,” you said.
“I know,” Jack said.
His voice was rougher now. Less calm.
That almost ruined you by itself.
He thrust up again, hitting that same spot, and your head dropped forward with a broken sound.
Jack’s hand came up to the back of your neck, warm and steady.
“Look at me,” he said.
You lifted your head with effort.
His eyes held yours. Dark. Focused. Barely controlled now.
“Good,” Jack said.
Your body clenched around him.
Jack’s breath caught. There. Finally. A crack.
You felt it move through him, quick and sharp, before he recovered.
Your mouth curved, breathless and shaky. “You felt that.”
His jaw shifted. “Yes.”
“You liked it,” you said.
Jack’s hands tightened at your hips. “Yes.”
Your pulse jumped.
Then he thrust up again, harder this time. Not rough. Not careless. Just enough to steal the next breath out of your lungs. Your hands slipped against his chest. Jack caught you before you could collapse fully forward. His arm came around your waist.
You breathed against his mouth. “Done going slow?”
Jack looked at you for one long second. Then his mouth brushed yours.
“Almost,” he said.
Your stomach flipped.
Almost.
The word barely had time to settle before he moved.
One second, you were above him, shaking and breathless, your hands braced against his chest.
The next, Jack had turned you beneath him, his arm firm around your waist, his other hand cradling the back of your head so you never hit the pillow too hard.
Your breath left you all at once.
Jack hovered over you, still inside you, his body covering yours, his eyes locked on your face.
“Still with me?” Jack asked.
You nodded quickly.
His gaze sharpened. “Words.”
“Yes,” you said, breathless. “I’m with you.”
His expression softened for half a second. Then his mouth lowered to yours.
“Good,” Jack said against your lips.
And then he took over.
The first thrust made your hands fly to his shoulders.
Jack let you hold on.
More than that, he seemed to want it.
His body moved over yours with a rhythm that was still controlled, still careful, but no longer patient in the same way.
The slow restraint shifted into something deeper. Hotter. More certain.
He had made you wait. He had made you ask. He had made you feel every second of it.
Now he was letting you have him.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he moved, and Jack’s mouth found your jaw, your throat, the corner of your mouth.
Not staying anywhere for long.
Not gentle enough to let you recover.
Every kiss landed like proof that he was still with you. Still watching. Still holding you through every breathless sound you made.
“Jack,” you gasped.
His arm slid beneath you, pulling you closer. “I know.”
“You don’t,” you said, voice breaking.
His mouth brushed your ear. “I do.”
Then his hips shifted again. That angle. That exact, devastating angle. Your whole body went tight beneath him. Jack felt it immediately.
His forehead dropped against yours. “There?”
You could barely nod.
His voice was rough. “Tell me.”
“There,” you said, almost helpless. “Right there.”
Jack’s breath changed.
Then he gave it to you. Steady. Deep.
Again and again until the room narrowed to his body over yours, his hand at your hip, his mouth at your throat, the old navy shirt pushed high between you but still on, still his, still somehow part of the whole unbearable intimacy of it.
You were shaking now. Not a little. Not subtly.
Jack’s hand moved to your thigh, lifting it higher against his side, and the change made your back arch hard off the mattress.
“Jack,” you cried.
His mouth found yours. “I’ve got you.”
Your nails pressed into his shoulders.
“I can’t,” you said.
His hips slowed immediately. Not stopping. Checking.
His eyes found yours. “Can’t what?”
You swallowed around a breath that would not settle. “I can’t stay quiet.”
Jack’s expression changed. Slowly. Dangerously. Then his mouth curved, faint and wrecked.
“I didn’t ask you to,” he said.
Your body clenched around him again.
Jack’s control slipped for one visible second. His head dropped. His breath left him rough against your neck.
You felt the satisfaction of that somewhere deep and vicious and warm.
Then he lifted his head.
“Let me hear you,” Jack said.
That was all it took.
Your restraint snapped.
You stopped swallowing the sounds. Stopped trying to make them pretty. Stopped trying to make any of it manageable.
Jack rewarded it immediately.
A harder thrust. A deeper one. His hand tightening at your hip, his mouth catching yours, his body pressing you into the mattress like he wanted to feel every bit of what he was doing to you.
“There you go,” Jack said, voice low.
Your eyes squeezed shut.
His mouth brushed yours. “No hiding.”
You forced your eyes open.
He was right there. Close. Focused. Yours.
You touched his face with shaking fingers. “I love you.”
Jack went still for half a beat.
Then his expression broke open in the smallest way. Like the words still hit him fresh. Like they always would.
“I love you too,” Jack said.
Then he kissed you.
And the kiss was what undid you.
Not just the rhythm. Not just the angle. Not just the way his body moved into yours with all that careful, devastating certainty.
It was the kiss.
The hand at your hip. The words. The fact that he had won by one point and somehow used it to make you feel wanted beyond reason.
Your breath caught. Your body went tight.
Jack felt it. His voice dropped. “That’s it.”
Your hands clutched at him.
“Jack,” you said, wrecked.
“I’ve got you,” he said again.
You came apart beneath him.
Hard.
Shaking.
Loud enough that you would have been embarrassed if you had any room left in your body for anything except him.
Jack held you through it, his rhythm slowing but not stopping, his mouth pressed to your cheek, your temple, your jaw. He kept you grounded with one hand at your hip and the other braced beside your head, giving you somewhere to fall without ever letting you feel like you were falling alone.
When the last wave pulled through you, you sagged into the mattress, breathless and boneless beneath him.
Jack stilled. Immediately. His forehead rested against yours.
“Too much?” Jack asked.
You shook your head weakly. “No.”
His gaze held yours. “Words.”
You dragged in a breath. “No. Not too much.”
His thumb moved once at your hip. “You okay?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
Jack’s eyes searched your face.
You lifted one shaking hand to his hair. “Don’t stop because of me.”
His jaw tightened. There it was again. That crack in his control.
“You sure?” Jack asked.
You nodded, fingers curling in his hair. “Yes.”
His voice dropped. “Tell me if that changes.”
“I will,” you said.
Jack kissed you once. Soft. A promise more than a kiss.
Then he moved again.
Slow at first. Careful. Like he was giving you time to come back to yourself before he let go of the rest of his control.
Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Jack.”
His breath left him unevenly. “I know.”
This time, he sounded less certain. Less in command.
That did something terrible to your heart. You lifted your hips to meet him, still trembling, still sensitive, still wrapped around him in every possible way.
Jack’s forehead dropped to yours. His rhythm faltered once. Then again.
Your hand slid from his hair to the side of his neck. “It’s okay.”
His eyes opened. Dark. Unsteady.
“You’re sure?” Jack asked.
You nodded, your thumb brushing his jaw. “Yes, I want you.”
Jack’s control broke on the inhale.
Not all at once. Not carelessly. But enough that you felt the shift everywhere. His hand tightened at your hip. His mouth found yours.
And this time, when he moved, it was not slow.
It was deep. Focused. A little desperate. Still Jack. Still careful. But no longer pretending patience was easy.
Your arms wrapped around his shoulders.
His body pressed yours into the mattress, the old navy shirt caught between you, pushed high over your ribs but still on.
Still his.
Still yours now too.
Jack’s mouth left yours only because he needed to breathe. His face buried against your neck. You felt every rough exhale against your skin. Every break in his rhythm. Every place where his control tried to hold and failed by inches.
Your fingers slid into his hair again. “Jack.”
His hips stuttered.
Your breath caught.
You pressed your mouth near his ear. “I love you.”
Jack broke.
Immediately.
His hand tightened hard at your hip. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, and your name left him in a rough, wrecked sound as he came. No warning. No slow unraveling.
Just that.
Your voice.
Those words.
And Jack losing the last of his control like he had been holding himself together by a thread and you had cut straight through it. You held onto him as his rhythm faltered, his body tense over yours, every rough breath buried against your skin. Your fingers stayed in his hair. Your cheek pressed to his.
You whispered his name once. Then again. Softer the second time.
Jack shuddered against you. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But completely. Enough that you felt it everywhere. In the grip of his hand. In the tremor through his shoulders. In the way he stayed close, like pulling away too quickly might undo him all over again.
You kept holding him until the tension finally started to leave him.
Slowly. Piece by piece. Jack stayed over you afterward, breathing hard, careful not to let his weight settle fully even though you could feel how badly he wanted to.
Still careful. Always careful.
You turned your face and kissed his temple.
His eyes closed.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
The room was warm. Quiet. Too quiet after all of that.
Jack’s thumb moved once against your hip. Then again. Like he was checking that you were still there. Like he needed the reminder too.
You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You okay?”
A breath left him. Almost a laugh.
Jack lifted his head enough to look at you. “You’re asking me?”
You smiled faintly. “You looked a little ruined.”
His mouth barely moved. “I was.”
You touched his jaw. “Good.”
Jack’s eyes softened. Then narrowed slightly. “That’s my word.”
You smiled. “I won it in the divorce.”
His brow lifted. “What divorce?”
“The academic one,” you said.
Jack stared at you for one second.
Then he laughed. Quiet. Warm. Still breathless.
The sound went straight through you. You smiled up at him, unbearably pleased with yourself.
Jack shook his head once, but his mouth stayed soft.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said.
“You love me,” you said.
His expression changed. Not dramatically. Not enough to make the room tilt again. Just enough.
“Yes,” Jack said. “I do.”
Your smile softened.
He leaned down and kissed you.
Slow this time. Gentle. Almost unbearably tender after everything else.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours again. “Still not too much?”
You shook your head. “No.”
His gaze stayed on yours.
You exhaled. “No. Not too much.”
Jack nodded once.
Then he kissed your forehead and shifted carefully, easing away from you with a low breath.
The loss of him made you shiver.
Jack noticed immediately.
His hand settled on your thigh. “Cold?”
You looked back at him. “I am many things right now.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Cold was the question.”
You sighed. “A little.”
He pulled the blanket over you before you could make a joke about him being bossy.
You made it anyway.
“Bossy,” you murmured.
Jack tucked the blanket around your side. “Responsive.”
He moved over the bed and came back to you.
The mattress dipped under his weight.
You shifted closer before he had even settled.
His arm came around you immediately. Warm. Solid. Yours.
You tucked your face against his chest.
Jack’s hand moved over your back beneath the blanket, slow and steady, like he could smooth you back into yourself by touch alone.
For a while, that was enough.
Then you smiled against his skin.
Jack’s hand paused. “What?”
You lifted your head. “You still have to pick dinner.”
His mouth barely moved. “I do.”
“And the movie,” you said.
“Yes,” Jack said.
“And I have to do laundry,” you added.
His eyes warmed. “Badly, apparently.”
You nodded solemnly. “Terribly.”
Jack’s thumb moved once along your back. “I’ll supervise.”
You stared at him. “That is not part of the prize.”
“It is now,” Jack said.
You narrowed your eyes. “You are becoming drunk with power.”
His mouth curved. “I won by one point.”
You groaned and dropped your face back against his chest. “I hate the one point.”
Jack kissed the top of your head. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” you muttered. “I don’t.”
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Synopsis : (please see part 1)
Pairing: all LaDs men (together) × (F) Reader
Content: Set in an alternate universe where the LaDs men are a boy band known as Deepspace.
Tags: boy band AU, slice of life, dating, humor, suggestive, drama, romance, sexual references (non-graphic), why choose/reverse harem
a/n: Sorry for the wait, everyone. 😔 This bonus chapter took me so, so, so long to write. 😵 I kept rewriting or outright deleting entire sections. 😵💫 It was a struggle because I had no clear idea how I wanted to continue a story that was already wrapped up in Chapter 20. 🫣 But, as you can see, I pushed through, and here it is. Please enjoy! 🙏
Word count : 6,245
Tag list: @cathedralofaudra @sunflowersandsnipers @chubbymochi123 @itsravenclaw379 @flowerscankill @yikesmama3 @poptrim @spiceandsass @feikyuu @silmeria-lafleur @beaconsxd @crimsonrubie
bonus chapter
BEHIND THE HEADLINES
BONUS CHAPTER
After New Year's, you spend two more days with your grandparents, accompanied by the boys. During that time, you pack up your room while your grandparents get to know them better. You're relieved to see that everyone gets along so well. In fact, it seems your grandparents genuinely enjoy their company.
——————————————————————
You move from your hometown to Whitesand Bay, and when you return to Mo Villa, you're greeted by a very frustrated Thomas. It turns out the boys had simply disappeared without telling him, spending the past few days ignoring all of his calls and messages.
So when Thomas sees you, his expression is a mixture of confusion, surprise and happiness.
“Thomas, look who we found!” Rafayel says cheerfully, his arm draped over your shoulders.
Rafayel has been clingy, as though he's afraid you might disappear again.
“Please tell me they didn't kidnap you,” Thomas says, furrowing his brow.
You chuckle and shake your head. “No, I came back willingly. And this time...I'm here to stay.”
A smirk tugs at your lips.
“Oh, and this time around, no contact or payment is required.”
——————————————————————
“What are you doing, cutie?” Rafayel asks as he sits down beside you on the couch, resting his head on your shoulder while peering at your laptop screen.
“You know how you asked me what I was planning to do once I returned home? Well, I said I might enroll in college, so I'm looking at my options,” you explain, scrolling down the page.
Living here has opened doors to opportunities you never would have had back in your hometown, and you intended to make the most of them.
“Oh? What major are you interested in?” Rafayel asks curiously.
“I'm aiming for Creative Writing as my major. For a minor, I'm considering Film Studies, Theatre or English.”
You glance back at the screen.
“Linkon University offers an accelerated program that allows students to earn a bachelor's degree in two years instead of the standard four. It's designed for people who want to graduate early, advance their careers, qualify for promotions or even change career paths after realizing their first choice wasn't right for them.”
You place the laptop in Rafayel's lap so he can read the information himself.
“That sounds familiar,” Caleb says as he enters the living room alongside Zayne. “Isn't that the same program you took, Zayne?”
“Indeed,” Zayne confirms with a nod. “Back then, applicants had to submit an application listing their major, minor and elective classes, along with a portfolio. They also had to pass an entrance exam with a minimum score.”
“Looks like that's still the case,” Rafayel says while continuing to read.
“Speaking of which, you guys wouldn't mind if I included the music video in my portfolio, would you?” you ask hopefully.
None of the boys object.
“It's an intense program,” Zayne continues. “Summer classes, intensive workshops, overloaded schedules and internships.”
“That sounds challenging,” Rafayel points out. “Cutie, are you sure you don't want to take the regular four-year route?”
“I've already lost over a year and a half of potential education by not going to college straight after high school,” you say solemnly. “Besides, before I started living the high life with all of you, I was used to packed schedules and very little sleep.”
“If this is what you want, kitten, then I say go for it,” Sylus encourages.
You turn your head and find Sylus casually lounging in an armchair. You hadn't even noticed him enter the room.
“You can always switch to the regular program later or try a different college if it doesn't work out.”
“Maybe Thomas can help advise you on the right classes,” Xavier suggests from where he's standing behind the couch. “He's worked in the entertainment industry for over ten years. His focus is music, but I'm sure he has contacts in the film industry too.”
“Good idea,” you nod.
“On another note, I also want to get my driver's license. Preferably before school starts. Having a license will make commuting much easier. Especially since, if I pass the entrance exam, I'll be living in Linkon City for the next two years.”
“Excuse me?!” Rafayel gasps. “We only just got you back, and now you want to leave again?!”
“I can't commute back and forth every day. It's too far,” you explain.
“If everything works out, it'll only be for two years. Besides, now that your break is over, Deepspace's schedule will probably be packed anyway.”
“Why do I feel like our relationship is doomed before it even properly begins?” Rafayel sighs.
A flicker of sadness, worry, and uncertainty passes through your eyes.
“We'll make it work,” Sylus declares firmly.
“We'll find a way to align our schedules,” Zayne adds.
“Anyway,” you say, steering the conversation back. “I found a driving school with excellent reviews and already signed up for their crash course.”
“Will you have the time?” Caleb asks, concerned.
“It's only the beginning of January,” you reply, checking your calendar. “Unlike the regular semesters, the accelerated program starts in March, and classes run continuously for the next twenty-four months. Applications and portfolios need to be submitted by the end of this month, and the entrance exam is scheduled for the second week of February. The driving course starts next week and lasts five weeks.”
“It's a lot to fit into a short period of time,” Zayne muses. “But it's possible.”
“And you have us to help you,” Caleb chimes in to which the others agree.
——————————————————————
You click Send, your college application and portfolio are on their way.
Honestly, putting together the portfolio felt like writing a CV and a cover letter rolled into one.
Back in high school, schoolwork had never been your favorite thing. However, despite putting in only minimal effort, you consistently ranked among the top students in your year.
Because of that, your teachers frequently signed you up for academic competitions against other schools. You knew it was mainly the school's way of gaining recognition from the school board and, in turn, securing additional funding. But now you find yourself hoping those achievements will add a few extra points to your portfolio.
Of course, you still have to pass the entrance examination.
Thankfully, with Zayne helping you study, the process has been far less stressful.
——————————————————————
You sit in a classroom at Linkon University, surprised by how full it is.
Glancing down at your phone one last time, you read through the messages the boys had sent earlier, each wishing you good luck.
You switch your phone to silent and hand it over to the professor supervising the examination.
...
Several hours later, the exam is finally over.
You step out of the classroom, relief washing over you now that it's done.
At the same time, a new feeling settles in.
Anticipation.
The results will be sent by mail in a week's time. Until then, all you can do is wait.
——————————————————————
"It's here! It's here!" you shout through the villa, waving a letter in your hand.
The boys immediately rush toward the sound of your voice, and moments later, you're all gathered in the living room.
With trembling hands, you tear open the envelope, pull out the letter, and unfold it.
The room falls silent.
Everyone holds their breath as your eyes race across the page.
You leap to your feet and begin bouncing around the room.
“I passed! I did it! I got in!”
The room erupts into cheers, congratulations, a whirlwind of hugs, and excited voices.
——————————————————————
“Where are we taking me?” you ask as the boys guide you through the villa.
A blindfold covers your eyes. Xavier and Rafayel walk on either side of you, steering you forward.
You hear the front door open.
“Watch your step,” Xavier warns as you descend the front steps.
A moment later, someone moves behind you and unties the blindfold.
Parked in the driveway is a brand-new car, a giant red bow perched on the hood.
“We hope you like it,” Caleb says with a grin. “Because it's yours.”
“No way! Are you serious?!”
You sprint toward it, circling the vehicle while taking in every detail.
Beside you, Sylus twirls a set of keys around one finger, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Want to take it for a test drive?”
You received your driver's license just yesterday.
Over the past several weeks, you'd attended every classroom session covering traffic laws, road safety, and driving regulations. Xavier and Caleb had been invaluable when it came to studying, patiently explaining anything you struggled to understand.
Rafayel had helped you practice behind the wheel.
Sylus had helped too.
——————————————————————
A FEW DAYS AGO
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you ask Sylus, keeping your eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You do realize driving without a license is illegal.”
“You didn't seem to mind when you practiced with Rafayel, kitten,” Sylus points out.
“That's different. We stayed on the driveway and the private roads around the villa,” you explain.
Tomorrow is exam day.
You have no doubt you'll pass the theory test. What worries you is the practical exam. Despite all the hours you've spent practicing, you can't help feeling nervous.
So when Sylus offered to help you squeeze in one last driving session, you'd agreed.
You should have known he was up to something when he insisted on going out in the middle of the night, only to lead you straight into the city.
“Relax,” Sylus says, looking entirely too comfortable in the passenger seat. “The road is practically yours. Hardly anyone's driving at this hour.”
You continue down the mostly empty road.
“By the way, kitten, you might want to speed up. You're driving like a snail.”
“I'm staying within the speed limit,” you protest.
Still, you indulge him and press the accelerator slightly.
“You can do better than that.”
His voice carries an unmistakable challenge.
You try to ignore him.
Yet a part of you is curious.
Every lesson so far has been careful, calculated, and controlled.
You glance at Sylus again.
“Hold on.”
You press down harder on the accelerator. The speedometer climbs steadily higher as the car surges forward.
...
Later, you park on a dirt hill overlooking the city - yours and Sylus's private getaway spot.
The two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the sea of lights spread out below.
“Let's hope my examiner tomorrow used to be a race car driver,” you joke.
The silence that follows feels different.
More intimate.
You shift in your seat.
“You know,” you begin, a mischievous glint entering your eyes, “there's always been one thing I've wanted to try in a car but never had the chance to.”
“And what's that, kitten?” Sylus asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Instead of answering, you move to straddle his lap.
His hands instinctively settle on your hips.
Your arms slip around his neck, fingers brushing through the silver hair at the nape of it.
Then you kiss him.
When you finally pull away, Sylus's eyes burn with an intensity that mirrors your own.
Neither of you says a word.
You don't need to.
He already knows exactly what you're trying to tell him.
——————————————————————
The first few weeks of college are difficult, to say the least.
Between the never-ending back-to-back classes from Monday to Friday, the daily commute, learning the names of your professors and classmates, and navigating the maze-like hallways while trying to remember which classroom belongs to which course, every day feels exhausting.
Then there was adjusting to life in Linkon City itself.
When you first arrived, plenty of students already knew who you were, or rather, who you were dating.
Being Rafayel's girlfriend came with a level of attention.
Questions followed you everywhere.
You kept your responses light and polite, engaging in conversation without revealing too much while making sure you didn't come across as rude or dismissive.
Thomas had warned you this would happen.
Ever since your relationship - or rather, your identity - had become public knowledge, reporters had been eager for any new information they could get. Naturally, news of your enrollment at Linkon University had spread quickly.
Being followed around campus or approached with intrusive questions wasn't exactly pleasant, but you refused to let it interfere with your life.
Eventually, the novelty wore off.
Slowly, the students stopped treating you like a celebrity attraction.
By then, you had settled into a comfortable rhythm as well.
From Monday to Friday, you stayed in Linkon City. Then, every Friday evening, you would make the drive back to the villa and spend the weekend with your boyfriend.
Fortunately, Thomas had done his best to adjust the band's schedule so they would have weekends free whenever possible.
It wasn't perfect, but it worked.
During the week, while living in Linkon City, you were grateful to have found a place where you could live comfortably.
You had Caleb to thank for that.
——————————————————————
Not long before your first college semester began, Caleb invited you to finally meet his grandmother and his sister, MC. They lived in the Bloomshore District, just a few streets away from Zayne's parents.
“It's a pleasure to meet you both,” you say politely as Caleb introduces you. “Caleb has told me so much about you.”
Josephine - better known as Gran - takes your hands in hers.
“I'm so glad I finally get to meet you,” she says warmly. “I never thought I'd live to see the day. I've been asking Caleb to bring you here for ages, but it was almost as if he was hiding you.”
You glance at Caleb, who suddenly looks a little guilty.
The four of you settle around the dining table to enjoy lunch together.
Gran is around the same age as your grandparents, so talking with her comes naturally. Caleb's sister, seated across from you, just glares.
She barely speaks. Whenever she does contribute to the conversation, she seems determined to leave you out of it.
“Congratulations on getting accepted into college,” Gran says. “You must be looking forward to it.”
“I'm excited, but nervous too,” you admit. “Right now, we're trying to find a suitable apartment where I can stay while I complete my studies.”
“Moving away, even temporarily, is a big adjustment,” Gran agrees. “Linkon University has an excellent reputation. It's a shame they don't offer dormitories.”
She pauses thoughtfully.
“Actually, why don't you move in here?”
You stare at her, wide-eyed.
“That's an excellent idea,” Caleb says immediately. “Why didn't I think of that?” He shakes his head with a chuckle.
A sharp clatter rings through the room as MC drops her fork onto her plate.
“Absolutely not,” she protests.
“That's a very generous offer,” you say quickly, “but I don't want to intrude on anyone's privacy or become a burden.”
“Nonsense,” Gran replies. “You can have Caleb's old room. He hardly visits anymore, anyway. And I can tell you're a good kid. It might even do MC some good to have an older girl's influence around.”
She glances at MC, who is staring at you with unmistakable displeasure.
After a lengthy discussion and plenty of back-and-forth, you eventually agree.
That night, Caleb insists on giving up his room while he takes the couch.
As soon as he's certain Gran has gone to sleep, he quietly slips into the room.
It starts innocently enough.
What starts as a few innocent cuddles quickly becomes something far more intimate. Before long, keeping your voice down becomes a challenge, both of you constantly reminding each other to be quiet so you don't wake Gran or MC.
…
And that was how you ended up living there.
Life with Gran was easy. In many ways, she reminded you of your own grandparents.
MC, however, was another story.
Having grown up as an only child, you weren't exactly sure how to deal with a teenage girl. Especially not one who seemed determined to make your life miserable.
She would sneak into your room when you weren't there and leave it in disarray. She hid your belongings, or outright stole them. Once, after Gran called you away to help her with something, MC managed to get hold of your laptop and deleted an assignment you'd spent hours working on.
Whenever she knew you were studying, she'd blast music loud.
And if that wasn't enough, she'd complain to Caleb about things you'd supposedly said or done to her - things that had never happened.
You tried ignoring it, tried being patient and understanding.
But eventually, you snapped.
Without bothering to knock, you slammed her bedroom door open.
Before she could react, you marched across the room, grabbed her phone, and silenced the music.
You hold it out of reach.
“I've tried to be nice,” you said. "I've tried to be respectful. I've tried to get along with you. But enough is enough.”
MC opened her mouth but you didn't let her speak.
“I'm tired of being the target of a bratty teenage’s tantrums. Do they think I don't know what you've been telling Caleb.”
Her expression hardened.
“I know you've disliked me since the day we met for I don’t know why. But it's time you accepted reality.” You crossed your arms. “Like it or not, I'm staying here for the next two years. And if your plan is to get Caleb and me to break up, that's not happening either.”
MC's anger vanished, replaced by fear.
And then she burst into tears.
Perhaps she expected you to apologize.
Or comfort her.
You did neither.
Instead, you sat down on the edge of her bed and waited.
Eventually, the sobs faded into sniffles.
When she finally reached for a tissue, you spoke.
“Better?”
“Now,” you said, leaning forward slightly, “are you willing to talk?”
“You heard Gran before," she mumbled. "Caleb hardly ever comes home.”
“He's always busy with the band.” Her voice sounded hurt.
“And then you showed up.”
“He has time for a girlfriend," she continued bitterly, “but not his own sister. He's my big brother. I'm supposed to matter most. I'm supposed to be his priority.”
Understanding slowly dawned on you. She was jealous
You were quiet for a moment, choosing your words carefully.
“Living with Deepspace has shown me just how demanding their career can be”, you said.
“As an only child, I can't pretend I know what it's like to have a sibling. But I do know that growing up means chasing goals, dreams and responsibilities that sometimes pull you away from the people you love. That doesn't mean those people stop mattering.”
You smiled gently.
“And I know one thing for certain. Caleb loves his family. You'll always be his little sister, MC. Nothing is ever going to change that.”
…
MC began to warm up to you after that day. Of course, she'd never openly admit it and still acted indifferent. MC would probably deny caring about you if anyone asked.
Much to Gran's and Caleb's delight, the two of you gradually grew closer.
Somewhere along the way, without either of you noticing, it started to feel like you'd gained the little sister you'd never had.
——————————————————————
After around a year, changes began to come for Deepspace.
The first was Zayne.
You had just completed your first year of college and were enjoying the brief break before your second year began. It was the most free time you'd had since the Christmas holidays.
All six of you - including Thomas - were gathered around the dining table in the villa for what had become a familiar sight: another band meeting.
“I've decided to continue my studies and begin my residency,” Zayne announced.
Everyone voiced their support.
“Does this mean the end of Deepspace?” you asked.
“Not necessarily. At least not for now,” Zayne replied.
Thomas nodded thoughtfully.
“We'll see how demanding your residency schedule is and work from there,” he said. “I promise Deepspace's activities will never interfere with your studies.”
——————————————————————
Zayne's residency at the local hospital allowed him to return home to the villa every night.
Whenever your own schedule permitted, you headed to the hospital to have lunch with him.
Today was no different.
Dressed in his scrubs, Zayne waited for you outside the hospital, and the two of you sat on one of the benches in the small park beside the building.
“You really didn't have to come. You hardly get a break yourself. You should be resting,” Zayne said as you handed him a bento box.
“You're one to talk,” you replied. “Don't think I haven't noticed the tension lingering in your shoulders, the exhaustion in your voice that even the phone couldn't hide, or the dark circles under your eyes.”
You poked his cheek.
After entering your second year of college, life had become even more chaotic. The final semester required a certain number of internship hours in order to qualify for your degree, leaving you with even less free time than before.
The university provided a list of companies willing to accept interns, and one name immediately stood out to you: the theatre where part of Deepspace's Temptress music video had been filmed.
Fortunately, both the manager and assistant remembered you and were more than happy to offer you the position.
Sadly, with so much going on, you no longer travelled to the villa every weekend like you used to. More often than not, you were either too busy or too exhausted.
But whenever you did visit, you noticed how Zayne always looked tired when he came home - some days more than others - but he also looked fulfilled.
Although you hated seeing him exhausted and could have done without the faint scent of disinfectant that seemed permanently attached to him now, you couldn't deny that he made an incredibly handsome doctor.
You also discovered something else.
Something very interesting.
——————————————————————
“Doctor Zayne, I'm not feeling well.”
Zayne glanced up from the notes spread across his desk.
“I keep telling you,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “I'm not a qualified doctor yet.”
You ignored him.
“I feel hot. My heart is racing. My head is spinning.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Without a word, he stood and guided you toward his bed.
You sat down while he took a seat beside you.
His hand pressed against your forehead.
“Temperature normal.”
Then he took your wrist.
“Pulse slightly elevated, but nothing concerning.”
You tilted your head. “And what's your diagnosis, Doctor?”
“One hundred percent healthy.” His voice remained perfectly serious.
You scooted closer.
“I'm not convinced…”
“…In fact, I think I'm suffering from a severe case of touch starvation and require immediate treatment.”
That earned you a genuine smirk.
“And what treatment would you recommend?”
You slipped your arms around his neck and pulled him down onto the bed with you. You looked up at him with a mischievous smile.
“One Doctor Zayne.”
That was the first time the two of you had indulged in a little role-playing.
It certainly wasn't the last.
You learned that beneath Zayne's stoic, disciplined exterior was someone deeply passionate with quite the appetite when it comes to affection.
——————————————————————
“I got everything you wanted, cutie,” Rafayel said as he unfolded the massive sheet of paper across the floor, securing each corner with heavy objects.
“You know I'm always happy to support your artistic side, but are you finally going to tell me why you need all this?”
Instead of answering, you simply smiled.
Rafayel watched curiously as you slipped out of your clothes. His gaze lingered shamelessly, though confusion still remained.
Then you dipped your hand into one of the paint pots and dragged a streak of color across your skin.
Realization immediately dawned on his face.
A grin spread across his lips.
Rafayel followed your lead.
The masterpiece you and Rafayel created that day was one that no one but the two of you would ever see.
——————————————————————
“Can't you at least give me a hint?” you asked.
The two of you were sitting in Rafayel's car as he drove toward an unknown destination. Earlier he'd insisted that you dress nicely, refusing to explain anything further.
“We're almost there, cutie,” was the only answer he gave.
A few minutes later, he pulled into a parking space outside a building called
Flux Arts.
Judging by the name, you assumed it was some kind of gallery.
The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by Thomas.
Neither of them explained anything, allowing you to wander through the space at your own pace.
Painting after painting lined the walls.
You recognized the style immediately.
Every single piece belonged to Rafayel.
“With everyone else pursuing their dreams,” Rafayel said as he stepped up beside you, “I figured it was finally my turn.”
Then, with theatrical flair, he gave an exaggerated bow.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he declared. “Rafayel. Part-time idol for Deepspace, part-time artist, and full-time Y/N boyfriend.”
“You should add full-time handful,” Thomas muttered.
You burst out laughing.
——————————————————————
When Xavier suddenly appeared at the front entrance of Linkon University without warning, you were surprised.
He claimed he had made the sudden trip because of a family matter but refused to elaborate further.
Judging by the troubled expression on his face, whatever had happened was serious.
So, knowing Jeremiah was usually the only person to know what was going on, you gave him a call.
Xavier's father had passed away.
——————————————————————
You attended the funeral alongside the others to support him.
You knew Xavier's relationship with his father had been complicated, but that didn't change the fact that he was still Xavier's father.
As the crowd at the cemetery slowly began to disperse.
Finally, Xavier turned toward the group.
“I won't be returning to the villa anytime soon.”
The announcement wasn't entirely unexpected.
You weren't sure how much the others knew about Xavier's family. Even your own knowledge was limited, most of it coming from Jeremiah.
If anyone knew more, it was probably Rafayel. After all, the two of them had gone to high school together.
——————————————————————
Being in Linkon City meant Xavier was the boyfriend you saw most often.
Although he tried to act as though everything was okay, the stress showed in the way his shoulders tensed, and the distracted look on his face.
Whenever you asked about it he brushed your concerns aside.
“You don't need to concern yourself with my family matters,” he told you.
So once again, you called Jeremiah.
“The employees are giving Xavier a hard time,” Jeremiah sighed over the phone. “They keep challenging his decisions, refusing to follow instructions, and criticizing every proposal he makes.”
“Somehow, Isaiah seems to have gained the upper hand,” Jeremiah added.
The first, and only time you'd met Isaiah, you'd warned him not to cause trouble for Xavier.
After a great deal of pleading, negotiating, and persistence, you somehow managed to convince Xavier to bring you along to the next family meeting.
——————————————————————
The moment you entered the room, every eye turned toward you.
The space was filled with intimidating men dressed in black suits.
“What is she doing here?!” Isaiah demanded, pointing directly at you.
“Have you already forgotten what I told you the last time we met?”
“Master Xavier,” one of the men spoke up. “This is a private family meeting.”
“Since this woman is my girlfriend, she is technically family.” Xavier said calmly.
“She stays.”
“Don't mind me.”
Walking past the gathered men, you claimed a seat in the corner of the room as though you couldn't care less about what was happening.
In reality, you listened to every word.
Unfortunately, much of the discussion involved business matters you barely understood.
Still, one thing became obvious.
They were attacking Xavier - every proposal, every decision he made was criticized.
Eventually, the arguments escalated into shouting.
You rose from your chair, crossed the room, and slammed your fist onto the nearest table.
Instant silence followed.
Every head turned toward you.
“I may not officially be part of the Shen family,” you began, “and I'll be honest, barely understand half of what you've all been arguing about.”
“I know that Xavier never showed much interest in the family business.”
Your gaze hardened.
“And frankly, who can blame him? If I had to spend every day dealing with a room full of arrogant assholes, I wouldn't want anything to do with it either.”
Several men immediately opened their mouths to protest, but one look from you shut them right back up.
“ Men like you pride yourselves on loyalty, don't you?”
No one answered.
“Whether you agree with it or not, the former head of the Shen family chose Xavier as his successor. Are you really comfortable disregarding the final wishes of a dead man?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
You folded your arms.
“If anyone has a problem with that, you know where the door is.”
Then you calmly sat back down.
...
The atmosphere changed after that.
The shouting stopped, and the discussion became calmer.
By the time the meeting ended, every man in the room rose and bowed respectfully to Xavier.
To your surprise, they bowed to you as well.
Everyone except Isaiah.
He merely glared angrily in your direction and muttered something under his breath.
The room emptied as the door closed behind the last person.
Only you and Xavier remained.
He crossed the room in a few long strides.
The next thing you knew, he had lifted you onto the edge of the conference table.
After the last man left, leaving only you and Xavier in the room, he crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides.
Before you could react, his hands found your waist and he lifted you onto the edge of the table.
The kiss that followed was intense enough to steal your breath away.
When he finally pulled away, his breathing was uneven and his gaze full of desire.
“The moment you stood up and talked back to them, I wanted to pin you against the wall right then and there,” he admitted, his voice low.
He lowered his head until his lips brushed your ear.
“Let me show you how much I appreciate it,” he whispered.
——————————————————————
Sylus let out a heavy sigh of annoyance.
“I have to go to the N109,” he said with obvious displeasure. “The twins are causing chaos again.”
“Can I come?” you asked.
“I was already planning on bringing you with me, kitten,” Sylus replied with a smile.
...
The journey to the N109 Zone felt endless.
With its advanced technology and towering skyscrapers, it looked similar to Linkon City. Yet an eerie darkness seemed to hang over the entire place, as though an invisible veil blocked out the sun. The city remained shrouded in shadows.
No wonder Sylus was so sensitive to bright light.
Heavy rain began to fall as Sylus pulled into the driveway of a manor that looked haunted.
Before you could even reach the front door, it swung open.
Two teenage boys stood waiting on the other side.
They were identical - bright red hair, Mischievous grins, trouble written all over their faces - and absolutely no resemblance to Sylus.
“Welcome home, Boss-Man,” the twins said in unison.
“Boss-Man?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as Sylus led you inside.
“An inside joke,” he replied dismissively.
“And you must be Boss-Lady.”
You grinned.
“I like Boss-Lady.”
Sylus groaned.
“The twins. Luke and Kieran,” he introduced.
“Where's the old man?”
“Living room,” the twins grumbled.
…
They followed behind as the group made their way deeper into the manor.
In the living room, a man sat in a leather armchair positioned before an enormous bookcase.
His presence dominated the room.
His suit was immaculate and undoubtedly expensive. A glass of whiskey rested in one hand as he regarded the room with sharp, predatory eyes.
“You're late.” His voice sounded like gravel.
“Hello to you too,” Sylus scoffed as he dropped onto the sofa.
You sat beside him while Luke and Kieran chose seats as far away from the older man as possible.
“It's inappropriate to bring a mistress to a family gathering,” Sylus's father remarked, his gaze sweeping over you.
“She isn't my mistress,” Sylus said. “She's my woman.”
“Hello, sir. My name is Y/N.”
“Y/N?” He swirled the ice in his drink. “Not a name I recognize.”
Before you could ask what list he meant, Sylus answered.
“She's not one of our acquaintances.”
“Then perhaps the entertainment industry?” his father mused. “Singer? Actress? Model?”
“Sorry to disappoint, but if you're asking whether I'm some rich heiress or celebrity, the answer is no.”
“If you've come seeking my approval, I refuse to give it.”
A pointed look was directed at Sylus.
“Do you have no standards?”
“As if that weren't enough, the twins are already an embarrassment to the family name,” he continued, speaking as though Luke and Kieran weren't standing in the room. “I raised you better than this.”
“We didn't come here for your approval,” you interrupted.
“Because we don't need it.”
You met his stare without hesitation.
“For a man who seems to hop from one mistress to the next, I don't think you're qualified to judge anyone else's relationship.”
His face turned a dangerous shade of red, and you genuinely wondered if steam might start pouring from his ears.
Then Sylus laughed.
Loudly.
“I like her,” Luke declared.
“Approved!” Kieran added enthusiastically.
Sylus rose to his feet and you followed suit.
“Until next time,” Sylus said smoothly.
The two of you headed for the door with Luke and Kieran trailing behind you.
The moment the living room doors closed behind you, the twins burst into laughter.
“Did you see his face?”
“He looked like he was about to explode.”
Beside you, Sylus put his arm around your waist and pulled you closer.
The smile that spread across his face, and the look in his eyes were clear adoration.
——————————————————————
You sit on a plastic chair arranged in a long row alongside dozens of other graduates on the football field behind the university. The seat is slightly cold, and the grass beneath your feet is still damp from the recent rainstorms as you wait for the headmaster to call your name.
When he finally does, you rise to your feet and squeeze past the other students before making your way up the steps to the small metal stage.
The headmaster congratulates you on your successful graduation and shakes your hand.
You accept the framed degree before turning toward the audience, smiling for the camera.
That's when you spot them.
Your boyfriends.
All five of them are seated near the back of the family section.
And they're not alone.
Your grandmother and grandfather are there too.
Your smile widens, your eyes shining with delight.
...
Eventually, the final degree is handed out, and the ceremony comes to an end.
You weave through the crowd until you reach the people you've been looking for.
“Grandmama! Pops!”
You throw your arms around them both.
With the help of a walking stick, your grandfather is now able to stand and walk on his own two feet much more easily, instead of being confined to a wheelchair.
Thanks to the boys, he'd received far better medical care, and the improvement in his condition has been remarkable. The injuries from the accident left permanent damage that will never fully heal, but he's stronger now.
“What are you doing here?” you laugh. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”
“And miss our only granddaughter's graduation?” your grandfather scoffs. “Nonsense, Firecracker.”
“We're so proud of you,” your grandmother says, dabbing at the tears gathering in her eyes.
One by one, the boys step forward to congratulate you.
Each of them presses a kiss to your cheek and places a bouquet of flowers in your arms until you're practically buried beneath them.
“Thank you, my loves,” you laugh.
“We need more pictures,” Rafayel declares, already holding up his camera.
Halfway through another round of photos, a group of your classmates approaches.
You introduce them to your grandparents and the boys, despite the fact that everyone already recognizes the members of Deepspace.
...
“Y/N, are you still coming?” one of your friends asks.
You glance between your grandparents and your boyfriends.
Your grandmother smiles, “Don't change your plans for our sake.”
“We were planning to celebrate at a Korean barbecue restaurant,” you explain.
“Why don't all of you come with us?,” another friend suggests.
“The more, the merrier,” another one insists.
Everyone agrees.
“I'll text everyone the address,” you say, pulling out your phone. “Meet you there.”
…
Inside, the warm aroma of grilled meat fills the air.
You approach a member of staff and to your relief, they assure you they can accommodate everyone in one of the restaurant's private dining lounges.
After thanking them, you lead your friends inside before returning to the entrance to wait for the others.
...
The food smells incredible.
It tastes even better.
Plates are passed around the table. Drinks are poured. Laughter fills the room.
You glance around the table.
The people who supported you through every challenge, every late night, every doubt, and every success.
Two years of hard work.
Two years of sacrifices.
A warm smile spreads across your face as you look at the people you love most.
It's hard to believe how much has changed in just two years.
Surrounded by the people who have become your home, you can't imagine your life any other way.
Bonus chapter 2.0 (smut)
Want to read more Love and Deepspace fanfics? Check out my list here.
The bonus chapter comes down to which statement is more romantic:
“Something sparked in Azriel’s chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn’s teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason…he could see it. “
Or
“He hadn’t gotten that far with his planing, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to.”
I know which one I’m choosing.
Not Az literally admitting that he doesn't think of what he wants from Elain beyond his sexual fantasies 🤣This is literally the nail in the coffin for me that Elriel isn't gonna work out.
Volume 7 Bonus Chapter Teaser
Merry thing you celebrate or not (Eve), everyone! ^_^
As my gift to you, here's a little teaser of Chapter ☼ - Always Another Rainbow, the bonus chapter from the upcoming Rain Volume 7. It follows after the events of the Final Chapter of the main story, and features all the main kids in the friend group. It's also much longer than any other bonus chapter to date. I'm very proud of this one, so I hope you'll like it.
As for when you can get your hands on it, it's looking very likely to be sometime next month. Please look forward to it.
And of course, stay safe, stay happy, and stay healthy this holiday. I love you all! ^_^
Circuit of Love - Gilles-Villneuve
BONUS SCENE
They were a tangle of limbs and sweat and lazy satisfaction. Max on his stomach, arms folded under the pillow, Charles tucked against his side with Oscar draped half-over both of them like the sweat cooling against their skin was a balm.
For once, no one was rushing toward sleep. Just drifting.
Until Oscar said, way too casually, “So, I bent Charles over his Ferrari in the garage earlier.”
Max blinked.
Then turned his head slowly toward Charles, “You did what?”
Charles groaned, attempting to hide his face in Max’s shoulder.
“I hate you,” he muttered at Oscar, muffled by cotton and muscle.
Oscar just grinned, “You didn’t hate me then.”
Max sat up, dislodging both of them, like someone had just hit the DRS button on his brain, “Hold on. You’re telling me you fucked him. Over the car. Like—over the actual Ferrari?”
Oscar stretched, “He was practically draped over the cockpit. His hands gripping the halo and everything. Not the only white-knuckling he does in that car, but I'm sure the most satisfying. It was very poetic.”
Max’s mouth dropped open in mock horror, “Taking him on hallowed Ferrari grounds? That’s disgusting. I’m so proud of you.”
Charles shoved a pillow over his face as he attempted to roll away from them, “You’re insufferable. Both of you.”
Max leaned down, clearly enjoying every second of Charles’s embarrassment, “Did you moan for him, schatje? Right there in the garage? All bent over like a good little—”
Charles launched the pillow at his head, but Max caught it easily and tucked it under his arm to stop a further assault.
Oscar snorted, “He was gorgeous. Helmet still on the floor. Race suit still half-off. Didn’t even get to take my time. The sight was unbelievable, Max.”
Max made a sound like he was physically restraining himself, “God. That’s so hot I’m going to have to ban you both from Ferrari.”
“You sound like your just dying to have been in Osc's place,” Charles said dryly, rolling onto his back to glare at the ceiling.
“Oh, I wish,” Max said. “What I wish for more though, is to have been about to see him bend you over to take care of you and fuck you in all the ways Ferrari can't.”
Oscar was howling now.
Charles groaned again, dragging a hand over his face, “This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“I want a video next time,” Max completely ignoring Charles. “Jesus.”
Oscar propped himself up on one elbow, eyeing Max, “You think you wouldn't get an invite?”
“I better,” Max’s grin was absolutely unholy. “But we need something solid that we can go back to again and again to remind Charles of the only thing that car is good for.”
"Oh?”
“Ferrari has fucked him over too many times, when he should be fucked over one instead.”
Oscar raised a brow, “Keep talking like that and I'll have to have a mellow dramatic breakdown after a race too.”
“So now you want a turn,” Max said, voice smug and certain. “You want to be bent over your car, in your garage, while Lando’s doing his Sky interview twenty feet away?”
Oscar blinked, “Well… When you put it that way...”
Charles made a strangled noise, “Can’t we go one race weekend without threatening to fuck on company property?”
Max leaned in close, all teeth and delight, “Not when you keep making it so easy.”
“I hate you,” Charles mumbled.
“You love us,” Max corrected, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Are you saying you wouldn't want me to watch Oscar have his way with you in your garage? Or you wouldn't want to watch me put the championship leader in his place?”
Charles turned scarlet.
Oscar just grinned and dragged the blanket up over all three of them like it might save any of them from what they’d just started.
Spoiler: it wouldn’t.
-
I didn’t have this ready in time for Canada and thought I could stick it in at the beginning of the Austria chapter, but sadly, it messes with the flow.
Hope you enjoy!! 💖
