you hug your knees to your chest, your head resting on your arm as you watch Noah gather his things. clothes haphazardly shed around the room, wallet, keys, his phone on your dresser,.... he balances on one leg as he tugs his pants back over his boxers.

you try—unsuccessfully—to push down the flare of attraction you feel in your core as his shirtless form bends to grab his tank. his shoulders are broader than they used to be, his recent gains evidenced in the way muscle shifts under his skin as he moves. it’s unfair, really—how good he looks. almost as unfair as the way he’d peeled that same tank top off earlier, effortless and practiced in that way fuckboys somehow perfect.

he can’t help but smirk when he notices you looking. “you’re staring,” Noah says lowly, tugging his zipper up.

“can you blame me for enjoying the view?”

he grins and leans in to graze his lips across your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin a little more than playfully as he murmurs into your ear, “you always make this part harder than it needs to be.”

“then why go? you could always stay…”

Noah sighs, letting his chin rest on your shoulder. if you didn’t know him better, you’d almost think he regrets it, but this conversation always ends the same way, the two of you stuck in the same argument on repeat every time he has to leave. “you know why.”

and you do. this was supposed to be casual. no strings and no feelings.

except he just uses it as a shield. an excuse not to have to deal with the aftermath. 

you wrap your arms tighter around yourself, like you can hold in whatever is cracking open inside your chest. 

you told yourself you could handle it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

he never stayed. he never held you until you fell asleep. never cleaned you up or gave you soft words of affirmation. there was only ever the sound of the door closing behind him.

it never felt like you were more than a readily available way to blow off steam, a distraction. it was never about being intimate but about needing a body. you’re not special. you’re only one of countless girls Noah could choose from, and they’d all fall into bed with him without a second thought. 

Noah doesn’t so much as spare a glance back over his shoulder before he’s out the door, and that about sums up the state of your relationship. or lack thereof. 

a single, solitary tear falls down your cheek, and you stay, unmoving, until you can finally muster the energy to force yourself up and into the bathroom.

when you look at yourself in the mirror, you barely recognize the sad, broken person staring back at you. the circles under your eyes seem to have gotten darker. your hair is a disheveled mess, and your lips look bitten raw from where Noah attacked them earlier.

you turn on the water and step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade down your body.

it doesn’t make you feel any less dirty.

you could scrub yourself raw, and you would still be able to feel his touch on your skin. that’s not even the worst part. the worst part is knowing you’ll keep coming back for more. 

you hate yourself for it. hate the way your knees go weak whenever he looks at you with those doe eyes of his. how he could ruin you without even trying. most of all, you hate the way your body betrays you so easily, how even a single touch from him sets every nerve alight.

he’s like a drug of the most dangerous kind, your addiction, and you’re hooked.

you hate that you’d let him use you, and you have, over and over again. hate that you still want him so badly, that a part of you will always crave him no matter how badly you get hurt. and you hate the fact that the memory of him is going to linger on your skin for days, and the only thing you can do is cling to the sheets and pillows and the traces of his scent left behind.

you hate that even as he hurts you, you still love him.

if Noah called tomorrow, you’d answer. if he showed up at your door, you’d let him in without hesitation.

you love him too much to learn otherwise.

you check the time. 1 am.

you’re dialing Jesse’s number before you can think too hard about it. he is, after all, the one person who’s consistently had your back through everything, even if it’s complicated by his years-long friendship with Noah. Jesse had never minced words about his disapproval of how Noah treated you and the fact that it made him an ass, not when they were living together as roommates and not now when he’s since moved out, still always quick to defend your honor and forever on your side, his best friend be damned.

what you haven’t realized is that Jesse’s fierce protectiveness stems not just from platonic concern, but from feelings he harbors for you that you’re somehow shockingly dense about.

it only takes three rings before you hear a sleepy “hello?” on the other end of the line, and you suddenly feel guilty for waking him, but as he clears his throat, you can already picture him pushing himself up to lean against the headboard, his curls a mess. it’s too late now.

even just the thought of what you’d called to get off your chest has you sniffling again, tears trailing down your cheeks. “Noah just left,” you manage to get out amid sniffles.

the fatigue in Jesse’s voice vanishes in an instant, replaced by worry. he knows you all too well, and he knows how this goes. you didn’t call just to tell him that. you’re upset, and he’s the only person you could think to call. the only one who gets it.

he sighs softly on the other end, and you hear the sounds of him getting up and shuffling around, throwing on a sweatshirt.

you imagine him pacing in the hall, a moment’s notice from being on his way to you as he asks quietly, “are you okay? do you need me to come over?”

“I’m a mess,” you say, like that should be reason enough for him not to.

Jesse scoffs quietly. “don’t be an idiot. I’m coming over.”

the line goes quiet for a few seconds, and you know he’s slipping on his sneakers and grabbing his truck keys. “I’ll be there in twenty. hang tight, alright? I’m on my way.”

when he lets himself in, you’re wrestling with the sheets, stripping your bed frustratedly. Jesse appears in the doorway, and you just say sadly, “they smell like him,” before he’s bundling them in his arms and into the laundry.

the two of you remake your bed in silence with a fresh set of bedding from your linen closet. a familiar dance.

Jesse doesn’t say anything about the good set of underwear you’d worn specifically for Noah shed on the floor, or the faint red marks across your throat, like someone had been nipping at your skin.

“I hate his cologne,” you say bitterly, collapsing on your back into the mattress. 

what you hate even more is how it makes you want to take a bite out of Noah every time. how it somehow gets into everything. sheets, pillows, even rubs off on your clothes. 

Jesse snorts at that, making you smile faintly. 

the two of you lie side by side, his shoulder brushing yours as he stares up at your bedroom ceiling. he turns his head to study you for a moment. 

it hurts him to see you this way. to see you treated this way.

“you love that overpriced bullshit cologne of his.”

you huff softly at that, not quite landing a sharp jab to his ribs with your elbow. Jesse snickers. he catches your arm and intertwines his fingers with yours, giving your hand a squeeze.

he looks back over at you, and when you meet his eyes, the expression on his face is so unbearably soft that it makes your chest ache. he brings your joined hands up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles that makes you shiver.

“I hate it… I hate that I love it. that I love him,” you admit quietly.

“yeah,” Jesse murmurs sadly. “I know.”

he’s probably the only one in the world who really does. 

he’s been your friend and your confidante. he knows everything. every detail, every late-night confession, every time you’ve sworn you were done, only to fall right back into the same cycle. he knows how deeply you crave a man who has only ever known how to use you.

for Jesse, your suffering at the hands of his so-called best friend has been something of a personal torment, forced to watch Noah break your heart while being silently in love with you for years. like being stuck in a time loop where he’s doomed to witness an inevitable car crash he can’t derail. over and over again. 

“he’s never going to love me back.”

you’re past the point of tears now. it’s a numb sort of melancholy, dwelling on this gaping hole in your chest, but it demands to be felt.

you feel Jesse’s hand leave yours as he rolls over onto his side, pulling you gently against him and into the crook of his neck.

you’ve spent many a night clinging to him like this, crying yourself to sleep on his chest. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arm wrapping around your back comfortingly.

“I’m sorry.”

“I deserve better.”

“damn right you do.”

“why couldn’t I love someone else? anyone else? someone easy… someone who’d love me back with their whole heart… someone like you.” you frown.

you hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud.

Jesse swallows hard around the lump in his throat and closes his eyes. hearing you say that hurts, because he’d give you the damn world if you let him, cherish you in a way no one else has, but you remain stuck on someone who fails to recognize your worth. and the heart wants what it wants.

none of it matters if you don’t choose him.

“it won’t always be like this.” he doesn’t say what he’s thinking. that you’re never going to get over Noah if you keep falling back into bed with him. “you should get some sleep.”

“stay the night?”

he knows he shouldn’t, but when it’s you asking, he’d find a way to lasso the moon.

“yeah,” Jesse agrees. “...what is it anyway?” 

“what’s what?” you mumble, already drifting.

he pulls the blanket over your shoulders. “...why him? why do you keep going back? what is it about him?”

his voice isn’t angry, just tired, like he’s worn down from watching you break over and over.

“would you believe me if I said his massive di—”

Jesse groans and immediately clamps a hand over your mouth, shooting you a ‘be serious’ look.

besides, live with someone long enough and chances are you’ve seen them naked. he isn’t exactly packing anything that you can’t get elsewhere.

“you’re ridiculous. and I’ve seen his dick. does it have magical properties? try again.”

“fuck if I know. we want what we can’t have, right?”

isn’t that the truth? Jesse’s heart constricts painfully.

“you’re worth so much more than crumbs, y’know,” he murmurs quietly, voice full of emotion. you deserve the whole damn bakery.

knowing he’s right isn’t the problem. try telling that to the traitor in your chest.

“do you talk about me?”

“what do you mean?” Jesse asks cautiously, though he suspects he knows. 

“you and Noah… does my name ever come up?”

there’s a flicker of guilt on Jesse’s face as he shifts uncomfortably. “yeah… sometimes,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. 

“do I want to know? …nevermind.” you drop it, not giving him a chance to elaborate. you know you’re putting him in a tough position. “I know I’m not the only one.”

Jesse winces, and his silence says more than enough. you know you have no right to be jealous, but you also know what Noah gets up to on the road. Jesse’s been witness to the girls that come and go from the tour bus.

he’s never said as much, but you know you’re responsible for the rift between the two of them. 

you never asked Jesse to pick a side, but it was clear-cut to him from the beginning. he’d been the one picking up the pieces after Noah shattered them enough times to know. 

“we’re not exclusive. he doesn’t owe me anything.”

“but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when he’s with someone else,” Jesse finishes.

“sometimes I thought about sleeping with someone else… to make him jealous,” you admit sheepishly. a hollow laugh escapes you. “but how can you make someone who doesn’t care, jealous?”

Jesse knows that, for the most part, Noah’s indifference is a hard-maintained act.

Noah Sebastian is a difficult man to get close to. he can have his dick inside you and still find a way to keep you at arm’s length. distance is something he demands because the thought of actually letting someone in terrifies him, and Noah Sebastian doesn’t do vulnerability.

he’s been burned one too many times for that. 

now he’s the one who does the burning. because if he ruins things first, if he keeps people craving him instead of needing them, then he never has to risk being the one left behind. even if he did care for you the way you wanted him to, Noah would rather let you think he felt nothing than admit you had the power to hurt him.

and maybe, after all the times he’d used and discarded you, only to come back and fall into your bed when you know he most likely hadn’t spent a single night since alone... maybe he didn’t deserve the grace you kept giving him.

“then don’t do it for him.” Jesse’s fingers brush your hair. “do it for you. if it’s gonna help you move on… then let someone show you how good it feels to be wanted without all the heartache.

“let it be me,” he murmurs softly. “let me show you how you’re supposed to be treated. not tonight,” Jesse breathes. not when your bed is scarcely cold and not with you in such a fragile emotional state. “let me take you out to dinner Saturday. wear that pretty sundress you wore to that barbecue Folio hosted last year. and I promise, I’ll clean up nice.”

you give him a small, tired smile at the memory. pale yellow with delicate straps and a corseted waist. the same one Noah had hitched around your hips shortly after his fingers had discovered that you weren’t wearing any underwear.

“you always clean up nice, Jesse.”

Jesse must notice the flicker of nostalgia because he adds quietly, “we won’t bring him up. not once. it’ll just be us. now get some rest, I’ll be here in the morning.”

words you never hear Noah say….

your eyelids start to droop, and you nod, nuzzling your face into his chest. the rhythmic thumping of his heart against your cheek lulls you to sleep.

you never realized just how much you needed this, how much it hurt for the simple comfort of a warm body close to yours to be ripped away after being so intimate moments prior, but Jesse holds you like he knows exactly what you need.

you suppose after being the one you’ve called after countless late-night trysts, he does. 

Jesse’s taken to sleeping on your bedroom floor on nights like this, grabbing a pillow and the blanket off the back of your couch so he could be close if you needed him.

you hope he has no plans of leaving this bed tonight.

“you’re not gonna sneak out once I fall asleep, are you?” you mumble, fingers curling into his shirt. “please. I don’t want the bed to feel empty again.”

“okay,” Jesse caves almost immediately. “if you want me to stay, I will. sleep.”

you drift off with his hand stroking your hair.

when you open the door for your dinner date, Jesse is standing there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

he’s always been a little old-fashioned like that. maybe it’s leftover from his Southern upbringing, but he’s always been big on gestures and fluent in thoughtfulness.

he’s wearing a dark gray button-up with a few buttons casually undone, the sleeves rolled up and exposing a bit of his tattooed forearms, complete with dark wash jeans and black boots. 

he looks damn good, the bastard.

his own eyes rake over you appreciatively, taking in the way that your yellow sundress clings to your body just right, the hem brushing just above your knees. Jesse looks long enough for you to know he’s appreciative before consciously dragging his gaze back up to meet your eyes. he’s nothing if not a gentleman.

you feel better than you did when you’d worn it at that barbecue. like a princess. 

“those for me?” you ask.

Jesse’s smile spreads as he holds out the bouquet towards you.

it’s a lovely arrangement of wildflowers—daffodils and daisies and the small cornflower blue petals of a flower you don’t recognize—arranged in a bouquet that’s as bright and cheerful as your dress.

the dress isn’t the only thing that makes you feel like a princess. so does Jesse’s treatment of you.

“thought you might like them more than roses.”

your chest tightens. you’d mentioned once, ages ago, that roses were overrated and unjustifiably expensive; not that you’d expected him to remember. he’d apparently never forgotten. “they’re beautiful, Jess. thank you.”

“don’t hold a candle to you, though.”

heat rushes to your cheeks. 

“sweet talker.”

“it’s the truth, sweetheart,” he says simply.

you busy yourself with the flowers before he can see how easily he’s gotten to you, carrying them into the kitchen and setting them in a vase, enough to keep them fresh until you can properly care for them.

you grab your bag from the hook by the door, then step into the balmy night air with Jesse at your back. 

“so,” you ask. Jesse walks ahead and opens the passenger door for you, “where are we going?”

he flashes a vague, somewhat secretive smile in response. “it’s a surprise. you’ll see.” 

he lets you get settled inside and then shuts the door, rounding the truck and getting into the driver’s seat. it isn’t until he pulls into the parking lot that you realize exactly why he’d been so secretive.

“if he wanted to, he would.” 

you marvel at the sign as you pass underneath it, the new restaurant whose reservations have been booked solid since its grand opening. 

Jesse’s hand finds the small of your back as he ushers you inside ahead of him.

“Jesse,” you say, a little incredulous. “I mentioned this place forever ago.”

he just shrugs. “I remembered.” 

it’s altogether too much for a first date, let alone dinner. tinder dates in the past had bitched about less. 

the place is oozing with class. in a dimly lit corner, someone plays the piano while your server leads the two of you to a booth near the back, partially obscured by a partition. 

Jesse lets you slide into the booth first, then slips in beside you instead of taking the seat across from you.

the two of you are close enough that your knees brush his. he grins sheepishly. “I hope this is okay.”

“I think it’s sweet,” you tell him, and he visibly relaxes, resting his arm along the back of the seat. “you know, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble—”

“don’t even start,” Jesse warns. “I hope you’re hungry.”

you nod. “I’ve been wanting to try their—”

“—carbonara, I know,” Jesse finishes your sentence. “it’s your favorite.” at your surprised look, he again shrugs a shoulder like it’s nothing. “remembered that, too.” 

you think you catch the faint hint of a flush on his cheeks.

“you really pay attention, don’t you?”

he gives a soft hum in response. “to the things that matter.”

butterflies stir to life in your stomach as you find yourself seeing him in a new light.

“I take it you’re ready to order?” he asks. “would you like to share a bottle of wine?” 

you nod, noting how attentive he is when it comes to ordering. something about the effortless way he’s making sure you’re taken care of without ever making it feel like you can’t take care of yourself is panty-droppingly attractive. 

“red or white, sweetheart?” Jesse tilts the drink menu towards the both of you, leaning in close enough that his breath flutters against your ear.

“hm?” you blush, lost in your thoughts.

he chuckles softly, amused by your reaction, and repeats himself. “red or white, darlin’?”

his fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh ever so slightly, sending a shiver through you that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re sat by the ac vents.

“I trust your pick.”

“white then.” he places the order for a particular bottle, then turns his attention back to you. “I’m glad you agreed to this. even if it took me years to get you here,” he admits. “you’re worth every second of the wait.”

“Jesse…” you breathe.

“you don’t have to say anything.” his hand settles over top of yours. “just let yourself enjoy tonight.”

you interlace your fingers with his and squeeze his hand. “I really am glad I came.”

your server pours from the bottle of white for the both of you, and you clink your glasses together.

the wine is light, crisp, perfectly paired with the meal ahead.

“did I make the right choice?” Jesse observes you as you take your sip.

“perfect,” you nod. 

despite the introduction of such an intimate atmosphere, there never feels like there’s any pressure to be any way other than how you already are with each other. 

conversation is easy, comfortable, flowing without you having to force it. like it always has been. it’s like muscle memory, you don’t even have to think about it anymore. there’s comfort even in the silence. 

you talk like you’re sat on your bedroom floor, talking from the late hours of the night into early morning about anything and everything. 

Jesse’s an expert at getting you to come out of your shell, gentle in all the ways Noah is intense.

he makes you laugh, makes you feel seen and special, makes you forget everything outside this moment. that is, until your phone sounds.

a single text notification lights up the screen as a plate of steaming pasta is placed in front of you.

no other name but his would make your stomach drop like that and make you lose all appetite for your dinner.

Jesse sees it too. his jaw tightens, just slightly, so subtle you might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking, but he doesn’t comment. just takes a slow sip of wine, allowing you your space to do as you see fit. 

Noah wouldn’t be texting you this late unless he was trying to use you for a last-minute hook-up. it’s as if he has some sort of radar or sixth sense for when you’re spending time with someone else.

your fingers hover over the phone, the screen still glowing with Noah’s name.

Jesse doesn’t say it out loud, but you hear it anyway. 

you deserve better than someone who only wants you when he knows he can’t have you.

<Noah> Miss that mouth of yours. You home?

your stomach twists. part arousal, part shame. 

how easy it would be to slip back into that familiar sin. one text reply and he’d be at your door, his hands everywhere, his voice murmuring all the wrong things in all the right ways.

but then you’re reminded of Jesse beside you. who took you to a restaurant you’d been wanting to try because you’d mentioned it once. 

Jesse, who doesn’t so much as steal a glance at your phone screen, doesn’t ask what it says, just waits patiently for you to decide.

you take a deep breath… and silence your phone.

your shaky smile gains confidence as you grin at Jesse and take a bite of your food... and moan softly without meaning to.

“that good, huh?”

“mhm… this is amazing,” you say, licking a bit of sauce from your lip.

Jesse’s eyes darken slightly. “yeah,” he murmurs. “it is.”

you get the feeling he’s not talking about the food so much as he’s talking about you.

your cheeks redden. 

“try some.” you avert your gaze back to your plate and lift a forkful to his lips without thinking. Jesse leans in to take a bite, not breaking eye contact the entire time, which only serves to make you more flustered. 

there’s a tension between you growing taut, and there’s proof in the way your heartbeat stumbles.

you end up getting a slice of cheesecake to share because he’d seen how your eyes lingered on the dessert menu a few seconds too long, and if the way you take turns alternating forkfuls is any indication of how sickeningly coupley you are in this moment, you are bound to come down with a toothache. 

it all just feels so… domestic that your heart pangs wildly because this… this is what you deserve.

it’s something you’ve always wanted, even if you haven’t always believed you could have it. you know you can’t, not with Noah.

but with Jesse, who would kiss away your tears instead of being the one to cause them…

who’d bring you flowers just because. who’d learn your favorite song and memorize how you take your coffee. who’d send you pictures of the little things that remind him of you. the sunset. a line in a book. 

the same Jesse who’d leave you love notes to find around the house. a post-it on the bathroom mirror. a slip of paper in the bagged lunch you’d taken to work. (that he made you.)

what would life be with someone who doesn’t leave you feeling empty afterward, but instead more fulfilled? 

Jesse’s eyes are so soft, so full of hope. 

“we don’t have to rush anything,” he says quietly. 

he always was good at reading you. or maybe it’s just that no one’s ever listened closely enough for you to know what it feels like to be seen.

“I’ve waited this long. I can wait for you to be ready.” 

you don’t know what’s wrong with you; you feel as if you’re broken.

because that’s the thing. Jesse is the type of guy who should get the girl, the one you bring home to Mom. he’s everything good and gentle and kind, and here you keep pining after a man who’s made it clear in no uncertain terms that the only thing he’s capable of giving you is his… cock?

you shake your head. “we’re leaving this restaurant. you’re going to drive me home and walk me to my door, and I’m going to invite you in, and you’re going to say yes.”

if Jesse is surprised by your newfound resolve, he doesn’t show it. he regards you with open amusement, smirking. “yes, ma’am.”

by the time you’ve slipped into the jacket he’s holding open for you, he’s already tipped generously and settled the bill before you can so much as reach for your wallet.

“I told you I’d take you out to dinner. that means it’s my treat,” he says. 

and when he’s stood outside your door, he waits for you to make the first move. 

he waits until your hands find his belt loops to tug him closer, and then he comes easily (like he always would for you), his hands instinctively finding their place on your hips.

his eyes search yours, as if needing to make sure you want this before it goes any further. 

the decision is yours—he’s made that abundantly clear. he’ll respect it. unlike Dylan from the dating apps, Jesse is under no illusion that paying for dinner equates to buying access to your body.

“are you gonna kiss me now?” you ask.

“do you want me to?” 

he knows he said he’d be there if it helped you move on. knows he’d take whatever piece of you you were ready to give.

still, a part of him can’t shake the nagging fear that he’s only a placeholder. a distraction meant to dull the ache Noah left behind. that maybe you don’t want him, not really, just to fill the void of the man who hurt you.

maybe this is too fast. maybe he should slow you down. maybe he should protect his own heart better than this… but the romantic in him screams that the risk is worth it.

“I want it to mean something,” Jesse whispers. “not just… because you’re hurting.” his hands slide up your back.

“you said you’d show me how it feels…”

he swallows hard, exhaling shakily through his nose. “yeah,” he breathes. “I did.”

your fingers tighten in his shirt. “well, I want to be something to someone for a change. I want to feel something real, even if it’s just for one night.”

Jesse rests his forehead against yours, your noses brushing. “if I had it my way, it wouldn’t be just one night. not with me.”

before you can find the words to answer, he’s kissing you. tentatively at first, giving you every chance to pull away, but when you don’t—when, if anything, you press closer, seeking him out—he deepens the kiss. 

his hands slide into your hair, cradling your face as his lips move over yours like he’s waited years for this (because he has).

he kisses you like you’re something to be cherished. like you’re some sort of precious masterpiece he can’t believe he gets to touch.

he swallows every sound you make like he could bottle it up for later.

god, you’d forgotten what it feels like to be truly, fully wanted. 

you’ve never been Noah’s first choice. merely an option. 

“tell you what’s going to happen,” Jesse murmurs. “we’re going to go inside, and I’m going to lay you on your bed. I’m going to take my time with you, make you come as many times as I want until I’m satisfied, without ever using my cock. in fact, I’m not going to come tonight.”

“but—” you’re about to protest with a pout when he presses his index finger to your mouth, silencing you. 

Jesse’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles kindly. “I’m going to take care of you and not the other way around.”

his chest is against your back now as he leans in closer to brush his lips over your neck, his voice low in your ear. “then, tomorrow morning, I’m going to make you breakfast.”

at this point, you’re fumbling uselessly with your house key, shaky hands struggling to jam it into the keyhole as you mentally curse the only thing that stands between you and the night ahead. 

you eventually give up and shove the key into Jesse’s hand.

he just chuckles, clearly amused by your eagerness. after he unlocks the door (with much more ease than you I might add), he scoops you up in one smooth motion, carrying you through the threshold and kicking the door shut behind him.  

the route to your bedroom is as familiar as his own, and he’s still laughing softly as he deposits you gently on the bed, bracing his forearms beside your head. 

he takes in the sight of you beneath him like a man starved.

his hands roam your body like he’s trying to map every dip and curve, his touch reverent.

he kisses you until you’re panting for breath, his mouth continuing on to your jaw and your neck before gently sucking on your pulse point.  

“god, I need you out of this dress,” he tells you, hands sliding down to the zipper.

“I thought you liked me in this dress,” you tease.

Jesse chuckles, his lips curving into an easy half-smile.  

he draws the zipper of your dress down slowly, his fingers grazing along your skin. 

“oh I do,” he murmurs, tugging the fabric gently over your head. “but I think I’d like you even better out of it. so…”

“so…” 

“what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? my fingers?” Jesse strums his index and his middle fingers over your clit as you gasp and push into his touch. “or my mouth?” his tongue proceeds to suck your arousal clean from the pads of his fingers. 

“do I really have to choose?”

“you’re right. you’ll get both. but you get to choose which you want first. so?…”

your hip hitches around his waist in answer, your heel bearing down on his back until Jesse is eye level with your glistening pussy. 

“mouth it is.” 

brown eyes lift to meet yours as if consciously drinking in the way you come undone in the wake of his hot, open mouth working its way up your inner thigh. his kisses inch closer while all the while falling short of where you truly want them, leaving you frustrated as you let out a soft whine of protest. 

the next time, his breath fans against your soaked underwear. the way he nuzzles his cheek just shy of your quivering cunt is proof that he hears you, even if he delights in making you squirm a little, the brush of his facial hair against your most sensitive skin only serving to stoke the fire in your core.

“you didn’t say you were going to be a tease,” you huff. 

“I told you I was going to take my time.” Jesse’s eyes sparkle. “tell me his version of foreplay wasn’t just two fingers scissoring you open and a little bit of lube.”

“actually—” 

Jesse has no interest in letting you finish that thought. his tongue renders you speechless as it drags through your folds in one long, drawn out lick that has your back arching off the bed and toward his mouth. 

evidently, he’s had enough of pretending he’s not just as eager to taste you as you are for him to. 

your hand finds its way into his hair, impatiently tugging his curls like it’ll urge him on, even though you’ve come to understand that he isn’t one to be rushed. this man wants to savor you.  

still, his hum rumbles through your core like a reward, even as he shows no signs of his patience wearing thin. 

each lick is slow, painfully so. deliberate circles of his tongue over your clit before dipping lower to taste you properly. 

his arms encircle your waist, keeping your hips secure no matter how much they want to shift in search of more. 

rest assured, he will not disappoint. 

it knocks the wind out of you when his lips well and truly seal around your clit. “ohh, Jess.” your head falls back against the mattress as he alternates sucking and lapping. 

you’re already trembling beneath him, fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure builds fast and hot in your belly with each flick of his tongue. 

“when’s the last time someone made you come without asking for anything in return, huh? just the simple pleasure of making you feel good,” Jesse croons. “you know, when I think of him getting to taste you, I get so fucking jealous. he doesn’t know what he has. you’re wasted on him.”

it’s as if the thought fuels him as he doubles his efforts, surging forward kissing and licking like a man on a mission to erase every memory of Noah from your body entirely. he won’t be content until his name is the only one on the tip of your tongue. 

“shit, Jesse, I’m gonna come,” you pant out breathily. 

“give it to me, baby. go ahead and come on my tongue. I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

your body tenses, your thighs clamping around his head as the pleasure peaks. “that’s it,” his voice muffles against your core. 

Jesse milks your orgasm for all it’s worth, making sure to help you ride it out with soft laps of his tongue and gentle suction until every last shudder fades from your limbs.

when he finally lifts his mouth, he wipes the back of his hand across his lips and smirks, proud of himself.

“if you were mine, I’d spend every day of my life trying to be worthy,” Jesse murmurs, kissing your hip, then slipping a finger inside you.

“Jesse…” your breath hitches. the intrusion comes so soon after your orgasm. you’re still so sensitive, and he knows it, which is why he starts slow with just that one finger, curling it just right. 

that’s all it takes for you to become putty in his hands. 

putty whose face Jesse watches for every reaction like he’s memorizing what makes you feel good.  

“please.” it’s not long before you’re begging for more. 

he’s quick to add a second, stretching you gently as he leans down to kiss your stomach, his lips warm against your skin.

“I’d give you anything you want.”

Jesse’s fingers make a come-hither motion. slow, deep thrusts that curl upwards toward that sweet spot inside you and make your hips rock unconsciously into his hand.  

all the while, his kisses trail higher—up your stomach, your ribs, before he’s burying his face between your breasts, your heart hammering in your chest—and capturing one of your nipples between his lips and biting softly.

you gasp, your fingers in his hair peeling back his head to look up at you. 

“what about your cock?” you manage cheekily. 

his sharp exhale turns into a groan, but he shakes his head. “nice try, but no, honey, not tonight.”

your lip juts out in a pout, but Jesse wipes the sulk right off your face when he puts his mouth back on you whilst his fingers pump in and out of your pussy. 

your face heats at the realization that you’re already wound up again, sensitive and aching. 

“tonight is about you,” Jesse reiterates. “not taking anything for myself. not asking for anything in return.”

that’s exactly what hasn’t worked in the past. tonight needs to be different. he needs to be different. this isn’t about instant gratification.

this is about showing you how you deserve to be treated. 

“Jesse,” you pant, “you’re going to make me come again…”

“good,” he says matter-of-factly. if anything, the knowledge only makes him work harder for it…

your cunt clenches around his fingers and keeps them there, spasming around the length of them buried to the knuckle. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that blissed-out look on your face,” Jesse murmurs. “feels good, doesn’t it? letting yourself be taken care of for once?”

your moan is an affirmative as your second orgasm washes over you, hot and sweet. 

“come sit on my face,” Jesse pipes up. you haven’t even fully come down before he’s patting the bed and settling on his back beside you.

your cheeks burn. “but—” 

“I won’t be satisfied until you do,” he cuts you off. “not until you use me to make yourself feel good, so you might as well give me what I want and come sit on my face.”

you know Jesse well enough to know he means it, and anyway, it’s not like it’s not an untempting offer. 

you tentatively move to position yourself on all fours, but not before Jesse’s fingers dig into your hips, dragging you backwards on your knees until you’re straddling his shoulders. 

then Jesse pulls you down over top of him until your heat is right above his waiting mouth.

“there you go. that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

his hands squeeze the curve of your ass as he pulls you down onto him, and god, the first swipe of his tongue has your knees buckling, your hands finding his thighs as you double over.

the scratch of his facial hair is like nothing you’ve ever felt between your thighs. 

every sensation already feels like too much.

the pleasant burn of his scruff as he nuzzles you open. 

the press of his nose nudging against your clit and his tongue following in its place. parting your folds, dipping into your entrance, lapping enthusiastically at your clit…

you can’t help the way you gush, your arousal surely drenching his face as he feasts from behind. 

the new angle has you whimpering, unable to still your restless hips. Jesse flattens his tongue for you, and you ride it, chasing the wet glide of it along your clit. you don’t try to hide your moans as you edge closer and closer to your third orgasm of the night, his saliva dripping from your folds. you grow more and more uninhibited, shameless in your grinding against his mouth, and Jesse increasingly pleased when it becomes evident that you struggle to hold yourself up as you ride out the height of your orgasm against his tongue, your knees going weak. 

what a sight he makes. his scruff drenched, his eyes sparkling as he licks his lips, and you completely oblivious as you now paw at the bulge in his pants from your seat on his chest. 

“Jesse,” you whine, “what if I just sucked you off?” 

his cock twitches against your cheek where it nuzzles against him. 

Jesse chuckles, cupping your chin with his palm and turning your head to look back at him. “I meant what I said.”

“just a taste?”

“as hard as it is to say no to you, I’ve got to.” 

“not too hard, apparently,” you huff. “doesn’t it hurt?”

his hard-on strains prominently against his jeans. seeing him so affected just from giving you pleasure makes your mouth water and stirs you to hunger. 

“a cold shower will take care of it,” he tells you. “thank you for your concern.” he presses a kiss to the skin of your back, “give me five minutes and I’ll be all yours again,” then disentangles himself from you before rolling off the bed and heading for the bathroom, and he assumes that’s the end of it. 

the sound of running water follows moments later. as does a muffled curse from behind the closed door, probably because the cold water is doing its job. 

a part of you feels guilty. here he is, being all noble, and all you can think about is how badly you want him inside you.

not guilty enough, apparently. or at any rate not enough to keep from propping yourself against the doorway, fully bare as you enjoy the view before you.

Jesse’s back is mostly to you, water from the showerhead sluicing down the lines of his chest. it’s the body of a touring musician, someone who’s spent years lugging amps and guitars, with just enough muscle to show for it. a body shaped by life on the road rather than in the gym. 

there’s an irresistible softness to him that is your catnip. plushness that yields underneath your hands. 

you bite your lip, imagining what it would be like to have full rein to touch him like this. to hug your arms around his middle, to leave little love bites where only you would see. to trace the lines of his tattoos. 

he hasn’t noticed you yet, too busy tilting his head under the icy spray, doing his damndest to try and cool off.

your hands come up to his shoulders as you rub circles with your loofah over his back.

“you’re playing dirty,” he murmurs, not turning around yet. 

your hands slide down his chest, your body pressing flush against his back. your hardened nipples prod him until he can no longer ignore their presence. 

“I can’t take a shower?” you ask, faking innocence.

“is that what you’re doing?” 

Jesse’s erection stirs to life more insistent than before, and you find yourself squeezing your thighs together at the sight of it, delightfully fat with a slight curve you can almost feel hit all the right spots already. a cock made for the taking. 

you reach around him and turn the water hotter, the beginnings of steam fogging up the glass.

he finally turns to look at you, water dripping from his lashes. his eyes drop to where water beads on your own skin before snapping back up to your face with visible effort.

you play coy even as the length of him twitches, drawing attention to the prominent vein along his shaft. 

“do me?” you press the loofah into his hand. 

he stares at the loofah like it’s a loaded weapon. “minx,” he finally murmurs, not unaffectionately. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

he lathers the loofah with your body wash before running it over your shoulders, down your arms, faltering when he comes to your breasts. 

no answer. 

he drags the loofah lower with painstaking slowness, settling just under your belly button. 

“can you get my back?” you reply instead. 

Jesse breathes a sigh of relief, only to discover the supposed act of mercy is anything but. 

your plans are far more nefarious than he could’ve suspected… because the moment you turn your back to him, you back your hips into his. 

his curved cock slots perfectly between your soaped up thighs, the loofah slipping from his hand and dropping to the floor.

it isn’t hard to imagine how good even the smallest bit of friction must feel for him. the plush of your thighs alone seems like a cruel test of his self-control after being so hard, for so long, with lord knows how much precum leaked in his boxers. 

you’re overcome by the overwhelming need to thank him for his patience.

Jesse’s breath hitches, his hips rutting against you based on pure instinct. he braces one hand on the tile in front of you, the other on your hip. “fuck.” his forehead drops to your shoulder. “you’re not making this easy.”

his hips continue to move almost imperceptibly, committing small acts of rebellion against his better judgment. 

Jesse exhales shakily in your ear. 

“why waste a perfectly hard cock?” you kiss the underside of his chin. “when there’s perfectly needy pussy that’s begging for it?”

Jesse’s eyes squeeze shut. 

for a little while, it’s bliss. 

his cock head repeatedly nudging into your clit. the weight of it against you a reminder of just how easy it would be for him to sink inside and satisfy you. 

but he stays true to his word, showing the discipline you wish he was not capable of in this moment as his hand takes over. he plays your clit like he plays his six-string, pushing you over the edge with a dexterity that comes naturally to him given his line of work. 

he supports your weight when you all but collapse, allowing you to go boneless in his arms as he holds you upright with an arm encircling your waist and his other hand curled inside your thigh. you melt against his shoulder, protesting when his cock slips free of your folds, twitching in air. 

you can’t help but feel like a dog being taken away from its favourite toy when it wasn’t done playing. “Jesse…” you whine. 

“we should slow down.” his chest is heaving. his cock is flushed and swollen, precum beading at the tip. 

“it doesn’t make you him.” 

you know it’s what he’s thinking. hell, you can practically see the gears in his head turning as you search his face, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. 

he’s harder on himself than you would ever be.

“I can’t do the whole pretending this doesn’t mean anything in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” you say.

“I know. it’s just—if I let this happen tonight,” he adds, lower, “I don’t get to pretend I’m not already in deep. and I don’t think you’re there with me right now.”

and that’s the thing about Jesse… he cares about you in ways Noah never did. enough to stop when he wants to keep going. enough to put your feelings ahead of his own.

“I want to get there,” you say quietly. “maybe I’m not where you are yet, but I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t see what’s right in front of me.”

“you say things like that, and I can’t deny you anything,” Jesse sighs. “which is exactly why I need you to go to bed,” he adds, “before I change my mind.” 

a sinking feeling takes root in your stomach when you wake to an empty bed. 

white hot panic rolls over you in waves of déjà vu. it’s all too familiar. too reminiscent of countless mornings spent alone.

did he leave?

the faint clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen says otherwise. 

you pursue the sound in your bare feet, following the hallway, and there he is. 

Jesse, in all his morning glory, naked except for a pair of boxer briefs. his hair sticks up in all directions like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into the kitchen, spatula in his hand as he flips pancakes. a pair of round glasses sits crooked on his nose, atop the ever-present lines and shadows under his eyes. 

they persist no matter how many hours he’s gotten. 

he might not be considered conventionally attractive, but you’ve always thought him handsome. here in your kitchen the morning after, he’s absolutely devastating.

he glances up and immediately brightens when he sees you. the ball of nerves that had drawn taut in your stomach unravels so quickly it’s almost as if it was never there.

“hey,” he greets, “you weren’t supposed to be up yet.”

I needed to make sure you were still here. the words stay lodged somewhere behind your ribs. “I smelled food,” you say instead. 

“you’re supposed to be in bed. you’re ruining the whole plan,” Jesse chastises playfully. “go. back to bed. I’ll bring it to you.” 

he redirects you with his hands on your shoulders, and you trot obediently back the way you came, the happiness bubbling full to overflowing with every step. 

the bed is rumpled, still warm when you slip back under the covers. for once, you don’t feel the need to bundle the sheets and purge the remnants of your night. instead you breathe in the scent of Jesse left on the pillow on his side of the bed and let it soothe you.

true to his word, he had stayed. your heart could burst.

from the kitchen, you can hear him moving. soft clinks of plates and utensils, the fridge door opening and closing,... footsteps that make their way to the bedroom.

“okay, don’t laugh.” Jesse proudly presents you with a tray that holds a glass of orange juice, pancakes with goofy little fruit faces, and a small vase with a handful of the wildflowers from your date the night prior.

“why would I? this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you say. “I want to wake up to this every Sunday.”

“that can be arranged.”

“I’m serious.”

“so am I.”

“okay,” you whisper, trying to mask the way the words make your stomach swoop like the sudden drop of a rollercoaster.

“okay.”

you eat side by side for a few moments in silence, Jesse stealing pieces of fruit from your plate. he has his own, but apparently he only deigned to give yours the special treatment. 

“hey!” you protest weakly as he snatches yet another blueberry.

“payment for my labor,” he teases.

your phone buzzes—the groupchat checking in—and when you open your messages, Noah’s text sits just below the other text thread at the top as if it’s mocking you. 

your thumb hovers over his contact before finally settling on the block button. Jesse has made it impossible to ignore what you’ve been settling for, and you owe it to yourself, and to Jesse, to stop accepting less than you deserve.

no more settling.

you don’t even realize Jesse had asked you a question. “hey,” he murmurs, attuned to you as always, “you okay?”

you look down at the phone in your hand, then at the breakfast he so kindly made you, then back at him.

“yeah,” you whisper, “I’m okay,” and you mean it. 

“where’d you go just now?”

you unlock your phone and hand it over.

it takes a moment for Jesse to register that you’ve blocked his (ex?) best friend’s number.

“you didn’t have to do that for me,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t.” you pull the blanket over your shoulders tighter around yourself. “I did it for me.”

you think about all the nights you cried yourself to sleep, only to wake up the following morning alone. all the unanswered texts. the careful pretending that you were okay with casual when every piece of evidence that he didn’t care about you like you cared about him hollowed you out a little more.

you did it for that version of yourself.

“I’m proud of you,” Jesse tells you.

if you’re being honest, so are you.

it was about time you were the one closing the door and the one walking out, not the one being walked out on. the keeper of your own peace and the champion of your heart.

you hum thoughtfully. “where do we go from here?”

“I dunno. lazy Sunday… I was thinking the couch… unless you have plans.”

you laugh and tuck yourself into Jesse’s side. 

“you are my plans.”

It’s the week before Dustin’s senior year of high school and Steve is getting ready to begin his new job at Hawkins Middle as the coach and gym teacher. His parents sold the house last year and Steve’s been living on his own in a small rented bungalow near the outskirts of town. Without the pool as an easy way to entertain a large number of people, Steve is a little anxious at the thought of Dustin trying to invite any amount of guests into his relatively small living space. 

Honestly, it’s been four years since Steve has had a birthday party and he isn’t sure if he likes the idea of parties anymore. They seem like a lot of trouble to spend time with people he mostly doesn’t have much in common with anymore. Steve’s really not sure who Dustin will even invite at this point, anyway. All the other older teens have left for their first year of college by now– Robin off to Smith, Nancy to Emerson, and Jonathan to NYU. Steve figures Dustin will just invite the Party, which is fine by him, except they’re really more Dustin’s friends than Steve’s. 

Honestly, Steve would rather just spend the day with Dustin. He thinks about saying that to him on one of their arcade nights, when Dustin’s got that manic glint in his eye that tells Steve he just thought up another part of his plan. But somehow the time has slipped too close to Steve’s birthday and he doesn’t want to disappoint Dustin by making him cancel whatever it is he has cooked up. 

The morning of Steve’s birthday, he wakes up to the smell of pancakes and bacon wafting from his galley kitchen. It’s a comforting smell at first until he remembers he doesn’t live with anyone, then his eyes are flying open in alarm. 

Clad only in his boxers, Steve snatches one of his spare baseball bats from the place he keeps it propped by the door of his bedroom. He holds it in front of himself and stalks nervously down the short hallway from his bedroom to the kitchen. There’s a figure humming in there, and the voice is scratching at something familiar in his sleep addled brain. Turning the corner, Steve raises the bat in preparation– 

“Happy birthday, Steve!” Dustin exclaims, turning with a spatula in hand and a wide grin on his face. Specks of pancake batter fleck his cheek and his “Kiss the Cook” apron. When he catches sight of Steve’s baseball bat and half-clad body, Dustin’s face does a funny thing where he looks both very confused and very pleased. 

“Christ, Dustin, I could have killed you with this thing!” Steve gestures with the bat, heart still fluttering nervously in his chest at the idea. “What are you doing in my house at nine in the morning?” 

“Well, first of all, you gave me your spare key, remember? And second of all, I was trying to make you breakfast in bed,” Dustin says in a tone of voice as though he’s lecturing Steve. Which Steve finds ridiculous because how can Dustin think he’s in the right here? But Dustin continues, clearly not phased by the journey Steve’s face is going on. “You’ll need your energy for the day I have planned!” 

“You planned a… whole day?” Steve’s brain tries to catch up to what Dustin is saying. “A whole day… of what?”  

“It’s a surprise, silly,” Dustin says, flicking his spatula at Steve and making him yelp as a bit of pancake mix hits his chest. “I told you I wanted to make your birthday extra special!” 

Steve stares dumbfounded at Dustin. He sniffs. There’s a smell of burning.