#I just made some adjustments now and you know what

[mintyys-blog]

LOVESICK | sinister mark x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: extremely toxic relationships, abuse, implied cannibalism, character death, stockholm syndrome, smut, mentioned kidnapping, blood.

MINORS DNI

this fanfic contains themes of abuse that may not be suitable for all readers, if this applies to you— please don’t read.

The living room was quiet, too quiet. The kind that sank into her bones like cold water. She stood at the doorway, barefoot, trembling as she watched him. Mark stood at the center of the room, facing a swirling green portal that crackled with unstable energy. Angstrom Levy stood nearby, adjusting something on a device with calculated precision, saying nothing—just waiting.

“No,” she whispered, stepping forward. “Mark, please… don’t go.”

He didn’t turn around.

“I said don’t go!” Her voice broke, and she rushed toward him, grabbing at his arm. “You can’t leave me here—don’t you get it? I’ll lose my mind if you go through that thing!”

That made him pause.

He looked down at her hand on his arm, then slowly turned his head to meet her desperate gaze. “You’re so clingy,” he muttered, almost annoyed.

She barely had time to gasp before a flick of his wrist sent her flying back—her body slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. Her head hit the floor. The room spun. She could taste blood.

“Mark—” she choked out, dazed. “Please…”

He didn’t look back again. Just turned away from her crumpled form without a shred of guilt.

And then he stepped through the portal.

Gone.

The green light shimmered for a moment, then faded, leaving the house in silence again.

She lay there, tears slipping down her cheeks, whispering his name into the emptiness.

“Mark…”

There was no answer. Just the echo of her own voice—and the distant sound of something breaking inside her.

The days bled together like ink in water.

The house was too quiet without him.

Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind rattling the windows, every shadow stretching across the walls at dusk made her sit up—just for a moment—hoping. But he never came. The door never opened. His boots never hit the floor. No voice. No scolding. No cruel smirk. No Mark.

At first, she held onto routine like it might keep her sane. She made dinner at six—always enough for two. Set the table, even placed his favorite cup beside his plate. She used to fear him walking in and being displeased. Now she feared that silence. That stillness.

She never left the house. Not once.

She didn’t even know how. Mark had always taken her places, kept her tethered to his side like some precious possession—or a pet. He drove. He paid. He spoke. She followed. Now she stood by the front door for minutes at a time, her hand on the knob, heart racing, unable to step outside.

The world didn’t feel real without him in it.

She stopped opening the curtains. What was the point? She didn’t want the light. It only made the dust in the air visible, like the house itself was decaying with her.

Sometimes she lay on the couch, curled up in the hoodie he left behind, breathing in the faded scent of him—blood, ash, something inhuman beneath it all. She wept into it until her throat burned. Sometimes she’d whisper to it, imagining he was still there, arms crossed, watching her fall apart like some cruel god.

She replayed their last moment over and over again. The way he flicked her away like she was nothing. The way he didn’t even look back.

But he was everything.

He fed her. He clothed her. He told her when to eat, when to sleep, when to speak. She didn’t know who she was without him—what she was.

And that terrified her.

It had been months. No sign. No message. Just the ache in her chest that never left.

She sat on the floor of the kitchen one night, her untouched dinner growing cold beside her. The lights were off. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge and the clock ticking above the stove.

Her fingers traced the tile, absently. She’d cleaned it earlier, hoping maybe he’d come back and comment on it. Maybe even mock her for doing a bad job. She would’ve welcomed that.

“Mark…” she whispered into the darkness, voice hoarse. “Please come home…”

The silence answered back.

She curled in on herself, hands gripping his hoodie, rocking slightly.

“I need you,” she murmured. “I’m nothing without you.”

And in the quiet, her mind began to break in little pieces—pieces shaped like him

She stopped keeping track of the days. Time, without him, became this sluggish, aching thing—always moving but never changing. Sleep offered no escape. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Standing over her. Touching her face with blood-stained hands. Smirking like he always did when she cried.

And every time she woke up, he was gone all over again.

She stopped eating for a while. Then started again. For him. She told herself he’d be angry if he came back and saw her like this—thin, pale, eyes hollow and ringed with purple. He liked her pretty, and alive, and obedient.

So she forced food down, gagging on every bite, whispering his name between mouthfuls.

She didn’t speak aloud often. The silence in the house felt too sacred, too full of his absence to shatter. But sometimes, when it got bad—when the walls felt like they were closing in and the air was too thick to breathe—she’d crawl into their bed, lay on his side, and whisper stories to the pillow.

About her day. About how she cleaned the bathroom. About how she washed his clothes even though they didn’t smell like him anymore. About how she still loved him, even though he hurt her, even though he left her.

Especially because he hurt her. Because that meant he still touched her. Still saw her.

He never let her forget she belonged to him. And she missed that more than anything. The way he reminded her of her place with every order, every punishment, every cold laugh when she cried.

Without him, she had no place. She didn’t exist.

The turning point came one evening, when she was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup she’d made the way he liked it—spicy, thick, with chunks of meat and barely any vegetables.

She’d set the table. Folded the napkin the way he always corrected her to. Lit a candle, because he once told her she looked nice in that kind of light.

And as she turned to set the pot down, the air behind her ripped.

A green light flooded the kitchen, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.

She dropped the ladle. Her breath caught. Slowly, like she was afraid it would vanish if she moved too fast, she turned around.

The portal shimmered at the center of the room—alive, pulsing, waiting.

“Mark?” her voice cracked.

No one stepped through.

She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the container of soup, still hot, clutched it to her chest with shaking hands, and stepped through.

The air changed instantly. It was hot. Dry. The kind of heat that stole breath and burned skin. The ground crunched beneath her shoes. Sand. A desert. Barren and endless.

She blinked, shielding her eyes from the harsh light.

“Mark?” she called, voice trembling.

Silence. “Mark, are you here?!”

She wandered, searching. Every rock, every shadow, every gust of wind made her heart stutter. Her hands shook around the container. She would find him. She had to. He had to be here.

Then she saw them.

Bodies. No—skeletons. Six of them. Some barely clothed. Some with blue and yellow suits torn across sun-bleached ribs.

“Mark…” she whispered, knees buckling. She dropped the food and ran, heart pounding. “Oh god, please no—Mark!”

She collapsed beside the corpses, grabbing at a skull, turning it over—looking for his face.

It wasn’t him. None of them were him. But they were all him. Versions of him. From other dimensions. Her Mark wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t leave her like that—not forever.

Then— “Y/N?”

She froze. Spun around.

“Mark!”

He looked like death. His hair was long, wild. His eyes sunken, cheeks hollow. His suit was torn, caked in dried blood and dirt. His hands… his hands were red, dripping with blood.

She didn’t care.

“I—I came for you,” she said breathlessly. “I brought you dinner—I thought—maybe you missed my cooking—”

He tackled her to the ground, pinning her beneath him. His weight was heavy, his breathing ragged.

“Are you… real?” he rasped, staring down at her with feverish eyes.

“Yes, Mark. Yes, I’m real!” Her hands cupped his face, tears spilling freely now. “I’m here. I came to bring you home. I’ve missed you—so much.”

His fingers closed around her wrists tightly, possessively, like he expected her to vanish into dust.

Then—slowly—a smirk twisted across his lips. “You brought me dinner?” She nodded, breath hitching.

He pushed off her without a word, found the container where it had fallen, and tore it open. He devoured it with feral hunger, crouched in the sand like an animal. She sat up, watching him, unsure if she should touch him again.

When he was finished, he licked his lips, turned toward her slowly, and tilted his head. “You really came all this way for me?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “I… I was getting lonely without you.”

He was on her again in seconds—hands rough, mouth hungry. “I missed you too,” he growled against her throat.

When he bit her, she cried out, but didn’t pull away. She never wanted to be apart again.

His mouth moved feverishly—over her neck, her jaw, her lips—biting, claiming, taking. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, dragging her closer into the dust beneath them.

“Mark,” she gasped again, hands buried in his tangled hair, desperate to anchor herself as he devoured her like she was air and he hadn’t breathed in months.

When his teeth sank into her neck again, harder this time, she cried out. Blood welled up, warm against her skin, and he moaned into her flesh. His tongue followed, licking the trail, savoring it like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

“It was torture without you,” he growled, his voice dark and shaking. “You have no idea what they did to me—what I had to do to get back.”

She trembled beneath him, her breath ragged. “I waited,” she whispered. “I waited every single day, Mark.”

He kissed her again—brutal and unrelenting. Not soft. Not tender. But his. His kiss tasted like blood and desperation. Like madness.

“I love you, Mark,” she said again, clinging to him.

He didn’t answer. Just shoved his hand up her shirt, calloused fingers dragging over skin that hadn’t been touched in months. He was hungry for her. For the warmth. For the proof that she was real and here and his.

“You kept my bed warm?” he murmured against her chest. “Or were you crying yourself to sleep?”

She flushed, eyes brimming. “I couldn’t sleep. Not without you.”

He smiled—something vicious and smug and entirely Mark. “Good,” he whispered, biting down just above her heart. “You’re mine. Even when I’m gone.”

She arched into him, moaning, aching in the worst and best ways. “I’ll never leave you again,” he promised, not because it was romantic, but because it was a threat. “You’ll never be alone again, baby.”

And with the blood drying on her neck and the weight of him pressing her into the sand, she knew he meant it. She didn’t care that he was dangerous. She just wanted to be his again. And she was. Completely.

His hands were everywhere—ruthless, possessive, memorizing every inch of her like she might vanish again if he didn’t carve her into his skin. She gasped when his teeth found her collarbone, leaving a mark—his mark—then another, and another.

“I should’ve chained you to the bed before I left,” he growled, voice low, hot against her ear. “You’d be safer. Easier to find.”

“I didn’t leave,” she whimpered, her back arching beneath him. “I waited. I never even opened the front door.”

His breath hitched. That seemed to break something in him. He kissed her—hard, fast, almost frantic. “You really didn’t?”

She nodded quickly. “I didn’t know how to be without you.”

Mark growled again, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes burning. “God, you’re perfect,” he muttered. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His hips pressed into hers, grinding slow and possessive as his hands yanked her shirt up over her chest. “Tell me how much you missed me,” he said, dragging his teeth over the swell of her breast.

“Every second,” she breathed. “I thought I was going crazy.”

“You are crazy,” he whispered, smiling against her skin. “That’s why I love you.”

She gasped when he bit down again, harder this time, just above her heart. His hands slid between her thighs, spreading her open, and she sobbed his name.

“Mark—please…”

“Say it again.”

“Please—”

“No,” he said, licking the blood off her chest. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” she moaned, her fingers clutching at his shoulders. “I love you, Mark.”

He chuckled darkly. “You’re never getting away from me again.” She smiled, a love sick expression on her face, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The air was thick with heat and blood and dust, but she didn’t feel any of it. Not really. Not the ache in her neck where he bit her, not the sting of his nails dragging across her thighs, not even the rough ground scraping her back as he moved over her like a man possessed.

All she felt was him.

She was dizzy with it. With him. The weight of him pressing her down, the sound of his ragged breathing in her ear, the way his body trembled like he was barely holding himself together. He wasn’t gentle. He never was. But she didn’t want gentle. She wanted Mark. All of him. The cruelty. The violence. The madness.

Especially the madness.

“I’ve thought about this,” he said against her lips, hips rolling into her with brutal intent. “Every night. Tearing you apart. Hearing you scream for me.”

“Do it,” she begged, without shame. “I want it. I want you.”

He snarled—actually snarled—and bit down on her lower lip until it bled. She didn’t flinch. She smiled, licking the copper taste from her mouth like it was wine. Her eyes were wide and glassy with tears, pupils blown with adoration and madness both.

He wasn’t her savior. He never had been. But he was her world.

She didn’t even look at the corpses anymore.

She had, once. At first. Thought they were him—that she’d lost him. But now… now she knew. Those other Marks—those other versions of the man she loved—they weren’t him. Not her Mark.

He had killed them.

He’d ripped them apart with his bare hands, left their bones to rot beneath the sun.

And it made her love him even more.

Because he fought through everything to come back to her. He’d faced other versions of himself—stronger, maybe kinder, maybe better—and he destroyed them all. For her.

She didn’t question it. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

He was her monster. Her obsession. Her reason for breathing. And if his hands were stained red with blood, if his teeth were sharp and his heart twisted—then that just meant he matched the thing inside her.

“I would’ve died without you,” she whispered, clinging to him as his body trembled on top of her. “I was already dying. Every day you were gone, I was disappearing.”

“You don’t leave me again,” he growled, thrusting deeper, pressing his forehead against hers. “If you do—I’ll find you. I’ll tear the world apart again. Do you understand?”

“I want you to,” she moaned, her nails dragging down his back. “I want to be yours. Forever.” He kissed her like it was a curse. Like claiming her again meant breaking her all over. And she let him. She welcomed it. Craved it

He didn’t ask. He never had.

His hands gripped the fabric of her shirt, and with a sharp, brutal tug, it tore down the middle. The sound of fabric ripping echoed against the hollow silence of the desert. Her breath hitched—but not from fear. From longing.

He stared at her chest like a starving man, his wild eyes tracking every inch of skin like he didn’t know where to start. His hands shook, not from hesitation, but from restraint—like he didn’t trust himself not to destroy her if he touched her too hard.

And still—she made no protest.

She didn’t cower. Didn’t flinch. Her eyes were wide, glassy with devotion, with need. Her lips were parted in a soft gasp, chest rising and falling quickly under his gaze.

She loved him. Even like this. Especially like this. Feral. Unhinged. Covered in blood that wasn’t his. Bones scattered behind them like discarded trophies.

He was chaos wrapped in muscle and madness, and she loved him so deeply it ached. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t kind. That he never said he loved her back. That his affection came in bruises and threats and rough hands around her throat.

That was his love.

And she would take it all.

His hands grabbed at her pants next, ripping them from her body with the same violence, the same desperation. She was bare beneath him now, exposed to the sun and the wind and his gaze. And still—no fear. Just trembling devotion.

“You didn’t forget me,” he muttered, voice low and breathless. “You stayed mine.”

“I was always yours,” she whispered, reaching for him, pulling him down. “Even when you left. Even when I thought I’d go insane.”

He kissed her again—harsh, messy, hungry. His teeth dragged across her lips, his tongue pressing inside like he needed to taste her soul. His body pressed down, pinning her into the dirt, as if trying to fuse them together.

Soon, his clothes—already ragged and stained with blood, dirt, and god knows what else—were peeled from his body with impatient hands. Hers and his. It didn’t matter. They tore at the fabric together, frantic, feverish, as if the distance between them hadn’t just been months but lifetimes.

His shirt was yanked over his head and tossed aside like it meant nothing—because it didn’t. Nothing mattered except this. Her. Him. The space between them that was finally, finally closing.

His pants were next, shoved down and kicked away, his boots thrown somewhere into the sand. All of it discarded, forgotten. Unimportant.

And then he was bare—all lean muscle, scarred skin, and power barely leashed. His body looked like it had been through war. Because it had. There were bruises along his ribs, long gashes half-healed, old scars from battles she would never hear about. His knuckles were split, blood crusted beneath his fingernails.

But to her, he was beautiful.

Her lips parted in awe, her fingers lifting to ghost along the scars on his abdomen.

“You’re hurt…” she murmured.

He grabbed her wrist before she could touch him fully, his eyes dark and wild. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m worth saving.”

She blinked, caught off guard, but her heart only swelled. “You are. You’re worth everything to me.”

He exhaled sharply, jaw tight. And then he climbed over her again, pressing their bodies together, skin to skin, no more barriers, no more space. His body was warm—too warm—and trembling from the sheer force of what he was holding back.

He didn’t hold back anymore. His thrusts were brutal, but her wet pussy welcomed him. She moaned his name, her nails running down his back. Sweat dripping down their bodies from the heat. But that didn’t stop them. He pushed himself as deep as he could, even throwing her legs on his shoulders.

Her pussy continued to milk his cock, but he didn’t care for her pleasure right now— and she wasn’t complaining. His rough hands grabbing her hips, her breasts, squeezing hard enough to cause bruises. Still, she was happy. This was exactly what she wanted— what she was waiting for.

…he was all hers again.

Every touch, every kiss, was a promise. A reminder that even in the chaos, in the darkness that had once separated them, they were always meant to find each other again. Her body moved with his, responding to him instinctively, desperate to bridge the gap that had been too long in the making.

The world around them had vanished. The desert, the wind, the scattered bones—all of it was a distant memory, lost in the haze of their connection. It was just them now. Her fingers dug into his skin, feeling the sharpness of the muscles beneath, the way he trembled slightly as he held her so tightly, as if afraid she’d slip through his fingers again.

Her name escaped his lips in a broken gasp, and it felt like a vow. Every stroke, every movement, every breath they shared was laced with it: I will never leave you again.

Her heart raced, and she pulled him deeper, kissed him harder, feeling his body against hers in ways she had once longed for but had almost given up on. The pain of the past months, the loneliness, the aching emptiness—all of it vanished, erased by the simple fact that he was here.

And she was here with him.

She could feel his raw need, the desperation that pulsed through him, the way his body jerked with each push, each pull, as though he was making up for lost time. There was nothing graceful about it. It was frantic. Wild. A beautiful chaos.

And she loved it.

“I missed you so much,” she breathed against his neck, fingers tracing the lines of his back, memorizing the way he felt under her hands. “I didn’t know how to breathe without you.”

His breath caught at the words, his lips skimming her collarbone, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Don’t leave me again,” he growled. “Promise me you won’t. No matter what.”

“I’ll never leave you,” she swore, tightening her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. “You’re all I need. You’re everything.”

His hands were everywhere, as if touching her was the only way he could make sure she was real. His grip on her hips was bruising, and still, she didn’t care. It was him. It was Mark. The man who had broken her, who had made her feel like a shell of herself, but who had also made her feel more alive than anyone else ever could. His cock bullied against her cervix, and she gasped.

He was her broken piece. Her obsession. Her everything.

Her heart slammed in her chest as she kissed him again, each moment with him a fresh burn that she never wanted to put out. The heat, the fire, the ache—they all collided until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

And then, as they both tumbled over the edge, a ragged breath escaped her lips, a broken moan of his name, and she realized she was completely, utterly lost in him.

And she didn’t care. Because in his arms, in this moment, she was finally found.

His husky groans were drawn out, raw and low, like the sound of a man unraveling. Every time she clenched around him, his breath hitched, and his grip on her hips tightened—possessive, almost bruising. He cursed under his breath, the words slipping out between moans, rough and uncontrolled.

“Fuck—Y/N—god, you feel…” His head dropped to her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin as he tried to breathe, tried to think, but she kept pulling him under with every movement, every desperate sound from her lips.

She arched against him, her nails digging into his back as she moved with him, matched him, needed him.

He groaned again, long and deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. “You’re gonna drive me insane,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “I’ve gone to hell and back and this—this is what I was dying for.”

She whimpered, “Then don’t stop. Don’t leave me again.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, sweat dripping down his temple, his jaw clenched tight as he pushed in deeper, slower, harder, watching her fall apart beneath him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he rasped, eyes locked on hers. “You’re mine. Forever. Even if I have to chain you to my fucking side.”

And the way she moaned at that—the way she clung to him like she’d fall apart without him—made his mind go blank. His rhythm faltered, desperation taking over. He was lost in her. Lost in the way she looked up at him with those tear-filled eyes, like he was both her damnation and her salvation.

And in a way… he was.

Their bodies moved in a feverish rhythm, sweat-slicked and tangled together in a dance that felt both sacred and savage. Every thrust was a promise—violent and tender, desperate and possessive. Her cries were muffled against his throat, and his growls rumbled deep in his chest, shaking through both of them like thunder.

She clung to him like he was air—like she’d suffocate without his touch. And maybe she would. Maybe she already had, in those long months without him, with only the memory of his hands and his voice to keep her warm at night.

He was all she knew.

He was all she wanted to know.

Mark gritted his teeth as she clenched around him again, eyes fluttering shut. His whole body shuddered—he was losing control, losing sense of everything that wasn’t her. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her throat, her thigh as he lifted it to sink in deeper. He didn’t want to be gentle. He wanted to remind her who she belonged to.

“You were made for this,” he growled against her lips. “Made for me.”

“Yes,” she gasped, tears streaking her cheeks, her voice ragged from crying and moaning and begging for more. “All yours—Mark, I’m yours.”

He slammed into her harder, a snarl ripping from his throat. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she whimpered, lips trembling. “Only yours. Always.” That broke him.

He buried himself in her with a groan that sounded like agony and bliss all at once. His arms wrapped tight around her, crushing her to his chest as if he could pull her inside himself and keep her there—safe, hidden, his.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he muttered into her neck, his breath ragged and hot. “You don’t breathe without me.”

She nodded frantically, sobbing with pleasure. “I don’t want to—I only want you—please, Mark, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Even as the world around them burned dry and lifeless, she bloomed under him like something reborn. And he—feral, bloodstained, half-mad—worshipped her the only way he knew how: With teeth. With hands. With every broken, burning part of himself that had clawed through dimensions just to feel her like this again. And she took it all. She welcomed the monster. Because she loved him.

Mark’s breathing was still ragged as he held her close, his arms trembling—not from weakness, but from the overwhelming need to keep her with him. He buried his face in her neck one last time, kissing the bruises he’d left with a strange gentleness that didn’t match the wild way he’d claimed her.

And then, without a word, he stood.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, arms clinging to his shoulders. His skin was still warm, damp with sweat and streaked with grit, but she didn’t care. She curled against him like she belonged there—and she did.

She lifted her head slowly, eyes scanning the horizon. The heat shimmered in the distance, making the world feel warped and unreal. But there—just ahead—a flicker of green light, distorted and hazy like a dream, hovered in the air.

“There,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, pointing toward the still-open portal. “That’s home.”

Mark’s bloodshot eyes followed her gesture. His jaw clenched.

The word home hit something in him.

He started walking, each step firm, purposeful. The wind whipped around them, carrying the scent of dust, bones, and death—but she didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. The past didn’t matter now. The skeletons of the other Marks, the blood on his hands—it was nothing compared to the fact that he was holding her now.

He was coming home.

With her.

She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—familiar, wild, comforting in the most twisted way. She kissed the underside of his jaw gently, her heart thudding hard in her chest.

The closer they got to the portal, the more she worried it would disappear before they reached it. But it didn’t.

It waited—still, glowing, pulsing softly—like it knew she would find him. Like it had been waiting for them both.

Mark paused just before stepping through. His grip on her tightened slightly, and for a second, he looked back—just once—at the barren, blood-soaked desert that had become his hunting ground. His prison. His purge.

Then he looked down at her. And stepped forward. They vanished into the green light, swallowed by it—together.

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 2

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.4k

warning: language, mention of injury

heres chap 2 guysss !!! im tryna follow the ideas u guys gave me, so im not 100% sure if its exactly what yall had in mind, but im gonna slowly build it up from here 🤞🏽 hopefully there’s no mistakes and it all makes sense cause i wrote the last bit of this chapter and read through this half asleep 😭 anywaysss hope u guys enjoy 🫶🏽

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It was still early, but the campus was already alive. The buzz of conversation, the shuffle of students walking to class, and the occasional skateboard rolling past made it feel like the world had hit play again. Paige stood by one of the low stone benches just outside the library, sunlight hitting her face while a gentle breeze played with the hem of her hoodie.

She was early, way too early, but she’d never admit she was nervous. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs scrolling through Instagram, even though she hadn’t really seen a single post. She kept checking her reflection in the dark screen anytime it dimmed. Hair was decent. Fit looked casual but intentional. Nothing screamed I’m trying, even though she absolutely was.

Calm down, she told herself for the twentieth time. It’s just tutoring. You need help. That’s all it is.

A group of students passed by laughing, and Paige looked up, spotting Caroline a few feet away walking with her coffee, headed her direction. She was with Aubrey, Ice, and KK all of them talking shit about something and laughing loudly. Paige already regretted her decision to come to this part of campus.

Caroline smirked the second she saw Paige. “So,” she said, greeting her with a little side hug. “You texted Azzi?”

Paige gave her a side-eye. “How do you already know that?”

“She told me last night,” Caroline said innocently, sipping her coffee.

Aubrey lit up. “Wait, wait, you messaged her? Already? Damn, that didn’t take long.”

KK raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on? Who’s Azzi?”

Caroline turned to her with a smile. “Azzi’s my best friend. She’s super smart. Paige needed help with some classes, so I suggested Azzi could tutor her.”

“And I said I was fine,” Paige muttered.

“And then you texted her anyway,” Aubrey said, grinning. “Knew you would. Couldn’t go under 24 hours without seeing her again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige said under her breath, adjusting her bag strap to have something to do with her hands.

Ice laughed. “Hold on, is this the same Azzi girl that Aubrey said had you all flustered yesterday?”

Aubrey nodded proudly. “Yup. Paige met her once and forgot how to talk.”

“I didn’t forget how to—geez, will you all chill?”

KK leaned in toward Ice. “Now I really wanna see what this girl looks like.”

“You might get your chance,” Caroline said casually, checking her watch. “She’s got class with me in a few minutes. She’s probably walking up now.”

And almost on cue, a voice called out from behind them.

“Hey, Caroline!”

The group turned and spotted Azzi walking up to the group of girls, backpack slung over one shoulder, her braids swaying slightly as she walked. The sunlight caught on her hoops, and Paige went completely still.

Azzi looked laid-back and composed, like she hadn’t just unknowingly walked into a firing squad of nosy basketball girls. She gave Caroline a warm smile before her eyes moved naturally to Paige and paused. Her smile lingered, just a bit softer now.

“Hey, Paige,” she added.

Paige nodded quickly. “Hey.”

They made eye contact, and it was enough to set off another wave of chaos in Paige’s chest. She was hoping no one would notice, but of course, the girls clocked it instantly.

Ice nudged KK and whispered, “Yeah, I get it now.”

KK nodded slowly. “Mhm. She’s got that calm, pretty energy. No wonder Paige’s out here acting like a freshman with a crush.”

“Shut up,” Paige hissed through gritted teeth, though her ears were turning red.

Azzi looked toward the two new faces in the group, a little curious but she does recognise them. Caroline jumped in. “Azzi, this is KK and Ice our teammates. KK, Ice, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“You too,” KK said, still smirking. “Heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

Aubrey was barely holding it together. “We didn’t even say anything yet,” she said, laughing. “But sure, Paige. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“Liar,” Paige muttered.

Azzi glanced at her, still smiling, and Paige felt the air shift again so subtle, but it was there. That unspoken thing sitting between them that no one was addressing. Paige quickly looked away before her teammates could start up again.

“Welp, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Caroline said to the group. “Azzi and I have class.”

“Later,” Aubrey called as Caroline and Azzi started walking away. Aubrey turned towards Paige with a smirk so evil Paige felt it in her bones.

Paige groaned. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

“Oh, I’m saying everything,” Aubrey said gleefully. “The way you just shut down when she looked at you? Paige Bueckers, the ultimate rizzler herself, turned into a puppy.”

Ice laughed. “And she didn’t even do anything. She just said hi”

“Fuck off,” Paige muttered, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad. Not really. Because yeah, Azzi hadn’t done anything. And yet here Paige was, heart racing from a single look.

—-----------------------

Azzi settled into her usual seat beside Caroline in the lecture hall, her notebook already open, though the pen in her hand wasn’t moving. The lecture hadn’t even properly started yet, but even if it had, she knew she wouldn’t be paying attention right away.

Her thoughts kept wandering.

Specifically, to the text she’d gotten the night before. From Paige.

She hadn’t expected to actually hear from her, not after how Paige had brushed off the idea of tutoring like it was unnecessary, even laughable.

Azzi had stared at the message for a solid minute before replying.

Even now, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about it.

“Earth to Az” Caroline murmured, nudging her gently with her elbow. “You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Thinking about someone?”

Azzi blinked and turned toward her, caught but trying to play it cool. “No. I mean—sort of. Just… thinking.”

Caroline’s smirk said she wasn’t buying it. “Thinking about how Paige Bueckers finally caved and texted you for tutoring?”

Azzi let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “I told you last night. I was just surprised she actually did it. She looked so confident yesterday like she was going to fake it till finals.”

“Well, she is confident,” Caroline said, half-amused, half-approving. “But academics? Paige only pretends she doesn’t care. Inside, she’s stressing big time when she’s behind. Girl’s too proud to admit it most of the time.”

Azzi tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect her to be the kind to reach out. Especially to someone she barely knows.”

“She knows who you are,” Caroline said, shooting her a look. “You’re the quiet one who actually takes notes and doesn’t worship the ground she walks on. That probably intrigued her.”

Azzi gave her a look. “I don’t worship anyone. I just… don’t care about basketball or any other sports.”

“Exactly,” Caroline grinned, tapping her nails against the desk. “That makes you different. Refreshing, even.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, unsure how to take that. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think I’d actually be tutoring her. It feels weird.”

Caroline turned more fully toward her, her expression softening. “Weird because you don’t know her, or weird because she was lowkey flustered around you?”

“I don’t think it was anything like that,” Azzi said slowly, trying to sound firmer than she felt. “She was probably just nervous about needing help. That’s all.”

Caroline tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Sure. That’s all.”

Azzi sighed. “I don’t even know her. Like, I’ve heard of her, obviously, but we’ve never talked until yesterday. And it was barely even a conversation.”

“You don’t need to know her to notice when someone’s acting different around you,” Caroline said, her tone a little more knowing now. “I’ve seen Paige with a lot of people. She’s got this… guard. But with you? She was definitely off her game.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was starting to feel the flutter of nerves deep in her chest. “You’re reading into this too much. I’m just going to help her study, that’s it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Alright, fine. Just tutoring. But don’t act surprised if she tries to flirt in her weird, awkward way.”

Azzi snorted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Caroline teased with a wink.

Azzi leaned back, glancing up at the slowly-filling lecture hall. “I’m not trying to get involved in anything messy. I’ll help her study. That’s it. No weirdness, no distractions.”

Caroline raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying you like her. I’m just saying… keep your eyes open. Paige Bueckers may be all cool and untouchable to the rest of the world, but around you? Something’s shifting.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the words hang between them as the professor started setting up slides at the front of the room.

She wasn’t crushing on Paige. She didn’t even really know her.

But there was something about the way Paige had looked at her outside, something a little tentative, a little unsteady, that stuck in her head longer than she wanted to admit.

Azzi shook herself out of it and looked down at her notebook again, forcing her mind to focus on the lecture.

Just tutoring. That was all this was.

Right?

—-----------------------

It was 10 minutes to 3, and Paige was sitting stiffly on one of the benches just outside the library steps, her jacket zipped all the way up despite the mild afternoon warmth. She kept pulling at the zipper down halfway, back up, then down again like it was a dial for her anxiety. Her foot bounced restlessly, her fingers twitching every few seconds to check her phone, even though it hadn’t buzzed.

Aubrey was fully stretched out beside her, taking up way more space than necessary like this was a casual trip to the beach instead of her best friend’s slow descent into chaos. One arm was draped over the back of the bench, the other cradling a half-empty iced coffee that had long since lost its chill. She watched Paige out of the corner of her eye with a grin that kept creeping up every time Paige adjusted something for the hundredth time.

“You know,” Aubrey drawled, lifting her cup to her lips, “if I had a dollar for every time you checked your reflection in your phone screen, I’d be rich enough to drop out and live off vibes alone.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “I was fixing my hair.”

“That the same ‘fix’ you did 3 minutes ago? Or the one right after you dabbed your hoodie with water to flatten that invisible wrinkle?”

Paige groaned and let her head fall back against the bench. “Why are you even here?”

“Entertainment. I live for this.” Aubrey shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Besides, watching you spiral over a girl you met yesterday is 10 times more fun than whatever I was gonna do with my afternoon.”

Paige turned her head slowly to give her the most deadpan look imaginable.

Aubrey beamed back. “Seriously though, you’re killing me. You’ve checked your lip balm, like, four times. What’s the difference between ‘subtle shimmer’ and ‘barely there glow’? They’re the same.”

“They are not the same,” Paige snapped, immediately regretting how fast she said it.

Aubrey’s laugh rang out loud enough to make a student walking by turn their head. “You hear yourself right now?”

Paige pulled the hood over her head and groaned into it. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You just hate that I’m right.”

There was a moment of silence as Paige exhaled slowly, pulling the hood back off and sitting upright again. Her knee was bouncing now, the nerves nowhere near subtle.

“I just… I don’t know,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the library entrance. “She’s really…”

Aubrey perked up. “She’s really what?”

Paige shook her head quickly. “Forget it.”

“Nooo, no, no. Don’t back out now. Say it. I need this.”

Paige sighed and looked out across the quad like the grass was gonna give her strength. Her voice dropped just above a whisper. “She’s really pretty.”

Aubrey clutched her chest like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear it. “There it is!”

Paige frowned, eyes still ahead. “And seems smart. Like, scary smart. But not in a loud way. In a ‘makes you feel dumb without even trying’ kind of way.”

Aubrey raised her brows, clearly loving this. “Damn. You’re gone.”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, folding her arms.

“I’m just observing. You’ve had a crush for a solid twenty-four hours and you’re acting like it’s prom night.”

“She’s tutoring me. That’s it.”

“Mhmmmm. You mean she’s ‘tutoring you’ and you’re ‘definitely not falling apart at the seams’ while trying to remember what two plus two is when she looks at you?”

Paige glared. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I’m gonna throw your coffee across the quad.”

“I’ll buy another one. Worth it.”

Paige groaned again, running her hand through her hair. “God, what am I even doing? I’m acting like a middle schooler.”

“You’re acting like a college student with a gay panic problem,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “It’s fine. It’s cute. Just maybe stop adjusting your jacket every time someone walks by or they’re gonna think you’re shoplifting nerves.”

Paige looked down at herself and huffed, trying to smooth it down one more time before stopping mid-motion, catching herself. “Damn it.”

“See?” Aubrey grinned, nudging her. “You’re spiraling. It’s kinda adorable.”

Right then, Paige’s phone buzzed. She yanked it out like it was on fire.

2:57pm

Her breath hitched. She shot a glance at the entrance.

A flash of dark curls pulled into a ponytail appeared just inside the glass doors of the library.

“Oh shit,” Paige whispered, standing up too fast. She quickly brushed invisible dust off her sweatpants, glanced down at her sneakers, frowned at a smudge, then looked back up.

Aubrey watched with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s about to fail basic math but win the gold in gay panic.”

“Okay, seriously. Stop talking.”

“I’m done,” Aubrey said, hands up in mock surrender. “Go learn some equations and maybe flirt like a human person while you’re at it.”

Paige took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her pants, then started walking toward the library steps.

Aubrey called out one last time, “And maybe try not to stare at her!”

Paige didn’t even turn around. She just lifted her hand behind her and gave Aubrey the finger as she reached the door.

Her heart was pounding. Her palms were a little clammy. But she was walking.

Paige let out one last breath.

The second Paige stepped through the library doors, it felt like her shoes were too loud. Like every step echoed through the entire building even though the carpet was doing its best to muffle them. She tugged her hoodie sleeve down over her palm, eyes sweeping over the rows of tables until she found her.

Azzi was near the far corner, by the window. The sunlight filtered through the glass, catching the edge of her curls and lighting up the gold tones like some kinda magic effect from a movie. She had a pencil in hand, lightly tapping the eraser against the page, her other hand flipping through a worn notebook covered in neat little tabs. She looked focused. Comfortable.

Paige was very much neither of those things.

She hovered for a second, literally just stood there, trying to remember how walking worked before finally forcing her legs to move. Her palms were sweaty again. Her backpack felt too heavy. She hoped her hair wasn’t doing anything weird.

Azzi looked up right as Paige reached the table. “Hey,” she said, a casual, soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Paige’s brain glitched for a second. “Hey,” she said, and it came out a little too fast.

Azzi closed the notebook and motioned to the chair across from her. “You’re on time.”

“I’m always on time,” Paige said, slipping into the seat like her limbs were made of static. She regretted the joke immediately. “I mean, usually. Sometimes. Not like always always, but—”

Azzi raised a brow, amused. “You’re good. I’m just saying I expected a minute or two buffer.”

Paige laughed nervously and tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie again. “Yeah, no. I was already out here. Early. Just, you know… prepping.”

Azzi gave her a look like she was trying not to smile. “Prepping to be tutored?”

“Exactly.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath and opened a different notebook, one already half-filled with notes. “Ok. So I looked over the syllabus and the last few slides from class. Want to start with the stuff from earlier in the week?”

“Please,” Paige said, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “That whole section might as well have been written in some foreign language.”

“Alright,” Azzi said, flipping to the page. “We’re still on systems of equations and matrix transformations. Did you get the basics?”

Paige hesitated. “Define basics.”

Azzi didn’t even blink. “Like… what a matrix is?”

“…Is that the Keanu Reeves one or the number box one?”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s start with the number box one.”

She turned the notebook around and slid it across the table so Paige could see. Her handwriting was crazy clean. Paige immediately noticed how she circled everything in soft, pastel highlighters—blue for definitions, pink for formulas, green for notes. It was weirdly calming to look at.

“So this,” Azzi said, tapping the first example, “is a 2x2 matrix. Two rows, two columns. Easy enough?”

Paige leaned in a little, squinting at the page like it might bite her. “Yeah. I think I remember this part.”

Azzi looked up. “You’re allowed to say you don’t. No judgment.”

“I mean, I kind of remember it. It’s more like it shows up and I recognize the face, but I don’t remember the name.”

Azzi laughed again, light and genuine. “Alright, we’ll reintroduce you.”

She walked Paige through the basics, what each position meant, how they worked when you multiplied them, the reason why flipping them could screw everything up. Paige nodded, trying to focus on the numbers, the shapes, anything that wasn’t Azzi’s voice being low and patient or the way her curls bounced when she looked down to write something.

At some point, Azzi switched to a blank page and turned the notebook so Paige could try a problem herself. She watched closely as Paige worked through it slowly, brow furrowed, tongue slightly poking out the corner of her mouth.

“You’re overthinking it,” Azzi said, voice soft. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Paige huffed and leaned back, pencil pressed between her palms. “One step at a time is how I ended up failing that quiz.”

“True,” Azzi said, grinning. “But now you’ve got me. Upgrades.”

That earned a real smile out of Paige. “Yeah. This is definitely better.”

Azzi looked at her for a second, then tapped the page. “You’re actually not far off. You just missed one sign. Wanna try again?”

Paige nodded, gaze flicking back down to the numbers.

She could do this.

Well… she could try.

And maybe, just maybe if she didn’t totally embarrass herself, there’d be more study sessions like this. Not that she was hoping for anything.

—-----------------------

The soft hum of the library was like a low lullaby, comforting in its quiet, yet full of the sort of focused energy only a place of learning could have. Books, notebooks, and pens were strewn across the table between them, yet all Paige could focus on was Azzi.

Azzi was reading the textbook aloud softly, walking her through another set of equations. Her voice was calm, steady, yet there was an underlying intensity in the way she spoke, like she genuinely wanted Paige to understand. Every now and then, Azzi would pause and ask if Paige was following, looking at her over the top of her glasses, and Paige would just nod though most of the time, her attention wasn’t entirely on the lesson.

She caught herself again, staring. Azzi’s hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face, and those glasses—those damn glasses. Paige had to fight the urge to look away every time Azzi adjusted them, because the way they sat on her face, giving her an effortlessly smart, put-together look, made Paige’s stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t quite figured out.

Azzi wasn’t even trying to impress anyone. She was just sitting there, leaning over the textbook, completely engrossed in helping Paige. Her calm demeanor was almost too much for Paige to handle sometimes like the sort of quiet confidence that was magnetic.

She caught herself again, looking at Azzi’s profile as she read. The way her lips moved as she pronounced the words, her fingers subtly tapping on the page as she went through the steps in the problem.

“Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice snapping Paige out of her daze. “You still with me?”

Paige blinked and tried to clear the fog in her head. “Yeah, sorry,” she said, focusing on the math in front of her. She quickly scribbled a few numbers down, even though she was far more focused on the way Azzi was looking at her now, brows furrowed in concern.

“I said we can move on to the next problem if you’re ready,” Azzi added, voice softer now.

“Yeah, I think I got this one,” Paige lied, her words more rushed than she intended. She was trying her best to concentrate, but the math seemed to fade into the background as she found herself distracted by the soft rhythm of Azzi’s voice and the quiet rustling of pages. The way Azzi’s fingers traced the lines of the book as she found the right spot. The way her eyes would flicker from the textbook to Paige every few seconds to check in on her, making sure she was following along. It was like everything Azzi did was just too perfect, too natural, and it made Paige feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you want me to slow down? I know this part can be tricky,” Azzi offered, her eyes searching Paige’s face for any sign of confusion.

But the truth was, Paige wasn’t confused about the math at all, she was distracted by Azzi’s presence, her calmness, the way her voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She gave a small shake of her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Azzi nodded, returning her attention to the problem at hand. She explained the next step slowly and clearly, but Paige’s mind wasn’t really processing it. Instead, she was watching the way Azzi’s lips moved as she spoke, the way her fingers tapped the paper, the way her glasses slightly slid down her nose as she read the equations. Paige couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool Azzi seemed. She looked so unbothered, so calm in her own skin, and it was something Paige both envied and admired.

The longer they sat there, the more the air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken things. Paige could almost feel the weight of the silence, but not in an uncomfortable way, in a way that made her want to lean forward, ask Azzi about her life, about everything that made her the person she was. And yet, every time she tried to get her words together, her thoughts scattered like smoke in the wind.

“Paige, are you sure you’re following?” Azzi asked again, this time with a small frown forming between her brows. She wasn’t accusing or frustrated; just genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige quickly said, shaking her head as if to clear the distraction. She forced herself to focus, finally pulling her eyes from Azzi’s face and onto the equation in front of her. “I think I get it now. Thanks for being patient.”

Azzi smiled softly. “No problem. You’re doing great, really. You just need to take a breath every now and then. You’re trying too hard.”

Paige bit her lip, trying to suppress the chuckle that almost slipped out. “Trying too hard?” she repeated, her voice teasing. “I’m not trying hard enough for this?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes softening as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, maybe you should try a little harder. You’re already getting the hang of it.”

Paige felt a little flame of pride in her chest at Azzi’s praise, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being drawn to the way Azzi sat there, calm and composed, like she had everything under control. And Paige was… well, a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

She forced herself to focus back on the book, willing her mind to follow the equations instead of her thoughts, but it was getting harder with each passing second. She glanced back at Azzi, who was quietly writing out steps on the page. Azzi’s head was tilted slightly, a sign of concentration. And it hit Paige then how deeply she was starting to care for this girl. How much more than just math sessions she was starting to crave.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it,” Paige said finally, trying to focus back in, her voice steadying now.

Azzi looked up and nodded, smiling again. “Good. See? You’re getting it.” She paused, and for a moment, Paige thought she saw a flicker of something in Azzi’s eyes—something warm and unspoken. But then it was gone, hidden behind the coolness of her usual composure.

Paige nodded, forcing her eyes to stay on the page, though her thoughts felt like they were running a mile a minute.

“Alright, let’s take a short break before we do the next one,” Azzi suggested. “You’ve been at this for a while now.”

Paige didn’t protest. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and let herself relax for a moment, her gaze slipping to Azzi again, just long enough to catch her watching her with that same quiet focus. That same soft intensity that made Paige’s heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige didn’t mean to do it—didn’t mean to let the curiosity slip out, but the words came before she could stop them.

“So, uh, what made you agree to tutor me?” Paige asked, her voice softer than usual, as if she was treading into unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but something about Azzi seemed different. Quiet. Like there was so much more beneath the surface.

Azzi paused, her hand hovering over her bag, and then looked up at Paige. For a brief moment, there was that same familiar flicker of something behind her calm demeanor, but Azzi quickly masked it with her usual composed smile.

“I dunno,” Azzi said after a beat, voice casual, “You seemed like you needed help. And I guess I’m a sucker for helping people out, especially if they’re willing to put in the work. You seem like you actually care about getting it right.”

Paige nodded, appreciating the honesty in Azzi’s voice. “I do. I just… get distracted sometimes.” She chuckled softly, but the sound felt more nervous than anything.

Azzi smiled again, a little warmer this time. “Yeah, I noticed.” She shrugged slightly, picking up her notebook and tucking it into her bag. “I like helping people. I used to tutor a lot when I was in high school. It just feels good, you know?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What else? You seem like you’ve got other stuff going on. What do you do for fun when you’re not helping people like me?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, clearly considering whether to answer. Paige almost regretted asking, but then Azzi sighed, almost reluctantly.

“Well, it’s a bit of a random fact, but I used to play basketball. Like, competitively.” Azzi glanced up at Paige, her eyes not quite meeting hers. She continued quietly, “I stopped playing a few years ago. Tore my ACL in a game, but that’s not the reason I quit. I just… lost the love for it, I guess.”

Paige blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. Azzi, with her calm confidence, so different from the athletes Paige was used to, didn't seem like the type who would’ve played a sport like basketball. “You played? For how long?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers tapping against the desk idly. “Since I was a kid. But by the time I hit high school, I wasn’t really feeling it anymore. It wasn’t about the injury. I could’ve come back after the rehab. But after a while, I just realized it wasn’t my thing anymore.” She paused for a moment, eyes flickering to Paige, then away again. “I guess I was just… over it.”

Paige couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at her lips. She knew how much basketball meant to her. The idea of walking away from it, losing that love—she couldn’t imagine it. “So, what did you end up doing after that?”

Azzi gave a small smile, almost wistful. “I got more into school. Focused on things I could control, you know? It’s where I found my rhythm again.”

It was almost like she was shutting that chapter down, not wanting to revisit it. But Paige didn’t press further. It was clear that basketball, once a major part of Azzi’s life, had faded into something she didn’t want to talk about too much.

“Sounds like you figured things out,” Paige said softly, leaning back in her chair, watching Azzi carefully. “I respect that.”

Azzi finally met Paige’s gaze, her expression softening a little. “Yeah, well… I guess everyone finds their own way eventually.” She gave a slight shrug, as if brushing the conversation aside, before turning her focus back to the textbook in front of them. “We should get back to it. I think we’re almost done with this chapter.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, a thousand questions swirling in her head, but she could tell Azzi wasn’t quite ready to share more. And for now, Paige was okay with that. She’d already learned something important—that Azzi was much more than the quiet, composed classmate/tutor sitting across from her. There was depth to her, layers that Paige would have to be patient to peel back.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Paige finally said, refocusing on the math in front of her. “Let’s finish this up.”

As Azzi started explaining the next set of equations, Paige felt a little more settled. They were getting somewhere, and for the first time, Paige wasn’t just focused on the math in front of her. She was focused on Azzi, her presence, the way she spoke, the little things she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just about the lesson anymore. It was about being with Azzi, understanding her in ways that went far beyond equations and textbooks.

—-----------------------

They finished the last practice question with a shared sigh of relief. Azzi leaned over, checking Paige’s final answer with a quick glance, then nodded in approval.

“Yep. You got it.”

Paige blinked down at the scribbled page. “Wait… I did?”

Azzi chuckled, a genuine laugh that made Paige’s chest feel weirdly warm. “You’re improving. You just need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Paige muttered, setting her pencil down and rubbing at her temple. “But I’ll take the dub.”

Azzi started to neatly organize  everything back into her bag. “I think that’s enough math for one day.”

“Agreed,” Paige said, stretching again. “My brain’s officially fried.”

Just as she grabbed her water bottle and leaned back in her chair, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the library.

“Yo, Azzi.”

Paige looked up and instantly regretted it.

Strutting toward them like he owned the place was Jace McCallister—tight end on the UConn football team, cocky smirk permanently etched on his face, confidence dripping off him like cologne. Paige knew him. Everyone did. He was loud, flashy, and flirted like it was a full-time job. The kind of guy who wore his jersey to class and thought everyone should thank him for showing up.

Azzi glanced up, face unreadable. “Hey.”

Jace leaned casually against the edge of their table, not even glancing at Paige. “Just wondering when our next session is? You free this week?”

Paige’s brows knit. Our session?

Azzi nodded politely, unfazed. “Yeah, I think tomorrow. Same time?”

“Perfect.” He flashed her a grin. “Can’t say no to learning from the smartest girl on campus.”

Azzi’s lips pulled into a tight, polite smile. “Well thank you.”

Jace chuckled and finally glanced at Paige, as if just noticing her. “Oh. Hey, Bueckers.”

“McCallister,” Paige replied, voice flat.

He raised a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a tutor too.”

“She doesn’t,” Azzi cut in smoothly before Paige could answer, her tone calm but firm. “We’re just going over some extra stuff.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just watched the exchange, something unsettled building in her chest. She knew Jace. Knew his reputation. And the way he was looking at Azzi now, like she was the next thing to win over, made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t care. It was just tutoring.

But still.

Jace winked, then tapped the table. “Catch you later, Azzi.” He turned and walked off, not a single ounce of subtlety in his swagger.

Paige stared after him, jaw tight.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath.

Azzi looked over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly, shaking her head. “Just… don’t like that guy.”

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Why not?”

“He’s a walking ego,” Paige said, grabbing her stuff. “And he’s a player. Like, in every sense of the word. He’s not exactly subtle about who he hits on.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just zipped her bag and stood up. “He’s harmless.”

“Sure,” Paige muttered, a little sharper than she meant to. “Just be careful, okay?”

Azzi blinked, surprised at the tone. Paige ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

“Sorry. That came out weird. Just forget it.”

Azzi gave her a long look, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

They walked in silence toward the library exit, Paige internally screaming at herself. ‘It’s not that deep. She’s not yours. You’re literally just studying.’ But no matter how many times she told herself that, her clenched jaw said otherwise.

As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, a small group of girls standing near the library steps caught sight of them—specifically Paige.

“Oh my god, that’s Paige Bueckers,” one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Before she could even react, one of them stepped forward, all smiles and nervous energy. “Hi! Sorry, we don’t wanna bother you, but could we maybe get a picture? We’re huge fans.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard but immediately smiled.

“Of course,” she said, already stepping toward them, voice warm and friendly. “What’s your name?”

One of them nearly melted. “I’m Sam. This is Ava and Kayla.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Paige said, handing her phone to one of them after snapping a few selfies together. “You guys coming to the game on friday?”

“Yeah! We can’t wait! Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Paige said sincerely. “I’ll try to put on a show for y’all.”

They grinned, waved, and scurried off giggling, still whispering to each other as they walked away.

Azzi stood a few feet back, arms loosely crossed. Watching.

Paige turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Azzi shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t expect what?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You being… like that. With people.”

Paige tilted her head. “Like what?”

Azzi gave her a soft shrug. “I guess I thought you’d be more… I dunno. Big-time athlete energy. Standoffish. You’re not.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, amused. “So you thought I’d be a bitch?”

Azzi smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it, though.”

Azzi’s smile widened just slightly. “Maybe. A little.”

Paige laughed. “Damn. That’s cold.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on her, more thoughtful now. “You surprise me. In a good way.”

And Paige couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as they started walking again, side by side.

They walked in silence again for a bit, the quiet not uncomfortable—just filled with a weird hum Paige couldn’t place. It clung to her like static, buzzing beneath her skin every time she glanced over and saw Azzi walking next to her, face calm, unreadable as always.

When they reached the small fork in the path outside the library, Azzi finally slowed to a stop.

“This is me,” she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

Paige stopped too, a little slower. “Right. Yeah.”

Azzi looked up at her. “That wasn’t too painful, was it?”

Paige snorted. “I mean… there were a few moments where I considered setting my notebook on fire.”

Azzi smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“Thanks to you.”

There was a beat of quiet. Paige swallowed and scratched at the back of her neck. “So… when do you wanna do this again?”

Azzi tilted her head, thinking. “I’m free Thursday evening. If that works?”

Paige nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi gave her a small nod. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

“Cool,” Paige said, trying not to sound weird. “Coolcoolcool.”

Azzi’s brows lifted just slightly. Paige looked down at the ground, internally facepalming.

Azzi smiled again, more to herself this time. “You’re kind of strange.”

Paige looked up. “Rude.”

Azzi started walking backwards slowly, smirking. “But I mean that in a good way.”

Paige watched her go, lips twitching. “Sure you do.”

Azzi turned around and gave a small wave over her shoulder. “Later, Paige.”

Paige stood there for a second too long after she was gone, staring at nothing in particular. Then she finally exhaled, rubbed her hands over her face, and mumbled under her breath.

“Fuck.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[boyfiechan]

[The Series: Unscripted, Act I: Practice Run]

…or the one where your quiet roommate turns out to be a camboy, and you offer to help—just for money, of course.

Camboy!Bang Chan x Reader Notes: I present once again another instance of porn that pretends to have a plot, but that's the charm of this blog at this point. Don't get used to this one, it will get dirty pretty soon, Content Warnings: AFAB reader, explicit sexual content, masturbation, self-exploration, handjobs, explicit language, on-camera activities, blindfold play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, private filming for money. [18.3k words] [The Series: Masterlist]

You'd always sensed something peculiar about the way Chris lived, but it was the kind of peculiar that didn’t make you feel uneasy, more like a quiet, private kind of strangeness, the kind that comes from living in such close proximity to someone yet knowing so little about the life they lead beyond the hum of the kitchen. You and him weren’t close, not by any stretch, not really, just coexisted fine enough. Roommates by circumstance, not by friendship—he was polite in a distant, unapproachable way, worked late, kept to himself, and always paid his rent with an almost mechanical punctuality. There wasn’t much else to think about.

You’d noticed him once or twice, the soft glow of his screen slipping under the crack of his door, the quiet, steady click of keys when you passed by on your way to bed. You’d assumed the rest. Freelancer, maybe, gamer, probably. Night owl, definitely. You never thought much beyond that, until the night you lingered too long in the dark outside his door.

It had started like any other night could, the apartment was silent, all the lights off but his, a faint purple glow leaking under the crack of his door. The kind of light that seemed to pulse rather than shine, low and velvety, painting the hallway walls in soft violet bruises that shifted each time he moved inside. You hadn’t meant to stop, not really, and you couldn’t quite say what made you do it. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was the sound of something you weren’t supposed to hear—his voice, low and slow, murmuring words that were too smooth, too sweet, too soft to belong to anything as mundane as ordinary conversation.

You’d stood there, at first, with the lazy excuse of adjusting your phone brightness, scrolling mindlessly, pretending you were just passing by—until the gap in his door pulled your eyes downward, and you saw the outline of him.

The first thing you noticed was his posture. Slouched low into the wide chair he kept near his desk, thighs spread carelessly wide, a lazy sprawl that didn’t suit the version of him you knew from the kitchen. He was bare-chested, the lean stretch of his stomach visible even under the violet wash of the LED lights, sweat-slicked in the way that suggested he’d been at this for a while. His hand was wrapped around his cock, slow and unhurried, stroking in smooth, practiced pulls, the kind of touch that looked less about chasing release and more about feeding some unseen audience. His head tilted back against the chair, lips parted, throat shifting on shallow breaths as his other hand brushed over his stomach, fingers dancing higher now and then to tease his chest, the pads lingering over his nipples when his grip tightened between his legs.

And his voice. God, his voice, you’d never heard him speak like that before, that lazy, drawling murmur that bled through the air like syrup, low and intimate, every word softened by the quiet slur of arousal. You couldn’t hear the exact phrasing, but the tone was enough—coaxing, teasing, the same way someone might speak to a lover lying close. But he was alone.

Or so you thought, until his head shifted slightly, chin dipping forward, and his gaze slid to the side, right where the camera sat, perched on his desk like the world’s most private audience. The red recording light glowed steadily in the dark, and his lips pulled into the faintest curve of a smile, and just like that, you knew.

You should’ve left, you should’ve turned, quietly padded back to your room, buried the image under your pillow and never looked at him the same way again. But you didn’t, you stayed, watched, felt the heat rise in your face, the sharp little pinch of breath catching in your chest. The longer you stood there, the more you felt it, an undeniable certainty creeping in that he knew you were there, that he could feel your presence just beyond the door, as if the space between you had suddenly shrunk to nothing.

His strokes slowed as his body shifted just enough, eyes flickering toward the camera, then past it, toward the door with the faintest tilt of his head, as if inviting something invisible closer. You stayed rooted in place, pulse thudding hard enough you thought it might carry through the floorboards, until the quietest sound of release slipped from his throat—soft, breathy, a sharp little groan as his stomach tensed, and his fist curled tighter around himself, the glow of purple light catching the thick stripe of cum that spilled over his knuckles.

You left before he could clean up, before the camera could stop recording, before you had to admit to yourself that you wanted to stay longer.

The morning in the apartment sat heavy in the quiet, wrapped in that lazy kind of stillness that only happens when two people are avoiding the same unspoken thing. You’d heard him moving around the kitchen before you’d dared to leave your room, the soft clink of a mug against the counter, the low rush of the kettle, cupboard doors opening and closing in no particular hurry. His routine was the same as always, and yet everything felt altered, like the world had shifted an inch sideways overnight and neither of you were ready to acknowledge it.

When you padded into the kitchen, bare feet against cold tile, Chris was already leaning back against the counter, coffee mug in hand, dressed in the same lazy mix of sweats and an old black t-shirt, the fabric clinging faintly to the damp curve of his collarbone, hair still pushed back and tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with the mirror that morning. His eyes flicked toward you when you walked in, and for the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth lifted, soft and unassuming, as if the night before had been nothing but a strange shared dream. It was you who broke the silence, the air thick with the unspoken, your voice a fragile disruption in the quiet that had stretched between you, like a thread about to snap.

You know, you started, voice light, curling your fingers around the edge of the counter as you stood opposite him, for someone who lives in permanent mood lighting, your room actually looked kinda nice last night. His brow arched, slow, deliberate, but his mouth didn’t lose that faint, easy smile. Yeah?

You nodded, reaching past him for the sugar jar, your shoulder brushing his arm for the briefest second, and you tried not to think about how warm his skin felt, how different it was to stand this close in the dull, forgiving light of morning. Yeah. That purple wash you’ve got going on—hard to get it even, especially if you’re using LEDs. Most people overdo the saturation or blow out the highlights. Yours was pretty clean. Chris let out a soft huff of air, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and sipped at his coffee. It took me forever to get it to look decent. I kept getting washed out.

You glanced sideways at him, watching the way the steam curled from his mug, the casual slump of his shoulders, the soft gravel still lingering in his voice, the kind of voice that, if you closed your eyes, might have still sounded exactly like the one that had whispered to a camera the night before. Yeah, purple’s tricky. You have to balance the white point or your skin turns grey. Most people don’t bother. But yours looked...good.

The pause after that wasn’t heavy, if anything, it felt easy, comfortable, like the two of you had silently agreed to dance around the real topic, circling it, brushing fingertips along the edges without ever fully picking it up. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend, stood there with the same calm ease he always had, like the parts of himself you’d seen—the ones you weren’t supposed to—weren’t worth hiding. Guess I got lucky, he murmured, gaze flicking toward his mug, thumb tapping lightly against the handle. Or...just a lot of practice.

The quiet stretched, soft and pliant, and you let it. Let the weight of the unspoken sit between you, unthreatening. The distance between I saw you and I know you know I saw was a thin, crumbling line neither of you seemed in a rush to cross. Practice, huh? you echoed, voice dry but fond. Yeah, I bet. He looked at you then, properly, over the rim of his mug, dark eyes steady but not sharp, just watching, a flicker of something unspoken, a shared secret, a silent understanding, a space carved out between your ribs and his chest where the moment settled, warm and strange. And just like that, the conversation drifted back into safer waters—the weather, groceries, the next door neighbor’s awful music taste—both of you too skilled at sidestepping to let the truth drag you under so soon.

It wasn’t like the two of you suddenly grew closer after that night, but something shifted. Something subtle, quiet—the kind of shift that didn’t alter your routines, but made the space between them feel different. He was still Chris: quiet, calm, always with his head bent over his laptop or his phone, bare feet propped up on the coffee table, coffee mug perpetually half-full and cooling at his side. But the silence between you wasn’t the same, not heavy, not uncomfortable—just aware.

It crept into little things, like the way you lingered longer on the couch when he was already there, tucked under a blanket with his laptop open, the soft tap-tap of his fingers against the keyboard keeping you company while the muted flicker of some mindless sitcom lit the room. He never seemed to mind, if anything, he looked content, quietly so, like he’d grown used to your presence there, and the way your socked feet ended up resting on the same edge of the table, toes nearly brushing.

Or the way he started offering you the last slice of pizza instead of just assuming you’d already eaten enough, his voice warm and dry when he’d nudge the box toward you. Take it. I know you’ve been eyeing it for the last ten minutes, and you’d roll your eyes, but your hand would still reach for the slice. Or the nights when the apartment felt too still, too late, and you’d both end up in the kitchen again, hands brushing as you reached for the kettle, neither of you commenting on how the soft glow of the stovetop light painted his face—sharp jaw softened by the dimness, curls wild from his constant running of fingers through them, dark eyes ringed faintly with exhaustion but still steady, always steady.

You don’t sleep much, do you? you’d asked once, voice low, the question casual but honest. He’d only shrugged, lips quirking at one corner. Neither do you.

It was hard to argue with that.

You weren’t friends in the way some people were, the kind that shared playlists or went out drinking or curled up on the same side of the couch, but there was a comfort between you, easy and quiet, laced with something deeper you both danced around, a low hum beneath the surface, a shared, unspoken thing. And when his door glowed purple at night, you noticed, you always noticed.

And sometimes, you wondered if he kept the door cracked on purpose.

The apartment felt smaller that evening, not in a physical sense but in a way that made the quiet between you and Chris feel almost palpable, like a thread pulled too tight between the two of you. The soft hum of the city outside was drowned by the thrum of his headphones, his usual go-to for when he didn’t want to be bothered, but he hadn’t put them on tonight. His attention, however, remained firmly on the screen in front of him—fingers moving in quick, practiced motions as he adjusted the angles of his camera, rearranging the lens so it caught the soft gleam of the neon lights behind him. The soft purple glow filtered across his features, washing over his skin and highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the quiet curve of his lips as he muttered to himself under his breath.

You weren’t sure when it had become a habit to sit across the room and just watch him, but tonight it felt different, less like an intrusion and more like something else. You’d told yourself you were just curious, but the quiet rhythm of his movements, the way he settled into the moment, calm and precise was like a magnet pulling you closer without you even realizing it. A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye broke the spell, as Chris had stopped adjusting the camera, tilting his head slightly as if waiting for something. He was staring at the reflection of the room on the screen now, eyes sharp behind the black baseball cap resting on his head and it wasn’t until you caught his gaze through the faint glow of the monitor that you realized he had been aware of you all along.

For a second, neither of you said anything, then, with a low chuckle, he leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his chest. You know, I thought you might feel uncomfortable. Or maybe think it was a little spooky, finding out something like that, he said, his voice calm but tinged with something like amusement, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. You blinked at him, feeling the weight of his words settle for a moment. His gaze was still on you, but there was a softness in it now, as though he wasn’t quite sure what you’d say, but you didn’t feel uncomfortable, not really. If anything, you felt more intrigued by him now than ever before.

It wasn’t an unpleasant sight, you answered with a teasing tilt to your voice, leaning back slightly against the edge of the couch. But honestly, I was more fascinated than anything else. Like... how does it even work, the whole thing? His eyebrows lifted, a subtle shift of surprise in his expression, before he uncrossed his arms and set the camera down. What do you mean? He sat back in his chair, his fingers resting lightly on the armrests and he seemed thoughtful for a moment before speaking, as though trying to find the right way to explain it. How do you even manage to do it? Sitting there, knowing people are watching.

It’s not as weird as you’d think, he began, eyes shifting toward the purple light again, as if considering how best to break it down. Kinda addictive, actually. Knowing people are watching, waiting for you to give them what they want. He paused, glancing back at you. It’s not about confidence. It’s more fun than that. You stop caring what anyone thinks, you just get used to the attention. The smile deepened, the kind of look that suggested he liked it more than he was even letting on. Feels good, knowing they’re hooked on you.

You thought about that for a moment, leaning forward slightly, the words settling in. There was an honesty in his voice, sure, but underneath it was something else entirely. Not distance, not detachment, but satisfaction, like he liked the game of it, the power in it, the knowledge that people were watching and wanting and waiting on him. Like the attention wasn’t something he had to get used to, but something he’d learned to crave. Does it ever get... hard? you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it— though the moment the words left your mouth, you weren’t sure if you meant the nerves or something else entirely. His mouth pulled into a slow, teasing smile, like he’d caught the double meaning before you did.

You mean the job, or something else?”, the teasing hung there for a beat, lazy and warm, before he leaned back a little further in his chair, his voice dropping softer. Not really. That’s the part I like. His fingers drummed lightly against the armrest, his eyes flicking toward the soft purple light before settling back on you. It’s not really hard once you stop overthinking it. Kinda fun, actually. Knowing people are watching, waiting for you to do something that gets them off. His mouth curved again, softer this time, almost thoughtful. You don’t have to fake confidence or any of that shit. You just... let them look.

You nodded, thinking about what he said, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way he looked a little more vulnerable when he spoke like this, like a layer of the calm front had cracked for a moment. I guess that makes sense, you said after a beat, feeling the weight of the conversation hang there between you two. The air in the room felt thick now, like there was something more being said than either of you were willing to admit as Chris shifted in his chair then, his gaze flicking back to the camera, his fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the lens. Yeah, it’s not easy for most people, he said, quiet. But once you’ve done it enough, you get used to it.

You sat back, lost in thought. The idea of it all—the performance, the detachment, the way you had to turn yourself into something else for an audience—it was more complex than you’d first thought, but the way he talked about it made it seem almost normal, like it was just something he had to do, something he’d learned how to manage over time, something he's addicted to. And for some reason, that made you feel even more curious.

The apartment went quieter than usual, the evening winding down with the soft hum of the city outsideas you curled up on the couch, a book in hand, but your focus was more on the quiet, steady movements from across the room. Chris sat at his desk, the vibrant color casting shadows on his features. His face was relaxed, his fingers moving quickly over his laptop as he adjusted the camera set-up once egain, testing, the motion fluid, practiced. You’d never noticed how captivating it was to watch him before, how easily he slipped into this world—this quiet, controlled space he created for himself, But tonight, something about it was different. Maybe it was the way the light highlighted the angles of his face, or how at ease he seemed in the rhythm of his own world, but you couldn’t deny that you were watching him.

Chris glanced up from his screen, sensing your gaze, and when his eyes met yours again, there was that familiar soft smile. He didn’t seem uncomfortable, just aware. I really thought you might think this was kind of weird at some point, he said, a hint of humor in his voice, as if reading the way you were watching him. His gaze was curious, almost inviting. I didn’t think you’d be so, uh, interested? Your cheeks flushed slightly, a small part of you feeling caught. You had been watching him for longer than you realized, and now, the silence between you felt heavier, like an unspoken acknowledgment of the unspoken curiosity.

I mean... You cleared your throat, averting your eyes to the book in your lap, a little too embarrassed to keep staring. It’s not exactly something I see every day. You smiled awkwardly, trying to make the situation less tense. But it's really not, uh... unpleasant. Chris chuckled, the sound low and warm, and there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. I didn’t think it would be, he said lightly, leaning back in his chair, a shift in his posture that made the casual, almost playful atmosphere settle in. He seemed relaxed, encouraging even. You seem kind of... comfortable with it. Is it weird?

You weren’t sure where the question had come from, maybe it was just the curiosity bubbling up, or maybe it was the way the purple light washed over his face that made him seem less like the roommate you’d known and more like someone you were seeing for the first time. But you asked anyway, looking back up at him.

Chris shrugged, his smile soft, but it was still there, that steady calm. I’ve done it long enough that it doesn’t really feel weird anymore. But I mean, there’s always a little awkwardness at first, right? His eyes glinted with a bit of humor, a challenge in his voice. But if you’ve got questions, I mean, I’m not exactly shy about it.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. It was funny how easily he could make it sound so casual, but something in you was still nervous, you didn’t want to come off as too curious, too invasive. Too affected by it. I don’t know... just, like... You glanced down at the book in your hands, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to find the words. How do you do it? I mean, just... put yourself out there like that. Isn’t it... kind of hard? There was a brief moment of silence between you, and for a second, you wondered if you’d crossed a line. But when you looked up, Chris was smiling again, softer now, with something reassuring in his eyes.

It’s not confidence, he said, his voice slow, like he was picking his words carefully. It’s just... you get used to it. You stop thinking about it so much. You kind of just let go, once you've done it a few times. He shrugged lightly, looking almost nonchalant, but the way his hands lightly gripped the edge of his desk suggested something more. It’s just being okay with the fact that people are seeing you. People are imagining you. You nodded, processing his words, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. But the curiosity was there, bubbling beneath the surface, and you found yourself wanting to ask more. It's easier when if enjoy it.

But doesn’t it ever, I don’t know, mess with your head? Like, being in front of so many people, even if you’re not really, you know, interacting with them? The words came out quieter than you’d intended, and you immediately felt a small flush creeping up your neck. His gaze softened, like he could see the uncertainty there as he leaned forward a little, the glow of the light turning his face into a sharp contrast of shadows and soft highlights. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. Sometimes, he admitted, his eyes holding yours. But it’s also kind of addictive, you just learn to focus on the task at hand. His mouth twitched slightly, and his eyes brightened with a touch of humor.

He shifted in his seat, leaned back like he was finally settling into the truth of it. It’s not really about being watched for me. Not exactly. It’s more like… He trailed off for a second, searching. It’s knowing exactly what people see. Controlling it, curating it. There’s something weirdly satisfying about that. Another pause, another glance at you, longer this time. Like, I get to decide how much they get. What they think they’re getting. It’s a power thing, maybe. Or a trust thing. Either way, it’s not just about sex.

You nodded slowly, the air between you both feeling oddly comfortable, like you were talking about something that was almost normal, almost. There was a slight tension in his words, a calmness in the way he spoke that made you realize just how much of a routine it had become for him. That’s... pretty impressive, you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. Being able to control that. To just... do it. His grin softened, and he shrugged again, his tone light. You’d be surprised what you can get used to.

You paused, the conversation hanging there between you like an open question. You had no idea how deep it went, how much more there was to uncover, but something told you, in that moment, that this was just the beginning. He looked over at you, his expression still soft, but there was an understanding there. If you’ve got more questions, just ask, he said, his voice lighter now, like he was inviting you in, like he wasn’t afraid of what you’d say next. I don’t mind talking about it.

The invitation was there, and for some reason, you felt like you wanted to know more.

There was a slight shift in the air, something deeper, unspoken, as you looked at Chris again. His smile softened, almost as if he was sensing the curiosity in your gaze, or maybe it was just that subtle pressure that had been building between the two of you. He leaned back in his chair, turning his attention back to his laptop screen, though his fingers hovered over the keyboard. I won't lie, at first, it was about the money, he said casually, but there was a new tone in his voice, one that was less guarded, more open. I needed the cash, so I did it. But over time, I guess it stopped being just about that.

He glanced back at you, eyes meeting yours, and there was something about his expression, relaxed but also a little vulnerable, that made your heart skip. I guess it's more... interesting now. The whole process. The performance. The way people react. It's like—well, it's not like anything I thought it would be. He shrugged, but his voice didn’t carry the same lightness it had before, there was something deeper there, something that sounded more like an honest admission. At first, it was just about getting by. But now, I sort of enjoy it. I like the control. The feeling of being in charge of the whole thing, of being watched, I guess.

You nodded slowly, processing what he’d said. His admission caught you off guard, but there was a raw honesty to it that you didn’t expect. That makes sense, you said, voice quieter than before, almost to yourself. But then you caught yourself, the curiosity you were trying to suppress creeping back in. But how do you... how does it work, exactly? I mean, like, are you just filming, or... Your words trailed off, the questions almost too many to ask at once. His eyes flicked to you again, sensing your hesitation, but his face softened, almost like he was waiting for you to push, to ask more, to show you were genuinely interested.

There are lives, he said slowly, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. I’ll go on, like, a live stream for a set time. It’s kind of like having a stage but no audience in the traditional sense. It’s more intimate, though, people tip you for what they want to see, and they make requests. Sometimes it’s something simple, other times it’s way more personal. And the pay is really good, like, actually good. You can make a whole paycheck in one night depending on how much you’re willing to do. He stopped for a moment, his gaze drifting back to his laptop, but he didn’t seem to be focused on anything in particular. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk, almost like a nervous habit. And I can choose what to do. I don’t have to follow every request. If something doesn’t feel right, I just... ignore it.

You weren’t sure why, but hearing him say it like that made you feel both reassured and strangely intrigued. It wasn’t what you’d expected, but there was something fascinating about how he spoke about it, something cool and controlled, like he had a whole world of his own that you hadn’t known about before. So you get to pick? you asked, still surprised by how much you were wanting to know. What people want to see?

His eyes flicked to you again, and this time there was a little more amusement in his smile. Yeah, I mean, I’m not gonna do anything that makes me uncomfortable, you know? But it’s weirdly empowering. You get to see who’s paying attention, what they want, how far they’re willing to go to get it. And, like I said, the money’s really good. And sometimes it feels more fun than I thought it would. He shifted slightly in his chair, his voice dropping a little lower, almost like he was sharing a secret. There’s something about controlling the whole experience, the way you can make them want you, even if they don’t know who you are. It’s... strange, but it feels good, in a way I wasn’t expecting.

You weren’t sure how to respond, the words swirling around in your mind but not quite reaching your lips. It was all so much more complex than you’d imagined, more intricate than just a job or a performance. The way Chris spoke about it made it sound almost personal, like a part of him that he wasn’t just giving away for money, there was a depth to it, something that pulled you in without you even realizing it. Do you ever feel, like... disconnected from it? you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before you could stop them. I mean, how do you not get, like, sucked into it? Watching people watching you…

He paused, his fingers halting their rhythmic drumming on the desk and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head, as if he was deciding how much of himself he was going to reveal to you. It’s not just about them, really. At least, not for me. His voice shifted, dropping lower, like he was letting you in on something personal, something raw. It’s about what I’m doing, how I’m doing it. What they see is just the surface. It’s almost like being an actor, but I get to write the script. I’m the one who decides what’s on display.

You felt your breath catch, a pull of something unfamiliar tugging at your chest. You hadn’t expected it to feel this... close, this visceral. There was something magnetic about the way he spoke, like he wasn’t just sharing an experience with you—he was inviting you into it, letting you taste the edges of something you’d never fully understood. You didn’t even realize you were leaning in until you caught yourself, eyes locked on his, the curiosity bubbling up inside you.

That sounds kind of interesting, you murmured, almost to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear. The thought of it, of being able to control every detail, every moment, of crafting the experience—something about it felt like it could be so much more than just a performance, it felt like power, but also freedom. He caught the shift in your expression, the way your eyes softened, the intrigue clear in your gaze. He gave you that slow, knowing smile, like he was enjoying watching you think it through, piece by piece. It is, he replied, his voice low and almost indulgent, as if he were savoring the idea of you understanding it. You should try it sometime.

The words hung in the air between you, thick with something new, something dangerous, and you found yourself almost wanting to say yes. Not because you’d ever planned on it, but because the idea of feeling that—of being in control of the whole thing—sounded far too tempting, far too consuming to ignore. You took a breath, feeling the pull of curiosity turn into something else, something more visceral, more alive. The atmosphere around you felt heavy now, charged with an undercurrent you hadn’t expected to feel, you could hear your pulse quicken, your chest tightening just slightly under the weight of it. Maybe, you said softly, almost without thinking.

Chris’s grin widened, that same teasing glint in his eyes, but this time it was different, it wasn’t just play anymore. It was a dare, genuine. Yeah? he murmured, leaning in just a little, as if testing the waters. We’ll see. And the way he said it, the way his words made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something, made you wonder if you weren’t already in it.

Chris shifted in his chair again, casting a glance over at his desk, and his eyes briefly lingered on the setup of his equipment—the camera, the lights, the laptop as you followed his gaze, noticing how it all seemed so meticulously arranged. There was an air of careful consideration to it, even though the room itself was far from anything resembling a pristine studio. It was homey, comfortable, it was easy to forget that this was also his place of work, his stage.

Hey, Chris said, almost hesitantly, his voice softer than usual as he scratched the back of his neck as if he was unsure about bringing it up. I’ve been messing with the lighting setup for a while now, and I think I finally got the purple light working, but there’s something off about it. It’s not... dramatic enough, you know? I feel like it’s still too harsh on camera. He glanced at you, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that always made you want to reassure him. You seem to know about these things—think you could help me adjust it? I mean, I know it’s not a big deal, but it could make the whole setup look cooler, I think.

Yeah, you said, not even hesitating. You were still somewhat surprised by how natural it felt to be here with him, so comfortable in each other's presence, even after everything that had been said. I can take a look. I'm not a professional or anything, but I’ve played around with lighting before, so maybe I can help you tweak it. You gave him a small, reassuring smile, feeling a slight warmth spreading through you.

You made your way over to his desk, trying to ignore the flutter of your pulse as you got closer. The lights in the room had a strange effect on the space, casting deep shadows against the walls, the purple glow adding an almost surreal atmosphere to the entire scene. You ran your fingers over the setup, adjusting the brightness here and there, angling a few things differently, the way the light hit the camera, the way it caught the edges of his features—everything about this setup was so precise, so deliberate, that you felt like you were taking part in something far more important than just fixing a few lights.

So, you said, glancing over your shoulder at him as you made some last adjustments. You’re going for a more moody look, right? Less harsh, more subtle? If you make the light hit more at an angle, it’ll soften the shadows on your face. It’s more mysterious that way. You let your hands adjust the light again, testing the new angle. It’s all about creating contrast. Not too much, though, or it’ll just look weird.

Chris nodded along as you spoke, watching your every move with an intensity that you couldn't ignore. When you glanced back at him, you saw that he wasn’t just watching the setup; his focus was entirely on you, his eyes dark with something more than just curiosity. For a brief moment, it felt like you weren’t just helping him with the lights—you were helping him with something else, something deeper. You brushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled between you. Yeah, that’s better. Much better, he said, his voice low and steady. Thanks. You’ve got a good eye for this kind of stuff.

Happy to help, you replied with a grin, brushing your hair behind your ear as you looked at the camera’s new angle, satisfied with the results. Honestly, it’s fun. I mean, I can’t imagine how much focus it takes to get everything perfect every time you film.

There was a small chuckle from Chris, and you could tell it was one of those moments where he was thinking about the whole thing differently now. It’s kind of exhausting at times, he admitted, his voice more relaxed than it had been earlier. But yeah, it does take a lot of focus. Especially with how particular my audience can be. But it’s not... It’s not like I’m just doing this because I have to. I actually like doing it. I mean, not just the filming part, but the whole experience. The setup, the performance. It feels good when it’s all done right.

You smiled faintly, feeling the lightness of his confession hanging in the air between you. I can see that, you said, moving back to his chair and sitting down, as if you were continuing this strange little moment that had unfolded naturally. It’s all about the little details. If the lighting’s off, if the vibe isn’t right, it messes with the whole thing, right? You paused for a second, your fingers tapping lightly on the desk. But you’re good at it. You definitely have the uh... confidence.

His gaze flickered to yours, just for a second, then he looked away, running a hand through his hair. Confidence? he said quietly, almost chuckling to himself. That's a way to put it. He paused, his voice dropping lower. It’s control, I guess. That’s the part I like the most. Being able to decide what people see, and what they don’t. It’s a game, in a way. But a game that you control. His voice was steady, but there was something sharper behind it now, a kind of satisfaction in what he was saying, like he was sharing a secret. And that’s what makes it… addictive.

Well, I think you’re definitely good at it, you said, unable to hold back a teasing smile. Maybe you should give me some tips next time I’m in front of a camera. Chris smirked back at you, the spark in his eyes telling you that he was all too aware of what you meant. Maybe I will, he said, the playful note in his voice returning, but there was something else underneath it, something that felt almost like a challenge.

Before you could respond, he hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again, quieter this time. Thanks for helping with the lights. I’ve been struggling with them for a while, kind of nice to have someone else’s perspective on it. You nodded, smiling warmly, feeling that strange connection between you both growing stronger as you sat there in the dim glow of his room and then, just like that, the door to something new seemed to crack open, and the rest of the night felt like it was about to follow suit.

The next morning you found yourself in the kitchen, the soft hum of your phone the only sound as you aimlessly scrolled through it. Chris walked in, and immediately something about him felt different—though the change was subtle, it was unmistakable. He moved with a quiet ease, like something had shifted inside him, settling into place, his usual carefree energy still radiated, but there was a weight beneath it now, as if he was just a little more grounded. His hair was tousled, his hoodie slung carelessly over his shoulders, but it didn’t seem out of place. It was the kind of look that made him seem effortlessly comfortable, like he was the embodiment of a lazy, unbothered moment.

Morning, he said, his voice low and warm, offering a small smile as he reached for a mug, the soft clink of porcelain filled the silence as he poured himself coffee. I've been thinking about last night. The lights really do look better now. So, uh, thanks again for the help. You glanced up, your gaze meeting his for a beat before you pushed your phone aside. No problem, you replied, a playful grin tugging at your lips. I’m just glad I could be of use.

He laughed softly, clearly entertained. Yeah, it definitely feels less overwhelming now. I guess I owe you one. He took a long sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if toying with an idea. Maybe I should hire you full-time. You know, like a lighting consultant or something. You’ve got a real talent for it. His voice was teasing, but there was something behind his words that made it sound more serious than a joke.

You raised an eyebrow, stifling the urge to smirk. A lighting consultant? you teased, crossing your arms with exaggerated seriousness. Sounds like a pretty high-profile gig. You sure you can afford me? Chris leaned casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Oh, I can definitely afford it, he replied with a playful grin. If anything, it’s more about finding someone who gets my vision. He let the words linger, his tone turning almost teasing. And you seem like you get it. You’ve got the eye for it.

You laughed, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes. Well, I wouldn’t call myself an expert or anything. I just know what looks good to me. But if you’re serious about hiring me, I suppose I could consider it, for the right price. His eyebrow arched in mock disbelief, clearly amused. Right price, yeah? What are we talking about here, you want to be paid in coffee and snacks?

You tightened your arms across your chest, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. I’d prefer something a bit more substantial. Maybe a steady paycheck? With health insurance and benefits? That’s how I’ll know you’re really serious. He laughed softly, shaking his head at your antics. Alright, alright. I get it. You drive a hard bargain. The playful edge of his expression softened, and for a moment, he was quieter, his gaze more thoughtful. But seriously, if you ever wanted to, I could use someone who knows how to handle the details. And not just the lighting.

Your gaze flickered up to meet his, and the shift in the air was unmistakable, something deeper, more meaningful in the way his words settled between you. It wasn’t just about the lighting anymore, it was everything: the whole setup, the way he worked, the way he saw it all—not as a job, but as an art form in its own right. You paused, the weight of his words sinking in, your mind racing through the implications of what he was suggesting, but before you could respond, Chris flashed a lopsided smile, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark.

I mean, you don’t have to say yes or anything, he added, his voice light, yet with an undercurrent that told you he wasn’t entirely joking. I just thought I’d throw it out there. But hey, if you ever get curious about what it’s like to be behind the camera more, just say the word. We could work something out.

His words lingered, hanging in the air between you, filled with a tension that was both playful and loaded. It was clear he wasn’t asking for anything more than the mere possibility of you joining him in that space, of being a part of something so personal, with no pressure attached. But the offer was there, undeniably tempting, dangling in front of you like a whisper of something thrilling and forbidden as a flutter stirred in your chest, a mixture of curiosity and a touch of uncertainty. The idea of stepping deeper into his world, of helping him with something so intrinsic to him, was both alluring and a little intimidating sparked something within you.

You leaned against the counter, letting the moment stretch a little longer as you weighed his words. I don’t know, you replied, a playful glint in your eye. But you might’ve just sold me. Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer, but I’m gonna need a few more perks to sweeten the deal. Chris chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. Of course, of course. You drive a hard bargain, he said with a smirk. But I think I can handle it, we’ll figure something out.

You both shared a light laugh, the conversation flowing with that familiar, teasing rhythm you’d fallen into over time, but beneath the easy banter, something unspoken simmered between you, a tension building slowly, almost imperceptibly. The more you teased him, the more you could feel it—this pull, something deeper that hinted at the shift in the dynamic between you. It was as if the air itself was thickening, growing heavier with the possibility of something more, something a little more complicated than you’d ever anticipated.

The conversation lingered for a moment in that comfortable space, a soft hum of familiarity hanging between you. Then, Chris pushed off the counter with a smooth motion, stretching his arms above his head. You couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed, the subtle hitch of his t-shirt as it rode up, revealing a sliver of skin before it settled back into place. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make you acutely aware of him in a way you hadn’t been just moments before.

So, he started, drawing the word out with a teasing lilt, his eyes glinting with mischief. Since we're already talking about all this, I should probably give you the full picture. I mean, you saw the lights and the camera setup, but there’s a little more to it than just that. His grin was wide, his usual confidence slipping back into place, but there was something more, an edge to his voice, like he was enjoying the way this conversation was unfolding.

You nodded, intrigued, leaning forward just slightly, your curiosity now more genuine than before. Right, I figured there was more to it. I can imagine how complicated it must be to get everything just right. You let your gaze linger on him a moment longer before speaking again, your tone shifting, no longer casual or playful. But how exactly do you... record? What's the process? I mean, how does it all come together?

Chris raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected you to ask so openly, but then he shrugged, as if it were nothing to him now. Well, I mostly use my camera for the actual recording, but the lighting and background are key. The setup is pretty essential to get the right vibe, you know? The atmosphere. He gave a small nod, clearly proud of how he'd managed to perfect his space. The lighting’s gotta be just right, and the camera angles need to match it. When I’m doing it live, I have the camera up on the tripod and make sure the frame captures everything in a way that’s... well, flattering, I guess.

You listened closely, fascinated. You hadn’t thought about the technical side of things before—it had always just been about the idea of him sitting in front of a camera, doing what he did, but now you were seeing it from a different angle, the thought behind it all. That makes sense. It’s not just about turning the camera on and going for it, is it? you said thoughtfully. There’s a lot of preparation that goes into it.

Chris smiled, clearly pleased that you were picking up on things so quickly. Exactly, he said, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. It’s a bit more involved than just hitting ‘record,’ especially with how I like to control everything. The requests, the feedback—it’s all part of the process. He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side, as if he was mulling over something. Actually, I've had a few requests recently. Some of them are... well, let's just say, more explicit than others. You raised an eyebrow, sensing a subtle shift in his tone. There was a little more tension in the air now, something deeper. More explicit? Your voice dropped into a more serious register, the curiosity clear in your words. You wanted to understand more, wanted to get a better sense of the world he was talking about, the world you were only just beginning to see.

His lips curled into a small smile but his eyes softened, like he wasn’t trying to hide anything anymore. Yeah, well, that’s part of the gig, he said, trying to keep it light, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind his words. But not everything’s like that. Some of the requests are a little more toned down. More about the vibe, you know? And that’s where I thought you might come in. He hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a moment, before he bit his lip as if debating how to continue. I mean, if you’re interested, you could help me with some of the less explicit stuff. Just to get a feel for it all.

You blinked, your heart rate picking up, but you didn’t look away. This wasn’t the same playful teasing from before—it was something different, an invitation, and you could tell he was being serious now. Help you? you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity, the question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. And how would I help, exactly?

Chris ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flickering between you and the space around him, clearly trying to find the right words. Well, there’s things like adjusting the lighting while I’m recording, making sure everything looks right while I focus on...other stuff. It’s really just the technical side of things. I’m not asking for anything too wild, just— He stopped himself and then let out a small chuckle, —well, you know, if you’re comfortable with it. It’s just more about making sure I’m doing it all the right way, you know?

Your mind raced, trying to weigh the situation. You weren’t sure why you felt so drawn to the idea, but there was a weird mix of curiosity and something else, something that made you feel both hesitant and excited. So you'd just need me to be there? To adjust stuff as you go, right? Chris nodded, his tone slightly more serious now. Yeah, exactly. You’d just be behind the scenes, helping with the setup, maybe giving feedback. It’s really just to help me keep everything running smoothly. Nothing that... well, nothing that would make you uncomfortable.

You hesitated, the offer lingering in the air. You wanted to ask more questions, but something stopped you, maybe it was the way his voice had lowered, the subtle shift in his demeanor that told you he was looking for more than just help. Or maybe it was just the fact that you were starting to really think about it, wondering if this was something you could get involved in.

I don’t know... you said slowly, your voice almost a whisper. I’ve kind of thought about doing something like that before. It’s not that I’m not curious, you added quickly, your words tumbling out. I just don’t know if I could actually help with something like that. Chris smiled softly, stepping a little closer to you. Hey, no pressure, he said, his voice soothing. It’s just an idea. I know it’s not for everyone, but if you’re up for it, I think you could help. Plus, I trust you, you know? You’ve already been helpful with everything else.

His words were gentle, encouraging, but there was that spark in his eyes that made you think maybe he was hoping for something more than just your help with the lights. You were unsure, but part of you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to step into that space with him, to see firsthand how it all worked. To be part of the world he’d created. Okay, you said finally, your voice quiet, but decisive. I’ll help. But we’ll take it slow, yeah?

Chris grin was immediate, his eyes lighting up. Of course, he said, clearly relieved but also excited. We’ll take it one step at a time. But, uh, just so you know, once you’re in, there’s no turning back. His grin turned teasing. You might get hooked. You raised an eyebrow, but there was no denying that his words had sparked something in you—a mix of intrigue and anticipation. Guess we’ll see about that, you said with a smirk, the playful tone returning to your voice. Chris only chuckled, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, his gaze intense but appreciative. We will.

It wasn’t until the next evening, when you wandered past his door and caught the faint glow of purple light spilling from the crack, that the conversation picked up again. He’d left it slightly ajar, just enough to suggest the room was occupied but not closed off, like a habit more than an invitation. You knocked lightly against the frame with your knuckles, and his voice answered from inside. Come in.

The room was tidier than it had been the first time you’d seen it, but the familiar setup was still in place—tripod stationed near the foot of the bed, laptop open on the desk, the LEDs washing the space in violet and shadow. He sat cross-legged on the mattress, hoodie slung loose over his frame, hands fiddling with a camera cable, like he was in the middle of untangling it when you’d interrupted. Busy? you asked, lingering in the doorway.

Chris glanced up, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile. Nah, just setting things up for later. His fingers paused on the cable, gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary before dipping back to his hands. You can sit, if you want. You hesitated, then crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the slight dip in the mattress as the distance between you narrowed. For a moment you didn’t speak, watching his fingers deftly feed the cable through the clamp at the base of the tripod, the small clicks of plastic on metal filling the space. So this is what you do, then, you said softly, your voice almost getting lost beneath the hum of the LEDs. Set everything up first and... go?

Pretty much, he murmured. I don’t overthink it. I used to, when I started, now I just turn the camera on and do what I feel like. He leaned back against the headboard, stretching his legs out, his gaze sliding back toward you, as if measuring how much you wanted to know. Some nights I have requests, though, depends. You tilted your head, curiosity sparking again in the quiet. How does it work?

Subscribers send them in. Sometimes it’s super specific, sometimes it’s more open. It’s easy money if I want it to be. His voice wasn’t defensive, no self-conscious shrinking from the subject, just calm, matter-of-fact, like he was talking about any other side job. You toyed with the corner of his comforter between your fingers. Is that weird for you? Having people ask for stuff like that?

There was a short pause, and then he gave a soft laugh, low and under his breath. Not anymore. His eyes flicked back to you, unflinching. I thought it would be, when I first started. But it’s not. I actually I like it. That small confession hung in the air for a second too long, making your throat dry and you tried to swallow the flush rising at the back of your neck.

I didn’t think I’d ever hear someone admit that so easily, you murmured, your voice light, but the meaning curling deep beneath the surface. Chris only shrugged, a small tilt of his head as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. It’s easy to admit when it’s true. The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Your mind drifted through the details you’d overheard so far, trying to stitch them together into a clearer picture.

What type of requests you get? you asked, the words soft but bold enough to cross the line between curiosity and something more personal. His expression didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. All kinds. Sometimes just me, sometimes people want more, roleplay stuff, specific positions, props. I get to pick which ones I want to do. If it’s not worth the money or the experience, I don’t bother. You nodded, trying to look thoughtful rather than affected, though the heat prickling at the tips of your ears betrayed you.

He tilted his head, studying you, his voice dropping just slightly. You’d be surprised how much people are willing to pay for things that aren’t even that wild. Your lips twitched at the corners. And the less explicit ones? you asked, your voice lighter, more playful this time, leaning into the safety of the phrasing. Chris stretched one leg out, foot nudging gently at your ankle beneath the blanket as he answered. Sometimes it’s just stuff like setting a scene, talking, the right lighting, angles, clothing. Making it look real, people eat that up. Doesn’t even have to be graphic.

His hand drifted toward the laptop, fingers ghosting over the trackpad. The screen lit up, and though you couldn’t see what was open, the soft glow danced across his face, sharp jaw, dark lashes against his skin, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as he clicked idly through windows. Actually, he added, glancing sidelong at you, I’ve got a few requests in the queue like that. Low-effort, easy ones. I was going to set them up tonight, but I could use a second pair of hands for the setup. If you’re still curious.

The suggestion came out casual, almost careless, but you weren’t blind to the subtle weight in it. It wasn’t really about needing help. It was about whether you’d say yes. Your heartbeat picked up, though your voice came out even. You want me to help you with that?

His gaze flicked to you, head resting lazily against the headboard now, the small smile returning. If you’re interested. I figure it’s easier than explaining, you’d get the gist pretty fast. He let the sentence hang there, not pressing, but not pulling away either. And you found it harder to pretend you weren’t tempted.

You didn’t answer him right away. The pause stretched long and light between you, a breath caught somewhere in the middle of curiosity and caution, and the weight of it settled like the dim glow washing over both of you from the LED strips running the perimeter of his room. It softened the sharpness of his jaw, turned the dark tangle of his hair violet where the strands curled toward his temple, and pulled every line of his face into something close to cinematic, too clear, too still, too perfect to be real. And maybe that was part of the problem.

He didn’t look real, not like this. It struck you suddenly how easy it would be for him to sit like this for a camera, how practiced the quiet of his body was, how comfortable his mouth seemed curling around bold confessions. How different this boy felt, only a few feet away from you, than the boy you’d lazily lived beside for months. He wasn’t shy about any of it, no edge of shame lingering in the gaps of his sentences, just a soft, open honesty, like it didn’t even register as something worth hiding. Yeah, you said after a moment, voice quieter than you meant, fingers toying again with the edge of his comforter. I think I wouldn’t mind. Helping, I mean. If you want.

His gaze didn’t waver, and you felt it more than you saw it, heavy and unblinking, like the steady, deliberate focus of a lens settling into place. The curve of his mouth barely shifted, just the subtlest tilt at the corner, more acknowledgment than amusement, and then a single, quiet nod. Good, he murmured, the word low and even, threaded through with quiet satisfaction rather than surprise. Could use someone who isn’t just guessing where to put things. Hard to get the angles right when it’s just me.

You let the breath slip out slow, lips tipping into something that wanted to be a smile, even as your chest pulled tight around the slow, unfamiliar warmth unfurling there, heavier than casual, softer than just helpfulness. He straightened, shifting the laptop off his thighs and onto the nightstand, the move smooth and unhurried, and when he leaned forward to reach the tripod, his bare forearm skimmed your thigh—just a glancing touch, light and fleeting, but sharp enough to send a spark snapping through you.

His fingers settled on the tripod, adjusting it with the same quiet precision he’d shown you all night, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped, softer now, like he’d felt it too. I’ll show you what I usually do, he said, almost gentle. Easier to get a feel for it if you see the framing first. You’ll pick up the vibe before I hit record. You nodded, mouth dry, watching his hands move, the smooth rotation of the tripod head, the practiced sweep of his wrists, the ease of it all, like the camera belonged to him, like the light bent for him, like this was muscle memory.

The technical part was what grounded you. For a moment, it wasn’t about what he did in front of the lens, just the practical puzzle of space, shadows, shapes as you asked questions about the lights, about the way the light softened the contrast in his skin, about why he chose certain backdrops. He answered all of them without hesitation, walking you through the small, controlled world he’d built between the camera and his bed.

And you let him, yu let the conversation stay there, balanced neatly between curiosity and pretense, pretending, for now, that you weren’t imagining what the lens usually saw once the frame was set. Pretending the thought of it wasn’t curling hot and low through your stomach. When you finally stood to leave that night, lingering by the door, his voice stopped you one more time. Hey. You glanced back, hand resting against the wood. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, somewhere between playful and sincere. Thanks, by the way. For helping.

You shrugged, feeling the warmth creep across your cheeks again. You’d better pay me if I end up being your assistant. The smile he gave you then was slower, deeper, sharp with something you couldn’t name yet. Maybe I will, he said, voice light but the meaning hanging heavy beneath it. If you’re really good at it. And you couldn’t tell, walking back to your room, which part of you hoped he meant it.

It became a quiet rhythm, almost natural, the way some things fold themselves into your life before you realize they’ve rearranged the shape of your nights. You found yourself in his room more often than not, tangled into the fold of his soft-lit space under the glow of that low, lazy purple hue, like the entire room had learned to breathe slower once the sun dipped and the world outside slipped quiet. It was the kind of light that didn’t press you for conversation, didn’t weigh down the air with expectation, only let it sit between you, heavy with something unspoken but not unwelcome. You started recognizing the way he moved when he was adjusting for his setup, the silent precision in the way his hands shaped the space around him, dragging soft shadows into place, turning the camera by barely an inch at a time until the angle cradled his frame just right. You learned the faint curl at the corner of his mouth wasn’t a smile, exactly, but a sign that the image on his laptop pleased him, that the space finally looked like a scene worth being seen.

Most nights, you left before anything began, before the room turned from his, the quiet, worn-in little box that smelled like clean sheets and him, into the kind of space meant for strangers’ eyes. But not always. Sometimes you stayed long enough to notice the way he softened into the lens, the way his posture shifted not with nerves, but with ease, like his body belonged more to the camera than to himself. And you knew, even if you never said it, that he knew you lingered for that part on purpose, that you watched because you could, and he let you, because he didn’t mind. The quiet between you had never stretched thinner than those moments—stretched so tight, you thought one of you might snap, but neither of you did. Not then.

It wasn’t until later, when the night was thinner and the air pulled colder through the window, that he broke the thread of silence from where he sat at his desk, legs sprawled, body relaxed into the chair like he’d melted into it. His thumb was flicking lazily at his phone, the soft light from the screen washing his face in pale blue and casting his face into softer lines. His voice came out unhurried, like he’d been thinking it for a while and only just remembered to say it out loud. Some of the requests lately are fucking weird.

The words hung in the air, casual, but the undercurrent wasn’t. You shifted on your side against the crumpled weight of his blanket, cheek pressed into your palm, letting your gaze drift over the slow, tired flick of his fingers over the phone screen. Weird how? you asked, light, but genuine. His mouth twitched, barely there, and his head tilted slightly, as if mulling over whether you were actually curious or just being polite.

Some people want really specific shit. Props, setups, full scenarios. Like, outfits and dialogue. Almost like acting, except, you know. Not. His eyes cut toward you, one brow raised, but not unkind. Some pay stupid money for it, though. You blinked, letting the quiet fill itself around you again before your voice nudged back into the space between. Is that, like, normal? That people pay that much for one video?

Yeah. Happens more than you’d think. His head tipped back lazily against the chair, fingers drumming against the armrest now, eyes half-lidded under the muted glow. There’s one from the other night I haven’t answered. Pays almost twice as much as usual, but I don’t know if I’ll take it. The pause after hung just long enough for your pulse to stutter, and when you lifted your gaze fully to meet his, his expression was unreadable, but not cold, just open. Just honest. They want a video of a girl giving me a handjob.

It landed in the room like a soft thud, not sharp, not meant to shock—just a fact, the same as anything else he’d told you. You sat up slightly, fingers pressing into the blanket, smoothing out the fabric in an absent, pointless motion, your throat tightening around the simplest response. Oh.

That was all you managed, your mouth parting like the rest of the thought might follow, but nothing came and he didn’t rush to fill the silence either, only watched the way your gaze shifted, the way your body folded slightly inward, thoughtful rather than uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure if the flicker inside you was surprise or curiosity or something else entirely.

A soft, breathless laugh slipped from your mouth before you could swallow it back, not sharp, not mocking—just light, easy, like the air needed to move somehow as you dragged your nails gently over the stitch of his comforter and looked at him from beneath the soft droop of your lashes, voice lowering. Guess you can’t really fake that one. His head tilted, the faintest smile curling the corner of his mouth, one shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug. Yeah. Not the solo kind of job.

You let the quiet stretch again, but your mind wouldn’t stop folding around the shape of the thought, the strange ease with which he’d said it, the new weight of understanding that this was his life, his body, his reality, shared on demand for money, for strangers, and for pleasure, maybe not just theirs. And before the heat prickling under your skin could talk you out of it, you let the words slip past your lips, quiet, almost playful but too honest for it to be harmless. I’ve thought about it before.

His brow lifted slightly, though his expression didn’t shift much, his attention sharpening just enough to tell you he was listening. Not the, um— you stumbled, cheeks burning, but pressed through it, —not the handjob thing. I mean, being on camera. I think I’d be too chicken for it, though. His eyes stayed on you, softer now, warmer, the curve of his mouth less like a smile and more like an invitation. The pause that followed stretched out, but the tension wasn’t uncomfortable, it was gentle, curious.

Yeah? His voice dropped lower, the barest hint of coaxing under the word. You nodded, pressing your knuckles under your chin, lips twitching with the kind of shy honesty you rarely let show. I don’t know. It’s kind of interesting, I guess. The whole idea of it. But I’d probably freeze. For a moment, he only hummed, a low sound deep in his chest, eyes sliding lazily toward the ceiling as if considering something, before his gaze fell back to you, steady, unreadable.

You’d get used to it, he murmured, voice softer now. It’s easier when you realize the camera’s there for you, not the other way around. You didn’t answer, not right away, only let the weight of his words sit with you, heavy and quiet, sinking just deep enough into your chest to leave you wondering why you hadn’t already left. And even when the night shifted forward, and the room pulled darker around the violet glow, the question you’d left unspoken stayed there, waiting, pressed between your teeth and his.

The conversation didn’t leave you after that. It lingered, quiet and sticky, clinging to the walls long after the night folded itself into sleep, long after you’d retreated to your room and pulled the blanket up over your chest, staring at the familiar water-stained curve of your ceiling with your mind still back there, on the edge of his bed, on the soft purpling light against his skin and the ease in his voice when he’d said it. You’d get used to it. It’s easier when the camera’s there for you, not the other way around.

You didn’t know why those words looped inside your head so easily, why the idea of it—the two of you, the lens, the soft click of his voice against your ear, the weight of his body under your hands—sank deeper into your skin the longer you let yourself sit with it. You told yourself it was just curiosity, just the simple intrigue of a world you’d never stepped into, but the truth pressed harder against your ribs than that. The truth was warmer, hungrier, and when the next night found you perched in the same spot on his bed, knees drawn up to your chest, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone while he finished adjusting his tripod, the words came easier than you’d expected. So… about that request.

The pause was short, but telling, his hand froze on the lens, fingers lightly draped over the focus ring, and his gaze flicked toward you, steady but unassuming, like he’d been waiting for you to circle back to it on your own. What about it? he asked, tone as easy as the way he leaned back against his desk, arms crossing loosely over his chest. The faintest smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, not smug, just patient.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, letting your gaze drift toward the glow of the LED strips washing the edge of the desk, the light pulling soft shadows up the line of his throat. You’d meant to sound more playful, more offhand, but the words slipped out quieter than that. I mean you could do it, right? If you had someone. His brow arched slightly, head tilting as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, thoughtful. Yeah, I guess. The space between you stayed still for a beat too long, stretched thin and humming with the weight of everything neither of you had said yet, until you finally dragged your eyes back to his, voice softer now, more tentative. I guess... you could just ask someone.

Could, he echoed, and his mouth twitched into something closer to a real smile now, though his voice stayed smooth, unhurried. But that’s not exactly the kind of thing you drop on a friend over coffee. You huffed a breath, a dry little laugh easing the tightness in your chest, fingers twisting idly at the edge of his blanket. Yeah, no kidding.

He let the quiet settle again, his gaze tracing the shape of your face, the slow burn of your curiosity now plain, the softness in your posture a far cry from discomfort. You weren’t squirming, you weren’t pulling away, if anything, you looked like you wanted him to press further. So he did. If you’re curious, he started, voice low and even, we’d split the money.

You blinked, your head tilted slightly, searching his expression for some sign of a joke, but he only sat there, still and open, like he wasn’t asking something strange at all. Like it was the most natural offer in the world. That’s how it’d work, he added, softer now. I wouldn’t expect you to do it for free. Especially not that kind of video.

You felt your throat tighten, breath catching behind your ribs, and for a second your mind tripped over the thought—the image of your hands wrapped around him, his voice breaking against your ear, the knowledge of the lens catching every twitch of your fingers, every shift of his hips, the weight of his body straining toward you under the steady, deliberate eye of the camera. It wasn’t just the money, not for either of you. The thought alone made your stomach twist in ways money couldn’t buy.

You swallowed, trying to ease the heat prickling at your skin, trying to keep your voice from sounding too breathless. Wouldn’t be weird? you asked, the question smaller than you meant, softer and his eyes didn’t leave yours, the faintest ghost of a smile shaping his mouth, something warm, something reassuring but no less heavy. Not if you wanted to do it. And you did, you could already feel it, curling slow and sure in your chest, even if you couldn’t say it yet.

You didn’t answer him, not right away. The room held the silence for you, the same way it always did, soft and dim, the purple light skimming lazy across the walls, humming in the corners like it knew how to wait, like it had learned the rhythm of these conversations long before either of you had.

You let your thumb drift over the fabric bunched beneath your palm, a quiet, thoughtless motion, grounding. You could feel the shape of it inside your head already, the weight of the moment, the way it’d go if you said yes, the cool edge of the camera lens hovering somewhere behind your shoulder, the deliberate way his hands would move, how careful, how slow, how utterly unbothered he’d be, even with you that close, even with your hands on him. He’d probably guide you through it with the same easy calm he used when adjusting his camera settings, like it was second nature, like it didn’t mean anything at all that it was you.

But it wasn’t nothing, not to you. And not to him either—you could tell by the way his eyes stayed on you, steady and unflinching, like he was already cataloging your reaction, already learning the shape of the decision you hadn’t made yet. He wasn’t pushing, just waiting, letting it unfurl. Your voice found you again, softer now, barely more than a breath. I don’t think I’d know what I’m doing.

A low sound left him, not quite a laugh, more like something under his breath, warm and smooth, a quiet little pull at the corners of his mouth. You don’t have to, that’s the point. You looked at him. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t joking, just stating it, plain and simple, like it was obvious, like it made sense and maybe it did, because your heart was still skipping in the same tight rhythm, and you still hadn’t told him no. It’s not a bad offer, he added after a moment, shifting his weight against the desk, fingers drumming idly against the wood. You’d be helping. You wouldn’t even have to show your face, if you didn’t want to. Just your hands.

Your stomach twisted at the thought, heat spreading like syrup beneath your skin, slow and thick. You imagined it—the anonymity, the safety in it, the strange, intoxicating thrill of being invisible and known all at once. The camera would catch every detail of what you did to him, every sound, every twitch, every quiet shift of his breath and you’d be invisible to the people watching, but not to him. He’d know, he’d always know and that was the part that had your mouth going dry.

You swallowed around the weight in your throat, managing something between a nod and a shrug. I guess I could think about it. His smile didn’t widen, but something softer flickered in his expression, some quiet understanding. No pressure. His voice was low, smooth as velvet. If you change your mind, just tell me. But you both already knew you’d made your choice, even if you couldn’t quite say it yet.

It was easier than you expected, the first time, easier to fall into the rhythm of it, easier to pretend the camera wasn’t there, easier to act like it wasn’t all slowly rearranging something in the space between you. The lights were warm that day, more yellow than purple, and the room felt smaller under them, softer too, even with the tripod standing tall and sharp against the corner. You’d helped him adjust it for something simple, some shirtless video that barely even warranted your help, just a few clips of him shifting through poses and angles, flexing his back the way he told you the viewers liked, the lens pulling at the slope of his shoulders, the cut of muscle beneath his skin. You held the diffuser at the angle he showed you, adjusted the stand when the shadows on his chest weren’t sharp enough, learned the rhythm of his setup through repetition until it didn’t feel strange anymore, until the thought of your presence there—behind the camera, standing close enough to see the way his breathing changed—felt more natural than the nights you used to spend on your own side of the apartment.

He was still buttoning his jeans when the conversation picked up again, casual, offhand, like it was any other day, any other topic. You’re getting good at this. You’d laughed, quiet but genuine, lowering the reflector you’d been holding as he stretched his arms behind his head, spine arching slow, lazy, until the hem of his shirt rode up enough to tease the shape of his waist. Not the kind of skill I thought I’d pick up living here, you joked, but the words came lighter than you felt them, and your gaze lingered on him longer than it needed to, not even bothering to hide it.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, just that soft little pull at the corner, the one that meant he’d noticed, the one that always came when you thought you were being subtle. You’ve been helping a lot, he said, voice lower now, eyes cutting toward you as he fixed the loose chain around his neck. I’ve been meaning to ask, the air pulled tighter in your chest. You looked at him fully now, the question already hanging between you even before he finished it, you remember that request I told you about?

You did. You’d been thinking about it more often than you wanted to admit, you’d played it through in your head more than once, the feel of it, the way the room would look under that purple light, the closeness of him, the deliberate tension of knowing the camera was there. You could almost picture the sound of his voice if it ever happened—low, breathy, a little unsteady, saying your name, or maybe not saying it at all. Maybe just looking at you like he did now. You swallowed around the thought. Yeah. His hands slipped into his pockets, head tilting slightly, casual but watchful. Still haven’t found anyone for it.

You hesitated, your fingers grazing the edge of the light stand, and for a moment your voice almost didn’t come at all. But the thought had lived in you long enough now, warm and heavy and quietly demanding. I could help, you heard yourself say, so soft it barely reached the space between you. If you want.

The words settled there, hanging between the two of you, and his gaze stayed locked on yours, steady, unreadable for a long moment. Not surprised, not confused, just waiting as if he’d known all along you’d say it, like it was only ever a matter of when. You sure? he asked, the question low, almost gentle. You nodded, exhaling slow, feeling the answer settle deep in your chest. Yeah. If we split the money. That smile returned then—small, warm, and a little sharper around the edges this time, like satisfaction and approval tangled all at once. Deal.

And just like that, it was settled. There was no dramatic shift, no sharp inhale or flustered laughter to cover the weight of it, just a quiet, mutual understanding, the kind that had been growing between you for weeks now, soft and slow and inevitable. Just business, you told yourself, but the way his gaze dragged over you then—the slow, lingering slide of it—felt nothing like business at all.

The days blurred together after that. You and Chris continued in the same pattern, the same rhythm, like the decision hadn’t really changed anything, even though it had. Every moment between you seemed heavier now, thick with a quiet, unspoken tension, but you didn’t dare mention it, instead, you helped him with little things, adjusting the lights, tweaking the angles, getting everything just right. It was almost like you were pretending it didn’t mean anything. Except it did, it did, in every glance that lingered a little too long, in the way your fingers brushed against his when you reached for the tripod, in the way your breath caught in your throat when you had to stand that close to him, watching him work, watching him move.

It was more than just the physical proximity now. There was an edge to everything, an unspoken understanding that, somewhere between the clicks of the camera and the soft hum of the lights, something had shifted, maybe when you had agreed to help him, but you both knew there was more to it than that. You were treading a line, and neither of you acknowledged it directly, but it was always there, pressing, lingering. That night, after you’d set up everything for another round of recordings, he hesitated, his hands pausing over the controls, eyes flicking up to yours. He was quieter than usual.

Hey, he said, voice easy, almost offhand, but underneath there was something else, something quieter, something you couldn’t quite name. His eyes didn’t leave yours. You wanna try it? The words settled between you, deceptively simple, but your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your pulse jumped, breath stalling in your throat. Try it. You knew exactly what he meant—the shape of it, the weight but saying it out loud felt like crossing a line you hadn’t even realized you’d been toeing.

His voice dropped, softer now, careful but coaxing. We could start slow. A beat. Just a simple test, no pressure. See how it feels. And there it was again, that shift. Something different in the way he said it tonight, like the offer wasn’t just about helping, or curiosity, or convenience anymore. Like he was holding something out to you, something more personal, a question wrapped inside the offer.

You sat there, the silence stretching long and thin around you, his gaze steady, waiting, not pushing. And for a moment you thought about telling him no, telling yourself no, turning around and pretending the words had never left his mouth. But the truth was you didn’t want to, you hadn’t wanted to walk away for a while now.

Okay, you said, and your voice surprised you—quieter than usual, but steady, certain, like the decision had already lived inside you long before he’d asked and your lips twitched at the edges, the barest ghost of a smile. I’ll help. The shift in his expression was subtle but unmistakable, his lips twitched up in that small, approving smile, the one that made something warm coil in your chest. Thanks, he murmured, his voice low. You don’t have to worry about anything. It’ll be just like last time, only... more involved.

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the tripod stand as you adjusted the angle once more. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you could feel his presence in the room, steady and commanding, even if he wasn’t saying a word. You could feel the shift, you could feel it in the air, the way it was charged now, thick with expectation, with the weight of something both forbidden and irresistible.

You both got into position, him standing in front of the camera, waiting for you to get everything just right. He had that same quiet concentration on his face, the same practiced calm that made you feel like you were the one who was nervous, the one who wasn’t sure how to breathe. The camera clicked on, its soft whirring filling the room, and you stood behind the lens, adjusting the angle one last time. There was a moment of silence between you two, before he turned to face you again, waiting for your signal and you nodded once, and he exhaled, his breath barely audible as he began to speak into the camera, his usual tone smooth and easy, like this was just another day at work.

But it wasn’t, and you knew it.

It wasn’t until a few days later that the conversation circled back, quieter, more deliberate this time, stripped of the usual teasing ease that had always softened the edges between you. The request still sat there, lingering, unspoken but understood. And finally, he asked again, no pressure in his voice, no coaxing, just that quiet kind of suggestion that left the door open for you to walk through or leave untouched.

You’d agreed before you could second-guess yourself. You didn’t even know why your mouth said yes, only that the weight in your chest felt lighter once the word had fallen from your lips, now you were here, the dim purple glow humming through his room as you sat on the edge of his bed, palms clammy, staring at the camera already set up on the tripod across from you, trained perfectly on the spot where he’d be. Where you’d be.

Chris was calm, too calm. He moved through the space with the same quiet, steady self-possession he always did when setting up a shoot, arranging the lighting, adjusting the angle, testing the focus, tapping his finger lightly against the lens and glancing down at the small display screen to make sure everything looked right. You tried not to let your eyes linger too long on him, bare-chested and relaxed, sweatpants riding low on his hips, the deep shadows cast by the purple LEDs sharpening the lines of muscle that flexed and settled with every small movement.

And then, when there was nothing left to fiddle with, he turned to you, holding a soft black eye mask in his hand, the strip of fabric dangling loosely from his fingers. His voice was softer this time, more private, like the space between you had tightened even though he hadn’t moved. I figured this might help, he said, offering it to you. So you don’t have to feel like I’m watching you the whole time. You can go at your own pace. Your throat was dry, your voice barely a whisper. You trust me with that?

A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, not teasing, not sharp, just warm, like he’d known the answer long before you’d asked the question. Yeah. I do.

And just like that, the fabric was tied over his eyes, knotting softly behind his head. He sat back, legs spread casually, head tilted slightly as if listening for you in the silence, as if you were the only thing anchoring him in the dark. Without the weight of his gaze, it was easier to breathe, but it didn’t make the situation any less charged. If anything, it made the moment heavier, the air denser around you, like the room was holding its breath with you.

You hesitated, your fingertips brushing along the seam of your jeans, restless, your gaze locked on the shape of him beneath the soft, worn fabric of his sweats—the thick, unmistakable outline already beginning to shift, heavy and slow, as if the thought of your touch alone had coaxed his body halfway there. You hadn’t even laid a hand on him yet, but the anticipation between you had done most of the work, thickening the air, making your stomach twist with something sharp and sweet and unfamiliar.

Your hand hovered for a long, quiet moment, the space between your palm and him humming with heat, so close it made your breath catch, like if you moved too fast the moment would dissolve. When you finally let your hand settle against him, tentative and featherlight at first, you felt the sharp pull of his inhale, the shift of his chest beneath it, as though his whole body had braced for the contact long before you gave it and you stayed there, barely moving, just feeling him, the warmth bleeding through the fabric, the sheer weight of him unmistakable even like this—thick and heavy and growing harder beneath your palm, slow but steady, like the more you touched, the more you teased, the more his body gave itself away to you. Your fingers traced along the shape of him, soft at first, then firmer, smoothing your hand over the full length of it, watching the way his hips twitched under the pressure, a quiet, helpless reaction that only made you bolder.

The weight of him beneath your hand was dizzying. The way he filled out the soft stretch of his sweats, thick and solid and still swelling under your slow, deliberate touches, it felt surreal, almost addictive—the way he sat there so still, blindfolded, breathing raggedly through the tension, letting you explore him at your own pace, giving you all the power and asking for nothing but this.

When you finally slipped your hand beneath the waistband, skin meeting skin, the heat of him made your breath stutter, the velvet-soft skin stretched tight over the heavy, unyielding thickness beneath. His head tilted back slightly, muscles in his throat flexing with the motion, and his mouth parted around a soft, low sigh—the kind that sounded too real, too unguarded, slipping from him without thought or restraint. The sound curled through the quiet like a hook, sharp and sweet, pulling you deeper, until all you could think about was the way his body leaned into your touch, so open, so willing, like the only thing tethering him to the moment was the slow drag of your hand wrapped around him.

You worked him with slow, careful strokes, your fingers adjusting to the slickness of his skin as you found a rhythm, and his body responded in kind—muscles twitching, chest rising and falling in steady, measured breaths, his thighs shifting just slightly apart to give you more room. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop your hand even if you wanted to. The camera sat there, silent and unblinking, capturing nothing but your hand and his cock, the two of you moving together in that tight, private frame, faceless, voiceless, just the sound of skin on skin and the soft, shaky breaths he let out every time your thumb circled the head. It was almost too easy to forget you were recording. Almost.

Your hand moved with more confidence now, the initial awkwardness dissolving into something else entirely, something that had you watching the way his body reacted more than your own nervousness. The steady pulse of him under your fingers, the way his chest twitched with each slow stroke, the way his hips gave these tiny, involuntary shifts that told you you’d found just the right pressure, just the right speed. You hadn’t expected it to be so easy, or for him to respond so openly, so unguarded, like the blindfold had stripped away any self-consciousness and left only the raw, instinctive side of him.

His head tipped back against the wall, lips parted, a faint furrow pulling between his brows—not from discomfort, but the kind of sharp, concentrated pleasure that unraveled him slowly. His hands fisted lightly in the blanket at his sides, fingers flexing in time with the pace you kept andhe sound of it, slick and wet, filled the space between you in place of words, and the deeper, more ragged notes of his breathing stitched into the silence like music, like proof of just how much he felt everything.

You let your palm twist a little on the upward stroke, adding that faint roll of your wrist he seemed to respond to best, and the sound he made—a soft, breathless groan pulled from deep in his chest—rewarded the effort immediately. You could see his stomach tighten, muscles pulling taut under his skin, thighs shifting apart even more as if his whole body was chasing your touch, needing it, needing you to keep going exactly like that.

You could feel how sensitive he’d grown under your hand, the way the head of his cock grew flushed and slick, how the smallest variation in pressure now had his hips jerking up into your fist, his body no longer able to hold still under the pull of it. He was close, you could tell, but he wasn’t rushing it, wasn’t begging for you to end it. He was letting you set the pace, like he wanted you to have all the control, like giving in to you was just as satisfying as the release waiting at the end. And in the soft glow of the purple lights, in the quiet hush of the camera whirring beside you, you kept your strokes steady and slow, watching him fall apart piece by piece. His voice cracked the quiet first, low and thick, the words dragged from somewhere too deep for polish, too honest for control. Fuck—just like that.

It was barely more than a rasp, breath breaking around it, but the sound of him saying it, the way his hips lifted into your hand, like his whole body couldn’t help but obey the pull of your touch—it loosened something in you, made your fingers curl tighter around him, your strokes slowing just enough to tease, to draw it out, to watch him strain against the want.

The blindfold had left him open in ways you hadn’t expected, stripped away that careful self-awareness he wore like armor most days, the soft-spoken roommate with his shy half-smiles and quiet domestic habits, the one who always washed his dishes and never left his clothes in the hallway. But this wasn’t that version of him, not now, this was the part he usually only gave away on camera, the side of him crafted for strangers on the other side of a screen, for money, for pleasure, for performance.

But none of those people had their hand wrapped around his cock now, none of them had him tipping his head back like that, mouth slack, chest heaving, skin flushed under the purple light like every inch of him was wound too tight to hold on, none of them got to feel the way his thighs tensed, the way his breath caught and dragged rough through his throat, the low, wrecked little sounds spilling out of him without filter.

Fucking hell, you’re good at this, he groaned, the words breaking apart at the edges, half-slurred and laughing and soaked in need, like he couldn’t hold them together anymore. Gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum—, his voice cracked off, too wrecked to finish, caught somewhere between a warning and a confession, and the sound alone sent a pulse straight between your legs, sharp enough to make your breath hitch.

You tightened your grip, twisting your wrist just a little harder at the top of each stroke—the exact way he’d choked on a gasp for earlier—and the reaction was instant, his whole body snapping tight under your hands, muscles straining, a raw, punched-out exhale splitting from his chest as his hips bucked helplessly into your fist. One, two sharp jerks, and then he was spilling over your fingers, thick and hot and so much of it, his cock twitching with each pulse as the orgasm dragged him under, leaving him slumped and shaking, breath ragged and broken.

But you didn’t let go, not yet. You slowed your pace, hand still working him through every last spasm, fingers gliding through the slick mess you’d coaxed out of him, dragging more shudders from his overstimmed body. His thighs quivered, soft curses tumbling from his lips, cracked and breathless, tangled up with the low, dazed sound of a laugh—dark, spent, and so fucking pretty.

When you finally let your hand fall away, the room stayed thick with it, the heat, the weight, the heady scent of sweat and sex still hanging in the air. Your palm was slick, fingers tacky with the mess you’d pulled from him, and he hadn’t moved much, muscles slack and twitching, chest still rising and falling in slow, uneven waves. The blindfold stayed fixed over his eyes, but his lips parted around a heavy exhale, like the sound alone was the only thing keeping him tethered to his body. Fuck, he mumbled, voice rough and shredded, cracked open at the edges like it barely belonged to him anymore. You didn’t even let me fake it.

The corner of your mouth lifted, slow and self-satisfied, the burn in your cheeks impossible to hide—not that you tried—and your voice came out softer, almost a purr. You didn’t need to. A laugh slipped from him, dry and breathless, more like defeat than humor, his head rolling lazily back against the wall. The blindfold stayed firm, keeping him wrapped in the dark, and for a moment he just lay there, letting the aftershocks ebb through his bones, dragging in another deep, ragged breath as if it took everything he had to collect himself, to pull his composure back from the wreckage you’d left him in.

I really didn’t, he echoed, voice still low and warm, wrecked and fond all at once, like the ghost of your touch still lingered, like he could still feel your fingers curled around him even now. That was... jesus, I wasn’t expecting it to be that good.

His words made something flicker through your chest, sharp and electric, blooming hot beneath your skin as your palm still tingled with the weight of what you’d done, the sticky warmth of him drying slow between your fingers, the faint ache in your wrist from the steady, deliberate pace you’d kept. The camera, still sitting there with its little red light blinking in silent satisfaction, caught none of your face, only the evidence of what your hand had done to him, how thoroughly you’d wrung him out. You reached for the tissues nearby, wiping your hand slowly, your mind still caught on the way he’d sounded, the way his voice had dropped into something rough and unguarded, so far from the casual conversations that had led you here, so far from just being his roommate.

His hands dragged up over his face, pushing the blindfold off and up into his messy hair, eyes slow to blink open, his gaze finding you even in the dim purple glow. There was something softer in the way he looked at you now, stripped of the usual distance, the half-shy, half-playful boy who lived with you replaced by the same version of him you’d glimpsed through his half-open door all those nights ago. Only this time you weren’t watching from a distance, this time you’d been the one who made him fall apart.

You’ve got no idea how much money that video’s gonna make, he murmured, letting his head tip back again, throat exposed, skin flushed and still slightly damp with sweat. We might have to split it fifty-fifty. Might not be fair otherwise. You breathed out a laugh, shaking your head, trying to play off the heat still pooling low in your belly, the way your body buzzed with it. That good, huh?

That good, he confirmed, still sounding a little wrecked, voice thick with something that wasn’t just satisfaction, something heavier, something closer to the quiet admission neither of you had dared make out loud yet. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the room settled into a heavy quiet, thick with the aftertaste of what had just happened, the camera’s tiny blinking light the only thing cutting through the silence.

Chris let out a slow, rough breath, scrubbing both hands over his face, and when his gaze dropped back to you—bare, clear, no longer hidden behind the blindfold—there was a shift in it. Not the usual teasing glint, not even the playful edge he’d kept through the conversations that had led you here, something else entirely, something closer to quiet satisfaction, deep and lazy, and a little bit proud. Proud of you, of himself, of what you’d done together, even if neither of you had the words for it yet. You really were a natural, he said finally, voice softer now, but no less certain. That didn’t feel like the first time.

You pressed your lips together, heat crawling up the back of your neck despite yourself, and wiped the last of the mess off your fingers before sitting back on your heels. You could still feel the way his body had shifted under your hand, how easily he’d given himself over to you, how real it had all felt, even with the camera catching every second of it. It kind of wasn’t, you answered, quieter, letting the confession slip past your lips before you could swallow it. I mean. I’ve thought about it before. You hesitated, pulse jumping in your throat. Not just filming. But... that. With you.

You didn’t mean to say it, not fully, but you saw the way his mouth twitched, the smallest pull at the corner, not a smirk, not quite, more like a quiet acknowledgement, like he already knew. Maybe he had for longer than you realized. His voice dropped a little, lower, warmer. Yeah? Guess I got lucky then.

You huffed a breath, trying to shake the weight of it, but the air still felt heavy. He sat up slowly, finally reaching over to switch off the camera, the room dipping into an even softer hush once the little red light blinked away and then his gaze was back on you, steady and easy, as if nothing about this was strange, as if this was just something normal, something inevitable. Guess you’ve got a new side hustle, he said after a beat, voice light but edged with something more meaningful, almost fond. If you want it.

The pause stretched, but your answer was already settled somewhere under your skin, your stomach still knotted with leftover nerves, but your body hummed with the memory of his reaction, the way he’d melted for you, the way you’d liked it—all of it. The power, the closeness, the way he hadn’t needed to fake a single thing for the camera and you licked your lips, glanced toward the now-silent camera, and met his eyes again. Yeah, you murmured, heartbeat hammering behind the word. I think I do.

It should have felt stranger than it did, sitting there on the floor in the bruised-purple wash of his room, skin still prickling with leftover heat, hands wiped clean but the weight of him still curling warm in your palm, as though your body hadn’t quite let go of the moment. The camera sat dark now, but its presence still lingered, as if the room itself remembered what you’d done even if the recording was finished, even if the lights would one day be switched off and the footage sent away, sold to people who would never know the real shape of this, the slow and quiet way it had all unfolded.

Chris stretched his legs out, muscles still sluggish and heavy, the casual sprawl of his body ruined only slightly by the faint tremble in his thighs, the red flush still high on his cheeks. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, palm dragging along the edge of his jaw, fingers pressing into the mess of curls at the base of his neck, and when his eyes flicked back to you, they softened, some quiet amusement tucked beneath the haze still clouding his gaze.

You really didn’t think you’d be good at it? he murmured, and the way he said it wasn’t teasing, it was too soft for that. Like the thought genuinely surprised him now, like watching you do it had settled any lingering doubt so thoroughly it almost embarrassed him that he’d ever imagined otherwise. You snorted, shifting your weight onto your hands behind you, palms splayed against the warm floor. I didn’t think I’d do it at all, you admitted, voice low, shoulders tipping in a shrug that barely masked the shiver chasing through you now, cold finally seeping in beneath the adrenaline. Didn’t think I’d like it, either.

That earned a small smile from him, slow and knowing, the corners of his mouth ticking up before he ducked his head, letting out a soft, breathless little laugh that cracked around the edges. That’s the thing, he said, voice warm and even, as if he was only just letting you in on the quiet truth of it. You think it’s about the money, or the attention, or the way it looks on camera, but it’s not. Not really. His gaze lifted back to you, steady and unblinking. It’s just... fun.

The word sat there between you, heavier than it should’ve been. You’d seen the truth of it yourself—the way his body had responded, how little of it had been acted, how little either of you had needed to pretend. Your throat worked around a dry swallow, pulse ticking hot against your neck, and you nodded, slow, careful, as though agreeing to something much bigger than the words. I noticed, you said softly.

The quiet stretched out again, comfortable now, the kind of silence that settled in the space between people who knew there was no going back, not really. Your mind still spun, half in the present and half in the replay of every small detail—the way his hips had jerked into your hand, the way his voice had cracked open for you, the way his release had coated your fingers, warm and thick, proof of your effect on him caught in every inch of the room’s stillness.

And when he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, softer, like an invitation you’d already accepted without realizing.

Lot of requests coming in lately. His eyes flicked to the dark screen of his laptop, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. The ones that pay well... they always want more. His gaze lingered on you, a little too knowing. Bet I’ll be getting a lot more of those now. It wasn’t a question, more like a quiet dare, like he already knew you’d set something in motion just to see if you’d follow through. And you felt your lips twitch, warmth curling low in your stomach, sharp and certain. Then I guess they’ll get their money’s worth, you said, your voice steady now, the smallest edge of pride catching in your throat.

And the grin that stretched across his face, slow and wolfish, said he already knew they would.

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[oddlylovingaddiction]

; Coming Full Circle.

CLEARLY you all are desperate for an actual story on this blurb I quickly wrote up, so if this part 1 does well, I’ll make it into a series! I also can’t decide who I should ship reader with… Conner Kent maybe?? Let me know if that sounds good ♡

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this potential series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. reader is somewhat introverted and is describe loosely as attractive. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…)

TW: Abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Reader’s mom is dead, Pregnancy and rich people.

You weren’t a kid anymore. Part of you wonders if you ever got the chance to be one. Your mom died when you were pretty young, barely 6 at the time, you don’t remember much about her. She was pretty though, maybe that’s where you got your looks from?

You spent 4 years at an orphanage after her passing, until one day a car came and picked you up and took you to a big manor. Apparently Bruce Wayne was your father, but not just an adoptive one, your biological father. That was definitely shocking, You looked so much like your mother that you really couldn’t see the resemblance, maybe if you really focused you could see some aspects of the new father you suddenly gained.

You only met Bruce a handful of times, the first time was to greet you. He seemed particularly disinterested, you were only just a bit younger than Jason which he was currently focused on at the time. Bruce showed you to your room it was way bigger than your room in the orphanage then promptly disappeared, Alfred (who you came later to learn was the butler and NOT your new grandfather.) showed you around the rest of the Manor, claiming that Bruce had paperwork that needed more attention than his newly gained child, okay, he didn’t put it like that but that’s basically what he ment.

The Manor was big and rather empty, you wonder what the point of all this space was as a child. As you grew older you grew to understand and appreciate its big and emptiness, because then you couldn’t run into any of your other siblings. Whenever you meet them, it’s awkward, like you’re an outsider. Which you suppose you are, but it’s different because you later learn that all of your siblings were adopted, minus Damian but you only gained him as your sibling towards the end of your stay in the Manor. So why did they treat you like you were the odd when out, when they all should know perfectly how that feels since they were also outsiders at one point? To this day you have no clue.

You quickly grew adjusted to not being around your family. The first the phew years was difficult, you craved their attention like any normal child. You remember you used to cry at night as a kid wondering what you did wrong for them to barely even glance your way, to not even love you… but after the third birthday with the exact same gift you got on previous birthdays from Bruce, continually getting rejected by all your siblings on your offers to hang out and occasionally catching wholesome moments between your siblings and Bruce where they were chatting and laughing without you, You naturally gave up on trying.

You instead grew as a person without them, you made friends at school, developed your own personal fashion taste, you discovered your hobbies and your personality. You occasionally heard news about your family from Alfred (You never got used to only hearing news from him), like how Jason died, Tim was brought in, turns out Jason was alive and at some point Damian was also brought in. The timeline was messy. Honestly you didn’t think much about why Bruce adopted so many damn kids nor did you bother to concern yourself with their affairs.

Instead you discovered somethings more important. Number one is your huge allowance, you knew Bruce was a billionaire and filthy, disgustingly rich, but not to the point your allowance was in the MILLIONS. The second thing is nobody cares about you, to the point one time when you were around 17 you stayed at a friend’s house for two days without telling anyone, came back and apparently no one had any idea you even left when you asked Alfred.

Those two things got you to where you were now, a stunning and safe apartment with the most beautiful view in the whole of Gotham, a loving husband who would do practically anything for you, heavily pregnant in your 20s and currently surrounded by your shocked family.

You had a fight with your husband and you were livid at him deciding to spend some time at the Wayne Manor just to cool off (and to somewhat teach him a lesson), You honestly thought that nobody would care when you came waltzing back. Since nobody cared any other time.

However you were sorely mistaken. To the point you regret not just staying at a hotel or something. When you first walked through the door, Alfred greeted you. You were occasionally in contact with him, but you neglected to tell him about the pregnancy, let alone the fact you were married mainly because you knew he’d run and tell the entire family and you’d rather keep your life private from them. Which is probably why he stopped mid greeting to stare at your belly. It looked like he was buffering as he let you in and led you to the kitchen, you texted him on the ride there that you were a bit thirsty, so he prepared you some tea.

“My word, you’re really pregnant?” Alfred finally said once you sat down at one of the counters, which earned a chuckle from you as he slid your tea over to you.

“Last time I checked… which was in a mirror and when I felt the little gremlin kicking around in me on the drive here, I am.” You say with a smile before proceeding to chug your tea. “May I ask-” Alfred starts but before he can finish he’s interrupted by Damian, who entered the kitchen to grab some snacks at some point but instead noticed you.

“What on earth is that.” Damian hissed, he looked disturbed and disgusted as he pointed at your belly, like he just discovered a bug. Which ticked you off.

“An Alien, no use your head what does it look like?” You sarcastically reply. Normally Damian would’ve retorted however you quickly decide that you want to relax in the living room where you could continue your conversation with Alfred. As you and Alfred quickly leave, abandoning your empty tea cup, and finally settling in the living room. However you suddenly hear a STORM of footsteps from inside the house. You turn around and realize Damian followed you to the living room, phone in hand and clearly had texted the entire family about his new discovery.

“Fuck me…” you mutter softly, your peaceful days of being ignored were probably officially over. All thanks to your one dumb decision to come here. While you silently regretted your choices, almost the entire Wayne family had run into the living room, Tim was the first to run in shouting “WHO’S PREGNANT?”

You only really snap out of it when you notice the entire Wayne family staring at you, they got here faster than expected. Not all of them were here but most of them.

‘Maybe I really am carrying an Alien’ You ponder momentarily before you begin to speak, “Listen I’m only here momentarily because I had a small disagreement with my husband—” “HUSBAND?” Dick squeaks out his voice breaking in shock. “Yes— wait why are you all here anyways?” You say as it dawns on you how ridiculous this whole reaction was. Hell even BRUCE WAYNE, the supposed father you were under the care of, that you never saw for the majority of your life was even here.

“Well cause you know Bruce is always bringing home kids it’s the first time someone other than him is bringing home one, let alone an unborn one.” Cassandra pointed out, which you promptly agreed nodding your head. That explains it, to this damn family it must be pretty alien.

“Okay, well I’m pregnant. I get it shocking and stuff but there’s no need to—“ You say trying to calm down the situation when you are interrupted by Damian who’s pointing at your belly where your baby, as if sensing the crowd of spectators, decided to do its own acrobatic routine.

“Ew why is it moving….” Damian said, You’re starting to wonder why you even talk. “Don’t say ew. It’s just kicking, if you want you can touch my belly—” you regret those words instantly as around 20 hands immediately fly to touch your belly where the baby continues to kick. You’d almost find the whole situation adorable if it weren’t for the fact they were your family who previously didn’t give a flying fuck about you.

All of a sudden Bruce, noticing your uncomfort, clears his throat. When he does the 20 hands resend from touching your belly, “How far along are you?” He asks calmly but you can clearly hear his voice shake slightly. “7 months.” You reply calmly to which Damian opens his mouth again.

“Jesus when is it going to come out— wait how does it come out…” He still look horrified to which you suppressed a laugh. “Did no one teach you where babies come from?” You laugh and then pause when the room goes silent.

“Oh my god…” you mutter, no wonder he’s so disturbed. You hear Bruce quickly whisper to Selina “I thought you told him!” To which Selina fires back, “Me?! It’s your job!”

That’s your cue to leave before you have to witness a very uncomfortable conversation. “Okay, I’m going to go to my room, I’m tired.” To which everyone nods giving you space to leave.

Phew hours had gone by and you were relaxing in bed on your phone, when you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in!” You call, assuming it was Alfred but instead the one who came waltzing in was Damian. He looked awkward and you definitely felt that as well.

“Hello.” He said as he walked over to you staring at you where you were lying down.

“Uh… Hi Damian… how can I help you?” You ask praying he just going to briefly insult you and walk away like he did in the past. Instead he looks curious.

“I have been educated on where kids come from. It is very disturbing.” You chuckle at his statement and at his face full of regret while putting your phone away.

“It’s not too bad, at least you learned from your parents and not your friends half way into high school.” You say smiling reaching out and patting his small shoulder at your own memory of your shocked friends as they held your hand in the bathroom and slowly explained it to the poor naive you.

“Yes that sounds way worse.” He admits as you laugh at his sentiment, to which he scowls a bit before snapping out of it. “Anyways, like I said, I have been educated and although it’s very disturbing I commend your bravery for creating life.”

Damn it, he made it awkward again. You resend your hand awkwardly and place it back on your chest, Damian continues speaking though. “I also did some research and apparently the fetus can hear around the 5th month, and since you said it’s in the 7 month stage it can hear. Which means it heard me insulting it.”

You nod at his words, encouraging him to get whatever he’s planning on doing over with already. When he sees your nod, he removes his hands from behind his back, he’s holding a book.

“So to replace my negative words I have brought an educational book, normally I know perhaps the other parent my read so the baby gets used to both your voices, however since your a single parent—“

you give him an incredulous look “no… I have a husband.” To which he stares at you like your pants are on fire, that’s how much of a liar he thinks you are.

“Yes… right.. well since this supposed husband isn’t here to read to your child I shall.” He plops himself beside you, not accepting any protests from you about how you really do have a husband, he begins to read, you give in closing your eyes, clearly you’re going to be here awhile. “Law 1. Always make those above you feel comfortably superior…” you scrunch your face at his words as he reads. Half way into chapter one your eyes fly open and realize that he’s actually reading.

“Are you reading 48 laws of power right now?” You say staring at the book he’s holding as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He gives you a look like you just said the sky was blue.

“Yes of course? It needs to come out smart. Now please lie back down.” He says pushing you to lie back down. You give in once again, you’re too tired to protest against Damian anyways…

At some point both you and Damian passed out, the book could only hold both your interests long enough and the warmth of your room was just perfect for a nap. You stare down at the still sleeping Damian, whose head is currently resting on your belly, contemplatively. In someways you were jealous he fit in perfectly with the Wayne family and was actually treated like their sibling and child. However on the other hand you were honestly glad you were not loved like he was, because if you were you would’ve never met your husband (that you are now starting to miss…) and you also would’ve never been given the opportunity to create your own family, one that will love you truly.

You didn’t like the fact that Damian used to insult you occasionally in the past, but it’s not like you held it against him and you also don’t regret making fun of him back. Although he was a brat at times, he was still a child. A child in a huge messy family that just happened to be your little brother. Perhaps that was the gnawing feeling in your heart. The knowledge such a small kid like him will probably struggle in someways you used to is weighing heavy on you. He was earnest, and clearly tried his best from the fact alone he came to your room to read a book that he knew would help the baby… even if that book was the laws of power and was incredibly boring (in your opinion.)

He was just like you when you were smaller. That thought made you gently reach down and stroke his head. “I hope you’ll only make smart choices, but even if you don’t I’ll still love you, my dear. Just remember, don’t hold onto people who will never hold you gently and lovingly. After all, You are the most precious thing to me and you will be precious to so many others. You are worth your weight in gold.” You whisper to the sleeping boy, the same words your mother said at her passing. You feel yourself getting chocked up, after all this day was full of emotions for you. And you aren’t quite ready to face those emotions so you close your eyes.

After saying all those words and remembering the things you’d almost rather forget you find yourself pulled back into sleep. This time though, Damian had a small smile etched on his face as he slept..

[mssishipi]

taste of indulgence - sjy, pjs

CHAPTER 4 — SHOW ME SPICY

— Avoidance was your only way to move forward, but Jay and Jake weren’t about to let you slip away so easily. How could you pretend you didn’t want them when your body told a different story? If you wanted to play stubborn, fine. But brats don’t get to run—they get put in their place. And they were more than ready to show you exactly what spicy really meant.

content tags: everyone is gay or fruity!!! angst! reader is self sabotaging, she made jake cry, jay is angry (and stressed), let's play back to friends by sombr, psych majors who don't know how to communicate, reader assume sunghoon's sexuality, reader cuts her hair short, jay's pov, sunoo is just sunoo.

explicit content (smut): uhm threesome (switch jake, dom jay, sub reader), public sex, unprotected sex, humiliation (?), dacryphilia, rough throat fucking, cunillingus, jake tried to be angry but went soft, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration, creampie, anal sex (mxm). MDNI! WC: 21.5K

want a taste?

"I think red nails would look good on me, don't you think?" You flipped your hand over, inspecting your nails with a thoughtful look.

Sunoo barely glanced up from his phone before reaching out to grab your hand, tilting it side to side. "Hmm... Maroon, definitely. With silver designs," he decided with a nod.

"Almond shape?" you asked, watching his expression closely.

Sunoo furrowed his brows, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he considered. "Square could work too... gives that classic, clean look. But yeah, almond is a solid choice. It'll look good when you're, like, casually reaching for things."

"Okay, I should set an appointment with the nail tech Wonyoung keeps talking about," you mused, already pulling out your phone. As you both walked past a full-length mirror in the store, you stopped in your tracks, turning your head slightly to get a better look at yourself.

"Maybe I should cut my hair, no?" You ran your fingers through the strands, tilting your head as if trying to picture it. "Or maybe I should dye it? What color do you suggest?"

Sunoo looked up from his phone, finally giving you his full attention. His mouth was slightly open, eyes squinting as he observed you.

"I tried a new makeup style today," you continued, adjusting your reflection with your fingers. "I don't know if it suits me yet, but if I cut my hair, maybe it would. This length would be good, right?" You pointed just below your ears, mentally mapping out the bob cut you were suddenly considering.

Sunoo blinked, then gasped dramatically. "You're planning to get a bob cut, bitch? Are you fucking serious?!"

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. "What? You don't think it would look good?"

He placed both hands on your shoulders like he was about to shake some sense into you. "Do you have any idea what a bob cut means?"

You laughed, shaking him off. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Short hair on a hot girl?" Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. "That's a crisis cut. A post-breakup cut. A someone just emotionally wrecked me and I need a fresh start cut!"

You rolled your eyes, but your smile faltered slightly. "Maybe I just want a change."

Sunoo wasn't buying it. He crossed his arms, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Yeah, right." He paused before adding, "By the way, Jake keeps texting me, asking when our vacant period is. He says you're not replying to them."

Your steps faltered, but you quickly regained composure. "I already told them I'm busy," you said, forcing a casual shrug. "Our internship is coming up next year, so I have to start networking now. I need professors to recommend me to the best hospitals—ones that actually offer jobs after the internship."

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "That's a solid excuse, I'll give you that. But babe, you're literally ghosting them."

"I'm not ghosting."

"Bitch." Sunoo deadpanned. "You left them on read for two weeks."

"Because I'm not in the mood to fuck them anymore," you said flatly, resuming your pace.

Sunoo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh my god. The coldness. The absolute heartlessness." Then, his voice softened. "Babe, you sound like a total bitch right now, but I know you. And I know there's a reason you cried that night."

You exhaled sharply, staring straight ahead.

"I'm your friend," Sunoo continued, his tone gentler now. "You can tell me if they hurt you. Did they do something? Say something? I mean, yeah, they're my friends too now, but you know I'll always have your back first. So tell me."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "It's not like that. They didn't do anything."

"I just... I don't know, Sunoo." You stopped walking, running a frustrated hand through your hair. "I thought I could handle it. I thought it would be easy to keep things casual. But the longer I stayed, the harder it got. Now, it just fucking hurts."

Sunoo crossed his arms, watching you carefully. "You like them."

"Sunoo—"

"You like them," he repeated, this time with certainty. "Not just one of them. Both of them."

Your throat felt tight. "It doesn't matter."

Sunoo scoffed. "It matters if it's eating you up like this."

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. "I was never supposed to catch feelings."

Sunoo let out a long breath, his expression softening. "You're human, dumbass. Not a fucking robot. It was bound to happen."

"It doesn't change anything." Your fingers clenched at the hem of your uniform. "It's just—fuck. I don't even know where I stand with them. I mean, they're sweet, they treat me so well. Who wouldn't fall for them?" You let out a bitter chuckle. "But that's the thing, isn't it? I don't know if it means anything."

Sunoo tilted his head, watching you carefully. "Have you told them how you feel?"

"What for?" You scoffed. "So I can humiliate myself? So I can hear them say, 'Oh, that's cute, but we never actually saw you that way'?" You let out a hollow laugh. "No, thanks."

Sunoo pursed his lips. "You don't know that's what they'd say."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo. Because even if—if—they felt something, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm still just an extra in their relationship. They've had each other for years. I'm just..." Your voice faltered, and you forced a small smile. "Temporary."

"Babe," Sunoo frowned. "That's a really shitty way to look at it."

"Is it?" You met his eyes, voice quieter now. "Or is it just reality?"

Sunoo sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'm saying, maybe just tell them what you feel. Communicate—"

"No." You cut him off, shaking your head. "It's better to just move forward. Cut them off and be done with it." Your voice wavered, but you quickly steadied yourself. "As I said, even if they did feel something, it wouldn't change anything." You swallowed the lump in your throat, "I'll just consider them a hookup. That's all they were supposed to be anyway."

Sunoo huffed. "Look, babe. You wouldn't be spiraling over them, trying to change your hair, your nails, your entire damn life just to get away from the way they made you feel." He sighed again. "I get it. Feelings suck. But lying to yourself? That's worse."

You exhaled sharply, looking away. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo."

"It does matter." He poked your forehead. "And sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it."

Well, too bad because Sunoo didn't have a choice but to deal with your stubbornness. He had seen you shut down before, had watched you bury your emotions so deep that even you forgot they existed.

Avoidance was the only way. Cutting them off was the only way. If you ever told them the truth, it wouldn't change anything. If they did feel something for you, it still wouldn't matter. Because being together with two guys? It wasn't realistic.

Jake and Jay were perfect together—enough for each other. Their love was already deep, already established, already real.

You were just an afterthought, a temporary distraction, a spice added to their relationship to make things more exciting for a while.

That was why you had to let it go. Because holding on would only break you more.

Avoidance was the only option. But that didn't mean it was easy.

You shared three majors with them, which meant there was no real escape. Every time Jay or Jake tried to talk to you, you scrambled for a half-baked excuse, something—anything—to put distance between you.

And you felt guilty. Because at this point, you weren't just avoiding them, you were leaving Sunoo to deal with the fallout.

Every. Single. Time.

"Sorry, I already made plans to get my nails done," you said, forcing a smile as Jake grabbed your arm after your laboratory class, trying to pull you toward the arcade.

"We can just go with you!" Jake perked up immediately, his eyes practically sparkling at the idea. He turned to Jay, beaming. "Right?!"

Jay, as always, was quieter, but his gaze was on you.

You resisted the urge to sigh. "Uh—actually, I'm going with my other friends."

Beside you, Sunoo tensed, trying not to roll his eyes so hard they got stuck.

"Then Sunoo can go with you guys," you added quickly, shoving the attention onto him.

Sunoo's head snapped toward you so fast,  "Excuse me?" His expression was pure betrayal.

Jake blinked, tilting his head. "Wait. Sunoo's not going with you to get your nails done?"

"Nope!" Sunoo answered before you could. "Because I'll be with you guys. Losing all my money on rigged machines. Can't wait!"

He hooked his arms through Jake and Jay's, dragging them away before you could say another word. But not before shooting you a sharp, knowing look.

Avoidance was the only option, but it was hard.

It was almost funny, how desperately you were trying to erase them from your life, only for your own mind to betray you at every turn.

Jay's lips were always dry. Did he ever listen and start using the lip balm you recommended? Or was he still stubborn about it?

Jake had a terrible habit of not drinking enough water, always running on boundless energy until he inevitably crashed. You wondered if Jay kept that in mind—if he reminded him to drink more, if he handed him a bottle without a word, the way you used to.

Not your problem anymore.

"Your nails are so pretty!!!" Wonyoung screeched, grabbing your hand and turning it under the flashing club lights. The silver designs shimmered, catching every flicker of neon.

"Thank you," you muttered, tipping back your drink without hesitation. The alcohol burned down your throat, but you welcomed it. Anything to dull the edges. Sunoo sat beside you, talking how he wants to have sex tonight.

Another drink. Then another. By the time the rest of your friends arrived, your head was already buzzing, you can't even keep up with the conversation anymore. You laughed at the right moments, nodded when necessary, but your mind was elsewhere.

"Can you recommend a good waterproof mascara?" you mumbled, resting your head against Sunghoon's shoulder.

He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed with your state. "I don't know? Maybelline, I guess? Or some Japanese brand—those are good too."

"You're gay," you giggled, voice slightly slurred.

Sunghoon scoffed, shifting slightly so you didn't slide off him. "How the fuck is that gay?"

"You just know things." You poked his chest, eyes drooping.

"It's called having sisters, dumbass," he deadpanned.

You giggled, the alcohol making everything funnier than it should be. "Hehehe, ever since you joined our group, you've had this, like... boy love energy."

"I'm not into boy love," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Oh my god. You're homophobic."

Sunghoon choked on his drink so hard he nearly spit it out. "What?! Where the fuck did you get that from?"

"How are you not into boy love?" You slurred, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Boy love is great. It's wholesome, it's cute, it's—"

Your voice cracked and your lips wobbled, remembering Jay and Jake. Suddenly, your eyes burned.

You sniffled. Sunghoon, who had been mid-rant about how you made no sense, suddenly froze. He stared at you, wide-eyed.

"Hey... are you—are you crying?"

You sniffled, waving a hand dramatically. "I miss them."

Sunghoon blinked. "Miss who?"

"Boy love!" you wailed, smacking the table. "Boy love is so cute! It makes me so jealous! Agh—fuck! How can you not like boy love?! I miss seeing some boy love, but it hurts seeing some boy love!"

"Bro, what the fuck are you talking about?"

You sniffled harder, rubbing your eyes aggressively. "It's so unfair. Why are they so perfect together? Why can't I just be happy watching them be happy?!"

Sunghoon, still utterly baffled, slowly turned his head, scanning the club for someone or anyone to deal with your mess. His gaze landed on Sunoo, who was currently twerking in the middle of the dance floor, hyping himself up with your other friends.

"It's really hard to avoid them," you hiccupped, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. "I miss them."

Sunghoon let out a slow breath. "Uh-huh."

"I'm making the right decision, right?" you asked, eyes wide and desperate, like you were begging him to validate your self-sabotage.

He scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh... yeah?"

"Yes," you repeated, sniffling. "I'm right. They'll stop. They'll forget me. They'll live happily ever after."

Sunghoon nodded again, then you let out a wobbly sigh. "I will also forget about them," you declared, before promptly bursting into tears again.

You wiped your nose aggressively. "I'll just go back to my old self. No more stupid feelings, no more heartbreak, no more—no more them."

He gave you a cautious thumbs-up. "Sounds... healthy."

"I'll just masturbate with my vibrator," you continued, completely ignoring him. "At least my vibrator doesn't make my heart hurt."

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ."

"Women can over-complicate things, and that's because they go deeper—sometimes too deep, admittedly."

Yes. Exactly. To avoid over-complicating things, avoidance was the only solution.

You were just walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when a hand suddenly grabbed yours.

You yelped, eyes widening. "What the—?!"

Before you could even react, you were being pulled, not roughly, but firmly, until you stumbled into an empty mini-theater room. The door clicked shut behind you, and your heart pounded as you whipped around.

"Jake?"

He was standing there, hand still wrapped around your wrist, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. His usual playful energy was nowhere to be found.

The room was too quiet and intimate. The only sound was the distant hum of the campus outside, muffled by thick walls, the kind that trapped secrets and held them hostage. Your pulse was a dull roar in your ears as you stared at him.

God, you missed him. The playful lilt of his voice, the way he always smelled like clean laundry and something unmistakably Jake. You missed the way he touched you—soft, then rough, then soft again. You missed them. Him and Jay.

Your chest tightened, instead you swallowed, immediately trying to pull away. "Jake. Let go."

His fingers twitched against your skin, like he was debating something—like he wanted to hold on a second longer, just in case you changed your mind. But then, finally, he released you, but he didn't step back.

He was still too close.

"You are avoiding us." He said, wounded by frustration. "Why?"

Panic coiled inside you, what the fuck. You weren't ready for this. Your thoughts scrambled, reaching for an excuse, anything—anything—that would make him back off. Think. Think. Think.

But then Jake's face softened, and he exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry if we did something wrong," he said. "Just—please, talk to us. If you don't want to have sex anymore, that's okay. I understand. We understand." He took a step closer, voice cracking slightly. "Just don't shut us out, please."

Fuck. You almost caved. Jake have this eyes that knew exactly how to weaken you, but you spent enough time to hardened yourself. Pulled your walls up so high that even you couldn't see over them.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

You crossed your arms, forcing a blank expression. "I'm busy, Jake. I don't have time to play around with you two anymore."

Jake blinked, hurt was flashed across his face. "P-Play around?, I-Is that what this was to you?"

You scoffed, "What else would it be?"

Jake's expression twisted, like your words had physically knocked the breath out of him. Good. Maybe he'd finally get the hint.

"Look, Jake." You forced yourself to keep your voice steady, swallowing down the lump clawing its way up your throat. "I don't want to be mean, but get a fucking clue. Okay? Yes, I'm avoiding you. You and Jay were fun. The sex was good. But that's all it ever was."

Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His eyes, still locked onto yours. "Just explain to us, why?"

"I don't owe you an explanation in the first place!" you snapped, voice rising despite yourself. You could feel your resolve cracking, your emotions clawing their way to the surface. But you couldn't let them win. You couldn't let him see you break.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"I got tired of it, okay?!"

Jake's breath came out unsteady. "You could've just told us," he said, "I-Instead of... this—instead of just shutting us out like we never meant anything. We're friends, r-right?"

That last word came out, and his voice cracking, and that was what almost broke you.

Because Jake was looking at you like he was desperate to understand, like he needed you to say something—anything that could make this all make sense.

"Friends?" You let out a cold, hollow laugh, tilting your head like he'd just said something stupid. "Jake, we were never friends."

The second the words left your mouth, Jake flinched, his breath stuttering. His entire body stiffened, his shoulders curling inward.

"Don't say that," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You don't mean that."

You clenched your jaw so hard it ached. "I do."

Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at you like he was trying to see through the wall you'd just slammed between you. Like if he looked hard enough, he'd find something—some sign that you were lying.

But he wouldn't. Because you were good at this. You were good at pretending.

"Just tell me why," he tried again, softer this time, more pleading than before. "If you ever cared about us at all, just... tell me why you're doing this."

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, your entire body screamed at you to stop, to take it all back, to fix this.

But you couldn't. You forced out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "God, Jake, you're so clingy." Jake flinched, and you saw the exact moment something in him cracked.

"You took everything way too seriously," you continued. "It was just sex. I don't know what the fuck you thought this was, but it wasn't deep."

"You were convenient," you added, twisting the knife deeper. "That's all. And now? I'm over it."

Jake sucked in a breath, his shoulders stiffening. You noticed the way his lips trembled. And then slowly—he nodded.

Tears streaked his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away. He didn't lash out. He didn't beg. He just looked at you—looked through you—his expression heartbreakingly soft despite everything.

Jake didn't yell. He didn't curse you out, didn't demand answers or call you a liar. Instead, he just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. His eyes were soft—too soft, filled with a quiet kind of devastation that made your stomach churn.

Without another word, he turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and that was it.

Your body sagged the moment he was gone, like the strings holding you together had been severed. You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but the air felt suffocating. Your hands trembled at your sides, your fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out, to pull him back.

Don't break down. Don't be weak. You did what needed to be done.

One minute. Just one minute to get yourself together.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your throat burned from holding back something that wanted to crawl out, guilt, regret, longing, you didn't know. Didn't want to know.

Then, finally, you exhaled. Straightened your back. Set your shoulders and walked out.

The hallway was quiet, but not empty.

Your steps faltered as you saw them—Jake, standing there with his back slightly hunched, his hands gripping the hem of Jay's uniform. His shoulders shook and his breathing uneven.

And Jay stood right in front of him, tense and rigid, watching him with a concern expression. His fists were clenched, but his hands hovered just slightly—like he wanted to touch Jake, to comfort him, but didn't know how.

And when he looked up, his eyes found yours. The softness that was there for Jake was gone.

Jay's gaze was dark, sharp, and cold in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no visible anger, just an overwhelming quiet rage simmering.

Your pulse kicked up, you immediately turned away to avoid his gaze.

Spun on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, forcing your steps to be even, controlled. Ignoring the way your chest ached, the way your throat felt tight, the way your lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air.

You did the right thing.

BACK in high school, Jay never really liked being around too many people. He wasn't exactly antisocial, he could hold a conversation when needed, and he got along fine with classmates.

But having a solid group of friends wasn't his thing. Socializing felt like a chore, something that drained him. It was exhausting trying to keep up with people's expectations, their small talk, their unnecessary drama. So, he kept his distance, floating between different groups without ever fully settling in.

Girls, especially, were a whole different kind of exhausting. He wasn't clueless—he knew most of the guys in his class were obsessed with them, always whispering about who had the best tits, passing around porn links like they were trading cards.

Sure, Jay could admit that women were attractive. Sexy, even. Tits were nice, pussy was great. But in his experience, being around women felt more like a headache than a pleasure.

They were too complex, too hard to figure out. One moment they were sweet, the next they were upset over something he didn't even understand. And somehow, he was always expected to know why. It was frustrating. The high-pitched screeching in the hallways, the emotional rollercoasters, the way they'd take out their bad moods on him for no reason—it was all too much.

So, he stayed detached. Women were beautiful, but from a distance. Up close, they were just another thing he didn't have the patience to deal with.

"Did I just... get rejected?"

Jay barely had a second to process before the words came tumbling out from the stranger standing in front of him. The guy was wearing a soccer jersey, his eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying for a while.

Jay raised an eyebrow, not sure why he was being dragged into this. He didn't even know the guy.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" the stranger asked, pouting up at him like some kicked puppy.

Jay gave him a once-over. The guy was about his height, maybe a little smaller, with messy hair and wide, golden-retriever eyes that only made his pathetic expression worse.

"She said I give the best head," the guy continued, sniffling. "But, continue to say some monologue that it's not me, it's her. What does it even mean?"

Jay sighed, running a hand down his face as he stared at the sky. Out of all the people this guy could've dumped his sob story on, why him? He just wanted to go home, lay in bed, and maybe practice a few guitar solos, not babysit some heartbroken stranger.

And that's how he met Jake.

If Jay was being honest, Jake could be a lot to handle. He was loud, clingy, and had the attention span of a golden retriever, but somehow, they just worked.

They balanced each other out in a way Jay never expected. They didn't argue much, jealousy was never an issue, and even when they weren't in the mood to deal with each other, they just shrugged it off—no drama, no unnecessary fights.

And Jay loved him. So much that he followed him to university, enrolling in the same classes just to be with him.

That was why, when Jake first brought up the idea of a threesome, Jay had been flabbergasted. He wasn't the sharing type. He was possessive by nature, and the thought of someone else touching his Jake made his blood boil. But Jake was patient, communicating his feelings in the only way he knew how: between tangled sheets.

It took months for Jay to even consider it. He didn't know what to think, didn't know if he'd be okay with it. Whether it was another guy or a girl, the thought of it made him wary.

Then, one day, he and Jake went out to his favorite café, and that's when he noticed you.

You weren't looking at him. You were looking at Jake. Staring—too long, too obvious.

Jay's eyebrow twitched. He knew exactly where he had seen you before.

You were the girl at the freshmen welcoming party, kissing random girls like it was nothing, completely lost in the haze of alcohol. He remembered the way you moaned when two girls did body shots off your stomach. You were that drunk—so far gone that, by the end of the night, it was him and Jake who had been instructed to carry you back to your dorm.

And now here you were, staring at his boyfriend.

You like guys too?

He huffed, raising an eyebrow when he caught you looking.

Then there was the train ride during the retreat. Another moment. Another time you stared at Jake when you thought no one was looking.

Jay had noticed.

"Do you think she's into threesomes?" Jake had whispered to him that night, curiosity practically dripping from his voice. He was always like this—open, playful, intrigued by new experiences.

Jay had just sighed, brushing the thought aside. "How would I know?"

He didn't think about it much after that. At least, not until he saw you sneak out of the drinking room at the retreat.

And for some reason, he followed.

He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was suspicion, or maybe it was something else. And that's when he saw you grinding against some guy named Heeseung, lips locked in a messy kiss, your whimpers barely muffled by the night air.

Jay's fists clenched at his sides. He should've turned back. Should've left. But instead, he stood there, watching.

And fuck, he didn't expect his pants to feel this tight.

Jay thought you were beautiful. Not just in the obvious way—yeah, you had the kind of face that turned heads, but it was more than that. You had this energy, this pull, something that made people gravitate toward you like you were a magnet. And Jay had always been the type to keep his distance, to stay in control, but even he wasn't immune to it.

And he knew Jake wasn't either.

Jake was naturally affectionate, clingy even, but with you, it was different. He paid attention in a way Jay had never seen before, like he was cataloging every little thing about you.

"She likes soft textures," Jake mused, scanning the shelves of the convenience store. He grabbed a puff pastry filled with chocolate and strawberry, tossing it into their basket. "She'd like this."

Jay raised a brow, watching as Jake continued down the aisle, muttering to himself.

"I think we should get makeup wipes," Jake said, grabbing a pack without hesitation. "She uses this brand, right?"

Jay exhaled through his nose, amused. "Since when did you memorize her entire skincare routine?"

Jake shrugged, grinning. "Since she started leaving her stuff at our place."

That part was true. At first, it had been little things, a stray hair tie, a forgotten hoodie—but now there was a whole section of their bathroom cabinet stocked with your products. Your shampoo was in their shower. Your chapstick was on the nightstand. Your presence was everywhere, lingering like the scent of your perfume.

It annoyed him, how easily you captured Jake's attention, how effortlessly you slipped into their dynamic like you'd always belonged there. Jay had never been the jealous type, not really, but something about the way Jake gravitated toward you, the way he paid attention to you in ways that felt too careful made something uneasy settle in his chest.

But over time, Jay realized it wasn't just Jake.

He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit, listening when you talked, remembering the small details about you without even trying.

He started noticing things—how you always smelled like vanilla and something sweet, how your nose scrunched up when you were focused, how your lips parted slightly when you were about to tease someone. It wasn't just Jake who was drawn to you. Jay was, too.

"Men have different parts in their brain," their professor droned on at the front of the lecture hall, pacing slowly as he gestured to the board. "It's an anatomical difference that affects communication—"

Jay barely heard the rest. Instead, his attention drifted to you, slumped against Sunoo's shoulder, your mouth slightly open as you slept. Sunoo was just as bad, his head tilted against yours, completely knocked out.

Jay huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

The two of you looked ridiculous, but for some reason, he felt that same annoying warmth in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore. The same feeling that made him buy your favorite snacks at the convenience store without thinking. The same feeling that had him listening a little too intently whenever Jake talked about you.

"Anatomical difference, my ass. Men just use their dicks instead of their mouths, that's why they're assholes," Yunjin muttered, typing away on her laptop while half-listening to the lecture.

Jay didn't agree with that. He knew men communicated—just differently. Maybe not with words the way women did, but through actions and through presence.

Like how Jake never outright said he wanted you, but always found an excuse to bring you up in conversations, to keep you close.

Like how Jay himself never said much at all, but still, for some reason, his attention always gravitated toward you.

They just had different ways of showing affection, and for a while, Jay thought that was enough.

Until it wasn't.

"It's freezing. What are you doing out here?" Jay asked, stepping onto the snow-covered porch where Jake sat curled in on himself. The night air was sharp, biting against his skin, but Jake didn't seem to notice.

Jay's eyes trailed over him—his red nose, the slight tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes were swollen and glassy.

"Were you crying?" Jay frowned, reaching out to tilt Jake's face toward him.

Jake flinched, but he didn't pull away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

"Baby, talk to me," Jay said, firmer this time.

"I—I..." Jake's voice wavered. His breath came out in a shaky cloud, visible against the cold air. "I'm sorry."

Jay's brows furrowed. "For what?"

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, as if saying it out loud would break him.

"I like her, Jay."

Jay's breath hitched at the confession, Jake had always been expressive—his love was loud, easy, all-consuming. But maybe, just maybe, Jay had never truly listened. Never truly looked. Because if he had, he would've seen this coming.

Jay let out a slow breath, steadying himself. Then, without hesitation, he cupped Jake's face, thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I know it's wrong —"

"You don't have to be sorry," Jay murmured.

Jake sniffled, confused. "But—"

Jay shook his head, cutting him off. "I like her too."

Jake stilled. His grip on Jay's jacket loosened slightly, as if he didn't believe what he just heard.

Jay exhaled, looking past Jake for a moment, toward the snow-covered street, the dim porch light casting a soft glow around them. It had taken him too long to realize it, but now that the words were out, they felt right.

"I didn't want to admit it, but I get it. I get why you feel this way."

Jake's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching. "Then why did we—" He hesitated. "Why didn't we talk about this sooner?"

Jay fell silent, because that was the problem, wasn't it?

Their entire relationship had been built on silent understandings, unspoken words, actions instead of conversations. It had always been enough—until it really wasn't.

Jay wasn't the type to talk about feelings, and Jake... well, Jake always just went with whatever Jay was willing to give.

Jay sighed, finally meeting Jake's gaze again. "Because we never really talk about things, do we?"

Jake let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking his head. "No. We really don't."

Jay reached up, threading his fingers through Jake's hair, pulling him into a slow, grounding hug. Jake melted into him instantly. For a while, neither of them spoke. The cold wind bit at their skin, the snow crunching softly beneath their feet as they shifted slightly in place. But neither moved to go inside.

"I miss her," Jake finally whispered. His voice was small, fragile in a way that Jay rarely ever heard. "Is it right to tell her how we feel?"

Jay stiffened slightly at the question, that was the real problem. It wasn't just about their feelings anymore—it was about yours too.

He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed the shift in your energy, the way you had started pulling away, the way your texts had become shorter, emptier.

Maybe you felt it too. Maybe you had been trying to fight it just as much as he had.

But unlike him, you had chosen to run.

And Jay hated that.

Because the truth was, he had spent so much of his life avoiding unnecessary complications, keeping people at arm's length to protect himself from feelings he didn't know how to deal with. Relationships were easy when they were just sex, when there were clear boundaries that everyone followed.

But you had blurred every single one of those lines.

He had spent months trying to ignore the way he felt, convincing himself that this was nothing more than what it started as — just a bit of fun. But then you wormed your way into their lives in ways he never anticipated.

It was in the way you laughed at Jake's stupid jokes, in the way you pout your lips at certain foods, in the way you always took extra time to make sure Jake was drinking enough water or that Jay wasn't skipping meals.

It was in the way you would fall asleep on their couch, curled up like you belonged there, as if you had carved a space for yourself in their world without even realizing it.

And yet, they had never said anything. They had never talked about what any of this meant, never acknowledged the growing weight of their emotions.

"I don't know," Jay admitted, "but I know I don't want to lose her."

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on Jay tightening. "Me neither."

He wasn't sure how to approach this, wasn't sure how to untangle the mess they had all made. But one thing was certain—he and Jake wanted you.

And if there was even the slightest chance that you wanted them too, Jay would figure out a way to make this work.

Poly relationships existed, didn't they?

And if that was the way to keep you, then Jay would do everything in his power to make you stay.

...

Except you were acting like a fucking bitch.

Despite all the planning, about how to approach this properly, Jake had gone ahead and done the one thing Jay told him not to do—talk to you without a plan. Without giving you time. Without preparing himself for the worst.

And now Jake was curled up in Jay's arms, shaking, trying to choke back his sobs while Jay clenched his jaw so tightly.

Jake was impatient, and you were pushing them away.

Jay's head was going to fucking explode. He didn't know how to handle this. He hated seeing Jake cry, hated the way his hands trembled as he held onto him. Hated the way you had shut them out like they didn't mean a goddamn thing to you.

Well, he knew that they meant something to you.

Jay's patience had been stretched thin for weeks now. Every time he thought he might have a chance to talk to you, you slipped away like smoke between his fingers. It was pissing him off. He could feel you pulling back, putting up walls he hadn't even realized were there. And the worst part is he had no fucking idea how to break them down.

He wasn't the kind of guy who begged. He wasn't the kind of guy who chased. But for you? For you, he was losing his goddamn mind.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay, I'll talk to her," Jay murmured, his voice steady despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. Jake sniffled, his face buried in Jay's shoulder, but his grip didn't loosen. His whole body shook, fingers digging into Jay's back.

Jay sighed, bringing a hand up to wipe Jake's wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Jake's lips trembled.

"She's not even giving us a chance."

Yeah, he fucking noticed.

And it pissed him off. Not just because you were avoiding them, not just because you were pushing Jake away—but because Jake wasn't even mad about it. He wasn't angry; he was hurt. Both of them knew you didn't mean what you had said that day. But what could they do when you refused to talk? When you were so hell-bent on running?

"...Many individuals engage in self-sabotage not because they don't want happiness, but because they fear it."

Jay blinked at the professor's voice, his jaw tightening as he focused on the lecture.

"Fear of commitment, avoidance of intimacy, and reluctance to accept positive emotions often stem from deep-seated insecurities. This can manifest as pushing people away when they get too close, fixating on imperfections to justify emotional distance, or convincing oneself that they are 'better off alone.'"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.

"To put it simply," the professor continued, leaning against his desk, "people self-sabotage when they don't believe they deserve good things. They anticipate failure or abandonment, so they preemptively destroy what could be good before it has the chance to hurt them."

Jay's head instinctively turned to where you usually sat. Your seat was empty. Of course, it was.

His fingers drummed against the desk, irritation flaring in his chest. He already knew you were avoiding them, but it was becoming worse. First, it was the silent treatment, then skipping plans, ignoring texts. Now, you were barely showing up to class. What the fuck were you thinking? Were you really about to fail a major subject just to get away from them?

Jake nudged him lightly, his eyes worried. "She's really doing this, huh?"

Jay clenched his jaw. "Fucking ridiculous," he muttered.

He didn't understand. Why were you acting like this? They had never once made you feel unwanted. Never treated you like an afterthought.

The professor moved on, but Jay wasn't listening anymore. His mind was spinning, the weight of your absence pressing heavily against him.

Prelims came and went. And still—no shadow of you.

Jay barely glanced at his exam paper as he turned it in. He had spent the past hour only half-focused, tapping his pen against the desk in frustration, mind elsewhere. He already knew his score wouldn't be his best. Not with the way you were consuming his every thought.

Outside the exam hall, Sunoo approached him hesitantly. Jay didn't miss the way he shifted awkwardly on his feet, fingers twisting together like he was debating whether to speak.

"I'm sorry," Sunoo finally said, sighing. "I hope... whatever's happening with you guys, you'll be patient with her."

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose. Yeah. He was trying to be patient, but patience was running thin when you wouldn't even look at them anymore.

Sunoo hesitated again before glancing around, making sure no one was listening. "It's not my story to tell," he admitted carefully, voice softer, "but she likes the both of you." He shook his head, lips pressing together. "She just... she's being negative."

Jay's grip tightened on his exam booklet. Of course, he fucking knew that. It wasn't just obvious—it was the only explanation that made sense. But hearing it from Sunoo, having someone else confirm it, should have made him feel better. It didn't.

Because knowing that you wanted them didn't change the fact that you were pushing them away. It didn't change the fact that you were choosing to ruin this before they even had a chance to prove to you that it could work.

Sunoo studied Jay's face, reading his silence before sighing. "She's just scared," he muttered. "That's how she is."

Jay huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I'm getting really fucking tired of watching her run."

Sunoo gave him a look, almost as if to say, then catch her.

Fine. He would. One thing was clear—this avoidance shit? It needed to end.

They had to talk. They had to communicate. Well, they had been trying. But talking to you was like grasping at smoke. Jay had tried to contact you, but it was clear you had soft-blocked them both. His messages stayed unread. Calls went straight to voicemail.

Jay had tried to find you. But every time he did, you ran. Midterms came. Jay was exhausted, irritated, and so fucking done with the distance.

And then, he saw you. Laughing like nothing had happened, like you hadn't disappeared off the face of the fucking earth. You were standing outside the library with a group of friends, flexing your nails dramatically as the others fussed over them. Jay's steps slowed. Your hair was different, it was short.

A bob cut. The sight of it made his chest tighten. It wasn't a bad thing—hell, it looked good. But it was different. You were different.

He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, but before he could close the distance, your gaze flickered up. And you saw him for a second your expression froze.

Then, before Jay could even process it, someone else entered the scene.

Some guy. That fucking guy and his girlfriend.

Jay watched as they approached you, watched as the girl kissed your cheek, Heeseung slinging an arm around your shoulder.

And you let them. You let them pull you away before Jay could even reach you. No fucking way.

"Do you think we should give up?" Jake had asked once. Jay only shook his head. No.

Communication is key—but with the way you're acting, they need a different strategy to reach you.

You don't get to run. Not anymore. Men speak in different ways they said, and if the softest way doesn't get through to you then he'll have to go rough.

"Oh my God, this is the most chaotic event ever," Sunoo complained loudly, fanning himself dramatically with his schedule sheet. "Who in their right mind thinks it's a good idea to hold university games when summer is practically melting us alive? That's actual insanity."

Sweat clung to your forehead, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. All around you, students were sprawled across the open field, desperately searching for shade or breeze.

Sunghoon turned on his small turbo fan and aimed it toward you and Sunoo. A soft hum filled the air, and you immediately leaned into the stream of cool air.

"Bless your soul," you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as the breeze hit your face.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung sat cross-legged on the grass nearby, sipping water with a serene expression, completely unbothered by the scorching sun.

"This is actually so unfair," you muttered, glancing at her in disbelief. "I look like a soggy dog, and she's out here looking like a skincare commercial."

"She's probably not human," Sunoo said flatly.

You slumped dramatically closer to the turbo fan, shoulders sagging with defeat. "Why did you even register us for dodgeball?!" you whined, voice muffled as you practically shoved your face into the breeze. "I look like I've been through five stages of grief, I don't even barely survive now that we don't do anything, then what about tomorrow."

Sunoo shrugged, unapologetic. "It's tradition. And it's the only time I get to legally throw a ball at people I don't like."

You gave him a flat look, lifting your face just enough to mutter, "That includes me, doesn't it?"

"Depends on how much more you complain," he deadpanned, eyes hidden behind his oversized sunglasses.

Sunghoon leaned slightly forward with a furrowed brow. "Hey, your mascara is kind of melting. Like... a lot."

You gasped, sitting up straight. "No! No, no, no—" You fumbled through your bag in a mild panic, fishing out your phone. The moment your reflection came into view, you groaned. "I look like a raccoon who just got dumped."

"You always say that," Wonyoung chimed in with a lazy smile, finally acknowledging the conversation as she shifted beneath her sun umbrella. "And yet somehow you still pull."

"Not in this heat I don't," you grumbled, pressing a tissue to the corner of your eye. The moment you pulled it back, it was smudged black. "Great. I look like I'm melting from the inside out."

You leaned into the mirror on your phone, trying to fix the damage but the more you dabbed and adjusted, the worse it got. The eyeliner smeared into your under-eye, and your lashes clumped at odd angles. You cursed softly under your breath, cheeks hot with both embarrassment and the unforgiving sun.

"I need to go to the bathroom," you muttered, standing quickly and brushing off the back of your shorts. "This is a mess—I need to fix this before I look like I got dumped and then thrown into a fire."

"I told you to change your mascara," Sunoo mumbled. "Waterproof isn't just a suggestion in this weather."

"I didn't think it'd get this bad!" you hissed, reaching for your bag—which, naturally, was hanging from Sunghoon's overburdened shoulder. He handed it off without complaint, arms already full of Wonyoung and Sunoo's things too.

"Where are you going?" Wonyoung asked without moving.

"To salvage my face," you said over your shoulder. "If I don't come back, assume I drowned in the sink."

You didn't wait for a reply, slipping away from the group as your shoes scuffed against the hot pavement. The chatter of students faded behind you, replaced by the distant hum of activity inside the university. The moment you entered the shaded hallway, the temperature dropped just enough for you to breathe.

Your footsteps echoed lightly as you made your way toward the restroom, the cold tile of the building cooling the soles of your feet through your sneakers. You exhaled a long, slow breath—finally out of the noise and the sun.

You pushed open the bathroom door and slipped inside, letting it close behind you with a soft click.

You dropped your bag on the counter, you pulled out your makeup, eyeing the smudged disaster on your face. Carefully, you began dabbing away the ruined mascara and eyeliner, patting concealer beneath your eyes and slowly rebuilding the illusion of composure. Your lashes clumped slightly as you reapplied your mascara, and you leaned in closer to the mirror to separate them.

You were just about finished when a voice cut through.

"Figured I'd find you here."

You jumped, nearly knocking your makeup pouch off the counter. Your head whipped toward the door—where Jay stood, leaning against the frame.

"This is the girls' restroom," you snapped, the panic slipping into your voice. The last thing you wanted was to be cornered by him. And God, of all the times, why did he have to look so fucking good in that damn denim jacket?

Jay didn't flinch. He just stared. "It's not like I haven't seen everything already," he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him with a low thud.

You scoffed, hard, grabbing your bag off the counter. "Right. And that gives you a free pass to stalk me now? Is that how it works?"

Jay's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed low. "I didn't stalk you. I came to talk. Since you're ghosting every call, and message, avoiding us, and you made Jake cry," he added, emphasizing the last part.

"Maybe because I don't want to talk," you bit out, slamming a lipstick back into your bag. "I already told your boyfriend—I'm done with the both of you. So stop. Stop being so fucking annoying."

You tried to storm past him, but his hand shot out fast, gripping your shoulder, forcing you back.

"What the hell is your problem?!" you snapped, "You think cornering me like this is gonna change anything?"

Jay's eyes darkened, his voice dropping a notch. "Yeah. Maybe it will. Since the version where I let you push us away didn't work."

"You don't get to decide how I feel," you hissed, shoving at his chest. "You don't get to show up like this just because you're pissed I won't answer you."

"And you don't get to shut down every time something doesn't go your way," he shot back. "You act like you don't care, but if that were true, you wouldn't be shaking right now."

Jay's eyes dropped to your arm, the subtle tremble giving you away. You quickly swallowed the lump rising in your throat and tucked your arm behind your back.

He raised a brow. "Can you stop being a brat for five seconds and just hear me out?"

You scoffed, biting down the sting in your chest. "I told you—I'm not interested anymore. Why are you so damn pushy?!"

"Because we fucking like you!" Jay snapped, you stiffened, the silence that followed hitting louder than his voice had. Your breath caught. His jaw clenched, and the space between you suddenly felt way too small.

Being with them isn't realistic.

Push them away.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"Wow. Great. That's your excuse?" you spat, though your voice shook just enough to betray you. "You like me, so now I'm supposed to just roll over and forget everything? Grow up, Jay. That's not how this works."

Jay stepped forward slowly. You instinctively backed up, your spine hitting the cold edge of the counter.

"You felt something too," he said, eyes fixed on you. "Don't bullshit me."

"Shut up," you shot back too fast, and too obviously defensive.

He didn't stop. His gaze locked on yours, footsteps steady. "You can act cold, pretend you're done, like we didn't get under your skin. But I know better."

You pressed harder into the counter. "You don't know shit," you hissed. "It was a mistake. A phase. Whatever the hell you thought you saw—it wasn't real."

Jay's mouth curled, smirking. "Funny. That 'phase' made you tremble like that? That mistake had you gasping my name?"

Your chest rose and fell fast, your heart thundering behind your ribs like it wanted out.

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. "You're not scared of us. You're scared of how real it felt. You're scared because it meant something—and you don't know what the hell to do with that."

"Shut up," you repeated, but your voice cracked on the edge of it this time.

Jay went still and finally, he heard it. That tiny crack in your armor, the one you didn't mean to let slip. The one he'd been waiting for.

His expression shifted, the usual smirk gone. What was left was quiet, focus and dangerous stare.

"You can keep pushing us away. Say it was fake. Say it was a lie. But you and I both know—" his voice dipped, "—it was the most real thing you've ever felt."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. If you met his eyes now, it was over, you knew it. So you stared at the floor, at the sink, at anywhere but him.

"Look at me," he said.

You didn't. So he grabbed your jaw, rough, and tilted your face toward his. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you locked eyes with him. And that was it. The moment cracked open, revealing everything you hadn't said.

His gaze bore into you, not blinking, not softening. "You gonna keep pretending this meant nothing?" he murmured, breath ghosting over your cheek. "You gonna keep walking around like you're not haunted by us every fucking night?"

You said nothing because you couldn't. Jay stepped in closer, so close the space between you vanished, the scent of his cologne hitting you hard, that familiar deep and musky. Your legs wobbled, barely holding you up, and you cursed your body for betraying you.

He leaned in, his hand still holding your face, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. "You really think you can just move on? That someone else is gonna touch you the way we did? Know you the way we do?"

His voice dropped even lower, a growl at the edge of it. "You think you're just gonna give that cunt to someone else?" His hand slid down, slow, dragging along your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. "You think it's gonna listen to them?"

Your thighs clenched on instinct. Fuck.

Jay caught the reaction—he always noticed. His lips curved just barely. "Your body doesn't lie," he said, "It remembers us. The way you moaned. The way you begged. That pussy listens when we speak. You know it. I know it."

His hand rested just above your chest now, feeling your heartbeat racing beneath it.

"You can lie all you want," he said, eyes dark and locked on you. "But your body's telling the truth."

You were frozen, pulse slamming in your throat, heat spreading beneath your skin. Jay's lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Say it didn't mean anything. Look me in the eye and say it."

A soft, broken gasp—no, worse. A moan left your mouth. You felt the slow smile curl against your skin, felt the change in the air as his grip shifted.

"There she is," he murmured. "Couldn't hold it in, could you?"

"Fuck you," you choked, breathless, humiliated, every inch of your skin lit up with heat and shame.

His hand slid from your chest to your neck again, thumb brushing your jaw as he tilted your head up. "You already did," he said. "And you fucking loved it."

His other hand slid to your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he stepped in fully, pressing his body flush against yours, pinning you between the counter and him.

"Push me away," he said, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling, eyes locked on you like a hunter cornering prey.

But you couldn't look away. His scent coiled around you, and your legs barely held you up. You felt it, the warmth blooming between your thighs, the traitorous ache soaking into your panties, and you hated how much he could still do this to you with so little.

"Push me away," Jay repeated. "Make me cry the way you fucking did to Jake."

His hand tightened around your throat suddenly. Your hands flew to his wrist on reflex, clutching him but you didn't push. You didn't even try. A squeak escaped your lips, your fingers just held him there, trembling, as the air caught in your throat and heat flared down your spine.

"Stop talking," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut, as if you could block out the sound of his voice.

But his grip on your throat only tightened. "Why?" Jay murmured, his tone taunting. "Can't take it?"

Your lips parted, breath ragged. "I—I'm s-sorry, okay? I'm sorry," you gasped.

Jay's eyes narrowed, and a sharp, mocking smile curled at his lips. "Sorry?" he echoed. "Now you're sorry?"

"No. You don't get to say sorry and pretend that fixes this," he snarled. "You lied. You ran. You made Jake cry. You threw us away —and now look at you."

"Look at yourself," he hissed. "Pathetic little whimper in your throat every time I speak."

You tried to shake your head, but he didn't let you. "No. Don't look away now," Jay growled, fingers still wrapped tight around your throat, forcing your eyes up to meet his. "You wanna play cold? Strong? Then own it. Stand tall. Push me off. Say it was all a fucking lie."

Your lips trembled. You tried. You tried to hold it in—but everything broke at once. "It's not!" you cried, voice cracking, hands shaking against his wrist. "It's not! I'm sorry!"

Your chest heaved. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to—I just—" your voice splintered into breathless pieces, eyes glassy, vision blurring, "please just—just—fuck!"

You grabbed his shirt, knuckles white.

"Touch me, please!"

The words left your mouth like a scream torn from your core, soaked in shame, in need.

"There's the truth." His grip released your throat to slide lower, hands now on your waist. Your hips met his, and the hardness pressing against your core made your breath stutter, arousal flooding you so hard your legs gave a twitch.

"You begged," he whispered, eyes never leaving yours. "Say it again."

You swallowed hard, breath catching, lips parted and trembling.

"Say it," he repeated like a command. "Say it so you remember how low you got."

You hesitated, just for a second, but the ache between your legs, the fire in your belly, the heat in your cheeks—it was too much.

"Please..." you whispered, eyes wide, voice shaking. "Touch me."

Jay tilted his head slightly, then leaned in to your ear again, mouth brushing your skin. "Louder."

You shut your eyes, biting your lip, humiliated but so fucking far gone. "Please," you gasped, louder now, every word dripping with shame, "touch me. I need it. I need you."

Jay didn't answer immediately. He let the silence hang heavy, waiting—making you sweat in it. Then he leaned closer again. "Think you deserve it?"

Your breath caught. "No..." you whispered. "N-No. I don't."

Jay smiled. "Exactly." And then, without another word, he pulled away. Just let go of you and stepped back, turning his back.

"H-Huh?" you breathed, the air suddenly cold without his touch. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the field," he said flatly. "You don't deserve shit—not after all the stupid games you played."

Panic flared so violently inside you it made your knees weak. The throbbing heat between your legs was unbearable now, your panties soaked, your stomach aching from how badly you needed release. But worse than the arousal was the cold pit of humiliation, of abandonment.

You lunged forward, clutching his wrist with both hands. "No, no—please! I'm sorry!" your voice cracked. "Please, I'm sorry, I just— I got jealous. With you and Jake, I— I like you. I like both of you, I just thought..."

You were sobbing now, tears spilling hot and fast down your cheeks. "I thought it would be better if I was out of the picture. I didn't know what to do. I miss you! I— I need you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Jay turned slowly. "And you acted like a bitch because you thought it'd be better?" he hissed. "We chased you for three fucking months."

You froze, mouth parted, lips trembling. "And what did you do?" Jay continued, voice rising. "Blocked us. Ignored us. Walked away like we were nothing. Like you didn't feel anything."

"I did," you whispered. "I did."

He stared down at you, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on your tear-soaked face and the hands still clutching his wrist

"You're going to earn your place back," he said coldly. "We're not just taking you back. You'll crawl for it. You'll beg for it."

You stood there, frozen, tears still fresh on your cheeks. Shame burned through you, and the arousal between your legs was only getting worse.

"You want me to touch you?" he asked, his voice low, mocking. "You think I'll give that to you just like that? Just because you cried a little? Because you finally admitted you fucked up?"

You shook your head slowly, lip trembling. "N-No..." you whispered.

"No?" he echoed, lips curling. "Then why are you still standing like you're in control?"

You blinked at him, confused for half a heartbeat. And then the word dropped. "Kneel."

You flinched. Your legs almost didn't respond but your body knew. Knew the command, knew his tone, knew exactly what was expected. Your knees buckled beneath you, and you sank slowly to the floor, the cold tile biting into your skin.

Jay towered over you now, looking down with nothing but cold amusement in his eyes. "Pathetic," he muttered. "You were so full of fire. So quick to run your mouth. What happened to all that attitude, huh?"

You kept your head down, cheeks flushed hot, hands trembling in your lap.

He stepped in close behind you, hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back just enough for you to gasp. "I should make you wait longer," he said, staring down into your eyes. "Should make you watch me walk away again. But then I'd miss watching you break. And I like this view too much."

Your lips parted, breath caught between a sob and a moan.

"You know what I should do?" Jay whispered. "I should call Jake. Let him see what's left of the girl who told him she was 'done.' Let him see you begging on your knees, soaked and broken. You think he'd feel sorry for you?"

You shook your head again, tears welling up all over, and yet—your thighs pressed together.

Jay smirked. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

He released your hair, let you slump forward just slightly. "You're going to stay right here," he said. "On your knees. Hands behind your back. You don't get to touch. You don't get to beg again unless I say."

"Yes..." you whispered, eyes shut, heart racing. "Yes, okay..."

You heard the soft rustle of denim—Jay pulling off his jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the counter. The metallic click of a belt followed, then the slow grind of a zipper sliding down. The sounds alone made your pulse spike.

Jay stood above you, fingers resting at his waistband. His gaze dropped down to meet yours and the look in his eyes made your stomach twist in the most helpless, humiliating way.

He shifted his stance slightly, drawing closer, one hand sliding into the front of his jeans, adjusting himself as his breath hitched low in his chest. A dark patch spread along the front of his briefs, Jay let out a low hiss through his teeth, his jaw tightening as he watched you watching him.

Jay's thumb brushed your bottom lip, dragging the soft flesh down just enough to part your mouth. With one hand, he pushed his briefs down just enough to free himself, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his cock. The head was flushed, already wet at the tip, and he slowly angled it toward your waiting mouth.

You opened for him without hesitation, lips parting wide, tongue slightly curled. You saw the flicker in his expression, by the way his breath hitched sharply, his brows twitching together.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, just before his hips surged forward. The sudden thrust made your throat constrict, a choked gasp escaping you as you adjusted, eyes watering.

Both of his hands moved to your head now, fingers splaying through your hair, rough and needy. He let his fingertips glide against your scalp at first, almost soothing, before his grip tightened. A sharp tug followed.

"Why'd you cut your hair, anyway?" he asked, breathless, but the question was half a growl, half a genuine bite of irritation. His fingers tangled in your shorter strands, clearly missing the length he used to wrap his fists in.

Tears blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks, but you didn't stop. Your throat worked hard around him, swallowing, adjusting, the wet sounds of gulp, gulp, gulp are echoing against the tile walls of the bathroom.

Your lips stayed stretched around him, tongue coiling beneath the shaft, dragging slow and deliberate from the base upward as you swallowed him again and again.

The world outside the bathroom didn't exist. You'd forgotten where you were, forgotten the echo of distant footsteps, the fact that the tiled walls weren't just enclosing heat and pleasure but public space. You were too far gone in the taste of him, in the stretch of your lips, in the burn of each breathless gasp you took through your nose.

Then—knock knock. A sharp, sudden rap on the door snapped. You flinched, instantly trying to pull back, eyes wide in panic, throat clenching around him. But Jay didn't let you go.

"Shh," he murmured. His fingers tightened in your hair, the other hand sliding to the back of your neck. Before you could react, he forced you down—all the way. His cock sank into your throat in one sharp, complete thrust, your nose pressed flat against the skin of his pelvis. The breath caught in your lungs. Your eyes watered harder. You were choking, but you stayed, frozen, as his grip held you exactly where he wanted.

The door creaked open.

"It's just me," came a soft, casual familiar voice.

You heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place behind him. A moment later, you could feel the weight of Jake's stare, as he stood there, just inside the bathroom door, watching.

Jake's tone was edged with uncertainty, but not surprise. "You said you were just gonna talk," he said as he took in the scene—your knees on the cold tile, face flushed, cheeks hollowed, and Jay buried deep in your throat.

Jay exhaled through his teeth, head tilting back slightly, his grip finally loosening just enough for you to breathe again. But he didn't pull out.

"That's her way of apologizing," Jay hissed, his hips rolled forward again with purpose, forcing another wet choke from you. "Isn't that right?"

His hand remained in your hair, holding you steady, guiding your mouth with every thrust. His other hand slipped down to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, smearing the spit that clung there like gloss.

You looked up and there was Jake.

You'd always remembered Jake as soft-spoken, the kind of boy smiled too gently. Sweet to a fault. The kind of person who would've cupped your cheek and whispered it was okay, would've helped you up and kissed the tears from your face.

But not now. Now his eyes weren't soft. They were cold, sharp and predatory.

Even through the blur of your lashes and the sting of fresh tears, you saw it: the shift. The hunger.

"You're crying," Jake said. He tilted his head, studying your face. "She's crying, Jay."

And how you remembered, too well, the way he had this thing with you crying every time he fucked you. A fascination of your tears.

"She should be," he said flatly. "After the shit she pulled? She should be sobbing." He thrust forward again, slow and deep, watching your throat stretch to take it.

Jake didn't blink. His expression didn't soften. He just knelt lower beside you, one hand resting casually on his knee as he leaned in a little closer. His eyes were fixed on your tear-streaked face, watching every twitch of your mouth, every breath you struggled to take around Jay's cock.

His cock twitched in his pants. There was a fire building in his chest stoked by the sight of you like this—on your knees, choking, tears running, all for his boyfriend. And yet... all he could think about was that moment. That time he tried talking to you, voice soft, reaching out with patience, and you'd barely looked at him. Just shrugged him off.

Maybe he'd been too kind. No—he had been too kind.

Jake didn't know exactly what he was feeling as he watched Jay drive himself deeper into your mouth, but it wasn't softness. Not anymore. A new edge in his blood he hadn't recognized before. Every time your throat clenched, every time another tear slipped down your cheek, something inside him twisted tighter.

"You're so unfair," Jake said. He stood slowly, eyes never leaving your face.

Jay reached up, hand curling around the back of Jake's neck, fingers threading into his hair. He pulled him down, and their mouths met in a slow kiss.

You whimpered around Jay's cock, your voice small and choked as your eyes followed the scene unfolding above you.

They didn't look at you. Their kiss deepened quickly, mouths open, tongues sliding together in a messy, hungry rhythm. Jay tilted his head, humming low against Jake's mouth, and Jake responded with a moan that vibrated through him—a sound that made Jay's grip on your hair tighten just slightly.

Their bodies leaned into each other, mouths devouring, heat bleeding off them like they'd forgotten you were even there. You whimpered again, louder this time, throat sore, nose running, your jaw aching, but they still didn't acknowledge you.

Then you sobbed, your body trembling as another wave of tears spilled down your cheeks. Jake pulled back from the kiss, breathless, lips slick.

"Stop being dramatic," he muttered as he looked down at you. His hand came down with no hesitation, fingers sliding into your hair alongside Jay's to push you further.

You whimpered one last time, cut off by the sudden pressure as your head was forced forward. Your nose pressed flush to Jay's skin again, throat stretched to its limit.

"Shut up," Jake said quietly. Jay hissed through his teeth, his body jerking slightly as your throat took him again, deeper now under Jake's added weight.

You gagged again, but Jake didn't flinch. He just turned his head and watched his boyfriend with a crooked smile. before leaning in to kiss him again. Their mouths met above you, hot and open, tongues sliding as if you weren't there.

You couldn't breathe.

Your throat burned, raw and stretched too wide, and your jaw felt like it was splitting apart under the unrelenting ache. Jay's pace had become erratic now, his stomach bouncing against your nose with each desperate thrust. You could feel the tightness in your chest spreading, oxygen slipping further and further out of reach.

Your lungs screamed. Your eyes streamed. But neither of them looked down.

And just when you felt his cock throb in warning, when your body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable—

Jake pulled you off.

You gasped as you were suddenly released, choking, coughing, collapsing sideways onto the cold tile floor. Your body folded, weak and trembling, chest heaving as you dragged in greedy, ragged breaths. Your lips were swollen, spit-slick and trembling, and the back of your throat felt like it had been clawed raw.

You barely had time to lift yourself onto your elbows when you saw Jake move again.

He dropped to his knees smoothly in front of Jay, his mouth opened without a word, and he took Jay in deep, his jaw relaxed. You watched through bleary, tear-streaked eyes as Jake's head began to bob, slow and sinuous, his lips wrapped around the same cock that had just brutalized your throat.

Jay groaned, one hand bracing against the counter, the other curling in Jake's hair. His hips jerked once, twice—and then he came.

Jake didn't flinch. He swallowed it all, his throat working silently, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring it. His fingers dug into Jay's hips, keeping him in place as the last tremors rolled through him.

You stayed on the floor, trembling, watching through a curtain of tears you couldn't stop.

Jake pulled back with a wet drag of his mouth, lips glossy, tongue flicking out to catch the last trace of Jay's release. He looked up at him with hooded eyes, mouth still parted slightly, breath heavy. Jay let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing Jake's hair back from his face.

Something in you twisted again. Bitter. Ugly. It crawled up your chest and sat there. You wiped your face with the back of your trembling hand, smearing the tears more than cleaning them. The other reached up shakily, trying to push your hair out of your eyes, trying to regain some kind of dignity.

But Jake didn't give you the chance. He turned to you slowly, head cocked, still licking the corner of his mouth. His gaze locked onto you, that same hunger was still in his eyes.

"You think you're done?" he asked. Jay's hand dropped from Jake's hair, and looked down on you again. 

Jake stood and approached you with the lazy certainty of someone who already knew you wouldn't resist.  He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours. He reached out and brushed your hair back

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak. "I-I'm sorry, Jake..." you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. "Both of you mean something to me. I just... I didn't know how to handle it. I miss you. I didn't mean to make you cry. You're precious to me, baby."

Jake stilled. For a moment, he didn't blink. His gaze searching yours. His breath hitched, just enough to give him away, his jaw tightening as his face flickered with softness. Behind you, Jay leaned back against the wall with a soft exhale, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flicked between the two of you.

Jake's hand hover near your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You leaned into it simply to feel him again. Just that brief, tender contact that used to come so easily. Your skin brushed his fingertips, and he didn't pull away.

"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. Your body trembled, shoulders shaking, the emotion too big to contain any longer.

Jake exhaled sharply, his entire demeanor going soft suddenly. "Shhh..." he finally whispered, pulling you into him.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, and he tucked his face into the side of your head. His nose pressed gently to your temple. One hand moved to your back, slowly rubbing up and down.

"You meant it?" he murmured. "All of it?"

You nodded into his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist as you clung to him. "I meant it," you whispered, breath hitching. "Every word."

Jake didn't move right away. He just held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other drawing slow, rhythmic circles against your spine. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, faster than it should've been.

For a moment, everything else faded— the ache in your throat, the sting of your tears, even Jay's quiet presence nearby. It was just Jake. Just the closeness you hadn't had in too long.

"I should be angry," Jake murmured after a pause. "But I missed you too much." He pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you. "Don't lie to me again. Don't run." he said softly.

"I won't," you whispered. "Let me fix things." The moment the answer left your lips, Jake moved, he hooked his arms beneath you, lifting you up.

You let out a small gasp as he turned, setting you down on the cold counter behind you. Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, the glass cool against your scalp as your legs instinctively parted to accommodate him stepping in between them.

He kept his eyes on yours, even as his hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers working them down. "Let's fix things, huh?" he murmured, dragging your shorts down in one motion. "You want to make things right?"

You nodded again, barely able to breathe as the air hit your wet skin.

"Then spread those pretty thighs," Jake growled under his breath. He dropped the fabric carelessly to the floor, hands sliding up your inner thighs, his eyes landed on the soaked fabric of your panties before he pushed them aside.

"Already dripping," he muttered. His fingers pressed against your folds through the soaked cotton, dragging slowly up your slit, teasing you. The friction of the fabric sent jolts through your core. He pressed a little harder, making your hips twitch in response.

Another presence pressed close—Jay. He moved in behind Jake. "You're spoiling her again," Jay said as he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

His hands slid up your body from behind, palms rough, until they found your breasts. He cupped them through your top, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they stiffened beneath the fabric. He gave a sharp little pinch that made you whine, your body jolting forward as your thighs tensed around Jake.

"I don't think she's learned her lesson though," Jay muttered, rolling your nipples between his fingers lazily.

"She looks sorry," Jake said, but his eyes were locked on your glistening cunt. "But I don't think that mouth means anything until it's begging."

Jake dropped to his knees between your legs, mouth already parting as he pressed it against your heat. He pushed the fabric aside with one hand and gave your folds a slow, deliberate lick that made your head fall back against the mirror.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, voice shaking. "I mean it—please. I'm really sorry!"

Jake didn't answer. He just groaned against your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit. The vibrations made your thighs clench around his head, but he held you in place, grip firm, unmoved by your squirming.

Jay chuckled above you. "That's one. Keep counting." He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. "You don't get to say you're sorry once and expect it's over, sweetheart."

"I am, I swear—" you gasped as Jake sucked your clit into his mouth, making your hips jerk. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jake. Jay, please—please forgive me..."

Jay's hand slid lower, fingers trailing a heated path down your trembling stomach. His hand slipped between your thighs, right above Jake's head, and his fingers found your clit in seconds, rubbing slow, tight circles in contrast to the deeper movements of Jake's tongue.

The combination made your head tilt back, a cry caught in your throat.

Jake groaned against you, the sound buzzing through your core as he pushed his tongue into your hole, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. His nose nudged against Jay's fingers as he worked in tandem.

Jay's free hand found your breast again, making your shirt up to your collarbone and exposing your skin. His fingers found your nipple in your bra, pinching it between his knuckles until your back arched involuntarily.

Jake pulled back just enough to speak. "She tastes like guilt," he muttered before dipping back in. This time, his tongue flattened against your slit, licking long and firm, each pass rougher than the last.

"I am guilty!" you cried out, voice cracking as your fingers clutched the edge of the counter. "I fucked up—I know I did, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I missed you, both of you—"

Jay didn't respond right away. His thumb rose to your throat, brushing the hollow there gently, deceptively.  "You're not forgiven yet," he said calmly. "But keep begging. Maybe we'll believe you."

Jake moaned into your cunt, tongue working harder, faster, burying himself in your heat while his grip on your thighs tightened, nails biting into your flesh to keep you still.

Your body arched reflexively, head pressed hard against the mirror behind you. The cold glass was a cruel contrast to the fever building inside you, the friction between their mouths and fingers making your thoughts blur and your words tumble out in desperate, breathless gasps.

"I'm sorry—please, I'm so sorry—Jake, Jay—don't stop, please—don't leave me—I'll do anything—"

"You will do anything," Jay murmured, lips brushing your jaw as he kept one hand working your clit and the other still wrapped around your throat. "But that doesn't mean we're done punishing you."

Jake pulled back just long enough to spit on your cunt, watching it drip down before diving back in.

"Y-Yes, yes, yes..." you breathed. A few strands of your hair had fallen across your face, clinging to your flushed cheeks. Jay tsked under his breath, brushing the messy hair away with care. His fingers swept your temple, tucking the strands behind your ear to clear the view. He wanted to watch your face, every twitch, every tremble, every silent plea written across your features.

Jake's tongue flicked over your clit again, followed by a slow, deep press inside. Your thighs shook against his shoulders, toes curling over the edge of the counter.

"You don't even know which one of us you're moaning for, do you?" Jay whispered.

"I c-can't—" you whimpered, breath stuttering. "I'm sorry—Jake, Jay—I'm sorry, I swear—please..."

Jake growled softly between your legs, like your apology alone made him want more. He shifted his angle, tongue plunging deep as his nose rubbed against your clit, creating friction that made your spine arch and your head knock back into the mirror again with a dull thud.

Jay caught your head this time, hand sliding behind your skull, fingers threading through your hair.

"You'll come like this," Jay murmured, his lips brushing yours without closing the distance. "On his tongue, with my hand around your throat, and every breath you take will be ours."

"Jake—fuck!—Jay—I'm—" You choked on your own voice, the climax coiling inside you about to snap.

Jake didn't slow. His tongue moved in steady, ruthless strokes. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored, legs trembling under the weight of everything he was drawing from you.

Jay's hand remained firm around your throat, not choking but holding. His thumb pressed lightly just beneath your jaw, grounding you as the rest of your body lost control. His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every flicker of surrender build in your face.

"Look at me," he ordered softly. "Don't look away."

You tried—God, you tried—but your vision blurred with tears and white-hot pleasure, your eyes fluttering, lashes damp as you clung to consciousness. "I—can't—" you gasped, every breath shallow, high-pitched.

Jay leaned in, brushing his mouth against yours without kissing you. "You can," he whispered. "You will."

Jake's mouth locked around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast, perfectly cruel. One hand slid beneath your ass, lifting you just enough to change the angle, and the pressure hit exactly where you needed it. The world around you fractured.

Your entire body arched.

A scream tore from your throat as Jay's hand held your windpipe and Jake's tongue forced you over the edge. Your vision went white behind your eyelids, every nerve in your body seizing with the violence of your orgasm. Your thighs clamped around Jake's head involuntarily, hips grinding into his mouth.

"There it is," Jay growled, watching the climax crash through you. "Fuck, that's it. That's what sorry looks like."

You sobbed, mouth open and shaking as aftershocks rolled through you, making your legs twitch, your fingers slip on the counter's edge.

Jake didn't stop right away. He licked you through it, each drag of his tongue coaxing every last tremor from your core. Only when your body jerked from overstimulation did he finally pull away, mouth slick, chin wet, his breath ragged.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough as he looked up at you from between your legs. "Still the sweetest fucking thing I've ever tasted."

Jay eased his grip on your throat and let your head fall forward against his shoulder. You collapsed into the space between them, boneless, panting, your body trembling and used, your voice lost somewhere.

Jake rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached for his waistband. He was flushed, breath ragged, hands already moving to undo his pants. You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide, still dazed as you looked up at Jay. "A-Are we really doing this? In here?"

Jay arched a brow. "Jake just had his mouth buried in your pussy," he said smoothly. "Don't start playing modest now. Don't be selfish."

Jake let out a sharp breath as he freed himself, hissing softly as his hand wrapped around his cock.

Your breathing hitched when he stepped in closer. He lined himself up with you, the swollen head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding up through your folds, collecting the wetness there before grinding it against your clit.

You whimpered at the friction. "My back hurts..." you managed to stammer out. "It's... it's uncomfortable."

Jake didn't even flinch, he pushed in his whole length into you in one motion. You both moaned at the feeling.

"We'll make it comfortable." Jake growled, breath hot against your cheek as he gripped your waist. 

Without warning, he lifted you off the counter, his hands strong under your thighs. You let out a startled gasp, your legs instinctively locking around his hips as he held you up with ease. His cock stayed buried inside you as he adjusted his grip, settling you in against him.

"Ahh—Jake!" you cried out as he began to move, bouncing you on his cock. Every thrust drove him deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing sharp against the cold tile walls. Jay moved without a word. He slipped in behind you, one hand found your hip, steadying you as your body jolted from Jake's pounding pace, while the other reached up, sliding to seize your breast.

"God, fuck—" Jake groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your damp skin before he started kissing and biting, not caring about the sweat.

Jay's mouth found your shoulder first, then your throat, trailing wet kisses up your jaw until he reached your lips. Your head lolled back against him, mouth already open, and he took full advantage—tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing the moans Jake was forcing from your chest.

You whimpered into Jay's mouth, his cock grinding against your lower back, the friction syncing with every bounce of your hips. Your body moved helplessly between them, each movement rubbing him against you, closer... lower...

"You're so fucking wet," Jake growled against your throat. "I can feel it all over me." He thrust harder, teeth grazing your shoulder as he panted.

Jay broke the kiss with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, tugging until you gasped. "I think we'll fit," he said, voice low, eyes flicking down to where your bodies met. "Don't you think?"

Your heart lurched.

Your eyes widened as you felt Jake adjust his stance, your weight shifting in his arms. Your body tensed immediately, the pressure at your core tightening to near-panic. "Wait! W-Wait—!" you stammered, breath catching in your throat.

Jay was already positioning himself, one hand on your lower back, the other on Jake's hip for balance as he leaned in. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before you felt it—his cockhead, thick and hard, pressing lower just beneath where Jake was already buried inside you.

The angle was careful. Slick with your arousal and the lingering wetness of Jake's earlier mouthwork, Jay began to push slow his shaft grinding against Jake's through the tight squeeze of your entrance, the pressure unbearable even before he was fully inside.

Jake slowed immediately, holding you tighter in his arms, breath ragged against your cheek. His voice was low, firm, grounding.

"Relax for him. Breathe. You can take it."

But your body was shaking, the stretch is too intense, and too foreign.

"Fuck! I can't—" The words tore from your throat, panic bleeding into your tone—cut off almost instantly when Jake surged forward and kissed you. His mouth swallowed your cry as Jay began to sink in, splitting you further, claiming space that wasn't there.

Your entire body tensed, clutching, pulsing, your walls clamping down instinctively on both cocks as they shifted inside you, working together to make room.

Both men moaned low in your ears. "Shit," Jake gasped into your mouth, breaking the kiss just to breathe. "Fuck, she's tight—Jay—go slow."

Jay's groan was more guttural, his lips brushing your shoulder. "I am—she's gripping us like she's trying to push us out."

You whimpered as your body was forced to take it—all of it. The thick drag of Jay's cock sliding in alongside Jake's, every inch of your walls stretched to their absolute limit, friction pressing between them, heat building inside you so violently it made your toes curl.

Their hips pressed in unison, the base of their cocks grinding together deep inside you, buried to the hilt. You could feel them inside each other through you, the shared space, the impossible pressure, the slow pulse of them twitching inside your cunt, both thick and deep and so full it.

Jay hissed, forehead pressed to your back. Your mouth hung open, panting. All you could do was hold on—legs locked around Jake's waist, arms limp around his shoulders, your body trembling violently between them.

You couldn't tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

Jake's head dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel him," he whispered. "Fuck, I can feel him moving through you."

Jay's hand shifted from your hip to Jake's jaw, guiding his face upward. Their bodies pressed so close, only you between them, joined not just through you, but with you.

Jay leaned in, lips met Jake's, tongues brushing, mouths sliding together as their hips shifted slightly, still buried inside you. Their kiss deepened quickly, tongues pressing hard, teeth grazing. Jake groaned into it, when he pulled back from Jay only to kiss you next.

His lips claimed yours fast, almost needy—salt and sweat and desperation—and Jay didn't wait. He was already kissing along your neck, up behind your ear, while his hand slid between you to stroke your clit with slow circles.

The shift in pace was dizzying. They weren't pounding into you. Not yet. They were just holding you. Deep, warm, kissing, mouths trading between you and each other.

Jake finally broke the kiss, forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, "You feel like heaven right now."

Jay's mouth brushed your shoulder again. "She's shaking. Poor thing's too full to even speak."

Your fingers digging into Jake's shoulders, back arching slowly. The pressure of them both still lodged inside you kept your body humming with tension.

Jay kissed the side of Jake's mouth again before murmuring, "Move with me, baby."

Jake nodded once. They shifted. And then, slowly, carefully, they began to move.

One would pull back while the other pressed in, your body stretching and clenching around the rhythm. It was slower than before, more controlled, but no less overwhelming. The glide of two thick cocks inside you, perfectly in sync, had your body twitching, tears pricking your lashes again.

Their mouths kept moving, on your throat, on each other, across flushed skin and slick shoulders. They didn't speak much, just low moans, shuddered breaths, the soft slap of bodies finding rhythm again. Jay's hand never left your clit. Jake's arms held you close.

"Stay with us," Jake whispered into your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Don't run next time," Jay added, his voice deep in your ear. "We just want to keep you." And their cocks kept moving, slow and deep and together, keeping you open, full, and exactly where you belonged.

Jake shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his stance, the grip on your thighs tightening as he found more control in his movement. The slow rhythm gave way to more deeper, and faster, his hips slapping up with wet, rhythmic sounds that bounced off the walls.

The moans pouring from you grew louder. You were unraveling again, overstimulated, but your legs refused to stop twitching, clinging around Jake's waist as your hands clawed at anything for purchase—his shoulders, Jay's neck, the edge of the mirror behind you.

A sudden sound echoing outside, footstep and people murmuring as they pass by. Panic stabbed into your chest. You froze for a moment, instinct flaring, shame bubbling up behind your ribs. The reality of where you were hit hard—legs wrapped around one man, another flush to your back, both of them inside you, fucking you, right there in the university bathroom.

But the pleasure didn't stop. You twitched, thighs squeezing reflexively, a cry caught in your throat. "Someone's—"

Jay's hand came up instantly, cupping the side of your face as he leaned in, swallowing your next sound with a kiss. His mouth sealed over yours just as Jake drove up harder, his thrust knocking the breath from your lungs, forcing the moan straight into Jay's waiting tongue.

"Let them hear," Jake hissed, voice rough against your skin, his pace unrelenting now. "Let them wonder who's making you sound like that."

The footsteps outside faded, but your heartbeat didn't slow. It thundered in your chest, driven by both fear and the savage pleasure coursing through your nerves.

Jay broke the kiss with a strand of spit between your lips, eyes half-lidded, and flushed. "You're squeezing us like you want to get caught," he murmured, fingers slipping between your bodies to rub your clit again, drawing a fresh, keening whimper from your throat.

Every drag of their shafts against each other inside your overstretched cunt sent aftershocks through your core, your body trembling violently with each grind and press. The feeling of them rubbing together inside you, separated only by the thin, spasming walls of your body, wasn't just overwhelming—it was ruinous.

"F-Fuck," Jake choked, hips jolting up hard. The impact of his thrust slammed you forward into Jay's chest, your breath ripped from you as your body tried—and failed—to brace for the intensity.

Jay grunted, catching your body easily, his hand fisting your hair as he held you in place. His cock surged deeper alongside Jake's, the slick sound of their movements inside you impossibly loud in the quiet space.

"Can't hold it," Jake panted, sweat dripping from his temple, breath stuttering. "She's—she's so tight I can feel you through her—fuck, Jay—"

Jay growled, his own control shattering with every convulsion of your clenching walls. You could barely think anymore—your mouth hung open, no words left, only broken gasps and sobs as your body tightened around them again. The pressure had built too fast. It rolled up from your core, cresting so high you couldn't breathe.

Your orgasm hit hard. It exploded through your abdomen, a pulsing, electric burst of heat that seized every muscle. You screamed, not even a word, just sound—your voice breaking as your cunt clenched violently around them, walls spasming uncontrollably.

"Fuck—" Jake snarled, the rhythm of his hips shattering.

He slammed in once more, his cock jerking violently inside you as he came with a rough moan, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt. You felt every spurt, thick and hot and deep, and the sensation of being filled only sent another shiver of pleasure rolling through your already-fractured nerves.

Jay wasn't far behind. Your body's violent squeezing around both cocks at once pushed him over the edge—his thrusts turned erratic, hard, his breath tearing through his chest.

"Gonna fill you up," he groaned against your throat, voice ragged, hips pressing as deep as they could go. "You're gonna take all of it."

Then he came. You felt the way his cock throbbed next to Jake's inside you, the rush of hot fluid spilling in, mixing with Jake's release, both of them pouring into the same aching space. Their hips jerked in sync, involuntary tremors shaking them as your body held them tight, refusing to let go.

Your own climax still burned through you, wave after wave wracking your limbs, your nails digging into Jake's shoulders as your vision blurred.

You were just there, caught between their shaking bodies. They didn't pull out. They stayed inside you, panting, foreheads pressed to your skin, arms wrapped tight around your waist. The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, the soft whisper of sweat-slicked skin, the occasional stuttered groan as aftershocks rolled through all three of you.

Jake leaned his forehead against yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're so beautiful."

Jay's hand came up to stroke your side. "No more running, okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke. "We're going to talk this time. Really talk."

You tried to nod, but your head only shifted slightly. A soft, low hum escaped your throat as your vision swam and your body slumped against Jake's chest. Everything ached. You weren't sure if your legs were still attached, or if you'd ever feel your core without that deep, burning throb again.

It had been so long since you'd let yourself be used like that... and even longer since it had ever felt like this. Safe. Claimed. Held.

Jake was the first to move, easing himself out of you. You whimpered faintly at the loss, but even that sound felt distant in your own ears.

"Hey," he whispered, fingertips brushing your cheek. He tapped gently, calling your name. "Hey, come back to me, baby."

But you couldn't answer. Your eyes were half-open, glazed with exhaustion. Your body limp between them. There was no strength left in your limbs just the slow throb of overstimulation and the deep, quiet ache that said you'd been pushed right to the edge of yourself.

Jake's expression changed instantly. "Shit—she's out of it," he muttered, voice sharp with guilt.

Jay's brows furrowed. "She's overwhelmed. Fuck."

Together, they moved quickly, shifting their grips. Jake bent to retrieve his pants, tugging them up with one arm while the other held you carefully to his chest. Your body sagged against him, boneless but trusting, your cheek pressed to the slick skin of his shoulder. "I've got her," Jake said quietly.

Jay adjusted himself quickly, stepping in to help. His hands cupped your thighs, his gaze scanning your face. "We need to get her cleaned up. Somewhere soft."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his hand smoothing the back of your hair.

You couldn't speak—not really. You were too far gone, too worn down in the sweetest, most bone-deep way.

But you felt them. You felt the tissue as they wiped between your legs, cleaning their combined mess from your trembling thighs. Another passed over your face, cool and damp, brushing away the sticky sheen of sweat and the tears you didn't remember shedding. Fingers were tender as they tucked your hair back, smoothing it down, and you sighed softly into the sensation.

Jake carried you effortlessly, holding you to his chest. You felt Jay beside you, one hand steadying your legs as they moved together. Their voices were hushed now, murmurs exchanged just beyond your hearing, their steps soft against the tile.

When the door opened, the shift in air hit instantly—cool and dry from the hallway's air conditioning, raising goosebumps across your flushed skin.

You managed one last, drowsy breath as the cool air washed over you. Then your eyelids dropped.

You stirred slowly, the first thing you felt was warmth. A soft bed cradled your body, the sheets cool against your bare skin, but it was the sensation wrapped around your waist that anchored you. The scent pressing against your back was just as recognizable—clean sweat, faint cologne, and something uniquely him.

You blinked slowly, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks before you opened your eyes fully.

Your head was nestled into the crook of someone’s neck. His skin was warm beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your ear. You shifted slightly, body still sore and heavy, and looked up.

Jake was watching you, eyes soft. He rubbed slow circles against your side with the pad of his thumb, his other hand still resting gently across your waist, holding you close.

“Hi,” he whispered. 

You managed a small, sleepy smile. “Hi. How long was I out?” you asked, blinking again to clear the haze still lingering behind your eyes.

Jake exhaled through his nose, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “About an hour,” he murmured. 

Your brows knit faintly, and he brushed a thumb along your temple. “Don’t worry,” he added with a soft smile. “We covered for you. Told them you fainted because of the heat—overexerted, nothing serious.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry in your throat. “Technically not a lie…”

Jake’s grin widened just slightly, a playful glint flickering behind the softness in his eyes. “Mm. They don’t need the exact details.”

You gave a breath of a laugh, but it faded quickly as your gaze lingered on his face—the gentle curve of his smile, the creases near his eyes, the way he was watching you so closely.

 “Jake…” your voice came out small.

He stilled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your side. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, the flood of everything you’d been trying to suppress surged up your throat. You swallowed it down once, then let it rise.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For avoiding you. For running off. For shutting down instead of just…” You trailed off, sighing as your brows pulled together. “I was scared.”

Jake’s lips parted slightly, his grip on you tightening for a moment before he pulled you in closer, pressing your cheek against his chest. You felt the beat of his heart against your skin.

“I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling,” you continued. "I started… caring. And that made everything messy. Because you and Jay—you’re already whole. You don’t need someone like me getting in the middle of that.”

Jake was silent, listening, his hand still tracing soft patterns into your skin.

“And I kept thinking…” You swallowed hard. “If I let myself fall deeper, I’ll only be the one who ends up hurt. Like I’d ruin what you both already have. That I didn’t deserve it, any of it.”

He finally spoke, his voice low. “Why didn’t you just tell us that?”

“I didn’t know how,” you admitted. “And then when I saw the two of you together, being so perfect—it made me realize how small my place in this is. Or… was.”

Jake shook his head, exhaling as he tilted your face up gently with his fingers. “You think we’re perfect?” he said, a sad sort of smile curling at the corners of his lips. “We’re not. We’ve made mistakes. We didn’t talk about a lot of things. But one thing we were sure of?” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone. “We both want you.”

Jake's thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. His breath was warm as he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing briefly. “I’m sorry we didn’t make it clearer,” he whispered. “We thought we were showing you—through touch, through time, through every little thing we did. But we never said it. And maybe that’s where we messed up.”

You blinked back the heat behind your eyes, your throat tightening. Jake’s fingers brushed under your jaw, coaxing you to look at him again.

“We want you,” he said, “In every way. Not just in our bed. Not just when it’s convenient. We want you in our life. You’ve already made space in it—you didn’t ruin anything.”

You let out a shaky breath, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your face into the crook of his neck again, seeking warmth, shelter, reassurance. His arms wrapped tighter around you.

“And Jay?” you asked quietly, voice muffled against his skin.

Jake chuckled softly, the sound a little choked. “Jay’s downstairs trying to pretend he’s not pacing. He’s been wanting to talk to you too. But I asked him to give me this moment first.” He pulled back just enough to brush your hair from your face. “You mean more to him than you think.” 

The soft knock came, Jake didn’t move right away, just held your gaze, giving you a choice without saying a word. When you gave the smallest nod, he leaned over and called out gently, “It’s okay. Come in.”

The door cracked open, and Jay stepped inside. His eyes immediately found yours, and the moment they did, the edge in his posture melted. He wasn’t guarded like he usually was.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, stepping closer.

Jake shifted slightly to make space on the bed, and Jay took it without question. He sat on the edge first, then leaned in beside you, bracing one hand on the mattress near your hip.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Sore,” you said, voice raspy with sleep. “Like I got hit by a very… affectionate truck.”

That pulled a laugh from both of them. Jake’s body vibrated behind you with the sound, and Jay let out a quiet chuckle as he rubbed a hand gently over your knee, his thumb brushing just above where the blanket had slipped.

“Sorry,” Jay murmured, though the smirk was playing at his mouth now. “Not sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him when he bent down and pressed a kiss to your temple. His lips lingered there for a beat longer than expected. When he pulled back, he looked more serious. 

“No more running,” he said quietly, “I’m not great with… talking. Feelings. All that shit.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down briefly before returning to yours. “But I want this. I want you."

Jake let out a quiet huff behind you, shifting closer as he nuzzled the back of your shoulder. “He’s always like that,” he whispered, “I was the one who confessed first. Initiated the first kiss. First sex.”

Jay’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You asshole,” he muttered.

“You blushed when I touched your wrist,” Jake added, grinning now.

“I was cold,” Jay shot back. You laughed then soft, but real—and both of them stilled like they’d been waiting for the sound. Jake’s smile softened, and Jay, still glaring at his boyfriend.

Jake grinned wider. “He literally couldn’t make eye contact for twenty-four hours after we slept together the first time.”

“I hate you,” Jay muttered, but he was already reaching for you again, hand slipping beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, drawing you back toward him as he curled in behind.

“You don’t,” Jake replied, smirking as he met your gaze. “He just never knows how to say the nice shit.”

“I will push you off this bed,” Jay warned to keep Jake from opening his mouth again. “Then we’ll fall together,” Jake countered smoothly, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist.

You sank into their warmth, nestled between their bodies. You turned your face slightly, resting your cheek against Jay’s collarbone while one of your hands found Jake’s under the blanket.

For a long, comforting moment, no one spoke. Then, quietly, Jay’s voice rumbled near your ear. “Were we too rough earlier?”

You shook your head without hesitation, cheek still pressed to his collarbone. “No. I needed it,” you murmured, honest and calm. “It pushed me out of my head. That’s what I needed.”

Jake’s hand tightened slightly around yours, and he smiled softly. “So… are we okay now?”

You turned your head toward him, lips curving with amusement. “That depends,” you said. “Was that makeup sex?”

Jake raised a brow, mouth twitching. “Wait—that wasn’t?”

Jay snorted behind you. “If that was just a warm-up, I’m scared to know what the actual makeup sex is supposed to look like.”

You laughed, low and a little breathless, the sound making both of them smile wider.

“I guess we’ll have to do it again,” Jake said, voice dropping just enough to make the tease linger. “Y’know. For clarity.”

It didn’t take long. Clothes were shed, tossed carelessly across the floor—shirts half-inside out, underwear tangled near the foot of the bed. You were on your back with Jake above you, his mouth on yours, his tongue moving with a tenderness that made your body ache all over again.

Then Jay moved. You barely had time to gasp before his hand curled into Jake’s hair, tugging sharply. Jake groaned into your mouth, the kiss breaking as Jay pulled him back.

“Not so fast,” Jay said, “You had your turn.”

He dragged Jake down the length of the bed, making him twist and arch, until Jake’s head was between your thighs, his back curved beautifully under Jay’s grip. Jake didn’t resist—he melted into the position, groaning as he inhaled the scent of you, mouth finding your cunt.

You gasped, your legs parting without thought. The sting from earlier still lingered, but it was chased by the familiar, glorious heat of Jake’s mouth. He licked into you slowly at first, tongue stroking over your clit.

Your back arched as he moaned against your folds, his face buried deeper. “F-fuck, Jake—” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, hips twitching against his face.

Jay watched from behind him, one hand stroking down Jake’s spine, the other trailing lower. You didn’t see the moment he slipped his fingers between Jake’s cheeks, but you felt the way Jake moaned louder against your cunt, hips jerking slightly as Jay began working him open.

“Want to see you fuck him,” you breathed, voice cracked with need. “Please. I want to watch.”

Jake whimpered into your pussy, tongue fucking you deeper in response. Jay’s eyes lifted to yours. His fingers were slowly pushing into Jake. “She wants a show,” he said, leaning in to kiss Jake’s neck. “You gonna be good for her?”

Jake moaned again, his voice muffled by your cunt, and you tightened your grip in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp.

Jay’s hand slid away briefly, and you heard the soft click of the drawer beside the bed opening. A moment later, the quiet sound of a bottle opening filled the space. Cool lube met skin, and Jay didn’t hesitate—he returned to Jake’s body with a steady hand, working the slick between his cheeks.

Jake whimpered again, body shuddering beneath both of you. Jay kept stretching him, fingers moving in slow, deep circles, curling and scissoring in a rhythm that made Jake pant harder against your pussy. His mouth never stopped licking, sucking, groaning into your folds with more desperation the more he was opened up.

You looked down and nearly lost your breath at the sight: Jake’s flushed face buried between your legs, his lips wet and glistening, while Jay knelt behind him, eyes dark, and focused as his fingers slick, sliding in and out of Jake’s ass with increasing ease.

Jake was trembling now, his thighs twitched against the sheets, and you could hear the breathless hitch in his throat each time Jay’s fingers pressed just right inside him.

“She’s gonna see how good you take it." Jake moaned hard against your clit, and you cried out—your hips bucking into his face. He didn’t stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, tongue working you open.

Jay leaned forward, pressing a kiss between Jake’s shoulder blades. “You ready for me, sweetheart?”

Jake’s reply was only a ragged whine, and it made your pulse spike.

“Please,” you said softly, the only voice in the room not breaking. Jay’s eyes flicked to yours, gaze locking for one searing moment. Then he leaned forward, hand steady on Jake’s lower back, and began to push in.

Jake let out a strangled groan against your cunt, his tongue faltering for a heartbeat before diving back in with renewed force. Your legs tightened around his head, your hips rising helplessly into his mouth.

“Good boy,” Jay breathed, voice thick as he slid deeper. “Keep eating her.”

Jake moaned again, the vibration pulsing through your clit as Jay’s cock pressed deeper inside him. You could feel Jake struggling to hold rhythm, overwhelmed by the dual sensations—his mouth locked to your cunt while Jay slowly filled him from behind.

Jake’s fingers were clutching your hips, knuckles pale, his lips slick with your arousal as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again—desperate, hungry, obedient. Behind him, Jay moved with a slow, grinding pace, hips rolling forward, burying himself inch by inch into Jake’s tight, slicked hole.

“Shit,” Jay groaned, head dropping for a second as his hands gripped Jake’s waist.

Jake whined against you, hips pushing back to meet Jay’s thrusts even as his mouth stayed locked on you, his tongue circling your clit in dizzying spirals. You could feel him moaning again and again.

Your hand threaded deeper into Jake’s hair, pulling tight, guiding his mouth where you needed him as your hips rolled shamelessly against his face. His moans were frantic now, high-pitched, especially when Jay snapped his hips forward harder—burying himself to the hilt. 

His tongue was relentless, and the pressure was building again in your core, fast and burning, pulled taut by every flick of his mouth, every grind of Jay’s cock rocking through him from behind.

You were right on the edge—suspended between pleasure and the raw thrill of watching them together.

Jay’s rhythm grew rougher, his groans more ragged. One hand slipped from Jake’s hip to curl around his waist, holding him in place, deepening every thrust. The wet slap of skin filled the room, matched by the obscene, eager sounds of Jake’s mouth on your cunt.

Your back arched. Your breath hitched. “I’m—fuck—Jake!” you cried, your orgasm tearing through you. 

Jake moaned loud and deep into you as you came, your body spasming under his tongue, your legs clamping around his head as your hands tangled tight in his hair. You rode it out on his mouth, grinding into him, the pressure of Jay’s thrusts making Jake groan right through your high, pushing you even further.

Your body melted into the sheets, chest heaving, but your eyes stayed locked on the scene unraveling in front of you.

Jay didn’t relent. He adjusted his grip, arms slipping under Jake’s chest to haul him higher, fucking into him harder from behind with a pace that was nothing short of brutal. His skin slapped against Jake’s ass with wet, relentless rhythm, and Jake took it beautifully—his moans muffled, body twitching with every deep thrust.

You watched them, your lips parted, breath shallow. Both their faces were flushed and wild, lost in each other. And instead of jealousy, the sight only fed the fire already burning in your gut. The ache that never really went away around them now pulsed hotter, deeper.

Jake’s voice broke as he moaned loud enough to echo through the room. “Jay, baby—oh fuck!”

Jay reached up, tangled a fist in Jake’s hair, and yanked him back just enough to crush their mouths together. The kiss was messy, desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding, both of them breathing into each other’s mouths.

The noise of it made you whine. You couldn’t stay still. You crawled forward on shaky limbs, eyes locked on Jake’s cock, thick and flushed and bouncing wildly with every one of Jay’s thrusts.

Your hand wrapped around it in one slow, sure stroke, and Jake shouted into Jay’s mouth. Jay pulled back just slightly, his eyes flicking down to see your hand wrapped tightly around Jake’s length, pumping him in time with the rhythm of their bodies.

Jake’s head fell back, hips jerking forward into your touch, his stomach tight and trembling. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, then a broken moan when you dragged your thumb over his leaking tip, smearing the precum down his shaft.

“Fuck,” he choked, voice shaking. “That—God, that feels so good.”

Jay groaned behind him, his rhythm stuttering just for a second at the sight in front of him. His gaze dropped to where your fingers wrapped around Jake’s cock—your nails catching the light, long and perfectly shaped, moving over him in steady, merciless pumps.

He hissed through his teeth, fucking into Jake harder. Jake moaned again, louder this time, his whole body pushing back into Jay while thrusting forward into your hand. His eyes fluttered open, hazy and wild as they met yours, lips parted.

Jay’s voice cut. “Lay down, baby.”

You blinked, heart pounding. You released Jake’s cock with one last stroke, watching his hips twitch at the loss, and moved backward on the bed without a word. You lay back across the pillows, your legs parting instinctively as you settled into the space, your body already pulsing in anticipation.

Jay pulled out of Jake with a slick, wet sound, his hand curling around Jake’s hip to steady him. “Come on,” he said, gaze flicking to Jake, then to you. “Enter that pussy and ride my dick.”

Jake didn’t wait. He crawled over you immediately, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, and with one fluid motion, he lined himself up and sank into you.

You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the stretch hit you hard all over again. Your walls were still sensitive, still twitching from your last orgasm, and now he was filling you again.

Behind him, Jay didn’t waste time. He adjusted, positioned himself, and with one slow, deliberate push, slid back into Jake’s ass.

"Ahhh!" Jake’s whole body jolted. A strangled sound caught in his throat, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that was sloppy, all tongue and open breath. His hips began to move almost immediately, short shallow thrusts between your legs while Jay drove into him from behind.

“F-fuck,” Jake moaned into your mouth, pulling back only to drop his lips to your throat. He bit down hard—just enough to make you cry out—then dragged his mouth lower, tongue hot on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way down to your collarbone.

Your fingers clutched at his back, and every time he thrust forward into you, it was followed by the shock of Jay’s cock driving him forward again—his motion caught between both your bodies.

Jake was trembling, moaning louder than ever, his rhythm completely overtaken by Jay’s pace. Every thrust from behind forced him deeper into you, the sensation nearly too much. His moans spilled against your throat, turning into helpless gasps as his cock slid in and out of your soaked cunt.

His voice broke in short, frantic cries. “Jay! Jay—please, baby, oh God—”

His mouth returned to your neck, teeth scraping the skin before he latched on, biting down with desperate force. The sharp sting drew a gasp from you, the pain blooming into pleasure just as Jake’s hips jolted forward again, burying himself to the base.

He held there for a moment—frozen, panting, his breath hot against your skin. His back was slick with sweat beneath your palms, muscles twitching under your touch.

Then he pulled back, just enough for you to see his face. His lips parted, breath shaky and shallow. His eyes were unfocused, lashes wet, the flush across his cheeks deep and burning. He looked wrecked, and completely beautiful—mouth closed now.

You clenched around him involuntarily. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “So fucked-out.”

Your hips rose instinctively, pushing up into him, your body begging for more, for all of it.

Jake let out a shuddering groan. He rolled his hips again, slow and deep, and the way you took him made him press his forehead to yours.

Behind him, Jay didn’t slow. He was pounding into him with brutal control, groaning with every thrust, his grip locked tight around Jake’s hips to keep him in place. You could feel each stroke reverberate through Jake's body, transferring into yours.

“F-Feels so good—ahh, fuck—feel so good!” Jake cried out, voice cracking, mouth open in a moan that bordered on a sob.

You reached up with a shaky hand, brushing the damp strands of hair from his face, your thumb stroking gently along his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

Your body clenched again, the pressure cresting high, unbearable and exquisite.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet his every desperate thrust. “Jake—cum with me, please—ahh—now!”

Jake’s breath hitched, his hips faltered before he slammed into you one final time, burying himself deep. His entire body seized, a loud, gasping moan torn from his chest as he came hard, cock pulsing inside you with wave after wave of heat.

You fell with him, your orgasm ripped through you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your cunt clenched around him, milking every drop of his release. Your cry echoed into his mouth as he kissed you again.

“Fuck—both of you are so hot—God—”

Jay’s pace grew rougher, deeper, his restraint unraveling with every breathless sound spilling from Jake’s lips, every clench of your cunt around Jake’s cock. He watched you both, panting, his hands gripping Jake’s hips so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

“Fucking hell,” Jay growled. Jake moaned again, overstimulated and soft, his forehead still resting against yours as Jay buried himself one last time with a low groan, 

You felt it in Jake’s shudder, the way his breath stilled as Jay’s cock throbbed deep inside him. The sound Jay made as he emptied himself, his body pressing tight to Jake’s back.

Jay was the first to exhale, his lips ghosting over the back of Jake’s neck as he slowly eased out. Jake let out a soft whimper, his body twitching from the sensitivity, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, one hand sliding over his spine.

Jake collapsed onto you gently, his full weight cushioned by your body, his cheek pressed to your shoulder as he panted, still flushed and wet with heat. You stroked his hair, letting your fingers card slowly through the damp strands.

Jay shifted beside you, climbing up the bed on unsteady arms before dropping down on your other side. His chest was heaving, he wrapped one arm around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach, fingers brushing softly against your skin.

Jake tilted his face up to look at you. “You okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded, stroking his cheek. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Better than okay.”

Jake gave a breathless laugh, burying his face briefly into the crook of your neck. “Fuck,” he groaned, still catching his breath. “That was the most delicious orgasm I’ve ever had."

You chuckled, breath hitching a little as you threaded your fingers into his hair again.

Jay leaned in from your other side, his body pressing close, his mouth trailing a soft kiss along your shoulder before brushing Jake’s temple. His arm wrapped around the both of you, pulling you tighter into the warmth of him. Your legs tangled instinctively, bodies nestled under the sheets that now clung to the lingering heat of sex and skin.

None of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching comfortably between heartbeats and shallow breaths.

Then you glanced between them, your voice still breathless. “So…” you murmured, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Does this mean I have two boyfriends now?”

Jake’s head popped up slightly, a crooked grin forming. “Only if you’re okay being heavily spoiled and never allowed to escape.”

Jay made a quiet sound of amusement beside you, his thumb brushing a lazy line along your hip. “We’re clingy,” he said, voice low, eyes half-lidded but sincere. “Terrible at sharing. Lucky for us, we just want the same person.”

You laughed, letting yourself melt back into the weight of them, your body still pulsing with quiet aftershocks and warmth. “I think I can live with that,” you said softly, eyes fluttering closed as their hands continued to drift gently over your skin.

And then you suddenly remember something. Your eyes snapped open as panic surged through your chest.

“Shit—Sunoo!”

You shot up so fast that the blanket fell off your chest and Jake practically flinched, startled, his sleepy post-orgasm daze completely shattered. Jay blinked at you from behind, frowning in confusion. Then he realizes what you meant.

“Sunoo!!!”

Jake’s voice echoed across the grassy field the next day, dramatically over-the-top as he broke into a slow-motion sprint—arms wide, expression exaggerated with mock desperation.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, trailing behind him with your fingers laced through Jay’s. Sunoo, on the other hand, stood perfectly still ahead, arms crossed, expression locked in a glare.

Just as Jake went in for a hug, Sunoo’s palm came up and smacked him square across the face—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jolt the dramatics right out of him. Jake stumbled back, blinking.

“You didn’t text, you didn’t call, and my best friend just disappeared with you two?” Sunoo snapped, pointing an accusing finger toward you and Jay. 

You smiled awkwardly, offering a sheepish little wave behind Jake’s shoulder.

“She fainted!” Jake explained, hands flying up. “We were busy assisting her. Medical-grade care. You should be grateful your best friend fell into the right hands.”

Sunoo’s eyebrow arched so high. His gaze slowly dropped to your neck… and then narrowed. “Yeah, right,” he said dryly, arms crossing again. “That why she’s covered in poorly hidden hickeys?”

Jake blinked, he slowly reached out and bit his own finger, eyes wide as he turned to stare at you. “Babe,” he whispered. “You said you’d cover those.”

You flushed, dragging the collar of your shirt higher with a quick tug. “I did! Jay distracted me!”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Dodgeball’s starting now—don’t actually faint this time.”

Your fingers gently slipped away from Jay’s, reaching out to Sunoo instead. You slid your arm through his as you began walking beside him, your shoulder brushing his. He let you lean into him without hesitation.

“I assume the three of you are okay now,” Sunoo said after a pause, voice lighter, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m still scared,” you admitted. “But… as long as I’m with them, I think I’ll be fine.”

Sunoo gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me at your back too.”

Jake popped up beside Sunoo, slinging an arm over his shoulder with a wide grin, pressing in close to you on the other side. Jay followed right behind, falling into step beside you with that calm, quiet presence that always made you feel anchored.

“So,” Jake said casually, stretching his arms above his head before locking them behind his neck. “What do you guys want to eat later? Because I’m seriously craving some Samyang Buldak noodles.”

Sunoo stared at him, blinking once. Then, flatly: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jake blinked back, innocent. “What?”

“It’s thirty-four degrees,” Sunoo said, gesturing wildly to the sky like the sun itself was his witness. “And your dumbass is out here craving spicy death noodles? Are you okay? Do we need to check for brain damage?”

"Well, I love spicy!" Jake scoffed, throwing his hands up. 

Their voices quickly dissolved into muffled bickering again—Jake insisting it was about heat and thrill, Sunoo arguing that eating molten fire under the sun was a cry for help.

Jay exhaled a quiet laugh beside you, his fingers brushing against yours. You felt the heat of it—not from the sun, not from the air, but from them.

From all of this. And as you watched your best friend and your boyfriend argue, with Jay steady at your side and your pulse still echoing from the day before, you couldn’t help the smile curling at your lips.

Maybe Jake was right. 

Maybe a little spicy-ness was exactly what made life interesting.

[alotofpockets]

The way I see you | Caitlin Foord x Photographer!Reader

5k celebration prompt: "Your scars don’t make you weak, they show how strong you are."

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.4k

-----

Cetaphil had hired you for some shoots before, including the shoot with Matildas star Hayley Raso. You worked with the Matildas often, usually being one of the main photographers when they have new kit releases, so it was only logical that they also asked you to come on for their shoot with Caitlin Foord.

You had worked with Caitlin before, from Matildas shoots to Adidas campaigns, and you always found a great rhythm together. The great rhythm was always easily found because she has a similar mindset when it came to the shoots, which made the sessions so much more fun.

The studio buzzed with energy as everyone around you was setting up the set. You were getting your setup ready as well. Laptop placed on a standard next to the main shooting spot for a direct check on your imagery, and checking your camera settings on all of them. When you are ready with the first camera, you turn to the tripod to attach it. 

“Hey.” A familiar voice says from behind you, making you turn around with a smile, “Hi Caitlin, good to see you.” She walks up to you and gives you a short hug, “I had no idea you would be working this shoot, it’s so good to see you.”

You have a quick little catch up before Caitlin excuses herself to head to hair and make-up. The plan for today was minimal make-up, and a slid back bun, so the full focus could be on Caitlin's skin. Minimal was also the theme for the set-up. Neutral tones, just the singular table with the products, no other decoration. 

You took one final look at today's moodboard to see if everything was set-up accordingly, and you would be able to photograph the way the company envisioned. 

Then Caitlin walked back in, “How do I look?” You look up and smile at her. “You look great, picture perfect like always.” Caitlin expertly turned to the set to hide the light blushing of her cheeks. “So, what's the plan for today?” 

You show her the mood board and talk her through your plans for the shoot. And then like always when you’re shooting with Caitlin, everything went smoothly. Together you quickly found a rhythm and got to work. 

Starting with some simple shots with Caitlin posing behind some of the product lines that had been neatly placed on the table, then a few of her with some of the creams and lotions on her skin.

The shots looked great, and you were loving the simplicity of them. They were coming out exactly how you had envisioned them when you were working off the mood board.

This shoot had one outfit change, so Caitlin excused herself to go change. You and the team worked on clearing out the set. While there wasn’t much there already, the next few shots would be just of Caitlin, so all the products and the table could be moved to the side.

The room was bustling with chatter while everyone worked on the set. In the meantime you were quickly showing a few raw images to the project lead. They were already loving that they could see their vision coming to life, and thought the images were great.

Caitlin came back in now wearing a white sports bra instead of the white tank top she was wearing earlier, as well as a switch in bottoms. She looked great, but you could sense that there was a newfound nervousness coming off her. 

You figured she just had to adjust a bit, so you gave her some time before starting the shoot back up again.

Caitlin was standing with her arms folded, and looking anywhere but at the camera. She looked uncomfortable, and that was the last thing you wanted someone to be feeling while you were photographing.

“Everybody take ten, please.” You say you usher everyone out of the room. Everyone but Caitlin, you step towards her, leaving your camera. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just I’ve got this scar on my ribs and it’s showing with this new outfit.” You nod, letting her know that you’re listening. “I don’t like showing it because it makes me look weak.”

"Your scars don’t make you weak, they show how strong you are." You try to comfort her. You truly stood behind that. Having a scar meant that you overcame something, no matter how big or small. A scar shows that you healed, and that should be seen as a positive thing in your eyes.

“You think so?” She asks, opening up a little more.

“Yeah, definitely.” You say with a smile. “We have enough shots for this shoot to be a success, so if you want to stop now, that’s totally okay. But I would love to capture you the way I see you, and show you how strong you look. We can use them if you like them, and I can delete them if you don’t. And if it would make you feel more comfortable, it can just be you and me.”

She seems to genuinely consider your offer, “Okay, if it’s just you and me I’ll do it.” You smile and nod, “Alright, let me just tell everyone they can head home, and I will be right back.”

You stepped out and let the crew know they could wrap up for the day, and that you had everything you needed. With a thank you for their work today and the promise you would clean up the set, you waved them off.

When you walked back in, you saw Caitlin running her finger over her scar. She looked up when she heard you come back in, and for a split second she looked completely vulnerable, but the next she seemed to lighten up again.

“Are you ready?” You asked her softly.

She nodded. “Ready.”

You picked your camera up and got her into the frame. You moved the camera around a bit hoping to get a better angle, but realised the lights had to move a bit. “Can you keep facing where I am standing now while I adjust the light?” She nodded and you angled the lights so they were framing her exactly in the way that you wanted. 

When you get back to your previous spot and look through the camera again, you whisper, “Perfect.” While clicking away. You took a couple of shots before you started giving some directions. With every shot Caitlin seemed to get more comfortable, and it was showing in her confidence. You had taken a few good shots, but the moment she looked directly into the camera, you knew you had the perfect shot. 

After capturing a few photographs of the moment, you look over to your laptop, watching the images come through. Your smile grows, “That’s the one, come see.” You tell Caitlin. Who comes walking over. 

You open the latest shot, and watch Caitlin study it. Her smile grows, “You were right, I do look strong. Thank you so much.”

You smile back at her, “Of course, I just wanted you to see how strong you are in my eyes.” Her cheeks flush red, now fully noticeable for you, but she doesn’t let that stop her this time around.

“You said you were going to be in London for a bit next month right?” You nod, “Yeah, I have  a few shoots lined up, and figured I would make a little trip out of it.”

The nervousness that had been replaced by confidence now found its way back to Caitlin in a new way. You watch her every move, trying to figure out what she was thinking, but then she spoke her mind. “If you have time, would you maybe like to get a coffee with me?”

There is a moment of silence as you realise what she was asking you. A warmth filled your chest and your smile grew. “I’d love that. It’s a date.”

“It’s a date.” She echoes with a smile. The nervousness fading just as quickly as it had returned. 

Since you had the space for yourselves, you decided to get a couple more shots just for fun. Caitlin had even pushed you in front of the camera and snapped a few of you. Every shot that had come after the date plans, were of both of you smiling from ear to ear.

-----

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[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 41)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Pregnancy

At around 4 o 'clock that day, you and Max climbed into Paidi's car to take the thirty-minute drive to a nearby hiking spot.

"Excited?" Max asked, his voice brimming with energy as he adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Absolutely," you replied, forcing enthusiasm into your voice, but a hint of unease churned in your stomach as you worried that, perhaps, by going with him, you were leading Max on, which was not your intention.

"That's good, because I even have a little surprise for you when we get there," Max grinned, his enthusiasm contagious, as he turned onto the winding road that led to the cliffs.

"Oh? What is it?" you shot back, curiosity piquing despite your earlier reservations.

"You'll see soon enough," he said, glancing at you with a sly smile.

The car bumped along the uneven road, and you took a moment to admire the lush greenery flanking the path.

"Is it food?" you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice, hoping it would be something you could savour.

"Maybe," he replied, a grin splitting his face as he navigated a sharp turn to pull in to the nearby car park.

You hopped out, the salty breeze rustling your hair as you caught sight of the cliffs looming ahead.

"I can't believe I haven't come here before," you murmured, the stunning view stretching out before you, where the rugged rock met the frothy sea below. “It’s amazing.”

"Just wait until you see it up close," Max replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's breathtaking."

"So, you have been here before?" you asked with a hint of surprise in your voice, thinking that he didn't know much about it by the way he had acted earlier.

"Once or twice when I was really young," he admitted, brushing a stray hair from his forehead before retrieving a small basket from the back seat, its woven surface hinting at hidden delights.

"What's in there?" you asked, peering over curiously as he popped it open.

"Just a little something to fuel our adventure," he grinned, pulling out a couple of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper as well as some beers.

"Jesus, you came prepared. I thought we were just going to come here for a quick walk," you murmured, feeling a little uncomfortable now, hoping that he wouldn't want to take this any further.

"Well, I thought a picnic might be fun," Max said as he showed you the way and you followed him, a mix of anticipation and lingering uncertainty threading through your veins.

"Okay, just let me text the others, telling them that we will be back late," you said as you fished your phone from your pocket, the cool screen illuminating your fingers.

Max stood a few paces away, scanning the breathtaking view, his expression a mix of excitement and impatience.

"Don't worry about them, let's just enjoy the moment," he urged, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. "Despite, there isn't any reception here," he declared and, sure enough, the screen displayed a lonely message icon, mocking you with its emptiness.

"Come on! Let's hike a bit and find the perfect spot," Max urged, breaking your focus and beckoning you toward the trail that wound around the cliffs.

As you stepped onto the rocky path, the sea foamed and crashed below, a rhythmic symphony of nature.

"Just a little further," Max called back, his enthusiasm infectious as he bounded ahead, weaving through the wildflowers sprouting along the trail.

"You know, these cliffs are the kind of place that make you feel small?" Max called back, the wind tugging at his words.

"It's absolutely amazing," he acknowledged and nodded, the expansive horizon swallowing your thoughts, pushing all worries aside for a moment.

"Yeah," you agreed, a smile creeping onto your face. "It's beautiful," you said until, eventually, you made it to the cliff's edge, where the wind whipped around you, sending shivers down your spine. Max plopped down on the grass, unwrapping the sandwiches triumphantly.

"Dinner with a view?" he joked, glancing up, hopeful eyes reflecting the ocean's blue.

"Thanks," you murmured, grinning as you accepted a sandwich, its fresh aroma mixing with the salty air.

Max also pulled out the beers and popped the caps with a satisfying crack, handing one to you with a grin.

"Slainté," he said, raising his bottle, the sun casting a golden glow on the horizon behind him.

You clinked your bottles together, laughter bubbling in the air.

"Slainté," you murmured, feeling the coolness of the glass against your palm.

Max took a hearty bite of his sandwich, crumbs tumbling into the grass as he began with some small talk.

You took many photos on your phone and Max took some of you too, while you chatted about random topics such as art and politics.

He was good company and time went by much faster than you had expected.

"We should probably head back soon. It's getting dark," you suggested, glancing at the horizon where the sun dipped lower, casting a fiery orange hue across the sky.

Max frowned, reluctant. "Just a few more minutes? The view is worth it," he said, moving a little closer towards you as the sun began to stretch its golden fingers across the sky, casting long shadows that danced around your feet.

"Okay, just a few more, but then we really should head back," you relented, caught in the moment as, suddenly, Max's hand sneaked around you, catching you by surprise.

Your heart raced as his fingers brushed against your side, igniting a flutter of confusion within you.

"Max, I...," you thus began but, before you could even finish your sentence, Max leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a hesitant kiss.

You quickly pulled away, heart pounding, the shock of the moment washing over you like the tide.

"Max, I am not..." you started, the warmth of his breath lingering in the air between you, catching you off guard as you searched for the right words.

"You aren't into me," he stammered, backing away slightly, a flush creeping into his cheeks. “I mean, I should have known, but…,” he began, shaking his head, causing you to blush.

"I'm just... things are complicated right now," you interrupted, keeping your voice steady despite the thundering in your chest.

Max rubbed the back of his neck, visibly trying to process your rejection.

"You really do have a crush on my uncle, don't you?" Max's voice cracked slightly, although his amusement was evident.

"What?" you feigned confusion, the soft breeze mingling with your rising heart rate.

"You two give of a vibe," he insisted, glancing away, unsure whether to be amused or frustrated. "It's impossible not to notice and I am surprised your dad and Nina haven’t even picked up on it yet,” he chuckled as the tension wrapped around you, the truth hanging unspoken in the air.

"No, we just worked together on a project, that's all," you insisted, your pulse racing as you felt the weight of his gaze. “There is no vibe!”

Max crossed his arms, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Okay, sure. If you say so," he relented nonetheless, causing you to shake your head.

"I mean it Max. There is nothing between me and your uncle, in any shape or form," you insisted, but the doubt lingered in the air like the salty breeze around you.

Max raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk creeping onto his face. "And I believe you, Y/N," he lied, before offering you his hand.

"We should go now. Maybe we can stop by the local pub on the way back for a pint," he suggested and you hesitated, the unease flickering inside you once more.

"Only if you promise that you won't try to kiss me again," you said, your eyes narrowing playfully.

Max raised his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish grin plastered on his face. "I promise. Just a beer and some banter."

Relieved, you accepted the terms, and together you headed back down the path.

Shortly after you left the parking lot and drove off to the nearest pub, you finally had some reception.

The screen lit up with a flurry of texts from Cillian, wondering where you were.

"Is everything okay?" he wanted to know in his latest message as, clearly, he was worried about your prolonged absence. Or was it something else that he was worried about?

As you read through the messages, a knot twisted in your stomach and you wondered what his problem was.

There were several of them, asking you if you were safe, if you had reached the cliffs, and why you hadn't replied. You glanced at Max, who was bouncing mildly in his seat, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind your smile.

"All good?" he asked, glancing over at you momentarily as he navigated the winding roads, his enthusiasm unwavering.

"Yeah, just catching up on messages," you replied, forcing a smile while your mind whirled with Cillian's concerns.

Max nodded, oblivious, as he shifted gears, eager to reach the pub teeming with life and, just as you were to reply to Cillian's latest message, the reception went again.

***

Meanwhile, at the house, Cillian paced back and forward.

"You know, they should have been back by now," he murmured, wondering if he should text you again, which is when Paidi stepped in to calm him down, his casual demeanour contrasting sharply with Cillian's growing anxiety.

"What's got you all wound up?" Paddy asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well, Max and Y/N have been gone for a while, so I am a little worried," Cillian shot back, rubbing the back of his neck as he cast a wary glance at his phone.

Paidi chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, man. They are probably having a good time. Max took some sandwiches and a few beers with him," he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he leaned against the counter. "I think he likes Y/N," he went on to say, trying to tease his brother who shot him a look, the tension still etched on his brow.

"Yeah, but it's dark and it's windy too," he replied, pacing again, frustration bubbling just below the surface as Dermont joined the conversation as well, unaware of Cillian's growing jealousy which he masterfully masked with concern and worry.

Dermont studied him, shaking his head. "You're being paranoid. They're adults, not kids," he declared. "Despite, I know Y/N to be extremely responsible and I trust her to do the right thing," your father said, but it wasn't you who Cillian didn't trust. It was Max.

The fact that Max was having some private time with you made Cillian uncomfortable. He was raging with jealousy inside now and this only just fuelled his frustration with your prolonged absence.

Internally, he wondered what you were doing. Were you making out or were you just talking about the cliffs, or worse?

"So you aren't at all concerned that they haven't rocked up yet?" Cillian asked, crossing his arms defensively, his brow knitted into a tight frown.

Dermont shrugged, amusement flickering in his eyes. "No I am not man, and she is my daughter, not yours, so you can relax now," your father countered, a playful tone easing the tension in the room.

Cillian sighed, raking a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with an unwilling anxiety.

"I mean, why are you even so worried about her lately?" Dermont then asked, having noticed Cillian being rather protective towards you, which was unusual for him.

"I don't know," Cillian murmured, unsure how to respond. "Maybe we just connected a bit more since working together," he explained to your father, telling him that he was trying to look after you while on set.

"Alight, well thanks for looking out for her man, but I can assure you she is fine. She is a good kid," Dermont said and the word 'kid' made Cillian cringe, but he bit his tongue.

"Now, I am going to hit the hay," Dermont finally declared, stretching his arms above his head as he yawned and Paidi agreed. He was tired too and wasn't going to wait up for the both of you, knowing full well that, by now, you were probably hanging out in some pub.

Your father had always trusted you as you never gave him a reason to doubt your judgment. But of course. he was blissfully unaware of what was brewing beneath the surface, the connection between you and Cillian tangled in layers of secrecy.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09 @hagarsays @kikimurphys @strangeobsessed

[halosbakery]

Megumi X femreader soft sex pretty pls? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (Like pls make it loooooong)

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐲

𝙈𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙞 𝙁𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Note + Warnings :

A VEERRRYYYY long fic

Confessions.

smut

Not proofread..

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐲 - 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲

The golden rays of the current evening shone through the pristine windows of the cafeteria of Jujutsu High while it also outlined your pleasing features while you play with the small slice of matcha cake sitting on the plate in between you and your best friend, Megumi.

"Don't play with your food." He grumbled as he didn't even spare a glance at you, his body faced towards the large open windows overlooking the sparring oval, surrounded by tiered benches where other jujutsu sorcerers would be sparring or be sitting by the benches to chat.

"How do you even know what im doing? You're not even looking at me." You reply back which makes him scowl and turn his head to you. His brows were furrowed while he also had a pout on his thin lips which made you burst out into laughter which blended into the buzzing chatter of the cafeteria.

"Will you stop that!" He scolded, while hiding his flustered face in his collar. He would never admit it but he absolutely loved seeing you laugh, especially if it was because of him. He loved the way your eyes would glisten under the golden lighting, making your whole face beam while you big smile would literally lightup the whole room. Your laughter died down as you continued to eat your cake, his eyes glued on you.

"Can you hurry up and finish your food.. i wanna go back to my dorm." He complained.

"You can just go back if you want. Ill come later."

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm not letting you go to my dorm alone."

And with that, you decided to say no more and continued to eat your cake.

Soon, you both were in his dorm. You had taken a shower there now and you were currently laid on his couch, in his hoodie and your shorts while you scrolled on your phone as he was sat on the floor, playing on his PS5.

"Gumi theres a party at Yuujis place this sunday." You tell him, while shuffling around on his couch.

"I'm not going" He says sternly which makes you instantly roll your eyes.

"Why? Can you just pleaase come for this one? Everyones invited and I really want to go." You begged but it was no used.

"No." "Please?" "No." "Pleaseeee"

"Fine. I'll think about it" He says, letting out a dramatic and very annoyed sigh while his slender hands toyed with the controller, his face stuck to his tv while you were clearly distracted by his side profile. "What?" He grumbled.

"How did you know i was looking at you?" You question.

"I can see it from the corner of my eye, idiot" He'd say and huff which makes you from and kick him in the head with your bare foot.

"Don't call me that!" You whine as he dodged your attack. He just sighed and continue to play his game while you stayed content and scrolled on your phone.

At night, you were snuggled next to Megumi in his comfy and soft bed. Both of you would usually have a sleepover at his place every friday since it was clear you both enjoyed spending time together. His back was leaned against the headboard, reading a book about history while you were snuggled by his side, scrolling on your phone. Eventually, you fell asleep. He saw that and put his book on his bedside table as he took your phone out of your hands, turning it off and setting it ontop of his book whilst he pulled the blankets up higher, making sure you were warm. He then turned off the lights off and laid down with you, falling into a very deep sleep.

In the morning, you woke-up to Megumi in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the both of you. You took some time to adjust but when you were fully aware of your surroundings, you reached out to grab your phone from his bedside table just for a a hand of slender arms taking your phone away.

"Hey!" You whine, looking up at him.

"It's not good for your brain if you go on it first thing in the morning." He says, letting out a sigh. "Anyways I made us breakfast."

"Okay!" You said excitedly, sitting down at the small table. You looked down to see two slices of toast with a sunny side up, very thinly sliced bacon and some melted cheese on it while there was another small bowl of blueberries, sliced kiwi and sliced banana. "This all looks so good" You tell him as you sipped on the glass of water and started eating hungrily while he took frequent bites from his food. "So what should we do today?" You ask, averting your gaze to look at his emerald irises.

"You suggested the restaurant 15 minutes away from the dorms.." He mumbled.

"WHAT! You still remember that?" You exclaim, in complete shock which made him roll his eyes and nod. You then smile. "Oookaay! I wanna go." You tell him, cheekily stealing a slice of kiwi from him which he turned a blind eye on.

In the evening, you were both walking to the cafe in peaceful silence. The sound of the trees, distant chatter and wildife filled the silence.

"Y/N." He said, trying to start a serious conversation but it seemed like you weren't paying attention at all.

"Gumi look at this!" You call out to him, holding a butterfly. He quickly swatted a hand over it to make it fly away which made you pout.

"What?" He asked, annoyed.

"Why would you do that?"

"They're dirty.." He mumbled, or maybe he just wanted to talk to you about..

"Hurry up! The cafe is right there." You say, grabbing his large hand with your smaller one and pulling him towards the restaurant. It was just a large restaurant which was lively and had lots of different Japanese dishes. He let out a deep sigh, sitting down infront of you in the enclosed area of the restaurant.

After you had both finished your meal, you both headed back towards your dorms.

"Y/N" He says sternly which makes you look up at him. Finally. "I need to talk to you. About something" He continues to walk next to you.

"About?" You asked in a curious tone. He took in a deep breath and stopped in his tracks.

"Do you ever see us being.. more than friends?" He asked quietly. You stood beneath him and pondered the question.

"Maybe. Why?" You've honestly never thought about such questions.

"I.. just can't imagine my future as you staying as my friend." He said in a calm tone while looking down at you, towering over you.

"What?"

"I'm saying I like you, gosh!" He said, clearly annoyed. Your whole body froze. You knew you liked him too but never in your whole life had you thought you'd share feelings for eachother. There was a looong pause of silence until he spoke-up. "Y/N?" He took a step closer, whilst you wrapped your arms around him as he gently hugged you back.

"I.. like you too" You mumbled into his chest which makes him let out the smallest tiniest smile ever which you didn't endup catching a glimpse of.

"Yeah?"

You nod. He looked down as you, you looked up at him. You let out a giggle.

You decided to stay over the night, to talk about both your feelings for eachother and both your boundaries when it comes to a relationship. Eventually, you fell asleep snuggling him like usual but tonight was different. Tonight you were able to sleep because he was gently stroking your hair which instantly led you to fall into a heavy sleep.

In the morning, you felt a large thumb gently rubbing your cheek. You opened your eyes to stare up at Megumi as he looked down at you, sharing a silent moment together while he continued to gently rub your cheek.

"Party today" You remind him which makes him groan. You giggle and roll around to reach for your phone just for him to grab you by the waist gently and put you down. "Hey!" You say.

"You already know the rules. No phones right when you wakeup." He says with his deep raspy voice.

"You sound like my mum." You tell him, he gives you an eye roll.

"Are you hungry?" He asks, receiving a nod from you. He quickly gets up to make breakfast for the both of you. You follow him into the kitchen to spectate and eventually, you both were munching away. He had his eyes locked on you while you talked about whatever.

At night, Megumi let you shower at his place again so you both could get ready for the party together. When you had finished and blow dried your hair completely, you realised something was missing. Your dress for the party! You quickly wrapped yourself in your towel as you walked out to look for your dress.

"Gumi have you seem my dress? The one for the party." You looked up at him.

"This one?" He held up your black dress. You nodded to try and grab it but he held it out of your reach which made you frown. "Who said i let you wear this?" He asked annoyedly.

"What? I can wear what I want." You said. He huffed and put your dress aside.

"Come here." He gestured you to come closer. You walked up to him and he wrapped his arms around you.

"I'm not letting other people see you.. like that." He mumbles while taking off the towel you were wrapped in which made you flustered. He gently picks you up and places you on his soft and clean bed. "Are you okay with this?" He asks gently, looking down at you.

"Yeah but.. what about the party?" You asked.

"We're not going." He'd say as he took off his hoodie, revealing his toned abs and large biceps.

He leaned down and tucked your hair behind your ears as he kissed your forehead.

"You're so beautiful" He whispers while a large hand run up your thigh then rested on your waist, gently rubbing it while he looked down at your smooth body. He looked at your face to see you at peace. You weren't showing any signs of being uncomfortable so he decided to take a step further. His hand moved higher up, a part of his thumb gently brushing against the side of your breast, feeling how soft it is. His hands gently cupped your breasts and very slowly massaged them.

"You're so soft baby." He mumbled. You nodded in response as you felt his thumb gently circle around your nipples. He then rub his thumb over your nipple which instantly hardened it. "Sensitive?" He teased which made you blush. His thumbs pressed down on your nipples teasingly as if they were buttons. You felt tingles trail through your body. You then felt his tongue suck on your left breast which made you gasp and instinctively bring your hand to his hair to grip onto it whilst he continued to suck. He eventually started to circle his tongue around your nipple, and teasingly flick it with his tongue until he lifted his head, releasing your breast with a small 'Pop!' sound. He looked down at you, then gently kissed you, exploring your mouth. You suddenly felt a hand go dangerously near your core until it rested on your inner thigh, gently massaging it while he kissed you lovingly. You were so into the kiss you didn't even realise his hand was starting to gently trace along your core until.. his thumb pressed against your clit which made you gasp. You quickly broke the kiss to look down and saw his thumb gently letting go of your clit, just to press down on it.

"Whats wrong?" He asked, tucking your stray hair behind your ears. Your hand clenched onto the blankets when you felt him flick your clit as you let out a soft moan. He smirked, deciding to massage your breast slowly while his other hand gently traced your core.

"You're already so wet." He says, leaning down to look at your core. With two fingers he spread the puffy folds apart, as he inspected it and then let go, closing the shut. He then opened them again, just to let go teasingly.

"Guumiii.." You whined as he chucked deeply.

"Needy?" He asked as he gently slipped a finger in.

"Ah~!" You moan, spreading your legs open. He kept his finger still, not moving it as your hips started bucking, trying to feel something but his other hand gripped onto your hips.

"No. Stay still." He says, while he slowly takes his hands out which makes you whine but he quickly dug them back into your cunt again. The grip on the blankets tighten as you giggle. He eventually started moving his hand, gently slipping his finger in and out slowly. Enough to please you but not enough to bring you to a release. Eventually, he added another finger in, gently moving his fingers in and out. After some time, he took his hands out, licking his fingers clean while looking at you, then at your cunt. He lowered himself as he started sucking on your core, slowly circling his tongue around you clit while your hands gripped his spiky messy hair all while you'd let out soft moans.

"Are you okay?" He'd say softly, while pausing to look up at you. You'd nod so he'd continue his ministrations. After a while, you heard him takeoff his pants.. then boxers until you saw his long veiny cock in an angry red dripping with pre cum.

"Can i put it in..?" He asked quietly. You nodded. He gently aligned the mushroom of his tip against your cunt, then slowly went in. You quickly squeezed your eyes shut, gripping onto the blankets tightly as you could feel tears pricking the back of your eyes.

"Shit, you're tight.. Is this your first time?" He spoke up. You nodded and his gaze softened. He tried to be more gentle, massaging the sides of your thigh until he was half-way in. "Almost there" He reassured, trying his best to slow down. You opened your eyes to find your vision blurry, your cheeks flowing with tears. He saw this and gasped, quickly pulling out.

"Hey.. are you okay..?" He quickly cupped your cheeks. You nodded while he wiped your tears away.

"Y-You can keep going.." You mumble.

"Are you sure?"

You nod. He nodded too, then slipping himself in slowly as his hand held your smaller one, his thumb rubbing your palm. Over time, he was completely inside you. He didn't move, wanting you to get used to it until your hands let go of the blankets and your body wasn't so stiff. He slowly started moving against your tight gummy walls while groaning. He gently went in and out softly while he watched you squirm under him. He moved his finger to gently run his thumb over your clit, gently flicking it, making you moan. Slowly, he picked up his pace, knowing he had hit your g spot since your moans were more frequent and louder.

Eventually, you hit your climax. He watched you come undone beneath him, while he came in you. He let out a whimper, then pulling out, needing to rest for a bit.

He then got up and went to the bathroom, coming back with a small damp towel, gently patting your core and cleaning you up.

"Do you want to take a bath?" He'd ask gently. You shook your head and he nodded. He went to the bathroom to give himself a rinse then came out to see you wrapped in his blankets like a sushi. He chuckled to himself, walking over to you.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, earning a nod from you. He quickly got up to make something for you. He came back with a glass of chocolate milk and a wrap, with lettuce, corn and fried chicken. You unwrapped yourself to eat. Megumi sat beside you, eating a wrap himself.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Alright.. a bit tired." You responded. He nodded.

When the both of you had finished eating, he quickly washed the dishes then snuggled in bed with you, cuddling you.

"Gumi?" You look up at him. He looked down and hummed in response. "Can i get a kiss?" You asked. His face instantly turned red as he avoided eye contact. "What! Just kiss me. It's not that hard" You say, teasingly.

"Easy for you to say.. you're so bold.." He responds which makes you giggle. Eventually, you fell asleep in his arms. He looked down at your face, the moonlight outlining your features. He gently kissed you forehead and whispered.

"Goodnight, idiot"

[tennessoui]

Sooo I know you have another essay to write buuuut when you have time, could you do #25? Please and thank you!!!

Good luck with getting your essay done!! 🥰

here you go!

[from this list of prompts]

[2. 'have you lost your damn mind?' - 5. 'are you jealous' - 13. 'kiss me.' - 14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.' - 18. 'this is the stupidest plan you've ever had. of course i'm in.' - 19. 'the paint is supposed to go where?' - 22. 'i've seen the way you look at me when you think i don't notice' (LATEST) - 24. 'you're the only one i trust to do this' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 28. 'marry me?' - 29. 'i thought you were dead' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' - 37. 'wanna dance?' - 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

25. 'i can't believe you talked me into this.'

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Barriss mutters under her breath, far too loudly for Ahsoka's comfort.

"If you keep grumbling, he's gonna hear us from parsecs away," Ahsoka snaps, pushing against her arm. "And I didn't talk you into anything. We're just bringing Master Kenobi a slice of honey cake for his Temple Day."

"You talked me into wearing this stupid hat," Barriss points out, gesturing up to the cone atop her head. "And waking up at 0500 to do this."

"It's not my fault he likes to wake early," Ahsoka sniffs and adjusts her own coned hat. She'd looked it up. It's a Stewjoni birthday tradition, and since Jedi don't really mark their birthdays, given that many birthdays aren't known or precisely documented, she thinks it's alright to mix traditions in the name of celebration.

It's Master Obi-Wan's Temple Day, which means that one hundred years ago--or, apparently, thirty-seven to be exactly--on this day, Master Kenobi was brought to the Temple and adopted by the Jedi.

"I don't even like Master Kenobi all that much," Barriss says, and Ahsoka elbows her.

Probably the first and most important lesson her master ever taught her is that everyone likes Master Kenobi. To suggest otherwise is highly dangerous if Master Skywalker's in hearing range.

"Shut up, yes you do," Ahsoka says and pushes the cake plate into her friend's hand so that she can study the lockpad outside Master Kenobi's door. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be bringing him cake at 0500 on his Temple Day. Now be quiet, I'm trying to remember what digits Skyguy uses to gain access."

It'd help the most if Skyguy had answered the twenty comms she'd sent him last night, when she'd thought up her surprise for Master Kenobi's Temple day. But he hadn't even opened them. If it weren't for their training bond, Ahsoka wouldn't even know he was alive. They've been on Coruscant for three days, and she hasn't seen him since de-boarding.

She thinks maybe he and Senator Amidala made up, though she's not supposed to know about that. Not about their fight, not about their relationship. Her master thinks she's too young to hear about any of it, even though she's still got eyes.

It'd surprise her if they did get back together, from what Ahsoka's pieced together, but nothing else explains Anakin's absence.

But anyway.

It would be so much easier if Anakin were with her, because Anakin knows the code to get into Master Kenobi's quarters like he knows everything else about Master Kenobi.

But part of the reason Ahsoka's gone to all the trouble of finding the coned hats and making the honey cake--from scratch!--and roping Barriss in to help her with the whole thing is that if Anakin has gotten back together with Padmé, he's liable to forget all about Master Kenobi's Temple day, and Master Kenobi is liable to get really sad about it.

So Ahsoka is here, just in case Anakin remains...indisposed. It's what Master Kenobi deserves. He's a great Grandmaster. Some would probably even say he takes on a lot of master-like duties when it comes to teaching Ahsoka, and Ahsoka wouldn't argue. It's sort of nice to have two masters who look after her and encourage her to become the best Jedi she can be, even though that also means she has two masters who enjoy nagging at her all the time.

"Oh!" she says as the lockpad beside the door flashes green and opens. "Huh. That's funny."

"What?" Barriss asks, holding the cake plate in front of her like it's a shield.

"Oh, the doorpad code is Anakin's Temple day," Ahsoka says as she steps through the door. "It's ironic is all, that--Skyguy?"

"Ahsoka!?" Her master is in the kitchen unit. In Master Obi-Wan's kitchen unit. At 0500 in the morning.

And...shirtless?

"Master, put on a shirt!" Ahsoka yelps, turning her face away and covering her eyes. Beside her, Barriss makes a noise of disgust. "What are you even doing here? Naked?"

"Me?" Anakin's voice is high-pitched and far too loud for what had been a quiet morning. His words are accompanied by the sounds of a scramble around the area. Ahsoka doesn't even want to know what her master is doing. "Me--what are you doing here? It's not even 0600!"

"It's Master Obi-Wan's Temple day!" Ahsoka cries back, risking a peek over her fingers. Anakin has found and clothed himself in a striped and frilly yellow apron, which--well, it'll have to be do. "But why are you standing naked in Master Obi-Wan's kitchen unit?"

Barriss coughs. "Ahsoka, I think--we should probably..."

Anakin's face is beet red, and it grows to a worrying shade of purple when there's a clatter from further in the quarters. "I'm...uh. I was making Obi-Wan breakfast," he says.

"There's no food out," Ahsoka points out.

"I spilled it on myself," Anakin snaps. "So obviously, I took off my shirt because it had food on it, and how do you know the code to Obi-Wan's quarters anyway, padawan?"

Ahsoka glares back at him. "Show me the shirt," she demands.

"Ahsoka, really, I think we should go," Barriss says right as Anakin begins to bluster about laundry chutes and steaming clothes or something.

"Anakin?" Master Obi-Wan's voice calls, sounding confused. "What's taking so long, darli--"

"Your grandpadawan's here!" Anakin sounds shrill. He looks--

Ahsoka peers closer at him now that the shock of his presence has begun to wear off. He looks relatively freshly mauled.

"With her friend!" Anakin adds. His eyes dart between Ahsoka, Barriss, the cake, and the door. "They wanted to surprise you!"

Five long moments pass before the door at the end of the hall opens and Master Obi-Wan emerges, sleep clothes clearly rumpled and robe thrown on in a hurry. There's a worrying flush on his cheeks as well, and Ahsoka has never seen his hair so mussed up. "Oh," he says, looking between Ahsoka and Barris, and Anakin and his...apron. "Well, I am. Ah. Very surprised, padawan. Thank you."

Ahsoka nods at Anakin: this is more the reaction she'd expected. "Happy Temple Day, Master Obi-Wan," she tells him and then blinks at him, as he comes further into the light. "You have a bruise on your neck, Master," she tells him. "Was it from a fight?"

Barriss makes a distressed sound at the same time that Anakin does.

"Oh," Master Obi-Wan says, hand flying unerringly to the spot and covering it with his fingers. "It must have been, yes. I was in the training salles yesterday. I'll apply bacta on it this morning."

"I didn't want to do this," Barriss informs them, thrusting the cake plate back into Ahsoka's hands. "And I apologize for being here."

"I'm sorry you're here too," Ahsoka thinks her master mutters.

"Nonsense," Master Obi-Wan says. "Cake, anyone? It looks lovely, Ahsoka."

[callsign-rogueone]

a fair trade

aaric graycastle / cam tauri x reader (sunny!!!!) words: 1.2k 🏷: progressing through the beginning of IF! this one has a lot of transitions and jumps between scenes, which is my least favorite thing ever, and a major reason why it took so long, but I wanted to show these two interacting every day and slowly becoming friends, so here ya go! the next chapter will be so much better and much longer, I promise 🥺

It’s incredibly strange to be standing in this corner of the gym again, in the same spot where Nadine had died, and Violet nearly had too, avenging her. You’d never seen that much blood before in your life – but now it’s gone without a trace. Had someone knelt there last night and scrubbed it away, or had it been erased with magic? Which option is worse? 

Aaric appears at your side, speaking softly so as not to startle you. “You’re fast, and you’re smart, but at some point you’re going to have to throw some punches,” he prods. 

That’s fair. You’re the only one of the group who hadn’t made any offensive moves in your assessment match, and the last to find a partner to fight with today. 

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “I’ve been dreading that part, honestly.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got. Just a basic stance, first.”

You nod, settling into a position that looks something like what you’d seen Imogen do earlier — she’s probably a good bet to copy.

He shakes his head. “Your feet need to be farther apart. And if you tuck your thumb in like that, you’re going to break it. Here.”

He steps forward and adjusts your fist — not missing your inhale of discomfort as his thumb presses against the swollen joint of your ring finger. He pulls back immediately, offering an apology and adjusting the technique. “Sorry. You should be fine to just keep it loose like that, as long as you adjust the impact point — what part of your fist is going to hit your target."

Another nod.

"If you just do... this," he explains, carefully reaching out to rotate your wrist to the side, careful not to put any pressure on the bandage there, "then you can make an impact with your pointer and middle finger. It won't be as effective, but it'll work until your hand heals."

Realistically, it won't — it hasn't shown much improvement since March, and the burn doesn’t help things either — but he doesn't need to know that.

"Don't worry about it too much," he offers, sensing your apprehension. "You’ve got more strength in your legs, anyway.” 

———

Being assigned breakfast duty means fewer hours of sleep, but you’re used to being up this early, anyway – you’d be going to bed at this hour, if you’d stayed in Calldyr City, just dragging yourself into the bathing chambers to hose off the sticky feeling of the ale you’d been serving, and the unwanted attention you’d been paid.

Someone is waiting for you outside the girls’ dorms; Aaric. He looks a little shy, shifting his weight awkwardly as he speaks – at a whisper, considerate of those who have been afforded the precious extra time to rest. “I saw you got breakfast duty, too, so…”

You give him a warm smile. “Glad to have a familiar face around. Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

It’s evident that he hadn’t thought this part through. “No, actually. But it can’t be far from the mess hall, right?”

You just hum in reply, nodding down the hallway. “Good place to start.”

He’s right – there’s a little door you hadn’t noticed by the serving line, propped open for you. You can already smell the bread baking, hear the pleasant bustle of a fully staffed kitchen. Not too different from home.

....

You turn to grab another potato, your eyes catching on the one Aaric is holding -- it's mangled, cut in odd places, yet somehow still holding onto half of its skin despite him having hacked at it for a good two minutes.

So there is one thing Aaric Graycastle doesn't excel at, after all -- one thing you could help him with. But you’ve never been the type to offer unsolicited advice.

Aaric is nice, though, and he’d given you so much advice on fighting, so he probably won’t be offended if you return the favor. It's a fair trade, or close to it. Still, you choose your words carefully. “Have you ever peeled a potato before?”

“Once,” he answers, a slight blush on his cheeks. 

You cross over to his side of the table, grabbing one yourself along with a short knife. “You’re digging in too hard, and taking the meat along with it. You need to hold it more flat, and scrape, to take off just the skin. Like that,” you say with a smile, finishing yours and adding it to the bowl.

“How are you so good at this?”

“Years of practice,” you answer. “My best friend is — was —  a kitchen maid. I used to sneak downstairs to help her sometimes.”

“For once you’re done with those,” the cook announces, dropping a crate onto the end of the table with a thud. “Cored and quartered.”

“Whoa.”

“That is a lot of strawberries,” he agrees.

“It must have cost a fortune.”

His head tilts. There had always been strawberries, and a variety of other fruit laid out for every breakfast, more than they’d ever eat, but he’d never considered the cost, or what became of the leftovers. 

Thankfully you continue the conversation for him, a fondness in your eyes. “We bought a whole pound of them for my birthday once. We were going to try to make them last, but they were gone by dinnertime.”

He just offers you a smile and a soft laugh, returning his attention to the vegetables.

———

“I am a god among men,” Ridoc announces, grinning from ear to ear from where he kneels over Sawyer, the executive officer pinned underneath him in what looks like a very uncomfortable position.

“Yeah, and I’m the next queen of Navarre,” you quip over your shoulder. “Saying it doesn’t make it true.”

Aaric’s heart nearly stops. He can’t help but imagine you dressed in the fine silks of the royal court, bejeweled and shining, crowned in gold, seated beside him and Halden at his father’s dinner table — a beautiful but miserable existence.

This is better. This feels right, seeing you in the sleek black of the rider’s quadrant instead of yards of stiff brocade, being able to hear you laugh and joke like this rather than sitting quietly for the rest of your days like an ornamental vase.

Your boot connecting with his stomach and his back hitting the floor snap him out of his daydream, and knock the breath from his lungs.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes, cheeks reddening as he takes your outstretched hands and lets you haul him to his feet — it takes a considerable amount of strength. “That was good.”

You can’t help but smile a little about your small victory, the only time you’ve bested anyone in combat, though you know he was definitely going easy on you. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll really win,” you laugh. 

He sounds considerably less winded as he speaks again. “We’ll get you there.”

You blink at the words he chose – not you’ll get there, but we. He’s invested in your success. That’s the squad mentality, you suppose. It’s odd, but not unpleasant. 

———

“I didn’t even know I had muscles in some of these places,” you groan, folding your arms on the table and resting your head on them. 

Visia pats your shoulder gently. “That’s good – it means they’re growing.”

Your response is muffled, but universally understood by the rest of the group, who are all similarly exhausted after a full week of Rhiannon’s extra training sessions. 

All except Aaric. “Eat,” he encourages. “It’ll help.”

[screechingdefendorpuppy-blog]

My dearest Sevika....

You hum along to the song playing softly on the radio as you get ready. Both you and Sevika had been invited to Isha's six grade graduation. I twill be the first time you go out together since her return so you were both excited and nervous for this.

You straighten your blouse as you take a last look in the mirror. Leaving the ensuite bathroom you see Sevika sat down on her side of the bed. You smile at first till you notice the sag on her shoulders. She hasn't noticed you yet so you slowly walk over to her and sit next to her. You stay silent knowing that she will tell you what is going on when she is ready.

"It wont fit..." she whisper. That's when you notice her wedding band in her right hand. Her gaze on her left prosthetic arm. It has been a journey since her release from the hospital. From physical therapy, actual therapy, and the difficulties to get used to her new reality.

You lift your hand and start to rub her back and lean on her shoulder. "Maybe you can wear it on your right hand." you suggest not thinking much about it, just wanting to give her a simple solution. Once her hand clenches around her ring you know it was the wrong thing to say.

"It's not the same." she says, anger evident in her voice. Though the anger was never directed at you. It saddens you to hear it. As you open your mouth to respond she abruptly gets up.

"We have to go or we'll be late." she says as she leaves the bedroom.

You stay put for a bit thinking to yourself that you could've handled that better. As you get up, you remember a conversation you had with Jinx a few years ago, when you had first met her. You smile and make a mental note to ask her a few questions.

________

"Almost there Sevi, just a few more steps." you excitedly tell her as you guide her. A bandana adorns her face to cover her eyes. Ever since that day you found her saddened about her wedding band, you had talked to Jinx, done some research and booked an appointment.

Maybe the appointment was jumping the gun a bit but you had wanted to help Sevika with this. To help her feel loved and seen. It had been eating at you that your response had not helped. Though Sevika didn't hold it against you, she actually ended up talking to you about it later that night.

Had shared how the fact that she couldn't wear her wedding ring and feel it felt wrong to her. That it felt like something was missing. You had tried to apologize to her but she had stopped you. Telling you that she knows you wont always have the answers. Hell she doesn't expect you to have them. That night you both had promised each other to firstly be an anchor to each other and then try for a solution together.

That was last week, and though you hadn't told her about the appointment you had made. You had mention to her how in other cultures they use different ways to symbolize marriage other than wearing wedding rings.

She had been non the wiser about your comments. You had always like learning about other cultures and other topics. Always reading about them, watching documentaries, and researching things that catch your interest. So she did not think twice that you had been looking into it.

Now though there is a lil hint of suspicion in her mind. Especially after you had blind folded her instead of letting her drive like she normally did when you were together.

" Babe, I am one step away from yelling 'Help I have been kidnapped'"

You roll your eyes as you continue to the front door of the establishment. Once in front you take a big exhale and turn to face Sevika.

"Ok, you can look now." You tell her

"Finally." she chuckles as she removes the bandana. It takes her a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness. Then she looks up at the place she was standing in front of.

A Tattoo Parlor.

You can she the question before she voices it.

"So, I have been thinking about your ring and how you are not able to wear it anymore at least not the way it is meant to be worn." you start.

Sevika opens her mouth but you stop her. " I know it has been bothering you and I know our therapist said that I cant fix everything for you. But I can try to at least make some alternatives towards a new normal." You look down at your wedding ring and remove it.

"You are not able to wear your wedding ring. So I wont wear mine." She goes to talk but once again you stop her. "Only if you are ok with what I am proposing."

"In other cultures there is different ways to signify marriage or your devotion to someone., Some with bracelets, others with necklaces and tattoos." You pause to gage her reaction. She stay silent trying to come up with an answer.

So you panic "It's just that I thought, that if you cant wear a ring. then what else could you use to show that you are married and well at first I had thought of a necklace but you are that big of a fan of jewelry and well that also ruled out a bracelet and then I thought piercings! But like which on you know cuz there is a nose ring that signifies marriage but I work with kids andmmm-" her lips crash into yours

"You're rambling sweetheart." she tells you against your lips.

"Yeah well I haven't been this nervous since we went on our first date." you whisper still a bit dazed from the kiss and her proximity.

She chuckles as she glances back up at the parlor. " A tattoo huh" she says her hands still cupping your face. You nod, "I just thought it was more like you and well it would be something that would be unique just for the two of us."

"And you are willing to get one?" she asks as she lets go of your face to grab ahold to your waist. "You are afraid of needles."

" For you I will do anything Sev. That's a promise I will always keep." you tell her "Even if it means dealing with needles." you whisper solemnly making her laugh.

She sobers up and looks at you. She is about to ask you once more till she sees it. The love and determination you have to do this for her. She smiles and lifts her right hand to move a strand of hair from your face.

"Ok" she says "Lets do it."

A big smile blooms on your face as you grab her prosthetic hand and start dragging her inside.

Tag list: @archangeldyke-all , @ghosting-y0u , @sumisamente , @chezze-its , @yeetsugadaichi , @user-ladiesman217 , @caralynlane , @iwannadeletemyself , @wee-bitch , @megamultifandomtrashposts , @abbyandersonsarmsweat , @sevikabrainrotenthusiast , @sevikasleftbicep , @caterpilla-in-a-hat , @h2pinky , @vintagelotus345 , @kay-khronicals , @loofat

[letsseewherethisis-going]

Going Public - Lewis Hamilton

Summary : after date night, Lewis is trying to convince Y/N to go public and to stop keeping their relationship a secret

“It could be simpler, you know,” Lewis put his seatbelt on and started the car. “What do you mean, babe?” Frowning, you put your purse on your lap and looked at him as he immediately lowered the volume of the radio. You and Lewis had just spent the evening at a restaurant and as usual when you two went together in public, you had to be quick whenever you went outside and everything was pretty rushed and stressful for the both of you.

“We’ve been together for months now.. I think that maybe now would be the time to stop being so secretive about our relationship. What do you think?” He looked at you quickly before focusing his eyes back on the road. It was pretty late in the evening, the inside of the car was dark and the only kind of light you got were from the street lights. Lewis was wearing all black, the street lights reflecting in his golden jewelry - earrings, rings and bracelets. He knew how much you loved golden jewelry on him

You two had been together for at least 8 months at that point and your relationship was strong. Despite the fact that you were both living two opposite lives when you first met, you two had a connection that always felt natural and easy. The thing was that you also loved the life that you had built for yourself before you even met him. Despite the love that you had for him, you knew you had worked hard to make your own money and to have your own place and your independence, and you didn’t feel ready yet to let go of everything that you had built for yourself. That side of your personality was one of the reasons why Lewis fell so hard for you when he really didn’t expect it to happen... but then, a few months later, even though he had never explicitly told you about it up until that point, he was starting to feel like it was time to make some adjustments so that your relationship could be more enjoyable for you both.

“I’m just saying, babe - it could be simpler,” he insisted when he stopped at a red light. “Do you mean.. it could be simpler if our relationship was public?” “Yes, that’s what I mean,” he checked the rear view mirror, looking more tense than he usually did, as usual when he was the one driving. You drove on the way to the restaurant and he insisted on driving the way back even though you offered to drive again. He always felt competitive on the road and drove recklessly in your opinion, which always made you nervous even though you knew he never would’ve deliberately put you in danger. “I mean, why not? I never really thought about it in depth, hun,” he wheezed, shaking his head, surprised by your answer, and started driving again, “you’ve ‘never really thought about it?’” “I didn’t mean it like that, Lew. And I thought you were okay with us not being public,” “I was -I mean, I’m okay with it I guess-“ you thought he was going to continue but he didn’t, and he turned his gaze to the road again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s just that I don��t mind staying in the shadows at all, I don’t need attention from the media or the fans. I’m good if all the attention is just on you; you and your career are the priority anyway,”. You were aware that saying that while talking about any other relationship would be a huge red flag, but your relationship with Lewis was completely different. You knew his priority was his career and you respected that, and treated it as your priority as well. He stayed focused on it too, though a lot of things changed his perspective on things when he fell in love with you - and he made sure you knew you were also one of his priorities. There were a few seconds of silence until the light turned green and he started driving again. “I know that; I know you don’t want attention from the public and the media. You know, I know that maybe I’m being selfish.. but it would be easier for me, that’s all,” he cleared his throat and continued, “Think about it; you fly multiple times a month to see me anyway. When I’m not working, I’m with you when you’re here or I’m just constantly on my phone, talking to you whenever possible,” you were quite surprised by what he was saying, as he never expressed any real desire for going public before. Plus, it was rare for him to talk in length about his feelings, even with you. “When I see the other guys with their girlfriends and wives, I just wish you were there too sometimes. I could do the same and have you there with me too, and not be in love in secret like we’re hiding something bad or something. I truly don’t give a shit about what people might think, in case you’re wondering. I haven’t been linked to any other women since I’ve met you, and things have changed a lot in my life these past few months anyway.. I don’t see why me being in a relationship publicly would be a problem,” he stopped at another red light and looked at you again, waiting for you to react. “Honey, I had no idea you were feeling that way,” you said sincerely. “Well I do, I’d love to have you with me just on race days for example. That would change a lot of things for me - positively. And date nights like this one could be so much nicer. Not having to be in a rush and hide, and having to find a place where we won’t be seen. It could happen more often too. I’d feel much more comfortable in general, you know,” his hand went on your thigh and you laced your fingers with his instinctively. You were wearing a dress that night, and the feeling of his warm, soft hand on your thigh made you shiver. You had a thing for his hands and his soft touch - that, he knew as well. “I hear you. You’re right, we’ve been together for a while now, and maybe it’s time to take things to the next level,”

To you he was just Lew, not Lewis Hamilton, the Legend everyone knew him to be. He was the man who left tender kisses on your bare back the mornings when you were still sleeping and he had to go workout, the man that cuddled with you for hours while watching movies, the man that made you cry from laughter sometimes multiple times a day, the man with whom you had pillow fights in the middle of the night sometimes. He was always so tender, protective and loving to you; he showed you a completely different side of him and you cherished that. He planned romantic dates, surprised you, took care of you in every way a woman would love to be taken care of. He was also the person that taught you how to surf - and that became one of your favorite activities to do together. You loved how close he was with his parents, and you got on really well with them. You felt so lucky every day for the life that you had in that moment of your life, and you truly cherished your relationship with Lewis. The only downside to your relationship with him was the fame and all the pressure that came with it, especially for him. Other than that, he was the perfect boyfriend - despite his reputation with women and the bachelor lifestyle he had before meeting you.

He leaned in for a kiss, and you gently put your hand on his jawline to kiss him. Him being that close, you could smell his cologne (which has become such a comforting smell to you) more strongly. You felt his soft skin under your fingers, as well as his beard. He broke the kiss and quickly said “will you please come with me to the next race?”, and then pecked your lips again quickly. “Please?” he pulled away and you couldn’t help but melt inside. You thought he was just too cute for words sometimes. “The next race - already?” He focused back on the road and started driving again “why not?” “I wasn’t even supposed to join you that weekend, Lew,” “… But I’d like you to,” you didn’t say anything, thinking about it. You loved spending time with him, but sometimes balancing your normal life, including your average full time job, and Lewis’ lifestyle was difficult for you. You told yourself you’d bring it up soon, since Lewis wanted to take things to the next level anyway. “You know what - I’m in. If you want me there, then I’ll be there,” you smiled.

“If you want me there then I’ll be there” was something you told him every time he invited you somewhere. No matter what, he knew that you’d show up for him when he wanted/needed you to. He turned to you again with sparkling eyes, not being able to keep himself from smiling like a kid, “Alright then, I’ll make all the arrangements. Does Friday evening to Sunday evening sound good?” “Yes, Sir,”. He kept his focus on the road, unable to keep himself from smiling “I’m happy, baby. I can’t wait”

[10ava01]

Drawn to You

Jason Todd x F reader

Masterlist , Request??

Summary: Maybe wishes come true when you least expect it, but what happens when the magic runs out?

Troupe: hurt, jealousy, Jason being bf coded, hopeless romantic, yearning

Your fingers were messy. Stained with colour as you traced the edge of his jaw for probably the third time tonight. You wanted everything to be perfect. The shadowing needed to be perfect in order for the complete painting to look lifelike. You wanted Jason Todd to look perfect, just like he is for you. The only character that lived rent-free in your head ever since you turned sixteen. The only character you have ever drawn since then.

Your lamp on the nightstand was the only glowing light in your room, the rest cast in a cozy mess: pencil shavings, empty mugs, plates, books everywhere, blankets halfway off the bed, and sketches—dozens of them. As always, all of them were of him. Hood off, hood on. Gun drawn. Grin crooked. Scarred and perfect. And now, with the last stroke of your pencil, you sighed and rested your head against the page, cheek meeting the paper. Almost imagining that you could feel him.

"You're not even real," you mumbled sleepily. But more than anything, you wanted him to be real. And with that thought, you fell asleep.

What you didn't know—what no one could explain—was how the clock hit 3:00 AM like a spell being cast. The air shimmered. The pages beneath your cheek pulsed faintly. Then, in a quick flicker of red and black, the impossible happened. Your wish came true.

The one and only Jason Todd appeared. Not in a sketch. Not a dream. The man of your dreams became real.

He staggered slightly, his boots heavy against the wooden floor of your bedroom. His helmet was in his hands, his dark hair ruffled and damp like he'd just left the middle of a fight. His blue eyes scanned wildly—walls filled with art, posters, shelves bursting with books, half-dead succulents, framed photos and plushies in every corner. And then his eyes landed on you. Peacefully asleep. Your head in a sketch of… him.

“The hell?” he whispered.

There was no reasonable explanation for this. For him being here, but that didn't mean he wanted to wake you up at this odd hour. So instead, he sat down on the worn couch at the end of your bed and let out a deep breath he was holding onto for a long time. Everything seemed so strange but at the same time it did not worry him. Sure, he had seen over the years some strange things, but this didn't even make the cut. The room smelled like lavender and pencil leads, chaos and comfort. His eyes lingered on your face. He recognized that kind of exhaustion—soft and vulnerable. He looked down at your sketchbook. It was him, he was sure of it. Your drawings were telling him that you saw through him, through all the masks, and that scared him a little.

All he could do now was wait for you to wake up and have any kind of explanation. Jason leaned back and waited for you.

—

You didn't even scream when you woke up. In the morning, you shuffled from the bathroom, yawning and adjusting your glasses with a towel wrapped around your head, muttering about something Jason didn't understand. Then you saw him. Your eyes widened as you saw him sitting. In your room. You dropped your towel as you panicked. “What the—”

Before you could even scream, Jason was on his feet, hands gently but firmly clapping over your mouth. He pressed you against the nearest wall, careful not to hurt you but overwhelming in his size, eyes wide and pleading. Your doe eyes almost made him regret pinning you against the wall, but what else could he do?

"Shh, okay? Just—don't scream. I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need answers. And maybe some damn coffee too."

You only nodded in shock. Sure, you had wished for him to be real, but as he towered over you, all your thoughts vanished. How—when—why—what—every reasonable question left your head as you tried to make sense of what was going on right now. He slowly pulled back.

Of course, you didn't have any answers. You had drawings, an obsession maybe, but not any explanation for how the fuck Jason Todd was standing in your room. But that didn't mean you wanted him to go home. This is what you wanted for the longest part of your life, and having him so damn near you just made you a little selfish. You're not even near to sending him back even if you could.

—

He followed you everywhere, almost like a personal bodyguard. Even to school.

“I’m not letting you walk into a building full of weirdos and hormonal jackasses by yourself,” Jason muttered, arms crossed in your doorway. You rolled your eyes at that, but did not argue. Not really. You didn't hate it—in fact, you enjoyed every second of it. Spending time with him became the best part of your life. There was a time when you wanted to know what it would be like having a conversation with him, and now you did it so casually.

It had been a few days since he magically showed up—mysteriously, impossibly, into your world—and now you were cautiously weaving him into your life. Everything still feels like a dream to you. A dream that you don't want to wake up from. But this is real, which means you have to eventually introduce him to Tyler.

“Okay, so listen,” you said while zipping up your bag. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Kinda have to.”

You don't even know why you sound a little nervous, because it's Tyler. Maybe it’s the part where you get to show a little part of your life to Jay and that makes it official for him to be more real. You don't even know what this is at this point.

Jason frowned. “Do I have to smile?” “No. Just be... normal.” “You’re asking a guy with a kill count to act normal.” “Jason.” He smirked. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Now you almost regret mentioning anything. His teasing just proved to you that maybe Jason should only live in your own world, where you get to have him to yourself and kinda don't have to share him. While this does sound a little selfish, what can a girl do?

Tyler met you at the steps like always with his grin, bouncing with too much energy for his own good at 8:00 AM in the morning. “Hey! I saved us a table. You brought—”

His words got cut short as his eyes landed on Jason who was standing beside you. And Jason, you might ask? He was already sizing him up like he'd just scanned his criminal file. His next victim.

“Tyler, this is Jason,” you said carefully. “A… family friend. He’s staying with me for a bit.”

It was best to address him as a family friend since calling him your cousin would be a little too weird, and family friend sounded safe.

Tyler extended a hand. “Hey, man. Nice to meet you.”

A little fear was in his voice, but that man towering practically anyone would make someone scared, you guessed.

Jay did not move at first, then—finally—he shook it. Briefly. Firmly. The kind of handshake that's more of a warning than a friendly welcome. “Sure,” Jason said flatly. “You too.”

Tyler laughed, trying to lighten the tension. “So, you’re into comics too? Or just Y/N’s favorite vigilante?”

Well, you kinda froze at that. Jason did know that you liked him, well your drawings explained everything to him, but hearing that from someone else made it clearer.

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Something like that.”

The whole walk inside, Jay didn't say a word. Almost too lost in his head, until Tyler peeled off to class.

“That’s the guy, huh?” And here you thought Jay would be more mature than those horny teenage guys, but his teasing just proved you wrong. You sighed at him and asked dumbly, “What guy?” “The one that's always texting you, while you ignore it every time. The one who keeps looking at you like you’re dessert.” Now you're even convinced that he is acting like a jealous boyfriend, but the thought of him being your boyfriend didn't sound so bad—so just to humor him, you played along. “He doesn’t—” “He does.” You gave him a look. “Jason, he’s just my friend. He’s been around forever.” “Yeah, and he wants more. Guarantee it.” “Even if he did, I don’t.” Maybe you did notice over time Tyler being more clingy toward you, but that didn't mean he wanted something from you, right? Jason stared at you, eyes dark and unreadable. “Then say it.” You faltered. “I… I don’t want to make it awkward.” Jason scoffed. “Right. So you’d rather keep letting him stare at you like that while I walk around pretending I’m not one word away from knocking his teeth in?” “Jason.” “I’m serious.” Now he definitely sounds jealous.

You wanted to say it. Almost said it—I don't want him, only you. I always wanted you. But those words got stuck inside you. You couldn't bring yourself to say them even if you wanted to.

Jason stepped back at your silence. “Forget it,” he muttered. But he didn’t forget. And you knew it.

—

Later that week, the tension between them only thickened. You don't even understand how. They don't even spend time together for it to happen, and when they see each other, the silence falls onto you.

Jason leaned over your shoulder in the library while you studied for your upcoming test, his tone casually lethal. Not to disturb anyone, but his intentions were something else—you could feel it. You didn't bat an eye at it, like you always did, not with him.

“So… Tyler,” he muttered. “Is he always this handsy, or is today special?” You have to pick your brain for a second to understand what Jay’s talking about, because there was no way in hell he would let this go easily and you know it. You didn’t look up. “Jason.” “What?” His voice sounds so innocent that you almost believe that underneath his words there isn't a possessive tone in it. “Don’t start,” you warn him. “I’m not starting. I’m observing. The guy basically drools every time you talk. It’s like watching a golden retriever try to flirt.” Now you aren’t even sure in what way Jason had become your boyfriend that wanted you to be his and his only. While that thought sounded like heaven, he wasn’t damn near being your boyfriend and so it frustrated you more when he acted that way. You laughed under your breath to not show him any sign of your little enjoyment toward his behavior. “He’s just a friend.” You try again to make him understand that Tyler will always be a friend to you and nothing else. Jason raised an eyebrow, unconvinced again. “Right. That’s why he’s staring at your lips while you explain basic math.” “He’s not—” You glanced across the room to make sure that Tyler isn’t anywhere near you to hear Jay talking about him. That would only hurt his feelings, and that would also mean Jason wins in this whatever battle both of them are having between them. Some ego thing, you’re sure of it. To your luck, as always, Tyler was, in fact, staring. Which proved his point even more, that you wanted to put some sense into Tyler’s brain since he doesn’t have some. You groaned in anger. “He’s harmless.”

Jason only leaned closer. You could feel his breath on your neck, which made you almost forget that he was talking to you. Him being so close to you made you forget everything. The library, what you were doing, what you were talking about. The only thing that mattered to you was him. Only him.

“He wants you.” At his voice, you snap out of your thoughts. So what if Tyler wants you? That didn’t necessarily mean you want him. If you wanted that, then you would have been together for a long time—but you don’t. You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes. “And what if I don’t want him?”

Jason froze for a second. His lips parted, just slightly. “Then say it.” He isn’t anywhere near letting you go with this, it's almost like he needs your confession to prove something. What that is, you don’t know, but you shy away anytime he brings that up.

Your heart stuttered. You became nervous, and only if you could confess it. Just speak. Just— But you didn't. Too afraid to spill out the truth. That only if he felt the same way, you could have told him about your feelings. About your love for him.

And Jason’s eyes cooled, pulling back like you had just confirmed his worst suspicion. That you proved his whole point. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered in disappointment.

But you did only want him. The man of your dreams had always been him, and you just didn’t know how to show it to him. Make him believe it. Make him see it.

—

At night, things shifted for the better as you hoped. The silence between you wasn't bitter anymore—it was heavy with everything unsaid. The unspoken.

Sometimes you had fallen asleep shoulder to shoulder, your hand against his thigh while he read one of your favorite books. Sometimes he’d pull you between his legs and wrap his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as you sketched something quietly.

Sometimes, you'd talk for hours in the dark, your voice muffled in his chest, his fingers brushing lazy circles into your skin beneath your hoodie. You never crossed any serious lines, but you’d shared something deeper than anything physical. It was in how his hand found yours under the dinner table.

It was in how you brushed his hair from his face when he fell asleep on your bed. It was in the unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to leave each other. You were his peace. And he was the part of you that had always been missing.

Both of you became comfortable with each other, that your routine had also become his. Every moment of your lonely life had become something great. All the loneliness had just vanished, just because of him. You don't even know how you could go back to how it was—how everything was before him.

“You’re tense,” he murmured once, brushing his lips against your temple. “That guy bothering you again?” “No. Just… school.” You didn’t want to worry him about your thoughts. You didn’t want to admit how scared you were about him leaving you, and there wasn’t a guarantee that he wouldn’t vanish into thin air in a matter of seconds. So rather, you pushed your thoughts away like you seem to do in the last few weeks and started focusing on him.

He didn't believe you, but he let it go since he came to understand that sometimes you need time to process things on your own—then you would talk to him about it. Like you had done over the past weeks.

Once, while you were studying, he reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear. Like the way they do it in the romcoms. His face was right in front of you. So close that you could see how beautiful he was up front. In person. You didn't move, too afraid that this moment might shift if you did. And you didn't want anything to change. Everything was perfect like you always imagined. “I could stay here,” he said softly. “I mean it.”

You wanted to believe his words so bad. Believing them meant that you could live happy for the rest of your life.

Instead, you whispered, “Do you think you’re real?” Jason’s eyes softened. His thumb traced over your knuckles. “You feel real to me.”

That's all you needed to fall in love with him over and over again. Sure, you had fallen for him over the years, but he was here. As a person that you could speak to, feel, and have. He was truly your person that you wanted to grow old with, experience everything with—every failure, every emotion, as long as you did it with him by your side. As long as he stayed by your side.

—

And then, the next morning— You woke up all alone. The other side of your bed was cold. No boots by the door. No Red Hood helmet on your desk. No Jason. Just your room being lonely as always. Just your mess of sketchbooks filled with his face. Just your heart breaking in a matter of seconds. Because you had to face the truth somehow: You never introduced him to anyone, you never had taken him to your school, you never had the chance to tell him he was the only one for you. Because he was never real and never yours in the first place.

And now you walk through your days with a silence no one hears, with answers you never will get. And a name you will whisper into your pillow like maybe, somehow—he is still listening to you. That maybe all of this is a cruel joke. That maybe this is a dream and not the one where you had him. Almost had him to yourself.

[heybiji]

ialso love playign superhero ttrpgs can i ask what the Masks ttrpg is? i love finding neww hero themed ttrpgs ^-^ yay!

Ohhh!! Hey! i love getting to talk ttrpg stuff thanks for the question!

MASKS: A New Generation is a superhero ttrpg about teenagers all trying to figure out who they are in a world filled with people constantly telling them who they are and how the world works. It's less about the powers and the fights and more about the emotional journey of the PCs with mechanics that support that. It's a really narratively driven game!

tldr: try it out! it's fun! it's simple! and it's low-prep (apparently, just not for me, but i'm always just gonna do Too Much). you want a system with mechanics that revolve around telling a story? around your character's emotions and how they view themselves? this is the one for you! it's great and i've really been enjoying it!!

First of all, it's a fail-forward system, so the way your character levels (advanced) is by missing rolls. I like this a lot.

There are ten core playbooks that are essentially the classes you can choose from. They each come with their own powers, some intentionally more impressive than others, but it's not about the powers; it's about the core conflict that comes with each of the archetypes. Here are a few playbook examples:

The Delinquent: You've got these cool powers. But everyone keeps telling you how to use 'em. You know what they need? Someone to give them trouble, to make sure they don't always get their way. And hey! You're the perfect her to do it.

The Legacy: You're the latest in a storied heroic lineage, a family that shares a name and a cause. Now, everybody is watching and waiting to see if you've got what it takes to uphold that tradition. No Pressure, right?

The Nova: You're a font of power. Channel it, and you can remake the world into exactly what you want. Unleash it, and you can do miracles. It's wonderful... and terrifying. Lose control for even a second, and other people get hurt.

Your stats are your Labels. They're how you see yourself, and how others see you. The Labels are DANGER, FREAK, SAVIOR, SUPERIOR, and MUNDANE. Different stats help with different Moves/rolls, so for example a high DANGER stat helps you Directly Engage a Threat, while a low MUNDANE stat makes it harder for you to Comfort or Support Someone. Your Labels are constantly being shifted around throughout the game as your character's self-image changes (and that self-image changes a lot, basically the NPCs are just label shifting machines).

The mechanics are fun! Instead of traditional damage, the PCs have Conditions that they take on, and what conditions a character has affects their rolls. The Conditions are Afraid, Angry, Guilty, Hopeless, and Insecure. So if you're Angry you take -2 on your roll to do the move Comfort or Support Someone, if you're Afraid, it's -2 on Directly Engage a Threat, etc. There are multiple ways to clear your conditions but the most straightforward way is to take a particular action, so if you're Angry you have to hurt someone or break something important, and if you're Afraid you have to run from something difficult. These actions lead to some awesome and surprising story beats!

There's some other stuff as well, but that's the gist!

Coming from DND, it took me some time to adjust to something so wildly different in terms of the system, but I've been enjoying it! I haven't gotten to play it as a PC, but running it has been an interesting challenge. I think it's a pretty simple system to work with, and I at least hear it's low-prep (again not for me tho lol). It's mechanically looser than the only other ttrpg I've played (dnd) and requires a lot more decision making from the whole table, so I think in a way it asks more of its players in that way. And the GM role is constantly on in a specific way, because it's up to the GM to listen and call out when a Move is being triggered and a roll should be made based on what the characters are doing in any particular scene.

anyway I can always have more to say but MASKS has been fun. I recommend giving it a shot! And then you should tell me what you thought about it!!

[rentenier3148]

Held Together By Memory

Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You both were torn from 1940s Brooklyn and remade into killers. But when memories begin to bleed through, a second chace is ignited.

Word count: ~4.7k

Warning: Fluff. Some smut. Angst. Slow burn (?). Some Cannon divergence for plot. No use of y/n. Language (sorry Steve)

A.N: First chapter went better than I expected! Thanks guys for the reblogs and engagement, it really warms my heart <3

Chapter 1

✪──────•••──────✪

Brooklyn, New York - 1943

The morning air is thick with a quiet sort of dread—like the sky knows what's coming and holds its breath for you.

Down the station, the streets are packed. Families, sweethearts, mothers with trembling hands and young kids clinging to trouser legs. Boys in uniform line the curb with stiff collars and even stiffer jaws, trying to act like it's just another Tuesday.

But it's not.

Today is the day they leave.

You stand between Steve and Bucky, your arm hooked around Bucky's, your other hand clutched tightly in his free one. His thumb strokes slow circles over your skin like he's trying to memorize the texture. His hair is slicked back neatly—regulation cut now—but a stubborn strand keeps falling over his forehead.

Steve adjusts the strap of is duffel bag, looking out over the crowd with wide, quiet eyes. There's still a part of you that can't quite believe he made it in. That same scrawny boy with a heart too big for his body now stands tall beside Bucky, wearing the same uniform, holding his head high.

You don't say out loud—but you're surprised. Grateful. A little scared. And still... proud.

You glance at Bucky. His face is composed, but his grip on you tightens just a little as the train whistles in the distance.

He leans in, voice low in your ear.

"Still time to pull the runaway bride, y'know." he flashes a weak grin. "We can grab a cab, head for Jersey. I hear the diners there are decent."

You laugh—barely—but it trembles.

"Tempting," you whisper, your eyes already glassy. "But you'd never forgive yourself."

He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, blocking out the crowd, the noise, the weight of the moment pressing in on all sides.

"You've made this the best damn week of my life," he murmurs. "Every second with you... it's the only part of me I don't wanna leave behind."

Steve, standing just a few feet away, tries to give you both space—but you catch him glancing over now and then with a soft, understanding look. He knows.

He's always known.

You gently pull away from Bucky just enough to glance over at Steve.

He's trying to keep it together—shoulders squared, chin lifted—but there's a flicker in his eyes that makes your heart ache. He's always been the quiet backbone, the one people overlooked until it really mattered.

You step toward him and reach out, brushing a bit of lint from his jacket collar with a fond, gentle smile.

"You better take care of him," you say softly, nodding toward Bucky. "And yourself too, Stevie."

Steve gives you a shy little smile, the kind that barely tugs the corners of his mouth. "I will. I promise."

You hesitate for a second, then wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

He stiffens just a little at first—like he's still not used to being held—but then he melts into it, arms wrapping around your waist carefully.

"I'm gonna write to you," he murmurs near your ear. "Keep you updated on how many times I have to drag Bucky outta trouble."

You laugh, and the sound catches at the back of your throat.

"Don't let him flirt with the nurses too much," you say, shooting Bucky a teasing glare over Steve's shoulder.

"Hey!" Bucky protests, arms crossed with mock offense. "You supervise me, remember? Nobody else gets to."

Steve pulls back and looks at you more serious now.

"You're good for him," he says, sincere and quiet. "Don't let the world make you forget it."

Your chest tightens.

"Come back to me," you whisper, your voice cracking just enough for Steve to catch it. He nods solemnly. "We'll do everything we can."

The whistle blows again—sharp and final.

The line of soldiers starts moving. It's time.

Bucky turns to you, eyes wide with everything he hasn't said yet—and everything he can't now.

The crowd fades—the mothers crying, the lovers waving, the officers barker orders—it all disappears.

Bucky turns to you, his uniform wrinkled slightly from your hold, his hair tousled from your fingers, and his eyes locked on yours like they're the only thing he wants to take with him.

He doesn't ask permission. He doesn't speak first.

He just pulls you in.

His handles cradle your face, and then his mouth is on yours—deep, slow, desperate. It's not a goodbye kiss. It's a remember this when everything feels cold kind of kiss.

And you melt into it, your hands gripping the front of his uniform like you can anchor him here, like maybe if yo hold tight enough, the war won't take him from you.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again, both of you breathless, barely standing.

His voice cracks.

"I love you." He says it like it's the last thing he wants to leave on your lips. "I love you, so damn much." Your name leaves his lips like it should never be spoken.

You blink through tears that finally slip free, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. Your voice is thin, trembling, but sure.

"I love you too, Bucky. Always."

He leans in again, just one more time, to press a kiss to your temple. Then your nose. Then the center of your forehead. He's memorizing you.

And then, with a look you'll carry in your heart forever, he turns—

—and walks toward the train.

Steve's already ahead, duffel bag over his shoulder, casting one last glance over his own before disappearing up the steps.

Bucky doesn't look back.

Because if he did... he might not be able to leave at all.

And just like that, they're gone.

The whistle blows. The wheels turn.

And you're left on the platform, your heart still beating in time with footsteps that are no longer there.

The train disappears down the tracks, swallowed by smoke and steel and the sounds of hearts breaking in unison.

You're still standing there, rooted to the spot, staring at the empty space where Bucky had been just moments ago. Your hands feel cold. Your chest, hollow.

And then you hear your name spoken softly and hesitantly.

A voice you know too well.

You turn, and there she is—Ginny. Her eyes red-rimmed, scarf slipping down her curls, mascara smudged just enough to show she gave up trying to hold it in. She's always been emotional ever since I met her in high school, but today is different.

She walks up to you slowly, and without saying anything more, she throws her arms around you.

You hold her back just as tightly.

The two of you just stand there for a long moment, wrapped around each other like lifelines. No words needed. No bravado. just two girls who gave their hearts to the war and are left holding nothing but the echo.

"I didn't think it'd feel like this," Ginny finally whispers against your shoulder. "Like... like I lost him already. And he just left."

Your throat is tight as you nod. "I know."

She pulls back, sniffles, then tucks her arm through yours. "C'mon. Let's get outta here before someone sees us looking like we walked through a heartbreak hurricane."

You manage a breathy laugh, the first sound that doesn't crack in your chest.

Together, you walk out the station. Two shadows drifting down the crowded sidewalk, leaning on each other in the way only girls who love soldiers can. You don't talk much. You don't need to. Every step you take echoes with what you've just lost, and what you're still holding onto.

And somewhere inside the ache—there's still hope.

Because they're yours.

And love doesn't just disappear.

✪──────•••──────✪

The leaves have turned gold and red, and the air smells like smoke and the fading sweetness of summer. The war hasn't ended—but for a moment, the mail slot rattles with something more than bills and telegrams.

A letter, rough-edged and creased from its journey, arrives in your hands.

From: Sgt James B. Barnes

The handwriting is familiar—quick, a little messy, but unmistakably him.

You sit at the window with a blanket over the knees, the city buzzing faintly below. And you open it with trembling fingers.

⸻⸻⸻

My Dearest,

Doll, I don't even know where to begin.

Everything's loud over here. the noise, the boots, the drills. Even the silence feels like it's screaming sometimes. But somehow... your voice cuts through it all. I hear it in my head, clear as day. That little laugh you do when I say something ridiculous. The way you say my name like it means something.

Hell, you are my peace.

Steve's doing alright. He's still getting used to being looked up to—literally. They gave him the serum. It worked. You should see him. It's still Steve, you know? Still can't lie to save his life. Still orders the worst coffee. But now he can lift a damn jeep.

He talks about you. Wonders how you're holding up. So do I.

I miss Brooklyn. I miss our diner booth. I miss your strawberry milkshakes, and the way you somehow get whipped cream on your nose every damn time. But mostly, I miss you.

I fall asleep trying to remember the exact shade of your eyes.

I dream of holding your hand again, walking you home under the streetlights.

I dream of your voice whispering "I love you" like it's a secret meant for only me.

Promise me something—don't stop being you. The world's ugly right now, but knowing you're out there being soft and kind and all heart... that's what keeps me breathing.

Yours. Always

—Bucky

⸻⸻⸻

You reread it three times. And then once more, just to feel close again.

The city keeps moving outside your window.

But for a moment—just one—you feel his arms around you.

You grab your favorite pen—the one with the little crack in the cap from that time Bucky borrowed it and forgot it in his coat—and you sit down at your tiny kitchen table.

The city hums outside your window, a streetcar rattling by and someone yelling in the distance. But your world is still, focused, warm with love that has crossed oceans just to reach you.

You press the pen to the page.

⸻⸻⸻

My Bucky,

I must've read your letter five times already, and every time I do, it feels like your hands are wrapped around mine again. Like you're right here beside me, stealing the whipped cream off my milkshake and pretending I didn't catch you.

I miss you so much it hurts. Every street I walk down feels empty without your laugh beside me. Every corner of this city whispers you.

But knowing you're out there, holding strong, still carrying Steve and that enormous heart of his—I'm so proud of you. Of both of you.

You asked me to promise not to stop being myself. So I'm trying. I still go to our booth. Still walk past the stoop and imagine you there, giving me that cocky grin like you knew the universe would bend for me if you asked it to.

Please come home to me Bucky. I'm keeping your heart safe with mine. Always.

All my love,

—Your girl

⸻⸻⸻

You seal the envelope carefully, pressing your lips to the back of it for luck. And then you slip it into your coat pocket and make your way to Ginny's brownstone, your boots clicking softly on the chilly sidewalk.

On the way you drop the letter in a mailbox, slightly reluctant.

The building smells like old wood and cooking onions. You knock once. Twice.

The door opens a crack, and then there's Ginny—still in curlers, wrapped in a robe, clutching a steaming mug of something that smells faintly of cinnamon and sarcasm.

"Tell me that's a letter," she says, blinking sleep from her eyes.

You hold it up. "From Bucky."

Her face softens instantly. "Tommy wrote too." She opens the door wider. "C'mon in. I'll warm up some coffee. You read me yours, I'll read you mine."

You step inside, and for the first time since that train pulled away, the ache feels a little easier to carry.

You both settle on Ginny's threadbare couch, legs curled beneath you like two girls at a sleepover instead of two sweethearts carrying the weight of the world.

She hands you a mug of warm cinnamon coffee, and you pull Bucky's letter from your coat pocket like it's made of gold. Ginny does the same with Tommy's—hers folded more times than necessary, soft and worn from being read in quiet corners of the night.

"On three?" she says, holding hers like it's a promise wrapped in paper.

You nod.

"One... two..."

And you both read.

⸻⸻⸻

Ginny-girl,

You won't believe the way the sun rises over these fields. Nothing like Brooklyn. It's like the whole sky is on fire, and for a second, even the war shuts up and watches.

I still carry your picture in my chest pocket—show it off like a fool. The guys say I've gone soft. Maybe I have. But I told 'em, "You ain't never met a girl like mine." That shut 'em up.

I miss your voice. I miss your sass. I even miss the way you steal my fries and then claim it's "just a taste."

We sleep in tents now. There's mud everywhere. My boots have officially started protesting. I got paired up with some fella from Chicago who snores like a dying engine. But I swear, Gin—when I close my eyes, I can hear your laugh clearer than anything else.

I'm staying safe. I'm stayin' sharp. And I'm comin' home to you. So keep my coat warm, and don't let the cat take my side of the bed.

All my heart,

—Tommy

⸻⸻⸻

Ginny sniffling by the end of it, laughing through her tears.

"That idiot," she says softly, clutching the letter to her chest. "He really thinks I'm gonna wait to steal his fries?" She wipes at her cheek. "I already ate half of his birthday cake last week."

You smile and I read her my letter from Bucky. Her mouth twitching at the parts about whipped cream and Steve.

When I finish, she exhales a long, wistful sigh.

"God," she murmurs, folding the paper carefully, "he's a goner for you."

You nod. "I'm a goner for him too."

She rests her head on your shoulder. "I like hearing their voices through each other's words. Like they're still here. Like we're not just waiting ghosts."

The two of you sit in that silence a while longer—holding letters instead of hands, reading ink instead of voices—but somehow... feeling them all the same.

✪──────•••──────✪

A chill in the air has teeth, but the sky is soft—honey-colored and hazy with that kind of light that makes everything feel suspended in time. The city clatters on around you, but you and Ginny?

You're in your own little world.

You're both bundled up in coats, hands wrapped around paper cones of roasted almonds, strolling down 43rd talking about everything and nothing. Ginny's recounting some scandal involving Mrs. Caputo and the butcher's assistant, complete with gasps and dramatic reenactments.

"I swear on Tommy's good socks—she was batting her lashes like she didn't still have curlers in her hair!"

You laugh, the kind that bubbles out unexpectedly, warm and full—something you didn't think you'd feel again so soon.

And then—

Boom. Boom. BOOM.

The sound of feet pounding the pavement.

You both freeze.

A blur streaks past—tall, broad, fast as hell, moving like lightning in a uniform that strains at the seams.

A collective ripples down the block as people stumble out of the way. He's chasing someone—a thief, maybe? A man in a gray coat darts through the crowd, knocking over fruit stands and yelling curses.

but the blonde man behind him doesn't slow. He's a machine—arms pumping, eyes sharp, feet barely touching the ground as he closes the distance with impossible speed.

Your heart jolts.

There's something familiar in the way he moves—his determination, his posture, even the curve of his jaw in profile as he blows past.

Ginny grabs your arm. "Did you see that guy?! He's like a moving brick wall!"

You stare after him, still catching your breath.

"I... think that was Steve." Your voice hushed. "But it couldn't be. Could it?"

Ginny's eyes go wide. "Steve? Steve Rogers?! That wasn't a Steve, that was a statue of Hercules come to life!"

You don't answer. Your mind is racing.

The serum. The letter. Bucky's voice in your memory—"They gave him the serum. It worked."

Your heart thunders.

Because whoever that was... it moved like someone with purpose. Someone with a cause.

You and Ginny exchange one glance—wide-eyed, breath caught—and then you're both running.

Your boots clack against the sidewalk, the cone of almonds forgotten somewhere behind you. People shout, scatter, but the commotion pulls you forward like a thread you can't afford to lose.

Down the block. Past the bakery. Past the laundromat. Toward the docks.

Your lungs burn, your heart hammering—you don't stop.

You reach the edge of the warehouses, where crates are stacked like crooked teeth and the scent of salt and smoke hangs in the air.

And that's when you see him.

Steve.

But not the Steve you know.

This man—he's tall. Built. Unrecognizable at first glance. His uniform is stretched tight over muscle you swear wasn't there a week ago. His posture, his strength, the authority in the way he moves—it makes your breath catch.

But then he turns slightly. And you see him.

His eyes.

His jaw.

That same determined fire that used to get him beat up in alleyways behind movie theaters.

"Steve," you whisper, unable to stop yourself.

He doesn't hear you—he's focused, confronting a man near the edge of the dock. The guy's got something clutched to his chest—a small silver case, glinting in the sun.

There's shouting.

The man fires a gun.

Steve dodges.

He dodges a bullet. Like it's instinct. Like his body already knows it can.

Ginny grabs your wrist. "...what the hell is going on?"

You don't answer.

Because Steve launches himself forward, tackling the man with a force that sends both of them crashing into the water below.

You gasp, hand over your mouth.

People rush to the edge, shouting, A moment passes—two—and then:

Steve surfaces. Dragging the man behind him.

Alive.

And still clutching that damn case.

Applause erupts. The crowd pushes in. Military men rush down from the surrounding buildings.

You and Ginny stand frozen, watching as Steve climbs up onto the dock, soaked and heaving, but standing taller than you've ever seen him.

You don't move.

You can't.

Your feet are frozen to the dock, your hand still clasped over your mouth, heart rattling in your chest like a bird in a cage. The world continues around you—soldiers shouting, officials rushing forward, the crowd pressing in to see the hero who just chased down a man faster than anyone should be able to.

Steve pulls himself upright, dripping and breathless, the strange silver case now in the hands of the surrounding officers. A man in a suit—sharp, important-looking—steps forward and claps him on the shoulder, saying something too low for you to hear.

Steve barely reacts. His eyes are scanning the crowd, distant, alert. Like he's searching for something—or someone.

You almost call his name again. But you don't.

There's awe swelling in your chest. And fear. And pride. All tangled together in a way that makes your throat ache.

Ginny finally whispers, almost like she's afraid to break the spell.

"That's really him... isn't it?"

You nod, slowly.

"It is."

Just then, Steve looks your way. Eyes flicking through the crowd. His gaze lingers on you—just long enough that you think he recognizes you. His brow softening just so.

And then he's swept away by the crowd.

Pulled into something bigger than all of you.

You and Ginny stand there for another moment in silence, watching history walk away in wet boots and a rumpled uniform.

And all you can think is

"Bucky was right."

✪──────•••──────✪

The air is damp, heavy with promise of rain. You're curled up by the window again, the sky dimming into a moody gray, when the mail slot creaks open and a letter drops to the floor like a secret.

Your heart lurches.

You know that envelope. That handwritting.

Bucky.

You pick it up with careful hands, your fingers already tracing over the loops of your name before you even sit down.

⸻⸻⸻

From: Sgt. James B. Barnes - Somewhere in Europe

My love,

You ever get that feeling in your chest, like something's changed back home and the wind's trying to tell you?

I had that a few days ago. Woke up in the middle of the night—cold, sweating, and thinking of Brooklyn. Of you. And of Steve.

Turns out, I was right.

They told us. The serum worked. Steve's Captain America now.

Let that sink in.

I couldn't believe it at first. Thought they were pulling my leg. But then I saw a picture in one of the local papers—him standing there, tall as anything, holding a shield like it was born in his hands. I'm sure you've seen the pictures back home too, his face and shield are just everywhere now.

I swear to god, sweetheart, I didn't cry. But I damn near did.

He's always deserved more than what the world gave him. And now? Now he can actually fight back. He's gonna change things. I know it.

But a part of me... I don't know.

I miss the kid version of him, the one who couldn't walk past a wrong without jumping in and getting knocked out. That Steve? He's still in there. I hope he is.

I worry somethings. Not about me, or the war. I worry about what power does to a good man. Even a good man like Steve.

And I miss you more than I can stand. I read your last letter a dozen times. Folded it into the inside pocket of my jacket. It keeps me warm when the nights get real cold out here.

I dreamt about you last night. We were dancing on the stoop to a song on the radio. You wore that little red ribbon in your hair and kept telling me to stop stepping on your toes.

You laughed. And I swear, I felt it.

Don't stop writing, doll. You're my light in all this.

Yours, Always.

—Bucky

⸻⸻⸻

Your fingers linger on the paper, and you press it to your chest.

Outside, the rain finally begins to fall—soft steady. But inside, you're held by his words.

You don't even wait for the rain to pass.

You light the lamp, pull your cardigan tighter around your shoulder, and grab your pen and fresh paper from the drawer like a ritual—one you've come to know by heart.

The moment the ink touches the page, your hand moves without hesitation.

⸻⸻⸻

My dearest Bucky,

I saw him.

I didn't think I'd believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. But I did. I saw Steve.

He came running down the streets of Brooklyn—taller, broader, faster than anyone should be. But I swear to you, Bucky, it was him. I'd know those eyes anywhere. He was chasing someone, something important. There was chaos, noise, people shouting—but all I could see was Steve doing what Steve always does:

Trying to save the world.

I stood frozen, too stunned to call his name. He looked right past me, or maybe through me, like his mind was already miles ahead. But for a moment—just one—our eyes met. And I think he knew it was me.

And I think he was still him.

It scared me, Buck. Because you were right... sometimes, power changes people. But if there's anyone strong enough to carry it without losing himself, it's Steve Rogers.

Still, I can't stop thinking—if he's out there becoming a symbol, what happens to the boys who are just trying to stay themselves? Like you.

I want you to know, no matter how loud the war gets, your voice still finds me. Every letter is like coming home again. I carry your words like armor, and they keep the cold out even when the world feels like it's cracking apart.

Come back to me, Bucky. When you do, I want to slow dance on the stoop. No music. No shoes. Just you, me, and maybe that red ribbon in my hair again.

Forever yours,

—Your girl

⸻⸻⸻

You seal the letter with care, pressing it to your lips before slipping it into the envelope.

You don't cry this time.

Because love like this?

It doesn't shatter—it anchors.

✪──────•••──────✪

Brooklyn, New York - 1945

The air is thick with heat and memory, the kind of warmth that clings to your skin and makes the nights feel slower, softer—more fragile. The war is still raging overseas, but here in Brooklyn, the streets are alive. Music drifts out of open windows. Screen doors creak. Somewhere down the block, kids are setting off firecrackers even though they're not supposed to.

You and Ginny weave through it all, arm in arm, your heels clacking gently against the pavement, laughter slipping between sips of shared cherry soda.

Your dresses sway in the breeze, and your cheeks ache from smiling too much—but it's the kind of ache you welcome. Because for once, the weight of waiting isn't the only thing filling your lungs.

Ginny nudges you with her elbow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "That guy at the soda counter? The one with the suspenders and the lazy eye? He was this close to offering me a ring pop."

You snort, wiping at your lipstick with a napkin. "You would've taken it too. Just to mess with him."

"Damn right," she says proudly. "But only if it came with fires."

You both dissolve into laughter again, turning onto your street. The porch lights are glowing like beacons, the steps all worn in the middle from the years of late-night conversations and barefoot morning.

When you reach your stoop, Ginny slows, letting your arms slip apart.

She looks at you for a beat, her eyes suddenly a little too shiny in the streetlight.

"You're all I got right now, you know that?" she says. "Everyone else talks about dances and dates and weddings. But they don't know what it's like to love someone who might not come back."

You nod, the weight of it pressing gently against your ribs.

"I know."

She wraps you in a hug—tight, familiar, comforting in the way only another war sweetheart can be. You stay there for a moment, holding each other like it matters.

Because it does.

"Write to me tomorrow?" she murmurs.

"Always," you promise.

She steps back, brushing her curls from her forehead, her tone lighter again. "If you get another letter from Bucky, I get dibs on reading it second."

You smile, stepping back onto your stoop. "Only if I get dibs on Tommy's love poems."

Ginny grins. "Deal."

She starts down the sidewalk, waving lazily behind her. Her figure grows smaller as she head toward her brownstone just a few blocks down, blending into the warm hush of a Brooklyn summer night.

You watch her go for a while.

You turn the key in the door, the soft click of the lock sliding into place like a whisper.

Just as you reach for the doorknob—

A hand clamps down over your mouth.

Your scream catches in your throat, muffled thick by cloth. Another pair of hands grabs your arms, yanking you back into the shadows between the stoops. The cloth against your face is soaked in something sharp and sweet, a scent that makes your vision blur almost instantly.

You kick. Twist. Fight.

But your limbs go heavy.

Your last blurry glimpse is of a dark figure, speaking in a cold, clipped accent. German. The voice is unreadable—clinical, detached.

"She'll do. Take her."

Your knees buckle, and the world narrows to a tunnel. Lights fade into stars. You feel your body being dragged, hear the creak of a car door opening, the hum of an engine.

Then—

Nothing.

Just the sound of your heart slowing... and the world going quiet.

✪──────•••──────✪

Meanwhile...

Somewhere overseas, in the mud and smoke of Europe, Bucky Barnes jolts awake in the middle of the night.

He sits up, chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum. His hands tremble as he pushes his damp hair back.

He doesn't know why. But something is wrong.

He feels it.

✪──────•••──────✪

I think this was more of a filler chapter, but I also think it helps with world and character building so I guess that's a plus?? (＠_＠;) Sorry for the lack of Bucky too, I promise he'll be around more again!

[2222bad]

YUMMY

[michael surprises you with his new haircut] | 900+ words

WARNINGS: fem!reader , the man is a TEASE! & this look should’ve been illegal

[1995]

he wanted the haircut to be a surprise. he didn’t tell you anything. no clues, no input from you, nothing. the only thing he let slip was the day and time karen was supposed to arrive in santa barbra. he wouldn’t even let you near the guest house when she got there, clippers and suitcase in toe. he made you swear to stay put until he came to get you, which you reluctantly sealed with a contractually binding kiss of trust. still, you speared at the thought of squeezing some hint out of karen. maybe faking that you’d like a touch up and just so happened to be free the same day, what time would you be done with michael? could i just come wait for him? but, eventually, you thought better than to pry against his wishes and simply tried to ignore the antsy feeling that grew larger in you with each passing minute. fine, you relented, the man can have secrets. just this once!

up in your bedroom, you gather a few contents from your purse in your palm, receipts and loose change from the day before namely, before being suddenly swept into darkness by michael’s sneaking hands.

“guess who,” he sings, an obvious grin laced on his mouth, pulled from ear to ear.

you hadn’t even noticed how tight your hand was on your blouse as you recovered from the sudden thrill. you release your vice grip, breaking into an excited smile. the delicious sweetness of after-spray, evidence of a fresh cut, wafted easefully into your nose. “hmmm…my handsome husband i’ve waited oh so patiently for, i hope?”

“could be…”

“well, may i please see him already? my ride will be here soon.”

“yes,” he grants with a delighted hum, “but when i let go, you have to keep your eyes closed.”

“fine.” you tilt your head back with a playful groan. you weren’t confident in how much longer you could hold up this dam of anticipation.

you fix your body to stand completely still as his hands leave your face. your lip flies between your teeth as your excitement brews quicker.

“okay,” michael says carefully, “turn around—don’t peek!”

“i’m not, baby!” you insist with a frustrated shake of your arms. you turn around, eyes closed to him, squinting with exaggeration. “see?”

you hear him chuckle in front of you and you twinkle your fingers at your sides, a wishful expression. “okay. you can look now.”

gently your eyes flutter open to the blurry figure stood in front of you, quickly adjusting to the view of his body. comfy in his white shirt and jeans, clean shaven, face aglow and beautiful as always. then his hair; subtle curls tipped over from his head and paused their reach at his brow, framing his statuesque features like an open curtain. he’d cut and shaved all along the back and over the sides, leaving layers of black curls frayed prettily around his head. he looked…older. confident, matured, but princely. your knees betray you and buckle under the sight of him. your face shifts from excitement to pure, primal thirst, pupils blown incredibly. like you want to scale him on all fours. like you want to eat him. you want to eat his whole day. you make a note to give karen a personal tip.

“do you like it?” he bites into his bashful smile, his hair dangling to the floor. how could he not know how torturously beautiful he was?

you’re speechless, your mouth agape. your whole body feels like putty, your heart at primal speed. before long, the dam breaks.

“why do you do this to me?” you whine helplessly, swiping your eager palms out at him and dragging them down his chest.

“do what?” he laughs, catching you in his arms.

“you knew i had my meeting today!” you pout up at him, fighting, with great power, the urge to just trap him under you right then and there and gnaw at him like a toothless cub.

he lets out another laugh, which, to you, felt full of pity, wrapping your body in his embrace. “well,” he toys with a devious smile, “now you know how it feels!”

“know how what feels?” you slip your hands beneath his t-shirt with a possessive grip on his waist earning a ticklish smile to match his scrunching nose.

“how it feels when…you know…like in the morning when you walk out of the shower smelling so good with all your lotions on and i have to go work.”

you stare at him, bemused. “i don’t see how that’s remotely fair.”

he smirks at that, leaning down to kiss you. a drooping strand brushes against your eyelash and forehead, nearly binding you within your lover’s trance. “i’ll make it up to you later…”

“oh, you’re gonna do much more than that,” you bid, returning his kiss with mock weakness at the same time your pager buzzes in your bag. your car was at the gate. “and you—“ he plants another unreturned kiss on your lips, “—better not let anybody see you—“ he kisses your cheek, the crux of your jaw, “—you stay right here in this room until i get back—“ you whine impatiently as he lands another one on your neck, “—bye. i love you.”

he lets you slip out of his grip, but not before he presses a firm, promising kiss to your lips that leaves you, almost, utterly dazed. you swipe your stuff into your arms, turning to look back at him, your hand curling up as if to strangle him.

“i mean it, michael! you’re not leaving this room!”

“i look that good, huh?” he teases, arms folded in triumph as he watches you tromp away. you only scoff, the sound of your heels moving like a rolling thunder through the neverland palace.

-

for you, lovely one :) thank you!!! @cinnamoncunt