#and falling in love with him and getting to see him maturing

[oddinary4bts]

Be With You | ch 15

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, cursing, mentions of Jungkook, jealousy, insecurity, san's dad, explicit content: dry humping, thigh riding?, praise, nipple play

☆word count: 14k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: they are babies in this one help :') thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, April 5th 

The car has been eating the miles since you left the city, already four hours ago. Yunho is still driving, hand in hand with Sydney, though you know your best friend has fallen asleep at least an hour ago. Still, their fingers remain entwined, and the sight makes you smile.

Or maybe the sight that truly makes you smile is that of San where he’s sleeping with his head leaning back against the headrest, his mouth open. 

He’s adorable like this. He looks younger, innocent, and you like it. Like that you managed to take a picture of him that you’ll be able to tease him with later, a picture that you dropped in the group chat. Wooyoung and Yeosang have already laugh-reacted to it, and you just know San is in for a surprise once he wakes up.

“We gotta stop to put gas in the car,” Yunho says, startling you.

You meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. “No worries.”

And that’s all you say before he falls silent again, focusing on the road. You look outside the window as he drives, taking the first exit that he sees. When he stops at the red light, Sydney wakes up, stretching, and like dominoes, San’s mouth closes as he sighs.

His eyes flutter open, and he blinks a few times as he tries to focus on his surroundings. He looks lost, though the second he meets your gaze, a smile graces his lips, one of those that make his dimples shine on his cheeks. You smile back, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.

It doesn’t take too long for Yunho to find a gas station, and you all take a moment to get out of the car, stretching and walking around to get the soreness out of your legs. You and San go into the gas station, on the hunt for snacks, and you laugh around as you find hard-boiled eggs that look like they’ve seen better centuries.

“You should get some,” you tell him. “It looks like it’d be good for your guts.”

San scrunches his brow, looking at you like you’ve said the wildest thing he’s ever heard.

“I think I’d die if I ate that.” He laughs, putting them back where you took them. “They look like they smell horrible.”

You snort, and then you keep perusing the alleys of the gas station, stopping where all the candies are. You end up buying a pack of Sour Patch Kids, and San grabs some chips and some chocolate. He hides the latter in the front pocket of the sweater he’s wearing, and then you go back to the car, finding Sydney and Yunho hugging next to it.

“Do any of you guys want to drive?” Yunho asks over Sydney’s head. “I’m kinda tired, and I’d love to take a nap before we get there.”

“I can drive,” San offers after a brief glance your way.

“Good, cause I also want to nap.”

San smirks, a teasing glint taking over his eyes. “Maybe then I can get a good picture of you to send to everyone, mmh?”

You punch him in the shoulder. “As if.”

That’s how you end up sitting in the front seat, San behind the wheel, while your brother and best friend occupy the back seat. And then you’re on the road again, sharing chips and candies with San and Sydney while Yunho settles down for his proclaimed nap. 

An hour later, you’re dozing off, your head against the window of the car, when you feel San’s fingers grazing the back of your hand on your thigh. You turn your hand, welcoming his, and your fingers entwine naturally. It makes your heart race for a moment, though the soothing motion of his thumb on your skin calms you down quickly, allowing you to finally fall asleep.

To your luck, you only wake up when you’re almost arrived, and your hand still clutches San’s as if your life depends on it.

“Morning,” San teases as he glances your way, a dimple shining on his cheek.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes, and then wipe the drool that seeped on your cheek while you were sleeping. “Damn, I was gone.”

He chuckles, his fingers tightening around yours. “You were.”

You yawn, blinking a few times as you glance at Sydney and Yunho. They’re both awake, though Yunho is looking out the window while Sydney is cuddled up by his side, scrolling through her phone.

“Doesn’t that make you feel like puking?” you ask your best friend.

She makes a noncommittal sound. “Not really.”

“Lucky bitch.”

You resume your attention on the street in front of you, your eyes widening as you notice all the palm trees on the side of the road.

“Oh!” you exclaim, pointing to the trees. “Palm trees!”

San snorts. “There has been a lot of them for a while.”

“It’s summer time.” You wiggle your eyebrows, which only makes San laugh more.

“Hell yeah.”

All of five minutes later, San slows down the car, turning into the alley that leads to the house you’ve rented. Jongho’s car is already parked at the front of the house, and Lyla and Wooyoung wave at you as you get closer.

San ends up parking next to them, and then he’s turning the engine off. There’s a short moment of silence, but then everyone is fumbling out of the car, chatter rising between all of you as Lyla asks you how the trip was.

“We only got some traffic when we left,” Yunho says as he moves to the back of his car, opening the trunk, and you can’t help but notice the sound of waves coming from behind the house. 

“Yeah, we probably got the same traffic,” Lyla replies. “But it wasn’t as bad as it was considering that it’s the first Saturday of Spring Break.”

“We got lucky,” Sydney says, a smile on her lips. “I wouldn’t have survived if we’d had more traffic than that.”

“Felt,” Wooyoung lets out, and they clap hands before San, Sydney and you head to Yunho’s car’s trunk to help your brother with your bags, while Wooyoung helps Lyla with hers.

“Give me this,” you tell your brother as he’s about to put your duffel bag on the ground, and you’re about to take it when San’s hand appears, wrapping around the strap.

“I’ll take care of it,” he tells you, and your gaze widens, though you don’t say anything other than a small thank you.

Which leads to you only carrying the pack of spiked lemonade you do want to drink over the week. It’s a relief that you don't have to carry more stuff - the entry to the house is up a steep flight of stairs, and you’re unsure if you would have been able to climb it with how heavy you’ve packed your duffel bag.

You’ve always been the kind to overpack for a trip after all.

“What the fuck did you put in this?” San asks as you reach the top of the stairs.

The door is open, and you walk into the house, replying to him over your shoulder. “Bricks. Just thought you might need the workout.”

He rolls his eyes, though his amusement shows in the curve of his lips and in the way he doesn’t complain, only following you as you head towards where you can see Jongho and Yeosang in the kitchen as they put some food away in the refrigerator. 

“Hey,” you greet them, adding your lemonade to the food on the counter. “This place is huge.”

Indeed it is. The first floor is a large open-space with an area with some couches, a long table, and a kitchen with an island  that’s currently crumbling under all the bags that have been put there. The decoration follows the general beach theme of the area, large sea shells adorning the window sills and blue vases with fake drowned wood on each side of the couches. A TV hangs on the wall in front of the largest couch, though what truly catches your sight are the large sliding doors that lead to the deck at the back of the house.

You make your way to said deck, stepping outside with a grin on your lips as the saline air of the sea whips you in the face, the sound of waves now a lot louder. Which makes sense considering that a few steps leads you to a railing that overlooks the beach, and the waves crash on the beach about twenty meters in front of the house.

“This is sick,” you say to no one in particular, especially considering that no one followed you outside.

You make your way back inside, noticing the covered hot tub at the end of the deck on the way, but you focus on San that’s waiting just inside, a cute smile on his lips.

“It’s so warm outside,” you comment as you close the door.

He nods. “Yeah, it really is. It honestly took me by surprise.”

“They’re so lucky they barely get a winter here.”

“Oh, they definitely are.” He glances to the side, where you notice a staircase going upstairs, and an open door that visibly leads to another staircase, though this one is going downstairs. “You want a room upstairs or downstairs?”

“Upstairs,” you reply with no hesitation. “I don’t want someone walking on my head while I’m trying to sleep.”

“Right.” San laughs. “Then lead the way, I’ll let you choose your room first.”

“Who’s going to room with me, though?” you ask as you start making your way to the stairs. “Everyone needs to room with someone.”

And someone will have to crash on the couch, but you don’t mention that.

“Yeosang and Wooyoung have already roomed up,” San admits, and you glance at him, noticing the blush that’s slowly spreading on his cheeks. “I thought you and I could maybe share a room? Unless you prefer sharing it with Mingi. Because other than that, everyone already has a roomie.”

The thought about having to room up with Mingi makes you want to run back to your apartment in the city - no offense to him - so you quickly say, “Oh, I’d rather room with you.”

San’s smile is worth a million stars as he looks up at you. You think you might even be blinded by its shine, though it might just be because of the way your heart stutters in your chest, skipping a beat.

“Perfect.” 

You reach the top of the stairs, and you notice four doors. Two of them are already opened, and there are bags on the bed of one, and Yeosang is in the other one. He looks at you passing, waving at you as you wave at him, and then you push the third door open, finding a bathroom.

“Guess we won’t be sleeping here,” you say, chuckling as you close the door again.

The fourth door leads to the third and last upstairs bedroom, and you walk into your room for the next few days, smiling as you notice the view from the window.

It leads straight to the sea, and the fluffy white clouds from earlier are slowly turning gold with the setting sun.

“It’s so pretty,” you whisper, and then you glance at San as he puts your bag and his next to the bed, in front of a chest of drawers.

“It really is.” San walks towards you, gazing at the view. “I can’t believe they left the room with the best view.”

You scan the room, your eyes stopping on the bed. And then on the chest of drawers, and on the way the two pieces of furniture look enormous in the small space. “I think it’s just because it’s small,” you point out.

San looks around, nodding his head. “That would make sense.”

You take two steps towards the bed, sitting on the edge of it. But then, gaze widening, you let yourself fall back with a laugh. “This bed is so comfortable.”

San joins you, lying down next to you, and you meet his gaze. Your heart swells in your chest, and you’re hit with the thought that it’d be far too easy to roll on your side and kiss him right now. 

Hell, you almost do it. But then Yeosang appears in the door frame, arms folded on his chest, and he says, “Y’all are going to be sleeping here?”

You sit up quickly, as if ashamed that he’s seen you, and you motion at the window. “Have you seen the view? Of course, we’ll sleep here.”

He walks in, not questioning the ‘we’ that slipped past your lips, and he whistles as he looks outside. “Shit, you’re right, it is a nice view.” He turns back towards you, leaning against the wall. “I just saw how small the room is earlier.”

“Told you,” you say as you glance at San. “But no worries, I’m just glad we managed to get an upstairs bedroom.”

The conversation doesn’t really go further, and Yeosang tells you that everyone’s meeting up in the living room to plan who’s going to cook and who’s going to clean for dinner tonight. So the three of you make your way downstairs, and you find your friends lounging on the couches, Jongho and Yunho already having a beer in hand.

“Mingi’s going to be here in an hour,” Yunho says as he’s looking at his phone. “But he says not to wait for him for dinner, he’ll get something on the way.”

“What about Hongjoong and Seonghwa?” Lyla asks. “Weren’t they supposed to get here around the same time as y’all?”

Yunho shrugs. “They said they would, but they ended up leaving later. They got more traffic than us but…” He glances at his phone. “They just got here.”

Indeed, a few minutes later Seonghwa and Hongjoong walk in, grinning widely, and they greet everyone before dropping off their stuff in one of the downstairs bedrooms. Meanwhile, you team up with San, Yunho, Sydney and Wooyoung for making dinner, though it ends up being mostly San and Yunho cooking while the three of you share a drink sitting on the stools next to the island. You do cut some onions though, and Sydney sets up the table while Wooyoung prepares a sauce once the meat is almost finished cooking.

“That sauce is my mom’s recipe,” Wooyoung says as he mixes ingredients next to you. “Y’all are going to love it.”

He adds some Dijon mustard to the sauce, mixing thoroughly, and then he pushes the bowl towards you.

“Taste this.”

You do so, dipping just the tip of your little finger in the sauce before bringing it to your mouth. Your gaze widens, surprised at the sweetness that invades your mouth, and you meet Wooyoung’s expectant eyes.

“Damn, it really is good!”

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I told you! My mom is an amazing cook.”

“She really is,” San says over his shoulder from where he’s checking the vegetables - sweet potatoes, carrots and parsnips - that he put in the oven earlier. “This is ready.”

“Meat’s almost ready too,” Yunho says as he flips some pork belly in the pan. 

“Good thing I finished setting the table,” Sydney joins in, sitting back on the stool next to you.

She yawns, and everyone around you starts yawning too, a clear indication that you will all hit the hay early tonight.

And you do. Even when Mingi arrives, his energetic nature is not enough to lift everyone’s spirits from the slumber you’ve all been drifting towards from driving for a little over seven hours today. Your brother remains up with Mingi though - along with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, who somehow still have energy despite the drive - while the rest of you all head to bed.

You manage to get the shower first, and you quickly wash yourself, brushing your teeth and doing your skin care next. San goes in after you, and you’re scrolling on your phone while you wait for him to come back, your heart beating just a little quicker at the thought that you’ll share a bed with him for the first time in months.

He comes back, clad in a black t-shirt and grey joggers, and you smile at him as he walks around the bed, dropping his dirty clothes next to his bag. He sits on the side of the bed next, plugging his phone into his charger, and then he slips under the covers, turning towards you.

“I am so tired,” he murmurs, and you glance at him to see he’s already shut his eyes. 

He looks peaceful, comfortable like this, and you resist the urge to run a hand through his wet hair from the shower he just took.

“Man, me too.”

He smiles. “Even with your nap?”

“Please, you slept a lot longer than I did.”

His eyes flutter open as he chuckles. “But I drove for like three hours.”

You narrow your gaze at him, choosing not to reply, and then you plug your phone into your own charger. You have to get up to turn off the light - the lamp is on the dresser, since there is no night table.

“Next time, whoever comes to bed last has to turn off the light,” you jokingly say as you go back to the bed, the room dark now that the light is off. “I’m not getting up for you.”

“Yah! I’m wounded.”

“You literally walked in front of the lamp before lying down,” you point out with a whine. 

You think he’s glaring at you, though it’s hard to tell in the darkness. “Fair enough. I’ll make sure to go to bed before you tomorrow.”

You laugh, and he joins along with you, like he always did before.

Like he’s been doing since Valentine’s Day, too.

“Gosh, I can’t wait to go walk on the beach tomorrow,” you say, and you close your eyes, already imagining the bright sun and the soft sand under the sole of your feet. “It’s so needed after the cold winter we had.”

“Agreed.” San shifts, turning on his back. “If it’s hot enough, we could even go for a swim.”

“Or we could just hit the hot tub.”

He looks your way. “You’re really excited about the hot tub, aren’t you?”

You chuckle, opening your eyes. All you can see is the vague shape of his body, though when you glance past him, you notice stars in the night sky. “I hope the sun’s not going to wake us up,” you say with a yawn. “But yeah, I’m excited for the hot tub.”

Your first sentence pushes San to look at the window, and he lets out a snort. “Can’t believe there’s no curtain.”

Indeed, you realized that earlier, when you came back to your room before going to take a shower.

“It’s so dumb.”

San nods, and you both fall silent, the exhaustion from travelling slowly catching up to you even though you think you could talk with him like this for hours. 

You used to, after all.

“Let’s get some sleep in,” San says, his voice suddenly softer, gentler, no more than a whisper.

You close your eyes, a smile gracing your lips. “Good idea. We’ll need all our energy for tomorrow.”

“Hell yeah.”

A comfortable silence rises between the two of you as you pull the covers higher on your body. San shifts again, bending one of his legs, and he inadvertently brushes your knee. You both don’t comment on it though, yet it fills you with a warm brightness, one that slowly lulls you to sleep.

Right before you fall asleep, you hear San whispering, “Good night.”

But you’re gone before you can reply.

Sunday, April 6th

The sun beams down on you, carrying hints of the hot summer that’s to come even up north, though you reckon summer must have arrived here early. The sand underneath the towel you’re laying on provides a soft mattress, yet it’s become a little hard from how long you’ve been in the same position - lying on your back, legs bent so you can leave your feet in the sand - so you shift, turning on your belly. You put your chin on your hand, then crack an eye open to glance at Sydney, who’s lying next to you with a book in her hands.

“How’s the book?” you ask her.

She chuckles. “Too spicy to be read in public, yet here I am.”

“Ew, why are you reading porn next to me?”

Her eyes trail closer to the sea, where some of the boys - including Yunho and San - are throwing a football at each other.

“To spice up my time with your brother.”

“That is so disgusting,” you whine, hiding your face in your hands. “Now, I have images I did not want to have.”

“No one said you had to imagine it.” Sydney offers you a shit-eating grin when you glance at her.

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Love you too,” she replies with a wink, and then she returns to her book.

You’ve borrowed a book earlier, one she claimed was more romance than anything else, but you’ve only made it through two chapters before putting it down so that you can enjoy the sun.

“Hey girls,” Lyla greets you both as she walks your way, a towel on her arm. “Mind if I join y’all?”

“Feel free, Syd is boring right now.”

“Yah!” your best friend exclaims, yet you all burst out laughing as Lyla puts her towel on the sand next to you.

“Where’s Jongho?” you ask her.

She motions towards the house. “He and Yeosang are trying to make sangria.”

“Trying?” you say with a snort.

“They’ve made a mess of the kitchen, and I got tired of watching over them.” She shakes her head, and then glances your way. There’s something mischievous in the way her lips curve upwards, and you cock an eyebrow in question. “Anything fun happened between you and San last night?”

That immediately draws Sydney’s attention, and she puts down her book on her belly, turning her head towards you. “Yeah, you’ve been strangely silent about last night.”

You mentally facepalm yourself, keenly aware of how blood rushes to your cheek to darken their pigmentation. “Nothing happened,” you reply simply, which is the truth.

It’s never sounded less like the truth, though.

“Shut up, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” you whine, and you return to hiding your face in your hands, most likely making you look even more guilty.

Sydney pushes you playfully. “Yeah, yeah, and I didn’t fuck your brother.”

“Sydney!” you shriek, which earns you a few looks from the boys. “I did not want to know that,” you add, much quieter this time.

“For real,” she insists. “What happened with San?”

“Nothing. We talked a little, then went to sleep.” You look between the two girls, hating how skeptical they both look. “I swear! We both were too tired to do anything anyway.”

“So you would have, mmh?” Lyla teases, allying herself with Sydney.

They’ve been doing that a lot when it comes to San, now. Mostly because it seems the whole friend group has bets on when you and San will make it official, or at least that’s what you’ve been getting the impression of.

“Goddamn it, you guys are insufferable.”

“Them?” Wooyoung chimes in as he walks towards you, water glistening on his bare chest. “Not as much as fucking San.”

You would kiss him in the forehead for the salvation he unknowingly gives you.

“What did he do?” you ask.

“Threw me in the water,” Wooyoung complains, and he plops down in one of the chairs the guys brought down from the deck. He grabs the towel that he left on the back of it, rubbing his hair with it. “It’s fucking freezing.”

You’re not surprised that it is, considering how early in the season you currently are.

“Apparently, he also did not do anything with Y/n last night,” Lyla innocently says.

You close your eyes in defeat - there goes your salvation.

“Bullshit,” Wooyoung lets out. “He’s way too happy for nothing to have happened.”

“We literally just slept,” you say. “Why are y’all so obsessed with this?”

Your tone is a little curt, more annoyed than you meant it to be, and you sense the awkwardness that it raises between the four of you. You curse yourself mentally, though this time, Sydney does offer you salvation.

“We’re just teasing, bubs,” she gently says. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my bad,” Lyla sheepishly adds.

Wooyoung doesn’t look even a little apologetic, and he just shrugs his shoulders as you glance his way.

“No worries,” you reassure your friends. “But I promise we just slept. We did wake up cuddling, though.”

You did. He woke up first, and the feeling of him tightening his arm around you to pull you flush to him woke you up. You both stayed like that for a lot longer than necessary, especially with how warm your room was getting, but it was peaceful, a moment for just the two of you to enjoy.

Now it seems your friends enjoy it too, because they smile widely.

“I’m happy for you,” Lyla says as she grins. “You guys are perfect together.”

“We are not together but… thank you.”

Before anything more can be said, the rest of the guys walk your way, Yunho carrying the football back. Their chatter is loud, energetic, and it kills the conversation you were currently having, replacing it with excitement about the party you’ll have tonight, which you reckon you’ve been looking forward to as well. 

San catches your gaze, offering you a sweet smile that does nothing to keep your eyes from dipping down to the strong plane of his chest - because of course he’s not wearing a shirt - and your blood heats up in your veins.

“Want to go take a walk?” he asks, and though you’re pretty sure Lyla and Sydney heard too, you know the question is just meant for you.

“Yes please.”

You push yourself up, dusting the sand off your body, and then you take the hand that he offers you, letting him tug you towards the line where the waves meet the shores. San grins at you, and your friends whistle behind you. You show them your middle finger over your shoulder, slightly shaking your head as your cheeks burn again.

What a bunch of idiots.

Tuesday, April 8th

Two days pass without much happening - if partying and enjoying life and laughing, drinking, eating don’t count - leading to a relaxing Tuesday, where half of the group goes into the nearby city to go explore some of the sights, while the other remains behind at the house. The day is somewhat colder than the previous ones, and so you follow the group that goes into the city, enjoying yourself along with your friends.

It’s fun. Amazing even, to be creating memories you know will last a lifetime with the people that have started mattering the most to you. Obviously, San being by your side makes everything better, more exciting, like every step you take is a little adventure in the story of you and him. You commemorate everything by taking as many pictures as you possibly can - the lighthouse, San eating a corn dog, Yunho carrying Sydney on his back when she complains that her legs hurt. There’s a bunch of silly pictures of you and your friends too - Wooyoung taking the front stage of those, and you know you’ll look back on all of them fondly, to remember days when you were young and carefree.

Spending the day walking around leads to your group being relatively tired when you go back home in the evening though, which leads to a much more tame party. You don’t drink this time, just drinking water while your friends nurse their beers and drinks, though you notice how a couple of them have also chosen to drink water.

To your surprise, Mingi, Yunho and San all declare that they’ll be going in the hot tub, inviting the rest of you, but you currently are glued to the spot where you’re sitting in the basement, in between Wooyoung and a dozing off Yeosang. You smile at San as he leaves, and though he tries to convince you to follow with a pointed look to the stairs, you just shrug your shoulders sheepishly.

The three guys disappear upstairs, and you lay your head back against the couch, listening to the lively chatter surrounding you more than participating in it. Wooyoung is saying something about a reality TV show you haven’t watched, which leads to what one could call an intense debate on which guy is the best between him and Lyla.

It convinces you to never watch that reality TV show, after all.

A yawn takes you by surprise as Lyla goes on and on about how this guy is a red flag, and you decide to head upstairs.

“Going to the hot tub?” Sydney asks as you pass in front of her.

You shrug. “I was thinking about going to bed, but might just go in the hot tub for a moment. My legs are sore from all the walking.”

“Oof, same,” she lets out. “Have fun.”

You nod with a smile, and then you’re climbing the stairs, heading to the second floor so that you can get changed in your swimsuit before going back to the first floor. You head outside, the night air surprisingly cooler than you’d imagined it would be, and you turn towards the hot tub. You’d expected to find San and Yunho there but, to your surprise, only Mingi remains. He offers you a wide grin, and you walk closer, glancing around.

“Where are the others?” you ask.

“They went to get drinks a moment ago, but they didn’t come back,” Mingi says. “They probably got lost on the way.”

You wouldn’t be surprised. They’re idiots together, though it’s endearing - you like that your brother and San get along so well now.

“Do you mind if I join?” 

Mingi, who was sitting by the place where you can climb in the hot tub, moves away. “Nah, feel free,” he says as the water splashes from his motions. “I was feeling lonely.”

His sentence sounds rhetorical, like he’s not looking for an answer, so you only get in, putting your drink down on the side of the tub as you climb in. The water is hotter than you’d expected, and you wince before slowly lowering yourself in the tub. Mingi watches you as you do so, and despite the years between this moment and the last time you saw him, you think he’s looking at you the same way he used to look at you then.

Though it might just be you. Because his next words catch you by surprise.

“Is anything going on between you and Choi San?” he asks.

You widen your gaze, and your heartbeat speeds up in your chest. “Oof,” you let out, and you chuckle lightly. “That’s a long and complicated question to answer.”

Mingi waves around. “It’s not like I have anything else to do right now,” he says, laughing lightly. “I’m all ears.”

You glance towards the sliding doors, wondering if San will come out and save you from having to explain. But then again, you didn’t see he or Yunho when you got out, which probably means that they joined the rest of your friends downstairs, making it unlikely for San to come back.

“We…” you trail off, and you watch the bubbles in the water hoping that they might offer you salvation. “We sorta dated, last semester,” you reveal.

Mingi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sorta?”

You wince, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Yeah, well. We were about to start dating for real. Jungkook showed up, told some shit to San and…” You close your eyes, memories of that lonesome November coming back to your mind. “And San ghosted me. Because I hid Jungkook’s existence from him, and he’s got a lot of issues with cheating in general, so he felt lied to.”

“I don’t think that excuses the ghosting,” Mingi comments while you’re silent for a moment, figuring out how to explain the rest of the story.

“Oh, trust me, it doesn’t,” you say, nodding your head. “Why do you think we’re not dating now?”

“You tell me.” Mingi winks, and you roll your eyes at the playfulness despite the heavy atmosphere the conversation has brought down upon the two of you.

“So he ghosted me, but we had a class project to do together and… we were kind of forced to talk again because of it. I eventually understood that Jungkook told him some shit, and then told him my side of the story, and San apologized. A hell of a lot. And we decided to be friends, especially considering we have a lot of friends in common.” You motion towards the house. “That was in December. So I guess we’ve been… skirting around the fact that we both had feelings for each other and…” You shrug. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“Had feelings?” Mingi repeats, and you frown in confusion. “You’re speaking in the past tense, but I’m pretty sure the guy’s head over heels for you.”

Your heart warms in your chest, reaching for San, wherever he is in the house right now.

“I mean… yeah, past tense is wrong. I think we both have feelings for each other. We’ve talked about it and…” You sigh, glancing up towards the distant constellations that prick the night sky. “He’s giving me space to figure everything out.”

“What do you mean by everything?” Mingi asks.

You don’t reply right away. Instead, you listen to the sound of the waves, gazing at the sky in all its dark glory. It’s beautiful, in a humbling way you haven’t really felt in a while. In truth, you don’t think you’ve felt that way since you were a lot younger, not having experienced the life of the city.

Not having experienced the traumas the last three years held, either.

“I’ve been having trouble forgiving him,” you admit. “Like… I don’t know, the feelings are definitely still there, but when I think about kissing him, or being with him, like dating, I get scared.”

“You’re afraid he’ll do it again?”

Mingi’s question hurts to hear, but you reckon he’s right. You’re afraid San will hurt you again, deadly so, even though you don’t think he would, don’t think he’d have it in him. Hell, you wouldn’t have been able to have all those feelings for him if you truly doubted him.

“I guess so,” you say with a sad nod, lips pursing. “But I think it’s more about the fact that I’m afraid to get hurt. Especially after Jungkook…”

“Don’t mention Jungkook.” Mingi’s voice is almost a growl, and you remember how much he always hated your ex.

Which makes sense considering he did not have an ounce of remorse in helping you to cheat on Jungkook.

“I swear to God every time I hear that asshole’s name, I want to find him and kill him.”

You chuckle, though it’s a little awkward, a little sad. “To be honest, I’d help you kill him. But pretty sure Yunho would be hella disappointed if we did this without him.”

Mingi laughs, the sound reminiscent of your teenage years, of growing up along with him, Sydney and Yunho.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’d get your brother first.”

You echo his laugh, but yours ends on a sigh as your thoughts go back to San. “So, yeah. I think it’s more about me than about San, you know? I’m like… genuinely terrified to be in a relationship.”

You haven’t really said that out loud to anyone before. Maybe to Sydney in some way, but never so bluntly. Yet the moment you say it, you feel lighter, like the truth was pressing on your shoulders from remaining hidden for so long. 

“I think it’s normal to be afraid to be in a relationship,” Mingi carefully says. “Because you have to be vulnerable.” He looks in the distance, sorrow painting his features in a sad mask. “Look at me. I got my first girlfriend, thought I’d marry her one day, and she ran because it was too much too soon.”

You didn’t know. When Yunho told you that Mingi and his girlfriend had broken up, you genuinely thought he was the one that broke up, not the other way around. And you feel bad for him. Horrible, even, knowing what heartbreak feels like.

“Oh, Mingi…”

He blinks a few times, and you wonder if he’s trying to chase tears away. You think he might be, as silver lines his gaze, but he manages to win the fight against the onslaught of sadness, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s nothing.”

You said the same thing once about San. So you know more than anyone that it’s not nothing.

“Don’t say that,” you gently say.

His gaze darts to you, before returning to the dark sea. “Well, obviously it’s not nothing. What I mean is that… I’m thankful I got to experience the love that I experienced with her. That I got to know how much I can love. Imagine how much better it’ll be when I find the right person?” He sighs, and then sets his eyes on you. “And honestly, I’ve seen the way you look at Choi San, too. Don’t let your fears come between you and such a love.���

Love… Do you love San?

More importantly, does he love you?

“If not for you,” Mingi adds, “do it for me. Seeing you happy with him is… amazing. You deserve the happiness.”

You’re suddenly blinking back tears. Unlike Mingi, the tears win, and you dry the ones that spill on your cheeks, though you just end up rubbing water from the hot tub on your face.

“You deserve it too,” you reply through the emotions clogging your throat. “And I’m sorry it didn’t work with your ex. But I know you’ll find someone amazing to marry one day.”

His laugh is sad, yet he laughs nonetheless. “I’ll give myself sometime before that but… yes. I know I will.”

You smile at him, and then silence reigns for a time, only interrupted by the waves and the shrill calls of insects in the small woods on each side of the house. It’s peaceful, and you reckon you could fall asleep like this, which you doubt would be a good thing. So you glance at Mingi, noticing him looking up at the stars.

“Do you want to go in?” you ask.

He looks down. “I probably should. My skin is starting to burn.”

You chuckle, and then you get out, grabbing the towel you brought outside and left on the chair next to the tub. You wrap yourself in it as Mingi does the same, drying himself with the last towel, and then you walk in the house, not surprised at all by the loud chatter that’s coming from downstairs. Mingi heads to the living room to take a change of clothes, and you wave him goodbye as you climb the stairs to the second floor, making your way to the bedroom you share with San.

You push the door open, walking into the semi-darkness of the room. The stars shine bright enough to lightly illuminate the floor, and two steps later you bend down to rummage through your bag where you’ve left it earlier.

“You’re done with the hot tub?”

You shriek, startling so much that you fall backwards, your hand going to your chest. You knock yourself in the wall on the way down, and you wince, closing one eye as you glance at San who’s now propped up on an elbow in the bed.

Though he’s up the second you hit the wall, concern filling his features.

“Are you okay?”

“You scared the shit out of me,” you admit, your heart still racing in your chest. “I did not see you there at all.”

He helps you get up, and then makes you sit on the bed. “Did you bang your head on the wall?”

You gently pat the back of your head, but it luckily doesn’t hurt. “I don’t think so. What are you doing here anyway?”

The question is stupid. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers, which you’ve failed to notice earlier, and the unmade bed is a clear sign that he was trying to sleep before you came in.

“Decided to go to bed,” he says, and he sits next to you. “I texted you to let you know.”

You frown, glancing his way. “Why didn’t you come out to tell me?”

He doesn’t reply right away. You can immediately tell that something is wrong, and you have an inkling as to what it might be.

“I didn’t want to disturb you and Mingi,” San sheepishly says.

“San.” Your tone is scolding, and he glances your way. “You would never disturb me.”

“You guys looked… comfortable.”

Your gaze widens. “We’re friends that grew up together. Obviously, we would be comfortable together.” You get up, bending down to grab a clean t-shirt and some underwear and loose shorts to sleep in. “I promise I wouldn’t have minded you coming outside.”

Even if you were speaking about him. You’d never mind San wanting to talk to you, not after spending weeks with him refusing to even acknowledge your existence last semester.

“Okay.”

San’s tone is flat. You hate it thoroughly, and you reach for him, tilting his head back with a finger under his chin. He gulps, his gaze meeting yours as you look down at him.

“You have nothing to worry about,” you say. “I…” Your eyes drop to his slightly parted lips, and you lose your train of thought.

“Yeah?”

“I just want to take a quick shower,” you reply. “But then we can talk?”

San scans your features for a time, and then sighs. “That’s a good idea. I’ll wait for you here.”

You’re a little disappointed that he didn’t even suggest coming with you, but you reckon he’s upset right now, which means he might need some space. And though you don’t like the jealousy, don’t like that it makes you feel like you’re losing control of your budding relationship with San, you remind yourself that it just comes from his fears, none of them having anything to do with you.

All you can do is to reassure him as best you can. So you bend down, pressing a featherlight kiss on his forehead, and then you straighten, meeting his gaze again.

“I’ll be quick.”

You try to be, you really do. It takes you all of ten minutes to shower, washing your body and hair as fast as you can before you get out of the steaming shower, wringing your hair with a towel as you try to dry it. You dry yourself next, and then you get dressed, wrapping your hair in the towel while you brush your teeth.

You forgo most of your skincare, focusing on moisturizer only, mostly because you want to go back to see San. You remove the towel from your hair, knowing you’ll have to let it air dry anyway, and then you take one look at yourself in the mirror to make sure you look presentable enough before walking out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom.

San’s turned on the lamp in the room, and it shines its soft yellow light around, San’s shadow looking unnaturally large on the wall. He glances at you as you come in, looking tensed as all hell, and you inadvertently pout at the sight, hanging your wet swimsuit on the doorknob before walking to the bed, joining San.

“Sorry, that was a little long,” you apologize as he slightly shifts to face you.

“Nah, you’re okay,” he reassures you. “Gave me time to think a little.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I don’t like that I feel this way,” he says, his gaze dropping to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers in your lap. “But I kinda really didn’t like seeing you alone with Mingi like that.”

“I figured.” You sigh as he remains silent, trying to figure out the right words to say. “I promise it was nothing but, given our history, I understand why you would feel that way.”

San meets your gaze momentarily, and then looks outside the window, to the starry square of sky you can see from where you’re sitting. “I was about to come back out, and then I saw you with him.” He lets out a deep sigh that settles heavy on your shoulders. “And all I could think about was that you had sex with him once.”

“It was years ago,” you remind San. “I would never sleep with him again.”

“Even if I wasn’t in the picture?”

You didn’t expect such insecurities to plague San, and your heart aches for him. “Even if you weren’t. But you are, and to me, you’re all there is. Always remember that.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He slightly shakes his head, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Who knew I could be so jealous?”

The question makes you snort, and you move your hand to his thigh, appreciating the strong muscles under his skin. “Being with someone makes you learn a lot about yourself.”

Something happens. Something that breaks your heart, that makes you want to hold onto San until the universe ends. His shoulders hunch forward, sorrow plagues his features, and he clenches his jaw once.

“Are we really together, though?” he asks.

It punches you to the gut, and your brow creases. “I mean, we’re heading towards that, no?”

He sighs again, meeting your gaze for a few seconds before he looks down at his hands. He’s picking at the callused skin in his palm, and your focus shifts to that as well as you remove your own hand from his thigh. 

“I hope so.”

You gulp. “Are you doubting me?”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t reply and it’s a reply in itself. It’s all you need to hear for your heart to shatter in your chest, unforgivingly. You hear it breaking like shattered glass, and all you can think to do is lie down, pulling the covers of the bed to your chin as you turn with your back to him.

“Then I guess we should be going to bed.”

He says your name, so softly you barely hear it, and you find yourself blinking away stubborn tears that refuse to go away. San says your name again, and then his hand is on your arm, his grip firm but not hurtful.

Never hurtful.

He turns you on your back, notices the silver in your gaze, and then he’s pressing his lips on yours, taking you by surprise. In this position, you can’t pull away, yet he hasn’t kissed you first in so long that you take it. You kiss him back, meet every motion of his with one of yours, your tongues soon finding their ways together.

The kiss deepens as San climbs on top of you, and your hand glides up his back and to his hair. You tug at the strands, softly at first, then hard enough to force him to pull away.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m sorry.” He’s immediately scrambling up, sitting next to you. He rubs his face, cursing under his breath and then repeats, “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” you ask as you sit back up.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.” He curses again, shutting his eyes. “I just don’t want to hurt you, and I feel like right now I’m hurting you.”

“You… are,” you admit. “But San, let’s just sleep it off.”

“No,” he refuses. “I apologize that I kissed you like this.”

“That’s not what I’m upset with,” you carefully say.

You see the gears turning in his head as he meets your gaze, enough so that you notice the moment he connects the dots. “I’m not doubting you. At all. Oh, fuck no. Sorry, I should have made it clearer.”

You’re not convinced by his words, so you remain silent.

“I’m just afraid you’ll find out that you don’t want me after all,” he admits. He whispers your name, and then says, “It’s been almost two months and I just… what if you figure out I’m not what you want in the end? I guess I’m being insecure. I used to be really insecure growing up, so I guess it’s just coming out now. I’m really sorry.”

“San.” 

His name in your voice stops his rant, and he just looks at you, looking so much like a lost puppy that your heart reaches for him, forgetting all about the momentary shattering you felt earlier. 

San gulps, nodding his head once as you don’t say anything for a few seconds, just hold his gaze.

“You are what I want”, you tell him. “You’ve always been, and I just needed time and space. And I’ll probably need a little more time, but fuck, please don’t doubt it, and don’t be afraid.” Instinctively, you cup his cheek, swiping your thumb on the side of his face. “Everyday when I wake up, you’re all I think of. And I think of you all throughout the day, and before I sleep at night too.” You let out a small vulnerable chuckle. “I was actually telling Mingi that I’m afraid of being in a relationship because of Jungkook. Not because of you.” You swallow around a lump in your throat. “Like… yes, you hurt me last semester. But you’ve entirely made up for it a while ago, I just…” you trail off, slightly shaking your head. “I guess I just need time to entirely open myself up to you. But I’m getting there.”

Your gaze is wet, and this time, it isn’t sadness behind the tears. It’s love - Mingi was right after all.

You are in love with Choi San.

“I really am,” you whisper, unable to speak louder. “And I’m sorry you were insecure growing up. So was I, and it sucks big time.”

“I’m doing much better now,” he reassures you, his voice also heavy with emotion. “I… I think about you all the time, too.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “All the fucking time. I’m a fucking simp for you.”

You know that. You already know that, yet hearing him say it makes you laugh lightly. “To be fair, I’d say I’m a simp for you, so I guess that cancels it out.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He wets his lips, glancing at your mouth and then back up to your eyes. “There’s nothing embarrassing about being a simp for you.”

You’re not sure who makes the first move after that. All you know is that your mouth collides with his, your teeth clashing together, and you’re kissing him like your life depends on it. There’s no oxygen needed, just his lips and yours, and heat flushes through you faster than lightning strikes.

San shifts, his knee brushing the side of your thigh, and you immediately move towards him, climbing on top of him. Your legs straddle him, and his large hands find your waist, holding you tightly. Your lips are hungry on his, devouring his mouth while your hands get lost in his hair, pulling at the strands slightly. He groans against you, and you let out a breathy sound as his hands move down to your ass, grabbing the meat of it.

“Shit,” you curse as you pull away.

San’s eyes remain closed, his head resting against the wall behind him, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the sight attractive enough to incite you to bend down, licking at his throat once before nibbling on the skin.

“Fuck.” His hands tighten on your ass as he tilts his head to the side, allowing you better access. 

In a heartbeat, you move to the side of his neck, sucking on the skin once before easing the sting with a kiss, and then you leave open-mouthed kisses up his neck. You stop at his jawline, once again sucking lightly, and then you’re back on his mouth, kissing him languidly.

San’s hands grip you harder again, and then he’s guiding you on him, rubbing your clothed core along his length. He’s already rock hard, and the feeling of him against you like this makes your mind spin with something akin to ecstasy.

You’re going to nirvana tonight. Hell, you think you might have already reached it now that you’re allowing yourself to be with Choi San.

“San.” His name is whiny in your voice, and he makes you move against him again. The friction makes you see stars, and you shut your eyes tightly as you focus on the sensations he’s igniting in you. 

It’s his turn to lean forward, one of his hands moving to the small of your back so that he can hold you in place while he kisses right over the neckline of your shirt. You sigh, and you grind your hips against his, seeking more friction.

“I didn’t think to bring condoms,” San says, his lips moving against your collarbone. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter open, and you meet his half-lidded gaze. Your hands move from his hair to his cheeks, cupping them gently, and you kiss him deeply, tongue exploring his mouth as he groans when you rub yourself on him again.

“It’s okay,” you say when you part from the kiss, sounding breathless. “We don’t have to have sex.”

He clenches his jaw, a muscle feathering under his skin. “I really want to make you feel good right now.” He bucks his hips, and you moan softly as he hits your clit. 

You become all too aware of how your panties are soaked, clinging to you uncomfortably, yet the feeling of him is beautiful, stronger than the discomfort.

“You already do,” you breathe out as you roll your hips.

“Straddle my thigh,” San orders, and he grips your ass hard once before letting you move.

Which you do without even a single thought behind your eyes, the submissive part of you happy to comply. When you’re straddling his thigh, San lifts you up so that he can lie down, and he bends his leg, planting his foot against the mattress firmly.

“Let’s see if we can make you come like this, mmh?” he says as you look down at him, your hair forming a curtain on the two sides of your face.

You bite at your lower lip as his thigh presses firmly on your clit, and San gently guides you so that you rub yourself on him again. It feels different now, his muscular thigh indecent on you, and you whine.

“Let me take off my…” you trail off, not needing to say more for him to understand. 

It doesn’t take you long to undress, though you keep the shirt on, only because you aren’t home and you don’t know who might come barging in. San waits for you, still lying back with his shoulders and head propped up on top of two pillows. The bulge in his boxers is information enough that he’s just as aroused as you are, and his sculpted chest invites you back to him. You trail a finger down from the waistband of his boxers, over his abs and then between his pecs. You then rest your hand flat at the base of his neck, your thumb and fingers loosely holding him, and you climb back on top of him.

The feeling of his warm skin right on you is so intense that you feel your pussy clenching around nothing, and you let out a moan that’s loud enough to warrant San pressing a hand on your mouth.

“Shh,” he shushes you. “I want those sounds to be mine and mine only.”

His words turn your blood to magma, and you press down on him, your wet pussy rubbing on his thigh. He curses, saying something about how wet you are, but all you can focus on is the pleasure that shoots up your body as you move back and forth on his thigh, rubbing your clit.

You’re insane. You’re insane for Choi San, and you’d be ashamed about what you are doing right now if it didn’t feel so damn good. Because your fingers don’t do him justice - no matter how many times you’ve touched yourself while thinking about him, it doesn’t compare to the real thing. Even if this is not quite the real thing after all.

But you won’t need more. You feel it in the way your core tightens, a knot forming at the bottom of your stomach. It’s building fast, slowly turning your vision white, yet it doesn’t explode, just keeps growing.

Your hand around San’s neck tightens as you start moving faster, your juices coating his thigh, permitting you to go faster without it burning. It’s indecent, sinful, yet San just praises you under his breath, much like he always does when you’re like this with him.

At least that hasn’t changed between the two of you.

“You’re doing so good,” he groans. “Look at you, rubbing your pussy on me. So, so good.”

You whine in his palm, and he moves his hand to your breast, cupping you over the shirt. You bend down, stealing a languid kiss on his lips, and then you straighten again, closing your eyes as the knot keeps on tightening, so much so that it starts hurting.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can come like this,” you whine, and you lean down, resting your forehead on his chest.

“Want me to finger you?” he asks, his breaths making you move up and down in a quick rhythm.

The thought of his fingers inside of you does something you can’t explain to your body, and you straighten, moving back and forth twice as he pinches your nipple through your shirt. The light pain is all you needed, and you tumble over the edge, your orgasm hitting you straight on.

“Never mind,” San murmurs as waves after waves of pleasure roll over you, washing away the weeks and months until all the heartbreak is gone, and all that’s left is you and Choi San.

And you come hard. You come like you’ve never come, your legs tightening around his thigh as you fall forward against his chest again. He moves his thigh, trying to give you more friction, and you cry out against his neck, only for him to pull your hair enough so that he can kiss you.

The kiss is sloppy, wet, and it accompanies you through the rest of your high, easing you back to reality as you slowly come down from the climax.

“Holy shit,” you say once you pull away from the kiss, hiding your face in his neck.

He chuckles, a breathless sound that makes your pussy tighten around nothing one last time. “You came hard.”

“Fuck,” is all you reply. You take a deep breath, pleasure swimming through you, numbing your brain. “Yeah, I did.”

San wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly. “I’ve missed this.”

Love mixes with the ecstasy you’ve found while riding his thigh, and you lift your head, meeting his gaze.

“I missed this too,” you whisper.

This time, the kiss is soft, gentle. The kiss is the flapping of a butterfly’s wing, fragile yet beautiful in its gentleness. You melt against San, your heart syncing with his, and warmth spreads through you to replace all the pain you’ve ever felt.

“Thank you,” San murmurs when you pull away.

Your eyes flutter open, finding his. “What for?”

“For letting me back into your life,” he says, and he rubs your back, his hand warm on your skin. 

You don’t even know when his hand slipped under your shirt.

“Honestly…” You swallow, heart beating a little faster. “I don’t think I ever truly let you out of it.”

His gaze shines from within, and he lets out a small chuckle. “Then, thank you for that. I’ll make sure I deserve it.”

“You already do.” You lean in, kiss him softly. “You already do, Choi San.”

And the thing is, he really does.

Thursday, April 10th 

The two last days of your trip are grey, rainy, though you finally get a break in the rain on Thursday afternoon. Not much has happened between you and San since then - hell, you think Tuesday night was a fever dream, because he’s been shy since then, barely even talking to you. It’s like he’s ashamed of what happened, preferring to pretend that nothing happened at all and. Though you haven’t talked to him about it yet, his actions seem like they confirm your thoughts.

And you hate it. You hate how it took you coming on his thigh for things to grow awkward like this, like you both expect to have to do or say something without really knowing what to do or say. Your friends have noticed, Sydney even questioning you about it, but you don’t tell her about what happened Tuesday night, preferring to keep it to yourself.

You’re pretty sure San has kept it to himself, too, because Wooyoung keeps pestering you about why you haven’t fucked San yet.

You think maybe that’s what made things awkward. Your friends’ insistence into getting the two of you together over this trip, interfering in something that was already gradually getting there of its own volition. Now, it feels like you’re pressured into being with San and, though you totally want to be with him, much like you told him on Tuesday, something has been holding you back.

You haven’t been able to pinpoint what exactly, and you reckon things might have been awkward only because San has been trying to let you figure things out before making another move.

That would make more sense than him suddenly deciding to take a step back, would it?

“What are you thinking of?” Sydney asks as she plops down on the couch next to you.

You’ve been looking outside, ignoring the drink you have in your hands, and Sydney’s words almost startle you, bringing you back down to Earth.

“Oh, nothing,” you easily lie. “Just enjoying the view.”

She leans closer to you, glancing once around the room before whispering, “San’s looking all sad alone outside. Did something happen between you?”

Your heart strains in your chest, and you immediately sit straighter. “No, nothing happened. Where is he?”

Sydney’s gaze widens as she takes in your reaction, and then she motions at the sliding doors that lead to the balcony. You thank her, jumping to your feet after leaving your lemonade on a coaster on the coffee table, and then you make your way outside.

San is leaning against the railing, looking out at the sea, and he has a white plastic glass next to his elbow, though he doesn’t seem like he’s paying attention to it. He looks over his shoulder when he hears you coming out, and you take in the sight of him in his loose white linen shirt, your gaze hitching on his chest where you can see it, and then moving back up to his face.

“What’s up?” you ask as you move closer.

His eyes return to the sea, and he takes a deep sigh. “My dad texted me that he wants us to have dinner together.”

Your gaze widens in surprise. “Oh? When did he text you?”

San wets his lips, his eyes dropping to the beach right in front of the deck. His jaw clenches once, and then he says, “Yesterday.”

So all this time… San was upset with his father, not with you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if by instinct, tone gentle.

He shrugs. “At first, I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin the trip.”

“Hey, San.” You put a hand on his forearm, getting his attention. “Something like that could never ruin the trip.”

“But the fact that it upset me will clearly ruin it.” San chuckles bitterly. “Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“Have you ever told him you want to be left alone?”

The wind answers for him, carrying the sound and smell of the sea, yet you give San time, knowing he might just need to figure out exactly what he wants to say. 

He’s not an experienced communicator, after all. At least that’s what you picked up from last semester.

“Not really.” He sighs in defeat, eyes fluttering shut as he hangs his head down. “I’m always afraid to push him away.”

The emotions you can decipher on San’s profile are raw, and you pull on his arm until he faces you, wrapping your arms around his waist. His wrap around your shoulders, and he leans his head against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Hey, no, none of that. I’m proud of you for opening up to me like this.” 

You both stay like that for a little while, and you listen to his steady heartbeats in his chest as he just holds you, and you hold him back. The way his arms tighten around you tells you that he needed this, and your heart aches for him, for the little boy that doesn’t know how to ask for help because he’s afraid he’ll end up pushing the people that matter away.

For the man that’s afraid to have hard conversations because he fears abandonment so much that he’d rather flee first.

“It’s just… I don’t really know what to tell him,” he admits when an eternity of you and him passes. 

“Do you really want him to leave you alone, though?” you ask.

San takes a moment to answer, and he does so after he pulls away from the hug, leaning against the railing to meet your gaze. “Honestly… I don’t think so. I want to be selfish and say that I want him to go back in time and not do… what he did. But life doesn’t work that way.”

“I don’t think it’s selfish of you to want that,” you reassure him, offering him a tiny hint of a smile. 

He glances at your lips, and you think some light returns to his gaze.

“It’s not like it’s something I can have.” He grabs his glass, taking a small sip of whatever is inside. “But… I don’t know, I’ve been thinking since he texted that… what could be so bad about a single dinner?” His lips straighten in a thin line, and he nibbles at the inside of his cheek. “Like… what if he’s genuine?”

You hold his gaze, and then look in the distance, resting your arms on the railing as you look at the waves crashing on the beach. “Have you ever like… met up with him since…”

“Since he left?” San finishes for you, and you nod in confirmation. “I saw him twice at family events. My grandma told me he wasn’t going to be there, and those two times, he ended up showing up because my aunt told him I was there.”

You wince - what a shit move from his aunt.

“And how did that go?” you ask.

San scoffs. “As poorly as you can imagine it to be. We got into big fights, and then he left screaming that I was a difficult kid anyway.”

You break. You break like the waves on the beach, like glass thrown on the pavement. You want to hold San for the rest of your life, to glue all of his pieces back together.

“So yeah…” San sighs. “I haven’t met up in person with him since then.”

“How long has it been?” you ask, blinking away the tears that make their way to your eyes as you think about how much pain he must have been in growing up.

And San, a difficult kid? San, with the dimpled smile and the bright eyes and the easy laugh? 

You might murder his dad.

“I was still in high school,” San admits. 

“Oh, it’s been a long time.”

He nods. “I guess… that’s why I think he might be genuine? He’s never asked to have dinner together before.”

You purse your lips, meeting San’s gaze. “I think… I mean, it’s hard for me to tell you what to do, because I’ve never been in a similar situation before. But I think it’s up to you if you want to give it a chance. If it’s worth it to you, then I’ll support you.” You pause, taking a deep breath, because if you were completely honest, you’d tell him his dad doesn’t deserve him.

But it’s not your job to tell him that, is it?

“And if you think it’s not worth it, then I’ll support you too.”

He moves closer, wrapping his arms around you again. He’s standing behind you now, and he leans his chin on your shoulder, before pecking your skin next to the thin strap of the shirt you’re wearing. “You are amazing, you know that, right?”

You lean back against him, appreciating his solid warmth. “Please, have you seen yourself?”

He laughs. A tiny, gentle laugh, yet a laugh nonetheless. Your heart picks up its pace, though it still aches for him. Because behind that laugh, sorrow still lingers.

You just wish he could give you all the sorrow. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“I’ll never be as good as you, but I’ll try.” He pecks your shoulder again. “Do you think…”

He never finishes his sentence, and you turn your head, glancing at him. “Do I think?”

He wets his lips, drawing your gaze to them. “Do you think you could come with me? If I go?”

You’re in love with him. You’re in fucking love with Choi San.

“You’d want me to be there?”

Your voice is tinier than the universe, and his answering nod is just the same.

“Of course, I’ll go with you.” You turn in his arms, cupping his cheeks. “If you need me to be there with you, of course I will go with you.”

He leans his forehead against yours, your eyes fluttering shut from the proximity. “I think I’ll need a moment to figure out what I want to do but…” He pulls away, pecking your forehead, sending butterflies swirling in your stomach. “But thank you for saying that.”

You smile, unable to resist as the butterflies fly in the most beautiful patterns, patterns only Choi San can elicit in you.

“Thank you for talking to me about this.” His eyes are sparkling when you meet them. “I…” The two words that follow that first one don’t make it past your mouth, and you chuckle awkwardly, clearing your throat. “Do you want to walk on the beach a little?”

You think he knows what you were about to say, yet he doesn’t push, instead glancing up at the sky. The clouds aren’t too dark now, hinting at fluffy white more than grey, and you hope that the rain is done for the day.

“I’d love to.”

He pulls away, only to grab your hand while his other carries his plastic glass, and he leads you to the stairs leading to the beach. You stop him before he pulls you down to the sand, looking down at your feet. 

“Wait, I’m not going to go with my slippers on.”

He glances down to see your pink slippers, and he snorts. “Better not get them dirty, yeah.”

You laugh, and you quickly jog to the house, opening the sliding door and stepping inside just long enough to take your slippers off. Long enough for Wooyoung to wiggle his eyebrows at you while Yeosang punches him in the shoulder, too. 

You flip him off, though your shy laugh is far more telling than you’d wish it to be. So you just go back outside, closing the door and ignoring the two guys, even though you feel the weight of their gazes on your back as you return next to San, who’s just waiting patiently by the stairs. He now has sunglasses on, and you frown as you stop next to him.

“Where did you get those?” you ask as you motion towards his shades.

“They were in my pocket.”

His hand extends in the space between the two of you, and you entwine your fingers with his, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“It’s not even that sunny,” you tease as you walk down the stairs.

The sand is surprisingly cool, and you slightly wince at the feeling of it on the sole of your feet. San turns right, and you follow him, slowly moving closer to the water.

“Are you judging me?”

You nod quickly. “Yeah. Yup. Next thing I know, you’ll wear them inside.”

“And I’ll look like that singer…” he trails off, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Shit, what’s his name?”

You snort. “I have no clue who you are talking about.”

“You know him for sure!” San laughs as you cock an eyebrow at him. “I swear, he was in a really famous band. My mom used to listen to them all the time.”

“What band?” you ask as you reach the spot where the sand is wet from the waves. 

It’s even colder here, yet the presence of San at your side - San, who’s closer to the water anyway - keeps you warm, much like he always does.

“U2.”

Your gaze widens. “Oh wait, yeah. I know that guy. Is it… Bon Jovi?”

San bursts out laughing. “Nope. Bono. But close enough.”

“It’s literally the same thing.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. But nice try.”

“At least I know them!” A wave climbs a little higher, startling you. “Shit, that’s fucking cold.”

San laughs at your expense, though he guides you a little higher on the beach. “How do you know them, actually?”

You hesitate for a second, not wanting to remind him of your earlier conversation, yet you eventually say, “My father. He really loves music. Especially older music.”

San glances at you with a soft smile on his lips. “How’s your father?” He pauses, then quickly adds, “And your mother? You’ve barely talked to me about them.”

“They’re… great,” you reply truthfully. “My two parents are lawyers, but dad studied to be a therapist first.”

“Oh, he did?”

You nod. “Yeah. Well, he studied psychology because he didn’t quite know what to do, and then he went into law.”

“How did they meet?”

You smile as you think about the conversation you’ve had plenty of times before, your parents loving to retell it and dive into their shared memories together.

“My grandmother worked at a restaurant? My mom’s mother. And dad’s father, my grandfather, used to go eat there on his lunch breaks. And when he was nineteen, my dad had some sort of a summer internship at his father’s company, and my mom worked the tables with my grandma at the restaurant, and my grandmother and my grandfather set them up. And the rest is history.”

“That’s… cute,” San says, and he smiles widely. “It sounds like the plot of a movie.”

“Wait till they tell you themselves! It’s even better when it’s them telling the story.”

San stops in his tracks, and you stop a step in front of him. “You want me to meet your family?”

Though your mother has been wary about San ever since he came back into your life, you know a moment with him would entirely change her opinion of him.

“Of course, I do,” you reply. “Maybe not like right now, but yeah, I’d love for you to come to my hometown and meet my parents.”

San just stands there, and his sunglasses keep you from being able to read his emotions. But you look at him, brows slightly furrowed curiously, though it doesn’t last too long as he takes a sip from his glass. Your frown deepens as he just looks at you as he drinks, and he lowers the glass.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks with an awkward laugh.

“You look hot.”

He snorts. “Okay?”

“Let me take a picture of you.”

You see pink dusting his cheeks, and he glances towards the sea. “Here?”

“Yes. You have your phone?”

San gives you a nod, pulling his phone out from his pocket. He hands it to you, and you take a few steps back as you open the camera, angling it towards him.

“How am I supposed to pose?” he asks as he just stands there awkwardly. 

“Take a sip from your cup and look at me over your glasses.”

He laughs. “What?”

“Just trust me!” you insist. 

Though he hesitates for a few seconds, he ends up posing right like you told him too, and you’re quick to snap a couple of pictures. You make sure you like the result - the heat crawling up your spine tells you you might like it a little too much - and then you walk towards him, showing him.

“Look! You look like a model.”

“I’m not a model but…” The blush deepens on his cheeks as he speaks. “Thank you.”

Your lips curve, and you hand him his phone back. “I’m only stating facts. You’ll have to send that picture to me.”

“Only if you make it your background,” he teases.

“Trust me, I will.”

He laughs, and then he pulls you into another hug. He presses a kiss on the top of your head as you snake your arms around his waist. “Good girl.”

“Choi San!” you shriek as you pull away, tapping his chest. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

You narrow your gaze at him as you pout. “Not when we’re somewhere we can’t act on it.”

“Mmh,” he hums. “I see. I’ll save the good girls for when we’re back home, then.”

You bite at your lower lip, slightly shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

He just pulls you back into his embrace, and you melt against him, listening to his heartbeat once more. “Yet here you are, taking a walk on the beach with me.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you admit, and his arms tighten around you as he leaves another kiss on the top of your head.

“Me neither.”

You stay like that for a moment, listening to his heart and to the waves and to the cry of a seagull. It’s almost therapeutic, and you feel yourself growing sleepy, like you might fall asleep in the comfort of the arms of the man you love.

“Hey,” you let out when a wave laps up your calf, going higher than the previous ones. “Can I admit something?”

He pulls away enough for you to meet his gaze. “Yeah?”

“I…” You gulp. “I thought you were upset with me, earlier.”

“What?”

“Just…” you trail off, resting your head on his chest again. “I now know why you were acting somewhat distant since yesterday, but at first, I thought it was because of me.”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” San apologizes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so sorry I made you feel like you did.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I think it’s just… some fear from last semester remaining.”

Despite everything that’s happened since then. You don’t say the words, but you know San knows it, too.

He kisses your head three times. “I understand. I’m still really sorry.” He pulls away again, and he gently grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “I’ll try to talk to you right away in the future,” he says, voice soft. “I never want to make you feel like that again.”

You gulp, and your gaze drops to his lips. They’re slightly parted, just as pink as they always are. And then you’re leaning forward, and so is he, and you meet halfway, eyes fluttering shut the second the pillowy softness of his lips meet yours.

The kiss is gentle. Slow, time stretching until the seagulls have stopped flying, and the ocean has frozen in place. It’s just you and him, the universe pausing for the two of you, holding its breath as you kiss San like you have all of your life in front of you, with him.

And you know you do. 

San’s tongue hesitantly darts out of his mouth, and you let him in, your tongue darting out to meet his. Though the kiss is languid, it remains slow. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your head, and he tangles his fingers in the strands of your hair.

You let out a breathy sound, and San pulls away just long enough to meet your gaze. And then, as if lightning strikes, he crashes his lips on yours again, kissing you like the wildfire that always rages between you and him. You kiss him back with the same intensity as your two hands roam along his back, while his cup your cheeks. You wonder where the plastic cup went for a second, but then his tongue is on yours, and he tastes so sweet you feel weak in the knees.

He notices it. Of course he does, and he makes you jump, your mouths disconnecting for half a heartbeat as you wrap your legs around his waist, your hands losing themselves in his hair while his grab at your ass to hold you up.

The kiss is wild. The kiss is a rush of ecstasy right to your brain, and your blood boils in your veins with all the passion that runs through your bloodstream. 

And right when you think you might catch fire, the sky opens up, rain pouring from the clouds you’d thought weren’t rainclouds earlier. Turns out you were wrong, yet even the unwanted shower doesn’t make you disconnect from Choi San’s lips.

You want him. You want San to be yours, and you to be his.

“San,” you murmur as you pull away from the kiss, needing oxygen what feels like an hour later.

“We’re drenched,” he comments, and you push a wet strand of hair off his forehead.

“I didn’t think it was going to rain.” You peck his lips, pulling away again a second later. 

“I don’t care about the rain,” San says. “Fuck, just kiss me again.”

You do, you do with all the fire in your blood and heart, and your soul sings for him like it’s been singing ever since that very first September night.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and San pulls away from the kiss, letting you down on the sand.

“We should go back before we get sick,” he says, and the rain doubles up, turning into a full on shower.

“Right.” You look down at yourself, not surprised to see your nipples perked through the fabric of your shirt as it clings to you. “Yes, we definitely should.”

San takes a few steps towards the plastic cup, and you realize he just threw it higher on the beach as you kissed. He picks it up, and then he’s walking back towards you, grabbing your hand.

“Should we make a run for it?”

You smile, mischief swirling in your gaze. “Let’s go.”

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

my babiesssss <3 life is healing!! hope y'all liked this chapter. can't believe there's only two left :(

All rights reserved to @oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[call-me-mother-darling]

Stolen Stares

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Plot: You find out Natasha had a loving family. Making you her side piece. But maybe they were just for a mission? You’d tell yourself anything to make you feel better.

Authors note: Not gonna lie I haven’t been able to write due to my busy schedule. So here is a pre-written one. I wrote it when I was like 16 so if it doesn’t sound mature that is why.

Warnings: Jealousy, angst, finding out you’re the side piece, anger, mentions of cheating.

Word count: 733

The night was young when the rain drops raced down my window. I sit staring at her room. The yellow like light illuminated the room. The husband and the wife tangled in each other's arms. She looked so content even when I just took her home from fucking all night long. Sitting in the car was really starting to get in my head.

The agreement was to not catch feelings but that failed on other parts. I was the person she fell in love with till she met one of my friends. I swear I’ve never seen her look at me the way she looks at him. It always created that dull ache in my chest.

The pain in my chest won’t stop reminding me I will never be that person to Natasha. I am just a hookup for her. The connection is there once in a while. When we sit in our spot, a place I found in my spy days. It was a hidden waterfall untouched by man. It was beautiful, just like her.

My teeth grind together in jealousy. I really should leave. But all I can think about is planning his murder. She should be in my arms.

“God y/n stop being such a goddamn mess” I said, rubbing the tears from my cheeks. My hands grip the steering wheel till my knuckles turn white and the leather heats under my fingertips. I start the engine slowly and drive home in deafening silence. The only thing keeping me company is the pitter patter of the rain.

The ride home was anything but happy and now I stare at my splintering oak door. Clearly affected by water damage. But I still bring myself to open the oak door and lock it behind me. No matter how much training I got I always picked the shittest apartment. They say to make yourself invisible and a shitty apartment was a great way to run from my life.

My feet drag to the kitchen opening the old fridge. The fluorescent light nearly blinded me. My eyes gaze over the almost empty shelves and that's when I realized I was supposed to go grocery shopping. I never made it.

Natasha called me when I was on my way there and said it was dier so I picked her. I always pick her. Even if her love for me is dying I always pick her. of course there is no chose it’s always been just her.

Giving up on getting dinner I slump onto bed pulling the covers to my chin and letting sleep overtake my conscience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awake to a banging on my front door. A groan escapes from between my lips and I basically fall out of bed, dragging my feet along.

As I got close I could see the whole frame shake. “Okay I’m coming! Don’t break my door” I yell as I move closer.

When all five locks are no longer secure the door swings open by itself, just skimming the tip of my nose. Then we make eye contact. There she is. With her forest eyes surrounded by black tears, causes by old mascara, I could just feel her breaking. I don’t even ask what happened before I pulled her tight into my arms. My palms press flat into her gray cotton shirt while her toned arms wrapped around my neck pulling me impossibly closer.

“Natasha, what happened?”

No response.

“Natasha, darling, I need you to just say something so I know you're okay” I plead, my worry only growing.

She stands the strongest woman I know breaking down. I barely know how to react. The last thing I want to do is say or do the wrong thing and she runs.

“Shut up.” Natasha sounded weak but I couldn’t help but let a small smile play on my lips.

It’s a small thing we have as lovers. It was code for; I can’t talk right now but I need you to keep hugging me. Natasha would often have flashbacks of the red room and would kill me if I tried to even get close to her.

“Okay but I expect you to tell me when you're ready. I can’t keep getting hurt by you.” I say. My hand rubbed along her spine, feeling her body relax in my arms.

“I know, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is weak.

[sxveme-2]

Dance With Me Tonight // Bucky Barnes

MASTERLIST

DESCRIPTION:

"ᴀ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ."

After you lose the beat in your heart, what happens next? What happens when your heart is splintered in two, and no one in the world can put it back together now that the only person who could have is dead? Can life go on? Can a person keep living when their lungs' breath is stolen?

Ninety years ago, Clara Phillips lost the very light in her eyes. The gentle girl began to rot from the inside out, corroding in on herself until all she spat was venom from the forked tongue of a snake. HYDRA stole the girl away from the small slice of solace she had secluded herself to and turned her into their own personal snake in the grass—their Black Mamba. Brainwashed and tortured beyond recognition, Clara took on the mantle of Anastasia—HYDRA’s secret weapon and the Winter Soldier’s knife in his back pocket.

Only when HYDRA falls does a girl with a broken mind and a destroyed spirit escape. Not Clara, not Anastasia, but someone else. A girl with a ruptured mind searching for small pieces of herself to put back together—all while her heart ached and pulsed for a singular man that her now broken mind did not know.

Follow Clara as she stumbles through the world around her, searching for a man, or myth, that could sew the torn stitches of her heart back together again.

DISCLAIMER: My works are only published here on Wattpad, Tumblr and AO3; thank you!I do not own any original characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Studios and Marvel Comics. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else. This work handles mature things such as nudity, sexual content, emotional distress and trauma. Do not read if you are not comfortable with these. I am not responsible for your media consumption and what you choose to read. This fanfiction is semi-canon compliant; there will be a deterrence in certain points to fit the story.

STATUS: Unedited

Chapter Nine

Warnings: Mentions of the death of a loved one

Word Count: 2567

October 11th, 1942

Bucky arrived with the newest recruits today. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d ever actually get to see him again when I got my orders—no one knows when their last days will be when in war. I certainly don’t, so I had accepted the fact that the last day I saw him was actually the last day I would ever see him. So when he rolled up with the rest of the soldiers, I couldn’t help but feel excited, even if I never wished to see him in these circumstances.

When he walked in, I actually dropped the meds I was holding, and I thought that Florence was actually going to string me up by my toes. I couldn’t help myself from running across the base and throwing myself at him. I looked like a pathetic, lovesick schoolgirl, but just seeing his face again after this last month was like being granted a wish from God.

He smelled the same, felt the same, touched the same—he was the same. He was my Bucky, even if I wasn’t the same as I was when I left at the start of September; he was still the same. I pray that this place doesn’t change him like it’s changed me, and that he can walk away from it without the same damage I’ve taken. But that’s a pipe dream—because unlike me, he will actually be out on the front lines while I tend to those who couldn’t stand it.

“How many of those books do you think you’ve gone through in your life?” a voice echoed through the empty bunk, catching her off guard.

She twisted around and met the ocean blue eyes that had her heart skipping a beat again. He should be over with his fellow soldiers, bonding and preparing to lay their lives down on the line for the sake of others. But instead, he stood at her bunk door, a telltale smirk spreading across his handsome features, looking at her as if she hung the moon and stars. He had that pretty-boy look to him that made him seem almost out of place in the ranks of the 107th, let alone to be a sergeant in their midst.

“I’m not sure. I keep a box of all of the ones I’ve gone through under my bed,” she shrugged, tucking a stray hair that fell from her curlers behind her ear, “Why? You want to read about my mundane everyday activities, Sergeant Barnes?”

He chuckled and shook his head at the title, taking a few more steps into the barracks, “I’d read anything that you wrote, even if it were just a grocery list. Though, if you wrote about Thomas Martin in one of them, I’m not sure I want to read that.”

She let out a breathy laugh at the memory of one of the boys who had a thing for her in high school, and that she, too, had a crush on. He was the student council president and popular among the girls, but amidst all that, he had taken a liking to a particular girl. She wouldn’t lie, she had a bit of a thing for him too, and they even went to the Winter Dance together in eleventh grade, apparently much to Bucky Barnes' dismay.

This was before she had gotten as close as she did with Bucky, but according to Steve, the elder of the two had always had a thing for her. Those flirty remarks and brushes of his hand against her lower back weren’t just rebellious acts of scandal to tease her, but genuine attempts to get her attention. It took her years to realize it, finally, and even longer to make him hers.

“I’ll make sure to strike those weeks from the record of my life,” she shrugged, standing to meet him halfway and shivering at the way he wrapped his arms around her, “Y’know, if you had asked, I would’ve gone with you to the dance.”

“I was a punk without the spine to ask a pretty girl like you.”

“You took Rose Wilson! She is Hollywood beautiful.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t get me like you do.”

—

She stared at the empty grey walls of the cell, pulling at the chains that strapped her wrists together. Ross claimed she was too dangerous to be left uncuffed, a similar reasoning to the one he used when they had put Wanda in a jacket to keep her confined. The others paced their cells freely, mumbling about the ridiculousness of this outcome, the pushback being something unfair and dictatorial. Part of her agreed, while the other part of her wondered if this was what she would encounter for the rest of her life. Anytime she goes against what others want or believe, would she be chained up again? Forcibly confined to a cell, waiting until Steve came to save her once again? Was this what her freedom would be?

She didn’t know how long it had been since anyone spoke, but the sounds of Sam grumbling in the cell next to her were almost comforting. Usually, she found his quips irritating, grating to her ears in a sibling-like rivalry. But right now, she appreciated the mellow tones of his voice, even if it was him complaining to himself about the tyrannical actions of Stark and the government that now locked up their heroes.

“The more you complain, the more pissed off you’ll get, Sam,” she reasoned, leaning her head back against the metal wall of her cell, “Trust me, it never makes anything better.”

“When you give advice like that, you really do sound like a Grandma, Clara,” he hollered back, the slightest sound of a smile evident in his voice.

“Well, then listen to this grandma for once, alright?” Clara sighed, yanking at the chains again.

Silence fell over the cells again, the only noise Clara could hear was the thrumming of her blood and the pulse of her heart. It was deafening, the hush that pervaded the enormous area. Everything around her felt cold, rigid, too sterile to be natural. All of the cells that HYDRA kept her in when she was taken out of cryo were always soiled, and the walls and floor of the underground lairs were dingy. The small details she recalled were dry blood and a stench of death that was permanently seeping through the cracks.

With every ticking moment that lagged by, Clara wondered if Bucky would come back. If he would follow through with his promise and be back for her. She wondered if she had made the right decision in staying behind to keep Tony and the others from following, or if she should have gone with Steve and Bucky to fight the supersoldiers and beat Zemo before it was too late. Every possibility fired through her mind at a pace that was almost too much for her to bear, and the tears brimmed her haunted eyes. With each passing minute, she hungered for him back, even if she knew it was heedless. He wouldn’t have been kept in the raft; the government would have taken him somewhere and kept him locked away forever. For all she knew, Tony was bluffing, and there wouldn’t be anywhere safe for Bucky to be.

“Clara?” Sam called. The blonde raised her head from between her knees and sniffled, brushing the tears from her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“You have a visitor.”

Clara’s heart leapt into her throat, the young girl that still lived in her heart, who would follow Bucky and Steve through Brooklyn peaking around from the hiding spot in the back of her mind. Maybe it was him, or maybe Steve and he had succeeded and proved that it was Zemo who had done all those things—perhaps it was finally time for them to go home. She had been trained not to feel hope, that there was no light at the end of the tunnel of her life—but maybe, just maybe, life would prove them all wrong. Perhaps the sun would finally rise on the endless night that her last decades had been.

Clara stood from the metal bed of the cell, the clanging of her chains echoing against the steel walls around her. The same haunted eyes that wept with the ghosts of her love blew wide as the echoing footsteps came closer to the window. It was only one pair, but it was enough for her to know that the universe had different plans for her now.

“James?” She whispered, wrapping her fingers around the bars.

“Well, bailing my nearly hundred-year-old mother out of a massive floating raft prison was definitely not on my bucket list,” the man sighed, stepping into the light, “But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“What’re you doing here?” Clara questioned, tilting her head at the man.

“Being a…U.S. government-level scientist comes with its perks, y’know,” James chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as if this was well-known information. “Though I could only really extend my diplomatic immunity to…family. So, if we go, it’s just us.”

“What about—”

“I don’t know about Barnes and Rogers,” James admitted, his face falling before Clara could even finish her question, “I’m sorry. All I can offer you is a place to lay low for now. And, maybe even a granddaughter to meet.”

Clara stared at the man in front of her, studying each line and crease in his face. He seemed weary, but youthful and eager at the same time. There was something familiar about his face, like she was gazing at a slightly malformed mirror. He had the same eyes as her, the same hidden canyon of thoughts that seemed to be haunting her every move constantly. Both of them had a sorrow to them, lingering at the edges of their foiled and aged paper. He’s seen things, done things, things that he didn’t want her to know. But she knew that, all from the look in his eyes.

It was an instinct, a sensation deeply seated in her stomach and heart, that ached when she looked at him. Clara felt a strange stirring in her soul because, with each passing moment, with each second that ticked by, when she looked at him, she could see the way his eyes appeared frozen in time. It didn’t make sense, knowing so much about him with barely a few words being exchanged over the past few weeks. 

She’d always wanted to be a mother, to have a family and share a bond that can forever go unspoken. Clara had envisioned nights in the 40s, curled up by the fire with a baby in her arms and a lover by her side. First Christmases, first birthdays, first steps, first words—she had dreamed of it since she was a little girl watching her mother carry her brother around. It was a common desire for women in the 40s, but there was something deeper that resonated with her about it. Something that seized her heart in a way that surpassed what was expected—she wanted to prove something to herself and others. But with the war, and with Bucky being gone, she didn’t think that would be in her cards. Until Arthur, and those dreams seemed a bit more feasible, even if they were bleaker, more dismal, and not fully there.

“Okay,” she nodded, not trusting that frozen look in his eyes, but knowing there weren’t many other places someone like her would be safe, “I’ll come with you.”

“This feels personal.”

“Shut it, Sam.”

—

Clara had never visited Upstate New York. Her family never had that money, and she wasn’t lucky enough to have any distant rich cousins who happened to own property. Plus, the area wasn’t exactly what it is now. It felt the repercussions of the war, the economic and industrial shift. Everything changed after the war, but even then, Clara still dreamed of what it would be like to have a place like this to escape to. Somewhere where the trees would keep her company and the wind would whisper sweet nothings to her at night. 

“So, a scientist's job with the government gets you a chalet in Lake Placid, hm?” Clara hummed as she stepped out of the car, the brisk air of the fall tossing her hair.

“And a condo in Manhattan, but who’s counting?” James shrugged as he pulled her bag from the back of his car, “Ever been to Lake Placid before?”

“No, I didn’t exactly grow up well off,” Clara sighed, looking around at the silent road around her, “Daughter of a nurse and a war Colonel doesn’t exactly lead to a cottage on the lake.”

“Grandpa always said you were dry,” James chuckled, fishing his keys from his pocket and unlocking the large wooden green door of the house, “Says you got it from your mom.”

Clara felt the lump form in her throat at the mention of her mother. The two of them were close, thick as thieves and nearly inseparable in childhood. Clara idolized her mother, saw the way she held herself and strived to be like her—witty, loving, invincible. Well, she thought she was unstoppable, but it seemed every person had their Achilles heel. Hers was cancer, a weak system, and the inability to heal herself miraculously. Seemed Clara managed to live her life in the opposite of her mother, as each thing that killed her mother, her daughter now had tenfold. 

But her father? All Clara knew about that man was strength, a strength that pushed past the physical, but sank its teeth deep into his soul, his very being. Chester Phillips was strength personified, the essence of his life growing from the weakness that was buried even further deep. She never saw her father cry when she was a child, and the first time she saw him shed a tear was a single droplet falling like the threat of a thunderstorm. It was her mother's funeral when the final rose was tossed onto her casket.

“And you?” Clara asked, her voice barely above a whisper as the door shut behind her, “Where did you get your humour from?”

“I don’t know,” James sighed, turning on his heels to face her, “Never got to figure that out.”

Clara walked past the man, the sounds of her shoes echoing throughout the massive lakefront house. She took in each inch of the enormous chalet, the wooden panelling, the stone work that stretched across the walls. Every part of this massive house seemed to be seeped in nostalgia and warmth, the smell of wood enveloping her senses. She walked to the back of the living room, staring out of the large window and at the expansive lake. Glancing to the side, she noticed a large book on the side coffee table, with her initials etched into the leather.

“What’s this?” She asked, grabbing the soft leather.

“Go ahead,” James sighed, placing the woman's bags down with ease, “Open it.”

She glanced back behind him and flipped to the middle page, nearly dropping the entire book onto her foot. His eyes stared back at her in black and white, a delicate grin across her face as she admired him. She remembered this day, both dressed to the nines. It was just a dance, and they weren’t even going together. But she couldn’t help smiling at him, and even now, over ninety years later, Clara still felt her heart skip a beat at his smile.

“I’m assuming you know who he is,” Clara commented, turning her attention back to James.

“I’d hazard a guess that he’s my namesake.”

“I fear he’s more than just that.”

[distuff]

Oh my gwi-ma I love your interpretation of the saja boys before they turned into demons! ✨✨ If you don't mind me asking, what do you think would be their impressions of one another as a demon boy band now and their impressions of each other if they had met as humans??

Ello, my dear readership!

I'm glad you're enjoyin' my versions of the boyz! And no worries — I love talkin' to my readers! 🍿

Warning (just in case, again yes): These are my thoughts, and in no way am I making claims this is how the boys are or were, nor am I making some analysis post trying to prove or claim something. I'm simply explaining the beliefs I hold over these 5, and everyone is free to interpret the canon info however they like!

Now, let’s get into it:

In my headcanon, the SAJA boyz would never meet in their human lives since they’re all from completely different time periods. BUT! Hypothetically — let’s say they could.

I just hope I answered what ya wanted me to answer (￣▽￣*)ゞ

Mystery = Baby

Human:

Realistically, they wouldn’t have crossed paths. Mystery was a noble living in palace circles; Baby was an illegally sold slave working far outside that world. But let’s ignore logistics and focus on who they could have been as people.

Mystery was curious, but in a pure way — he wanted to understand for the sake of understanding, not to control the outcome. He didn’t care much for hierarchy, which made him expressive and a bit rebellious. This created friction between him and authority figures in his life, and he was punished for it.

Baby was passive. He didn’t question things or push back. He let himself be led by others and had a twisted kind of acceptance toward his circumstances. He didn’t ask questions — he just existed in whatever space he was put in.

If these two had met, Mystery would’ve been intrigued by Baby’s quiet nature and started asking him all sorts of animated questions. Baby, in turn, would’ve given straight, unemotional answers. Oddly enough, it would work — Mystery would feel safe being his unfiltered self around someone who didn’t judge him, and Baby could learn that it’s okay to be curious.

In this setup, Mystery would naturally fall into a teacher-like role, encouraging Baby to explore his own thoughts. And Baby? He’d be the kind of student with quiet potential, noticed only by someone willing to look closely — and Mystery would definitely look closely.

Demon:

Baby respects Mystery the most. Why? Because Mystery felt the most mature out of everyone. He answers Baby’s questions seriously and doesn't waste his breath on unnecessary words. Baby often turns to him for answers, and even holds back his usual snappy attitude out of respect. He also really values praise from Mystery — since Mystery rarely comments on anything, when he does, it feels important to him. This respect isn’t about Mystery being the oldest, though — it’s about him being the most experienced in the demon realm. Baby looks up to that and sees him as someone worth learning from.

Mystery, on the other hand, doesn’t feel a deep connection to Baby — but he doesn’t mind him either. Baby doesn’t require effort, doesn’t ask for anything beyond answers, and just does whatever he pleases without dragging Mystery into it. There’s no big emotional bond or teacher-student dynamic here. But Baby’s passive, go-with-the-flow attitude does amuse Mystery. It’s oddly entertaining. On top of it, Mystery would be a fool not to notice Gwi-ma's odd favoritism with the youngest. That alone keeps Mystery close. He doesn't understand the reason for it, and Mystery hates not knowing why — so he lets Baby stick around to figure it out.

To Baby, Mystery is someone he wants to learn from, Baby is a puzzle he is enjoying solving.

Mystery = Abby

Human:

These two actually could have met in their human lives. If we assume Abby was a royal guard serving the noble family Mystery belonged to, there’s some overlap in their circles.

Mystery would be intrigued — and a little put off — by Abby’s confidence. Especially when Abby’s joking around during training or chatting too casually with the other guards.

But it’s exactly that laid-back attitude, even while on duty, that would eventually draw Mystery in.

Their dynamic would be quite interesting, because:

Mystery might envy Abby’s freedom — the ability to speak freely and be direct.

Abby, meanwhile, wouldn’t understand why Mystery feels caged at all. He could travel, read anything, and had access to knowledge most people could only dream of.

This misunderstanding of each other’s lives would make their conversations kind of chaotic. Neither fully "gets" the other — but they enjoy the back-and-forth. Abby brings a relaxed, unfiltered energy Mystery doesn’t usually get to be around, and Mystery brings Abby experiences and foods that are new and interesting to him.

Demon:

Abby genuinely enjoys seeing Mystery snap — not because Mystery is stoic, but because every time he does lose it, he shuts Abby up in a new way. The second Mystery will repeat himself is the moment Abby will change his attention to something else. Now, whether Mystery knows it or not, welP ! Who knows~ They don’t spend a ton of time together since Abby likes to move around and Mystery prefers to stay still. But when they are together, Abby constantly pokes at Mystery, who ignores it… until he doesn’t. Usually someone from the guys has to tell Abby to knock it off.

Mystery often feels tired around Abby — not annoyed, just drained. They’re complete opposites in how they are:

Abby is loud, Mystery is quiet.

Abby charges into things, Mystery avoids until he has no choice.

Abby is hyperactive, Mystery is slow and steady.

Despite the contrast, they both have one thing in common: they’re dangerous. Put them together, and demons clear the area fast. More souls go to Gwi-ma when these two team up, no question.

They respect each other’s strength — even if they don’t always say it. Their interactions are mostly nonstop banter where Abby expresses it verbally and Mystery replies with actions.

Ironic, really.

Mystery = Romance

Human:

Let’s say Romance was purchased as a royal concubine — then yes, he and Mystery could’ve met.

Mystery wouldn’t be interested in Romance for the typical reasons. Instead, he’d be curious about the “forbidden knowledge” Romance holds — particularly anything related to the art of seduction. He’d openly praise Romance for it, treating it like an academic topic rather than anything intimate. Mystery wouldn’t hide the fact that he was spending time in the concubine chambers. Not only did it give him access to information through Romance, but it also made his father and the advisors happy — it made it seem like he was “becoming a man.”

On Romance’s side, he’d be thrown off at first — because why is this noble kid here asking weird questions instead of trying to get him in bed? But over time he’d start enjoying the attention. His relationship with Mystery also gave him benefits which yes, Mystery would know he’s being used. He’d either figure it out on his own or ask directly, and Romance would reply vaguely but never lie. Mystery wouldn’t mind — he got intel, and Romance got better treatment through their association. However, Romance doesn't do things for free and seeing he was getting out of this arrangement so much, Romance started sharing the gossip. He’d give valuable insights, hint at court threats, and pass on rumours.

Their dynamic would be the closest both ever got to having a real friend — or perhaps for Mystery an unofficial advisor and for Romance an unofficial sugar daddy.

Demon:

Mystery feels most at ease with Romance. Whenever their paths crossed, Romance would do his own thing — talk to himself, share demon gossip, or relay human-world updates. Mystery would just sit nearby in silence, listening, occasionally humming in response. They didn’t need each other. But when things got too exhausting, they’d often end up near each other anyway, just to breathe. And if anyone could touch Mystery without consequence, it was Romance.

Romance felt safer around Mystery. Not emotionally safe — but physically. Mystery was one of the strongest demons around, so there was a kind of unspoken protection just by being near him. That made Romance uncomfortable at first. He wasn’t giving anything in return — which is why he started honing his own demonic abilities. Eventually, he became strong enough to hunt alone and rose in the ranks. Before his promotion, Romance wasn’t bullied but wasn’t exactly popular either. Too chatty. Known for stealing kills during team hunts. Not very well-liked. But Mystery never cared about his reputation or his rank. That made Romance relax around him. Once they were on equal footing rank-wise, Romance got bold enough to physically draped himself over Mystery and be openly dramatic.

They both were gaining something:

Romance got a break from being on guard.

Mystery got peace — Romance’s presence made others less likely to approach him, and he could easily tune Romance out when needed.

Were they friends? No. Demons don’t do friendship the same way. But both would agree they had a symbiotic relationship.

Mystery = Jinu

Human:

In my headcanon, Mystery and Jinu are from the same era, just born a few years apart. And since Jinu was taken in by a noble court in his canon backstory... who's to say that noble family wasn't Mystery’s in an alternate universe? Hey, if canon gives me nothing — I can create everything! KAKAKA!

Mystery would find Jinu fascinating — a poor boy rising through the ranks thanks to his gifted voice? Of course he'd be curious. He’d want to understand what goes on in Jinu’s head. Plus, Jinu wasn’t exactly great at hiding his emotions, and Mystery would notice the weight he was carrying. To Mystery, Jinu would seem hesitant — like a small fish thrown into the ocean. But he’d also recognise how much Jinu genuinely enjoyed singing and playing music — mostly for himself, not for others. Mystery would often join Jinu during his private moments, the two of them sitting somewhere quiet in the palace, away from everyone else. They didn’t talk about philosophy, didn’t swap informations or banter much. To Mystery, Jinu felt like a drifting soul — someone who didn’t know where to settle. And Mystery just wanted a front-row seat to see what choices Jinu would make, offering silent company along the way.

Jinu, on the other hand, would initially be unsure how to react. A noble sitting next to him? One wrong move could get him beheaded! But over time, as nothing bad happened and Mystery just... kept talking — sharing stories and small complaints — Jinu would start to relax. Through Mystery, he’d gain a clearer understanding of the world he’d always wanted to reach. And for Mystery, Jinu provided a kind of peace — he could even pretend he was “learning how to sing and play” as nobles were expected to be perfect at everything anyway if someone questioned him.

Their relationship would be the most honest one they ever had — no expectations, no conditions, just two people existing beside each other.

Demon:

Jinu would stay far away from Mystery at first. The guy had no aura. And to Jinu, that meant Mystery was holding back. And Jinu? He had zero interest in dying twice — no thank you. Still, he respected Mystery simply because of how powerful he was.

Mystery, meanwhile, barely registered Jinu’s existence... until he heard rumours that Jinu had somehow tamed not one, but two spirits. (Well... one spirit and the other just seemed to be permanently attached to it — package deal, really.) Now, taming a spirit at their level wasn’t exactly hard. But what caught Mystery’s attention was how Jinu treated them — not as tools, but more like actual companions. That was rare. Weird. Interesting... So, Mystery showed up. Jinu almost had a phantom heart attack. Mystery ignored that and started examining the magpie and tiger like they were research subjects.

From there, their relationship sort of... happened. Mystery kept returning to ask questions, and Jinu eventually stopped flinching. Their conversations became routine, they weren't deep, just simple exchanges. If they had nothing to say, they didn’t speak. No pressure.

They understood each other’s need for silence, and respected each other’s skills. Over time, Jinu even started learning a few tricks from Mystery to improve his own hunting while Jinu was assigned to play his bipa when they were quite to keep up the illusion that they were busy to others.

Jinu = Romance

Human:

These two could have met at the palace—either the one Jinu was taken into or the one Romance could have been sold into. In that setting, they’d be a twisted kind of coworkers.

Jinu wouldn’t think much of Romance at first. He’d see him as just another person trying to survive with the hand he was dealt. But unlike Jinu, Romance had learned to enjoy his role without being burdened by the past. Jinu would quietly respect Romance for his ability to remain mischievous and full of life, even while doing what he had to do to get by.

Romance, on the other hand, would enjoy the calm that Jinu’s music brought to the room. Even if they didn’t speak at all, Romance would take full advantage of his favoured status among the nobles to sit in on Jinu’s performances whenever he could. Over time, though, Romance would start to feel the loneliness in Jinu’s songs. While Romance himself sought out connection and attention, Jinu stayed stubbornly distant—never initiating conversation, only replying when someone else spoke first. That was when Romance began to smile at Jinu or give a small wave whenever their eyes met.

Their relationship could be described like a long-distance one. They rarely spoke, but when they crossed paths, gestures were enough. A glance, a nod, a smile—silent, honest communication in a world that demanded performance from them both, these small instances allowed for both to pull down their masks, even if just for a second.

Demon:

Jinu knew who Romance was—or rather, how he operated. So when he was assigned to the same hunting ground as the team with Romance in it, he was fully expecting scheming and soul-stealing from the other demons. Not that Jinu cared, as long as the souls were gathered and delivered, Romance could kill one of their own. It was just Jinu and his brother-in-rank assigned there, who, in the near future, would be knocked off the rank board by the chatty demon Jinu was quietly observing. As they infiltrated a village to harvest souls while staying alert for the huntresses, Jinu kept his eye on Romance. It didn’t take long for him to understand why Romance was accused of “stealing.” The other demons kept pushing Romance to the back during hunts—but once a soul emerged, Romance was quick to finish the job they started, and he did it efficiently. Having witnessed this, Jinu had no issue using his rank to scare off the lesser demons whenever he saw them ganging up on Romance. He couldn’t help but respect the guy for clawing his way up the ranks. And if Jinu could lend a hand now… who knew, maybe the demon will come in handy later.

Romance already knew who Jinu was—long before the older demon started silently looking after him. It wasn’t hard to guess that Jinu was planning something, but Romance wasn’t the type to turn down a golden opportunity. He swore his loyalty to Jinu, even if the other didn’t know it. Whether Jinu was helping him out of a selfish gain didn’t matter. Romance cared more about the means than the end. Besides—nothing came for free. So if Jinu supported him, Romance was fine with following his lead in return. Once Romance rose to the same rank as Jinu, their dynamic shifted. They started talking more often. Jinu still answered cryptically at times—especially when he didn’t want to talk about something—but Romance didn’t mind. In fact, he felt like he could talk forever and Jinu would always have something to say back, even if it came in riddles.

For Jinu, Romance became a steady ally—someone he knew wouldn’t betray him. Not until, as Romance once joked, he paid off his “debt” to Jinu. Jinu always denied that Romance owed him anything, insisting that Romance did the heavy lifting, and he merely supported from the shadows when he felt like it. But unbeknownst to Jinu, that silent support was exactly what made the road to Romance's newly acquired rank bearable.

Jinu = Abby

Human:

I can easily imagine these two working at the same palace Jinu was taken into. Of course, it’s possible Jinu saw Abby in passing as a palace guard before signing off his soul, but it feels more natural to picture Jinu already working there while Abby was stationed as a guard.

To Jinu, Abby was loud, overbearing, completely lacking in manners—a hot-headed duffer who’d one day pay for his cocky overconfidence. The man was everywhere, which made him great for surveillance… but terrible for Jinu’s sanity. Whenever Jinu thought he’d finally found a secluded spot to be alone, Abby would suddenly show up—usually too loud, too fast, and with far too much chaotic energy. At one point, the string on Jinu’s bipa snapped while he was tuning it, simply because Abby had dropped down from a roof without warning and scared the life out of him. And yet… Jinu would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way Abby would hang around, talking his ear off in quick, messy bursts of speech before getting called back to his actual duties. In a strange way, it helped Jinu feel safe—knowing there was a guard who had his back. He also learned that, if he played his bipa, Abby would fall completely silent and listen until the end. Only then would he burst into noisy praise, dragging Jinu into conversations the musician would never admit he secretly enjoyed.

Abby, on the other hand, absolutely loved the quiet musician’s company. To him, Jinu seemed closed-off at first—but Abby had no issue throwing open the door (sometimes literally) and discovering the unexpectedly funny guy hidden behind it. Jinu didn’t joke, not really—but his over-expressive reactions to the things he witnessed, recalled, or was told always made Abby feel entertained.

Neither of them ever labelled their relationship. But both knew: they’d found a true best friend in one another.

Demon:

If Jinu had to describe Abby in a single phrase, it would be: a wild card that could be controlled. No one ever knew what Abby was going to do until he had already done it. The upside? If you gave him an order, he’d stop instantly. Jinu didn’t have many thoughts about Abby at first. One day he was there, the next he wasn’t—then suddenly he was getting scolded by Gwi-ma for accidentally revealing their position to huntresses during the hunt. The only reason they even became properly acquainted was because of Tiger. Abby loved playing tug-of-war with the spirit. And unlike other demons, who cowered before the beast that could easily kill them, Abby embraced it—treating the whole thing like a training session rather than a brush with death. Because if Tiger accidentally dug his claws in too deep, Abby could end up with fatal wounds—especially if Gwi-ma refused to give him souls to heal with. Jinu respected Abby for his strength, and as his brother in rank. You could say he tolerated him. Even if every time Abby showed up with that sharp grin and asked, “Can I borrow Tiger?”, making Jinu feel that ghost of a heartbeat again. There were even days when he ended up getting dragged into the "training". Once Tiger was hyped up on adrenaline, it didn’t matter who the target was—Abby or Jinu, the beast would chase both. Thanks to Abby, Jinu remembered he could still run out of breath.

Abby, meanwhile, thought Jinu brooded far too much. So he made it his personal mission to drag him off his lonely rock and stop him from sitting around playing that weird string instrument all day. In truth, Jinu had become one of the demons Abby felt closest to. As they grew more familiar, it was Jinu who started speaking on Abby’s behalf to Gwi-ma—offering reasons why the shit Abby caused could be actually useful. In return, Abby had no issue leaving unfinished hunts to Jinu. He wasn't blind, he knew Jinu wasn’t like the rest of them—he didn’t enjoy hunting. So Abby did the dirty work, taking the lives himself and letting Jinu collect the souls. No questions asked.

The closer they got, the more Abby realised that Jinu was just as dramatically expressive as he was—only in very specific situations. They even started fist-bumping when things went right. Safe to say, Abby and Jinu became proper partners in crime.

Jinu = Baby

Human:

Ignoring the… less than ideal situation they might’ve met in, and assuming they could have sOme interaction—if we focused solely on their core traits and assumed circumstances—

Jinu wouldn’t start by speaking. Instead, he would quietly extend his bipa toward Baby, who’d just stare at it for a moment like, What do you want me to do with this? Eat it? Jinu wouldn’t try to make him smile. He wouldn’t attempt to coax a laugh from that blank, unreadable face—and he wouldn’t even try. What was the point of forcing someone to express something they didn’t want to? So, Jinu would simply sit next to Baby, gently plucking the strings to demonstrate what the instrument could do. Then he’d leave it in Baby’s lap, letting him explore it on his own. Something about Baby made Jinu feel like he was caring for a younger sibling. Did he replace his sister with Baby? …Perhaps. But Jinu didn’t dwell on it. Not when Baby’s eyes began to sparkle at the clumsy notes he managed to produce. Even if the sounds were awful at first, Baby improved steadily—and grew more adventurous under Jinu’s quiet watch. He was always there when Baby turned back to look.

At first, Baby felt nothing toward Jinu. Until the moment he was allowed—encouraged—to explore something under Jinu’s quiet guidance. Music had never crossed his mind before. There was no time for it. No reason to think outside of the possibility. But the moment he was introduced to it, something lit within him. A quiet ember that made him want to know more. He grew greedy, and Jinu allowed that, as much as his circumstances would permit. Baby wouldn’t say he respected Jinu in the usual way. If asked, he’d probably insult him with a smirk. But it was clear he wouldn’t tolerate anyone dragging Jinu’s name through the mud.

Neither of them gave their bond a name. Jinu simply enjoyed sharing his hobby with someone who took to it so quickly, while Baby felt like—for once—he could do things and say things without being questioned, judged, or scolded.

Demon:

It was never a good sign when a demon suddenly went on a soul-harvesting rampage. For higher-ranking demons, it meant one thing: they’d have to collect even more souls themselves or risk Gwi-ma stripping them of their post with a flick of his flame.

That was how Jinu first met Baby. He’d expected a tall, hulking brute of a demon—one who drooled at the mention of human souls. Instead, he got him. And before he could stop himself, Jinu blurted out the first word that came to mind while Gwi-ma, perhaps a bit too smugly, introduced the new demon: “…Baby.” He never imagined the name would stick. But Baby took it with almost desperate fingers and made it his new name. At first, Baby barely registered in his mind. Just another demon who is out to hunt souls to please their King. But Jinu began to notice something different about him during hunts. Where other demons grinned, snarled, or reveled in bloodshed—Baby looked… blank. As if he were just going through the motions, not driven by the insatiable hunger or rotted pride, but simply doing what Gwi-ma brought him back to do. Baby was almost the perfect demon, Jinu had realised much later. And he would have been if Jinu hadn't done what he did back then, when he realised Baby wasn't like the rest of the demons. Jinu to approach him. What he found was not a wild, unbound beast—but a demon who didn’t know what else he could be. Jinu hated sharing. But in that moment, he didn’t hesitate. He handed his bipa to Baby. Baby stared at Jinu like he’d lost his mind. He didn’t want it. Didn’t know what to do with it. But before he could retreat, Jinu pushed the instrument into his arms and plucked a few strings, letting the sound ring out. That was when Jinu saw Baby’s first expression. Golden eyes glittered like molten sunlight. The irises widened—dark moons blooming behind them. From then on, Baby became the only demon Jinu could talk to about music. He learned quickly, understood instinctively—and wasn’t afraid to challenge Jinu’s teachings with his own thoughts.

Baby hadn’t thought much of Jinu before. Just another same-ranked demon. Tamed two spirits. Good for him. But when Jinu showed him how to play the bipa, something shifted. Demons didn't feel. No soul and no heart, meant there was no wide reaction to the external world other than the emptiness in the chest. But when Jinu played… something moved. And Baby wanted to do it again. Over time, Baby grew physically comfortable around Jinu—something Baby didn't knew could ever happen. He even felt like he could speak or act however he wanted in Jinu’s presence. Jinu might sigh or grumble, but he never stopped him. Baby had never felt safe before. He only realised that because of how his body slowly… uncoiled. With Jinu, that tightly wound core started to ease—bit by bit. He didn’t look up to Jinu. He didn’t show him the kind of respect expected in the demon ranks. But that was only because he felt equal to him.

To Jinu, Baby carried the ember of a younger sibling he stubbornly refused to admit he’d projected onto because of his guilt over his real sister. To Baby, Jinu was the only one who gave him space to be whoever—or whatever—he wanted to be. And neither of them ever said a word about it.

Romance = Abby

Human:

These two were most likely to meet at the palace—Abby as a palace guard, and Romance brought in as a concubine. And oh, the palace made a terrible mistake pairing these two together.

Romance had only ever felt truly connected to another person when their bodies were bare and pressed against his—when there was heat, closeness, attention… only for it all to vanish the moment they left, leaving him cold and aching for more. But Abby? Abby made him feel overflowing. He was a sun, burning bright across every corner of the palace—his warmth impossible to ignore. You either smiled back or got swept up in his antics. They never crossed into anything intimate, even though Romance tried. He flirted, acted seductive, but Abby never took the bait. Instead, he indulged him gently, playfully, with fleeting touches that never felt heavy. It was light-hearted. Fun. Abby made Romance laugh, made him grin so wide and light it showed in his stride. They drank together. Shared stories. Gossiped and cackled. Being with Abby was so, so easy.

Abby loved spending time with Romance simply because he paid attention. He didn’t hesitate to join in Abby’s adventures, talk to him mid-duty, or pull him aside for something stupid and spontaneous. He didn’t care what Romance was, what title he held, or what implications came with being seen beside him. To Abby, Romance was a dear friend. A drinking partner. Someone he could speak to for hours without boredom, without ever running out of things to say.

Romance made him burn freely—unapologetically. And in turn, Abby made Romance feel like he didn’t have to prove anything. He didn’t owe Abby anything. He didn’t need to impress him or keep his interest. Abby gave attention freely to anyone brave enough to step forward and speak.

Demon:

There was an unspoken gravity between them—subtle, but impossible to ignore. It wasn’t attraction. It wasn’t even emotional connection. It was just… ease.

Romance didn’t even know how they became so closely knit. One day he was half-asleep, yawning through yet another one of Gwi-ma’s overly dramatic monologues. Then Abby leaned into his space, whispered something offhand—and Romance snorted. Loud. First time he’d laughed like that since being dragged down here. From then on, they were casually chatting during hunts, complaining to each other mid-kill. Abby would dart around, feeding on souls, while Romance stood with a limp human corpse in his grip, expression bored, occasionally chiming in with commentary. To Romance, Abby was a safe place to collapse—someone he could flop onto dramatically and whine to all day, while Abby joined in and matched his energy. Romance felt ecstatic around him, like something in the emptiness of his chest flickered to life. A warm flame that instinctively reached for Abby like a fuel source.

Abby felt the same way. It was surprisingly rare to find a daredevil in the demon realm—but Romance was always up for anything, as long as it meant he’d have fun and not one hair out of place. Abby took it upon himself like a challenge. Even in the middle of a mess, he’d find time to smooth down Romance’s hair or adjust his outfit. He didn’t mind giving Romance the attention he so obviously craved. There was always humour in Romance's chatting, something that always stimulated Abby. Their talks weren’t deep or philosophical. They were easy. Casual. Fun. And Abby couldn’t get enough. They were practically glued at the hip. Wherever Abby was, Romance was close behind. And vice versa. Even when Abby was sparring other demons in the name of “exercise,” Romance would be sprawled out nearby, safe but close enough to watch—cheering for him when he felt like it, mocking when he didn’t.

To both of them, it felt like they’d found something the other lacked. Soulmates? Don’t make them wheeze. Friends? Demons don’t do that. But Abby and Romance didn’t need to name what they had. They had each other’s backs. Always. And that was what mattered.

Romance = Baby

Human:

Honestly, the two were most likely to meet if Baby had been bought by the same brothel Romance worked at—maybe as a cleaning boy, a mail runner… an assistant, perhaps? Either way:

Romance felt a strange pull towards the quiet, expressionless boy. A mix of empathy… and an overwhelming urge to press him close to his chest. He never asked for Baby’s story. He simply accepted him for what he was—offering gentle pats, quiet praise, and soft chatter whenever he could steal a moment. To Romance, Baby was an even more unfortunate soul than himself. Romance had grown to crave love and attention because he’d never had it—from the one who gave him life or the one who sold him off. But Baby? Baby craved nothing. So Romance made it his mission to teach him otherwise—to show him the simple joys of being alive. Even craving a breath, Romance said, was a kind of greed… and that was okay. Soon, those dull, blank irises began to catch the light. The more Romance took him out—just to sit under the sun, or walk through loud markets—the more Baby came alive. Romance learned quickly: Baby didn’t care for food or trinkets. What stirred something in him was discovery. Experiences. Newness. Not possessions.

Baby, in truth, was overwhelmed by the attention he got from others. They pinched his cheeks until he wanted to flinch away and disappear. They spoke too fast, too loud, where his head would spin. They praised him with honeyed words that made him want to scream. But he never did. There was no strength in him to act on the discomfort. At first, he thought Romance would be no different. But where everyone else was a suffocating whirlwind, Romance was a spring breeze—warm, coaxing, and calm enough to close his eyes to. He didn’t force anything. He just was. And eventually, Baby felt safe enough to seek him out. He’d approach with something interesting in his hands or on his mind. Quietly. Hesitantly at first before he slowly eased into snark he didn't knew he had but didn't felt out of place to act on.

To Baby, Romance became like a sakura tree in bloom—something soft and steady he could sit beneath, sheltered in its shade, before the world came calling again. To Romance, Baby could have the childhood that Romance had lost, having the need to protect it as much as he could.

Demon:

Romance had to physically stop himself from squealing the first time he met the infamous new demon everyone had started calling The Plague - rising through the ranks like wildfire, stealing human souls like wind sweeping away fallen leaves. Romance took one look at him and decided: this was the cutest thing the demon realm had to offer. No doubt Gwi-ma let him keep that innocent human face to lure humans into a false sense of safety. It didn’t take long for Romance to wedge himself right into Baby’s life. Poking his cheeks, running fingers through his hair, chattering endlessly—all while Baby purposefully ignored him. But Romance didn’t mind. He knew that if Baby truly didn’t want him around, there was nothing stopping him from vanishing into purple smoke or making him back off with multiple threats. Instead, Baby stayed. And then—much, much later—during a rare moment alone, as Romance spoke excitedly his ear off, Baby finally spoke. Just one question, a tiny curiosity, a spark. Romance pounced on the opportunity—teased him a little, sure—but explained everything right after, an arm slung over Baby’s shoulders like they were long-time friends. Romance couldn’t not dote on him. Even when Baby opened his mouth to chomp on his invasive hand. No matter. He made it his mission to ease the youngest into physical attention, step by step!

For Baby, there were no hiding spots when Romance was around. Even at the beginning, even when he'd barely said two words to him—Romance’s closeness sent shivers up his spine. And though part of him wanted to bite the older demon's hand—and did once, earning a delighted squeal from Romance—he never told him to go away. Not really. Baby didn’t care much for gossip or surface-level conversation. But Romance's ease, his lightness, his unbothered breeze made it possible to rest. He could close his eyes and let the noise pass him by.

To Romance, Baby was a demon he felt drawn to give attention to—relentlessly. Baby may not be giving him his attention verbally, but Romance felt seen, even with the occasional blink or a grunt here and there instead of being told to shut up.

And to Baby… Romance brought something light and calm into his presence. A moment where Baby could close his eyes and rest—even just for a moment.

Abby = Baby

Human:

Ignoring the practicality of how these two might meet—since their interaction would likely be limited, with only a few words exchanged—if we focus solely on their core traits, shaped by their assumed circumstances…

Abby would blink owlishly at the flat-faced kid standing before him. Then, flashing a wide grin, he’d crouch to Baby’s level and ruffle his hair, chatting away like they were already friends. Baby, of course, would just stand there, blank and still. At first, this would confuse Abby. He’d tilt his head, try again, then gently prod Baby’s forehead with a finger, joking about whether he could switch his expressions like a setting. Then he’d poke again. And again. And again. Until Baby finally snapped and bit his finger. Abby screeched—dramatically trying to wrestle his finger free. Baby let go immediately, coiling in on himself, shoulders tight, waiting for punishment. But when he looked up, trembling slightly, he saw Abby laughing—really laughing—holding up his bleeding finger with a smug grin. “A puppy bites harder than that,” he teased. Abby didn’t understand Baby. He didn’t try to. He just responded to whatever Baby gave him—no matter how small. Abby always made it bigger. It felt like being a mother duck with a duckling trailing after him—and he didn’t mind one bit. For once, he had someone to share his chaotic life with. And Baby was a quick learner, quickly joining the madness without hesitation.

Baby, meanwhile, was utterly confused. His mind screamed that one more step and Abby would hurt him. But his body—his body sought out the warmth Abby gave so effortlessly. As the days passed, Baby became more confident. He started speaking his mind. He even started their playful tussles sometimes, without fear. With Abby, Baby felt like he could rule the world. He stopped slouching, began mimicking Abby’s posture—shoulders back, head high. But not his manners. If Abby talked with his mouth full, Baby wouldn’t hesitate to smack him with a spoon and scold him like a grumpy grandpa.

To Abby, Baby made him feel grounded. He felt like a contained wildfire where Baby became the firecracker instead. To Baby, Abby was someone he could go all out with, someone who wouldn’t break him if he did. It was new. It was refreshing. They discovered something in each other neither had known they were missing.

Demon:

A newly turned demon who rose the ranks like it was nothing? Sign Abby up. He couldn’t wait to test his strength against this one.

Abby didn’t care how slim or small Baby looked. Abby didn’t hesitate to go all out—only to find himself swinging at thin air, Baby gone without a trace. “Aaah! He likes the long chase,” Abby decided, grinning. But the first time Baby actually engaged him, something shifted. That was when Abby understood Baby on a deeper level—beyond the mysterious new demon who collected souls like marbles. Baby felt nothing. Every movement was to avoid. When he struck back, it was only to finish what Abby had started—not out of will. There was no purpose in his attacks, no weight behind his strikes. Abby was left drained. Frustrated, he ranted about it to Baby who could only stare at him, wide-eyed, taking in every word like it was the first thing that had ever truly been said to him. But Abby didn’t stay. There was no point. He could get more from a rock. Baby felt like a ghost—even spirits had a more presence, Abby decided. That is… until Baby shoved Abby into the abyssal lake that reflected the human world. From atop a rock, Baby stood smug, arms crossed, watching Abby flail. Abby stared back, wide-eyed—trying to read the expression on the demon who finally did something personal. Then, he grinned—sharp and thrilled. So this was it. Baby wanted to prove him wrong. And who was Abby to refuse a challenge?

Baby had always believed that having no soul meant feeling nothing. But hearing Abby’s words… something cracked inside. When Abby turned his back on him, dismissed him as less than a spirit, that stung more than anything. Baby didn’t understand why—but he wanted to tear through Abby's chest just to get rid of the itch in his fingers. And underneath all that something else stirred. A need to prove him wrong. So he waited. Picked his moment. And struck. They fought—truly fought—and both of them grinned like maniacs through every blow. Baby didn’t even realise he was doing things he hadn’t known he could do—copying Abby’s moves, then adapting them into his own. Eventually, both ended up kneeling before Gwi-ma, who scolded them for interrupting his midnight soul-snacking. As the demon lord lectured, Baby and Abby exchanged smirks across the floor, grins sharp and full of promise. A silent agreement for a rematch. They high-fived under Gwi-ma’s nose.

They weren’t rivals. They weren’t partners in crime. They didn’t care for labels. All Abby knew was that Baby scratched an itch he didn’t know existed—pushed him to his limits and left him ecstatic. And Baby? He had someone who challenged him, called him out, and forced him to live again.

[theborzoiarebackintown]

My bff had work obligations and asked me to travel with Varus (the puppy’s dad) and take care of him in PA for the Borzoi Club of Delaware Valley’s speciality. He won the whole kit and caboodle, defeating almost 60 other borzoi of quality!

I love this man and am very grateful to be part of his little family ❤️❤️ it was wonderful to get to see him earn such a significant win!

[riteliso]

HA!

Oh god, reach for it again, that shit is FUNNY

Here we see her try and fail to bring her tray closer, immediately followed by seeing her succeed at using it before her transformation into Shadow Weaver.

Shadow Weaver quietly moved from taking her power from the magic that flows everywhere, to taking it from the dark powers, to taking it from just the black garnet.

Each step made her more powerful in the moment, but if you only draw all your power from one place, what happens when someone takes it away from you?

She's always been a bad person. There was no fall from grace. Yes she was capable of being a teacher, and saying what a teacher says, but even back then she was using violence against her pupils whenever she wanted to actually get her point across.

Promises are important in She-ra. If they're a specific metaphor, I don't think I've been able to pin it down YET, but it's clear how much focus is put onto promises and the trust that comes with them, by both good and bad faith actors.

And with that promise, she has Micah assist her in defiling ancient writings, pulverize them to dust, and use said dust to perform her magic.

Even back then, her magic was based on destruction of what was important.

Everything she ever does, every time she chases power, she destroys something beautiful on her way.

We're about to see it again with her badge.

The sigil glows red before it glows blue. This is classic colour based story-telling meaning "something's a little fucky and evil here."

Shadow Weaver, despite her age and attempt to seem wise and infallable, is another deeply insecure character.

She snaps at Micah upon discovering he is more capable than she is at certain forms of magic.

She immediately believes he must be undermining her or being dishonest with her, instead of believing that her teaching abilities combined with his talent could actually lead to him surpassing her.

Good guardians actually WANT their students, pupils, wards, children, etc. surpassing them.

Bad ones feel extremely wounded upon seeing it.

Worse ones still, feel that resentment, but find a way to work it into their lives as they realize they can use this child for their own benefit.

She finds a new angle, and it's an angle she continues with later in her life. If she can't be the most powerful, she will simply be in CHARGE of who is the most powerful. It's why she's so fixated on Adora, and before that, it was why she climbed the ranks in the Horde.

She's always loved manipulating children.

Here she makes Micah feel less confident by underhandedly insulting his maturity before showing him violent imagery to align him with her beliefs.

She incidentally lets slide that she appreciates their effectiveness and strength, comparing it to the wildly passive way of life in Mystacor.

SEASON 2

Hey sorry to everyone who hates how long that last post is when you're looking for fanart and shipping tidbits instead of a dissertation

But here's another

Shut the fuck up

ALRIGHT SO

we cold open on violence and fighting to bring us back into the setting, and we're quickly introduced to a miscellaneous status quo change that throws some people off

Frosta is nice now

Some people I've seen, it throws them off enough that the show kinda loses them, and I can understand that.

This is a show that lives by strong character writing, so an immediate tonal shift DOES feel strange. I'm not gonna deny that, and I'm not gonna say that the version of Frosta we get for the next little while isn't my least favourite version of her.

I think we end UP with a happy median. Where she's childlike, but she takes things seriously, and doesn't like to be talked down to. That's why she makes such a good character foil for Micah. I personally believe that's her at her best, but she also had a very strong introduction, so I can't BLAME people for getting attached to that version of the character, and disappointed when they take things in a different direction.

It's strange, and it's something that this show doesn't really-- DO. I get that it can be explained away in universe with her putting on a brave and uncaring and rough exterior for the ball she was hosting, but we also literally JUST saw her at the very end of season 1 and she was acting the same.

It's not a bad change, this version of her is fine, but it's unusual and in a perfect world the transition between the season 1 version of her and the version we end up with as the character gets more depth would have been smoother.

The splash screen is still the same >:(

I don't remember when they start changing I was hoping it'd just be once each season (with one exception) so that it'd be easy for meeeeeeeeee

Now I have to pay ATTENTION

UGH

VOICE DIRECTION

First off, it's odd that this isn't the first time that we've had a fake Catra.

Secondly, she sounds weird here in a way that's kinda hard to explain. She sounds kinda like a caricature of herself, which makes sense?

It's a tiny detail. But it kinda falls flat on your first watch because we just saw Frosta acting weird, anyway.

As with all holodecks in sci-fi, this one's primary use is lesbian sex

Also it's an amazing fight scene, I won't show YOU the frame-by-frames, but they're good frames

The amount of times she will be fighting Catra and we get to see her expression soften the moment she gets ANY amount of upper hand

If you pay enough attention to take a shot each time you'll be more of a wine mom than Shadow Weaver

We hear this in not strictly Catra's voice, it's distorted, because it's Lighthope speaking THROUGH Catra, not just EMULATING Catra.

Lighthope wants this cat dead. I mean I don't blame her I just don't agree with her reasoning of "I want this cat dead so that this lesbian follows my orders better"

Yeah :(

Also I don't believe her when she says it's meant for total accuracy

I think it's probably PRETTY accurate

But also it's based off of ADORA'S memories which is why Catra actually has the troublepuffs to hold her hand instead of being a whiny little baby.

Somehow Adora is under the impression that Catra is brave which is fucking insane

She's not brave she is just filled to the brim with unimpeded violent hubris

Catra thinks that the point of the myth of Icarus is that "at least his wings melted from the sun and not the sea"

Also it's been a month take note

Not for any particular reason, it's just good to know how long these breaks in time are

Girl me too and for equally stupid but very different reasons

As we learn later they weren't mistakes they were being a decent fuckin person

Do you think when nobody's around Catra puts on the glasses and kisses this robot

Or does she not because she doesn't like She-ra she still just likes Adora

You are such a pathetic show-off

MOUSE

Nah but fr the fear of stepping on a mouse is too real I don't wanna FEEL THAT

PEOPLE JUST POINT AND LAUGH AND SAY IM AN ELEPHANT WHEN I TELL THEM THATS MY REASONING

She really is bored

She needs a hobby besides vengence

Y'see when they actually fight she gets into such a slump and she's so ANNOYING about it

The moonstone is super-charged by the way

It doesn't hold much relevance and I guess that shows that due to the princesses uniting all of their powers have improved

Everyone is a bitch and they all hate each-other

[unproduciblesmackdown]

thinking about how of course billions is about people trapped in eternal battle world, and trapped because they won't ever exit, and don't want to because that's the only way they can define their idea of themself or like move through life, to the degree they have to just create or find another battle if one ends or they don't have enough going on at once or they're unhappy about anything & can only respond to that the only way they'll respond to anything: finding someone to consider a target to Defeat & being like nice, i'm so competent & active as a person, so with any other issues in my life, i'm sure it's not my fault at least

and it's been clear that to be someone at the Center of the show means needing to be inflexible enough to never leave that life, which also probably means never engaging in genuine self-reflection besides like, fuming in distress for 5 sec & then immediately searching for blame for someone else, or calling up your designated moral supporter who'll tell you you're upset b/c you're very complex & sympathetic & maybe if you do [xyz] you'll be able to Keep Winning, so like, don't worry, we'll never get too off track here. you have someone like connerty who cares so much about playing by the rules ft. ethics, but he was also someone completely inflexible who would give a shit like "ha ha you broke the law" and be Defeated b/c like yeah damn you do got him in that situation. he may then have gained the flexibility to throw a punch when he's already imprisoned but he's still just gotta retire & pursue some completely different goals

this in contrast with like, what a coincidence (surely not) that the more flexible characters are the ones who also do introspect & reflect & genuinely think about & question themselves ever, & how even beyond that, being in this world of people who overwhelmingly are thee opposite & aiming for a static sense of self & thus strategy for navigating life & all interactions & situations, the more reflective parties also tend to accept both Blame & the fruitlessness of pushing for more/different/better from the people & relationships & situations they're amongst. those willing to take on responsibility at all surrounded by people casting all of it off, always, w/the former already primed to take blame & the latter primed to be looking to find the blame in anyone else, a powerful mismatch....which allows the flexible parties to also put up with shit for longer lol like if they got fed up that quickly or recognized the dead-end here they'd just leave the show lol. like wow can't believe taylor spent their whole life already stuck having to deal with someone who's so very much like these bullshit central men & those trying to emulate them, & perhaps also then have a lifetime of experience extending endless patience & sympathy with little to no expectations for more from people who put up with such a bullshit man & his effects on everything around him, like, what do you mean taylor's mom hasn't seen them b/c douglas didn't want to see them b/c he wasn't yet motivated enough to have to exercise begrudging shows of basic respect. whilest sure seems like taylor felt more concern & basically stated their responsibility re: trying to make their relationship with their dad work / basically take on the task of making his life work for him according to his sense of himself (genius! who deserves the recognition thusly!) and doesn't seem to take on this role re: their mom, who nevertheless is just presumed to move closer to them along w/douglas. and here's taylor never truly putting their foot down re: wendy, no matter what, able to have no real positive expectations in how wendy treats them or thinks of them, but also always able to extend sympathy / decent treatment themself

thinking of like team ben out here as the Nicer axe cap or mpc people who also happen to be people absorbing the L's, blaming themselves for being at the bottom of the hierarchy & being subjected to the always negative treatment doled out to them accordingly, and, winstonesquely, still generally like extending genuine gestures of amicability, efforts of constructive actual communication, etc, & this being shut down & likely punished by all the people around them who won't handle that kind of thing. that Of Course nobody's actually supported around here, like, at best they'll get some kind of "well you're actually talented & valuable :)...." (so why aren't they already treated in a way such that they're aware of this?) "....so just have more confidence already god!" wherein (a) again that just means it's Their Fault that they're having a miserable time at the hands of others & (b) their having "confidence" doesn't really mean like, an emotional buffer between their sense of self-esteem & the message of inferiority in how they're treated, it has to mean externally acting different in some ways, more like A Winner, more like everyone else. the limits of ben trying to sometimes be a buffer for tuk as that kind of friend/mentor role, where either it simply fails or ben's Help is more unilateral "correction." that generally only any increase in aggressive hostility gets them anywhere, and really not that far.

the way dollar bill could always act however he wanted & they could always clean up his messes / save him from himself / just flatout blame other people for what dollar bill did to them or someone else; success in being a mini axe in that way for sure. dollar bill going off the rails over his literal dollar bill & that's not a problem, he's validated b/c he's upset, & b/c rudy knew he'd be upset it's really all rudy's fault....who just so happens to be more of a loser, what with his glasses & possible masturbation ever and all. whilest even when dollar bill is like every season being shit at his job & life, well, just find a loser to trounce while everyone ignores this, cheers you on, takes on responsibility for fixing things for you, blames the person targeted probably. dollar bill couldn't even do in office transphobic hate crime physical attacks, or that but while yelling the r word at the autistic guy he's already harrassing & threatening, without it being really basically the target's fault, & hey, as long as no investors are watching. and we're still dragging dollar bill back to the office b/c uhhh yeah!!

& then of course there's winston, who, like a loser, says things in real efforts for real communication with others, that they winningly can only bring themselves to respond to as "he's not allowed to talk, that's out of line, i have to punish/deny this to reassert our respective status" except for, sometimes, taylor actually communicating in turn, or even simply receiving the information. winston in a duo with the very winning & worthy rian, being something of a quasirival for 5 seconds but even during then, and since, trying to be amicable to establish an actually positive dynamic, trying for actual communication, engaging flexibly & actively based on her feedback & her terms & etc to try to find some more success; versus rian completely inflexible, unwilling to respond to efforts to communicate, unwilling to have an actual relationship with any flexibility & genuineness in turn, or see winston as a person of course, and engage with real emotions. which is hardly an exclusive response of hers, like, everyone else is just the same, she's just also the one interacting with him more often and personally bullying him & standing next to him & immediately responding with clear contempt when he tries things like earnest expressions of "hey rian could you not do what you just did b/c it makes me feel like shit, probably b/c that's what you're trying to do" and "hey that was cool what you just did b/c it makes me feel like—" b/c like, what a loser. real winners cannot handle engaging with another person as a person. when you can just make up & stick to a narrative about "oh but i don't hate winston, who i feel is inherently beneath me. i wouldn't wanna feel bad about killing him, not when i could feel fine about administering more of a death by a thousand cuts with some other people helping out & hey maybe it was their cut that did it after all....but also if you're like 'pwease' then eh sure" or that winston's got a lesser inner existence anyways, some classic dehumanization, no complexity there, & hurting him isn't real, & it'd never be you in his position anyways! especially the more you're buying into "yeah i'm more of a person / more deserving / more real & sympathetic & correct than him :)" & being cheered on as you act that out. pretty cringe of winston to be earnest, flexible, openly trying & wanting & needing things, sounds bad & silly. unlike the winners around him who really cannot handle him or any of these things about him. of course near equivalent in loserness, tuk, is the person with the realest most amicable relationship with him. both of them too incompetent to realize their mutual failings in this, ha ha, real winners are repulsed & fleeing & can't handle a basic exchange with either of them. and the imbalance re: how little others are willing to give them in interest, consideration, time, words, etc, while they're always trying Too Much re: the disinterested others, totally proves their unworthiness

winston and tuk always having to stay at the bottom of the hierarchy, winston only able to be shitted on even as he extricates himself, ending up surrounded by people who will only act "correctly" according to their superior roles & this mf wags only processing anything as "did that reinforce my being a correct/winning person???" & only responding by trying to reassert to others how much of a winner they are, which requires establishing a loser, and crushing them. winston having recognized / gotten fed up with a bullshit scenario & had realistic expectations of those around them & spent those years being treated like shit yet never crushing an enemy to restore his ego & also spent those years trying to communicate and work with others and share actual info and make actual connections & now independently choosing to make a big shift in his life so that things can be different? is definitely the contemptible loser here while everyone else looks very good faffing around for an episode getting some temporary ego boosts & being very "correct" in every response to winston, even pointing out that rian even noticing something genuine & positive from winston in the absence of it anywhere is first & foremost incorrect, which rian will Also immediately drop in the face of that "well yeah it's more correct to prioritize Anything else. like that he's pathetic & mpc 5ever" like wuh oh rian being doomed from 5x08 "time to embrace acting more correct now" & being truly inflexible from that point on, never had a moment of conflict not resolved by [ignoring that] &/or again just getting someone more correct to declare how it'll be answered. taylor at their most flexible and Taylorest and most juxtaposed with central men & static ossified "winners" when they are also at their best in engaging with winston. taylor Like winston & vice versa in so many substantial & interesting ways, despite their relating to / sympathizing with / devoting much more effort & interest to people more like the central men. that here we are, when taylor might have to give up on Being A Winner, someone who'll walk away with status & resources & a seamless transition into some established business foundation, to really get the wins that matter, against pince, &/or to clock out of a sunk cost factory, &/or to not have strangled every part of themself that can be in conflict with this general situation into eternal dormancy. don't You dare blame latency lol, the taylor who gets to exist outside the conditional "well i guess you're a winner who's very useful to me, like dumping work on you & blaming you if it goes awry. and you can act like a Real winner in the ways that really matter (crushing people)"....is also a taylor who can be rejected & shut down & shut out & have their value denied & be treated shittily despite even knowing they'd be / are good at this shit, superlatively even, & could never feel okay just being regarded as a tool stashed away at someone's disposal. & Has been treated shittly & is liable to accept blame, unilateral responsibility for other's selves & feelings & actions & lives, & marinate in self-loathing. while people who refuse any introspection, questioning, responsibility, awareness, etc, & refuse to handle the least of genuine interactions/relationships with others as real people, are glad to scoff at them & dismiss them & imply or assert their superiority, like, wow have You got a lot to learn, or maybe you can't b/c you're inherently inferior. all just like re: winston!

tl;dr shoutout to the flexible characters who like can & do reflect & change things up actually, just so happening to always be Losing for this in the [only way to win is not to play] arena of fake winners seeing if they can consider themselves superior to everyone else & only even possibly correct always & forever, in the pyramid scheme of social hierarchy & also capitalism

[peridot-tears]

Honestly the fact that Freedom Cry is set fifteen years after Black Flag and Adéwalé is in his forties, and that Edward is either dead or about to die, HURTS ME IN STRANGE AND INDESCRIBABLE WAYS.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

What's in my bag ?

Summary : While filming a “What’s In My Bag?” video for TUMI during a dreamy shoot in Lake Como, Lando Norris proudly shares his favorite travel items: headphones, cinnamon mints, lucky charms… and a stack of Polaroids of his girlfriend.

Until one very private photo slips into the mix, and suddenly the internet sees a whole lot more than he meant to show.

Genre : suggestive, fluff, oneshot

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Warning : mature content, allusion to nude and sex activities

Main Masterlist

Author notes : funny and soft oneshot to bring a little bit of joy after the race of Sunday. Everyone please stay safe and if you can, stay away from social media if it gets too hard after this week-end race, love you all <3

Lake Como glistened in the soft morning light, its surface scattered with diamonds of sun as gentle waves rolled against the dock. A light breeze rustled the cypress trees lining the water’s edge, carrying with it the scent of pine and polished wood from the nearby villas. Birds chirped, water lapped, cameras clicked.

And somewhere on a private terrace above the lake, Lando Norris was trying not to sweat through his linen shirt.

“Alright, we’re rolling in three, two, one...” the cameraman’s voice faded into silence as the red light blinked on.

Lando sat back in the sleek director-style chair, a black TUMI backpack resting on his lap. He adjusted the strap, cleared his throat, and gave the camera his signature, cheeky grin.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

His voice echoed softly against the terracotta walls behind him.

“This is my TUMI backpack. I take it everywhere, especially when I’m traveling. It’s kind of like my...survival kit,” he chuckled, unzipping the top compartment. “You’ll see what I mean.”

One by one, he began pulling items out, placing them carefully on the small table beside him.

“First up: my headphones,” he said, holding up a sleek black pair. “Can’t live without these. Whether it’s music, Netflix on the plane, or zoning out in the paddock, these save me.”

He paused and smirked at the camera. “They also help when I’m pretending not to hear Oscar.”

The staff behind the camera chuckled.

“Next... passports. Plural. Yeah. I have three.” He fanned them out like a hand of cards, laughing. “I’m international, baby.”.”

He dug deeper into the backpack and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. Opening it carefully, he revealed several stone bracelets in warm earthy tones.

“My mum got me these for Christmas,” he said quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t always wear them on track days, but I keep them close. Just… makes me feel a bit more grounded.”

He placed them gently down and then brandished a small tin.

“Cinnamon mints,” he declared proudly. “For the sweet tooth. Helps with cravings. Or when you want to pretend you don’t eat like a raccoon at midnight.”

More laughter. The atmosphere was warm, friendly. Lando was in his element, somewhere between boyish and bold.

“Now we’re getting to the fun stuff.”

He pulled out a tangled mess of keychains, one shaped like a tiny McLaren helmet, another a fluffy orange pom-pom, and the last: a piece of tissue with the initials LN sewn into it.

“A fan gave me this,” he said, holding it between his fingers. “I’ve had it for years. It’s falling apart but... can’t travel without it.”

He smiled at the memory, then paused as his hand slipped into one of the deeper side pockets. His brow furrowed.

“Oh... wait,” he muttered, pulling something halfway out before immediately stuffing it back in.

He looked up at the camera, suddenly sheepish.

“Uhh...yeah. Some stuff I definitely can’t show you,” he said, grinning and scratching the back of his neck. “Let’s just say... it's better to stay protected”

The staff broke into laughter. One of the camera guys let out a dramatic “ooooohhh.”

“What?” Lando laughed, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “You never know, okay? I like to get prepared.”

Still grinning, he reached again into the bag and pulled out a small, silver disposable camera.

“This guy comes everywhere with me,” he said. “I take film photos when I travel. Stuff that’s just for me, you know? Not for Instagram. Just memories.”

He held it up with affection, then reached in again and began pulling out little mementos: a handmade skull keyring from Mexico, a folded receipt with something scribbled on the back, a broken friendship bracelet.

“I’m kind of a hoarder,” he admitted. “These are all... pieces of places. People. Moments. I like keeping them close.”

His hand brushed against something in the side pocket. A small, rubbery bottle.

He pulled it out before he registered what it was.

There was a beat.

He stared at the camera.

The bottle gleamed in the sunlight. Bright pink. Labelled clearly ' Lubricant: Strawberry flavor' .

“Oh. My god.”

He blinked, went pale, then immediately turned red.

“I...okay, that’s not, this is not...this wasn’t meant to be in here.”

He stuffed it back into the pocket, eyes wide.

The cameraman wheezed behind the lens. A staffer covered her mouth.

“I swear this is not... I didn’t pack this bag this morning!” Lando stammered. “Okay I did, but not, like, not with this interview in mind so I didn't know I had to show it.”

Lando groaned. “Can we cut that out? Please? It’s for...dry skin.”

“Oh wich part of your skin?”

He buried his face in his hands and trie to change the subject.

Still flustered, he grabbed one of his tech pouches and unzipped it, desperate to pivot.

“Oh!” he beamed. “Okay. These are my favorites.”

From the padded pouch meant for a laptop, he pulled out a neat little stack of Polaroids tied with a red ribbon. He untied them quickly, holding the first one up to the camera.

“This... is my girlfriend.”

The way he said it, like he couldn’t believe his luck, was soft, sincere.

He flipped through the pictures with reverence.

“This is her in Spain last summer. Look at this, she was trying to take a serious photo and I made a face behind her.”

He laughed.

“This is us in Monaco. Don’t ask how I convinced her to get in the pool. She hates cold water.”

Another.

“This is her sleeping. And this... this is her at breakfast, in my hoodie.”

His smile melted into something private, like a quiet sunrise behind his eyes.

“And this...”

He held up the next Polaroid to the camera without looking at it first. There was a beat. A pause.

From behind the camera, someone made a choked noise.

Lando glanced up. “What?” Then looked at the picture.

“Oh...oh, no. No, no, no...”

He yanked it back quickly, his ears flushing bright pink.

“Shit, this isn’t...this was not supposed to be in that pile.”

He stuffed it deep into the side of the bag, clutching the remaining Polaroids protectively.

“Oh my god, please can you blur it,” he groaned, covering his face. “That’s from the other pile. Like...the private-private collection.”

The entire crew burst into cackles.

“I swear to god if that makes the cut, I’m a dead man. She’s going to kill me.”

“Was that a nude?” someone asked, not even trying to hide the glee.

“I am not answering that.”

“Was it?” the assistant pressed.

“I plead the fifth,” Lando said dramatically, still red-faced. “Blur it. Blur it, please. I’m begging you. I have a career. I have a relationship.”

He tried to laugh it off, but his smile was flustered, eyes wide and nervous.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, trying to move on.

“Anyway. My phone. My wallet. You know. The boring stuff.”

But even as he listed the rest of his items, he kept glancing at the camera, haunted. Regretfully boyish. Still blushing.

“Alright. That’s what’s in my bag,” he said quickly, snapping the backpack shut. “And apparently... a reason to get murdered by my girlfriend.”

He groaned again. “Can we cut that part? Please? I swear, she’s gonna make me sleep on the balcony.”

The red light turned off.

The staff burst into applause.

“Best interview yet,” one of the directors laughed, clapping. “Gonna break the internet.”

@TUMIofficial

WHAT’S IN MY BAG with Lando Norris: Lake Como Special Catch our exclusive behind-the-scenes interview with what Lando really carries with him👀

@_user1 WAIT. Did he just… show a nude of his gf on camera?? 😭😭😭

@_user2 THE WAY HE PANICKED. omg that was NOT staged. He looked like he wanted to die 💀💀💀

@_user3 No bc I NEED to know what was on that Polaroid. Was it like artsy nude or nude-nude?

@_user4 LMFAO he had the audacity to hint at condoms, then literally WHIPPED OUT A NUDE LIKE IT’S A FAMILY VACAY SNAP 💀💀

@_user5 He carries cinnamon mints for his sweet tooth AND spicy pics of his girl?? man’s layered fr

@_user6 Not Lando Norris accidentally exposing his thirst for his gf on a sponsored ad 😭 someone check on the TUMI PR team

@_user7 Lube AND nudes of his girl?? Lando Norris is not packing for a trip. He’s packing for a weekend of sin.

@_user8 He really said: “this is her being pretty, this is her sleeping… and this is her NAKED” lmao LANDO WHYYYYY

@_user9 This man is not traveling. He’s on a mission.

@_user10 Lando really opened that bag and gave us: emotional support bracelets, cinnamon mints, protection, lube, porn. He's got range.

@_user11 “Some stuff I can’t show you” and then five minutes later accidentally shows us 😭 this man has NO filter and NO chill

@_user12 This isn’t a “what’s in my bag” this was a “what’s in normally in my bedroom drawer but I somehow take it everywhere in my backpak”

@_user13 He said “I like to be prepared” and I believe him now

@_user14 “That’s from the other pile” UM. HELLO????? THERE IS A PILE??

@_user15 Protective AND obsessed with his girl?? I need a man like Lando

@_user16 He really said “what’s in my bag?” and the answer was: horniness

Texts messages

Y/N Just watched the TUMI video 😇

Lando Oh no.

Y/N The one where my nude photo makes a guest appearance in front of 1.2 million people? 🤗

Lando BABE It was an ACCIDENT But don't worry it's blur we can't see a single thing I didn’t mean to pull that photo I meant the cute ones!! The breakfast one!! The one where you’re wearing my hoodie!!

Y/N So you show the one where i’m wearing nothing at all?

Lando I’m sweating I’m actually sweating I’m gonna get sued. by you. By TUMI. By your parents

Y/N My mum did text me She said “interesting campaign... very modern”

Lando NOOOOOOOOOOOO I’m crawling into the lake

Y/N Also “i like to be prepared”? Really? What exactly are you preparing for mid-flight with lube? 🤔

Lando Dry skin!!! I said it's for my dry skin!!!!!

Y/N Right Because when i think of skin hydratation i think of edible lubricant 🙃

Lando I’m scared to check twitter Someone called my bag “frat boy coded" They’re not wrong

Y/N You do carry condoms, lube, candy and a Polaroid of me naked in the same backpack You’re like Dora the Explorer if she was addicted to sex

Lando DORA?!?!?! 😭

Y/N “What’s in my bag?” Everything but self-control

Lando Okay, first of all, RUDE Second of all… the lube smells nice Third of all… You didn’t complain last time

Y/N Oh so now you’re doubling down??

Lando Just trying to make the best of my public humiliation Besides What’s so wrong with carrying a few... essentials? A man’s gotta travel prepared

Y/N You sound like a horny boy scout

Lando “Always be ready” is a valid motto 🙋‍♂️

Y/N Valid until you drop a bottle of lube in front of a camera crew

Lando They laughed so hard i thought someone was gonna need CPR

Y/N You’re lucky i love you And you’re lucky the nude was actually a good one

Lando Thank you 🥺 i almost show the one where you’re biting the sheet but i had... instincts

Y/N INSTINCTS???? You mean your last two brain cells had a moment of clarity

Lando Pls Do you still love me?

Y/N Debatable Might depend on whether or not you bring me almond croissants when you will come back

Lando Deal But only if you let me take a new Polaroid… One just for me to see😉

Y/N … Good luck on media day tomorrow Norris

Lando Oh no god I forgot about that

The paddock was already buzzing by the time Lando arrived, hoodie up over his head like he was trying to go incognito. Not that it helped, cameras turned as soon as he walked through the gates.

Media day.

He kept his head down, offering a few tight-lipped smiles to passing crew and journalists. He could feel the looks. The barely contained smirks. The PR team had already warned him to "expect commentary.” He hadn’t realized commentary meant the entire motorsport world was now intimately familiar with the contents of his bag.

He reached the McLaren hospitality unit and headed straight for the driver lounge.

Oscar was already there.

He looked up from his phone the second Lando walked in, and the smile started immediately.

“Morning,” Oscar said, way too casual. “Sleep well?”

Lando didn’t answer. Just dropped into the chair across from him and stared at the ceiling.

Oscar waited half a beat.

Then: “So… what’s in your bag today?”

Lando groaned, eyes closing. “No.”

“No what?” Oscar asked, blinking innocently.

“I’m not doing this with you.”

Oscar nodded slowly, tapping his phone against the table. “Right. Of course. Strict media day focus. No time for lube talk.”

Lando didn’t move but look at him shocked. “Oscar!”

“Yes?”

“I will actually fight you if you keep talking”

Oscar continued, unfazed. “I’ve learned a lot about you this week.”

“Please stop.”

“Your skincare routine. Your travel essentials.”

“It’s for my girlfriend,” Lando muttered.

Oscar nodded slowly. “Romantic.”

Lando looked at him. “I didn’t mean to show half that stuff.”

Oscar took a long sip of his water bottle, then added, deadpan: “You were really sweating.”

“I was panicking, Oscar.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

There was a pause.

Oscar looked back down at his phone.

“I just didn’t know you were the type to carry… souvenirs.”

Lando threw his head back and groaned. “It’s private. It’s supposed to stay private.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You handed it to a camera crew.”

“I didn’t know it was that one.”

Oscar hummed. “Risky system.”

Lando covered his face. “I’m not coming out for media. Tell them I’ve combusted.”

Oscar leaned back again, shrugging. “Might be safer. Someone from Williams asked if you’re sponsored by Durex now.”

Lando didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to crawl into his chair.

Oscar gave a tiny, satisfied nod.

Then, after a beat: “At least the mints were normal.”

“Thanks,” Lando said miserably. “Really comforting.”

Oscar took another sip from his water bottle, then looked back at Lando, who was still sulking in the chair across from him, hoodie half over his face.

After a moment, Oscar spoke again. Calm. Curious.

“Okay, but... I actually have a question now.”

Lando didn’t move. “Please don’t.”

Oscar ignored him, tone completely deadpan. “What’s in the pile?”

Lando sat up slowly, blinking at him in horror. “What the hell, Oscar?”

Oscar stayed relaxed, perfectly composed. “You said it yourself. There's the normal Polaroids. And then there’s the private-private pile. So… what’s in it?”

“I am not...” Lando pointed at him, absolutely done. “...having this conversation with you.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Just curious. For science.”

Lando stood up instantly. “I’m leaving.”

Oscar shrugged. “Fair.”

Lando stormed toward the door, muttering something about changing teams, changing sports, maybe even changing names.

He was halfway out when,

“Oi!” Oscar called after him. “Don’t forget your backpack, Norris.”

Lando froze mid-step.

Oscar was already grinning.

“You left it,” he added, far too casually. “Y’know… the one with your precious things in it.”

Lando turned around like a man walking back into a crime scene, snatched the bag off the chair with one hand, and glared.

“Stop talking about it,” he muttered.

Oscar just smiled. “I’m not saying anything.”

“You are thinking them.”

Oscar leaned back, unfazed. “I’m not.”

“You’re being insufferable.”

Lando slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out without another word.

As the door shut behind him, Oscar shook his head slightly and let out a quiet laugh, just enough to himself, just loud enough for it to echo in Lando’s memory for years to come.

taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @sashisuslover, @gold66loveblog, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @h-rtsnana, @anonomano, @guacala, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Fawn Instinct.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Implied Dub/Con, Kidnapping, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, and No Actual Incest, But Boy If Those Freaks Aren't Trying. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

If it’d only been Bruce, you might’ve been able to live with it.

You didn’t love him, but you could imagine a world where you tried to. Most of it was circumstance; as upset as you were about the whole kidnapping thing, it wasn’t exactly a Herculean feat to endear yourself to the idea of being a handsome vigilante millionaire’s stay-at-home captive-spouse. You had no room in your heart for the stoic, reclusive, untouchable Bruce Wayne, but you could remember the adoration you’d once held for your masked hometown hero, the pride that’d once given you the force of will to all-but carry a half-conscious man in a torn cowl and a familiar suit into your apartment and lie to the cops when they came knocking. If the conditions had been different, if he’d spent a little more time as something more intimate than a stranger and a little less damning than a captor, then maybe, you could convince yourself to love him. Or, convince yourself to try, at least.

But, the conditions weren’t different, and you’d never quite had the time you would’ve needed to align Bruce Wayne with his more heroic alter ego. It’d been doomed from the start – Icarus jumping from his tower, already knowing his wings were destined to fall apart.

That aside, though, there was the more glaring issue: all his fucking kids.

Calling them kids might’ve been too generous, actually. Only Damian and Duke were younger than eighteen, and as far as you were concerned, they were your saving graces – Duke for meeting the bare minimum requirements for human decency and Damian for adamantly denying you were anything but an unwanted burden on his father. The rest were more-or-less adults, as little as you wanted to acknowledge the nonexistent age-gap between you and your gaggle of stepchildren. They were grown. They should’ve known better.

Tim, for example. He had to be… what? Nineteen? It wasn’t the pinnacle of maturity, sure, but he should’ve known you’d be able to hear your own sheets rustling through the bedroom door, should’ve assumed that you’d know he’d know Bruce would be out on patrol until sunrise. He should’ve known to wait until you were in another wing of the sprawling Wayne estate, somewhere far away from the master bedroom, or better yet, skipped rummaging through your things entirely. You knew better than to dream, though.

The door was still shut, but what was happening behind it and who was responsible were both foregone conclusions.  It was Tim, because of course it was Tim, and he going through your meager possessions, because what else would he wait until Bruce was gone to do? Cringing, you rested your shoulder against the steady wood and knocked gingerly. “…Drake? Are you in there?”

Immediately, the rustling stopped. You went on. “I think Bruce is out, if you need him. Is there something you’re trying to find?”

It was a good out. An easy out. Thankfully, he was smart enough to take the bait. A few seconds later, the door cracked, a disheveled Tim emerging with a dark blush spread over his pale cheeks and his hands shoved conspicuously deep into the pockets of his hoodie. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d come out with his dick still in his hand.

Your cheeks ached as you put on your dozenth unstrained, unworried, everything’s-fine-because-why-wouldn’t-it-be smile of the day and moved aside to let him out. “I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he gets home,” you assured, like you couldn’t see the way his bright eyes were fixed to the carpeting. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. You all are just so heroic – it’s still a little hard to believe I’m a part of this at all.”

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, and you pretended not to hear him, cocking your head to the side. When he corrected himself, his voice was a bit louder, a bit clearer. “Don’t worry, I… I found what I was looking for. You don’t have to bother Bruce.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He’s so proud of you and your siblings, after all – it’s practically all he talks about.” A lie, but a fair one to tell. There was no reason Tim should have to know Bruce spent the majority of your time alone with his teeth buried somewhere in your neck, muttering paranoid fantasies about how many different ways you could be killed, mutilated, or otherwise indisposed by the members of his rouges gallery. “Honestly, sometimes, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been here for years, rather than just a couple of months.”

You only realized your mistake when those bright eyes shot to you, suddenly wide and blown out with desperation. A hand darted towards you, and you stumbled out of the way, but not quickly enough to avoid Tim’s vice-grip on your forearm, to spare yourself the feeling of something cold and wet sinking into your sleeve. “You’re leaving?” The words seemed to slur together, spilling out too quickly to be restrained or refined. “You can’t leave. Bruce won’t be able to handle it, and Steph, she’ll—I mean, security-wise, we won’t be able to make sure you’re—”

Internally, you were keeping up a steady mantra of ‘Thisissogrossthisissogrossthisissogross.’

Externally, by some miracle, your smile never wavered, only growing sweeter as you cut him off with a chirping laugh. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, and then, after a slight lapse, “Would you mind letting go of me? It’s—uh, it’s kind of starting to hurt.”

As if on a switch, he let go of you entirely, pulling away as abruptly as he lashed out. There was a mumbled ‘I’m sorry’, and he made a swift retreat, disappearing around the next corner before you could so much as think about bringing up Bruce, again. You watched him go, only letting your expression fall once you were sure he was out of sight.

Without further caution, you slipped into your bedroom, glazing over the mess of pulled-out drawers, overturned clothes and scattered dirty laundry in favor of falling into bed, rolling onto your chest, and screaming into your pillow as loudly and for as long as your lungs would allow.

~

You tried your best never to be alone. It was a little draining, to be honest – having to keep a running chart in the back of your mind of who you could trust and who you couldn’t, constantly trying to guess whether it’d be safer to be alone with someone or if you were better off taking your chances on your own – but you’d learned your lesson the first time you’d fallen asleep in the Wayne’s at-home movie theater and woken up to Cassandra spread over you like a human weighted blanket, staring unblinkingly at your face and playing half-consciously with your hair. You tried not to leave yourself unguarded, after that.

Alfred was your first choice, Barbra your second, with Bruce as a distant third. Sometimes, you could get away with loitering near Damian (something you hated nearly as much as he did – you could only stand to be addressed as his father’s “jezebel lover” so many times), but Bruce was at one of Damian’s school events, leaving them both conveniently unavailable, and Alfred would be locked inside of his underground shooting range for another hour and a half, an activity you knew better than to interrupt. Meaning, you were on your own.

Meaning, you’d picked a very bad time to need something to drink.

The kitchen was deathly quiet, but you still made an effort to keep your head on a swivel as you made your way carefully to a corner cabinet, like stepping on the wrong tile would trigger a pit trap, or a flurry of arrows, or one of another million terrible things you hadn’t thought were possible before Bruce dedicated himself so entirely to proving you wrong. Mentally, you reviewed your haphazardly assembled schedule as you fumbled with the wood paneling and reached for a mug from the highest shelf. Tim was definitely out, touring local colleges on Bruce’s behest, Steph was supposed to be in class, and Dick—

Your fingertips made contact with cool ceramic half a second before another, larger palm wrapped around yours, a broad chest pressing into your back as your mug was stolen out of your hand. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

And Dick was on bed rest with three broken ribs. Right. Of course.

You really shouldn’t have bothered leaving your room at all. Suddenly, dehydration didn’t sound like such a bad way to go.

“Let me get that, baby bird.” You cringed at the petname, but nodded, letting Dick confiscate your mug and with it, your ability to make a swift exit from a conversation you’d rather not have. “Green tea, right? I know it’s your favorite.”

“On the mark as always, Dick.” There was just enough enthusiasm in your voice to overshadow the despair. You waited until you heard the muted click of an electric kettle before turning around and settling against the counter. “I wish you wouldn’t dote on me, though. I already feel useless enough as it is.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ve been going stir-crazy all week.” He flashed you a quick smile – toothy and beaming – before pulling open the silverware drawer and rummaging through it, like Alfred would keep his teabags with his cutlery. He was topless, wearing the same pair of black sweatpants he must’ve slept in. He didn’t plan to go out, clearly, and it wasn’t like you had much of an alternative. “This is just the basics, too. For a while there, I had your breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack preferences memorized.”

You forced yourself to smile, albeit, not as brightly as him. “…did you, now?”

“Mhm. B had us running in-person surveillance before he finally bit the bullet and brought you home, and—” He cut himself off with a sudden laugh, shaking his head. “And, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part. Oops.”

Mercifully, the kettle whistled before you could start to consider the implications, and you reached behind you, fishing two bags out of a teacup-shaped jar. It was easy enough to edge him out of the way, but not having to worry about pretending he’d ever made himself a cup of tea meant he could devote more of his energy to talking, so you still managed to lose, in the end. “He’s stingier with the surveillance footage, now. I’ve never seen him so jealous.”

“He can definitely be a little overprotective.”

You tried to keep your tone even, polite, but Dick was like his siblings – quick to action and slow to take a hint. A hand curled around the counter next to you, and you dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into the darkening water. “It’s just us in the manor, right?”

Another spoonful, just to be safe. “I think Alfred is—”

“Out for the day. Wayne Enterprise emergency – I let him know as soon as he finished down in the range.” In your peripheral, you watched his other hand come to rest on your opposite side, caging you in. “I wouldn’t mind the company, if you were starting to get lonely.”

Another spoonful. It’d be too sweet to drink, but anything not to have to look at him. “I’m afraid wouldn’t be a lot of fun, Grayson. Honestly, I was just planning on getting a little sle—”

“That’s perfect,” he cut in, too eager to wait his turn. “I’m a great cuddler.”

You curled your hand around your mug, hoping the warmth would be enough to ground you. Instead, it only burnt your palm, and for a second, you could imagine a world where your teeth weren’t buried in the plush of your cheek, where you didn’t have to remind yourself that turning around and splashing boiling-hot water on an all-but superhero’s face wasn’t a good idea. For a second, you genuinely considered it.

And then, a sound not totally dissimilar to thunder filled the kitchen; loud enough to leave your ears ringing and your adrenaline spiked. You flinched into yourself, but it only took a moment for fear to shift to relief as you noticed the bullet lodged into the wood less than an inch from your head. Your expression lit up just as Dick’s fell.

Without waiting for him to let you go, you slipped away – sprinting across the kitchen and throwing yourself into Jason’s – brave, bold, beautiful Jason – chest. He caught you one hand and finished re-holstering his handgun with the other, laughing as you hugged him as tightly as you could manage. Dick huffed, playful offense failing to mask real agitation, and you felt Jason brace against you. “Jerk off and shut the fuck up, Oedipus.”

Dick’s smile turned uneasy. “It’s good to see you too, man.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” he snapped, as short-tempered with his siblings as you wished you could be. He looked down, holding you that much tighter. “How’s my best girl holding up?”

“I’m just fine, Jason. I do think we have to have a talk about how you treat your brother, though.” You glanced over your shoulder to Dick. “A little privacy? You really ought to be staying off your feet, too.”

Reluctantly, Dick slinked out of the kitchen, hesitant to go but eager to nurse his wounds. You only went on once you were sure he was gone.

“It’s been awful. I found another hidden camera in my bedroom, and I think Tim’s tapping my—”

“I’ll do a sweep.”

He let you go, but you caught his arm. “Please, I know it’s important, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. It was irrational – the way you let your guard down so quickly around Jason. The mask never slipped around anyone else, whether you were afraid of them or they were one of your rare, precious exceptions. Jason existed outside of the Wayne family, though, outside of Bruce’s corrupting influence. He wasn’t going to hurt you. More importantly, he wasn’t going to let anyone else hurt you, either.

“But I really don’t want to think about that, right now,” you finished. “Just… just for a little while, alright? I don’t want to constantly feel like I’m walking on eggshells, at least not while you’re here.”

Jason stood strong for all of three seconds. With the fourth, he sighed, buckled, and shook his head, his exasperation brimming with affection. “How long until Bruce gets home?”

“Six more hours. He’s not due to check-in for another three.”

“I’ve got my bike out front. How do you think he’d feel about a joy ride?”

And just like that, you lit up. “It’d give him a heart attack.”

Jason pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Perfect.”

~

Unfortunately, Jason’s visits were few and far between. You had to find ways of fending for yourself, in the downtime.

“I miss the city.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, gaze flickering over you before returning to the buttons of his dress-shirt. You sunk that much deeper into the mess of sheets and pillows, taking some small amount of solace in the way the cool silk felt against your warm skin.

(Sex wasn’t something Bruce came to you for often, but when he did, you gave it to him willingly, albeit with no more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary. You rarely enjoyed it and always regretted everything you did or said during the act, but it was better than the alternative. Part of you trusted him, trusted Batman, enough to believe that he’d take your refusal for what it was, that you wouldn’t have to say anything more than ‘no’. The remaining overwhelming majority was able to look around you, to remember the way he’d held you down as he forced a needle stocked with medical-grade sedatives into your throat, and recognize that your opinion probably didn’t mean very much to him. Still, you couldn’t let things get that bad. Even if you had to surrender every other facet of your being, you couldn’t let things get that bad.)

“You hated the city. You said your landlord was a tyrant and that even the criminals were living paycheck-to-paycheck.” And then, after a second of thought, “And that there were more rats in Gotham than people.”

“Well, he was, they are, and you know I love animals.” You pushed yourself up, keeping a sheet bunched against your chest as you slumped against the headboard. “I was tired and overworked – you could see that. But, things would be different if I was staying with, say, my wealthy trillionaire boyfriend in one of the penthouse apartments that I know he has because his youngest son got in trouble for bragging about them in school last week?”

Bringing up his kids was a dirty tactic – the fastest way to get Bruce’s undivided attention. This time, when his eyes shifted in your direction, they stayed there, and he made his way back to your side of the bed. He collapsed next to you and, with no resistance on your end, pulled you into his lap. He didn’t seem to care whether or not his immaculately tailored, freshly pressed suit was creased in the process, but you did your best not to squirm. “You want to leave the manor?”

The first half of a frown tugged at the corner of your lips. “That’s not what I—”

“Elevated pulse, avoidant eye-contact,” he muttered. “Something’s bothering you.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t wrong, either, but still. You would’ve preferred to be asked.

“…it’s your family,” you admitted, feigning guilt. “They’re all—” Horny, depressed, creepy little orphans. “—great kids, but it’s just been so much so quickly, and I think it… I think it might’ve been too much too quickly. For them and for me.”

“They adore you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dick was close to moving back in when I decided it was too dangerous to leave you to your own devices.”

You melted into his chest, sighing. Reflexively, he curled around you – a good thing, if a bit claustrophobic. Bruce liked feeling like a shield between you and harm, between you and the world he couldn’t control. Hopefully, eventually, he’d realize he had more to shield you from than greedy landlords and villains who always seemed to be just out of sight. “It’s not that easy. It’s just been such a rocky adjustment period, and…” You curled your hand around his wrist and squeezed, hoping the force would be enough to communicate what you couldn’t put a word to. “I’m really afraid something bad might happen, Bruce.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. There was a kiss to your shoulder, solemn and lingering, then another to your cheek, more fleeting. “I’ll talk to them. They’ll give you space, if they’re told to.”

If he told them to. You doubted you held much authority, here. “And the apartment in the city? On the highest floor, tall enough to see from Gotham to New York?”

Bruce smiled, and your heart soared.

Then, he started talking, and it crashed back down, dying upon impact. “Once I know it’s safe for you, sweetheart.”

There was another kiss, this one to the nape of your neck, then another, lower down on your spine. A calloused hand slipped underneath the sheet still hugged against your chest, and you allowed it to.

Honestly, it would’ve been kinder if he’d cut you into pieces and fed you to the wolves himself.

~

You made a run for it as soon as the arguing started.

Arguing, not yelling – the distinction was minor, but significant. Yelling would’ve meant an injury, or a mission gone wrong, or something else that signaled a sudden complication that couldn’t be smoothed over with sugar-sweet sentimentality or orders issues with an ice-cold strictness. Yelling would’ve meant Bruce didn’t mind letting you overhear, which usually meant you didn’t need to be involved. Arguing, all hushed whispers and hissed explanations and vague warnings, was different. Arguing meant, more often than not, that they were arguing about you.

It was Tim’s fault, as far as you could tell. Barbara had been the one to find the conspicuously encrypted file on one of Dick’s civilian devices, the one to mention it to Stephanie as a point of concern who went to Tim within the hour, but it was still his fault. He’d gotten Bruce involved, let his need for approval tip the tenuously balanced scales that kept his family whole and you safe. He’d talked them all into waiting until Dick was close enough to confront in-person, stopping by for his weekly equipment pick-up and check-in. He was the reason you’d gotten close enough to hear something about ‘pictures’ and ‘inappropriate use of reconnaissance material’ before fleeing to the mansion’s foyer – the only part of the house you could be sure wasn’t occupied. If you were lucky, you’d only be there for half an hour or so, enough time for them to compromise on some non-solution and return to your carefully maintained status quo. If you weren’t, you’d spend the early hours of the morning—

Something small but forceful hit the nearest window, shortly followed by another projectile, then another. The glass was too thick and the world outside too dark to make anything out, but you didn’t need to see anything to know who’d come to your rescue.

Jason.

You rushed to the door, then hesitated. Jason would only get a slap on the wrist for luring you out of the estate, and Bruce could never bring himself to be that strict with you, but now might’ve been a bad time. Tensions were already running high. Your little disappearing act wouldn’t—

A sudden rush of footsteps clattering through the ceiling from the floor above you, hushed voices raised just to the point of audibility. None of it was entirely coherent, but Dick’s came the closest. You managed to make out a half-choked “If you’d just let me—” before someone cut him off.

With your better judgement reduced to buzzing static, you pried open the closer of a pair of huge, mahogany doors and slipped out of the estate entirely.

Of course, Jason was waiting outside, a small stock of pebbles still in his left hand and, of course, you threw yourself at him, letting him catch and spin you twice before setting you back onto your feet with an airy laugh. A pitch-black sports car was waiting at the end of the driveway, the engine purring loudly enough to drown the rest of the world out. “Rough night?”

“You have no fucking idea,” you muttered, breathless. “I don’t care where we go, just get me out of here.”

There was a reason Jason was your favorite. There was no argument, no prying, just his arm around your waist as he herded you into the passenger seat. Fifteen minutes and a little over fifty miles later, the mansion was little more than a dull glow on the horizon, and you could pretend you’d stopped thinking about Bruce entirely.

There was no effort to make conversation, as bad as you felt about pulling Jason into your prolonged tryst with self-pity. Instead, you sunk into the leather of his seat and fixed your gaze on the passing landscape, clinging to any detail you were able to latch onto as it flew by. It was possible, between the subways and boarded-over windows and perpetually overcast skies, to go days without seeing the sun in Gotham. Still, your life had felt brighter there than it ever did in Bruce’s estate.

Jason turned down a road you didn’t recognize, and you managed to find your voice. “Are we going into the city?”

“Even better.” He flashed you a smile, the engine purring as he accelerated. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just sit tight.”

As if you had much of a choice.

Road gave way to forest, forest to empty plains, and empty plains to the dilapidated remains of what you could only label as a long-abandoned amusement park – like Disney World if there’d been some terrible, possibly nuclear accident followed by twenty or so years of absolute neglect. Jason’s car glided past the rusted remains of an iron gate, past the corpses of rides buckled under their own weight, and came to a stop in front of a paint-stripped merry-go-round almost entirely sheeted be vines and weeds and overgrowth. You let out a low whistle as he threw the gear shift into park and, for the first time in any vehicle you’d ever shared with him, pulled his keys out of the ignition. He’d always left the engine running while visiting the mansion, but then again, you’d always been pretty eager to make a hasty escape, too.

“I love it, Jason. I’ve always wanted to get tetanus from a broken down carnival.”

“A fair, actually,” he corrected, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket. Like he expected you to try and steal them while his back was turned, or something. “My parents used to take me here, before I met B. There weren’t a lot of Ferris wheels after that.”

There was a short lapse, the sound of lips moving against teeth. You made the mistake of humming, of glancing over to him, of leaving yourself open for another question, and Jason, as nice as he was, was more than happy to take advantage of you. “So, when did you and B start…”

He trailed off, drumming his fingers against the wheel. You filled in the rest with a breathy chuckle. “When did I start sleeping with your dad?”

He jabbed an elbow into your side. “First of all, you can admit you’re fucking him or call him my dad, but you’ve gotta pick one.” You opened your mouth, already ready to spit out some dumb joke about what Bruce would’ve preferred to be called, but Jason cut in, sniping your stupid joke out of the air. “Secondly, answer the question. I get enough of your diversions back at home.”

“Being a buzzkill must run in family,” you sighed, but gave in quickly enough. “It happened once before the whole kidnapping thing, when he was staying at my apartment and sleeping off a broken leg. I hadn’t even seen him without his mask on at that point, but I figured it was a sign – destiny, or something.” You did your best to smile, slumping against the door. “It was dumb. He gave me a couple weeks after bringing me to the estate, mostly because of the crying and stuff, but things started up again pretty quickly.”

“Do you… like it?”

“Do you like asking about your dad’s sex life?” He flinched back, and laughing, you went on. “I guess I don’t care. There’s not a lot else to do.” You swallowed. “Would it matter if I didn’t?”

For someone with so many questions, he didn’t leave a lot of time for yours, the hypocrite. Moving on swiftly, he asked, “And the others, have they…?”

“No.” And then, after a beat, “Not yet.”

He seemed to relax, at that. His back was still straight, his shoulders still squared, but his grip on the wheel loosened, his jaw unclenching ever so slightly. You tried the handle – locked. Obviously. As if you’d ever get that lucky.

His voice was soft, sweet. The kind of tone you’d use on a child, or an animal, or a doll. “This would probably be easier in the backseat, right?”

“Let me out.”

“So you can go where,baby? It’s just us out here.” He laughed, resting a hand on your thigh. You slammed your shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. “Hey, hey, this doesn’t need to get rough. I’m not going to be like Dick. The others – they’ll do it wrong, treat you like a cut of meat they have to get to before anybody else. I just need to make sure you get out of this in one piece.”

Nails embedded in leather, body crammed as far from him as you could force it be. You weren’t hyperventilating, but only because you’d stopped breathing entirely. “Let me out, Jason.”

“I love the way you say my name. It’s pretty, and delicate – just like you.” He sighed, shook his head. “I know you don’t get it, but I’m just trying to take care of you, like you’ve been taking care of me for the past few—”

“Stop acting like I’m your mom.” A sob fractured the final syllable, another bubbling up from deep in your chest a moment later. Your body was beyond the point of rationality, but the soft, preservational part of your mind wasn’t so beyond the point of seeking refuge. There was a way out of this, as ghoulish as it seemed. You couldn’t stop it from happening, but you could make it better. You’d regret it in an hour, when it came time to explain yourself to Bruce, but what happened in an hour didn’t matter, not if you couldn’t survive the next few minutes.

You might’ve done it, too – or, you might’ve tried, at least. You wanted to. You planned to. And yet, when you opened your mouth, there was only one thing you could seem to say. “I don’t want to do this, Jason.”

His nails bit into your thigh, his smile easing at the corners. For a second, you almost thought he’d pull away. For a second, you almost thought he’d sigh, straighten back up, and admit this was all part of some cruel, unfunny joke that the two of you would remember fondly, later on.

Then, he laughed and leaned forward, lips brushing against the top of your head. You felt him speak before you heard his voice, but the cloying reverberation alone was enough to tell you that you would’ve been better off never saying anything at all.

“Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

[dazzlingjaeyun]

ʙʀᴜɪꜱᴇꜱ – ꜱɪᴍ ᴊᴀᴇʏᴜɴ

engineering major!jake x nursing student fem!reader

୨୧ genre: strangers to implied lovers, mostly angst & smut, MDNI | words: 17.3k | cw: jake is very in love but also lowkey emotionally unavailable, mentions of blood and injuries, self-indulgent shade on iced americano, HANDS (also self-indulgent),  jake has one wet dream, munch jake,  fingering – also semi-public (in his car),  mentions of orgasm denial, marking and biting, dry humping, nipple play,  unprotected sex, creampie, praise, aftercare!! ୨୧ 

read this as a standalone or as a prologue to bandaids! if you've already read bandaids, you can still read this one after. it'll make sense both ways ><

hanna says: huge thank you to @brklynbabyjay and @jayparked for brainstorming a lot with me & helping me with the plot. thank you su for betaing me for this monstrosity and thank you snail for giving me the idea for the title. i appreciate you so so much. also congrats to @tmrwsuns for not losing your mind (and ears) when i yapped about this too much. thank you for hyping me up instead! ily all and this wouldn't have been possible without you <3

mature content under cut, minors do not interact!

“J-Jake,” you mumble out, your fingers tightening the grip on his hair, pulling a little harder – just enough to create the perfect sense of pain. Jake opens his eyes and looks up to you, the sight alone enough to make him bring a finger up to your leaking hole while his tongue keeps focusing on your clit. Your eyes are shut almost a little too tightly, eyebrows firmly drawn together, and bottom lip pulled between your teeth, although that’s barely enough to muffle the pretty moans and whimpers that Jake so badly needs to hear.

It’s almost pathetic how his heart skips a beat at just how easily his finger slides in, how with each pump of it, he can practically see the air getting knocked out of your lungs. When he closes his lips around your clit to gently suck it between his teeth and your head falls back, perfectly displaying the dark red spots he left there so carelessly just minutes ago, he can’t help but let his free hand slip under the soft fabric of his sweatpants, palming his pulsating length through his boxers.

A low groan escapes his lips, sending a wave of vibration through your core that has you bucking up your hips. The movement forces Jake’s eyes shut, his hand almost instinctively leaving his own body and instead reaching for your hip to pull you even closer to his face. 

The second he opens his eyes, the bright rays of sunlight that peak through his curtains force him to squeeze them shut again – only to be met with the same image: you squirming underneath him, legs shaking around his head that you desperately try to pull closer.

Suddenly, his usually loose shirt feels too tight, his light blanket too heavy, and he’s hyper aware of the way his dark bangs stick uncomfortably to his sweaty forehead. He forces his tired lids to lift again and slowly sits up, leaning his back against the headboard of his bed and running his hand through his hair first and then over his face. 

With a sigh, Jake tugs at his shirt, loosening it from his body in an attempt to cool down. His eyes scan the room – books carelessly scattered across his desk, clothes piling up on the chair and the  gym bag with his favorite pair of boxing gloves dangling from it – searching for something, anything, that could distract him from his painfully throbbing hard-on.

Yet, as if he isn’t trying so hard to think of anything other than you, his gaze lands on a few loose papers piling up on the edge of his desk: The notes he took during last week’s statistics class, looming over him like a cruel reminder of the deal that got him into this very situation in the first place.

Back then, when you mutually agreed to help each other, when he promised to send you his notes in return for you taking care of his bruises whenever practice got too rough. The image of your big, innocent eyes as you inspected his bleeding knuckles and the little gash right under his eye only twists the knife of guilt further in his chest.

Jake’s mind flashes back to that one statistics lecture – the only one he was late to. How every seat in the back was taken and he had to awkwardly walk down the stairs to the very front of the lecture hall, feeling all eyes on him as if he walked the walk of shame. How he sat next to you, simply because it was the very first seat he could spot, and he accepted anything to spare him further embarrassment or a comment from the lecturer who had already been eyeing him with raised eyebrows and ‘annoyed’ written all over his face.

He only exchanged a quick, rather forced, smile with you, before rummaging around his backpack until he found a few loose papers and a single pen. Back then, he wasn’t sure if you tried to be subtle as you glanced at his desk from the corner of your eye, observing his rather poor set up, but he noticed nonetheless. Glancing back, he saw you equipped with various pens and highlighters in different colors, yet the notepad in front of you was empty save for the date you’d neatly noted down in the right corner.

You quickly averted your gaze again, glancing back and forth between your empty paper and the lecturer. The crease between your eyebrows got deeper with each phrase he uttered, and your hand stayed rooted in place. Knowing you were supposed to take notes, that there was no way to pass that class otherwise, the professor’s words began to blur together until they were nothing but a fog that clouded your understanding until all hope of making sense of the content disappeared.

Jake on the other hand quickly scribbled down words and formulas, his pen moving over the paper with ease while his focus remained almost entirely on the lecturer and the slides that he projected onto the wall. You eyed his paper again, trying to somehow make sense of the words and numbers, trying to find something you could copy by any chance – just so you wouldn’t leave the lecture hall with an empty notepad again like you’d done the previous two weeks.

But when you tried to catch another glimpse of his notes, his hand quickly rushed over the page while noting down another apparently important point the professor had just made – and your eyes landed on his knuckles.

“They’re not supposed to be that red,” you blurted out your first thought before you could stop yourself. It took Jake a few seconds to fully register your words, but his hand slowly came to a halt as he turned his head your way. He furrowed his brows in a mixture of surprise and confusion, but you barely noticed, your gaze now focused on the gash under his eye. “Neither this,” you added, a little quieter this time.

He didn’t reply, just looked at you with a blank, unreadable expression that forced you to swallow so heavily you were sure it would have been audible hadn’t it been for the lecturer’s endless ramble. You could feel your shoulders tensing as seconds went by without any response from him, and although you pressed your lips together slightly, the silence felt so oddly oppressing that you couldn’t hold back from breaking it again.

"Looks a little puffy too,” you scanned his face for any reaction before averting your eyes as if that could stop him from keeping his on you.

“It’s a bit swollen,” he replied after a while, causing your head to snap back to him, eyes slightly widening in surprise. The boy offered the hint of a smile that was gone so quickly that you barely had enough time to register, let alone reciprocate it.

“Do they hurt?” you asked, letting your eyes wander from the bruise under his eye back to his knuckles, “or feel warm?”

He curled his fingers, clenching his hand into a weak fist before replying with a short nod that you saw from the corners of your eyes, “a little bit of both.”

You hummed. “Might be getting infected.”

When he just wordlessly blinked at you again, you added, “I have some stuff if you wanna clean them up after the lecture.” This time, his reaction was almost immediate, although wordless yet again. He creased his brows another time, scanning your face up and down as if he wasn’t quite sure if he should be confused or suspicious.

“I’m in nursing school,” you clarified. “So yeah, I carry like a mini first-aid kit with me pretty much all the time.” 

Jake’s lips formed a silent ‘oh’ as he nodded understandingly, fingers hovering over his notes almost absentmindedly while he seemed to consider your offer. “I mean,” he began, eyes flashing to the rows behind from where he’d registered a quick ‘sh’, and nodded again. “Alright,” he whispered before offering another quick smile that felt a bit more honest and a lot less awkward than before, and focusing on the lecture again. 

As soon as the professor dismissed the class, you closed your still empty notepad and collected your unused pens before neatly packing them into your bag and instead pulling out a small pouch, while Jake just carelessly shoved his papers into his own backpack, leaving them half crumpled. When you turned to face him, you found his eyes on you already, his expression a mix of uncertainty and expectation.

You wordlessly pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of the pouch and rubbed some of the liquid into your hands. Then, you took out a few antiseptic wipes, carefully tore open the packaging, and extended your arm to signal him to give you his hand.

His skin felt warm against yours, softer than you expected, as his long, slender fingers curled around yours to keep his hand in place, while you gently wiped off the remnants of his wound with your other hand. You watched intently as his veins became a little more present each time the sting of the antiseptic made him tighten his grip around your fingers. Then, you added a little bit of ointment, wrapped a bandage around the wound, and repeated the routine with his other hand.

As you leaned closer to examine the gash on his face and the faintest hint of your perfume tickled Jake’s nose, his breath flattened subconsciously. His eyes landed on your face, now close enough for him to notice the various shades of color in your eyes and the way your lashes curled up perfectly. Jake pulled his lower lip in between his teeth and gently bit down to stop his lips from curving into a smile at your focused expression and your slightly parted lips. Only when you gently tapped over the wound itself did he instinctively pull back just slightly, scrunching his nose in discomfort.

“Sorry.” You pressed your lips together in a tight, apologetic smile that Jake just dismissed with a smile of his own.

“That looks bad,” you mumbled as you carefully applied a thin layer of ointment.

“The other guy looks worse,” Jake stated with a mixture of triumph and amusement, earning himself a look from you that clearly showed you were trying not to snort. “I bet.”

Once you added a small band-aid, although Jake refused at first, you leaned back in your seat to examine his face and hands from a bigger distance. “Much better,” you said with a faint smile. “If they don’t heal, you should get proper medical help though.”

Jake bit back a smile and opted for a nod instead. “Thank you, I owe you.” This time, it was you dismissing his words with a shake of your head and a simple, “you’re good.”

He looked at you for a moment, as if waiting for you to row back on it. But when you didn’t, he slowly stood up from his seat. You mimicked the movement, slung your bag over your shoulder and wordlessly followed him to finally exit the lecture hall.

“Actually,” you said just before he reached the door. He turned back around, his eyebrows slightly raised to show he was listening. “Would you mind sharing your notes with me? I… have nothing,” you asked, avoiding his eyes out of sheer embarrassment. 

“Oh, sure, I got you,” he replied so casually you almost felt stupid for hesitating before. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you, “Just save your number, I’ll send them to you later.” Nodding, you took the phone from his hand, making sure your fingers didn’t brush against his hurt ones in the process, and quickly typed in your number.

Jake quickly glanced at his phone once you gave it back, just long enough to catch your contact name, before he shoved it back into his pocket. “See you around, Y/n,” he said with a soft smile. And with that, he walked out the door.

That’s how you and Jake, who had first introduced himself as Jaeyun when he’d sent you the notes later that night, found yourselves in some sort of agreement: Every time you helped him patch up his bruises, he sent you his lecture notes. 

And yes, after some time, Jake started sharing his notes without asking for anything in return, as did you whenever he needed your help outside of your statistics schedule. But none of your interactions ever went in a way that would allow his mind to go down the alley of imagining you in any form of sexual context.

The loud ring of his alarm pierces through the silence, startling him and pulling him back to the moment – back to his bedroom that still holds way too little oxygen. Shifting uncomfortably, he reaches for his phone to turn off his alarm, only to be directly met with your name on his lockscreen. The short “thank you! :)” you sent about an hour ago, probably when you saw the lecture notes he’d sent you the evening before. Probably while he was still asleep, dreaming about nothing other than having his face buried deep between your thighs.

With a groan, Jake tosses his phone to the side, lets his head hit the headboard again, and brings his hands up to his shoulders in an attempt to knead away the tension in his muscles. Yet, no matter how hard he tries to refuse, the image of you seems to flood his mind all over again each time he does so much as blink – and even the smallest movements of his hips force him to swallow down a whimper from how sensitive his cock feels against the restraints of his boxers.

Sighing, Jake slumps further against the headboard, spreads his legs just a little to sit more comfortably and takes a deep breath before consciously closing his eyes and really allowing himself to let his mind drift back to you one last time. How he grips your hips to pull you so close to his face that your taste and scent completely take over his senses. How your moans come dulled from how hardly you’re pressing your thighs around his head. How you’re shaking underneath him, clenching so deliciously around his tongue every time he lets it sink in between your folds.

His hand itches to reach for his cock, but he presses his fingers into the mattress instead, fisting the sheets to physically hold himself back from doing so. Then, just as his mind replays your image – of how you look under him, hair sweatily sticking to your pretty face and neck covered in purple love bites – he forces his eyes open again. Clenching his teeth, he sits up straight and lets his face fall into his hands.

“Fuck this,” he murmurs to himself, before he swings his legs off the bed and gets up. He pulls his shirt over his head as he walks to the bathroom, dropping it on the floor along with the rest of his sleeping attire and stepping under the shower where he lets cold water run over his body until it washed away every last thought of you.

Once Jake arrives at the gym, determined to ditch classes in order to keep his mind off of you, he immediately starts his usual warm-up routine, but neither running nor stretching nor the music blasting through his headphones is enough to really achieve that. A tap on his shoulder interrupts his wandering thoughts mid-stretch. When he turns around, he’s met with his friend Sunghoon’s face.

“No classes today?” the younger one asks, to which Jake just shrugs. “If you will.”

Sunghoon looks him up and down for a moment, not missing the hint of distress on his face, but he decides to not ask any questions. Instead, he tilts his head towards the ring in the middle of the room. “Wanna go a few rounds then?” Jake responds with a nod, mimicking his friend as he wraps his hands, straps on his gloves and pops in his mouthguard.

Muscle memory helps him to dodge the first few blows and even land a hit or two. But then, avoiding another dangerously close punch, he makes the mistake of shutting his eyes just for a split second mid-flinch. Yet, it’s enough for a flash of you to run through his mind; a tiny fragment of his dream replaying until a jolt of pain rushes through his head and pushes the image away with force. 

Sunghoon’s eyes widen as he steps back, clearly surprised that he, in fact, landed the punch he aimed right at Jake’s jaw so obviously. “What the fuck?”

Jake just quickly shakes his head, blinking the stars away. “Again,” he orders, repositioning himself before continuing. But just when he thinks his focus is at its peak again, his mind cruelly shifts back to how easily your arousal coated his lips and chin. And then, another punch right to his ribs makes him lurch forward, the air getting knocked out of his lungs in a choked grunt. 

“Focus, Jake,” Sunghoon says, voice laced with a mixture of confusion and warning. “How did you not see that one coming?” He aims another punch that Jake avoids with a step just at the last moment. “You’re slow as hell today, what’s up with you?”

Jake straightens his back and tilts his head to both sides to quickly stretch the tense muscles in his neck. “Nothin’,” he mumbles back, taking a short, yet deep breath in before aiming a hit Sunghoon easily, almost lazily, avoids. The latter raises an eyebrow, waits for just a second and then counters. Jake dodges the first punch, but the second hits him right on the opposite side of his jaw, quickly followed by a third against his ribs.

Scoffing, Sunghoon drops his arms and takes a step back. “Nope,” he says after a while of watching Jake recover from the pain. “We’re not doing this when you don’t even try.”

Before Jake can object, Sunghoon takes off his gloves, slipping through the ropes and out of the ring. Jake wipes his jaw with his forearm, hissing at the stinging pain as his sweaty skin meets the open wound. He bites down on the glove, using his teeth to abruptly pull at the strings before sliding it off his hand and doing the same on the other side. Then, he shoves them into his bag, jaw clenched so tightly in frustration it almost aches. Because even now, all that’s on his mind is you.

Just an hour later, Jake finds himself in front of your door. After taking a deep breath, he slowly rings your bell, the rush of his own blood in his ears muffling the sound that echoes through the door. Admittedly, he hesitated for a good thirty minutes before even contacting you, typing in his message and deleting it again. But despite really wanting to see anyone but you right now, he could already imagine your scolding voice if he didn’t show up. Something about how you’d told him time and again that he should come to you whenever he needed his bruises patched up and blah blah.

“Oh God,” your quiet gasp snaps him back to reality. Only now does he realize you already opened the door and, judging from your reaction, took in the image of his battered face. Before he can react, you reach for his arm, pull him inside and close the door behind him. You wordlessly guide him to the bathroom where you motion him to sit down on the edge of the bathtub before you grab a small emergency kit from the drawer under the sink.

Jake watches you as you move – quickly but precisely, washing your hands and separating cotton pads to soak them up with an antiseptic whose scent stings almost uncomfortably in his nose. When you turn back around, he quickly looks down. Only when you place your index finger under his chin to carefully lift his head do his eyes meet yours again – and he feels his jaw tensing just by the way you scan his face with that familiar, worried expression of yours. Because once it makes his chest feel tight with endearment, it’s quickly replaced by a wave of guilt. Your simple, innocent touch is enough to make him shiver, his mind immediately racing with a million way too inappropriate thoughts and the desperate attempt to push them all away. 

Angling his face to the side, you carefully tap the cotton pad over the wound on his jaw first. “Relax,” you murmur so quietly it might as well have been a whisper when you feel him clenching his teeth even harder. You flicker your eyes up to his briefly only to find them squeezed shut – something he’s never done before. The sight makes you bite the inside of your cheek, the thought of him actually being in pain tugging at your heart just a little.

Turning his face to the other side, you take a new wipe to clean up the slightly smaller bruise there. Once you’re done, you apply a thin layer of ointment to both before letting go of his chin. Just as you want to take a step back, he opens his eyes – and although they seem to hold a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, they soften a little at the sight of yours.

“Thank you,” he mumbles after a while, eyes not leaving yours this time. He’s found himself in that position several times before; sitting on the edge of your bathtub with you standing in between his legs. Yet for the first time, his hands itch to reach out to you.

“Does the other guy look worse again?” you try to joke, but the hint of worry in your voice betrays you. Jake’s lips still twitch up into a soft smile as he shakes his head.

You slowly take a step back to create a bigger distance between you and lean against the sink. And although Jake should feel relieved by the newfound space that makes breathing a little easier again, a tiny part of him wants to pull you back right where you stood two seconds ago.

“So, are you finally gonna tell me how you end up like this every other day? Cause if not, I might start thinking you’re doing some kind of shady stuff.” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

Jake chuckles softly. “I actually do it for fun,” he begins, “and for career reasons, I guess. I’ve been boxing ever since I was a teenager and I wanna go pro.” He studies your face for a second before he continues. “That’s why I don’t put too much effort in my engineering degree, you know. I’m just… kinda doing it ‘cause my parents don’t approve of the whole boxing thing. But that’s always been my first choice.”

There’s something about the hint of pride in his voice that warms your heart, despite the worry that also settles somewhere there. “So, you’re getting beat up for your dreams?” you ask, drawing a quiet laugh from Jake.

“Hey, I beat up people too,” he defends.

“Yeah. And I don’t know if I think that’s a solid career plan.”

Jake halts for a moment and searches your eyes again, expecting that disapproving look he usually got when he shared his plans with anyone. But he only finds a hint of worry instead – and he quickly tries to dismiss the way his heart squeezes ever so slightly. “Now you sound like my parents, too.” 

“Well, thanks to them, you go to college and I won’t fail statistics,” you say with a chuckle.

Jake just responds with a soft smile that’s somehow still enough to spread a warm, cozy feeling all across your chest.

“Good, because medicine can’t afford to lose its best future nurse.”

“Break time,” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence so firmly that you flinch, pen gliding over your notes and crossing some of the words out. You look around the library to find around a dozen other students glaring in your direction, and quickly offer them an apologetic smile before your eyes dart back to Jake.

“I’m not done yet,” you reply, forcing your focus back on the textbook in front of you – until Jake takes the pen from your hand, places it between the open pages and closes the book. “But you’ve been studying non-stop for almost three and a half hours now. I can see your brain fuming,” he sighs. Just as you open your mouth to oppose, he shakes his head and gently presses his index finger against your lips.

“You know that suggesting a break when you’ve been the one to doomscroll this whole time is crazy, right?” you  mumble against the digit. He lets it rest on your lips for another second, and you swear you can see his gaze dropping – but before you can think about it, he looks up again.

“Coffee,” he suggests, although it sounds more like an order. Biting your lip, you debate whether to agree or to bury your head in your books again.

“Coffee it is,” you finally say with a sigh before collecting your stuff and shoving them back into your bag.

The walk to the small campus café is silent, but while it feels like a much needed break for you, it just seems to give Jake’s mind time and space to wander. Every time your shoulders bump against his or his fingers brush yours while walking, even if just for a fragment of a second, his skin starts buzzing. 

By the time you reach the counter, his throat feels so tight that simply asking for your order takes all the effort he can muster. For a second, you eye him with furrowed brows, not quite sure if his jaw is really as tight as it looks or if it’s just the different light inside the store that casts a weird shadow there. 

“I’ll go with a caramel macchiato.”

“Suits you,” Jake responds without thinking, only realizing what he said when your brows draw together again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitates for a moment. Then, he takes a deep breath that he masks with a shrug. “You’re also sweet.”

You look at him in disbelief, and he almost rows back on his words, until you let out a quiet chuckle. “If that’s you trying to make me pay for your coffee, it’s not working. And by the way, americano is ass. Literally doesn’t even taste like coffee, it’s just colored water and–” 

But Jake doesn’t even listen anymore, busy struggling to ignore the pang in his chest just because you remember his usual order. He bites back his comment about how ‘coffee isn’t coffee either if it contains more syrup than anything else’, instead placing the order and paying before you even get the chance to take out your wallet.

Once you settle on a small table, the silence between you feels relieving – as if your brain finally got the chance to shut off after hours of trying to fit half a semester of pharmacology into your head. Jake, on the other hand, doesn’t feel half as relaxed, seemingly not able to peel his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tries.

You look around the café for a while, watching people come in and leave, until your eyes settle on Jake again. His gaze is intense, filled with something you can’t really read, but it sure is enough to make your heart skip a beat. Enough to suddenly make you feel smaller, tension creeping into your body again.

“What?” you ask so quietly you’re not sure if he even hears over the background noise of the store. Jake only shakes his head in response and drops his gaze to his hands. Your eyes follow his and you allow yourself to watch him play with his rings for a while – turning them, sliding them off and back onto his fingers, knuckles slightly red and veins oh so prominent. Your mind wanders, replaying fragments of every time you cleaned the blood or dirt off his knuckles, or how you taped band-aids around his fingers. Of how his hands felt in yours, fragile but somewhat good, somewhat safe. 

“You’ve got something on your mouth,” Jake’s voice makes your head snap back up. As you try to wrap your head around how long you’ve been zoned-out, Jake reaches forward, wipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth and holds it in front of your lips. You part them just enough to close them around the tip of his finger and lick off the whipped cream, cheeks heating up so quickly you’re sure it’s evident. But Jake doesn’t notice, and if he does, he doesn’t point it out.

Instead, he leans back casually and grabs his drink again. “Do you wanna go back to the library?”

To his surprise, you shake your head. “My brain’s mushy, I feel like I won’t even remember what I studied today.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re always stressing too much. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Once you sit down in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, you immediately slump against the leather, lean your head against the window and let the glass cool down your pounding temple. Jake gets in the driver's seat, but instead of starting the engine, he looks at you with his head tilted to the side. “Tired? Or frustrated?” 

With a sigh, you lift your head and turn around to face him. “I usually feel better after a break, but now I really don’t.”

“Maybe you need a… different kind of break,” he hesitates, eyes dropping to your lips for the blink of an eye, so short you barely register it. “Release some stress, you know.”

“Oh, are you volunteering?” You laugh, but Jake doesn’t reply, doesn’t laugh – doesn’t even tear his eyes away from yours. He just shrugs.

In no time, your smile fades, your eyes widen and your breath gets caught in your throat so quickly that it’s hard to speak. “I–... I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not,” he says, face as calm as ever, when in reality his heart seems to be racing a marathon and his palms begin to feel sweaty.

“Did you get hit in the head last practice?” You try to joke, but the small tremble in your voice betrays you.

He absentmindedly pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes drop from your eyes to your lips and back up again, holding your gaze as though he could see right through the chaos that is your thoughts. Feeling your heartbeat picking up and your breath coming shorter, you try to swallow down the lump that begins to form in your throat. Jake seems to lean just a hint closer, wetting his lips with his tongue – but just as you want to lean forward too, he suddenly pulls away and sits back in his seat, head falling against the headrest with a sigh. He resists the urge of running his hand through his hair in frustration, before turning his head to the side to look at you again.

“Sorry. I probably did get hit in the head,” he mumbles.

You look at him for a moment, trying to gather your courage to say something, but the words don’t come until he reaches for the key to start the car.

“That’s so unfortunate,” you say, making him stop, “I liked the idea.”

The words make Jake’s eyes dart back to you, and for a while, he just looks at you with an unreadable expression, scanning your face as if trying to find out whether you’re joking. But your gaze is steady and your lips don’t twitch in an attempt to bite back a smile or a laugh. You just lean in a little, then stop to give him time to react. Jake’s eyes never leave yours as he mirrors the gesture.

He leans closer until you can feel the ghost of his breath fanning over your skin, letting goosebumps erupt from just that – and then, as if you’re pulled towards each other by force, you close the distance until his lips are on yours. 

He kisses you softly at first, hesitantly, as though he’s trying to savor how soft your lips feel or how effortlessly they move in sync with his. Heart beating so fast you can feel it in your throat, you reach out to get ahold of his collar and pull him closer. You feel his hands cupping your cheeks, fingertips pressing against your skin like you’d slip away otherwise. But instead, you curl your fingers around the fabric harder and tug on it with just enough force for your teeth to clash.

“Come here,” Jake murmurs against your lips, dropping his hands to your hips and carefully pulling you over the middle console and onto his lap. He kisses you again, this time with more urgency. Your hands find their way around his neck, fingers weaving through his hair and tugging on the ends when he gently bites your lip.

The space between you feels too small and not big enough at the same time, and you’re not sure whether you want to pull away or scoot closer. But before you can make up your mind, Jake tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you in until your torsos touch and you can feel his chest rising and falling against yours as he gently pulls away from the kiss.

“Feel better already?” He asks, voice slightly hoarse and lips softly brushing yours. Jake squeezes your hips as your hands slide from the back of his head down to his shoulders, solely to hold himself back from shuddering at the simple touch. 

“Don’t know,” you reply, smiling against his lips. “Might need a little more to convince me.”

You feel him reciprocating your smile before he kisses you another time. His hands tentatively slide under the hem of your shirt and to your lower back, just resting on your skin, while yours brush over his collarbones and to his chest, where you feel  his heartbeat quickening under your fingertips. 

Jake tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, and almost immediately, your hands rush up to his neck again, tugging on his hair just enough to draw a low groan from him. His hands move up and down your waist as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. You slowly pull back, just enough to whisper his name against his lips like it’s the only thing you know how to say. His fingers dig into your skin ever so gently as he leans down to leave soft kisses against your jaw, making your breath stutter and your lips part. 

His touch feels somewhat urgent, yet not rushed – and though your heart aches at how gently he takes his time, how he pulls away barely enough to look at you just to make sure you’re okay, you can’t help the heat that spreads up your spine and down to your core. “Jake,” you whisper again, shuddering as he hums against your neck before he pulls back and scans your face for any signs of discomfort. “Want me to stop?” 

The way you shake your head almost frantically draws a chuckle from Jake. Leaning forward again, he continues to kiss your neck down to your collarbones, one hand still pressing into the flesh of your hips while the other begins to fidget with the waistband of your pants.

Your breath hitches as he slowly slides his hand past it, thumb carefully grazing over your clothed clit. “Let me take care of you,” Jake says so quietly it almost comes out as a whisper. He pulls his hand away, waiting for your response while slowly but steadily sliding the rings off his fingers.

Nodding slowly, you take a deep breath as he pulls your underwear to the side and slides a finger through your folds, collecting your slick and tracing it up to your clit again. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting the scent of his cologne tickle your nose as your breath gets shakier each second his finger carefully rubs over your sensitive bud.

You want to tell him you want more, but not trusting your voice you just buck your hips forward slightly. Jake, who understands wordlessly, bites back a smile as you can’t seem to help the quiet whimper at the feeling of his digit prodding at your entrance. “That what you want?” He asks, voice so confident it only intensifies the feeling of being completely put into his hands. You just manage a quiet hum that gets stuck in your throat as he slowly pushes the finger in, immediately curling it so perfectly that you could almost forget it’s the first time he’s ever touched you like that.

Continuing his antics, he carefully adds a second finger, angling them just right to hit the sweet spot that draws a quiet moan from you. The sound is enough to cause a shiver to run down Jake’s spine –  and suddenly, all he wants is to hear it again.

He gently presses his thumb against your clit, not able to hold back the quiet groan as he feels you clenching around his fingers. As your grip on his shoulders tightens and your breath comes even more ragged, he places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. “Everything still okay?”

The softness in his voice makes your heart flutter a little as you try your best to stay composed enough to nod. “Just… please don’t stop,” you murmur, voice almost breaking at the end. Your breath feels hot against Jake’s neck, yet it makes him shiver. Every curve of his fingers seemingly guided solely by your sounds and the way you arch into him, Jake closes his eyes to focus only on the way your breath grows heavier as each stroke brings you closer to release.

“Let go for me, hm?” Jake asks so gently it fully contrasts the pace of his fingers, making your heart squeeze just as your orgasm hits you with a force that has you digging your fingers into his shoulders. Jake continues, helping you ride out your high, until pleasure gives way to pain and you manage a choked out ‘too much’. He pulls away quickly but carefully, slightly shaking his shoulder to get you to lift your head.

“Hey,” his eyes search yours as he gently rubs your back underneath your shirt, “you alright?” Taking a deep, shaky breath, you nod and back it up with a soft smile. Jake’s eyes drop to your lips once more, but he doesn’t lean in. Instead, he pulls your head to his shoulder again and just holds you there until your breath evens out.

When you open your eyes again and your gaze falls directly onto his strained pants, you slowly trace one hand from his shoulder down his torso. Jake’s eyes flutter shut as his cock twitches in anticipation – but just as your fingers ghost over his clothed length, he grabs your wrist to stop you. When you lift your head and give him a questioning look, he just offers a smile in return, lifts your hand to his lips, and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“You don’t owe me anything, you know. I just wanted you to feel good.” You open your mouth, but he shakes his head, reassuring, “I’m okay, really. Let’s take you home, yeah?”

Even days later, you don’t talk about what happened, or how steadily he held your hand when he insisted on walking you up to your apartment. Neither about how he randomly starts coming over just to bring you snacks from the convenience store close to his gym whenever he heads home from practice. Not even after you notice that whatever he brings is always something you mentioned craving just a little while ago. 

And technically, things stay the same, except that they don’t, really. Jake still sits next to you in statistics lectures. He still takes the notes while you’re trying to figure out what’s going on, still sends them to you unasked. But now, he doesn’t pull away when his knee brushes yours under the table, and you swear he softly bumps his hand against yours on purpose while writing.

You still take care of his wounds after practice. It’s just that now, you text him every night to make sure he really is okay – even if he leaves your place just an hour earlier. And on some days, he doesn’t go home at all. You start keeping his favorite cereal in your kitchen cupboard, and suddenly, the mug he uses for his morning coffee becomes only his, and you stop using it.

He still looks after you, paying attention to your study habits and making sure you’re taking breaks. But now, taking breaks means having his head buried between your thighs. And now, revising means trying to remember what you studied just an hour ago while his fingers work you closer and closer to release, only granting it when you get the answers right.

“Metoprolol,” he reads what feels like the twentieth flashcard, thumb drawing soft circles over your clit. You sigh, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling, until it suddenly stops. When you open your eyes, you find Jake already looking at you, waving the flashcard like a reminder. “Metoprolol,” he repeats.

“That’s a beta-blocker,” you grumble, wiggling your hips to get Jake to continue, but he just drops the flashcard to your mattress and grips your hips firmly enough to stop you.

“And what’s a beta-blocker?” He asks, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his grin as you roll your eyes.

“You know what a fuckass beta-blocker is, Jake.”

He raises an eyebrow, slowly pulling his hand away from your core. “Come again?”

For a while, you just look at him, jaw clenched and hoping he’ll eventually give up on your pharmacology revision. But he just looks at you with an almost bored expression, not making any attempt to continue. 

“They lower heart rate and blood pressure,” you sigh, now giving him an almost pleading look. He hums, letting his thumb ghost over your skin without really touching you. “They’re usually used for hypertension or after heart attacks to–” you cut off as he finally slips a finger into your aching hole.

The first ring of your doorbell barely catches your attention, muffled like a quiet disturbance somewhere further away. But when it rings again and a third time only shortly after, you push your chair back with a sigh and stand up. Your knees almost buckle and your spine cracks uncomfortably, shoulders hurting as you roll them back in an attempt to release the tension that’s been building up from sitting for countless hours.

The fourth ‘ding’ has you rolling your eyes annoyedly. A shiver runs over your scalp and down your spine as you release your hair from the tight bun you kept them in, only now realizing that the hairstyle probably contributed greatly to the pounding in your head. You ruffle them a bit, trying to adjust them so they fall into your face to cover as much of your reddened, puffy cheeks as possible, while you drag yourself to the door and open it without a glance through the small peephole.

The air from outside immediately hits you, clinging to your bare legs uncomfortably. It takes just a look at Jake’s gym bag to recognize him, but your eyes still slowly wander up his torso and to his face.

“Are you hurt?” you try to ask, but the words only come out half. You clear your throat and ask again, scanning his face for any visible bruises, but finding nothing but a hint of concern etched onto his features.

“No,” he replies, studying your face the same way you do with his and pulling his brows together a little tighter at the sight of your glassy eyes and the circles forming underneath them. “You didn’t reply to my messages all day and that’s… kinda unlike you. So I wanted to check in on you.”

“I was studying,” you mumble.

Jake sighs almost inaudibly, just loud enough for you to register the faint sound of it. “I can see that. You look like hell.”

You meet his gaze for a second before you avert your eyes. “Thanks, Jake. Flattering.”

He ignores your remark, still scanning your face. “Were you crying?” he asks, but you don‘t reply.

Without another word or an invitation, Jake takes a step towards you, closing the door behind him with a soft click and dropping his bag to the floor. “Come on, you should really take a break,” he says softly, and although the familiar hint of concern in his voice usually causes a gentle warmth to spread across your chest, this time it feels close to infuriating. You can feel how your shoulders tense again at his suggestion and you immediately shake your head in response. 

“You’ve probably been sitting at your desk for hours. It‘s okay to slow down a bit,” Jake says so soothingly it nearly comes off as belittling. He keeps searching your face for any type of reaction, his gaze suddenly so heavy on you that you almost begin to feel small. “You‘re not going to get anything done if you‘re this exhausted,” he tries again.

“I don‘t have time for a break. Not everyone can afford to fall behind and fail their classes, Jake!” You snap, the words spilling out in a tone much harsher than intended and before your brain even finishes your thoughts. It takes only a flicker of your eyes up to his face to see his reaction – his jaw tightening slightly and a small wrinkle forming on his forehead, not from concern this time, but from irritation.

He stays silent for a moment. “That wasn‘t necessary,” he finally mumbles, the earlier softness in his voice now replaced by something firmer. You open your mouth to apologize, but your throat tightens, closes up, makes it hard to speak or even swallow down your apology.

But just seconds later, Jake lets his shoulders fall with a soft sigh, the tension on his face slowly dissolving. He takes another slow step forward and reaches out to gently place his cold hands on your heated cheeks, cupping your face with a grip ever so lightly, as though he‘s giving you every chance to pull away and step back. “It‘s okay,” he reassures quietly. “I shouldn‘t have pressured you.”

Your throat tightens even more as you look up at him the second before tears begin to blur your vision – and just when you want to turn your head away, Jake tightens his grip. Closing your eyes instead, you grit your teeth as hard as you can when one tear rolls down your cheek and you feel Jake’s thumb gently wiping it away.

When you open your eyes only to find his eyes filled with more warmth and softness than ever before, you sniff once, mumble a low, “I’m sorry,” and pull back with a little more strength.

“Wanna rant about how annoying classes are?” he asks softly, tilting his head to the side, but you slowly shake your head. “Do you want me to leave?” He bites the inside of his cheek, regretting the question before he even finished asking it. But to his surprise, you shake your head again.

“Stay,” you confirm quietly, just loud enough for him to catch. His hand itches to reach out to you again – to pull you in and hold you close until he’s made sure that you’re okay. But instead, he just nods. “Movie?” He suggests so gently that your heart almost skips a beat at his attempt to still keep you away from your desk, just not as pushy as before.

When you settle on the sofa next to Jake, he places his arm on the cushions behind you. You stare at the screen, but you don’t really pay attention to whatever is playing. All you can focus on is Jake; the scent of his body wash, the way just sitting next to him leaves the palm of your hands sweaty despite the air conditioning, and how his arm behind you makes you feel so close to him, although he doesn’t touch you. You glance down right in time to catch Jake spreading his legs a little further – just enough for his knee to softly brush against yours.

Tentatively, you lean closer until your head reaches his shoulder. He lets his arm slide off the cushions and around your shoulder almost instantly, pulling you more in so your head rests fully on his shoulder. You stay like that in silence, Jake absentmindedly letting his fingers slide up and down your arm, until you scoot a little closer. He reaches for your thigh with his free hand, slowly curling it around the inside of it just to place your leg on top of his own.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly as he lets his hand rest on your knee. 

The simple, innocent contact is enough to make your breath hitch, enough to let goosebumps erupt on every inch of skin he touches. Not trusting your voice, you opt for a quick nod of your head that draws a sheepish smile on Jake’s face.

You stay like that for a bit, both pairs of eyes on the screen without really paying attention. Jake traces gentle patterns on your skin, trying his best to not be too obvious about how he follows every small twitch of your thigh or every inch you slowly scoot closer. Skin crackling under his touch, a soft sigh gets caught in your throat as he slings his arm around your waist and pulls you onto his lap.

“Better?” he asks quietly, almost inaudible over the sound coming from the TV. You reply with a hum, before hesitantly draping your arms around his neck. Your fingers gently lace through his hair as you lean forward to rest your head on his shoulder again. His hands settle on the small of your back, just holding you in place for a while.

Although neither of you speaks, the show that’s playing slowly wanders to the very back of your mind, attention zeroing in on the sound of Jake’s steady breaths and the feeling of your body gently pressed against his, somewhat peaceful, yet unsettling at the same time. Not enough.

As if reading your mind, Jake softly tugs at your sweater to wordlessly gain your attention. Shifting slightly, you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him. His eyes find yours immediately, softening just a bit at how they now seem much calmer than before. You allow yourself to get lost in his brown orbs, and, for the very first time, embrace the warmth that spreads through your chest. You're so absorbed in his eyes that you don’t even acknowledge the strand of hair falling onto your face until you feel Jake gently tugging it behind your ear. 

His hand lingers on your cheek as his eyes dip down to your lips. Chest buzzing from your quickening heartbeat, you tentatively lean a little closer. He lets his hand slide to the back of your head and gently pushes you forward until his breath fans over your lips – and before he can ask, you close the last bit of distance between you.

Surprised at first, Jake reacts quickly, eyes closing and lips moving effortlessly in sync with yours. His fingertips gently press against your scalp as he angles his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The blissful shiver his touch sends down your neck draws a whimper from you, so quiet you would have thought it went unnoticed by Jake if it wasn’t for the twitch of his fingers. When you slowly pull back, breaths coming more ragged, his hand moves from the back of your head down to your neck, fingers curling around your throat ever so gently – just enough to pull you back in.

He kisses you almost feverishly now, earlier hesitation gone as he glides his tongue against yours and gently bites on your lower lip. Each of his antics has you pulling on his hair a little harder, sending blissful shivers down his spine at the memory of all the times he felt that same tug on his scalp with his face buried in between your thighs.

Slowly pulling back and allowing both of you to breathe, his hand drops from your neck to your hips, pushing past the hem of your sweater to rest on your bare skin. Then, his lips are on you again, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, your neck, the spot right under your ear and your collarbone. He sucks on your skin, gently bites down wherever he knows it will draw a quiet moan from you, and quickly licks over the bruised skin to soothe it – all while firmly holding you close to him, fingers almost boring into your skin. 

His other hand toys with the fabric of your sweater, softly tugging on it without making any attempt to rid you of it. But the ache between your legs only grows bigger with every second that passes with him marking what seems like every accessible inch of your skin. You let your hands sink to his shoulders, squeezing softly to get his attention, but his lips stay attached to your collarbone, leaving yet another love bite.

Only when you manage to mumble his name, voice breathy and almost breaking at the end of the syllable does he pull back to look at you. “Take it off,” you mutter – and before he can open his mouth to ask if you’re sure, you beat him to it with a quiet “please.” He nods, hands sliding to the hem of your sweater to slowly, almost shakingly push it up. Trying his best to keep his eyes on yours, he can’t help but peek down as he carefully pushes the piece of clothing over your head and drops it somewhere on the sofa.

“So pretty,” he whispers, leaning forward again to softly place his lips on top of yours, hands sliding up hesitantly before cupping your boobs and giving them a gentle squeeze that draws another quiet moan from you. His lips trail down your neck again, touch gentle yet somewhat impatient, until he reaches your chest.

Raising his head to look up at you, he waits until you give a short nod, before attaching his lips to one nipple. The content sigh that leaves your lips at the contact shoots right to his hardening cock. Eager to draw another one from you, he flattens his tongue against the bud, gently sucking on it right after. Once the quiet moan reaches his ears, the corners of his lips curl up into a smirk. He pulls off to come eye-level with you, chuckling softly as he catches the hint of disappointment on your face at the loss of contact.

“Don’t hold back,” he orders, voice not as firm as he initially planned, but the hint of softness makes your heart flutter a little. “I know you can be louder than that. Let me hear you, hm?” He asks, bringing two fingers in front of your lips. You slowly open your mouth just enough for him to push the digits past your lips and onto your tongue. Keeping your eyes on his, you hesitantly start sucking on his fingers, not missing how his jaw tenses although his expression never falters once.

“I said let me hear you,” he repeats, voice dipping lower – just enough to make another shiver run down your spine, but you stay silent. He pulls his fingers out with a tsk. “You’re not usually this shy, what’s up today?”

Instead of waiting for a response, his mouth is on your nipple again, the fingers that pressed down on your tongue just moments ago coming up to flick and twist the other one. Your head lolls back with a shaky breath, nails digging a little deeper into his clothed shoulders.

There’s a part of you that wants to keep holding back, not only out of shyness, for this is the first time Jake has ever seen you shirtless. It’s the way his antics grow messier, almost desperate to finally get the reaction he wants, that just feels too good. While you’re busy wondering if just nipple stimulation has ever caused your underwear to stick to your drenched core this much, one particularly harsh pull rips a surprised moan from you. 

Although you keep your eyes closed, partly to spare you from embarrassment, you can feel Jake smiling against your skin. You subconsciously slide forward, his hardening cock pressing against your heat, and the tiny bit of friction is enough for you to clench around nothing. When you press against him again, Jake curses under his breath, but you don’t quite catch what he says. Both his hands are quick to land on your ass, fingers digging into the plush skin while he guides you, and the way the outline of his clothed hard-on perfectly presses against you draws whimper after whimper from you.

Your eyes roll back each time his tip meets your pulsating clit, the sensation feeling almost overwhelming despite the layers of fabric between you. Not knowing how to deal with the mix of not wanting to stop and really, really wanting more, his name leaves your lips in a moan that has his hips stuttering for a second.

“What do you want?” he asks softly, tilting his head to the side the adorable way he often does when talking or listening to you.

Instead of replying, you only press against him harder. His eyes roll back with a low groan, but he refuses to give in.

“Use your words, pretty.”

“Want you,” you murmur, and although he really wants to hear you say it again, he’s too impatient to make you repeat yourself. Instead, he quickly manhandles you from his lap onto the sofa, your back pressed against the cushions as he hovers over you and starts leaving more kisses from your neck over your chest and stomach down to the waistband of your shorts. He quickly pulls it in between his teeth and down your legs without breaking eye contact. Once your shorts and underwear are carelessly discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands find their way to your thighs, spreading them apart to put your dripping core perfectly on display for him. 

You let your forearm fall over your eyes as you feel the familiar heat creeping up on your cheeks, feeling timid no matter how many times he’s already seen you like this. The feeling of two fingers gently sliding in between your glistening folds makes you arch your back, and although you can’t see him, you can practically hear Jake’s grin as he speaks, “so wet just for me?”

Again, he doesn’t wait for your response and licks one long stripe from your hole up to your clit, where he circles the bundle of nerves with his tongue before tentatively sucking it between his lips. The moan that rips from your throat only motivates him to do it again, making your back arch off the sofa again. When his tongue finds your hole, his nose bumps against your clit, drawing another whimper from you while he laps up everything you give him with a content hum.

Just as he focuses on your clit again, grabbing your thighs and placing your legs over his shoulders to bury his face deeper between them, you manage a quiet “stop” in between moans.

Jake quickly sits back on his knees and brings his hands to your thighs to gently massage them. “Is everything okay?” The soft look he gives you makes your heart skip a beat, your chest feeling warm with endearment.

“I just… I want you,” you admit, watching as his eyes widen.

Suddenly, Jake’s throat feels dry, and his chest rises and falls quicker as he tries his best to find a different meaning to your words than the one he initially comes up with. “What do you mean by that?”

You hesitate for a moment. “I want you to–... I need you to fuck me.”

Jake’s hands come to an immediate halt, as he swallows the lump in his throat to physically hold his jaw from dropping at your words.

“Fuck, you can’t say this like that,” he mutters.

You don’t respond, just look up at him with pleading eyes as you can practically see his brain short-circuiting.

“I don’t have any con–”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him, “please, Jake.” Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you pull him in for a soft kiss that completely contrasts the urge in your core. He immediately melts into the kiss, reciprocating it with the same tenderness, until he pulls back way too soon and pulls his shirt over his head.

Your hands find his skin, marvelling at the toned chest and abs he’s been hiding from you. Jake sighs softly at the contact, muscles contracting under your touch as your fingers curl under the waistband of his sweatpants to pull them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, perfectly hard with beads of precum dribbling down the sides. You reach out, but Jake grabs your wrist to stop you. His other hand pushes your leg more to the side before he carefully guides his tip through your wet folds, over your clit and down to your leaking hole. He hisses at the feeling, clenching his jaw tight to hold back from moaning just from the feeling of your arousal alone. 

“Jakeee,” you whine, bucking up your hips just enough for his tip to slide in. Choking back a groan, he places one hand on your knee to angle your leg so that he can properly line himself up with your entrance. He looks at you as if scanning your face for any kind of uncertainty, but before he can ask if you’re sure, you nod.

Jake slowly pushes in, head thrown back as your warm walls welcome him inch by inch. His fingers dig into the flesh of your leg as he tries to hold onto whatever little sanity he has left in him and give you time to adjust.

“Doing so good for me already,” he mumbles more to himself than to you, but the praise is enough for you to clench around him in a way that draws a hiss from him while his eyes shut close. He wants to tell you how you can’t do that to him just yet, but he doesn’t trust his voice. Just as he tries to focus on not bursting without having even moved, your gentle grip on his biceps makes him open his eyes.

“You can move,” you say softly. And so he does, head dropping to the crook of your neck as he slowly starts moving.

Although the stretch feels amazing, the way his hips roll against yours so perfectly, hitting all the right places in a way you haven’t felt before, something feels off. You try to angle your hips differently, to change the placement of your legs, squirming under him for less than three seconds before he quickly comes to a halt. He lifts his head, eyes searching yours as his hand quickly comes up to cup your cheek.

“Hey… what’s wrong? Do you want to stop?” He asks so gently it almost hides the breathlessness in his voice.

You shake your head, letting out a shaky breath as you feel your body tensing in frustration. “No, I just… I don’t know what’s wrong,” you murmur. Suddenly, you feel a lump forming in your throat again, the stress from earlier mingling with the newfound frustration now.

“Babe,” he coos, the sudden nickname bringing your attention back to him. “We’ve never done this before. It’s okay if something doesn’t work out immediately.” His thumb brushes against your cheek tenderly, and leaning into his touch, you slowly start relaxing.

Jake slides his hands under your back, pulling you with him as he sits up and positions you on his lap without slipping out of you. You hold onto his arms again while you slowly sink down on his lap fully, gasping softly at how deep he reaches now. “Let’s try this,” he suggests, hands sliding down your back to your hips. He gently lifts you up a little before he guides you back down, shivers running over his body at the soft moan you let out.

“Just go with whatever feels good for you,” he says, voice so gentle you completely miss the way he’s losing his mind internally.

“But you–”

“Don’t worry about me, you feel perfect for me,” he reassures before you can voice your doubt.

So you start, going slowly, hesitantly at first, then a bit faster – this time quickly finding a rhythm that feels just right for both of you.

“Fuuuck,” Jake pants as his head falls back against the sofa and his fingertips bore a little harder into the flesh of your hips. Your hands weakly grab onto his shoulders for support as you feel the burn in your thighs intensify.

“Just a little longer, baby. Can you do that for me?” He asks when you slow down, lazily grinding on him rather than riding him. His voice is breathy – laced with a strange mix of exhaustion and lust that is enough to send shivers down your spine.

You nod tiredly, though you can’t fully register what he even asked for. His voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears; the only thing you can truly focus on is the way he fills you up so perfectly and how fresh waves of pleasure shoot through your entire body every time your clit rubs against his pelvis.

Jake lifts his head from the sofa to take a better look at your face, and if it didn’t boost his ego so much that your cheeks were flushed, your eyes almost teary and your lips slightly bruised from all the kissing, he would almost feel pity for you. 

“So pretty like that… Such a good girl for me,” he breathes, but his words don’t quite reach you. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck where every breath of yours covers his skin in goosebumps and every little whimper makes his cock twitch inside you.

You barely register how he tightens his grip on your hips until he holds you down firmly enough to stop your movements. Before you can even lift your head to look at him, he bucks his hips up, his tip kissing your cervix so deliciously that you can’t hold back a surprised moan as your nails dig deeper into the skin of his shoulders.

Jake’s eyes flutter shut at the way your walls clench around him. He rolls his hips into yours another time, leaning his head against the cushions again and relishing how good you feel around him, how your warm slick coats his length and drips down his thighs. 

His hands find their way to your ass, lifting you up just slightly, only to roughly push you down to meet his next thrust.

The world around him suddenly goes quiet – the sound of the TV playing in the background, even the quiet hum of the air conditioning that Jake always hears – none of these reach his ears anymore. The only thing he can focus on are your moans that echo off the walls, each of them only spurring him to make you feel better, to make you moan louder.

You can barely hear the string of curses he mutters under his breath, but his breathy whimpers pierce through the wall of pure pleasure, shooting straight to your core. Your legs feel numb, but the way he whines just a little louder and grabs your ass just a little tighter whenever he reaches so deep you’re sure you could see the bulge in your stomach if you had the strength to lift your head from his shoulder motivates you to keep going.

Jake moves one hand up to the back of your head, fisting some of your hair and pulling your head back so gently it’s almost endearing compared to his thrusts. “Keep your eyes on me, baby,” he mutters, holding back a moan at just the sight of your fucked out expression.

Your entire body is tingling, making it hard to not squeeze your eyes shut. “I said eyes on me,” Jake manages between whimpers, focusing his own gaze fully on your face. He can literally see how each snap of his hips brings you closer to release, and god does he love to see it. How he has you right where he wanted you for so long, how he can draw those pretty moans from you, how he doesn’t even need you under him to have full control over your pleasure.

“Jake,” his name rolls off your lips with a moan that makes his hips stutter, his jaw tensing as he tries to solely focus on not letting go just yet.

His hand slowly lets go of your hair and roams over your body, leaving goosebumps in its trace. He cups your breasts, gently squeezes your waist, places his hand on the small of your back to pull you impossibly closer until he finally settles for your clit. A small sigh escapes your lips when he starts to rub slow circles around the bud. You let your head fall on Jake’s shoulder again, strands of hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks, covering your eyes that you shut tighter with each snap of his hips.

Jake feels his abdomen tighten, his thighs shaking as every thrust knocks the breath out of your lungs all over again. His fingertips dig deeper into your skin, relishing how fast your arousal covers his other hand and how each of your moans bring him closer to the edge.

A murmured “don’t stop,” is all you can muster as you feel the tension in your body reach the unbearable. The sensation makes your head spin – your clit throbbing under his touch, your walls clenching around him tighter and tighter and your skin tingling on every inch your bodies meet.

You can’t even warn him before your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, leaving your body shaking and your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

“Fuck, I–” Jake cuts off, his eyes rolling back as he feels his cock twitching. He places both hands on your back, pulling your chest flush against his, so close that you can feel his heart beating rapidly against yours, as he finally allows himself to let go.

He lazily thrusts his hips up a few more times, not only riding out his own high but yours too, before he stops completely and lets his head fall back against the sofa again. Your heavy exhales hit Jake’s sweaty neck as you try to catch your breath, forcing another shiver down his spine. He lets his fingers brush up and down your back gently, waiting for both of your heartbeats to slow down while he softly murmurs words you’re still too far gone to understand.

Only when you slowly lift your head from his shoulder does he open his eyes to look at you. The corners of his lips curl up, offering a smile that feels so warm you almost don’t notice how your body temperature slowly begins to drop.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice ever so gentle although slightly hoarse, as one of his hands lets go of your back and instead moves up to your face to carefully brush your hair out of your face.

You reply with a short nod, tiredly reciprocating his smile. “I’m tired,” you mumble, which earns a soft chuckle from Jake.

“Shower or bath?” he asks, letting his hand rest on your cheek and softly brushing his thumb up and down your skin. You allow yourself to lean into his touch slightly, yet you pout your lips, “nothing.”

Smiling softly, Jake leans forward to press a light kiss against your forehead. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Jake drops his hands to your hips, slowly lifting you up once you exhale to carefully pull out of you. Only when he gently sets you down on the sofa do your legs stop shaking. “Good job,” he mumbles. Then, he pushes himself up from the sofa, picks up his sweatpants from the floor and quickly slides them on.

You watch him, gaze wandering over his bare back, the marks your nails left on his skin and the way his muscles slightly flex with each small movement, before he turns around with a soft smile and leaves the living room.

Your eyes are barely open when he comes back with a glass of water in one hand and a dampened washing cloth in the other. He hands you the glass with a soft smile, waiting for you to drink and placing it on the coffee table after. Then, he motions you to lay back with a gentle push against your shoulders. Placing his hands on each of your knees, he slowly spreads your legs apart to carefully clean you up.

The warm fabric feels soft and the way Jake wipes it over your sore skin ever so gently makes your heart flutter as the familiar warmth of just being around him spreads through your chest. Just as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of Jake’s soft lips against your forehead makes you open them again. He’s leaning over you, eyes and smile filled with something between warmth and fondness.

“You hungry?” he asks so quietly he might as well have whispered as he reaches out to gently tuck some strands of hair behind your ear.

Your tired eyes light up at the mention of food. “Can we order pizza?”

Jake nods with a chuckle. After finding his phone somewhere on the floor, he hands it to you. “Choose what you like, I’ll be right back, yeah?” Already invested in the options, you barely register Jake leaving the room again, until he returns with a shirt in his hand. You would have mistaken it for one of yours, if not for the bigger size and the unmistakable scents of his detergent and cologne as he carefully pulls it over your head and guides your arms through the sleeves.

“I always keep an extra one in my bag,” he explains before you can open your mouth to ask.

Trying to dismiss the bubbly feeling in your stomach, you nod in response and mouth a quick ‘thank you’. Jake offers another gentle smile, before taking his phone from your hands, choosing his food and placing the order. The two of you just wait in silence, you sitting on Jake’s lap, one of his hands around your waist to hold you close while he rubs soothing circles onto your back with the other.

After you finish your food – well, Jake’s food, simply because you liked it better than your own and he immediately switched the two boxes – he curls one arm around your waist and the other under your knees and picks you up to carry you to the bedroom where he gently lays you down on your bed before crawling in next to you.

As if it was second nature, his arms find their way around your body again, pulling you in and holding you so close it almost feels like he never wants to let you go again. And despite being too tired to really think about it, you can’t help but wish he means it.

“Jake?” His name rolls off your lips before you can stop it.

You feel his chest vibrate underneath your head as he hums in response. You hesitate for a bit, letting his slow breaths lull you in until you feel yourself drifting off and you barely register the confession you mumble right before sleep pulls you under.

“I really like you.”

The next morning, you wake up from a shiver running over your body. Eyes still shut, you scoot closer to Jake, expecting to be embraced by the warmth of his body, but his side feels even colder.  When you slowly open your eyes, you’re met by the bright sunlight that shines through your curtains, and an empty other half of the bed. You hold your breath for a moment, checking for any sounds coming from the bathroom or the kitchen, for quiet footsteps outside your room. But when you hear nothing, the apartment feeling more silent than ever before, you push the air out through your nose. 

Although your body feels heavy, your legs and core a little sore, you slowly sit up and reach for your phone on your nightstand. As soon as you grab it, your screen lights up with Jake’s name, the pile of messages he sent the day before, and one from only 43 minutes ago.

Jake: had to leave early for practice and didn’t wanna wake you up :( hope you slept well tho. you looked cute haha. text me when you’re awake?

Biting your lip to hold back a smile, your eyes skim over the previous messages – his question if you wanted to grab dinner after practice, his repeated attempts to ask if you’re okay, if you’re really just studying for so long, or if he did anything to upset you – before they land on the most recent message again. You quickly type your reply and hit send, before falling back into bed, pulling the blanket over your body and letting Jake’s scent take over your senses until you’re fully embraced by it.

When he responds just a little later than usual that day, you don’t think much of it. He tells you about practice, how he doesn’t have any bad bruises this time, and even sends you a picture for proof. You smile at his messages like you’re used to by now, and your heart does that little jump when he sends a voice note to wish you sweet dreams later that night.

Then, little by little, his replies begin to come later, his calls less frequently. He slowly replaces the occasional forehead kisses for kisses on your cheek, or sometimes, none at all. And although you try to shove it away, sometimes you can’t help but think about it. You begin to wonder whether his touch really feels a little less soft than usual, or if your mind is just playing games with you. If his message was intended to sound a bit colder, or if you’re reading too much into it.

He never brings up your quiet confession, and you don’t either, unsure if he even heard, when in reality the four words are constantly replaying in his mind. When you repeat them without saying them, just because your touch is so much softer than before. Because your eyes search for his more often, and the look in them makes his heart drop. And sometimes, when he keeps his hand around yours a bit longer, you allow yourself to think that he might not let go. You almost ask. But each time, he quickly pulls away, changing the topic as though he’s terrified of what could happen if he gives you enough time to think.

Yet, he’s still around. He still comes over after practice, still eats dinner with you, still checks in on you, and still stays when you’re studying. Just not as frequently, and seemingly not as whole-heartedly.

“This one looks painful,” you mumble, standing between Jake’s legs as you clean up a cut on his lips. He doesn’t reassure you that it’s fine. Instead, he just responds with a hum that sounds more indifferent than anything else. His breath flattens when you finish up by applying some of your favorite chapstick to his lips like you usually do, its familiar scent flooding his senses until all he can think about is how it tastes on your lips. And for a second, he seems like he might lean in. But then he stands up so rapidly that his forehead almost clashes with yours, mumbles a quick thank you, something about having to run errands, and rushes out of the door with nothing more than a short goodbye-kiss to your cheek.

Jake doesn’t send you his usual good night text that night – neither the night after. He stops coming over as much. Because he’s tired, busy, or already has plans. But when you tell him that you miss him, he still responds that he does too. Until he doesn’t respond at all.

You reassure yourself he’ll text tomorrow, but tomorrow turns into the day after tomorrow, and then into the day after that. Your follow-up message remains unanswered, and the next one stays a draft until you eventually erase it.

After that, you only see him once. He walks past you in the college hallways, so quickly that you have just enough time to catch a glimpse of the angry red bruise blooming right over his cheekbone. You almost turn around, almost call his name and reach out to ask if he’s okay, but he’s gone before you can second-guess it. And you don’t see him again until he rings at your door a few days later.

“Can we talk?”

Jake almost shoots the question at you, as if he’d forget it if he didn’t get it out fast enough. You look him up and down for a moment, silently wondering why, suddenly, he wants to talk, when he’s been so painfully obvious at avoiding you for what felt like an eternity.

At first, you don’t reply, stuck between having no words to say and having too many. A part of you wants to slam the door in his face, another one wants to hear him out, and despite the feeling of discomfort in your stomach, one part in the very back of your heart hopes that this somehow means something good. “About?”

“Us.”

You swallow lightly, yet it’s enough for Jake to register. When you step to the side to let him in, he hesitates for the blink of an eye. Then, he comes in, waits until you close the door, and hesitates again when you look at him expectantly, before he takes a deep breath in and finally speaks.

“I don’t know where this is leading, and I don’t know where you want this to lead.” He takes a break, eyes searching yours as if searching for the confession you’re not ready to make a second time.

You subconsciously pick at your nails as the silence seems to stretch the small space between you infinitely. Then, taking a deep, shaky breath, you break it. “If this is about the other night, we can just forget it.”

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks quickly, sternly, voice laced with a tone that tells you there’s no correct answer to the next question. “About liking me?” 

You hold his gaze for a while, trying to make out the emotion his brown orbs hide, but to no avail. So you lower your eyes before slowly nodding your head yes – and with each passing second in silence, the air only seems to thicken with tension.

“We should stop whatever this is,” he says with an unfamiliar coldness, as if he’s trying to prove there’s no room for argument – as if the lack of an answer wasn’t the answer already. And although meeting your expectation, the words still hit you like a punch to the gut, causing your head to snap up to look at him again, only to find nothing of the usual softness on his face.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat, clogging your airways until it feels hard to breathe. Jake’s eyes flicker down to his hands, observing his bruised knuckles, before he brings them back up and locks them with yours. 

“If you want more than this, we should stop,” he repeats matter of factly, eyes never leaving yours. “I can’t be the guy you need, much less deserve. I’m not gonna take you on nice dates or be there for you on call. It took me years getting to where I am now, and I’ll work harder to get where I want to be. I can’t do it halfway, Y/n. And I won’t choose you over boxing.”

“You should have thought about that before you started to act like my boyfriend.”

Jake’s eyes widen slightly at your words. He looks at you for a while, a hint of tension in his jaw, until he visibly gulps and lowers his gaze. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Your interruption makes his eyes snap back to you, the sarcastic undertone in your voice drawing his brows together. “I thought you were sure when you started all this, my bad.”

“Listen, I wasn’t trying to mess with you,” Jake replies, the slight tremble in his voice mirroring the one in his hand as he runs it through his hair, pushing back some strands that fall right over his eyes again the second he lets go. 

“It just didn’t feel that casual to me,” you mumble, unsure if he hears, or if you even meant for him to. 

But his eyes widen again, a wave of something similar to panic washing over his face. “It wasn’t casual,” he defends, almost stumbling over his own words from how fast he spits them out. And for a second, you allow a spring of hope to bloom in your chest, allow yourself to breathe – until his words snatch the air away from you once more.

“I just can’t give you more.”

You look at him, eyes boring into his as if you could find a glimmer of something else behind them. Something that tells you he doesn’t mean it, that he’ll change his mind. But he stays silent, just holding eye contact for a moment before breaking away from it.

“Right,” you say quietly, but Jake still catches the way your voice cracks a little, and he swears his heart does the same when you continue, “you could just give me enough until I slept with you.”

“Huh?” He exclaims almost a little too loudly, taking a step forward to reach out to you, simply because he lacks ideas of what else to do – but you quickly step back, eyes shooting up to his in a way that tells him to keep his distance.

“Y/n, that’s not true.”

“Well, the shoe fits,” you reply, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

He shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists to refrain from reaching out again. “That’s not true,” he repeats.

“If it wasn’t casual, what was it then?”

Your question comes quietly, but surprisingly stable. You hold Jake’s eyes, even when your throat starts burning from how tight it feels and you really want to look away just to hide the tears that you feel pricking at your eyes. But you don’t have to, because Jake is the first to look away, eyes wandering to the side to look right past you and thinning his lips as though keeping them sealed.

“Okay. Got it.”

And with that, you open the front door again and tilt your head toward it to wordlessly signal him to leave.

“Dude,” Sunghoon groans frustratedly as Jake barely dodges another punch the younger throws at him. “You’re slower than a sloth,” he continues, but Jake doesn’t reply – just stumbles back a step to avoid another hit.

“That girl still taking up all your focus?”

Jake’s eyes dart up immediately, eyebrows pulling together and lips parting ever so slightly, yet he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he steps forward, aiming for his friend’s ribs. Blocking the blow with his arm, Sunghoon’s lips curl up to a grin that tells Jake he’s simply trying to get any type of reaction from him.

“The one you were desperately trying to reach a few weeks ago, if you remember,” he clarifies unnecessarily, voice laced with mocking innocence, as if Jake could have forgotten who he means. 

“We’re not talking anymore,” he replies finally, voice tight enough to show he’s not willing to talk about it.

“But you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Sunghoon presses with another question that earns him a quick but sharp punch to the gut instead of an answer. He winces at first, but the initial cough from the air being pushed out of his lungs violently soon turns into an amused chuckle.

“Take that as a yes,” he mumbles before collecting himself and standing up straight despite the dull pain in his stomach. “Then she must have been really clingy. Or a really good fuck.”

Jake clenches his jaw tightly, the line between his brows deepening further. “Stop speaking about her like that.”

“You didn’t deny it,” Sunghoon replies, not even trying to hide the grin on his face as he watches Jake practically imploding.

“Shut up,” he growls, “that’s not how it was.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, replacing his  teasing look with a more serious one. “How was it then?”

Jake’s face slowly relaxes, the tension disappearing little by little until there’s nothing left of it. He opens his mouth, closes it, and repeats the process once more before he slowly lowers his gaze to the floor and takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know. Good. She felt good to be around. Calming, if that makes sense. She seemed comfortable and just herself with me, and…” 

Sunghoon doesn’t reply, just hums to tell the older to keep going.

“I’m probably making that up, but I think sometimes she smiled a bit more when I was around and then my heart did that thing and it made me want to make her smile forever?”

“And how did you mess up?”

The question causes Jake to look up again, cluelessly blinking at his friend.

“You said you’re not talking anymore,” Sunghoon continues, “but it sounds like she really liked you. So: How did you mess up?”

“She does like me!” Jake exclaims so quickly he almost stumbles over his own words. “Or… did. I don’t know. I told her I can’t give her more than that and she got it all wrong, talking about how I could give her just enough until she slept with me and–”

“Woah, hold on,” Sunghoon interrupts with one hand held up, “I know you’re not an asshole, why are you acting like one?”

Jake doesn’t reply at first, just replays his friend’s question over and over in his mind.

“I just… look, she deserves the world, okay? And I’m just so caught up in boxing, and I need to focus if I wanna go pro.”

Again, Sunghoon’s eyebrow shoots up. “She ‘deserves the world’, so you go give her nothing? Doesn’t sound logical to me.”

“But making this professional has been my goal for years and–”

“I know. Did she make you choose?”

Jake hesitates, then slowly shakes his head.

“So you just freaked out.”

“I didn’t freak out.”

“I’ve known you for years now, and as your friend I feel entitled to tell you that 99% of the time you’re the epitome of freaking out,” Sunghoon deadpans. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Jake gives Sunghoon a look that somehow says everything  and nothing at once, and it’s just enough for the younger to understand.

“You’re in love with her.”

Jake hesitates, holding his breath for just a second, before pushing the air out with a sigh. Then, he slowly nods. “I am.”

“Then why’d you drop her, dumbass?” Sunghoon asks, throwing his head back with exaggerated frustration. But Jake just slips through the ropes of the ring and rips off his gloves – completely oblivious to the fact that, just around the corner, with his words echoing in your mind, you’re holding a little tighter onto the shirt you intended to give back to him. 

Diploma in one hand, you wince at the pain in your heels as you slowly push through the crowd of people. You’re almost at the exit, eager to catch some fresh air after what felt like hours of ceremony, when a soft tap on your shoulder makes you turn around. And suddenly the noise around you fades, as though the world stopped for a moment.

You look at Jake, his own diploma in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other, and your breath catches in your throat when he slowly reaches out to hand it to you. Goosebumps erupt on your hand, shooting up your arm and down your spine, when his fingers softly brush yours as you hesitantly take the flowers from his hand.

“Congratulations,” Jake mumbles so quietly you don’t catch it, just reading it off his lips. He wants to tell you that he knew you’d make it, that he’s proud of you, that he hopes you’re proud of yourself, too. That he misses you to a point where it hurts, and that just seeing you again made his heart skip several beats. But the words stay on the tip of his tongue, slowly evaporating into thin air with every second he doesn’t get them out.

“Congrats to you too. Didn’t think you’d graduate, given you don’t have time for Plan B,” you manage, although the words taste bitter, feel forced, and make Jake gulp visibly. But he notices the soft look on your face, the apology in your eyes that contrasts the harsh tone of your voice, and he knows that you’re not really trying to hurt him – just trying to protect yourself from getting hurt first. 

He stays silent for a while, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, and releasing it again before responding. “Well, someone once told me that getting beat up for my dreams isn’t a solid career plan.”

Before you can help it, the corners of your lips twitch just a little, barely enough for Jake to see the faintest hint of a smile. 

“Oh, and you listened to that someone?”

“Only ‘cause that someone is special… and definitely not Plan B,” he says with a shrug that looks way too forced to make it appear casual. 

You absentmindedly tighten your grip around the flowers, wanting to snap back a reply to hide that the walls you’ve been building around yourself aren’t so stable after all – but your mind blanks. 

And Jake swears he would take the snarkiest remark, but your silence and the insecure look on your face makes his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Anyway, you should go celebrate with your family and–”

“They didn’t come,” you interrupt with a shake of your head.

“Huh?” He surprisedly raises his eyebrows.

“My family didn’t make it. Too much work, or no flights, or whatever,” you shrug, slightly shifting from one foot to the other as if that could loosen the tension you feel creeping up your spine.

“Do you wanna join mine?” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “It’s… nothing fancy, just dinner. You should come.”

This time, it’s your eyebrows that shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“You should come.”

For a while, you just look at him. Take in the hint of hope on his face, the way he slightly raises his eyebrows in anticipation, and the way he starts fumbling with the diploma in his hand. And you try hard to ignore how your chest warms at the simple habit of his that somehow makes you realize just how much you missed him. 

“Did you mean it?” The words come out before you think about it, surprising both of you.

Jake furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What? Of course. You shouldn’t be alone today.”

“No, I mean… Did you mean it when you said you were in love with me?”

You watch as his eyes widen and his adam’s apple pops up and down as he gulps. He opens his mouth, but you beat him to it. “I was going to return your shirt, and I guess I overheard your conversation. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, you guys just don’t know how to talk in normal volume.”

Jake looks at you with a face that doesn’t quite give away what he’s thinking – something like a strange mix of shock, relief, and uncertainty. Face paling, he waits and waits for the realization to settle, searches for things to say, but suddenly it feels like he lost all the words he once knew.

“I… Yeah, I meant it,” he begins slowly. “I didn’t realize it before– I mean, honestly, I did. I knew I liked you, but–”

“You freaked out,” you interrupt, trying to imitate Sunghoon’s tone of voice, but you can’t help the hint of sadness coating your words.

Jake reciprocates your half-smile for a second, then he nods with a sigh.

“I did freak out. Listen, I’m sorry for the way I left things, and I know sorry isn’t gonna make it better magically, but…” He trails off and lowers his head. “You mean a lot more to me than I showed you, and I’d like to prove that to you at least today.”

You gulp as if that could help you get rid of the lump that has been forming in your throat the second you turned around and faced him. And despite it getting only harder to breathe when his eyes find yours, you don’t look away this time. Instead, you let his gaze steal the air from your lungs little by little as you keep searching for the slightest hint of insincerity. But even as seconds turn into what feels like an eternity, you find nothing that makes you doubt he means it. So you slowly nod.

“Fine. But only ‘cause I really want dinner,” you give in, and although you try to sound stern, you can’t help but mirror Jake when his lips curl up just a little.

When Jake introduces you to his family, you learn that he’s been talking about you – ‘once or twice’, according to him, and ‘the entire fucking time’, according to his brother. Your eyes shoot to Jake, who just scratches his neck sheepishly, but the honesty in his look makes it hard for you to really shrug it off. 

He stays close to you throughout the entire evening. Wherever you’re walking, his hand hovers over the small of your back just enough to prove he’s there without really touching you – and during dinner he sits next to you, perfectly distanced for your legs to not brush against each other’s but so you can still feel the warmth of his body. And although his family includes you into the conversation just perfectly, he occasionally nudges your shoulder and looks at you with a questioning look to make sure you feel okay.

When you bid goodbye to his parents and brother later that night, you’re so busy thinking about how oddly comfortable you feel, that you don’t notice how Jake struggles to hide the oh so evident adoration in his eyes. The need to keep you close. But he swears that even if you decide you never want to see him again after this night, the soft smile on your face is enough for him, as long as he was the one who painted it there.

He insists on walking you up to your apartment, hand itching to reach for yours, but he quickly shoves it in the pocket of his dress pants. Once you stand in front of your door, you hesitate to look for your key. Instead, you turn around to face him.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you say quietly, offering him a tiny smile that he immediately reciprocates. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” he replies so gently your knees almost buckle just at that.

“Well, I told you I really wanted dinner,” you try to joke, but your voice sounds far more charged. Jake smiles nonetheless.

For a while, you just stand there, looking at him without feeling like you’re drowning. You can almost see it on his face how he wants to take a step closer, but refuses to give in to it. And despite everything, you’re the one to do that instead. Jake’s breath flattens as he looks down to you, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between you, but he doesn’t move – doesn’t back away either when you slowly bring your hands up to his jacket and pull him down until your lips almost touch.

He gulps as he reaches for your waist with shaky hands to pull you in more, trying to ignore the way his heart skips a beat once he feels your body against his. And when you slowly angle your head up to close whatever distance was left between you, the goosebumps that erupt on his body almost make him shudder. His fingers dig into your waist softly, almost like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re real, while his lips gently move against yours in a way that makes you feel like he never left. 

Nearly overwhelmed by the feeling, you allow yourself to melt into his touch until you slowly, almost reluctantly, pull away for air. Jake’s breath brushes your lips as he gently rests his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” he mutters, not even registering the words until he said them. 

When he feels you tensing just slightly, he quickly takes a step back. “Sorry, I–... You don’t have to say it back, I just– sorry I shouldn’t have said that,” he stumbles over his own words, only stopping his ramble when you take a step forward again and tenderly place one hand on his chest. Then, you curl your fingers around the fabric of his shirt just enough to pull him in again. 

You kiss him so softly it proves not only that you feel the same, but also that you’re not yet ready to really tell him again. That you want to let him in, but still make sure he keeps one foot out the door. And for now, that’s enough for Jake. 

His touch is gentle when his hands cup your face, thumbs carefully sweeping over your cheeks as he pulls away the second time.

“You mean a lot to me, Y/n,” he confesses, intentionally this time, steadily, although his voice shakes a bit. “I’m sorry I ever made you think otherwise.”

Your heart squeezes not only at his words, but the way they feel more genuine than anything he’s ever told you before. And you can’t help the soft smile when you look right into his eyes again and find nothing but endearment and honesty.

“You did prove that to me today,” you mumble, smiling a little brighter at the evident relief on his face.

“Will you let me prove it again?” He asks tentatively, the glimmer of hope in his voice making you chuckle softly.

“I’ll see.”

© dazzlingjaeyun, 2025. please do not copy.

join my taglist here | masterlist

[red-garden]

Liu Qingge is getting nowhere with his courting attempts. Shen Qingqiu just isn’t getting it. He does not have plany of rope.

He has one option: Shang Qinghua

He steals himself before nocking on his least favorite martial brother’s door.

“Oh! Liu-shidi! What uhhhh…. What’s up?”

“I want to court Shen Qingqiu.”

“Come inside.”

As the little peak lord makes tea, Liu Qingge notices a definite shift in demeanor. Sitting down, he spreads over his chair in a most undignified fashion. “So you want my blessing to court my best friend.”

“What? No.”

Shang Qinghua looks miffed. “So why are you here?”

Liu Qingge grits his teeth. “He has not responded to any of my courting gifts,” deep breath, “You are closest to him. How do I make him fall for me?”

Shang Qinghua has been nodding along, stroking his chin as if he had a beard. “I see. I’m obligated to tell you as an emotionally mature adult that you can’t make someone love you. However. As Cucumber’s best friend and your shixiong, I know exactly what you need to do.”

Liu Qingge leans forward. “Yes?”

The little lord shrugs, nonchalant smile on his face. “Act pathetic! Act like you need his help soooo much and you can’t live without him! Trust me, he loves to mommy people.”

Liu Qingge raises an incredulous eyebrow. “What.”

“The most important step is to cry in front of him. He’d fuck a snake if it cried.”

Liu Qingge bristles with the insult to his intended. He knows Shen Qingqiu has a rather crass bond with Shang Qinghua so he lets it side. For now.

“And you’re sure this will work?”

“100% satisfaction garunteed. He needs to stop moping over his disciple, and to do that, he needs a new pathetic little guy to fuss over. You have my blessing shidi.”

———

Shang Qinghua’s horrible advice was working.

On his most recent monster delivery, Liu Qingge purposely let the beast catch him on the back of his hand. Drawing attention to it, Shen Qingqiu immediately brought him into the bamboo house, dressed the wound, and cooed over him the entire time. It was heavenly.

Next time he came by to clear Shen Qingqiu’s meridians, he trips over a chair, falling flat on his face. Not only did Shen Qingqiu tell him he was being so brave, he also kissed his forehead. Shen Qingqiu kissed him!

The plan was progressing, but he still hadn’t employed the supposedly most important strategy: crying.

Liu Qingge was a stoic man by nature. He hadn’t cried in…. Wow, decades. Huh.

He prepared well. An armload of onions to chop. Pepper flakes if that wasn’t enough.

He shows up to Shen Qingqiu’s door, face ruddy, eyes wet. He answers on the second nock. “Liu- oh! Liu-shidi, come inside come inside!”

He takes Liu Qingge by the shoulders and leads him to the couch. Sitting down next to him, Liu Qingge sniffs.

“Shidi, what happened? Is everything alright? Did you run into a pollen? Allergies? What can I do to help?”

Thickening his face, Liu Qingge wordlessly leans over, planting his face in the crook of Shen Yuan’s shoulder and encircling him in a hug.

“Oh!” Gasps Shen Qingqiu. He quickly embraces Liu Qingge back, petting his hair and shifting him to be more on his lap.

“There there shidi, I’ve got you. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Liu Qingge shakes his head. Being cradled like this is shockingly nice. It feels safe. Shen Qingqiu is warm, he’s humming, he smells like his favorite jasmine tea and incense. Liu Qingge starts to feel true tears prickle at his eyes, throat going tight. Maybe this cry was long overdue.

Shen Qingqiu hold him through it, rocking him back and forth, occasionally pressing kisses to his hair. He reassures him the whole time: “It’s okay, let it out.” “I’m so proud of you for coming to me.” “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Shang Qinghua was right.

[berrryparfait]

❝ you're sleeping on the couch tonight. ❞ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

♥︎ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: how he reacts to you telling him to sleep on the couch after an argument. 「but the couch is so hard...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: fluff and slight angst, yall got into a petty argument earlier that day and he's worried it's spiraled into something serious, you're just being sassy tho (and maybe a little emotional), innuendo

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: interlude: i'm not angry anymore – paramore

✧ a/n: inspired by @/erikadayshawn's jjk tiktok (¯ ³¯)♡ i seriously love her so much she's so damn good (ﾉД`)

You’re still butthurt about it, and you’re going to make sure he knows it. Sure, it was a petty argument and it happened hours ago, but you refuse to be the one making amends this time. If he’s so certain you were in the wrong, he can sleep outside for all you care!

Maybe you’re being a little toxic by avoiding communication, but you’ve been in your feelings all day while he was out and about doing god knows what (***he was working)—so the space next to you on the bed is currently occupied by your Jellycat.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” you huff, refusing to turn around as you hear the bedsheets stir.

You can’t see him, but you just know he’s giving you that same haha-you’re-hilarious look you’ve practically memorized by now. He’s standing at the side of the bed, one hand on his hip and an eyebrow raised at your curled-up form.

“This is my bed, sweetie.” He sounds amused, yet something tells you he feels as if you’re being ridiculous. Nevertheless, that velvety, husky voice of his nearly has you caving.

“I don’t care. I want to sleep alone tonight.”

He sighs, long and exaggerated. Does he pity you? Or is he annoyed at you? “You’re upset about our quarrel. It’s best we settle it now rather than bottle it up and let it fester.”

His maturity and composure jabs at your pride—you’ve never been one to act reasonably in the face of embarrassment. “...You just want to sleep on the bed.”

When you turn to look at him, he’s staring at you with an asshole smirk on his face. His tone is placating when he responds, “The couch is hard, Kitten. And besides, I forgive you.”

FORGIVE YOU?! Oh, he’ll be forgiving you all right— You smack him flaccidly on the arm and he pulls away with a chuckle, flashing that dashing smile of his. Canines.

“Go back to sleep. You can deal with me later.” He crawls under the blanket with nothing but a pair of pajama pants on, smelling of soap and fresh flowers.

You cave. You’re no longer angry, but exhausted—and so relieved he’s here. How your tender heart aches for his company, even when you’re mad at him… Soft sniffles emerge from your side of the bed, and he reaches for you with warm, gentle hands.

“Aww… C’mere, sweetie…” He wraps his arms around your waist and you relax into his touch, his chest against your back comforting—grounding. “I’m sorry about earlier. How about I take you to that French restaurant for dinner tomorrow night? Would you like that?”

“...Whatever,” you mumble as his fingers wander beneath the waistband of your shorts.

He just stands there in silence, taken aback. “...Is there something you want to talk about?” he asks, ever the logical, problem-solving boy from your childhood.

“No.”

A few beats pass before he mutters, “...Alright then. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You close your eyes and force yourself to fall back asleep as you listen to his footsteps in the living room, swallowing the guilt rising in your throat. He settles onto the wide couch and rests his head on one of the stiff decorative pillows, utterly spent from a crushing day at the hospital.

Am I overreacting? He must be drained as hell… Am I a shitty girlfriend? Doubts and worries swarm your mind as you toss and turn on the half-empty king bed, your heart squeezing at the thought of him having to spend the night alone out there. What if he catches a cold? What if he starts hating me? What if he gets eaten by a skin-walker?

You shove your fuzzy bedroom slippers on and trudge into the living room, trying your best to maintain your nettled expression. He opens his eyes at the sound of you stomping across the carpeted floor and stares at you, speechless.

“Aren’t you gonna try to make amends with me?! You really don’t want to sleep in the bed?!”

He fumbles for words, pushing himself up with his elbows. “Y-You said you didn’t want to talk—”

“Well I didn’t mean it!” you squeal, holding back tears.

He senses that your emotions are all jumbled up right now, and gets up on his feet to put his arms around you. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about it,” he says, calm and soothing. His hand massages the back of your head as you wail into his t-shirt. “Shh… It’s all right. I’m here.”

You look up at him with red eyes and pouty lips, too caught up in his embrace to be riled up anymore. “I was upset about our fight in the morning…”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I said, baby. Will you forgive me?”

You’ve been waiting all day to say “yes”.

“Oh, hell nah—”

“Too bad, Raf! That’s what you get for pissing me off,” you spit, glaring daggers at him as he physically exhibits the five stages of grief.

“But-But the couch is so pokey and hard and—” He flails his arms around in protest, remembering the backache he had to deal with for a week after taking a nap on the couch.

You won’t be hearing any of it. Serves him right. “You should’ve thought of that earlier before saying my makeup looked weird!”

“But it did! Your contour was asymmetrical and your lips were way too overlined!”

Raw indignation rivalling the power of the sun bubbles in your gut, waiting for a chance to explode. How dare he pretend he knows anything about makeup?! “GET. OUT.”

He grumbles like a child before storming out of the bedroom and flopping onto the couch, both of you throwing silent tantrums while listening to your stomachs churn. Fuck. I could really use some Wingstop right now.

Half an hour passes before your phone dings. Notification from Rafayel. You’ve calmed down by now, so you begrudgingly open his message.

Wait a minute, is he...? Oh my god, he totally is. You've known him long enough to tell when he's down for sexy time.

You waltz into the living room with your head held high and say, "C'mon. We're going to get Wingstop."

The way the hope in his eyes disappears nearly has you cracking up. "I hate you," he sneers.

"I love you too."

He pauses, unsure of what to say. “...Is this about earlier?”

You don’t respond.

He climbs onto the bed anyway and gets under the covers with you, pulling you close and pressing his face into your hair. “Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t go to bed with you mad at me,” he whispers, fear lacing his words.

Though your heart squeezes, you lock in and wriggle out of his embrace, knowing exactly how much it’ll sting. It’s his fault for constantly forgetting to let you know when he’ll be working overtime. Some nights, you sit on the couch and blankly stare at the wall, worry eating you alive from the inside.

“Please, talk to me—”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I need some space tonight.”

You can tell he’s holding back tears when he agrees to leave you alone, sliding off the mattress like a heavy weight sinking from a rock underwater. “...I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

Am I too hard on him? You’re angry at him for stressing you out—and you wonder if he even realizes that you’re only stressed for his own good. Still, how can anyone stay mad at him? He’s the purest, kindest, most sincere person you know. Forcing him to sleep on the couch feels like kicking a small puppy.

Quietly, you creep into the living room, where he’s curled up on the couch with his eyes closed. I’m too hard on him.

You crawl into the space between him and the backrest, his arms immediately reacting to your presence like a bug caught in a Venus flytrap. His eyes flutter open, and his grip tightens around your midriff. “I’m sorry… I’ll call you in advance next time. I promise…”

He must’ve had a long day at work, because he sounds utterly exhausted. Broken. “Baby… You can talk to me—about work, about anything.”

“I know. I’m just glad you’re here, even if I haven’t been,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles on the bare skin of your torso. “I want you to know you’re always on my mind—no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing. You’re the reason I come home at all.”

“Don’t be like that, Pips. Let’s talk about it.” He rests a hand on your hip, warmth seeping through the blanket.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He scoffs, though his voice is void of hostility. “Clearly. Listen, I don’t want this to turn into something serious, okay?”

When you don’t respond, a crease forms between his brows. Is it too late? Have you already started to see him in a different light? Nausea churns in his stomach as he slowly inches away from the bed, afraid to even make a sound.

His thoughts spiral like a swarm of moths in his head, dark and foreboding. She’s better off without me…at least for now.

You doze off a few minutes later, when all of a sudden, you hear the front door shut. Panicked, you jolt upright and slip on your slippers, fearing the worst. Oh my god. Oh my god—

Still in your pajamas, you run out of your apartment and down the stairwell, praying he’s just round the corner— 

“Pips?”

You still, the icy cage around your heart beginning to thaw at the sight of him. He’s standing in the middle of the pavement, his breath fogging in the cold air.

Tears well in your eyes as you scream, “Where are you going?!”

“...To the convenience store? I was going to get you some Buldak—” You cut him off by seizing him in your arms, relief flooding you like a river bursting through a broken dam. He chuckles, wrapping you in his jacket and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’d never leave you, Pipsqueak. You should know that by now.”

“I-I don’t want Buldak. Let’s just go back inside,” you say between sniffles, clutching his shirt with such force it might tear.

“...Can I sleep on the bed now?”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[robinsgrl]

toxic baby daddy rafe does something to me. no soft rafe (only with his girls and only sometimes). he’s abrasive and harsh. even more when someone messes with you. yooo where my panties at

mdni 18+

It’s been three months. Three months without Rafe as your boyfriend. Three months of his only title in your life being your baby daddy. There were days where you would refuse to even call him that.

In high school, you loved the sound of his voice. You loved how the palm of his hand felt at the small of your back. You loved that being around him brought you a sense of peace.

Now, all you two do is argue. About everything and anything. Even if you do start half of them. Not now, though.

“What I do in my spare time is none of your business!” Luckily, Samara’s in the living room, her noise cancelling headphones on as she watches some YouTube show, giggling when something funny comes up. You’d usually try and pay attention to her screen time but you can’t when Rafe is in your home and bitching at you.

“So you’re whoring it up when Samara’s with me?” His words are harsh, spitting them at you.

Your eyes are wide and bewildered as you look up at him, chest rising and falling from the intense match you’re having. “Listen to yourself! Whoring it up? Are you from the fifties? Women can have sex without being called a whore nowadays!”

“So you are fucking someone? Who is he.” It’s not a question. It’s a goddamn demand and you hate the way it makes your knees feel weak.

You scoff loudly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not fucking anyone.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, ___, Topper fucking saw you.”

“Topper’s your dick rider.” You spit back out. It comes without warning. His big hand falls on your neck, tightening around you. Your back pushes up against the wall, eyes wide and up on his as he stares down at you angrily.

His face nears yours, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. A shudder runs through your body and you want to shut your legs to help ease the sensation between them but he forces his knee to you. “I’ll kill any man who gets near you, do you fucking hear me?” His words are low and menacing. From anyone else, it’d be scary. It’d drive you away and straight to goddamn police station. But from him? You can’t deny how good it feels.

Rafe’s always been protective of you. Since you two met, he’s hovered around you like a scary dog, growling at anyone who came your way. It grew when you got knocked up in your senior year of high school. And it grew tenfold when your baby girl was born. But it got to be suffocating. You broke it off with him and it took him two weeks to realize you were being serious.

You would never admit that you made a mistake. Not ever. Admitting that you miss him only lets him win. It gives him a point. And yes, you should be mature enough to realize this isn’t a game but he’s so damn cocky about it. The last thing you need from Rafe is a bigger ego.

“Who is he?”

“Eric. Eric Jones.” You admit easily, breath shaky and full of a need for him.

“Did he fuck you?”

You can’t answer. He repeats himself.

“Did he fuck you?”

You nod, hands falling to his arm as his hand tightens on your neck. His eyes won’t leave your face, taking you in completely. You can see it all. The anger. The jealousy. The twinge of hurt. He pulls his hand from your neck and pulls away from you. “Call your mother. Tell her to pick Samara up.”

“What?”

“Just fucking do it.” And you do. Like always, you do as told and Samara’s off with her grandma for the night.

“He can’t fuck you like I can.” You’re a drooling mess as he pounds into you from behind, the sound of skin on skin meeting fills the room. His hand is in your hair, forcing your head back. “Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The moans and whimpers coming from you won’t stop. You try to form words as he keeps shattering your world but it won’t come out. “Fucking slut. Answer me.” His hands trail down to your neck, pushing you up slightly to sit as he keeps fucking into you. Your back arches up against him, toes curling as you feel the building ache in the bottom of your belly.

He groans loudly as he feels your walls clench down on him as you curse out loud, grinding down on him to reach that peak you want so badly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight. He couldn’t even fuck you right, could he? My poor girl, getting fucked by amateurs.” His fingers trail down to your freed tits, pinching at your pebbled nipples. “I don’t care what break you think we’re on, when you need a good fucking, come to me. No one can ever make you this cock drunk.”

You’re nodding frantically, “yes, yes, fuck, Rafe! Rafe! Oh, fuck!” You come undone when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing at your sensitive and pulsing bundle of nerves.

At this very moment, you’re grateful for the house that Rafe bought you instead of cooping up in the one bedroom apartment you wanted when you moved out of his place. You had hated the power he had for giving you such a nice place but you’re grateful now as you moan and yell his name, body convulsing as his fingers keep working against you.

“Raaaafe, fuck!” He’s pushing deep and deeper as he pushes your front side back onto the bed. The overstimulation is making you writhe beneath him, pretty whimpers leaving your swollen and reddened lips. You can tell he’s reaching his own end when his thrusts become harder and longer, momentum slowing.

One pump. Two pumps. Three. Four. And he’s groaning in your ear, his front pressed up against your back as he comes inside of you from behind, your cunt fluttering around him at the full feeling of his load.

—

You awaken hours later to the bed dipping beside you. You had fallen asleep in Rafe’s arms after he had cleaned you up and whispered soothing and sweet nothings into your ear.

“Rafe?” You sit up tiredly, rubbing at your eyes to wipe the sleep away. His back is turned to you, the most relaxed you’d seen him in a while.

You scooch closer to him, pinched eyes trying to take a look at him. A small gasp leaves you as you see his bloodied and scarred hands. “Go back to sleep, baby.” His polo is covered in dribbles of blood, some drops of it drying up on his face.

You want to ask questions. You want to clean him up. But you can’t. You’re not a very good liar and the last time the police came around asking for your help, you almost broke, but Rafe was always thinking of you, his lawyer cleaning up the mess you made with the police. He had kissed and soothed you down from your teary apologies that night for being weak.

You nod, yawning softly, “okay… just… put the shirt in the wash.” It’s his turn to nod, a soft smile on his face as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

[sourkiki]

husband!hee who eats out the reader like a man starved since she’s overstimulated from looking after the kids all week 🥲

ALBUM'S CONTENT: explicit mature content, married relationship, dom! husband! 이희승 x fem! reader face-sitting fingering pussy eating ❀ heeseung being kinda nasty here 𖤐 655 ... ᧔♡᧓ catalogue.

FROM PRODUCER: another one for the husband! hee agenda ><

“Heeseung.. are you sure about this?” You asked for the unknown time, biting on your lip as you looked down at your husband, who’s determined to get what he wants. 

He grinned at you, eyes gleaming with excitement and desire—the sight enough to make you clenched down on nothing. With one final shaky exhale, you held onto the bed frame and slowly lowered yourself. Only for Heeseung to grab you by your thighs, making you sit on his face squarely without hesitation. 

“Hee—fuck!” You attempted to protest but your mind blanked out when his tongue darted out, licking along your dripping, puffy folds. 

Heeseung audibly groaned, burying his face deeper into your soaking wet pussy, the sound sending vibrations and shivers down your spine. “Shit, you’re dripping like a fucking faucet princess. Bet you’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” 

You could only let out a pitiful mewl, back arching from where you sat as your husband parted your folds with his fingers, plunging his tongue deeper inside as he ran it along your gummy walls. Your thighs spasmed, locking his head in place when he pushes two fingers in without warning. You wanted to loosen your grip but Heeseung had a different idea. 

He clicked his tongue when you tried to pull away, detaching his mouth from your pussy. You gulped at the visible sight of a thick, white string mixed with your slick and his saliva, snapping into half. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes and Heeseung was already nearly gone. His lips and chin glistened underneath the ceiling light, strays of red hair sticking to his forehead covered in a layer of sweat. 

“Nuh uh, don’t try to run from me, darling. You’re going to sit on my face like the good girl you are, alright? Lemme reward you for taking good care of the kids,” he purred, voice lowering an octave.

“H-Hee, fuck, please,” you begged, rolling your hips against his nose, eyes rolling up to the back of your head at how it perfectly aligns with your cunt. 

If there’s one thing about Heeseung, it's that he loves to spoil you. Hence, he dived back in, alternating between kitten licks and long, fat stripes of his tongue while pushing his fingers in and out of you. The double penetration of his tongue and fingers made your body tremble as you sat on his face. Moans, whimpers and chants of his name endlessly spill from your lips. The obscene sound of him slurping your juices like a greedy dog along with squelching from his fingers pushing in and out of you bounces amongst the four walls. 

You nearly let out a high-pitched moan but you remembered that your precious children are sleeping peacefully, right in the room beside yours. Which was why you slapped a hand over your mouth, looking down to see Heeseung smirked. 

“Don’t cover your mouth. Lemme hear you fall apart,” he murmured, lips ghosting against the bud peeking out from the hood. 

The final straw comes in the form of Heeseung sucking on the bud, drawing a whiny and downright most porngraphic moan you’ve made as you squirted all over his face. Hot, transparent liquid frantically gushes from your pussy. Once again, you tried to pull away but Heeseung was stubborn. He held you down, lapping them up like a kitten lapping at its plate of water. Your thighs were trembling by the time you calmed down. 

Heeseung gently maneuvered you away, placing you down on the sheets. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, slipping his soaked fingers into his mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. Your face burned at the lewd sight as he maintained eye contact with you the entire time. 

“You taste amazing as always. Must be from running around while taking care of the kids,” he teased, laughing when you flung a pillow at his face. 

“Heeseung!”

tags list: @chuhees, @byshens, @hoonstqr, @doucious, @emisluvr, @riqomi, @onlyywwon, @minjunis.

[straylightdream]

might let you make me juno

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kim mingyu x afb.reader

If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno. You know I just might. Let you lock me down tonight. One of me is cute, but two though? Give it to me, baby

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, smut, porn with a little plot

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): non idol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.6k

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: mature, 18+

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mention of wanting children and getting knocked up

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, creampie, oral (fem rec), fingering, squirting, massive dick Mingyu, pussy stretching, dirty talk, needy reader, multiple positions (cowgirl, and missionary), breeding/impreg kink, the mc calls herself a slut (she’s very sex positive), use of lube, mentions of using fuzzy handcuffs

nicknamed: baby, baby girl, darling, good girl (hers) baby (his)

𝐚𝐧: inspired by the song of the same name by Sabrina carpenter. I wanted to post this for Mingyu’s birthday. Thank you so much to @sluttyminghao and @mylovesstuffs for beta reading and helping me edit this!

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Tall, gorgeous and handsome. The sight of him is absolutely mouth-watering. God bless his father for his genetics he was clearly gifted with.

You’ve been seeing Mingyu for three weeks and you are practically feral at the thought of throwing yourself at the beautiful man you are thirsting after.

As it turns out, Mingyu is a gentleman and requested you take things slow. He told you he wanted to wait until you’ve been together for a month before you finally get down and nasty together.

Your three weeks together haven’t been all sweet and innocent though. At the beginning of week two, after a late-night dinner, some heavy making out and dry humping led to him fingering you on the couch. Two nights later you found yourself with your hand in his sweatpants groping his very, very large cock. You practically begged him to let you blow him, but he said on your next date you could take the next step.

A couple of days ago was when you were finally blessed with the opportunity to suck the life out of Mingyu and his massive cock. You liked to think that you were pretty good at sucking dick, but nothing could truly prepare you for this experience. You couldn’t fit his whole length in your mouth at first without gagging. After a few tries, you could finally take him in your throat. The praise he gave you as he used his hands as a makeshift hair tie, which left you wet.

You’ve been far from innocent for a while. You lost your good old-fashioned v-card a week into your sophomore year of college and never looked back. Some people might say you’re a little loose with who you sleep with or maybe a good old fashion “slut”, but you don’t see it that way. You always just say you’re sex positive; you’re all about embracing the sexual side of yourself.

The night you met Mingyu he informed you that he’s a reformed fuck boy. The reason he wants to take things slow with you is because he wants to fully build a connection. If that’s what he wants, you’ll follow his request.

Tonight, you’re three nights shy from a month together. You aren’t sure you can make it through this date if you don’t finally get the opportunity to ride him like your life depends on it.

The thing about Mingyu is that you’re pretty sure you’re going to fall in love. It’s not just because of his perfect genetics and massive cock. He’s, unfortunately, perfect. Maybe not unfortunately—fortunately for you—he’s perfect. He’s a gentleman, he’s so kind, and he fucking cooks. He’s everything a mother dreams about their daughter finding in a partner. You knew one day if you take him home, your mother is going to beg you to marry him. She’s going to take one look at him and tell you to make her some grandchildren.

Hell, your friends are all telling you to lock it fully down. The day after your first date, you showed them a photo of Mingyu, and they literally gave you a high five that you managed to bag him.

There is something about Mingyu that just makes you feel like you’re an absolute horny mess at all times. You haven’t always been like this. Sure, you’re sex positive and love sex, but a normal man doesn’t make you feel like all your hormones are out of whack. Maybe that's because when he smiles, he instantly gives you butterflies and makes you feel like you’re falling hard.

Standing outside the expensive restaurant he just took you to, you’re waiting for a cab. His arm is over your shoulder as you lean against him. You’re desperately hoping that your matching red lingerie set with crotchless panties isn’t going to go to waste tonight.

“Mingyu?”

“Yes, darling?”

“What’s the chance I get you to take me home and see what’s under this dress?”

Biting his bottom lip, he holds back a smile. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Death by pussy doesn’t sound like a terrible death.” You absolutely love teasing him.

“Death by your pussy is how I personally prefer to die.”

“Is that a yes to finally riding you like my life depends on it?”

He can’t help but let out a chuckle at your extremely blunt statement. Before he can even respond, the cab arrives. Mingyu pulls away long enough for you to slide into the back seat. He slides in next to you. His large hand rests on your exposed thigh. He gives the cab your address.

Slowly, he leans in close, brushing your hair away from your ear. “Yes, you can do all things you have been dreaming about,” he whispers just loud enough for only you to hear. His hand stays firmly planted on your thigh, never moving.

The whole cab ride, you felt like it was taking everything in you not to crawl onto Mingyu’s lap and start kissing him like you need him to breathe. Fucking in the back of a cab probably isn’t the best idea though. The last thing you need is to get arrested for public indecency.

The moment you’re out of the cab, you grab his hand and pull him towards your apartment. The walk to your apartment feels too long. The second your apartment opens, you shove him against the door. “Someone’s extra horny tonight.” He has no clue how much he turns you on with little to no effort.

“I’ve been so patient with you. I just think I deserve a reward for being such a good girl.”

“Oh, you’re a good girl?” He cocks his head to the side.

“I’m a good girl just for you.” You trail your fingers up his chest.

“What does my good girl want me to do tonight?” He leans down so his lips are closer to yours.

“I have some fuzzy pink handcuffs you could try out.”

“Naughty girl.” He pops his tongue and gives you a wicked grin.

“You know I want you so bad. I don’t think I have ever wanted someone like you.”

“Are you just saying that because you want me to fuck you?”

“No. I’m saying that because I like everything about you. Sure, you’re hot, and you make me so horny I feel like I’m going crazy. You’re honestly perfect for me. I have fallen so hard for you.” You might as well lay all your cards out on the table.

“Oh, you’ve fallen for me?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Does that mean you haven’t fallen for me?” You’ve fallen for him so hard, there is no way he hasn’t fallen for you too.

“Baby girl, I’m head over heels for you.”

“Do you like me enough to make me Juno?”

“Like the movie?” He lets out a laugh.

“Yeah. Do you know one of me is cute? Could you imagine two?”

“Does my pretty girl have a breeding kink?” “What, you don’t want to knock me up?” You don’t want him to knock you up just yet, but there is something thrilling about playing into a breeding kink that you both clearly have.

“Does that mean no condoms tonight?”

Pressing your index finger into his chest, you look up at him and smile. “Make me fall in love tonight, big boy.”

Stepping around him, you head off towards your room, knowing he’s going to follow behind you. Opening the door, you have about ten seconds before Mingyu walks in behind you. Slipping off your high heels, you can feel his eyes burning into you. He is standing by the door, just watching as you go about slowly taking off parts of your outfit. Walking over to your dresser, you remove your jewelry. Looking into the mirror that’s on top, you find Mingyu carefully watching.

Reaching back, you slowly start unzipping your dress. The red fabric pools at your feet. Your red lace lingerie set you’re wearing is fully sheer. Your body is fully on display.

“Fuck-“ he groans.

“Like what you see, big boy?”

He instantly starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. Reaching into the nightstand, you pull out a bottle of lube and those pink fuzzy handcuffs you had mentioned before. Twirling them around your finger, you watch as he strips down to nothing but his boxers that are doing nothing to hide his very large erection.

“You know I want to blow you so badly, but I feel like I have been such a patient girl. I was hoping you could eat me out before I ride you.”

“Can your pretty lingerie stay on?” He steps closer to you.

“You don’t want to unwrap your present?”

“You look too good in it for it just to end up on the floor.”

Crawling onto the bed, you lay back, propping yourself up on your pillows. You spread your legs to show him how wet you already are. Slowly, you dip your fingers through your wet folds. “Oh.” You can’t help but moan as you circle your sensitive clit. His eyes are locked on you, watching each of your movements.

“Are you going to make me do all the work?” You sigh.

He crawls onto the bed. Laying on his stomach, he takes one of your legs resting it over your shoulder. He kisses the delicate skin on your inner thigh.

“Mingyu- please-“ If he wants you to beg for him you absolutely will.

“As you wish.”

His lips attach to your sensitive clit, sucking on it while he starts pumping one finger in you. He’s large, so you’re well aware he’s going to have to stretch you out before you can properly take him without pain.

The fact that Mingyu is eager to eat you out is just another thing about him that’s perfect. He’s said he gets off on pleasing his partner. By the ways he’s practically making out with your pussy while he pumps two fingers in and out of you, you know he’s not lying. Judging by the size of Mingyu's extra large cock, you know two fingers probably aren’t enough.

“Another one, please.” You practically beg.

He chuckles against your core. His lips stay pressed against you. Another finger is added. The stretch feels so good. He has you moaning like a bitch in heat. To be quite honest you feel like you’re in heat, with how desperately you want the man between your legs.

His fingers start doing a come hither motion, causing a pressure in your stomach you’ve never experienced.

“Gyu-“ His name is nothing more than a broken moan.

“What does my good girl want?” He pulls away from your pussy for the first time.

“Oh- go-d-“ Your entire body feels tense. You’re starting to feel dizzy and your release is getting closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue starts flicking your clit at a fast rate. His long fingers are rubbing the spongy spot inside you.

“Gyu-“ You practically scream. A pressure breaks inside you. Your walls contract as your release squirts all over Mingyu's hand and face.

His fingers slowly pump inside you, helping you ride out your high as he pulls his face away from your core.

“Baby-“ You can’t form coherent words. You’ve never squirted before in your life. You’ve never had an orgasm that feels as if it’s left you brain dead.

“Luckily you didn’t squirt on the bed. You just got my hand and face.” He lets out a laugh.

“I’ve never done that before,” you sigh.

He sits on his knees between your spread legs. “I’m honored.”

Laying down on the bed next to you he pulls off his boxers. He’s laying there naked with his large dick resting on his stomach. He taps his hip. “Climb aboard.” The cocky grin he sports gives you butterflies. He grabs the bottle of lube. Clicking the cap open he generously coats his length.

Slowly crawling onto his lips he wastes no time massaging your already wet core with lube.

Straddling his waist you grind against his large cock. Maybe one orgasm isn’t enough to make it comfortable to take him.

“Did you want to try those fuzzy handcuffs on me?” you ask, reaching out and picking them up.

“Orgasm number three I’ll handcuff you. I want you to ride me, as you said like your life depends on it.” Biting your bottom lip, you can’t help but smirk. “Do you need more lube?” His hand rubs your thigh.

“Let me try to take you, and if it hurts, we can use more.”

Lifting your hips he holds his length at your entrance. You take him slowly, inch by inch, giving yourself a chance to adjust to his massive size. It feels as if he’s splitting you open, but it’s absolutely delicious.

He fills you to the brim. There is no way he’s not bruising your cervix.

“Fuck, you’re huge.”

“Sorry, baby.” He sounds concerned. His large hand is gently rubbing your thigh.

“You’re splitting me open, but it feels so good.” By the end of your sentence, he’s smiling up at you.

There’s no way in hell you could start with a quick pace. You start with a small bouncy pace. Only moving up an inch or two before sinking back down. His hands rest on your hips, helping you move.

Leaning forward your hands are resting on his chest. You slide your hips up further and further with each thrust. Sex with Mingyu feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. The way he’s stretching you out makes you feel as if you’re close to the edge. The room is filled with wet sounds of you siding up and down his cock, your whiny moans, and his deep groans. It sounds like a porno, and you can’t get enough of it.

Your release comes quicker than you expected. Your body is tense and your walls contract. Throwing your head back you moan his name. You still completely, your body is completely fucked out. You can’t continue to ride him in your dazed state.

“Did I break you, baby?” He rubs your thigh gently, as if he isn’t thrusting into you while your brain is completely broken.

“Fuck- Gyu-“

“Can I flip you onto your back?”

“Yes.”

With little to no effort, he flips you. He spreads your legs wide, giving him more access to your practically abused pussy. He sits on his knees. His pace is slow but firm.

“Did you want those fuzzy handcuffs now?” He teases you.

The idea of not being able to touch him now makes you want to cry.

“No-“ You whine.

He moves down, hovering over you. His pace picks up. His release is rapidly approaching. The way he moans your name is like music to your ears.

“Can I come inside you?”

“Ple-ase.” You’re cock drunk and can barely speak.

“Did you want me to get you pregnant?”

“Yes.” You don’t actually want to get pregnant, but having children with him one day would be a dream.

Slamming his hips into you, he fills you to the brim, painting your walls white with his salty release.

Collapsing on top of you, he tries not to put all his weight on you. He places a trail of wet kisses across your collarbone. “Baby do I need to get up and get you plan b?”

You can’t help but laugh. Of course that’s his first question after fucking you so good you can’t even think straight

“No, I'm on birth control.”

Your hand runs up and down his spine almost as if you’re trying to memorize how it feels.

“Give me two years and I’ll actually make you Juno. You’re not wrong, one of you is cute. I couldn’t even start to imagine two of you.”

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