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santaasi · 4 months ago

Text

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering.

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You��re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love, It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try. Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart. Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard. I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose. I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you. Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure. How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you. Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you. Forever yours, Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3

p.s. if you liked this work i’d really appreciate if you go and read more of my works in my masterlist and give it your opinion. i’m very proud of my latest work ‘muse’ and hope you’ll like it just as much as ‘obviously blind’

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #bsf!james potter #james potter x fem!reader

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lindentea · 9 months ago

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last year my partner C and i went on an epic roadtrip from Maryland to Texas. my parents were worried about our safety while traveling through some rather trans-unfriendly states (we're both very gender nonconforming and androgynous), and they suggested we take the train. so i looked into it...

taking the train from Baltimore to Austin would have taken three days on the train alone (plus layover time while waiting at the station for a transfer), and cost $1500 each... for only one way. and that's without tickets for a sleeper car. we would have had to take a train from Baltimore to Chicago, then Chicago to Louisiana, then yet another transfer from Louisiana to Texas.

driving down to Austin took around 32-ish hours total each way (breaks included). we stayed in Nashville for a couple days on the way down (to visit my childhood best friend!), and then on the way back we stayed at cheap motels in Memphis, Nashville, and then Virginia, and we were able to take the extremely scenic route a hundred miles or so up the Blue Ridge Parkway. my Ford Fiesta (sorry i don't have a Subaru 😭) got fantastic mileage, especially for a 13-year-old car. (although my AC died, so that probably helped the mpg lol)

if we'd taken the train, i wouldn't have seen my childhood best friend (who i hadn't seen in almost twenty years) in Nashville, we wouldn't have seen live music at a lesbian bar in ~Music City~ (both on the way down and the way back), and we wouldn't have driven along the Blue Ridge Mountains. if we took the train, we'd have been physically miserable, i'd have definitely had a fibro flare the whole time, and we'd have spent more time on the train than we would have in Austin visiting my partner's mom. and it would have cost us $3000+ each.

do better, USA.

If you are taking the car to Chicago, can you even call yourself a feminist. There are Women on that train who want to have gay sex with you but can't because you are taking a fucking car to Chicago

#yeah i want more cost efficient trains so much #<- prev tag #infrastructure #amtrak #public transport woes #train infrastructure

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yanderedrabbles · 3 months ago

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Private Military Contractor - Yandere Noncon

Yandere Male x Fem Reader Heavily inspired by this incredible fic.

He took you. Plucked you straight off the street on the way back from class. He must have known your routine down to a tee, because he did it all with a casual, brutal efficiency. Parking his rented van on the quietest road on your route, stacking a ladder and some paint cans outside so you'd think he was just a regular workman. The door open and waiting just for you, though you didn't know it yet.

You remember greeting him ‐ a quick good morning to be polite - without stopping or even really looking at him. You walked a little bit past the van without realising he was following you. Oblivious right up until the moment he grabbed you, one paw against your mouth to swallow your scream.

He was quick. So ruthlessly quick. Yanking you inside the van and closing the door before you even fully registered what was happening.

He wants you around for one thing and one thing only. He made that abundantly clear on the first day, when you were scarcely through the front door and he was already tearing off your skirt. He would have fucked you in the van the second he took you if he thought he could get away with it.

He isn't gentle. He bends you over the couch with your wrists held together in the small of your back. If you squirm too much, he twists your arm so hard you scream that he's going to break it.

He fucks you dry. Shoving himself inside of you despite how tight you are, how unready and unwilling. He groans at the first thrust, so obscenely satisfied. Like he's finally tasting a prize long differed.

He doesn't last long during the first round. Spilling himself into you after less than three minutes.

He's big - too fucking big. The cum that drips out of your cunt is tinged pink with blood. If he notices it, he doesn't care. He just stands there for a minute, stroking himself hard again and then it's time for round two. Your tears haven't even had time to dry.

He fucks like a soldier in a foreign war zone. Taking, claiming, stealing. It doesn't matter that you're not his to have; he has his guns and his training and to him that's all the reason he needs.

He fucks like he hasn't had a woman in years. With all the pent up energy of long, lonely nights spent in the ugliest parts of the world. He fucks you like a man who's finally gotten his hands on the fantasy he's nursed through all the worst moments of his life.

He fucks like he's terrified of losing you now that he finally, finally has you.

You can't stand after he's done with you. Your cunt burning so bad you think you're on fire from the inside out. He doesn't care that you hang limp from his grip. He just picks you up and tosses you over one broad shoulder and takes you to his bedroom.

You come out of your shock only when you feel the handcuffs closing around your wrist. He's literally chained you to his bed.

You start screaming again then. Frightened and begging and finally realising that this is really happening. It's not a bad dream or a story on the news, it's actually fucking happening to you.

He ignores you, pulling off his heavy combat boots and locking his pistol in the draw across the room. Maybe he's waiting for you to tire out, for your throat to start hurting and for you to quiet down. You don't.

He sighs like you're nothing more than an inconvenience and then slaps you so hard your ears ring and white dots spark across your vision.

His use of violence is so causal, so easy. It's shock that keeps you quiet more than the pain.

Before evening on the first day, he fucks you four more times. He doesn't listen when you beg him to be gentle, beg him to go slow. He ignores you when you plead with him to fuck your mouth instead, as much as he wants, just so long as he gives your pussy a break.

Men like him exist on the knife edge between life and death. Is it any surprise that it leaves its mark? That he wants to take whatever pleasure he can because god alone knows how much time he has left?

He doesn't kiss you until the very end, when he's deep between your thighs and you've dug your nails so deep into his back that you're going to leave scars. He kisses you when you're too hurt and sore and scared to turn away. He kisses you and it feels like he's finally staking his claim. Like part of him didn't believe you were real until he'd fucked you again and again and there was no one to stop him.

The next morning, he shoves a bitter tasting pill under your tongue and keeps his hand over your mouth until he's sure it's dissolved.

"No kids," he says simply and it makes you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Yeah, you agree silently, no fucking kids. Especially not if you're the father. Especially not in a world where men like you exist.

He has an appetite that's borderline impossible to satisfy. Once he starts kissing you, he doesn't stop. Teeth nipping at your lips until you give in and even then it's not enough. He wraps one massive hand around your throat and squeezes.

"Kiss me back," he breathes, his lips just an inch from yours.

You kiss him and he takes it like you're everything he's ever dreamed about, the prize he's somehow earned.

After that, he spends a lot more time exploring your body. It's like he needed to get some of that desperation out of his system before he could think straight.

He's less feverish when he touches you, but no less impatient. He pries your thighs apart with one brutal yank and drops his face to your pussy. You try and jerk away from him, try and close your legs despite the massive forearms keeping them spread. You don't want him there. It's too intimate, it's too vulnerable. Hasn't he taken enough?

He licks you like he has no shame. Not even a little shy about having his tongue deep in your cunt. He tries different tricks - slow and sensual, rough, tight little flicks. He doesn't seem to care how you respond to any of it. It's more so an experiment to see which way he enjoys eating you out.

You cum on his tongue, your eyes screwed shut in guilt. You hope he won't notice, hope he'll just get bored and leave you alone.

He growls in a pleased sort of way, looking up at you with his mouth and chin slick. Oh, he definitely noticed.

You can't meet his eyes after that.

He's not a doomsday prepper. Or at least not exactly. But everything he has is off the grid. A house with its own solar panels and borehole, no technology except for his old fashioned satellite phone.

He doesn't talk much. Not even when he's fucking you. You might get the occasional good girl or a snarl for you to take it, take it just like that.

But he doesn't talk. Doesn't comfort you, doesn't insult you, doesn't even explain himself. (Though you suppose the way he holds you at night - tight, like you're going to be ripped away from him if he doesn't sink his claws in - is explanation enough).

He has money. Blood money you suppose. He doesn't go to work or leave the house much but still manages to buy you all sorts of expensive things. Silk negligees, satin panties, scented candles that melt into body oil. You aren't sure why he bothers. He's usually too impatient to appreciate any of it - most of the panties end up a torn, wet mess by the time he's done with you.

You look through his closet one day. There's a box full of military patches - Blackwater, Raytheon, MPR, a dozen more you don't recognise. And you know for a fact they aren't just some stupid collectibles, aren't there just so he can play out some militaristic power fantasy. He really worked for these companies. The patches feel real - their quality designed for hard weather and harder work. You understand him a little better after seeing them.

You don't know him. Don't recognise him in the slightest. He's a stranger to you - to the point you don't even know his name. At first you assume he took you because you were the only one stupid enough to get caught. But a few days with him and you realise that's not true at all. He knows you.

He feeds you your favourite cereal every morning, even though you can tell by his frown that he doesn't approve of your dietary choices. He has a closet packed full of your clothes. You thought he somehow raided your house but it's all new. He went out and bought exact copies of all your regular outfits, down to the tiny Victoria's Secret thongs that you like.

How? How could he gather so much information about your life while you didn't even realise you were being watched?

He takes you down to his basement one day, when you've been particularly insistent about asking him who he is. There are rows and rows of guns. Semi and fully automatic rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns. Shit you aren't even sure is fully legal.

You aren't sure why he's showing you this. Is he trying to scare you? Is he trying to goad you into escaping just so he'll have an excuse to punish you?

You look into his eyes - monster, monster in the shape of a man - and finally realise what he's trying to say.

No one is coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. But if by some slim chance they try and take you away, they'd better hope to be fucking bulletproof.

You stop asking him about himself after that.

He decides he wants anal one day in the shower. He's pressed up against your back and running his cock up and down between your ass. The tip keeps getting caught on your puckered entrance and maybe that's what puts the idea into his head.

You're too slow to realise what he's planning and he has one thick hand gripping the back of your neck before you can even think of running.

It's slow, painful going. He wants to shove himself in like he always does but the nature of it stops him. The tip is the worst part. You bite your lip so hard you can taste blood, your hands and tits both pressed up against the glass.

He presses his lips against your temple, watching your face screw up as he gets deeper.

"It's okay to cry."

There's a sick pleasure to his voice. He flicks your clit and your entire body clenches around him. He hums at that, amused and pleased.

And the worst part? He somehow makes you come. When he's finally loosened you up enough to start thrusting, he hits something deep inside you. He notices it - he notices everything about you. He laughs a little and slips his fingers into your pussy. That's all it takes to send you crashing over the edge, your whole body pulsing and aching all at once.

"That's what I like about you," he snarks into your ear when he's done, "I can make you come no matter how much you don't want it."

He turns you around and looks down at you. The expression on his face makes you want to vomit. He looks at you with a kind of loving softness. A tenderness that ignores all the awful, awful things he's done to you.

If you didn't realise it already, you knew it for a fact right then and there.

He's never going to let you go.

He takes your chin between his fingers and pulls you onto your tip toes to kiss him.

"Why?" you ask for the millionth time since he took you. And for once, he answers.

"Because I could. Because I can."

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #yandere lemons #yandere oc x you #yandere noncon #yandere male

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sasuketruther · 1 year ago

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i spent all day running 6 samples on my instrument (plus calibration and other random lab specific shit ofc) and only 3 worked out well 🥹. idk i don't think it's my fault but no one is talking to meeeeee idkkkkkkkkkkkkkk :/

#gfaa my mortal enemy #worthless pos #literally just bring in another icp and train me to use that it'd be so much more efficient #like.#wtv #jaan.txt

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ozzgin · 10 months ago

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I'm in my parody mood again. I'm so sorry. You have to attend a yandere school: quite literally, an academy designed to train you into a proper yandere. Except you're terrible at it. So pathetic, in fact, that all the yandere-to-be students and teachers have to help you. And now they're slowly but surely falling for you. Content: gender neutral reader, horde of yanderes, parody

"For the last time, (Y/N)..." the teacher sighs, mild frustration creasing his features. "You can't be a cool and aloof yandere if you look this tense."

"I thought I'm supposed to obsessively stare at my crush from the window", you argue, waving away some cherry blossom petals that were blown by the wind straight into your face.

"Yes, but no one can tell you're a yandere yet. Your gaze must be indifferent, idle, bored. Do you understand?"

You're a lost cause. The older man readjusts your body's position with pursed lips. You'll never be a proper yandere with this attitude. He should be angry about it - Yan Academy dons an unmatched reputation of flawless success. Every student graduates with impeccable results. Well, except for you. And yet, he's almost enjoying the repeated efforts, the daily observations, the additional training you require.

A thought crosses his mind: what would you even do without his help? You'd be lost. You need him to succeed. He shakes his head in embarrassment, swiftly shoves his glasses further up the nose, and coughs.

"Meet me after class. I'll be in my office."

"Again?"

The words escape your lips before you can stop yourself. His brows furrow, and he lifts your chin with his index finger, responding in a deeper voice:

"Yes. Until you learn to act properly, (Y/N)."

“What’re you doing now? We were going to hang out at my place, so we can practice efficient stalking methods.”

Your classmate smiles at you, almost pleadingly. Oh, if only you’d join them. How else will you manage? He can already picture your confused, innocent expression as you try to keep up with them.

You were made to be stalked, not the other way around.

“I can’t”, you whine. “Teacher wants me to stay behind again.”

The students stare at you with a peculiar glimmer in their eye. This bastard…is he trying to keep you all to himself? He should be minding his damn business and leave such matters to people who’re closer to you. They know you better. They’d do a much better job at…training you.

You feel a tug behind you. The classmate removes your backpack and throws it over his shoulder.

“Fuck that. You’re coming with me.”

[More parodies original work] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere school #yandere parody #yandere x darling #yancore #yanderecore #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere concept

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nerosaerothorn · 11 months ago

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Or, at the very least, plan out her concerts more efficiently, and take a tour bus for interstate travel.

I saw a map of the proposed locations of her concerts. They seem to be engineered specifically to maximize the amount of fuel used.

I don't remember the exact paths but it is something similar to this: Los Angeles -> New York -> San Diego -> Chicago -> London -> Miami -> London again -> etc...

I have an ice-cold take to share but I'm trusting you all with my vulnerability

Obviously Taylor Swift's private jet carbon footprint is a fucking problem but also I think if she did the alternative and flew on commercial airplanes to get to her concerts then someone would absolutely bite her.

I think she'd safely get through about 5 flights but on the sixth there will be some Swiftie who spots her and enters a complete hyperventilation fugue state that manifests with something similar to cute-aggression but it would manifest in the form of biting Taylor Swift as much as possible. I don't think she would leave unscathed.

Like politicians already travel privately to avoid assassination and it's just that I believe the number of political assassins out there pales in comparison to the number of 23-year-old white sorority girls who are one Taylor-Swift-spotting away from putting their invisalign into practice.

#ideally also #use a train where available #much more efficient #godawful planning #taylor swift

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meidui · 9 months ago

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steve not taking care of himself in ways that are basically self harm but no one knows because of his healing factor

he'll ignore wounds on purpose and that would get most people infected, but he heals faster than the baseline human and is immune to disease so no one bats an eye when he skips medical again

he drinks enough high proof liquor to give the baseline human alcohol poisoning ten times over but no one thinks he has a drinking problem because they think he can't get drunk, but it's not that he can't get drunk, his body just processes alcohol more efficiently

he's in the gym too much but everyone brushes it off because of course cap is a gym rat, he's an avenger so of course he has to train, he has to keep up with the job somehow, no he's not over-exerting himself, he'll be fine, he's a supersoldier.

#i made myself sad...............#steve rogers #*#text*#1k

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chogiwow · 1 month ago

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the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part two)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k

warnings: even more slowburn than before lol, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: part 2 finally here !!!! guys, i think i'll complete it in one more part, we haven't even got to the juicy parts, they're both still Realising their feelings for each other i'm really taking the slowburn to another level :'D posting this now since i have a busy weekend ahead and it'll take some time for the final part to come out, so enjoy <3

nine.

jake wasn't sure when he started noticing the small things.

it wasn't dramatic. it wasn't some grand realization, some epiphany that crashed into him like a runaway train. no, it was more like a slow leak in the ceiling – subtle at first, barely noticeable, until one day, he looked up and realized the whole thing was caving in.

you were still there. still at your desk. still doing your job. but something had changed.

for one, you no longer lingered.

before, you used to wait by his desk after reminding him of a meeting, hovering until he actually got up because you knew how prone he was to getting lost in his own head. you used to place his coffee just within reach of his right hand, knowing that he’d grab it without looking. you used to let out these small sighs when he worked through lunch, before eventually caving and placing a takeout container beside him with an exasperated, “at least eat before you starve.”

but now? now, you just told him his schedule and left. you still got his lunch, but it was left on the side of his desk, impersonal. you still reminded him about meetings, but you never waited for him to actually stand up. and the worst part? he knew it was because of him. because he had snapped at you. because he had made you feel like you had overstepped when, in reality, you were just doing what you had always done – taking care of him.

the guilt sat heavy in his stomach.

well, he had got what he had wanted, right? he had told you to stop caring, to make yourself scarce, and you were doing just that. you were back to being background noise again, the week before had probably just been a blip in time. maybe none of it had even happened – he hadn’t been late to his meeting, he hadn’t spent an entire evening with you sorting through his emails, he hadn’t brought you coffee like a delirious fool. he hadn’t snapped at you – acknowledged your efforts and put you down regardless.

there’s a law in physics, the law of unintended consequences.

jake had spent his life studying the rules that governed the universe. he had built entire theories on cause and effect, on how one action – one force – could change the course of everything around it. but there was a gap in every equation, an unpredictable variable that not even the most meticulous calculations could predict.

it was a rule he had known but never thought to apply to his own life.

and yet, here he was, watching as you followed the letter of his words but not the spirit. he had wanted distance. he had told you as much in sharp, thoughtless words. he had thought, idiotically, that space would bring things back to how they used to be.

instead, it had set something irreversible in motion.

at first, he told himself it was fine. he had bigger things to focus on, deadlines to meet, research papers to finalize. but the problem with noticing something was that you couldn’t stop noticing it. you were efficient, precise, the perfect assistant; exactly as you had been before.

except now, he felt the absence of you.

before, he never had to wonder if he’d make it to meetings on time. you would wait, standing by his desk with that look, the one that told him you knew he’d ignore you if you gave him even a second of leeway. but now? you simply reminded him and left. no hovering. no pointed sighs. no exasperated nudges to get moving.

and then there was the coffee.

it was a small thing, but jake noticed. before, the cup would be exactly where he needed it, always within reach of his dominant hand. a quiet, unconscious act of care. now? it was placed neatly at the edge of his desk, just out of immediate reach. he had to go out of his way to grab it.

it was ridiculous, the way these tiny details unsettled him.

he told himself it didn’t matter. that he had asked for this. that he shouldn’t be so thrown off by things he never even realized he relied on.

and yet.

he wasn’t sure what did it.

maybe it was the moment he saw you cleaning up a stack of files and, in your hurry, ran your hand along the sharp edge of a paper cutter. you barely reacted, shaking off the small drop of blood, about to move on like nothing happened. but something in jake stilled.

something made him sit still and watch like a creep through the crack of his door as you paused in your actions and moved your finger to your lips, gently sucking on the wound till the bleeding stopped.

it was such a small act. so innocent, something akin to a first aid, but his breath hitched. his breath hitched when his eyes tracked your actions, your hand going back to sorting through files, your wound long forgotten.

his body moved before his mind could catch up, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood.

for the first time in days, you actually looked surprised when he placed a bandaid in your palm instead of just tossing it onto your desk.

“you should be more careful,” he said, his voice coming out gruff, almost scolding.

you blinked at him, clearly thrown off, before your expression shuttered back into polite professionalism. “it’s just a small cut.”

jake clenched his jaw. he knew that. of course he knew that. but that wasn’t the point, was it?

still, you thanked him with a nod, applied the bandaid, and carried on like nothing had happened.

and that should have been the end of it.

but it wasn’t.

because jake, who had always been so good at solving problems, had stumbled upon one that didn’t fit neatly into any equation.

the unintended consequence of his distance wasn’t just that you stopped lingering. it was that he now felt like an observer in his own life, watching as something essential slipped away, and—

and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

jake had never been one to believe in regret. he made decisions, and he lived with them. he adjusted. he recalibrated. he hadn’t cared much when only his mom could make it to his annual school competitions, doing her best to cheer louder, to compensate for the missing person in his life. he hadn’t given two shits when people in high school had stared and pointed at him like he had been an anomaly. not when his overbearing aunts had disguised their praises for him as something he should inherently be able to do to make up for the absence of the person in his life.

he hadn’t wasted time pondering upon silly questions like ‘was i not enough?’ or ‘was i not lovable enough for him to stay?’.

even in his young mind, those had seemed futile questions, ones he would never have an answer to and therefore, not worth his time.

but now, he was finding himself staring too long at the empty space you used to fill. he was realizing that, for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had overlooked the most important one.

he had always thought that if he pushed something away, it would eventually return to its natural place. like gravity pulling a comet back into orbit.

but now, he wasn’t so sure.

now he was actually questioning things – emotions, feelings, hurt.

had he hurt you?

but why would he care? why would he start now? why would you care about him to the point that you would let his ineptitude hurt you?

jake didn’t consider himself the kind of person who fixated on things. he was methodical, pragmatic, someone who could compartmentalize problems into neat little boxes and only open them when absolutely necessary.

but this?

this was a crack in the foundation he hadn’t accounted for.

he told himself it was fine – your distance, your absence, the way you had begun to retreat from him in increments so small he might not have noticed if he weren’t already looking for them. he told himself he had wanted this, and that it didn’t matter.

and yet.

jake found himself watching. noticing. keeping track of the subtle ways you had begun to slip from his periphery, like sand through his fingers.

before, he had always known where you were. even if he wasn’t actively looking, you were just there, orbiting around him in a way that felt natural, unshakable. but now? now, he caught himself scanning the office for you, only to realize you were nowhere nearby. it wasn’t that you weren’t working – you were still efficient, still meticulous, still the perfect assistant – but you were no longer his constant.

the worst part? he had no idea why it bothered him so much.

he kept trying to rationalize it, to shove the thought into a mental folder labeled irrelevant and move on. but it was harder than he expected.

because there were moments, tiny and fleeting, where he thought he caught glimpses of something deeper beneath your polite professionalism. a hesitation before answering him. the way your lips pressed together just slightly when he handed you a stack of papers without so much as a please or thank you. the way you never quite met his eyes for too long anymore.

it had been a series of choices, he realized. small, inconsequential decisions that had snowballed into something much bigger than he had ever intended.

like the way he had dismissed you, snapping at you in a moment of frustration. he hadn’t thought twice about it then – just another conversation, another fleeting exchange in the middle of an exhausting day. but the weight of it lingered, heavy and suffocating, because now he could see the ripple effect in real time.

he had thought pushing you away would return things to normal. instead, it had left him standing in the ruins of something he hadn’t even realized was important to him.

and the most frustrating part? he didn’t know how to fix it.

jake wasn’t used to being at a loss. he had built his life around solutions, around having the answers before anyone even knew there was a problem. but this? this wasn’t a puzzle he could solve with logic or calculations. this was different. this was messy and human and something he didn’t even fully understand himself.

so he did what he always did when faced with something he couldn’t control – he observed.

he started paying closer attention. he told himself it wasn’t because of you, not really, just a vague curiosity that had no deeper meaning. but then he noticed how you laughed more with others now. how you lingered in conversations with coworkers, how your shoulders relaxed when you weren’t around him.

it was disorienting, realizing that you had found ways to exist outside of him. that you had always been capable of doing so, but he had just never seen it before.

and maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

one afternoon, he caught himself staring at the untouched coffee on his desk. it had gone cold. the same coffee you had placed there earlier, just slightly out of reach, like an afterthought.

jake had always taken for granted that it would be there. he had never even considered the effort behind it, the simple, thoughtless care that had gone into something as small as placing it within easy reach.

but now, staring at the lukewarm liquid, he felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

he didn’t like it.

he didn’t like how things felt off-kilter. how he had let something slip between his fingers without even realizing what it was. he didn’t like how aware he was of your absence now, how much space you had unknowingly occupied in his life before you started retreating.

it was frustrating, this gnawing feeling of wrongness.

so he did something stupid.

“hey,” he said one evening, catching you just as you were gathering your things to leave.

you blinked at him, clearly surprised. “yes?”

he hesitated for a fraction of a second. he hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.

“i—” he cleared his throat. “did you—uh. did you send the reports to finance?”

your brows furrowed slightly. “yes. i emailed them over earlier.”

“right. okay.” he shifted, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “thanks.”

you nodded, waiting for a beat. when he didn’t say anything else, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “alright. goodnight, dr. sim.”

and then you were gone.

jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. what the fuck was that?

that wasn’t what he had meant to say. it wasn’t what he wanted to ask. but the words had lodged themselves in his throat, heavy and unfamiliar.

because what had he wanted to say?

had he wanted to tell you he noticed? that he missed something he couldn’t even name? that for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had failed to account for the one thing he should have seen coming?

gravity.

every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

he had pushed you away. and now, he wasn’t sure how to pull you back in.

jake sat back in his chair, staring at the empty doorway where you had just been.

he needed to fix this. he needed to rise up from his inability to form human bonds or interact like a normal functioning adult. he had never felt the need to do so before, but for once – he wanted to. at least try and make amends.

because jake never meant to offend anyone, much rather put them down. but he had done, willingly so this time around. but he wasn’t so broken as to not hold on to the semblance of a decent human being and not apologise.

he needed to fix this. he just didn’t know how yet.

ten.

its 10:09 am when the phone on your desk rings.

your fingers hesitate for a second before picking it up, already half-expecting it to be a mundane request from another department. but the voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

“hello, this is dr. sim’s office, correct?”

you straighten slightly at the mention of jake’s name. “yes, this is his assistant speaking. how can i help you?”

the woman on the other end exhales, relief threading through her voice. “oh, thank god. i’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his cell. can you please tell him his mother is calling? it’s urgent.”

your breath stills. his mother? you’ve never spoken to her before, but something about the way she sounds – strained, worried – has your heart clenching instinctively.

“of course, ma’am. please hold for a moment.”

you press the receiver against your chest as you rise from your desk, walking toward jake’s office with quick steps. when you push the door open, you find him at his desk, eyes glued to his monitor, expression unreadable.

“dr. sim,” you say carefully. he barely glances up. “your mother is on the line.”

that gets his attention.

his head snaps up so fast it looks like it might hurt, and the second he sees your expression – neutral but carefully watching – something in his own face shifts. a split-second crack in his usual control.

his mother wouldn’t call the office unless something was wrong.

you see it the moment his mind catches up to the implication. his face goes pale, and he pushes back his chair roughly, standing so fast it scrapes against the floor.

“transfer it,” he says, voice clipped, but his hands are already trembling as he reaches for the phone on his desk.

you nod and return to yours, quickly pressing the button to connect the call. as soon as it clicks over, you hear his voice – lower now, tight with something close to dread.

“mom?”

you should turn away. you should focus on your work, give him the privacy he needs. but something keeps your gaze locked on him, even as you try not to make it obvious.

there’s a pause. then, whatever his mother says has the color draining from his face entirely.

his fingers clench around the phone. his jaw sets tight, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

then, finally, he exhales.

“when?” his voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that makes your stomach twist.

another pause. then he nods, even though she can’t see him. “okay. i’ll be there.”

he hangs up.

for a moment, he just stands there, fingers still curled around the receiver like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. his head is slightly bowed, his shoulders tense.

and then he turns.

his eyes meet yours. and for the first time in a long time, you see something raw and unguarded in them. not frustration. not cold professionalism. something else entirely.

something that makes you forget, for just a moment, that things have been different between you. that there’s been an invisible wall between the two of you, made of everything unspoken.

“is everything—” you catch yourself. it’s not your place to ask. but the words are already out there. “is everything alright?”

he swallows. a muscle in his jaw jumps. he looks like he wants to say no. but he doesn’t.

instead, he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to ground himself. “i need to leave for a bit.”

“of course.” you hesitate, but then add, “do you need me to reschedule anything?”

he nods once, curtly. “yes. i’ll send you a list.”

the phone call had been brief – too brief for how he looked now. his face was pale, fingers twitching slightly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. the usual sharp focus in his eyes was gone, replaced with something unsettled, something raw.

you had barely heard what he’d said when he hung up. just a quiet, clipped response before he set the phone down with unnatural care, as if it might shatter in his hands. then silence. a long, heavy silence that made you shift in your seat.

he’s already reaching for his coat, but the way he moves – it’s not the usual controlled efficiency he carries himself with. his hands are stiff, his grip on the fabric just a little too tight. like he’s barely holding himself together.

“…dr. sim?”

jake didn’t respond.

you hesitated, glancing toward the doorway of his office. no one else was around – just the two of you in this unsettling quiet. you had been ready to move on, to keep things professional, to pretend you weren’t still hyper-aware of the strange coldness that had settled between you both. but this? this wasn’t something you could ignore.

you took a step forward. “jake.”

his head snapped up.

it took you off guard, the way his gaze sharpened at the sound of his name. but then, just as quickly, the tension in his shoulders collapsed. his expression flickered – like a fault line deep underground, cracking beneath pressure.

you tried again, softer this time. “what happened?”

jake inhaled, but the breath barely reached his lungs. “it’s my mom.”

your stomach twisted.

you had remembered jake’s phone call with her a few days ago. how he had sounded so agitated back then. jake never spoke much about his family, but you knew enough to understand that she was important to him in ways he didn’t know how to express. that, for all his cold rationality, all his carefully measured distance, she was a gravitational force in his life that he could never quite pull away from.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked at his hands – like he wasn’t sure when they had started shaking. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, nearly inaudible.

“she’s in the hospital.”

something in your chest tightened. “jake…”

he shook his head once, as if physically stopping himself from unraveling. “i—i need to go,” he said, already reaching for his coat, movements stiff. “i don’t—i can’t just sit here.”

“of course,” you said immediately. “do you want me to call someone? arrange a flight?”

“no,” he said, too quickly. he pressed his fingers to his temple, exhaling hard. “i’ll handle it.”

you watched him, watched the way he was barely keeping himself together. and despite everything, the growing distance, the unsaid things, you couldn’t just let him go like this.

“jake,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “let me help.”

for the first time in weeks, he met your gaze directly. and for the first time in weeks, you saw something unguarded in his eyes.

not calculation. not control.

just fear.

his throat bobbed. he looked like he wanted to say something – like he didn’t know how. but then his jaw clenched, and he nodded once, just slightly.

you reached for your phone. “i’ll book the next flight.”

jake exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. he didn’t thank you – not verbally. but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly, the way his hands stopped trembling—

it was enough.

the drive to the airport was quiet.

jake was in the passenger seat, fingers curled into fists on his lap. he had barely spoken since leaving the office, only responding in brief nods or single words when necessary. the weight of the unknown pressed heavy between you both, thick like fog.

you had booked the first flight you could find, mere hours from the phone call and you had made sure he had gone back home immediately to pack his necessities. you knew you had a hard time coming with all the meetings and deadlines that needed to be pushed back, but that could wait. you had to make sure he was fine first.

you were in half a mind to offer to go along with him, but that would be crossing a line, right? afterall, you both were still at crossroads, still just assistant and employer. you couldn’t possibly even dare to suggest this in the first place.

when you pulled into the departure lane, you hesitated before reaching for his bag in the backseat. “are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“no,” jake said, shaking his head. his voice was hoarse. “you’ve done enough.”

you swallowed. he wasn’t saying it unkindly – just…tiredly. hollow in a way that didn’t suit him.

still, you lingered. you weren’t sure why. maybe it was because of the way he gripped the strap of his bag too tightly. maybe it was the way his breath came uneven, like he was bracing for something.

maybe it was because, for the first time, jake sim looked small.

he was out of his lab coat for the first time, a hastily found hoodie on his frame but his eyes. they looked so lost, so panicked and scared all at the same time, you couldn't even start to think what was going on in his mind. but you know for once that it hadn’t got anything to do with numbers and the universe.

you don’t know how to comfort him, not without knowing the situation and you definitely do not want to feed him empty reassurances. he would see right through them, the logical man that he was, he would probably even scoff at you for being presumptuous. so you do the best you can with the situation.

“i hope she’s okay,” you said quietly. “let me know when you land.”

he hesitated. then, finally, “yeah.”

“and don’t worry about work, i promise i’ll reschedule everything, take as much as you need.”

this, you mean too. because you will make sure of this, it’s the only thing you can do, to be quite honest. so you decide that you will, and you’ll give it your all.

you didn’t expect more. and yet, just as he was about to turn away, he stopped.

for a second, he looked like he might say something else. like he might let something slip through the cracks of whatever walls he had built between you both.

but then he just inhaled sharply and stepped away from the car, disappearing into the terminal without another word.

and you were left there, watching him go, wondering why it felt like something in you had gone with him.

eleven.

jake sat in his old car, the one his mom drove now. he had tried to convince her to buy a new one, but she insisted on using this beaten up junk he had used for most of his university life.

his day had been hectic, to say the least. he had touched down within two hours of leaving, all because you had managed to book him the earliest flight possible. his first stop had been the hospital where his mother had been admitted. she had fainted apparently, in the middle of a grocery store. someone had helped her and when she had come to, she had called jake immediately.

of course, as an understanding woman, she had hesitated before calling, but then she figured she’d be abandoning her son the way his father had, so without a second thought, she had called. she had buried the feeling that she was being a burden and explained to jake what had happened.

something very minor, a quick surgery would fix it, she’d be up and about in a week, but she would require someone by her side for that time.

jake talked to the doctors, a decision was made almost immediately, whatever his mother needed, he would do it. the surgery was in three days, she would not be in any major danger till then.

and then he had called you. well, he had called his front desk and asked to be transferred to you because he did not have your number.

“dr. sim?” your voice sounded distant and it only hurt a little that you didn’t call him by his first name like you had back then.

a long silence. then, his voice – low, rough, exhausted.

“she needs surgery.”

you had straightened in your chair. “surgery?”

“a minor procedure,” he clarified, though his voice sounded anything but reassured. “the doctors said she’ll be fine, but…”

he trailed off. you waited.

“but i don’t know if she wants me here.”

that was the part that made your stomach twist. not the surgery, not the hospital – those were tangible things, things jake could analyze and categorize, things with numbers and statistics and measurable risks. but this? the unspoken weight of old wounds, of things left unresolved between him and his mother?

this was something jake couldn’t quantify.

“dr. sim…” you started, hesitating. you weren’t sure if he wanted comfort, if he would even accept it. “i’m sure she’s glad you’re there.”

a dry, humorless chuckle crackled through the receiver. “i have been pushing her away for so long, i won’t blame her if she doesn't want me here.”

and he had done the same to you too. he had convinced himself that you did not need him or have any requirement of him in your life for it to function.

you closed your eyes. “have you talked to her?”

another pause. “not really.”

the admission had made something in your chest tighten.

“i don’t know what to say,” he muttered. “i don’t know if i should even be here.”

you exhaled slowly, gripping your phone tighter. “dr. sim, she called you.”

that made him pause.

“she called you,” you had repeated, softer this time. “if she didn’t want you there, she wouldn’t have.”

for a long time, there was nothing. just his breathing on the other end, slow and uneven. then, finally—

“maybe.”

it wasn’t certain, but it wasn’t dismissal either.

you had glanced down at your planner, at the list of tasks you still needed to get through before the day ended. none of them had seemed as important then.

“if you need anything,” you had said, voice steady, “just let me know.”

jake hadn’t responded right away. but when he finally did, it was quieter, softer than before.

“yeah,” he murmured. “thanks.”

and then the line went dead.

his hands rested now on the wheel, unmoving, but his mind was anything but still. he had been sitting there for ten minutes now, staring at the house in front of him, telling his mother to go on first, that he would follow soon after. it was the same house he had grown up in, the same porch light flickering against the damp evening air, the same worn-out welcome mat his mother refused to replace because she said it held memories.

memories.

jake hated memories.

but lately, they kept creeping in, unwelcome and persistent, just like the thoughts of you that he couldn’t seem to shake. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping out of the car. the moment he knocked on the door, it swung open almost immediately.

“come on in, i was starting to think you’d spend the night in that old thing.” his mother’s voice was warm but held that gentle chiding tone only mothers could master. she must have been waiting.

“yeah,” jake muttered, stepping inside. “sorry.”

his mother gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. instead, she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. it was strange, being back home. the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating.

they ate in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic. his mother had made all his favorite dishes, even before she knew he was coming like it was something she did regardless of whether or not her son was in town, and he hated how easily that made his chest tighten.

“so,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “how’s jay? sunghoon?”

jake nodded. “they’re good.”

his mother hummed, waiting. jake knew she wasn’t just asking about them.

“and you?” she prompted.

“i’m fine,” he answered automatically.

her eyes softened, but she didn’t call him out on the lie. instead, she reached for his empty plate and stood to rinse it. that was always how it was between them. no forced conversations, no prying. just patience. it used to drive him crazy.

“you don’t visit as much anymore,” she said casually, but jake could hear the weight in her voice.

jake leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “i’ve been busy.”

“too busy for your mother?”

his throat felt tight. “that’s not—” he sighed. “i don’t know.”

she shut off the sink and turned to him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “you’ve been running, jake.”

the words struck deep, hitting something raw inside him. he opened his mouth to deny it, but what was the point? she saw through him, as she always had.

“ever since your father left,” she continued, voice gentle but firm, “you’ve been running from anything that makes you feel too much. you push people away before they can leave you first.”

jake clenched his jaw. “that’s not true.”

her expression didn’t change. “isn’t it?”

he wanted to argue, but flashes of his past screamed otherwise. his father’s car pulling out of the driveway, his mother’s silent tears in the kitchen, the way he had stopped asking when his father would come back. how he had pulled away – from her, from the warmth she tried so hard to keep alive in their home. because what was the point? if his own father could leave so easily, then wasn’t everything temporary?

his mother sighed, walking over to sit beside him. “i don’t bring this up to hurt you, sweetheart. but i see the way you hold yourself back. you’ve always done that, even when you were a boy. you care, but you don’t let yourself feel it too deeply.”

jake exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the edge of the kitchen table. the weight of his mother’s words settled heavily in his chest, pressing against old wounds he’d buried for too long.

“maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

his mother didn’t gloat, didn’t press. she only gave him that quiet, patient look that somehow made him feel both seen and uncomfortably exposed. it was always like this with her – gentle in the ways that hurt the most.

“i know why you’ve been distant,” she said softly, moving back to the table. “and i know it’s not just about me.”

jake stilled. he knew what was coming next. he could feel it in the way his mother studied him, in the way her eyes carried an understanding he wasn’t ready to face.

“you always bottle things up,” she continued, her voice steady. “you don’t let yourself get attached. you let people slip away before they even have the chance to stay.” she paused, letting her words settle.

then— “but there’s someone you don’t want to let go of, isn’t there?”

jake’s breath hitched. his immediate instinct was to deny it, to shut down the conversation before it could go any further. but the words refused to form.

because she was right.

because for the first time in years, there was someone – someone who had slipped into his life so effortlessly, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed until the absence of their presence started to eat away at him. someone whose voice still echoed in his head, whose absence left a hollowness he couldn’t explain away.

you.

his mother didn’t push. she just waited, as she always had, offering a space that was safe even when it didn’t feel like it. and maybe it was the exhaustion from the past few days, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, he didn’t want to run from this conversation.

jake exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

his mother simply hummed, waiting.

“i’m… off,” he admitted, hesitating. “lately, everything feels – wrong. like i’m forgetting something important, like i’m missing something. but i don’t know what to do about it.”

his mother tilted her head slightly. “and does this have something to do with the person you called earlier?”

jake’s fingers twitched against the table. “i didn’t call her directly,” he muttered, because even now, he wasn’t sure if he could handle what saying your name out loud would do to him. “i had to go through the front desk to reach her.”

his mother smiled knowingly. “that’s not the point, sweetheart.”

jake swallowed. he knew. he knew exactly what she was getting at.

“it’s just… she’s just been there,” he found himself saying, his voice hesitant. “always so put together, always knowing exactly what i need before i even have to ask. it’s like she—” he stopped himself before he could say too much, but his mother was already watching him with an expression that told him she understood more than he wanted her to.

“she takes care of you.”

jake’s jaw clenched. “yeah.”

“and you don’t know what to do with that.”

his laugh was hollow, humorless. “i don’t think i deserve it.”

his mother sighed, her eyes soft. “jake.”

he shook his head, leaning back against the chair. “i hurt her.”

the words felt heavier than he expected. saying them out loud made them real, made them impossible to ignore.

his mother didn’t look surprised. “how?”

jake hesitated. he wasn’t sure where to begin. it wasn’t just one thing – it was everything. the way he’d dismissed you, the way he’d taken you for granted, the way he’d let you become part of his routine without ever stopping to consider what that meant.

“i pushed her away,” he admitted, his voice tight. “i didn’t even realize i was doing it until it was too late. and now…”

his mother’s gaze was patient, understanding. “and now?”

jake exhaled slowly. “now, i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

his mother’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “because change terrifies you. and she’s become part of your life in a way you never expected.”

jake stared at the table, his thoughts a tangled mess. “i don’t even know when it happened,” he murmured. “i just… one day, she was there. and now, when she’s not – it feels wrong.”

his mother reached across the table, placing a gentle hand over his. “that sounds a lot like caring, jake.”

he let out a slow, shaky breath. “maybe.”

his mother squeezed his hand. “sweetheart, i’ve watched you close yourself off for so long. and i know you think it’s safer that way. but it’s okay to let people in. it’s okay to care.”

jake closed his eyes. he wanted to believe that. he really did.

“i don’t know how to fix this.”

his mother’s smile was sad but encouraging. “then start by not running away.”

jake swallowed hard, her words settling deep inside him. for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe – just maybe – he didn’t want to run anymore.

jake’s fingers curled against the table. “i don’t know how i feel about this.”

his mother reached out, resting a hand over his. “that’s okay. but don’t let your fear stop you from figuring it out.”

jake didn’t respond. he didn’t know how.

his mother sighed, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “just don’t push her away, jake. don’t make the same mistake your father did.”

the words hit harder than he expected. he wasn’t like his father. he refused to be. but deep down, he knew – he had spent so much time trying to avoid being hurt that he had been the one keeping others at arm’s length.

maybe that needed to change.

later that night, as he lay in his childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. the way you carried yourself, the way you fought for your place, the way you—

the way you made him feel.

jake turned onto his side, exhaling heavily. maybe it was time to stop running. maybe, for once, he needed to stay.

twelve.

you sat at your desk, staring at the chaotic schedule in front of you. jake had only been gone a few days, but it felt like an entire month’s worth of work had piled up. between rescheduling meetings, handling review dates, and ensuring the interns didn’t completely destroy the office system, your plate was overflowing. but that was your job. and you were good at it.

jake’s absence, however, made things feel heavier.

you had never been more aware of how much of your day revolved around him until he wasn’t here. normally, he’d be in his office, shooting you the occasional exasperated look over paperwork, or stepping out to ask for another coffee despite already having two. you had gotten used to the rhythm of his presence, the way it filled spaces without needing to demand attention.

now, that presence was gone, and you were left to make sure everything didn’t completely fall apart before he returned.

you let out a sigh, rubbing your temples before picking up your phone. another call, another problem to solve.

by the time jake’s return was only a few days away, you were running on caffeine and sheer determination. you had managed to keep everything under control, but it had taken everything out of you. your mind barely had space to wander – except for the brief moments when you remembered your last conversation with jake. the way his voice had sounded so lost, the hesitation behind his words.

but you couldn’t dwell on that. he wasn’t here. and when he came back, things would fall back into place.

a knock on your office door snapped you from your thoughts. you looked up to see one of your colleagues peeking in.

“hey, dr. sim called. he asked for you specifically.”

you blinked. “me?”

“yeah. said he wanted to check in.”

you hesitated for a moment before grabbing the office phone and dialing the number.

it barely rang once before he picked up. “y/n.”

his voice was different. not as tired as before, but still carrying something heavy. you straightened in your chair. “dr. sim. you called?”

a pause. then, “yeah. i just… wanted to check in. how’s everything?”

you glanced at the never-ending list on your screen. “under control.”

jake let out a small huff, almost like a laugh. “of course it is.”

silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what else to say. but then his voice softened. “thank you. for everything. i know it’s been a lot.”

you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “that’s my job, dr. sim.”

jake inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hurt him.

your job.

like this was just a role, a duty to fulfill. like you were only here because of professional obligation, not because you had ever cared beyond that.

and maybe that was the worst part – knowing that at some point, you had cared. that at some point, he had meant more to you. but now, all that remained was distance, formality.

“right,” he said after a moment, his voice unreadable. “i’ll be back soon.”

“of course. safe travels.”

the call ended before either of you could say more, but the weight of it lingered. you sat there for a long time, staring at your desk, trying to push away the uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

meanwhile, on the other end of the line, jake sat in his childhood home, gripping his phone tighter than necessary. for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had lost something important.

and he had no idea how to get it back.

jay keeps him updated, the way you’re single handedly managing his schedule, making sure kang doesn’t fire his ass straight up (not that he would, jake’s too much of a genius for that to happen). but more than that, jay spoke of the way you kept things running, how you barely took a break, how you worked yourself to exhaustion, making sure everything was still intact for when jake returned.

jake listened in silence, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each passing word. you had always been efficient, always been reliable. but there was something about the way jay talked about you now – how you were overextending yourself, how you hardly left your desk unless necessary – that made him uneasy.

by the time he finally stepped back into the office, the weight of unfinished conversations, of unspoken words, was pressing heavily on his shoulders. his absence had given him clarity, but clarity didn’t mean anything if he didn’t act on it.

when jake does come back, it’s a surprise to you too. he hadn’t called in advance, hadn’t mentioned anything, hadn’t even asked you to book a flight. just shown up to work on a thursday like he hadn’t been on a leave the past week.

it surprised you, you thought you were hallucinating.

jake was the same, yet different. he was still dressed impeccably, his dark suit fitted just right, his tie slightly loosened as if he had already had a long morning. but his eyes – those damn eyes – were sharp when they landed on you, scanning you like he was seeing you for the first time in months, not weeks.

“morning.” his voice was smooth, composed. if he was affected by anything, he didn’t let it show.

you forced herself to breathe. “morning.”

a pause later, you added, “how’s your mom?”

jake smiles, faintly. he looks tired, but also like he was well rested. like the week away from his office had given him the rest he had deserved.

“she’s fine,” he says, and you realise you had missed the warmth of his voice, “she’s recovering pretty fast.”

you nod, thankful that things were alright. you want to say something more, ask him how he was doing, ask him ask him if he’s really okay.

the words sit on your tongue, hesitant, unwilling to be spoken. you don't know if you have the right to ask anymore.

jake, for his part, watches you like he’s waiting for something. like he’s expecting you to say more, but when you don’t, he only nods. there’s something restrained in his expression, something that makes you feel like there’s more he wants to say too – but neither of you does.

instead, the moment passes.

“i should—” you gesture vaguely to your desk, to the endless tasks that had piled up in his absence. “i didn’t know you were coming back today, if you want , i can set your schedule up today. maybe a meeting in an hour with director kang, if you’re up for it, and then a review session with the legal team later in the afternoon. i can send the details to your email.”

jake exhales, eyes flickering to his office door. you’re rambling and he finds it amusing. or endearing. the thought of the latter feeling makes him tighten his hold over his bag, but he doesn’t look away, just nods along to whatever you say.

afterall, you know what’s best.

“right. i’ll look through it.”

you nod once, curt, and then turn back to your screen, as if that conversation hadn’t just been something fragile, something that could’ve cracked open if you had let it. you think that’s the end of it. that he’ll walk away, go back to his office, and things will return to the way they were.

but jake doesn’t move.

he lingers.

and then, in a voice softer than before, he says, “thank you, y/n.”

your fingers pause over your keyboard.

it’s not the words themselves that make your breath hitch – it’s the way he says them. the way they aren’t just polite acknowledgments, aren’t just an empty phrase meant to brush past the weight of everything left unsaid. no, this is different.

this is him meaning it.

this is gratitude in its truest form, held in his voice like it’s something delicate.

you inhale slowly, schooling your expression before you look up at him again. “of course,” you reply, but the words feel distant, like they don’t quite match the way your heart stumbles against your ribs.

jake’s lips press together, as if he wants to say something more. but then jay appears, calling out to him from the other side of the office, and the moment snaps in half.

just like that, he’s gone.

for most part of the day though, jake is drowning in work.

it had been that way since he got back – nonstop reviews, overflowing emails, projects that had stalled in his absence. the moment he stepped into the office, he had been pulled in every direction, barely given room to breathe. and he let it happen. work was easier to focus on. it was something he could control.

but every now and then, between the numbers and the reports, he felt it – the weight of your presence just beyond his reach.

you were there. moving around the office, talking to coworkers, slipping in and out of the conference room with files in hand. he caught glimpses of you in passing, his eyes drawn to you more times than he could count. you weren’t avoiding him anymore, not like before, but the distance was still there – an unspoken, lingering thing between you both.

he wanted to talk to you. he really did. but every time he so much as turned in your direction, something else demanded his attention – a call, an urgent email, a meeting running longer than expected. so he buried himself in work, knowing that if he just got through all of it, if he could just clear his plate, then maybe he could finally sit down with you. no interruptions. no distractions. just you and him.

but the day passed, and the timing was never right. not until lunch.

he didn’t notice at first – too caught up in his screen, typing away furiously. but when he finally leaned back to stretch, his eyes landed on your figure, knuckles raised against his door as if you were just about to knock.

your eyes widen as if you had been caught doing something scandalous, but you school your expression, clearing your throat hastily.

“you should eat,” you said, voice careful. “it’s been a long day, and it's only going to get busier later. dr. lee called for an impromptu review at four pm.”

you sound apologetic, almost as if you’re the one who put him through this predicament, especially after his first day back.

for a second, he just stared at you. it had been so long since you had done something like this for him. since you had even looked at him like this – cautious, hesitant, but still caring. and for the first time in what felt like forever, the words weren’t automatic, weren’t distant.

jake exhales, pushing away from his desk. his shoulders ache, his mind heavy from the sheer amount of work waiting for him, but for the first time today, his focus shifts entirely – to you.

you’re still standing there, waiting for his response.

his gaze flickers over your expression, taking in the way you hover, like you’re unsure if you should even be here. like you’re debating whether you should have said anything at all.

and suddenly, he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

jake clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “have you eaten?”

you blink, clearly thrown off.

“uh,” you hesitate. “no, not yet.”

jake nods once, contemplative. then, without overthinking it, he pushes back his chair, standing to grab his coat.

“let’s go, then.”

your brain stutters. “go where?”

“lunch.” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. like it’s not entirely unprecedented and completely out of character for him to suggest something like this.

you stare at him, almost suspicious. “like, together?”

a corner of his mouth twitches, though he quickly tamps it down. “yes, y/n. together.”

you should say no. you should.

because this? this is dangerous territory. jake doesn’t ask you to lunch. he doesn’t ask you for anything, really – at least, nothing that doesn’t pertain to work.

but then he tilts his head ever so slightly, waiting. and maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, maybe it’s the way your stomach actually growls at the worst possible moment, or maybe it’s just that he’s looking at you like that.

like he’s trying.

“…okay,” you say before you can stop yourself.

jake nods, satisfied, before leading the way out of his office.

thirteen.

the café jake picked was a little ways away from the office, tucked into a quieter street lined with small shops. it wasn’t anything extravagant – just a cozy place with warm lighting and a surprisingly extensive menu. you weren’t sure what you expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“you come here often?” you asked as you both settled into a table near the window.

jake hummed, glancing over the menu. “not really. but i figured somewhere away from the office would be better.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. “oh.”

he didn’t elaborate, just focused on the menu like this was something normal. like he hadn’t just, for the first time in forever, actively chosen to spend time with you outside of work.

the waitress arrived, and after a quick back-and-forth (in which jake somehow convinced you to order something other than your usual go-to sandwich), you were left with nothing but your drinks and the thick air of unspoken words.

“so,” you started, wrapping your hands around your cup. “how’s your mom doing?”

jake leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against the table. “better. still recovering, but she’s been more energetic these past few days.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“she actually told me to stop hovering over her,” he added, lips twitching in amusement. “said i was more of a nuisance than a help.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i can imagine. you don’t seem like the type to sit still when you’re worried.”

jake’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t deny it. “you’re not wrong.”

there was a beat of silence, comfortable this time. jake studied you for a moment before tilting his head slightly. “what about you?”

you frowned. “what about me?”

he shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “how have you been? you’ve basically been running the office while i was gone.”

“it’s nothing i couldn’t handle,” you said, brushing it off.

jake wasn’t convinced. “jay made it sound like you barely had time to breathe.”

you huffed, shaking your head. “jay exaggerates.”

“does he?”

you hesitated. “okay, maybe a little. but it’s my job. it’s what i do.”

something flickered in his expression, but before you could dissect it, he changed the subject. “what do you do after work?”

you blinked. “huh?”

“when you’re not running the office or making sure i don’t completely destroy my schedule—what do you do?”

you narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “why do you want to know?”

jake smirked slightly, but there was a sincerity behind it. “just curious.”

you hesitated for a moment before sighing. “not much, honestly. i usually just go home, maybe read a little. sometimes i go out with friends, but it depends on the day.”

jake hummed, nodding. “sounds… peaceful.”

“sometimes.” you tilted your head. “what about you? when you’re not buried in research papers or ignoring kang’s calls?”

jake exhaled a laugh. “ignoring kang is a full-time job in itself.”

you snorted, shaking your head. but you’re also slightly malfunctioning. never in a million years would you have even imagined that you’d be sitting across jake sim, making small talk. is this a dream?

“but,” he continued, “i guess i read, too. or watch documentaries. i used to play soccer more, but it’s been a while.”

your brows lifted slightly. “soccer? really?”

jake smirked. “what, don’t believe me?”

this side of him is new. the smirk, the unguarded laughs, the way he sometimes bites his lips. you will yourself to stay calm, clench your fingers in your lap and exhale slowly.

you shrugged. “i just can’t picture you running around on a field when you’re usually glued to your computer.”

“i contain multitudes,” he said, mock-offended.

you rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered.

then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked, “so, are you seeing anyone?”

your entire brain short-circuited.

“wh—what?”

jake leaned back, utterly unbothered. “you know. dating. boyfriend, girlfriend, situationship. whatever people call it these days.”

you stared at him. “why do you want to know?”

he shrugged, playing it cool. “just making conversation.”

your eyes narrowed slightly, but you answered anyway. “no. not at the moment.”

jake nodded slowly, almost like he was committing that information to memory.

you crossed your arms. “and you?”

his expression didn’t change. “no.”

“not even someone waiting for you to finally look up from your research and realize they exist?”

jake exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “not that i know of.”

you hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

for a moment, the conversation lulled, and then you found yourself blurting, “why did you choose astrophysics?”

jake glanced up, slightly surprised by the question. but after a beat, his lips curled up faintly. “you really want to know?”

you shrugged. “i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t.”

he leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on that familiar, passionate undertone he always had when he spoke about his field. “i guess it started when i was a kid. i always liked figuring things out, but space… space is different. it’s infinite, unpredictable. the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know.”

you watched him, absorbed by the way his eyes lit up as he spoke.

“it’s terrifying,” he admitted, a small grin playing on his lips. “but it’s also incredible. there are entire galaxies out there, black holes that warp time, planets that could be habitable. the laws of physics as we know them could be completely different somewhere else.”

you smiled slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “you sound like you’re in love with it.”

jake blinked at you, momentarily thrown off.

then, he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “maybe i am.”

and for some reason, something about that made your chest feel oddly tight.

the food arrived then, breaking the moment. but as you both ate, the conversation continued – easier now, lighter. and you didn’t miss the way jake kept looking at you, like he was memorizing this, like he was finally realizing that outside of the office, outside of schedules and meetings and deadlines, there was you.

and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to miss out on that anymore.

jake walks beside you as you both make your way back to the office, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. the lunch had been... nice. unexpected, but nice. and now, as the two of you walk in comfortable silence, he seems more at ease than you’ve seen him in a long time.

then, without warning, he speaks.

"did you know that if you fell into a black hole, time would slow down for you compared to someone watching from the outside?" his voice is contemplative, as if he’s only now realizing he said it out loud.

you blink, caught off guard. "um. no?"

jake nods, as if he expected that. "yeah. it’s called time dilation. the closer you get to the event horizon – the point of no return – the slower time moves for you, relative to everyone else. so technically, if you could somehow escape, you’d find that far more time had passed for the rest of the universe than for you."

you process his words, lips twitching. "so what you're saying is... if i ever want to time travel, i should just jump into a black hole?"

jake huffs out a laugh. "not unless you want to be spaghettified."

you stop mid-step. "spaghettified?"

he turns his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "yeah. because of the intense gravitational pull, your body would stretch into thin strands, like spaghetti. it’s called ‘spaghettification.’"

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "you’re messing with me."

"i swear i’m not." he grins, and for a moment, you see a different version of him – one without the weight of responsibilities or expectations pressing down on him. "the gravitational pull at your feet would be much stronger than at your head, so you’d get stretched out like a noodle before—" he snaps his fingers. "—being ripped apart."

you stare at him, utterly baffled. "what a horrifying way to go."

"oh, absolutely," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "but theoretically, if the black hole was big enough, you might not even notice you’d crossed the event horizon. you’d just... fall. forever."

you don’t know what’s funnier – the fact that he’s so nonchalant about it, or the fact that he’s clearly enjoying this little tangent.

"so, the moral of the story," you say, crossing your arms, "avoid black holes."

jake chuckles, the sound low and genuine. "exactly."

for a moment, the two of you just walk, and you realize something – you actually like listening to him talk about this. there’s something comforting about the way he explains things, the way he gets lost in his own thoughts, his usual guardedness slipping away as he speaks about something he genuinely loves.

you glance at him, curious. you suddenly wonder about the jake sim you don’t know about. the one who apparently plays soccer and reads for leisure at home. what does he read? books on astrophysics? does he read fiction? does he have a favourite soccer team? does he still watch matches?

the more you imagine, the more you want to know.

who is jake sim outside of the brilliant astrophysicist you’re an assistant to?

but you don’t have to wonder too long. you’re already at the office doors and jake pushes them open first, holding them so you can step inside before him.

and that’s when jay sees you.

he’s standing near the entrance of the cafeteria, cup of coffee in hand, and the moment he spots the two of you stepping in together, his brows shoot up to his hairline. his eyes flicker between you and jake, and then – because he’s jay – his lips curl into a knowing smirk.

"well, well," he drawls, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "look who decided to have a little lunch date."

you freeze. "it wasn’t a—"

jake, to your surprise, doesn’t even flinch. he merely tugs off his coat, shrugging. "we were hungry."

jay’s smirk deepens. "uh-huh. sure."

you roll your eyes and push past him, but not before catching the way jay mouths "okay, i see y’all" at you behind jake’s back.

you ignore him.

you ignore the warmth in your chest too. however, if you know jay, you’d know that he’s anything but dismissive. that’s how you find yourself cornered in the printer room not even twenty minutes later.

jake had barely settled back into his office when you made your way to the printer room, hoping to grab some reports before his next meeting. it was supposed to be a quick trip – get in, get out, avoid any unnecessary interactions. but, of course, jay had other plans.

you didn’t even hear him coming.

“so.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin. “jesus—”

jay leaned against the printer, arms crossed, watching you with an all-too-knowing look.

you should’ve known. the moment you and jake had stepped into the office together, jay had been watching. his eyes had flickered between the two of you, brows raised ever so slightly, but he hadn’t said anything much at the time. which, in retrospect, had been a warning in itself.

and now, here he was, looking way too entertained for your liking.

“what do you want?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you grabbed the stack of papers.

jay grinned. “oh, i don’t know. just wondering how your little lunch date went.”

you almost dropped the reports. “it wasn’t a date.”

“sure,” he nodded sagely. “just two colleagues, having lunch together, alone, outside the office, for the first time ever.”

you exhaled sharply, fixing him with a look. “he asked. i said yes. that’s it.”

jay hummed, unconvinced. “and what did you two talk about?”

“nothing special.”

“uh-huh. so, just to be clear,” jay continued, tilting his head, “jake sim—our very own resident workaholic, who has never once asked you out to lunch—randomly decides to do so today, and you think that means nothing?”

you shifted, feeling cornered. “jay—”

“because, and hear me out,” he interrupted, grinning wider, “it kinda seems like he’s making an effort.”

you blinked, lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

jay watched as realization flickered across your face, the way your fingers tightened around the papers in your grasp. and then he smirked, patting your shoulder before sauntering off, leaving you standing there, replaying the conversation in your head.

making an effort.

no. no way.

…right?

fourteen.

it started, as most things did between you and jake, with work.

you had long since grown used to your role as his assistant, leaving meticulous reminders on his desk so that he wouldn’t conveniently forget to review reports or attend meetings. it was a well-oiled system by now. you left him a note, he (sometimes) actually followed through, and the world kept spinning.

but now there was a comfortable dynamic starting to form between you two.

now jake would stop by your desk for a whole minute, greeting you warmly and in fact, he had started receiving his coffee from you at your desk itself.

there was always a polite but warm ‘good morning’ and ‘thanks for the coffee’ greeting you. and you liked it. you liked that jake would mirror your smile. the first time he had smiled at you – like, openly grinned, with his eyes crinkling – you had been blindsighted. you were probably too shocked to even return the gesture, sitting still for a whole minute, imprinting and memorizing the sight you had just been graced with in your memory.

turns out, you didn’t have to memorise it, because you were suddenly a regular recipient of it. every damn morning. well, it certainly was one reason to start looking forward to your mondays.

this was still jake, he was still the same old sleeves rolled up deep in calculations person inside his office. but when he passed by you? or when you entered his office? a permanent grin etched on his face. those eyes that had been focused on some report? positively sparkling behind his thick rimmed glasses.

he was suddenly starting to resemble a puppy in you reyes and the more you sneaked glances at him, the more you were concerned of this comparison.

so when you left a neatly written sticky note on his desk one evening—"reminder: review kang’s quarterly report before 10 am meeting tomorrow."— you thought nothing of it.

the next morning, you arrived to find the note on your desk. only, something had been added beneath your writing, in jake’s neat, slanted script:

"did you know that the universe is expanding at an accelerating rate? just like kang’s expectations."

you blinked. then blinked again. what the hell?

you turned your head toward his office, where the glass door remained shut, jake nowhere in sight. he had to have done this late last night. and he hadn’t even addressed your reminder – just hit you with a completely random space fact.

you thought it was a one time thing. maybe he saw the post notes on your desk and decided to leave one for the fun of it?

the next evening, after finishing up your reports, you left another note on his desk: "don’t forget to go through the intern evaluations before friday."

when you returned the next morning, there was another addition:

"forwarded you the evals.” below it, in his slightly scratchy handwriting was an addition: “incidentally, did you know that time moves slower in stronger gravitational fields? maybe that’s why this week feels endless."

you covered your mouth, suppressing a laugh. this man.

and just like that, it became a thing.

it started slow, with simple reminders laced with cosmic facts, but then it evolved. jake’s responses became more elaborate, slipping in more than just dry science.

one day, you left: "you need to approve the lab’s funding proposal by end of day. no exceptions!"

by the next morning, jake’s response was waiting for you: "did you know that some stars shine brighter when they have a companion? also, the proposal is on your desk, don’t nag."

your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason that day.

but jake never acknowledged it out loud. when you interacted in person, he was the same – calm, composed, occasionally brooding but never ignoring your reminders anymore. yet, on paper, in these little sticky notes, something else simmered beneath his usual cool demeanor.

it was a language only the two of you seemed to understand.

the next time you found a note, you stared at it a little longer than usual before pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

"scientists believe there’s a ninth planet in our solar system, but we haven’t been able to find it yet. kind of like how i never see you taking breaks. go home on time for once."

like he’s one to speak, pulling long hours on days you leave on time anyway. regardless, you read it three times, warmth unfurling in your chest before tucking the note away in your drawer – right next to all the others you had kept. because you were keeping them now.

even if he didn’t catch you in the act of placing them carefully in one of your drawers, you had a feeling jake knew.

sometimes he was straight up funny, or so you thought. it was a side that you could usually only see through these notes because jake sim in person? he never said stuff like this.

once you reminded him of a deadline: “the research proposal deadline is on friday. let me know if you need anything."

he replied: "there’s a giant storm on jupiter that has been raging for over 300 years. that’s still shorter than some of the meetings we sit through."

you had laughed. you had tried to be discreet about it but you couldn’t help the chuckle that had tumbled out and jake had caught you in that moment.

it was unfair, really. how easily he managed to make you smile. how effortlessly he turned something as mundane as sticky notes into something… else.

your cheeks had warmed up and very sheepishly, you looked away. but you missed the way jake had smiled to himself, pushing his glasses up and scratching his ears. cute, he had thought.

and proceeded to malfunction the rest of the day.

and of course jay noticed. of course he had something to say.

he started with jake first, because believe it or not, his friend was an absolute loser.

jay had been watching jake all morning. well, technically, he’d been watching jake for weeks now, but today was different.

jake was fidgeting.

now, jake sim did not fidget. he was the type of guy who could stare at a complex data set for hours without breaking concentration, but today? today, his pen was twirling between his fingers with a sort of nervous energy, his glasses had been pushed up his nose at least five times in the last two minutes, and most damning of all, he kept sneaking glances at your desk.

jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching the way jake’s ears tinged pink every time you so much as moved.

“oh, this is so good,” he muttered to himself.

jake ignored him, as he usually did. but jay knew the truth.

he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the sticky note exchanges. it had started small, easy to brush off as just another one of jake’s quirks, but then jay had seen you laughing at a note one morning, your eyes lingering a little too long on the writing before tucking it away. tucking it away. as in, keeping it.

jay, of course, had confronted jake immediately.

“you like her,” he’d accused one evening as they left the office.

jake had barely given him a glance. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, dude. you’re writing her space facts like it’s some secret code for flirting.”

jake had hesitated then, the barest of pauses in his step before he scoffed. “it’s not flirting. it’s just… facts.”

jay had groaned. “you absolute loser.”

the worst part is, jay actually reads one of those notes.

you don’t even notice. he was leaning against your desk, waiting for you to find him one of those empty files you usually kept handy when he saw it. the yellow paper peeking out from under your keyboard.

you hear him scoff.

you turn just in time to see him pluck the sticky note off your desk, holding it between two fingers like it’s the most scandalous piece of evidence he’s ever seen.

“really?” he deadpans, reading the words aloud. “fact: the andromeda galaxy is on a collision course with the milky way. kind of like how you’re on a collision course with burnout if you keep staying past office hours. go home, y/n. – jake’”

he blinks. then looks at you. long. hard. smug.

you snatch the note back. “mind your business.”

“oh, no, no,” jay grins, crossing his arms. “this is my business. because you–” he points at you, then at your drawer, which probably has a whole stash of jake’s little science notes, “are clearly stockpiling these. and he” —cue the dramatic hand gesture in the direction of jake’s office— “is clearly trying to rizz you up with astrophysics.”

your soul leaves your body. “he is not!”

jay just laughs. “oh, honey. he is. and the fact that you’re keeping them? you’re down bad.”

you groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “please shut up.”

“but like—are you guys flirting through the cosmos?” he’s grinning so hard, it’s physically painful to witness. “is this—interstellar rizz?”

“jay…”

“a universal love story?”

“jay.”

“gravitational attraction?”

“oh my god!”

fifteen.

it's been a whole entire month now. an entire month from the day you had been venting to jay about how you were just a paperclip to jake. a whole month since you quietly but seamlessly made your presence known in jake’s daily routine.

funny, how things change.

jake’s never been good with change though.

it unsettles him – the way you’ve become this constant, the way he’s started to notice you in ways he never used to. at first, it was just small things. the way you always showed up in the lab before him, already setting up for the day. how you somehow remembered his preferred coffee order better than he did. the way your presence always lingered in the room, even when you weren’t speaking.

but then, those small things started becoming something more.

like how he started looking for you before even realizing he was doing it. how your voice, your laughter – hell, even the way you sighed when you were frustrated – started threading itself into the fabric of his days.

and the worst part? he let it happen.

jake liked routines, formulas, things that followed a set pattern. he liked knowing what to expect. but you? you were anything but predictable. and yet, somehow, you were still there, right in the middle of everything, shifting the entire equation of his life without permission.

how your presence had become something…expected.

jake didn’t like expecting things. expectations led to disappointments. people left, and routines shattered. he had learned that early on, and he had learned it well.

jake hadn’t meant to think of you. really.

he had been sitting at his desk, staring at the notes sprawled out before him, running calculations and double-checking measurements for the upcoming visit to the observatory. it was standard procedure – his advisor had asked him to review the telescope’s latest readings, compare them with the simulations, and ensure everything was in order before they proceeded with the next phase of their research. it was work he could do on autopilot, something he’d done dozens of times before.

and yet, he found himself pausing.

because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to go alone.

it wasn’t unusual for jake to make solo visits to the observatory – he actually preferred it that way. it was quiet, isolated, just him and the endless expanse of the universe stretched out before him. no distractions, no expectations. just the comfort of knowing that the stars above would always remain as they were – constant, unmoving, predictable.

but ever since you had slipped into his life, disrupting the structure he had so carefully built, everything felt different.

the observatory had always been his space. a place where he could think, where the world made sense. it was the last place he should be considering bringing someone else. and yet, the idea had wormed its way into his head and refused to leave.

he frowned, tapping his pen against the desk.

why did he want you there?

it wasn’t logical. you weren’t a physicist. you had nothing to gain from being in the observatory, nothing to contribute to the calculations or the data collection. the rational part of his mind told him there was no reason to invite you.

still, he found himself gripping his pen a little tighter, watching you from the corner of his eye as he wondered what you would say if he asked. but technically, he could use an extra pair of hands. he needed to cross check some numbers anyway, maybe you would be willing to help?

or is he rationalises his thoughts and actions as he finally makes his way over to you. it seemed, lately he had been doing a lot of that – seeking you out at your desk.

“are you busy this evening?”

you looked up from your notes, brow arching slightly. “depends. are you about to ask me to do something tedious?”

jake scoffed lightly. “define tedious.”

you narrowed your eyes. “dr. sim, you’re asking me to stay back after work. that email disaster was a one-time thing, but if you’re going to make me stay late to organize more files or proofread another hundred pages of data sheets, i will be charging overtime.”

jake huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “it’s not that.”

you tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

he shifted his weight slightly, gripping the edge of your desk like he needed something solid to keep himself grounded. “i need to check something at the observatory tonight. cross-check some numbers, recalibrate a few things.” a pause. “figured an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt.”

you blinked. “and i’m the extra pair of hands?”

jake nodded. “yeah.”

you stared at him for a long moment, trying to decipher his expression. you weren’t exactly well-versed in astrophysics, and you were pretty sure there wasn’t much you could actually do to help. but jake wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think you were at least somewhat useful, he wasn’t the type to waste time.

still, something about this felt… off. not in a bad way, just unusual. jake rarely asked for company, let alone your company outside of work hours.

you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “i’m not sure how an assistant is supposed to be helpful at an observatory.”

jake shrugged, nonchalant. “moral support.”

you gave him a flat look. “moral support?”

“yeah. you know. in case i get emotionally overwhelmed by all the equations.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “right. that definitely sounds like something you’d struggle with.”

there was a glint in his eyes, like he was amused by your skepticism, but he didn’t argue. just watched you, waiting for your answer.

you exhaled through your nose, considering. the observatory wasn’t exactly your idea of an exciting evening, but… you couldn’t deny you were curious.

and maybe – just maybe – a small part of you liked the fact that he had asked.

“…fine,” you relented. “but if i get bored, i’m leaving.”

jake smirked. “noted.”

which brings you to now.

the observatory was quieter than you expected. it stood at the edge of campus, slightly isolated, its large dome stretching into the night sky, a dark canvas dotted with stars, and though you've never really considered yourself someone particularly enthralled by space, you can't deny the way the sight steals your breath.

in the center of the room, a massive telescope stands like something out of a sci-fi movie, its lenses gleaming under the soft glow of the control panel. but what steals your breath is the view beyond the glass ceiling – an entire universe stretched out above you, vast and infinite.

you exhale, stunned. “wow.”

jake watches you, something unreadable in his expression. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i thought you’d like it.”

there’s something about the way he says it – soft, almost hesitant – that makes your pulse skip.

jake was already setting up, his movements methodical. you hovered near the entrance, taking in the scene before finally making your way to him.

“so, what now?” you asked, clearing your throat.

he glanced at you, then gestured to a set of notes on the table. “just cross-check these while i calibrate the telescope.”

you nodded, flipping through the pages. silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. just the soft rustling of paper, the occasional click of buttons, and the steady sound of jake adjusting the equipment.

after a while, you looked up, watching him in his element. his brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. there was something almost peaceful about seeing him like this, completely immersed in his work.

“so.” you clear your throat, still taking in the sky. “this is where you go when you disappear for hours?”

“sometimes,” he admits. “it’s quiet here. no emails. no meetings. just… this.”

he moves to the telescope, adjusting the dials with practiced ease before glancing at you. “want to see?”

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer.

jake’s hands brush against yours as he guides you to the eyepiece, and you pretend not to notice the way your skin hums from the contact.

you peer in, and suddenly, it’s just you and the stars.

it’s breathtaking. planets and constellations in sharp clarity, galaxies swirling in a cosmic dance.

“this is insane,” you whisper.

jake chuckles. “insane in a good way?”

“in the best way.” your voice reduces to a whisper on its own accord. through the eyepiece, you feel like you’re experiencing something intimate, only for your eyes. “i think i’m starting to understand why you like doing this work.”

you don’t know what motivates you to actually say it out aloud, but the comfortable silence that had settled between you may have been a catalyst.

jake laughs a tiny little laugh, almost quietly as if he wanted to preserve the sanctity of this moment. nothing but the hum of the machines surround you now and he can hear the way your clothes rustle when you adjust yourself to the telescope.

“it makes sense,” he said simply.

you tilted your head. “more than people do?”

his hands stilled.

for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then, he let out a quiet breath, gaze still fixed on the telescope.

“people aren’t predictable,” he said finally. “science is.”

you set the notes down, stepping closer. “predictability isn’t everything sometimes.”

he turned to look at you then, something unreadable in his expression. the air between you felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could name. the way his gaze lingered made your stomach twist, and for a second, you thought he might say something – something important.

there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, voice quieter. “you ever think about it?”

“think about what?”

“how small we are,” he muses. “how, in the grand scheme of the universe, we’re just specks of dust on a floating rock.”

you pull away from the telescope to look at him, but his gaze is fixed upward.

“you’re telling me,” you start, amused, “that we came all the way here so you could have an existential crisis?”

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “no. i just—” he hesitates, choosing his words. “i guess i wanted to show you why i love this.”

you don’t know why, but that confession makes something tighten in your chest.

you watch him for a moment – how the glow of the dim lights casts a soft halo around his face, how his brows furrow ever so slightly in thought. the glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the stars above you. how his eyes shine behind those glasses, holding things you didn’t dare to ask him about. the soft smile tugging on the corners of his lips as his neck craned up in familiar appreciation.

for once, you don’t feel like an outsider in his world.

“this is where it started for me,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

you turned to him, curious. “what did?”

his lips curved, not quite a smile, but something softer. “my obsession with space. the stars. everything.”

you waited, sensing that he wasn’t finished. and after a beat, he exhaled, tilting his head back as if he could reach into the past and pluck the memory right from the sky.

“i was ten the first time i saw saturn through a telescope,” he murmured. “my mom took me to an observatory for my birthday. she—” he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. “she wasn’t exactly the type to understand science, but she knew i loved it. so she made the trip just for me.”

you watched him, noting the way his fingers twitched slightly before curling into his palm.

“she let me stay up late,” he went on, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “and i remember looking through that telescope and seeing saturn’s rings for the first time. it didn’t feel real. it was just this perfect thing, floating out there in the dark. and i thought, ‘if something this beautiful exists so far away, what else is out there?’”

you felt your heart twist at the wonder in his tone, the lingering traces of a child who had once stared at the universe with wide-eyed fascination.

“she sounds like she really cared,” you said gently.

jake’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “yeah,” he admitted. “she did.”

a comfortable silence stretched between you, the weight of nostalgia settling in. when he spoke again, his voice was a touch lighter. “anyway, that’s how it all started. one night, one telescope, and a planet millions of miles away.”

you smiled. “and now you’re here. making it your whole life.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah, guess so.”

the two of you stood there for a while longer, the silence stretching between you – not awkward, not uncertain, just there. comfortable. quiet. something unspoken settling in the air between you like stardust.

and when jake finally broke the silence, it wasn’t with another question. it was with a quiet, thoughtful, almost teasing murmur—

“you know, saturn’s rings are actually disappearing.”

you turned to him, eyebrows raised, almost alarmed. “what?”

he smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “slowly, of course. give it a hundred million years.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small, amused smile that pulled at your lips. typical.

jake had been careful in his explanations at first, as if gauging whether you were truly interested or simply indulging him. but the moment he realized you actually wanted to listen, something in him loosened. the words started flowing, effortless, unfiltered. he spoke of nebulae and galaxies colliding, of stars that lived and died before the earth had even existed. he pointed out constellations, filling the silence with a quiet reverence that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something infinite.

you wonder if anyone else has ever seen this side of him.

not the researcher, not the reserved and often too-intense scholar, but the man who could speak about the cosmos with a fascination so deep it bled into his voice. the man who, for all his cool detachment, still carried the kind of awe that made you believe in something bigger than yourself.

and that’s when it happens. that’s when you feel it.

that slow, creeping realization that something has shifted. that this isn’t just about your inherent respect for this man. no, it was more than that. sure, you had started this month with a reluctant motivation to make this person acknowledge your existence.

but now that he is? it does something to you.

a quiet, unsettling shift that settles deep in your bones, in the spaces between your ribs where your heart beats just a little too fast. the realization slinks in slow, insidious – like the tide rolling in, creeping past where you thought the shore ended, until suddenly, you’re in deeper than you meant to be.

jake is still speaking, voice steady and sure, filling the silence with his quiet reverence. you barely hear the words anymore. something about the life cycle of stars, about the sheer immensity of time itself – how the light from some of these constellations has taken millions of years to reach earth, how when you look up, you are peering into the past.

it should be overwhelming. it should make you feel small.

but instead, all you can think about is the man beside you. talking so animatedly, his lips splitting into a grin, his teeth biting into the flesh every once in a while when he pointed out another constellation to you.

the paperwork you were here for in the first place remained forgotten. insignificant, almost as if you hadn’t really been required for it in the first place.

because you realize, then, that this isn’t just admiration anymore. this isn’t just you being awed by his mind, by the way he sees the universe with such unguarded wonder. it’s not just about the way he listens when you speak, or how he’s begun to answer your notes with scribbled facts, or how he’s been looking at you lately, with something unreadable in his gaze.

it’s him.

jake, with his impossible knowledge and even more impossible depth, the way his fascination bleeds into his voice when he speaks of things so much bigger than himself. the way his eyes are fixed on the sky, dark and gleaming, reflecting galaxies you’ll never touch but somehow feel closer to just by standing here next to him.

and it terrifies you.

because this isn’t what you planned. you were supposed to break down the walls between you, supposed to demand acknowledgment, supposed to pull him out of that self-imposed solitude and make him see you.

but now that he does?

now that he’s speaking to you like this, sharing this piece of himself so freely, without reservation?

now that you’re standing here, heart stuttering in your chest, wondering if maybe – just maybe – you don’t want him to see you just as his assistant anymore?

the thought makes your breath hitch.

“—are you listening?”

jake’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and you blink, snapping back to the present. he’s turned toward you now, brows raised in mild amusement, but there’s something else in his eyes, too – something patient, expectant, like he’s waiting for you to catch up to whatever just shifted between you.

you clear your throat hastily. “yeah. of course.”

his gaze lingers for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe you. but then he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looks back toward the sky.

“good,” he murmurs. “i’d hate to bore you.”

as if he could.

you don’t say it out loud. instead, you let your gaze drift up to the stars, to the vastness of everything above you.

and you let the realization settle, no matter how terrifying it is. because something’s happening. something has happened in the span of a month already. you have an inkling as to what it is, but you’re not going to admit to it. not yet.

the tiny voice in the back of your mind is here to support you on that cause it seems, chanting in tiny font: just an assistant, just an assistant, just an assistant.

but when jake shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly, you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore

sixteen.

the office is eerily quiet at this hour, save for the rhythmic scratch of a marker against the whiteboard. the usual hum of ringing phones and hurried conversations has long since died down, leaving behind an almost sacred kind of stillness.

you glance at the clock in jake’s office – 7:34 pm. way past your office hours, but jake’s still in his office.

jake should have gone home hours ago. so should you. and yet, here you are, perched on the edge of his desk, watching as he works through whatever calculations are currently consuming his mind.

you’ve seen this scene play out before, too many times now.

it used to be just an observation. a fleeting thought that it couldn’t be healthy to spend so many hours so completely submerged in work. but lately, that thought has settled into something heavier, something almost akin to concern.

he’s been stuck for the last twenty minutes. you can tell because he’s frowning at the whiteboard like it personally offended him, one hand on his hip, the other tapping the marker absently against his thigh. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, equations unraveling and reforming, one possibility after another spinning behind his sharp gaze.

you don’t know when you started caring like this. you really don’t.

but you do.

so, as you hover near his desk, watching him scribble something with an almost frantic energy, you decide – he needs a break. and you, apparently, have taken it upon yourself to make sure he gets one.

“dr. sim,” you say, but it barely registers. his pen doesn’t even pause. nothing.

with a sigh, you reach forward and pluck the pen right out of his hand.

that gets his attention.

he blinks, finally looking up at you, and you don’t miss the way his brows furrow, like he’s only just realizing you’ve been standing there this whole time. you would have laughed at the way he looks at you like a kicked puppy. like you just snatched his lollipop right from his hands. although, given the situation, that’s an accurate comparison.

“what are you doing?” he asks, voice slightly rough from lack of use.

“saving you from yourself.” you twirl the pen between your fingers, giving him your best unimpressed look. “when’s the last time you took a break?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “i don’t have time for a break.”

you shake your head. “that’s not an answer.”

jake lets out a quiet groan, leaning back in his chair. “i just need to finish this.”

“that’s what you said two hours ago.” you glance at the clock pointedly.

his lips press together, but you see the way exhaustion flickers across his features. he’s wearing himself down, the way he always does, and for some reason, that doesn’t sit right with you anymore.

“you look like you’re about to fight that thing,” you tease, breaking the silence.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “might as well. it’s being stubborn.”

you tilt your head, pretending to examine the mess of symbols and numbers scrawled across the board. you don’t understand a fraction of it, but that’s never stopped you from trying. “have you tried… asking nicely?”

jake gives you a flat look, and you grin, making your way over to the whiteboard in question.

“or,” you continue, voice laced with mischief, “you could let me help. i’m very good at doodling. that squiggly line right there?” you gesture vaguely toward the board. “desperately needs a smiley face.”

for a second, he just stares at you, expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches. “that’s not a squiggly line. it’s a sigma notation.”

“yeah, well, i think it would be a lot friendlier if it had some personality.” before he can protest, you lean forward, swiping the marker from his hand. with a few quick strokes, you turn the apparently very serious mathematical symbol into a little doodle of a face, complete with tiny arms raised in triumph.

jake huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “that’s sacrilegious.”

“it’s art,” you correct, grinning as you cap the marker and toss it back to him. “you’re welcome.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a softness there, something warm and reluctant in the way he looks at you. like he can’t quite believe you’re here, in his space, disrupting his routine with something as simple as a smiley face on a whiteboard.

like he hasn’t just surprised himself by not losing his mind over the fact that you just doodled on his very important notes. like he doesn’t even mind.

for a long moment, he just stands there, marker still loosely gripped in his fingers. then, with a quiet sigh, he lifts it and – to your utter delight – draws something beside your doodle.

he started with a small star in the corner – sharp, clean lines. then, next to it, he hesitated before adding another one. then another.

you tilted your head, watching him with something warm in your gaze. “what are you drawing?”

he glanced at you, then back at the board. “…orion’s belt.”

a slow smile stretched across your lips. “of course.”

jake didn’t know why the warmth in your voice made his pulse stutter, but it did. and when you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his ever so slightly, he felt it even more acutely – the soft graze of fabric against fabric, the fleeting press of warmth before it vanished again

he doesn’t know when he started paying attention to things like this. the way your laughter fills up a room, how effortlessly it winds its way into the air, sinking into the corners of his office like it belongs there. the way you nudge him – not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in ways no one else ever has.

he doesn’t know when it started, but he knows now that he’s in too deep to ignore it.

because right now, he’s standing at the whiteboard, marker in hand, with you beside him, doodling what can only be described as a catastrophically inaccurate solar system.

and somehow, impossibly, he’s smiling.

actually smiling.

he catches himself in the reflection of the glass across the room, and it startles him a little. he looks different. softer, somehow. the lines of his face, not weighed down by calculations or theories, but by something lighter. something he doesn’t quite have a name for yet.

jake doesn't know how long he stands there, marker in hand, staring at the mess of doodles you've scattered across his once-pristine whiteboard. he should be appalled, maybe even annoyed, but he's neither. if anything, he feels... lighter.

your laughter still lingers in the air, curling around the edges of the quiet like something tangible, something warm. and when you shift beside him, stretching lazily with a satisfied hum, he catches a faint trace of your perfume, something soft and familiar, something he has no right to associate with comfort but does anyway.

"i think we did some great work here," you say, stepping back to admire your collective masterpiece. "a true collaboration between genius and artist."

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "you mean vandalism."

"semantics," you counter easily, nudging his elbow playfully. your touch is fleeting, barely there, but jake still feels it long after you've moved away. he grips the marker tighter than necessary.

you glance at him then, a knowing glint in your eyes. "alright, dr. sim. time for your verdict. did my artistic intervention help at all?"

he exhales slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the board again. and maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s you, but he realizes that, somehow, the problem no longer seems as daunting as it did twenty minutes ago. the frantic mess of calculations, the numbers that had refused to align, don’t feel as suffocating now.

it’s absurd. it’s ridiculous. but somehow, your ridiculous doodles make the whole thing feel less intimidating.

jake turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. you’re still looking at the board, a pleased little smile on your lips, completely oblivious to the way his mind is currently betraying him.

when did this start? when did you start creeping into his thoughts, into his space, into his carefully structured life with your easy laughter and casual touches? when did your presence start feeling like a constant, like something that belonged?

the realization unsettles him.

he clears his throat, looking away. "it’s… better."

your smile widens, and for some reason, jake has to fight the urge to look away again. "see? i told you i’m helpful."

he rolls his eyes, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. if anything, it’s just an excuse to look at something other than your stupidly pleased expression, which, annoyingly enough, does things to him he’d rather not analyze right now.

"well," you say, clapping your hands together, "my work here is done. i’ve successfully distracted you from overworking yourself into an early grave. i should get a raise."

jake snorts, shaking his head. "you’re already overpaid."

"lies and slander," you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "i should report you to hr for emotional damage."

he’s about to retort when you suddenly step forward, reaching for the marker in his hand. jake’s breath hitches – completely involuntarily, because that’s the only explanation – as your fingers brush against his.

it’s brief. a fraction of a second, really. but it’s enough.

jake freezes.

the touch is light, barely there, but his mind registers it in excruciating detail – the faint press of your skin against his, the subtle warmth of your fingertips. it’s nothing. it’s everything. it’s enough to send his brain into a sudden, inexplicable shutdown.

you don’t seem to notice. or if you do, you pretend not to. you just pluck the marker from his hand and uncap it, adding one final detail to your masterpiece.

jake watches, still unnervingly aware of the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin. his fingers curl slightly, as if trying to hold onto something that’s no longer there.

you step back with a satisfied nod, capping the marker with a flourish. "there. perfect."

he barely registers what you’ve added – a tiny shooting star trailing behind orion’s belt – because he’s too busy trying to school his expression into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the way his heart is currently behaving like it’s lost all sense of reason.

silence stretches between you for a beat too long. jake wonders if you can hear it – the way his pulse feels too loud, the way his carefully structured composure feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

then, mercifully, you step away, stretching again as you let out a small yawn. "alright, for real this time. i should go before i become permanently attached to this office."

jake nods, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

you glance at him one last time before heading for the door but for a moment, you just stand there, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. then you turn, looking at him with something softer in your gaze. something thoughtful.

"you should go home soon too, dr. sim."

it’s the first time you’ve said his name like that. no teasing, no playful lilt. just quiet. just sincere. jake’s heart clenches, aching to hear you call him but his first name. but he doesn’t say anything. not yet.

and for reasons he can’t quite explain, it sends something dangerously warm curling in his chest.

jake swallows. he nods.

you smile – soft, small, something just for him – and then you’re gone, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you somehow louder than it should be.

jake exhales slowly, staring at the empty space you left behind.

then, finally, he looks back at the whiteboard.

the equations are still there, unsolved. the numbers are still a mess, waiting for him to untangle them. but in the midst of all that, there’s something else now. doodles and stars and smiley faces. a small, stupidly drawn solar system that doesn’t belong in a room like this, in a world like his.

and yet.

jake lifts a hand, absentmindedly tracing a fingertip over the edge of one of your stars.

and yet, somehow, impossibly…it fits.

jake wonders if maybe, just maybe, not everything in his world has to be so rigid, so calculated. maybe some things – some people – aren’t meant to be neatly solved, but simply felt. and as his fingers linger over the soft curve of your drawn star, he realizes, with quiet certainty, that you’re the first anomaly he doesn’t want to solve.

#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #sim jake imagines #enhypen jake imagines #jake enhypen imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #my works #my writings

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princesssmars · 8 months ago

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abby eating you out in the back of her car…nsfw.

now, when abby invited you to drive around with her before talking and eating at the romantic cliffside that overlooked the city, you had to admit about thirty percent of your brain was sending out horny little alarm bells.

it was sweet, how she took you to your shared favorite fast food spot before parking at the site and starting up her cute little romantic playlist, pressing a kiss to your cheek when you gushed over how adorable she was.

but you shouldve known better than to gush over abby when she was in a hyper romantic mood, because after placing a playful bit juuust on the right spot on her neck she’s quick to start kissing you on your lips, then tugging off your jackets and maneuvering you into the back seat-

so now you’re here, laying on the back seat car door with one leg propped on the backboard and the other in a crooked angle over the passenger seat while abby grips your thighs and enthusiasticly eats you out like she’s doing her favorite hobby.

you drag your fingers through her scalp and into her let down hair, admiring how her brow relaxes when you do so and her head tries to bury itself deeper into you. biting your lip to try to muffle your moans is useless, her hand pinching the skin of your thigh until you let out a gasp.

she knows every little thing to do to drive you crazy, carrying them out with a drive and efficiency that would scare you if it wasn’t so arousing. just when you feel a twinge of your peak she pulls back her efforts, every time your moans start to stall she sucks roughly at your clit while staring into your eyes.

but you love her attentiveness more than anything, including how she notices the subtle shifting of your hips as you try to get more comfortable, back aching and leg cramping at the uncomfortable position. without stopping she lifts your leg and rests it on her shoulder, scooting her body towards the floor so you can rest against the seat instead of the floor.

you’re close to the edge, your breathing getting harsher and hips not so subtly grinding up into her face. you almost don’t want to cum simply because of how peaceful she looks, eyes damn near rolling into the back of her head as she desperately tries to bring you closer to her mouth. when you crane your neck forward you get the slightest glimpse of her grinding her hips into the car seat and the sight makes your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

you really hope no other couples had the sweet idea of driving up to this lookout, because if they did all they'd hear would be your moans as you continue bucking your hips into abby's face, palm slapping into the fogged-up glass of the window as your whole body trembles.

she guides you through it all, steeling herself so your bucking hips don't push her away from licking up as much of you as she can. if she was a little less euphoric she'd let out a small giggle at your reaction, adoring the way you mean without care and proud of just how long she makes this one last.

you gently lift her head away once you decide you can't take anymore, blonde tresses in your grip as you raise her until you can see the pink of her tongue. she smiles, taking your hand out of her hair and pressing it to her lips for a kiss. her slightly fucked out look only reignites the heat in your stomach, legs shifting and feeling embarrassment when she notices and smiles even wider.

so uh yeah. car sex with abby.

#nahh bro couldn't think of a closer #my job is so boring i have to think of sesbian lex to get through it #abby #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #tlou #abby x reader #tlou x reader #abby anderson smut #tlou 2

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knightyoomyoui · 3 months ago

Text

You Don't Want None [+18]

ft. TWICE's Chaeyoung (x M Reader)

TYPE: Smut

WORD COUNT: 3964

TAGS: rough sex, submissive girlfriend, punishment, degradation

NOTE: This is heavily inspired from this picture of Chaeyoung above that gave me an idea to write this fic. She looks so freaking hot here, I admit.

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui

DESCRIPTION: Bratty Chaeyoung disturbing her boyfriend during his game time despite his pleads of giving him space. When she cost him and his team the round, YN disciplines her with a rough lesson in favor to what she desires.

===OOO===

You were alone in your room playing Mobile Legends in your phone to spend your leisure time before you return back on studying for your final exam. The bedroom door opened, your girlfriend Chaeyoung peeked through the gap to check how you’re doing. Giving a quick glance at her, you saw her smile in which boosted your confidence more on playing.

“Hey, love.” You said while dapping your fingertips at the screen.

“What role you are?”

“Tank. I find Akai my new main these days.” You answered while still fixated on your phone.

“You? Doing the roaming? Never thought I would see or hear you with that.” Chaeyoung chuckled.

“You underestimate me too much. I’m all-rounder, you know?” You snickered and hissed.

She approaches you to watch your gameplay. It made sense while you’re so concentrated at the round since you’re always being the one who should necessary attend the clash spots, to support and defend the other heroes for being the toughest. “So what if I do? And please, not me. I’ve seen you struggle a lot on being in charge of mid lanes.”

“I still play the role though.”

“Yeah, but you suck at using mage heroes.” She saw you groan in annoyance as she roasts you. It made her laugh while you still try to focus on the game. A chat from your friend whom you play along with popped up, commanding you about something to do that might be an efficient part of the plan your team would receive.

“I remember the last time we played you were the first one who got killed in under a minute. I don’t think that’s what being all-rounder is about.” Chaeyoung mocked you. She was examining your face and the background they’re playing at the same time.

“Hey, don’t get mistaken that you’re better than me or something if that’s what you’re doing. You still haven’t accepted my one on one challenge yet.”

“Uh huh, I just don’t because I feel pity for you.” She teased you while she sneakily inserted some clingy girlfriend act on you by snaking her hands around your waist while she lays her head on your shoulder.

“Excuses. Chae, just said you’re afraid.”

“Me? Scared fighting you? If I remember correctly, I am the one who has a higher rank than you.” She looked at you unbelievably. You squinched your nose and grunted at another harsh truth she just spat. “That’s why, I prefer you should just keep on playing. Train yourself further, maybe if you win… I’ll accept the challenge. Deal?”

“If that’s what you want, sure.” You finally requited the gaze on her. As you return back on your phone, Chaeyoung has thought of an evil idea. Something that she’ll regret doing so but she just wants to see how cute you’ll react for this.

She lifted both of her legs and planted her butt above your lap as she sat. “Uhh, what are you doing?”, you asked mindlessly. “Nothing, just go along with them.” Chaeyoung feigned innocence. “I just wanna how you’re so eager to dominate me.”

You continued playing even though you along with your teammates are in a dangerous situation right now. With every deaths and mistake, you couldn’t help anymore but to be irritated and sigh stressfully. Chaeyoung looked at the screen, she devilishly smirked at the idea pushing her again to do it.

“You guys look like you’re about to lose now.” Chaeyoung said as she looks at the status of your side compared to the enemies. “Is that what you mean I should be threatened when you play like that?”

“Please, Chae stop distracting me for a moment.”, you said in a calm tone. She liked your gentle request, but bold ideas running in her mind that influences her to disobey you for now. She left your lap, fooling you for giving you some space but instead, she just sat rather behind you and cuddled at you like a koala. Her hands raised up to your pecs and began caressing it.

“Chae…” You warned her, your posture shuffling around her to remove her body. As the last turret in the mid lane was destroyed, you know this is gonna be a huge trouble as the base has a passageway now for the enemies to invade and end the match.

“I’m so boreddd~” Chaeyoung whined. She pressed her face at your nape.

“Can’t you do something else first? I just have to finish this, promise.”

“No, and stop doing that.” Chaeyoung muttered. “I hate being ignored.”

“But I’m in the middle of-”

“What? You guys are losing anyway?” She complained. Her instinct drove her to start kissing the exposed skin of your neck. Her hands returned around her, with the soles of her feet obviously becoming dangerously close at your crotch.

“ We’re still aiming for a comeback here.” Your lips straightened, body went stiff and hot along with your temper rising from your clingy girlfriend’s unnecessary actions.

She bit your neck and sucked it. You gritted your teeth and released a sigh. “Stop trying, YN. You’ll never beat me and I know you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that, okay! I have no interest to be in a competition with you right now. I already told you that I- oh shit.” He saw the message at the top saying that the enemies have slain the lord. Gather and retreat commands went popping aggressively on the screen.

“You said you’re a great player, right? So don’t mind me here. Even if you dare to leave me alone, I won’t. I want you right now.” You felt your cock stirred when Chaeyoung gripped and squeezed it. “And it seems you do as well.”

“It’s my hormones reacting, okay. Ofcourse, how can I fucking act normal if you’re here flirting at me?”

“Oh, just shut up.” Chaeyoung ain’t buying your lies to push your buttons. Your current frustrated mood is entertaining her with a little bit of pity for your struggle. She watched you try to lure away the enemies and the lord with your surviving teammates as she nibbled on your earlobe and toying at your growing bulge.

Your head is getting all loosened from everything that Chaeyoung is doing at you. She surely doing all of this on purpose, and she’s testing you. Deep inside, you admit that you cannot resist your hot girlfriend, but on the other hand, the bad timing of this is encouraging you for a payback that not only is well deserved, but in a thoughtful and harmless way for her.

“Chae- stop, I-I’m begging-”

The screen froze, halting the characters movements as both of you watched the high ground explode. A large message saying DEFEAT flashed, making Chaeyoung pause as well from her movements. She looked at you as you dropped the phone instantly on the bed.

“See, I told you. Better luck next time, I guess.” Chaeyoung nonchalantly said as you remained unmoved. Your breaking point was shattered and it just fuels the plan of getting back at her more with fury. Your knuckles clenched as you felt goosebumps and adrenaline inside while she kept on blabbering in your ear.

“Chaeyoung, this is your last chance to say sorry. Now.”

“And if I don’t?”

“What’s coming to you after, I swear you don’t want none of it.”

“Ooh wow, that really set me on the edge.” She mockingly expressed fear at you. “Looks like you still ain’t ready yet. I’d like to see you try-” Chaeyoung stopped at her words when she watched your star on the screen got decreased, resulting your rank as well to transition back from Legend I to Legend II.

“That’s it, COME HERE!” You had enough. You spun around, harshly grabbed Chaeyoung by the arm and pinned her on the bed.

“U-huh, w-what, you’re mad at me now?”

“More than you think.” You realized that Chaeyoung was wearing the new set of clothes you picked for her, confirming your thoughts. “You did all of that on purpose, don’t you? To prevent me from kicking your ass?”

“And if I say yes, what will you do?” Chaeyoung cooed. “Fuck me rather in the ass?”

“Is that a suggestion? Alright. I won’t hold back on you, you attention-seeking little bitch.” You pulled down her white shorts with force but not in your full limit, still avoiding to damage your beloved outfit of hers.

Her lower back with that inticing huge birth of evil tattoo along with her curvy ass is exposed. You lift it up and make it raised upwards. “I’ll make sure you’ll wish you never did that.

“Yes please, punish me however you want. Punish me for being a bad girl.” Chaeyoung’s submissive kink was activated. It thoroughly making more sense to you why she behaving strangely since earlier.

“Oh I will. You think I’ll let you pass for ruining my win streak.” You slapped her left cheek very hard. Chaeyoung winced at the pain, yet it leaves a satisfied smile on her lips.

“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t give a fuck if you’re better than me, yet you still wanted to make me look worse.” You slapped her again for the second time, on the right cheek. Chaeyoung gasped and whimpered again at the stinging pain. “I was instead trying to save my credit from being decreased.”

“Not only that, you made me look embarrassing to my friends.” A third spank was unleashed.

“You ruined my momentum.” Fourth spank.

“Pushed back my rank when I was supposed to advance!” Fifth.

“Don’t beg me for mercy tonight, because I won’t show you one.” Sixth. Her cheeks are now all red from the impacts of your palm. Chaeyoung is now burying her face on the cushion to muffle her screams and rub some tears of joy in her eyes.

“Fucking greedy slut, you deserve all of this.” Seventh. You saw her legs almost giving in.

“We haven’t even started yet, Chaeyoung. You should’ve made yourself prepared if you wanted this!” You pulled up her legs again and went for an eighth slap.

“I bet you’re happy now, not only getting what you wanted to see me being devastated at my loss, huh? Making fun of me for you own satisfaction, selfish bitch.” Ninth spank to both of the cheeks.

“Last one. I want you to scream, I want you to say sorry for what you did, you got me?” Chaeyoung nodded weakly. She felt her ass take the tenth and last whip on her rear. The amount of pain contained was poured out all through her voice, “SORRY!!! I’M SORRY IF I GOT IN BETWEEN OF YOUR GAME!!!”

“That’s cute.” You chuckled. “But too bad, I pleaded for you to stop, and you didn’t listen. Now, don’t blame me for doing the same. It won’t end here yet. We have a lot of time for me to teach you a lesson.”

You kneeled in front of her abused ass, spreaded it, and pushed your face in between. You squeezed her soft cheeks like dough as you kissed her pillowy flesh repeatedly. Chaeyoung is left mewling at your unexpected next move.

You slightly lowered to me the length of her pussy’s slit. “Good lord, it’s almost like a fucking fountain here. You really want me to fuck you so bad, don’t you?” You scooped some fluid dripping and slurped it. “Impatient whore..”

Without wasting more precious pre-cum of hers, you catched them all by gliding your tongue across her pussy dangerously slow. Back and forth it goes, Chaeyoung’s mouth contorts in different reactions at how good your oral performance in her wet pussy. You bit her clit and pecked a kiss on it before you let go.

You removed your shorts and underwear, revealing your cock that was woken up by Chaeyoung’s playful touches. “Since you’re so eager to get some of this cock, I’ll shove it right up in your fucking holes and fill it up untilyou turned into my personal cumdump. I bet you even want that to happen, right?.”

With a push, your cock went straight inside of Chaeyoung’s tight entrance, sliding it a bit faster until its full length is cupped by its walls. You decided to give this a build-up, establishing a slow rhythm at the start until her ass starts to ripple faster the more your poundings getting louder and stronger.

“U-ugh ugh ahm yes~” Chaeyoung’s voice cracking at every bumps she take from your crotch. You grabbed both of her wrists and tied them on her back for handle, making her hover above the bed as you fucked her rapidly without any permission of self-support.

“”Fucking take all of this, Chae!” You made her vibrate all over your cock, drilling her ass before letting go of her arm. You went slow for a second until Chaeyoung noticed her scalp is getting some pressure. Her head was pulled back, she shrieked as you used her hair this time as a handle while you continued fucking her. “Yeah there you go, work that ass for me. Nice and tight.”

Animalistic huffs and grunts can be heard from you, and Chaeyoung is loving how you’re dismantling her petite boy like a true man possessed with temptation and lust driven by seduction. “I’m gonna cum in that pretty ass of yours, tattoo princess. Exactly as what you need.”

Her insides were flooded with streaks of cum released from your tip while you give more pushes to ensure that your load will be stuck deep inside of her cavern. You slowly let go, Chaeyoung moaned at the slimy friction of your cock exiting her used asshole. Not only your head is stained with the remains of your cum, some started to drip out from her puckered hole.

“We’re far than settled, bitch. Don’t be snapping out on me now.” You flipped the hem of her croptop from behind as you saw her splayed put of the bed. Roughly spun her around, she was now facing you from below, her eyes flickering in exhaustion abd mouth gaped in shock.

You made out with her, lips and tongue dancing through your mouth within each other. Taking this as your short distraction, you pushed your huge cock again in her pussy, making her gasp loudly. Your arms stood on each sides of her head, trapping her into your own isolation of pleasure.

“You don’t how much I’m enjoying this look of you.” You said as you watched Chaeyoung’s face reacting lustfully to your strokes. “No more hints of smug now, huh? Who’s in control now, you pathetic bastard?”

“Is that all you’ve got?” Chaeyoung challenged you, showing arrogance despite in the midst of destruction. “I haven’t been satisfied yet.”

“Oh you just wait. I’ve held my patience for you even if its thin, but now, you’re just tempting me to leash out everything on you, like this.” You replied. Placing your arms on her neck, you deepened the hold and tightened her until she began choking on her breath beneath your fucking.

“Laugh now, you naughty brat! Come on!” The sounds of bed creaking and the skin slapping echoed around the room.

“F-fuck yesss, that’s it. Take my breath, make it yours!” Chaeyoung grips on your forearm like her life depends on it as her face starts to become pale, losing air slowly from your lock.

“Now it’s me enjoying how defeated you look.” You added more movement through your fucking, exploring her insides and searching for that g-spot. It didn’t last long as when Chaeyoung furiously taps on your wrists, she coughed and breathe heavily before moaning loudly in your arms.

“There! Fucking ravage me, I’m about to cum soon!”

She must’ve forgotten that her wishes and requests are completely invalid to you now. This is her karma she has to face. You ignored her pleads as you kept your cock plugged inside of her pussy.

You undressed her sports bra and threw it around in the room, you played with her small breasts while she looked at your confusedly. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“How does it feel now being ignored and sticking in to your silly antics?” You snickered at her. She raised her eyebrows in surprise before it was replaced with pleasure as she bit her lower lip when you start devouring her tits one after another.

You inserted your arms on her back and pulled her closer, her tits mashing on your face. You rubbed and licked every area of her breasts, ensuring they all covered with your spit. Chaeyoung arched her back to allow you claiming them all by yourself.

You removed your arms shortly to lock her arms before you returned it around her, relocating your arms this time to the back of her head. She was now spreaded out before you planted her back at the bed and bent her in half like a seashell. That’s when you decided to pick up the pace by fucking her again ruthlessly.

Chaeyoung is now saying broken words, unrecognizable rounds or whatever it is, a fact that she is now spiraled downward from your rough treatment. You sniffed the smell of her sweaty yet fragrant neck as you fuck her relentlessly, her feet waving around in the end as you do so. “Keep screaming, you naughty brat! Let me hear how you love taking my cock so much.”

“Yeah yeah yeah shit! Mhhhmmm oh God, you’re so big! You’re about to break meeee~”

A second load was poured inside her pussy as you reached your climax, making her shiver in your body stacked above you. You didn’t even allow her to ride out her orgasm as you still continued to perform shallow thrusts in her pussy, pumping your seed into her womb securely.

You left her on the bed and stood at her heaving figure, her strength and enthusiasm no more evident in her. She was there sprawled widely in your bed, her pussy gushing with cum, her sweaty naked slim body deliciously attractive.

“Look at you now, girl.” You said, shaking your head. “All worn out from being manhandled and properly disciplined. You’re gonna beg for me to stop now?”

“N-no… I- I’m not done with you yet.” Chaeyoung said as she tried to get up from the bed. “You wanted to finish me right? Fucking do it. This isn’t enough yet, don’t be too soft on me. Unless, you want me to repeat it again-”

“Oh no you don’t, that will be your last.” You snatched her arm and tugged her body at you so that she went standing now from the bed, her body pressed at you, her senses snapped awake at the force you applied on her.

She was easy to be dragged and carried thanks to her light size. You gave her a kiss on the lips while you stimulate her pussy with speed. Chaeyoung went moaning in your mouth and grasped your cock, jacking it off in return.

As your manhood erected back to life, you rotated her so that her back figure is facing you. Hooking your arm on her underpits, your hand aided your cock to insert it back on her pussy. After it slid it, she tiptoed as she was once again cornered in your hold.

You didn’t waste any time to give her the treatment she wanted, you fucked her roughly, her ass bouncing and rippling at the pounding you’re giving her. Ravaging her pussy in a full nelson, Chaeyoung’s cracked voice increased in sync.

Your hands left the back of her head for a moment, switching through her two perky tits bouncing rapidly at your pace. You pulled her nipples and squished it repeatedly in between your thumb and ring finger. Chaeyoung couldn’t describe the incredible feeling of pain and pleasure combined that you’re providing for her.

She writhe in pain as you cupped her breasts, squeezed it to its might and even slapping at it, giving equal abuse just like what you did to her ass hours ago. Her tits reddened as you stop before locking her in and suckled her neck and chest, raining it with hickeys. “You asked for this, Chae. This is all for you.”

You filled her pussy again with your cum, she fainted in your arms at the insane orgasm she’s having. As you slide off your thick meat out of her pussy, you pushed her back on the bed. Now laying down, you became aware that your energy can’t keep this up long anymore so you decided to wrap this with one last harsh sexual activity you knew she would love.

Dragging her body in circle so that she would be from feet to head in your perspective, you leveled above her head and shove your balls into her face. Getting the signal, she began worshipping it with her talented mouth while you stroke your cock at the feeling of her tits on your hand.

Now all slick and wet, you pushed your shaft and lodged it to her awaiting mouth. To make her pretty lips and throat tight as hell, you wrapped your hands again around her neck, choking her as you facefucked her upside down. Turning Chaeyoung as your human fleshlight effectively amusing you.

“Yeah that feels so fucking good, Chaeyoung. You look so damn hot being used like this.” You said as your eyes rolled and your legs squatted to erratically impale into her mouth. The sensation is outstanding, her mouth sliding across your length while she is in air restriction makes you want to dominate her like this often.

You groped and massaged her breasts as you kept the speed, fucking her intensely just like how you did with her pussy and ass. The gags were astoundingly loud, followed by her quick pats on your thigh to announce her limit.

Few more strokes, you blasted one last load of creamy cum in her mouth before Chaeyoung shifted her body to allow her to swallow it all.

Some of it went flowing out on the corners of her lips, but she didn’t let every drop go to waste as she tasted them with her fingers. You tapped your cock on her tongue repeatedly before she gave you one last suck to clean the residue.

You went sitting on the floor, leaning your back on the side of the bed while Chaeyoung face was still upside down beside you, as she remained laying in reverse. You looked at each other and both smiled at whatever just happened.

“That was… damn, I didn’t know what came into me.” You chuckled. “Are you alright?”

“Definitely better.” Chaeyoung answered proudly. “I missed you being so rough at me..”

“So it was indeed planned.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I had to.” Chaeyoung apologized with pure sincerity. “I became horny out of nowhere and I craved for us to have sex.”

“And that’s what you thought to do? To insult me and cost me my match?”

She only gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But I swear, I don’t mean it at all.”

“No worries, it’s just a game, babe. I knew you did, actually I even saw it coming that you want my attention when you wore the clothes I bought for you. You looked so insatiable.” You kissed her on the cheek.

“Then I’ll wear that more often.” She grinned and winked. “Anyways, about your rank. I could help you if you want.”

“Wait but you’re already in mythical glory?”

“I can use my smurf account though. I’m in Epic there.”

Without any hesitation, you accepted the offer from your girlfriend. “Nice! Save me from my curse, please.” And Chaeyoung just laughed at your banter.

===OOO===

#twice au #twice fanfic #twice oneshot #kpop au #kpop oneshot #twice x male reader #kpop smut #chaeyoung smut #twice chaeyoung #chaeyoung x m reader #chaeyoung x male reader smut #chaeyoung oneshot #twice smut

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shalomniscient · 21 days ago

Text

frustration. || arlecchino x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

Arlecchino is, for lack of better term, sexually frustrated. The cure is conveniently close and willing—read: you, her wife—but the universe has… other plans.

cw. literally just smut. all the hallmarks of my usual smut blah blah breeding arledick etc

notes. nothing to say for myself. but like this is like 6k words

She cannot focus.

It is a novel situation for her, to be sure. Arlecchino has always been of a more straightforward, single-minded disposition. Tasks are to be completed with grace and efficiency—she has never liked dallying, or letting work build up in increments. She likes to, “lock in”, as the children say, and be at her leisure to go about her personal business for the remainder of the day. And yet, today, it is taking every last ounce of willpower in her to keep her eyes on the spread of papers on her desk—and not the low, nagging heat in her abdomen.

She considers, briefly, banging her head on her desk. But such behavior is unbecoming of a Harbinger, so she settles for leaning back in her chair and sighing, folding her hands over her stomach with enough force to turn her knuckles white in an effort to stave off the urge to let them travel lower, beneath her desk, to deal with her problem. It’s not like she couldn’t. No one comes into her office without announcing themself first, and she keeps a box of tissues on her desk at all times. She isn’t particularly loud, either; at least, not when she’s alone. The mess would be minimal, she’s certain, and she’d get some relief from this need thrumming up and down her spine, but, well…

Frankly, she doesn’t really enjoy her own hand anymore—not after several years of marriage to you. It works, sure, but she doesn’t feel that same release, that same bonelessness in her lower body when it’s with you. Sometimes it does surprise her, the carnal lust you inspire within her, but then she remembers the feel of your sweet cunt around her cock, and the way you look beneath her, spread out and beautiful, tears of pleasure clumping your lashes and mewling her name and—

She groans, feeling her pants get tighter. Not helping, she berates internally, crossing her legs. Her cock aches, almost embarrassingly so. Though, she supposes, it has indeed been a while since she was last able to indulge in you. Work has been increasing, on account of the rising number of Gnoses making their way into the Tsaritsa’s possession. All that remains is that of the Pyro Archon’s, and at this eleventh hour there is much to be done for every Fatui agent, at every level. As a Harbinger, she is no exception.

She sighs again. If only you were here, she thinks idly, thumping her head against the cushion of the chair. You’d tease her relentlessly for being so wound up, but then you’d sink down to your knees before her spread legs, tease her zipper down with your teeth and—

“Fuck.”

Fuck.

Arlecchino pinches the bridge of her nose with one dark hand and shoves her waistband down her hips with the other.

Her cock practically springs free as soon as it’s released from the confines of her slacks, the engorged, leaky tip nearly touching the underside of her desk. Her toes curl in her heels as the cool air of the room kisses the sensitive flesh, and she circles her thumb and index finger around her thick base, right over the thatch of black and white curls that lead upward in a tapering triangle to her navel. She hisses at the first shift of her hand upward, and chews the inside of her cheek as her thumb swipes at her cockhead to spread the pearly proof of her arousal up and down her stiff cock.

Her free hand covers her eyes as she lets them slip shut, and she retreats into certain filthier memories. She can picture you with near perfect clarity—half-moon eyes trained on her as she tangles a fist in your hair, and slowly rocks her wet cock against your cheek. Your tongue is stuck out utterly obscenely, further wetting her already slick length before she draws back to press the tip to your shining lips. They part obediently, and then she’s sinking into your warm, wet, mouth—and she can’t help the way her hips buck into her own fist at the memory.

She delves deeper into that recollection, and her body reacts in kind. The pace of her hand rises, the sloppy noise of her jerking herself off echoing in her office. Her tip leaks an absurd amount, one she knows you’d complain about if you ever saw. You’d complain about it then put your mouth on her until your nose brushes her happy trail and the muscles of her back tense at the thought of having you deepthroat her, of being so deep in your willing mouth that you gag on it.

“Fuck, darling,” she pants, starting to feel far too warm for all her layers. Her fist flies over her cock now, absolutely shameless, her hips starting to rise up from her chair. In her mind you’re bobbing your head up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks ruthlessly as your fingers toy and caress her balls. Her jaw is clenched tight enough she swears she hears it creak, and with a final, harsh stroke she tips herself off that knife’s edge, coming with a muffled snarl into her palm and shooting her cum all over the underside of her fir desk. It’s thick, viscous, and strings of it cling to her twitching dick as she comes, making an utter mess. She slides her fist up and down her softening dick to wring every last ounce of pleasure she can, but it’s not the same as having you swallow around her or—Celestia above—having your perfect, tight cunt squeeze around her as she comes.

She comes down with a sigh, releasing her slick, sensitive dick and reaching for the box of tissues. That nagging heat is… not gone, but quelled, at least for now. That restlessness is still there, a buzz in her muscles that’s irritatingly present. In the back of her oxytocin-fogged mind she feels a sense of exasperation towards herself for being unable to keep from jacking off like some hormonal teenager as she wipes clean the evidence of her indulgence from her desk, cock and slacks.

By the time she’s tucking herself back into her pants, the sun is beginning to set outside her window. She’d be clocking out soon, and that means heading home to your shared bed—which, if she’s lucky, she can hopefully put you through tonight and satiate this frankly demonic lust in her system and become a normally functioning member of society again.

She is not lucky.

You’re already asleep by the time she gets back, and she doesn’t have the heart to wake you for sex of all things. You’re worn out as is—it really is a busy season for the Fatui, and someone of your rank certainly has much on your plate. So instead, she cleans up, then slides into bed next to you, and lets the way you instinctively snuggle up against her turn that ember of need in her belly into a gentle hearth of affection in her heart.

Maybe next time, she thinks.

“Next time” ends up being a whole week and a half later. Arlecchino is truly barely clinging to her sanity. She’s antsy, snappish, and backed-up; and worst of all, her curse is acting up. There’s a soreness in her arms, a pervasive heat under her skin, like her blood is boiling. No number of ice packs or cold showers do anything to soothe the heat and uncomfortableness, and it leaves her in a much, much worse mood.

Her agents bear the brunt of her ire. Never her children, by the Crimson moon, never—but all her agents walk on thin ice around their Harbinger. She’s high and dry, not unlike the gunpowder in their rifles, and it only takes a single spark to set her off. Nowadays, anyone going into her office is seen saying a quick prayer to the Tsaritsa before entering. Not that it offers much protection, but at the very least their final act would’ve been worship of the Archon, who would hopefully embrace their ashen corpse in her cool arms once all was said and done.

Put frankly, it’s Bad, with a capital B.

And so she’s ready to snarl when the door to her office is pushed open so casually, only for it to die between her teeth when she notices who has walked in. It’s you, in your Fatui coat, the lightest dusting of snow in your hair. You offer her an apologetic smile and hang up the thick mantle next to hers on the rack, then walk over to round her desk and press a kiss to her temple.

“You okay?” you ask when you draw back, and Arlecchino has to resist the urge to chase after your touch. She doesn’t fight it when your fingers curl in her hair, and you draw her head to rest against your side.

Her fingers twitch at the question, and she sets down her quill. She shakes her head with a soft sigh, inhaling the scent of you—you smell of pine and firewood, with the hint of fresh snow’s frostiness. The dull throb in her arms reduces somewhat. “Not… entirely.”

You make a quiet noise of acknowledgement at that, carding your fingers through her hair. You find the clasp of her low hair ornament and gently pry it loose, letting her hair fall free and she lets out a muted groan of relief as some of the pressure in her skull reduces.

“Rough day?”

“A week would be a kinder estimate,” she replies, almost petulant, and you laugh gently, a low crackling like firewood in a warm hearth. She noses closer to you and nearly whines when you pull away to sit before her on the edge of her desk instead, your legs between her knees.

“Poor thing,” you coo, fingers trailing down from her hair to the collar of her suit jacket, your index finger slipping past to tease it loose. “You’re so tense, baby. Need my help?”

Your touch is already addling her brain, and she blinks slowly. “Pardon?”

“Oh, baby, it really is bad, huh?” you giggle, using your other hand to pop the buttons of your own uniform, and oh—her pants are suddenly far, far too tight. “The letters weren’t exaggerating.”

She can barely muster up the brain power to ask you what in Celestia’s name you mean by that, because fuck the sight of you undressing on her desk is sending all of her blood down south. “Letters?” she rasps hoarsely, and you smile, like a fox in tall grass.

“Mm, letters. So many agents submitted in an additional request that I do something about your, ah… situation,” you tease, letting your shirt fall off your shoulders and onto the wood below you, and you’re really, really trying to kill her because why else would you be wearing her favourite lingerie set underneath? “Lucky for them—and you—I know just the cure.”

You raise your leg, and press the heel of your foot ever so lightly against her bulge, and she makes a choked noise, tingling fingers digging into your calf. You lean back on her desk, a pure vision of lust, eyes half-lidded as you gaze down at her.

“Well, husband? Care to partake?”

She has your back flat against the desk in seconds.

You let out a startled “oof” that tapers into a moan as her lips attack your neck, pressing bruising, biting kisses into the tender skin there. Her teeth scrape your pulse and she groans at the salty tang of your skin, laving her tongue and shamelessly licking into the cleft below your jaw. She’s growling like some sort of feral beast as she fumbles with the zipper of her pants, unhelped by the way your ankles have locked around her lower back with a deceptively tight grip. It takes a firm hand on your hip, pressing you into the wood in a way that has you mewling before she can wriggle enough space to shove a hand between you both to free her straining erection.

Her tip catches on your clothed cunt the moment it’s exposed, tapping against your swollen clit over its hood and making you whine. There’s a wet patch on the delicate lace of your panties, and Arlecchino has half a mind to drop to her knees and put her mouth on you instead. But her own cock twitches almost angrily at the thought of being deprived of your pussy now that she’s got the opportunity. She uses the hand trapped between your bodies to grasp her base, and she uses her shaft to rub up and down the covered lips of your core until the fabric is sticky and translucent with your slick and her pre-cum. All the while her mouth remains busy, sucking marks and bruises into your neck, collarbones, and anywhere in between that she can reach.

“Arle,” you whine, digging your nails into her broad shoulders, “c’mon, please—”

“Begging so soon?” she grunts in return, silencing you with a nip to your earlobe. “What happened to the teasing minx you were a minute ago?”

“She’s—mnn—way too horny to entertain you right now,” you quip back, your fingers creeping higher up her spine to the nape of her neck, and scratching at the base of her skull. Tendrils of sensation, like a many-limbed spider, skitter down her back and her hips roll of their own accord, a twitch rather than a thrust. Still, it has you making more of those lovely, plaintive noises, and Arlecchino herself is far too worked up to tease you as well. “Hurry up—”

“Shh,” she soothes, the hand on your thigh grasping your chin so she can swallow your words with a kiss. Her tongue shoves into your mouth, tracing the edges of your teeth and licking against your cheek. Her other hand tugs your panties to the side as her hips bump forward, her cockhead parting your lower lips wet with slick. “Shh, darling, be patient.”

And you gasp into her mouth when she finally pushes in, your fingers winding tight in her hair and tugging. She hisses as your cunt bears down tight around her, fluttering and pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Her achy, trembling hands fly up to smack down on the desk around your head with an audible thump, her entire body shuddering at the sensations lancing up and down her body like a raging blaze. She inhales a tense, unsteady breath as she pushes in further, the wet noise of your cunt sucking her cock in nearly making her dizzy—or that might just be the latent headache from before, she isn’t sure anymore. In any case, she pushes deeper, inch by inch, splitting you open on her dick until your hips meet with an obscene noise, and she nearly topples over you, the strength in her right arm giving way until she’s forced to brace her weight on her elbow instead. She pants into your neck as she lets you adjust, muttering a string of almost incoherent praise against your skin.

Your face is hidden in her shoulder, your body arching up from the table in lust-drunk frenzy, and then you’re shifting your hips, drawing a strangled noise from deep in her throat. She wants to pin your rocking hips to the wood but her hands and forearms are already worsening in their ache, burning up from within, and so she decides to draw back and fuck forward at the same time you shift low, and it has her pressing so deep inside you that you nearly sob.

“Fuck– Arle,” you whimper, nails digging hard enough into her shoulder she’s sure she’ll have marks for the next day or two, “fuck, missed you, missed you so much— shit, you’re so good—”

Her only response is a low rumble as she starts to thrust in earnest, each slap of her hips against your thighs making her solid desk creak. You’re babbling nonsense into her shoulder, a slurry of words spilling from your bitten lips much like the way your slick is dripping out and around her cock as she fucks into you. There’s a burning behind her eyes, and her arms are starting to protest further. The dull ache is now a rhythmic pulsing, and her rhythm falters as she’s torn between the extremes of pain and pleasure. Frustration nips at the back of her head and her nails scratch the finish of her desk as she wills herself to overcome the pain.

You’re already squeezing around her, inarguably close to your orgasm, but she can’t stop the choked noise of pain from slipping past her lips. She kisses and nips at your neck and fucks you hard enough the desk slide forwards, but your years of marriage has attuned you to her like no other living person. Even through your hiccuping moans and mewls you pierce through your own need with concerned clarity, palms on either of her shoulders as you lean back against the desk to get a better look at her.

“Arle, mnn— what’s wrong?” you breathe, eyes searching her face and lips pulling into a frown when you notice the conflict in her expression. “Hey, hey— shh, what’s wrong?”

She lets out a half-bitten sigh of frustration, stilling her hips and dropping her head into the crook of your neck. Her arms are throbbing now, the muscles of her forearms feeling like they might just melt right off her bones. Your hands cradle the back of her head as you catch your breath, patting her hair.

“Is it the curse?” you ask softly, and she can only manage a wordless, defeated nod into your shoulder. You hum at that, and gently place your palms against her chest to push her back and sit yourself upright again. Her hands twitch with slight relief as the pressure of holding her upper body up fades, and they slacken further when you take them in your own, thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

“Let’s finish this another time,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t want to continue if you’re in pain.”

I can keep going, a stubborn part of her protests—probably her dick talking, to be honest—but as much as she wants to continue she knows you wouldn’t let her. She’s impressed, but also not surprised at how quickly you can shut off your own arousal, in a sense, out of nothing but concern for her. It’s… heartwarming, but also a little frustrating, when she’s pretty sure emptying her balls inside your cunt would fix at least a few of her problems. But she relents, slipping out of you with a muted noise and she lets you clean her up—because you never let her lift a finger when her curse flares up—and then yourself, before you slip your clothes back on and stand on slightly wobbly legs.

“Let’s go home,” you murmur, taking one of her aching hands in your own. “Let me take care of you.” The fire in her veins does not dissipate, but it settles ever so slightly, and she manages the smallest of smiles, reserved only for you.

“As you say, my dear.”

At home, you wash her, dress her, then lead her to bed where you hold her close against your chest. It isn’t often she allows herself to little spoon, but the background pain of the curse has worn down her walls until they’re paper-thin.

So tonight, she lets herself be held by you as your fingers dance up and down her arms, soothing in familiarity, until she slips beneath the veil of a dreamless sleep.

When Arlecchino wakes up, she realises 2 things: 1) she’s hard, again, and 2) you’re having what she thinks is a very fun dream. Through the foggy haze of sleep and the barely-there, grey wisps of early morning light, she sees—and feels—you squirming on the bed, brows drawn tight and lips parted around little mewls. Her hand on your hip feels the way your whole body is tense, the muscle beneath your soft flesh flexing as you twitch in response to whatever she’s doing to you in your dreams.

“Arle—” you whimper, thighs pressing together subconsciously, and her dick twitches in response in her sleep shorts. She buries her face in the crook of your neck with a rumbling groan, her hands—now mercifully painless—squeezing around the meat of your hips. Her fingers tease the waistband of your panties, and you shiver.

“I’m here, sweet thing,” she murmurs, lips kissing a trail up to your ear. “Open those pretty eyes for me, hm?”

It takes you a while before your eyes finally flutter open, and a little longer before you distinguish the boundary between dream and reality. When you do, your arms come to wrap around her back, like they’ve always meant to be there, and she presses the shape of a kiss into your neck.

“Good morning,” she purrs, drawing back to brace herself above you on her elbows. She takes in that half-dazed, half-aroused expression of yours with a greed that would put some of her colleagues to shame, feeling her blood smoulder in her veins not with pain but with pure, unadulterated lust. “Good dream?”

It takes you a beat to process her words, but you nod, almost shyly. “Yeah. Very… good.”

She leans down and presses her forehead to yours, teasing your lips with her own and making you whine. “And what exactly did you dream about, darling?”

“You,” you answer without hesitation, your eyes meeting hers with nothing but adoration. She smirks at that, kissing the corner of your lips, and then your cheek, then your brow, all over your face. You breathe a soft laugh at the ticklish sensation, and butterflies stir the heat in her gut.

“Oh? And what was I doing, pray tell?”

You smile. “Lots of things.”

“Well, do elaborate.”

You roll your eyes, and before she can react, one sneaky hand of yours has snaked down between both your bodies to cup her bulge through her sleep shorts, and she makes a half-bitten noise of surprise and arousal at the touch. You grasp her through the fabric, your thumb lazily rubbing her tip until a wet spot of her pre-cum forms. Your other hand cups her nape, tugging her close enough to breathe your next words right into her mouth.

“I think,” you begin, and Arlecchino swears her dick gets somehow harder at the low sultriness of your voice, “we should cut to the chase and finish where we left off yesterday.”

“That so?” she manages to rasp, and you nod, leaning up to kiss her, biting and demanding, your teeth worrying her lower lip in a way that’s making her feel deliriously horny.

“Mm,” you hum, and your hand on her dick squeezes just a little tighter. “C’mon, baby, ‘m already so wet, just fuck me, please? Missed your cock, baby—”

It’s nothing but filth from your lips but Archons does it work. Arlecchino is pinning your wrists above your head with one hand immediately, the other shoving her sleep shorts down and kicking them off before her lips attach to your neck with an intensity that’s almost ruthless. You gasp, arching up, then moan when her free hand rubs you through your panties. Fuck—you’re drenched, just like you said you were. The cloth sticks to your lower lips, practically translucent, and perfectly outlining your lower lips almost like a second skin. Normally, she’d indulge in a little teasing, but restraint is a pipe dream for both she and you right now, so instead she tugs your panties to the side, and pushes in like she needs it to survive.

“Fuck,” she snarls, at the same time you moan her name, and maybe it’s the residual neediness from your dream but you’re coming immediately, back bending into a crescent as your cunt squeezes and flutters around her cock, your inner walls tightening around her to the point she feels dizzy, like you’re trying to cut off her damn circulation. Your hips jerk and twitch erratically as your muscles tense and relax, pleasure ripping through you. She rocks her hips slowly to coax you through the high, and it’s a wonder she doesn’t bust right then and there.

That is, unfortunately, where Arlecchino’s restraint ends. Because as you come down, she only increases her pace, free hand holding your hip down and in place as she starts fucking you, bullying her thick cock into your eager, greedy cunt with each drive. The headboard smacks against the wall with each thrust, echoed in time by your loud, shameless cries. “That’s it,” she growls, lips descending onto your breast through your nightdress, “that’s it, darling. Take my cock like the good girl you are.”

Arlecchino can see the whites of your eyes with how far back they’ve rolled into your skull, your lashes kissing your cheek with each flutter. Each movement is accompanied by an obscenely wet, squelching noise as she stirs up your insides and rearranges your guts. Arlecchino glances down and exhales roughly when she sees the bulge she forms inside you, rising and retreating with every snap of her hips. Her balls draw up tight, and she’s so, so close.

“I’m going to cum, sweet thing,” she grunts, nipping at your jaw. “Going to fill this perfect cunt with my seed, hm?”

The noise you let out at her words is wanton and needy, your fingers clenching in her grasp, digging into your palms. “Yes, yes, Arle— please, I want it, I need it,” you beg, writhing beneath her, “please, baby, need it so bad— I love you, I missed you, please—”

She kisses you to shut you up, releasing your wrists to claw both her hands into your waist. Your hands immediately claw at her back, nails drawing red lines into her skin. Her breathing comes in tense, ragged pants, one hand moving down to grip your thigh and push your knee to your chest, opening you up further for her pistoning cock in a way that makes you howl. Your cunt ripples, pulses and clenches, molding to every ridge and vein of her dick until it all comes to a brilliant, blazing head as she bursts off the edge, sinking her teeth into your shoulder as she hilts balls deep and—

She shoots more than a week’s worth of backed-up tension deep into your welcoming cunt, thick, hot ropes battering your tender inner walls. A low, rumbling groan emanates from her throat, past the clamp of her teeth in your shoulder as she comes and comes, filling you until it leaks around the seal of your lower lips, forming a frothy ring of white around her base.

“I love you,” she gasps, choked off and strained as she laves the bite on your shoulder with kisses and her tongue, “sweet thing, I love you so, my good, perfect girl.”

Your whimpers turn into little overstimulated sobs, your body trembling and squeezing around her. Her intense drives turn into languid thrusts as she winds down from her high, and she presses tender kisses all over your shoulder, collar and neck to coax you and herself through it. But even when you’ve caught your breath, cheeks beautifully flushed, she’s still achingly hard in you—and you seem to still want to take advantage of the fact.

“Arle,” you mewl, adorably needy and clearly not fully satiated, “again, please? Want to feel you again.”

“Greedy,” she breathes, but she draws back, pulling out with a wet squelch. You protest petulantly, and she shushes you gently as she presses your thighs together, turning your lower body onto your side. Arlecchino takes just a moment to admire the way your cunt squeezes around nothing, and some of her load dribbles out to coat your slick lower lips. Her throat dries up, and she traces a finger through the mess as if entranced. Your hole flutters in response, your hand encircling her wrist to tug her closer. She shakes her head with a soft huff, lightly smacking your ass but nonetheless shuffling forward to align her still stiff dick with your cunt before sheathing back in again.

“Still so tight, sweetheart,” she breathes, and the sensation of her cum sloshing around inside you as she moves makes her toes curl. “So good for me, hm?”

One of your hands fists in the pillow behind your head, while the other grasps her hip. “Jus’ for you,” you slur out, barely coherent, “only you, baby, ngh—“

“I know, darling,” she hums, trading her fast, ruthless thrusts from before for slow but deep drives, bullying the tip of her cock right against your sweet spot. The hand not on your ass grips your ankle to stop your leg from kicking out at the stimulation, her thumb massaging the base of your calf tenderly. “You were made just for my cock, weren’t you? This pretty pussy was made for me, takes me so well.”

You nod brainlessly on the bed, clearly beyond any more thought. You just lie there and take her cock, over and over, and a mix of affection and lust tangles in her chest. She leans down to devour your lips in a demanding kiss, chest to chest, your nipples stiff beneath your nightdress. Her eyes narrow at the fabric barrier, and she’s tugging the straps down your arms with her teeth and making you shiver as the cool air of the room meets your stiff peaks. Then her lips descend like rapture, sealing around one first to suck and nip, gently pulling, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to feel. She sucks shamelessly at your breast, only leaving one for the other once it’s thoroughly marked up. All the while she continues to fuck into you, pace not faltering even in the slightest.

“Baby—“ you gasp, feeling the coil in between your hipbones start to tighten and tense, “—baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck—“

Arlecchino snarls, and one hand grips your shoulder, and then she’s manhandling you onto your front before you can even register what’s happening. She traps both your legs between her own and lies flat above you, nearly crushing you into the mattress as she pushes in deep. Your pussy practically convulses, and you moan almost whorishly at the new depth she’s achieving with you prone like this. Your face is half-pressed into the sheets, your noises muffled, and Arlecchino remedies that by tangling her fingers in your hair and tugging back. She takes in the drool trickling down the corner of your lips as she fucks you absolutely stupid, only the whites of your eyes visible.

“Go ahead and cum, darling,” she murmurs, “make a mess on my cock. It’s all yours.”

And you do, beautifully, sweetly, with a hoarse cry of her name. You squeeze and pulse around her dick, a rhythmic clench of your muscles around her from base to tip, like you’re trying to draw her orgasm out as well. She bites her lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood to prevent herself from doing just that—rocking slowly and shallowly as you course through the waves of your orgasm.

Once your shivering subsides, she leans down to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder—and then she’s gripping your hips with both hands and tugging them up, up, and up until you’re face down on the bed with your ass braced up on your knees. You whine at the sudden movement, only to be smothered when she curls her fingers around your nape while the other grips your hip and she starts utterly pounding into you again.

“Arle—“ you cry out, like a sob, “—wait, ‘s too much, baby—“

Her fingers press on the underside of your neck, your throat, effectively smothering your protests. Not tight enough to choke, but certainly tight enough to feel. She fucks you with the subtlety of a battering ram, all ruthless tenacity, like a woman possessed. She keeps going despite your pleas—you haven’t said the safeword yet, after all. The hand on your hip isn’t idle, occasionally smacking the globe of your ass as it shakes with each harsh thrust.

“‘Too much?’” she mocks, grinding her dick in as far as it can go, “but this sweet cunt keeps clenching around me, darling. You can take more, I know you can.”

You don’t protest with words anymore, just whiny half-sobs, and she rapidly approaches her second high. The muscles of her lower body tense and flex, her hamstrings burning slightly with exertion. All the while she murmurs quite praise barely audible over the plap-plap-plap of skin meeting skin, because for all she may be fucking you like a common whore you are still her wife, her darling beloved, and she will ensure you know as such.

She leans down and kisses all over the side of your face, the hand on your neck abandoning its harsh grip to curl lovingly over your own fisted in the sheets. She coaxes you to let go of the fabric, and then she’s slotting her warm fingers between your own, gently holding your hand even as she seemingly fucks you to oblivion. She rests her head against yours, cheek to cheek, and whispers, “I adore you, my darling, my sweet girl. Take all of me, sweetheart, take it all.”

She buries herself as deep as she can go when she comes, her cum undoubtedly spilling right at your cervix. She entertains the idea that it’s making its way into your womb, that she’s breeding you, and she hisses softly as another jet of cum spurts from her tip into your tender cunt. She feels her balls twitch as they empty into you, pumping you full for the second time this morning. More of your slick and her cum drips from you, down your thighs and onto the sheets which most certainly have to be changed later.

When she finally pulls out, she feels boneless, like she could flop over and sleep another eight hours. But first, she gently guides you back onto your back, her hand cupping your cheek to focus your glassy gaze on her.

“Look at me, darling,” she whispers, thumb caressing your cheek. “Are you alright?”

It takes you a minute, but then you’re turning your face into her palm to kiss the heel of her hand and nodding. “Yeah,” you answer, voice shot, and a tiny flutter of pride swells in her gut. Your eyes flick down her body, widening a fraction, before a disbelieving laugh slips from your lips.

“You’re still hard?”

Arlecchino huffs. “I did tell you it has been a long week.”

She’s not fully hard, more so semi-hard—one more round would have her soft for certain. Although, she can’t quite bring herself to ask for one more round, with the way you’re so thoroughly fucked out. You seem to notice her turmoil, as always, and reach down to grasp her semi-hard dick, pumping it slowly. She shudders, hands digging into the meat of your thighs. “Darling…”

“Come closer,” you order, and she does, and you both groan when her dick slides over your pussy, tip catching on your clit. She glances at you quizzically—and then you’re flattening your hand over your lower lips, creating an almost makeshift passage for her to fuck. She swallows thickly, desire reigniting in her gut, and she does exactly that.

She moves slowly, languidly, eyes locked in yours as her dick slides back and forth over your messy cunt. Her length is covered in her own load and your slick, making the slide easy. She makes an effort to bump your clit with each movement, relishing in the way you sigh with pleasure. Something warm blooms in her chest, beneath her sternum, and it draws her to you like a magnet, compelling her to lean down and capture your lips in a soft kiss. Your free hand cups her jaw as you return it with equal fondness.

“I love you,” she breathes into your mouth, and you smile against her lips.

“I love you too,” you answer, caressing your thumb over her cheekbone, before mewling softly, eyes slipping shut. “Arle, mm… gonna cum, baby.”

“Me too, darling,” she groans as her thrusts get a little jerkier. She’s not long, now. She makes a choked noise when your fingers grasp her gently, your thumb alternating between rubbing the sensitive underside of her frenulum and her leaky tip, and then she’s toppling off the edge with you in tow. “Fuck—“

She lets out an uncharacteristically high-pitched cry as she comes, spilling her cum onto the plane of your belly. She’s only distantly aware of you finding your peak as well, thighs twitching as you come from stimulation on your clit alone. She collapses on top of you, shuddering and shaking, her face tucked in the juncture of your shoulder and neck, as she keeps painting your belly with ropes of cum until she’s finally drained dry and soft.

The sun is warm on her skin when she finally comes to again, your hands tracing up and down her back just making her go even more boneless against you. This is what she’s been needing—this full and complete release, where despite how she can’t seem to move a muscle she feels as light as a feather.

“Thank you,” she rasps against your neck, and you chuckle.

“For what?”

“For this,” she answers easily, kissing your shoulder. “And for being with me.”

Your arms loop around her broad back, and she sinks further into the sanctuary of your embrace. You’re warm, like a perfect hearth on a cold day.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”

The sentiment pulls a rare, genuine smile from her, that she hides against your skin like a playful secret reserved only for you and no one else—not the Fatui, or the House, or even the gods. Just you, and only you, the way it’s meant to be, and always will be.

“And I, you—forever and always, my love.”

She made this vow once at the altar, and she will continue to make it every day until she last draws breath—for it is the one thing she knows to be true in this world, beyond fate and even beyond death: that she loves you, and you love her, and that is all she needs.

#sev.writes #[nsft]#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #no one asked but. this is how estelle’s conception goes JAJDHXNSSNCN #ok bye going to shower and then *cries* do statistixs #cant even spell it right but idc atp shcjdmkd #bon apetitty arle nation

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