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ninisdollie · 3 days ago

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Just for the glory - Sim Jake 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .demigods series

Synopsis: Jake Sim, son of Hermes and captain of cabin 11 at the camp halfblood, is known as the best swordsman of his generation. With his swordsmanship and unshakable confidence, his life seems perfectly under control, until you, challenge him to a sword duel. In front of the entire community, Jake accepts the challenge, confident in his victory. However, he soon discovers that you are not just a beautiful face, but a formidable warrior with skills that surprise him. Amid the fierce competition and growing tension, you two are caught by an unexpected spark. As your hearts begin to intertwine, Jake will have to face a new kind of battle: the duel between pride and love.

Content: +18MDNI fem! reader x jake, pjo au, hermes! son jake x aphrodites! daugther reader, jake is a little cocky i based his character on my man luke castellan ok, violence (sword duel), cursing, sexual tension, oral sex (f recieving), praising, worshipping, dirty talk, explicit sex.

Word count: 10.2k (a bit long but so worth it i swear)

taglist at the end, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

In camp Halfblood, everybody knew who you were.

Or at least, they thought they knew.

You were the ideal Aprhodite's daughter. Sweet, always soft-spoken, smiling with a kind word for everyone. You helped your sibilings braid their hair before every meal, the younger ones seeing you as an older sister who they always could count on, the older having the necessity of taking care of you. You left little handmade gifts in front of every cabin, just because, and remembered the name of even the shyest campers. You were grace in motion, impeccable manners in every movement, the very picture of your mother's legacy.

Didn't raise your voice, didn't loose temper. You didn't need to. People naturally flocked to you, drawn in by your calm presence and genuine warmth. Your reputation was spotless, your charm unmatched. No one had ever seen you in a real fight. You were considered the peace, where every demigod landed when they were feeling tired, struggling with the heavy air of the camp.

You wore vanilla scented perfume, braided your hair in beautiful, creative ways, decorating with flowers and colorful petals, your clothes always placed beautifully over your body, enchancing your figure. Your hands were gentle, soft fingers with perfect manicure as you helped wounded demigods and waved at the little kids that looked up to you as a mother they never had. A soft, wide smile in your lips, always glistening with lip gloss.

And to be honest, you liked it that way.

"Your strength is in your beauty, and your charm" your mother had said to you once, through a dream, when you first got claimed "Make me feel proud."

Nobody expected anything from you, beyond being lovely and helpful, but that was good, because you were free to move in silence. And although you enjoyed the vision people had of you, you took that into advantage, even if you and your siblings weren't taken very seriously, you wanted to feel powerful, to reach glory. It's what every demigod truly desired, and you weren't the exception.

You were hungry for it, ambition became your dna.

So you let them see only what you wanted.

They didn't see the girl that trained secretly until sunrise, even when you hated early mornings, the girl that read and memorised love poetry but dreamt about the battlefield, the girl that watched Ares kids closely to learn about their movements and strategies, the girl that hurt herself a lot of times trying to perfect her skills with the sword, the arch, and every other existing weapon. You had your own powers, the ones your mother had blessed you with (charmspeak, cursing) but you wanted more.

You didn't really had to prove yourself to anyone, everybody already loved you, but you did it because you could, because you wanted to. Because love isn't always soft, it's protective, fierce, and sometimes it required a blade.

In the moonlight, you drew your hidden blade, an elegant shortsword, delicate-looking, but perfectly balanced. You began to move, each step practiced and precise. Your form was fluid, flawless. There was no hesitation in your strikes, no wasted movement. You moved like water, graceful, calm... deadly.

Few knew about this side of you. You didn’t train to impress anyone. You trained for yourself. For the day someone would push too far. For the day someone would need protecting. For the day you’d have to prove that love isn’t weakness.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

The morning sunlight spilled across Camp HalfBlood like golden syrup, warm and slow. At the Aphrodite cabin, everything was already in perfect order. Beds were made, mirrors sparkled, and the scent of roses and vanilla drifted lazily through the open windows.

You sat on a velvet couch, humming softly as you helped your youngest sister adjust a flower crown on her beautiful, long hair.

“There.” you said with a gentle smile, tucking a strand of honey-blonde hair behind the little girl’s ear. “You look like a dryad princess.”

Your siblings adored you, and you enjoyed spending time with them like this, quiet, calm, just like you always were. They were like the little family you never had.

Your little sister turned and hugged you “You’re the best, Y/N.”

You kissed the top of her head. “Go get dressed, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the moment of peace shattered.

The cabin doors burst open with a loud bang, doors crashing the walls as your younger brothers came in running and heavy breathing, eyes opened wide.

“Y/N!” Sunoo, one of you brothers shouted breathlessly, his chest heaving, hair wild. “You gotta come see this, the Hermes kids are going at it in the sparring field! Like, full-on duel style! It’s insane!”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes with amusement. Hermes kids, they had the second place as the messiest ones in camp, just under Ares kids, of course. The whole cabin gasped, fluttering around the room with curiosity.

"Wait, like, real swords?" Your sister stared with big, surprised eyes, and you placed a hand on her head, trying to calm her down.

"It's Jake again, i knew someone would challenge him one day"

You blinked slowly, brushing invisible lint off your skirt. Of course, Jake Sim was the main character of today's exciting event.

Jake Sim had the kind of reputation that walked into a room before he did.

The moment someone said his name, you’d hear it all: "Best swordsman at camp," "Captain of Cabin 11," "Hermes' golden boy." He was fast, blindingly so, with reflexes sharper than his blade. Some swore they’d seen him disarm an opponent in under three seconds. Others claimed he could steal your weapon mid-swing and hand it back with a wink.

He wasn’t just skilled. He was annoyingly skilled.

Jake had that effortless swagger, half grin, half smirk, full confidence. He could talk his way out of trouble, into hearts, and across borders. Born to the god of thieves and travelers, Jake carried that legacy like a badge of honor. He never stayed in one place too long, never let anyone too close, but somehow, everyone still wanted to be around him.

Even campers from other cabins, rival cabins, wanted to be his friend, or at the very least, seen near him. He was the kind of demigod others watched on the training field and thought, Yeah, that’s who I want to be when I stop tripping over my own sword.

He was cocky. No, scratch that, he was infuriatingly cocky. But the thing was... he could back it up. Every time.

Jake didn’t take most things seriously, except sword fighting. That was his sanctuary, his art. He trained like he had something to prove, even if no one could figure out what it was. People said he was strong enough to lead a quest on his own. Strong enough to beat a child of Ares in single combat. Strong enough to never lose.

So when someone mentioned a duel with Jake Sim, everyone came running. Because when Jake fought, it wasn’t just a match, it was a show.

"I'm telling you, sister, he's gonna chop that kid's head off"

You rose gracefully, smoothing down your perfectly pressed blouse. Your voice was calm, almost amused. But the sentence made you frown your eyebrows, you were always looking after the kids, so you naturally worried hearing your brother’s words.

"Well, if he's fighting a kid, i must go take a look then"

You quickly put your shoes on, not wasting time before heading out of the cabin.

The air outside was brisk with early morning chill, the kind that made your skin tingle and your senses sharper. You walked calmly across the training grounds, your footsteps light, unhurried. A few of your siblings trailed behind you, excited whispers bouncing between them.

When you reached the edge of the sparring field, the crowd was already thick. Campers from nearly every cabin had gathered in a wide circle, forming a loose ring around the action. You stepped between two taller demigods, murmured a soft “excuse me,” and looked toward the center of the field.

There he was.

Shirt slightly rumpled, curls tousled from the fight, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was enjoying himself just a little too much. His bronze sword flashed in the sunlight, fast and fluid, spinning in perfect arcs. His opponent, a short, golden haired son of Apollo, was panting, wild-eyed, struggling to keep up.

Jake wasn’t even sweating.

He dodged each swing with ease. Not out of necessity, out of amusement. His stance was relaxed, movements smooth, measured. He looked like he was playing. The boy lunged again, desperate, and stumbled.

Jake stepped aside, caught the boy’s wrist mid-swing, and twisted gently, not enough to break anything, but enough to send the sword clattering to the dirt. Then, with a flick of his own blade, he tapped it against the kid’s shoulder.

“Better luck next time, champ,” he said, voice light, teasing. “But maybe wait until you can hold the sword without it shaking, yeah?”

A few campers laughed. A few others didn’t.

Your brows knit as you stepped forward through the crowd. Of course he would find fun in fighting a younger, inexperienced boy, it only fed to his ego. Your heart shattered at the little boy's expression, that protectiveness nature in your eyes.

Your voice was soft, but it carried, clear and unmistakable.

“I expected more from you, Jake Sim.”

The laughter faded like a snapped string. Heads turned. Even the Apollo boy froze, eyes wide.

He hadn’t realized you were there. And yet, there you stood, poised, polished, and completely unreadable. The very picture of Aphrodite grace in a soft cream blouse, sunlight catching in your hair like a halo.

“Oh?” he said, lifting a brow. “And what exactly did you expect?”

You walked toward the center, graceful as ever. You knelt beside the boy first, murmured something too quiet for the others to hear, and gently helped him to his feet. Jake watched, his eyes following you slowly, and he swallowed, of course the first thing you’d do would be check on the boy. You gave him your handkerchief, embroidered, of course, and sent him off with a smile that was more comforting than any healing spell.

Then you straightened and turned to Jake, your tone polite, serene, and yet somehow sharper than any blade.

“A real swordsman knows the difference between a challenge and an easy win,” you said. “He doesn’t swing his pride at someone half his size just to prove he’s still the strongest.”

The crowd let out a soft ripple of ooooohs, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t even raise your voice.

Jake’s jaw tightened, barely. His fingers flexed on the hilt of his sword. She’s calling you out. Not just for the fight. For everything. The showboating. The ego. The fact that you saw right through it, and weren’t afraid to say it.

For the first time all morning, Jake didn’t have a clever comeback ready. He studied you, this sweet, delicate Aphrodite girl with a quiet voice and ribbons in her hair, like he was seeing you for the first time. He knew you, but like every other demigod in camp, only your facade.

And he didn’t know what to make of you.

You tilted your head slightly, that same gentle smile on your lips.

"What could you know about it, princess?" His tone was sarcastic, teasing, his hand now resting on his hip.

Of course he would say that, always underestimating your lineage, you were used to that, but that didn't mean it didn't strike the wrong buttons in you.

You flipped your hair, lifting your shoulders into an almost lazy expression.

"I don't know, hero." an eyebrow lifted in your face "To be called the best swordsman here, i think that was kind of lame. Your evident hunger and overwhelming pride, you make them too obvious when you're fighting" You kept smiling, and you saw how his jaw clenched a bit. "It's going to be your downfall one day."

A fire lit in him, and you almost laughed, cocky men like him were so easy to get.

Then his smirk returned, slow and full of challenge.

“Careful, sweetheart. That sounded dangerously close to a challenge.”

Someone needs to stop him. Someone needs to remind him that strength isn’t just speed or skill. It’s restraint. It's knowing when to put the sword down.

You looked around.

No one moved.

Then, with a deep breath, you spoke.

"Maybe it was."

Challenge, delivered like a bouquet of roses with a blade hidden in the center. Jake felt something twist in his chest, something like adrenaline, but deeper. Like interest. Like curiosity.

He stepped forward, lowering his sword, just slightly. His eyes met yours, and the grin he gave you now was slower. Less cocky. More intrigued.

“Well,” he said, voice rich with anticipation. “Guess I finally found someone worth my time.”

Your hands stayed at your sides, calm as ever. But your eyes were sharper than glass. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Jake chuckled, confident.

“Are you?”

You didn’t answer, just winked at him gracefully before turning around, taking the boy’s hand so you could go and help him get clean, all of your siblings following you, lips parted, still processing what just happened.

Camp’s best swordsman stayed there, watching you as you walked away, eyes lingering to you figure, half smirk still on his lips. Intrigued, curious. A little offended, to be honest.

But it didn’t matter. Revenge would be so sweet.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

“Are you out of your divine mind?!”

The room was a flurry of perfume, silk, and frantic hands as you stood calmly in the center, arms raised slightly as one of your sisters laced your bracers with delicate precision.

“You’re dueling Jake Sim.” Minjeong, your loudest sister, paced dramatically. “Jake. Sim. The golden boy of the entire camp. The guy who once beat two Ares kids in one match without even messing up his hair!”

“I heard he fought a drakon on a solo quest,” another added, wide-eyed. “With a stick.”

Of course they were worried, no other camper had dared to challenge him into a full, real duel, less say an Aprhodite kid, you guys weren't for the fight, it wasn't in your true nature. But you were different, and he was about to see that.

You gave them a soft smile.

“You forgot the part where he’s cocky, overconfident, and clearly underestimates me.”

“Babe, we all underestimate you. That’s the problem.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a hair behind your ear. “Good. That’ll make it more satisfying.”

Your siblings paused, blinking.

Then Minjeong narrowed her eyes. “Okay. Who are you and what did you do with Y/N?”

On the other side of the camp, Hermes cabin was buzzing.

“Dude, you are so dead,” one of Jake’s brothers laughed, slapping his shoulder as Jake tightened the straps on his armor.

“Nah,” another chimed in, flopping onto the bunk beside him. “He’s got this. It’s just Y/N.”

Jake didn’t look up. He was focused on adjusting his grip tape, his fingers moving fast. “Exactly. It’s just Y/N.”

But his jaw was clenched.

He wasn't just thinking about the duel itself, he was thinking about you. How you dared to call him out in front of everybody, not even raising your voice, not even making any expression. Just that damn, calm smile in your beautiful face, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. It made him burn, not only with anger, ego already hurt, but with something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

“Yeah, but she called you out in front of everyone,” Jay pointed out with a grin. “Like… burned you alive and smiled while doing it.”

“Did you see her face?” a younger Hermes camper piped up. “She looked like she was about to give him a compliment and then murdered him.”

Jake snorted, finally cracking a grin. “She’s got teeth under all that sugar, huh?”

The others laughed, but Jake’s mind wasn’t entirely on their banter. He kept replaying your voice in his head, calm, soft, but piercing. The way you’d looked at him. Like you already knew exactly how this would end.

It wasn’t just your challenge. It was the fact that you hadn’t been angry. Or scared.

You’d been sure.

Jake had never gone up against someone like that before.

And it was messing with him.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

The field felt different that morning.

Quieter, somehow, like the entire camp was holding its breath.

Campers crowded along the perimeter, perched on rocks, benches, fences. Even a few nymphs had slipped out of the forest to see what the hype was about. Someone had dragged out a banner from last summer’s Capture the Flag game and hastily painted over it in red: JAKE SIM VS. Y/N – BEAUTY VS. THE BEST

Laughter. Shouting. Betting. It was a storm of noise.

Jake was already there, stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders. His sword gleamed at his side, and his hair caught the sun in just the right way, it was almost unfair how good he looked in a fight.

He looked up as soon as he felt you enter.

You stepped through the archway into the field like you weren't walking to a duel, more like you were entering a ballroom. Light-footed. Graceful. Composed.

Your armor was pale gold, custom-fit over soft rose-toned leather. Subtle floral engravings decorated the trim, and the sheath on your hip sparkled faintly with celestial bronze. Your sword was delicate and elegant, thinner than his, but no less dangerous.

For a second, the crowd went quiet again.

Jake couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. You looked like a real life goddess, ready for war, but the delicacy, soft aura that sorrounded you still untouched.

It made his brain tickle, his throat dry. But he played it off.

“Didn’t know they made armor with perfume built in.”

You stopped a few feet away, tilting your head. “Didn’t know they made egos that big without divine intervention.”

Oof. That got a few laughs. You came with these type of comebacks so easily, never seemed touched by his comments, never letting anyone get under your skin.

Jake raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair.”

His gaze was locked into yours, heavy, lit up, burning with something more than challenge or anger, it was an intense look, as if he was trying to figure you out, trying to look right through you.

A heartbeat passed.

Chiron stepped between you, tall and regal, his voice booming with authority. “Campers. This is a friendly duel. Training blades only. No fatal blows. First to disarm wins.” He looked between the two. “Understood?”

Jake gave a nod. “Sure.”

You smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

Your swords were exchanged for dulled celestial bronze training versions, enchanted to sting like Hades but not kill.

As Chiron backed away, the air thickened. The noise from the crowd melted into the background.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

You just watched each other.

Jake’s smirk faded into something quieter, measured. Curious. You stood with your blade at your side, calm and unmoved, like you were waiting for him to decide when the dance would start. The crowd was roaring behind you two, but Jake barely heard it anymore. You stood across the ring, your sword loose in one hand, eyes locked on his like you were the only two people in the world. Yours shining, sparkling with hunger, he could tell you’d been waiting for this, he just couldn’t understand why exactly.

Then the real game started.

You began to circle. Slowly at first. Measuring. Watching.

Jake’s feet moved in perfect rhythm, fluid, confident. He tilted his head slightly, sizing you up.

“You sure you’re not just here to impress your cabin?” he teased, voice low.

You smiled softly. “You sure you’re not just afraid to lose in front of yours?”

The way you said it, light, airy, like a flower petal on the breeze, made the jab land even harder.

Jake’s smirk twitched. Okay. Cute. You were cool. Calm. Unshaken.

But he knew how to break through that. He always did.

He feinted to the right, quick and sharp.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, your blade rose fast, just enough to parry if he committed. You didn’t overreact. You didn’t fall for it.

Interesting.

Jake took a step in and you mirrored it.

Two more steps.

Then Clash.

Your swords met in a flash of bronze, the sound ringing out like thunder. Your strike was fast. Faster than he expected. Not wild, not emotional, precise. Controlled. You pivoted on your heel, angling your body to minimise target space. Your movements were so clean, so deliberate.

Jake caught the blow, just barely. Your faces were close now, blades pressing, arms trembling with tension.

You were faster than he expected, stronger too. Your swords clashed again, ringing across the field, but Jake barely registered the sound. His focus narrowed, locked on the girl in front of him.

He’d never really looked at you before, not like this. You were always… in the background. The picture of perfection. Helping younger campers with their braids, organizing picnic tables, smiling like nothing in the world could touch you.

But this girl?

This girl moved like a storm pretending to be a breeze.

Every strike you threw was elegant, but lethal. Every step was soft, but deliberate. You were poetry in motion, graceful and deadly. And you weren’t just matching him, you were challenging him.

Jake gritted his teeth and swung again, forcing you to block high, then low. You countered with a fluid pivot that nearly knocked the blade from his hand.

The air was hot, the sun high in the sky, every eye on you two, on the fight. Long minutes passed between swings and hits, where neither of you seemed to be surrendering for now.

He was sweating, like actually sweating.

And you, gods, you still looked serene. Focused, unrattled. It should’ve pissed him off, it did a bit, but instead something in his chest twisted. Tight.

How the hell did he not notice you before?

You could feel his strength in every strike. The way he moved, clean, sharp, confident. There was a reason why they called Jake Sim the best swordsman of his generation.

You spun to the side, narrowly dodging a brutal downswing, and countered with a quick jab towards his side. He blocked it in time, but you saw the flicker in his eyes, surprise.

You weren’t playing anymore.

There was heat in his eyes, not just from the fight. Not from frustration, it was something else. Like curiosity, like awe.

You took a deep breath, and stepped back, reseting your stance. So did he. You were circling again, both breathing harder now, both sweating, neither smiling anymore.

The way you moved, each strike fast and precises, calculated like a chess player five moves ahead. You were good.

But Jake’s eyes kept drifting.

The curve of your shoulders as you pivoted. The way your braid swung behind you, like it was dancing with the wind. The way your perfect skin glistened beneath the sun and the sweat, a few strands sticked to your beautiful face, your makeup still perfectly applied, the way your body seemed to shine. Your armor, subtle, elegant, hugged your body like it has been made by Aphrodite herself. Which, honestly? Wouldn’t been shocking.

And then there were your eyes, focused, glowing, locked on him like a pretador pretending to be a prey.

You stepped into him, swung high. He blocked, but his grip slipped a little, the crowd gasping.

Pull it together, for fucks sake. He thought, tilting his head, chest moving up and down, lips parted as he caught his breath. But for some reason he couldn’t, not when you were this close, not when you smelled like roses and wildfire, sweet and soft. It made his skin shiver even if the day was hot beneath the burning sun. The sweat on his forehead falling along his whole face until it was dripping from his neck.

You spun again, graceful as a dancer, and your leg brushed his as you passed him. His mind scrambled for focus, he tightened his grip and turned, eyes locked on your back for a split second before you twisted around, blade raised. And smiling.

He was so in trouble.

You could feel it, the shift. Jake was still fighting, fast, precise, sharp like always. But there was something different in the way his sword moved now. A half second slower, a little less direct, his eyes weren’t on your blade anymore.

They were on you.

You ducked under his swing, twisted behind him, and let your fingers graze his side, not a hit, just barely a touch. And he froze. Then you stepped back into position, sword up again, and let your gaze flick down his chest, then back up, slow, enough for him to notice, fast enough to pretend it was accidental. This was a different game now, something unspoken.

Jake’s breath hitched.

“You okay there, Sim?” you asked sweetly, voice like honey and silk.

He scowled, but it was weak. His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk.

“Just adjusting.” he muttered, circling again.

You let your shoulders relax, body fluid as you moved. Your braid bounced with each step, catching the sunlight, you could feel his eyes on it. On you.

But you struck again, quick, sharp, letting your body press just a bit too close in the follow-through. He caught your blade, but his footing slipped, just slightly. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body, his arm brushing your waist, his breath was right there, hitting your cheek. It was now your skin’s turn to shiver.

You leaned in, whispered just loud enought for only him to hear.

“Still think this is just a friendly spar?”

His eyes met yours, heated, locked. Fire beneath them.

He didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. There was something floating between you two now, something more than just challenge. It was lust, intrigue, desire.

Jake was losing focus, and he knew it. Everytime he got close, you’d look at him like that, eyes calm, soft, but hiding the fire behind them. Like you knew you were pulling his strings and were enjoying every second of it.

He swung low, fast, but you danced out of range like you could read his thoughts, your movements were too smooth, too deliberate. You were baiting him. Then he circled to the left, feinted, struck high, and you caught it. Your blades locked again, faces inches apart, breath mingling.

Your lips were slightly parted, glistening, cherry lip gloss still perfectly applied.

Jake’s chest rose and fell with each breath, sweat slid down the back of his neck, and still, he couldn’t stop looking at your mouth.

You tilted your head, just slightly, close enough to be a whisper.

“You’re distracted.”

“I’m not.” He answered quickly, too quickly.

So you smiled. “You are.”

Your swords scraped as you held the lock, muscles trembling.

“Are you gonna try to kiss me, or are you gonna fight me?” you murmured, so low only he could hear.

And he blinked, just once. And in that exact half-second, you dropped your weight, twisted under his blade, and swept his legs out from under him with one clean, beautiful spin.

Thud.

He hit the ground, flat on his back, sword flying from his hand and skidding across the arena floor, eyes wide open as if he couldn’t believe it.

Then, the crowd exploded. Cheers, gasps, laughter. Your siblings jumping, hugging each other, kids from other cabins going crazy.

You looked around, getting an early hint of that glory you so much desired, that moment, where everyone seemed to be worshipping you, admiring you, you felt something you couldn’t describe. This was what demigods were made for, what you were born for. And today, today you proved it. You smiled at the crowd, bowing gracefully like a ballerina who just finished a perfect show, your siblings throwing pink, beautiful flowers at you, a few getting stuck in your hair.

Jake groaned and blinked up at the sky, still trying to catch his breath, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Then you stepped into his field of vision. You stood over him like a goddess in battle armor, your sword pointed gently at his chest, just where his racing heart was, one eyebrow raised in that maddening, perfect smile.

“Disarmed.” you said simply.

He stared up at you, breathless. Not because of his obvious lost, but because of you.

“Remind me never to underestimate Aprhodite’s kids again.”

You tilted your head, same sweet grin in your lips.

“We’re full of surprises.”

And then you offered him a hand, he stared at it for a few seconds, thinking, his head spinning, going circles, not because of the fall, not because he had been defeated, but because your smell was taking over all the air around him, and for some reason, he wanted his lungs full of it.

He finally took it, sweaty, hot palms against each other. Your fingers were warm, strong, and when you pulled him up, you were close, closer than before. Not just physically.

And suddenly, the duel didn’t feel like the end. It felt like the beginning of something much more dangerous.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

It had been three days. Three days since the duel. Since you, sweet, soft-spoken, perfect little Aprhodite’s daughter had knocked him flat on his back in front of half of the camp and walked away like it meant nothing.

Jake placed the edge of the training arena, jaw tight, arms crossed. The sun was setting behind the trees, casting long shadows across the field where he’d lost. Where you had disarmed him, humiliated him, and smiled while doing it.

His fingers twitched like they were still reaching for the sword you’d knocked away.

And fucking gods, it still pissed him off. Not because he lost, okay, a little bit.

But mostly because you hadn’t even looked surprised. Like you knew all along that you could take him down. Like it was easy. It was the way you looked at him while you fought, calm, focused, like you’d seen through every layer of swagger and charm he wore like armor.

And worse, it was the way he had looked at you, every curve of your body, every flick of your wrist, every step, graceful, purposeful, dangerous. How your figure moved, how your face stayed calm all the time, looking beautiful, perfect. His whole body shivered just at the memory. You hadn’t just beat him in duel.

You unraveled him.

Now he didn’t know what the fuck he wanted. Part of him wanted a rematch, part of him wanted to kiss you just to see if you would let him, part of him wanted to grab his sword, drag you back into the arena and lose on purpose just to feel that thrill again.

You’re Jake Sim. Son of Hermes. Captain of cabin 11. Everyone looks up to you.

How could he just walk up to the girl who beat him, who toyed with him, and say “Hey, i haven’t stopped thinking about you. You got under my skin and i don’t know what to do with that.”

It felt like surrender. And he never, never did that.

But what terrified him more than bruised pride, was the thought of never seeing you like that again. The thought of you walking away from whatever the hell this was.

Jake looked down at his hands, strong, calloused, steady. But for the first time, he didn’t know what to do with them.

The Aprhodite cabin was glowing in the afternoon light, sun filtering through silk pink curtains, the scent of jasmine and rosewater drifting in the air as some of your sibilings had a relaxing, spa day.

You sat on the edge of your sister’s bed, weaving ribbons through a braid with steady, practiced hands. Your touch was soft, gentle, perfect, as always. You smiled when your sister thanked you, gave her a quiet “Of course” and rose to help another camper fix the hem of a dress.

Your movements were calm, graceful.

But your thoughts? Nowhere near calm.

They were back in the arena. Back with the weight of Jake’s body hitting the ground, the way the crowd roared, the he’d looked up at you, surprised, winded, and just a little bit wrecked.

A thrill sparked in your chest all over again.

You did that.

For once, your strength hadn’d been hidden behind beauty or kindness or smiles. You’d shown it. Proved it. And not just to the camp, but to him.

And gods, the look on his face.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the grin creeping onto your lips as you adjusted a camper’s hair clip.

He’d looked at you like he couldn’t decide wether to fight you or fall for you. And if you were being honest with yourself, you kind of hoped it was both.

Because as much as you were proud of your win, of the way you’d flipped him on his back in front of everyone, you couldn’t stop thinking about the tension in his jaw. The heat in his eyes, the sweat falling from his neck, his dark hair sticked to his forehead, his plump, perfect lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. The way his voice dropped.

There had been something there. Not just in the way you two moved, but in the pause between your strikes. The almost-touch, the almost-kiss. The hunger for something unspoken that wasn’t just glory.

He hadn’t spoke to you since then, not once. Was it pride? Or was he trying to stay away from you?

The idea of him thinking about you, fighting with the same pull, made your chest tighten in a way that was far too satisfying.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

In the armory, the air was thick with the scent of oiled leather and iron. Faint dust danced in golden rays of afternoon light cutting through the narrow windows. It was quiet. Undisturbed. You decided to go there to pick a few new weapons for this year's Capture the Flag, after all, you were the camp's new favorite warrior.

But then Jake Sim walked in.

His boots echoed slightly against the stone floor. He didn’t speak at first, he just watched you.

You stood with your back to him, delicately running your fingers along the line of dagger belts laid across a wooden table. The soft curve on your neck, the gentle sway of your hair, Jake’s eyes followed every detail like it was dangerous.

Because it was.

His heart was racing and he knew exactly why, it was because of you, because of the thoughts he had been having about you, about what you did to him and what he wanted to do to you. It was driving him crazy.

“You always this graceful picking out weapon straps?” he finally said, voice just low enough to carry.

You turned, slowly, as if you’d known he was watching all along. His raspy voice echoing, you suppressed a smirk. He was wearing the camp shirt, tightened around his chest because of his muscular body, veins popping under the slightly tanned skin of his arms, hair perfectly slicked back, that same, cocky, confident smirk in his lips. It made you want to kill him or jump right onto him an devour him.

“Only when i know someone is staring.” you said with a smile so subtle it felt like a secret.

Jake’s heart kicked hard in his chest again.

You were dressed simply, white tank top and cotton shorts, your usual camp gear. But the way you stood there, confident and completely at ease, made it impossible to look away. Your lips were glossed with something soft and pink. Your eyes sparkled, playful, unreadable. Your beautiful, long eyelashes decorated with perfectly applied mascara, a soft red blush on your cheeks.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”. You said, drifting closer to the display, tracing the edge of a bronze buckle.

Jake leaned against the nearby bench, arms crossed, trying to look unbothered. Trying.

It was the first time you two were talking after the events in the arena, the first time you two were alone, in a room, with those drowning feelings that none of you had put the finger on, it was like a recipe for disaster. And you were about to fall inside of it, deep.

“Didn’t expect you to haunt my thoughts either, but here we are.”

Your eyes lifted. And there it was, that flicker of fire beneath the calm, sweet surface. Made him want to forget all of his pride and kneel down in front of you to worship you.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” A shiver went down your spine when he smirked, cocky out of habit, but inside he was drowning.

“You beat me in front of everyone. It’s hard to forget something like that.”

Was it just that? Or something else? Something heavier, deeper, hotter. You didn't know. Jake was a cocky man, pride showered him like a second skin, you knew it was hard for a demigod like him letting those words leave his mouth, and for some reason, it was satisfying.

“Mmm.” You murmured, stepping a little closer. “I think you liked it.”

Jake didn’t respond, he couldn’t. You were closer now, not enough to touch, but gods, it was close. He could see every detail of you, the way your lips parted as you breathed, the faint blush rising to your cheeks, the slight rinse and fall of your chest, you beautiful, perfect body.

And you were watching him, really watching him. Not just for his words, but for every breath he took. The air filled with tension, desire, something unbereable.

“You’re tense.” You said softly, eyes dropping to his clenched jaw.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You took another step forward, the tips of your fingers brushed the hem of his shirt, not enought to count as a touch, but just enough to promise one. His body tensed, his gaze locked with yours, intense, deep.

“You’ve been acting like you’re unaffected. But i see the way you look at me, Jake.”

His throat went dry, he didn’t move. If he moved, he wasn’t sure he’d been able to stop himself. He was a man with ambition, who always followed his desires. And right now, they weren’t innocent desires.

You tilted your head slightly, he fucking loved when you did that, when you acted all innocent and pure, and maybe you were, but now he was seeing right through it, and your lips now were barely a breath from his.

“Say it.” You whispered, challenging him, once again, doing the thing that drove him crazy.

Jake stared at you, jaw clenched, heart hammering. His pride screamed to hold back, to play it off, to make a cocky comment. But the desire? The desire had been clawing at his insides since the second you’d walked into his life.

“You’re driving me insane.” He said finally, low, deep voice as he spoke “And i don’t know if i want to kiss you or throw my sword at your head.”

And you laughed, soft and slow, your whole body twitching a his confession. Because you felt that too, you’d been wanting, all of it, too, to fight him again, to win again, to kiss him, to feel him.

“You want to kiss me.” You said simply.

Then, finally, he moved.

One hand reached up, cupping the side of your face. His strong, calloused thumb brushed along your jawline, slow, reverent, fingertips tickling. His other hand found your waist, fingers flexing against the fabric of your tank top. He looked at you like you were the most dangerous thing he’d ever faced, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight or surrender.

“Tell me to stop.” He whispered, voice rough, shaky, hot breath against yours.

“Don’t you dare.”

And he kissed you.

Not rough, not rushed. But deep, like he’d been starved for you and didn’t know how to go slow. Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer. You kissed him like you knew exactly how long he’d been holding back, like you’d been holding back too.

The room spun, the rest of the world fell away.

There was only the heat of his mouth, the press of his body against yours, the way your breaths tangled like you were trying to inhale each other. Your lips were moving above each others at a slow, almost teasing pace, like the one you had in the battlefield, dancing while little sighs left both of your mouths, hot breaths colliding. His lips were soft, plushed, and he tasted sweet, it made you tremble and you had to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, deeper. Jake whimpered, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, exploring your mouth with it and tangling it with yours, sending that familiar shiver down your spine.

He slid his hand from your waist to the small of your back, pulling your flush against him, your fingers were tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. He let out a soft sound in the back of his throat, frustration, relief, desire.

When you bit gently at his lower lip, he growled.

“Gods.” he muttered into your mouth. “You’re going to ruin me.”

And you laughed against him.

In one smooth, desperate morion, he lifted you, hands gripping under your exposed thighs as you gasped, and set you up on the workbench behind you. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking him in. The bench creaked beneath you, old wood protesting, but neither of you cared.

Your hands then slipped beneath the edge of his shirt, palms pressed to his warm, tanned skin. You felt the tension in him, tight and coiled like a spring ready to snap. Jake kissed you like he’d been starving, like every second of restraint he’d shown since the duel had been building to this one moment. His hands were everywhere, your thighs, your waist, your back, memorising you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen, lip gloss ruined, your eyes dark and bright and locked on him like he was something you couldn’t quite resist either.

“I tried not to want this.” He admitted, breath ragged.

You touched his face, gentle, detailing every inch of his gorgeous features. “I didn’t.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Of course you didn’t.” He murmured, smiling against your skin. “You’re too damn perfect.”

You slid your fingers through his hair again, dark brown strands between them, nail grazing lightly at his scalp. “Still think i’m just a pretty girl?”

Jake pulled back to meet your eyes again.

“No.” He said, voice low and sure “You’re dangerous, and i want more.”

And then he kissed you again, deep, slow, like he really meant it this time. Like it wasn’t just heat or revenge or rivarly anymore.

Like it was want, it was real.

And you let him, opening your mouth and recieving his wet, warm tongue, sucking it and letting out little sounds that only made him kiss you harder, his rough hands now caressing the skin of your thighs, gripping a little tight like wanting to mark his fingers, his kiss becoming sloppier, needier, he wasn’t holding back anymore. The stubborness in you had faded away, since the moment he put his lips above yours, and right now, you were going to let him do as he pleased, because you wanted that too.

So you slid your delicate, smooth hands beneath his shirt, now touching the bare skin of his abs, tracing the perfectly built lines, thanks to his training, then his chest, then down again, deleiting yourself with that soft skin, that was burning beneath your fingers, and he whimpered again, biting your lip so hard that it stinged a little, but you didn’t care, you just moaned, low, softly, and he lost his mind. Because his hands now traveled to your covered ass cheeks, squeezing them tight above the cotton of your shorts, shamelessly groping as if he’d never touched anyone before, because the sound that left his throat was different this time. And you squirmed, the shiver that once was settled on your spine moving down all the way to your core, ending up in a wetness that you couldn’t ignore.

He broke the kiss, but only to bring his face to the curve of your neck, kissing there, sucking, licking, hot and wet tongue against your skin, and you tilted your head, giving him more space, eyes closed as you sighed.

“Fuck, this damn smell.” He whispered with broken voice, lust being the only tone in it “It’s been driving me crazy.”

You bit your lip when he caught your skin between his teeth, biting, marking, slightly arching your back, your covered breasts making contact with his chest, and he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, practically breathless.

“You want this, right here?” he asked, deep in his heart wishing you’d say yes.

And of course, you nodded, fluttering your eyelashes in that way that made his knees weak.

So he wasted no time, grabbing the hem of your tank top and lifting it over your shoulders, sliding it out of you with desperation, your bare, perfect breasts in front of him, nipples hard the second the air made contact with them. And his face, he looked completely wrecked as he admired you. Dark, lustful but shiny eyes taking in every inch of your body. He was sure that you were Aprhodite herself brought to life.

His face buried in your chest, hand cupping one of your breasts and tongue licking and sucking into the other, and you moaned high pitched, arching your back again and gripping his hair wanting to feel him closer, your whole body shivering, the wetness between your legs now completely impossible to ignore. The sound of his mouth against your skin combining with your whimpers, your legs trembling, no man had ever touched you like that before, like worshipping you.

“J-Jake…” you moaned, biting your lip, eyes sparkling filled with need and desire and hunger.

“You’re a fucking goddess.” He whispered, not letting go of your nipple, hand squeezing. “I’d let you ruin my whole life.”

That was the hottest thing someone had ever said to you, and you whimpered, stretching your hand so you could touch him again, helping him slid out of his shirt, this one ending up on the floor along your tank top. And the sight was breath taking, his glistening, tanned skin, his toned abs, his pumped chest, the veins in his arms. He was a god too, you were sure about that. Your hand ended up sliding beneath his cargo pants, palm making contact with his already hardened member, and he growled again, thrusting his hips needfully to meet with your touch. He was thick, hard, throbbing through his boxers, and you whimpered again when he did the same to you, manly hand finding your clothed pussy, rubbing his fingers against you, your wetness noticeable through the thin, laced fabric of your underwear.

"Do you taste just as sweet as you smell?" He whispered, in your ear, teeth biting your earlobe, you didn't respond, not being able too, your whole body feeling like it was on fire.

Your legs threatened to close, but he kept his other hand on your kneee, forcing you open, thumb rubbing circles against your swollen, clothed clit. Then, in just a second, your back crashed with the wall as he slid down your shorts, and underwear, throwing them on the floor and just taking a second to admire you. Your face was red, you were now naked, there, in the armory, in front of him, and the look in his eyes was completely different. He was broken. His gaze trailed down your body, your breasts, your torso, between your legs, your beautiful, heavenly pussy in front of him, dripping, wet, glistening, needy.

He didn't say anything, he couldn't find the words to even try to describe you. So he knelt down, like a mortal in his favourite goddess altar, hands gripping your thighs, tight, he wet his lips with his tongue, and your hands found his hair again, he closed his eyes as you caressed him. Few seconds passed, and he leaned in, face buried between your legs, looking so gorgeous, but so fucked. And then, a long, soaked, warm lick, his tongue traced a slow line in your folds, and you screamed, throwing your head back. And the sound he let out, was almost unnatural.

Jake kept his eyes closed as he sucked your clit, tongue tracing circles before starting to suck you, tasting you, swallowing you, devouring you. He ate you out like an starved man, spitting and licking and whining against your soaked pussy, nose rubbing with your aching clit, and you could only whimper and moan, rocking your hips into his face, begging him to never stop. And he wouldn't dare, because you were the sweetest thing he'd ever put in his mouth, in that moment, he wanted to die between your legs. His face was a mess, chin soaked in your arousal, cheeks red, eyes still closed. One finger found your entrance, sliding between your walls so good and your pussy clenched around it, the wood beneath your body completely soaked, sticky with your sweat and fluids.

"So sweet." He whispered, his hot breath crashing with the skin of your inner thighs, and then he opened his eyes, dark gaze locked with yours.

His finger thrusted inside and out of you, lips wrapped around your clit, and you whined, your legs shaking, twitching, trembling, sweat starting to fall down your forehead. Second finger slid, curling inside of you, stretching you so good, brushing teasing your g-spot.

“G-Gods.” You whined, pulling strands of his hair.

Jake then stood up again, cleaning his lips with his palm before devouring your mouth again, and you could taste yourself in his hot mouth, your dripping pussy still pulsing, clenching around nothing. But not for too long, because he slid two of his fingers inside of you again, deep, hard, rough, now really fucking you with them, curling them and bumping them into your g-spot over and over again, spreading your walls, soaking them with your fluids.

“Fuck, you’re leaking.” his voice was so weak, so broken. “Can’t wait to feel you. Been wanting this since you called me out with that beautiful face.”

Palm was crashing with your clit, fingers moving in and out fast, the wet sounds and moans being the only ones in the hot, barely illuminated room. Your whole body tensed, showered in pleasure.

Then Jake pulled them out, and you whined, teary eyes looking at him like really full of desire, of want, of need. And he couldn’t hold back anymore, not when you were so perfect, so gorgeous. So made for him.

So he finally, finally took his member out, throbbing, thick, hard, veins popped up, red tip leaking, he was full of need too. And your eyes shined, your mouth watered, the lust taking you over. He didn’t wait much, he couldn’t, so he stroked himself a few times, jaw clenched and hisses through his teeth, he rubbed his tip between your folds, teasing you and himself, one hand gripped to your waist, marking. And then, he slowly slid in, and you grabbed his shoulders for balance, because the feeling crushed your brain and body, his thick length stretching you as good as his fingers, deep, slow, you watched as it disappeared inside of you. And he groaned, low, eyes sticked to yours, thrusting his hips a few times, still at a slow pace, like not wanting the sensation to go away so fast.

“Fucking hell” he bit his lip, moaning. “You’re so tight, this is the most perfect pussy ever.”

You let out a cry once his thrusts became faster, rougher, skins crashing making an obscene sound as his cock disappeared inside of you, his eyes sticked to your face, not wanting to miss any of the expressions you were making, your beautiful, perfect face ruined by the pleasure. But he was no different, his jaw tight, his eyebrows frowned, hisses leaving his parted lips as he moaned and growled like an animal. The once perfectly made braid in your hair was now messy, a few strands sticked to your face, your eyes teary, your forehead full with sweat, your lips sore because of how much you were biting them.

One hand cupped your breast again, squeezing hard, as if he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, of your perfect body. And the other found your aching, swollen clit, messy circles at the pace of his thrusts, he rolled his hips harder into you, going so deep, you could feel him in every inch of your insides, the pleasure showering you, your brain completely shut down. You moaned high pitched, hiding your face in the curve of his neck, eyes closed as you saw stars.

“You like it?” he asked, a smirk in his lips, his cocky nature still in him, breathless, between thrusts “Tell me, please, need to hear you say it, princess.”

The nickname wasn’t sarcastic anymore, it was affection in it, worship, devotion.

And you whined against his skin, filling your lungs with his sweaty, manly smell, nodding, desperate, needy.

“Y-Yes. Please don’t stop.”

So using his incredible strength, he pulled out, but he made you put your feet on the ground, flipping you over so your chest was now against the wood of the counter, and he slid in again, grabbing your hips, bumping deeper thanks to the new position, head of his cock reaching your g-spot immediately, and you cried against the surface as tears rolled down your cheeks, ruining your mascara. His thighs crashed against your asscheeks, his movements now sloppier, erratic, he was really fucking you now.

But to be fair, you fucked him first, just in a different way.

He kissed down your back, everywhere, sucking too, wanting to mark every inch of your soft skin, and you arched your back, thrusting backwards meeting with his hips, nails scratching the wood beneath you.

This wasn’t just fucking. This was him discharging all of his frustration and anger in you, but not in bad way, in a i fucking trust you and worship you as a goddess way. And it was driving you crazy, you had the strongest man in camp moaning your name and mind-fucked and wanting to die inside of you.

Jake’s hand placed your braid over your shoulder, now kissing your neck again, whispering sweet words in your ear, voice wrecked and weak, crushed by his own moans and groans.

“You’re so perfect. I wanna worship you all my life. I want you to see me, to humiliate me again, i don’t care, i’d fight with you all the time just to keep your eyes on me.” He was mumbling, completely pussy drunk. But you were too, because he stretched you so good, because the warmth of his weigth was just too much, you sniffed through your nose, whining.

“J-Jake…” you moaned again, the knot on your lower belly starting to built. And he understood, because his fingers brushed your clit again, fast, rough. Your legs were trembling, your knees weak, the air so hot, you felt like you were about to pass out.

He grabbed your throat, not hard enough to choke, just to hold, to make you raise your head so he could kiss you again, dirty, sloppy, angry. His tongue explored your mouth once again, and his movements were completely erratic, senseless, he was close too. A few drops of his sweat soaked your face, combining with the saliva falling from the corner of your mouths. The way we kissed you, the way he touched you, the way he fucked you. Not only made you whimper because you were an Aprhodite girl, not only because it flattered you, but because it was him.

And you broke, body completely wrecked, back arched as you screamed so high pitched and came all around his cock, the orgasm taking you over, your pussy dripping, clenched tight around him, your heart racing, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He came too, because the look of your climax was just the peak of perfection in his eyes, and he didn’t hold himself back, guttural groan leaving his throat as his orgasm made him leak inside of you, warm, creamy fluids filling you up, thrusts becoming slower, weaker, his pulsing cock discharging all of his pleasure.

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds, he didn’t pull out, didn’t move, part because he couldn’t, part because he didn’t want to. You felt his lips on your cheek, sweet, slow, his breath making your skin jump. But you couldn’t move either, you didn’t feel like yourself, the whole room was spinning, your body felt like floating. You sighed deeply, trying to regain balance.

Then Jake finally pulled out, slow, and his cum dripped between your folds, and down your legs. His eyes sparkled, the view just so perfect for him to handle.

“Are you ok?” He asked softly, grabbing your waist so you’d stood up, his eyes were still lit up.

You cleaned the sweat of your face with your hands, trying but failing to fix your hair. Then you smiled, same sweetness as ever. Even after he literally fucked you.

“I think you broke me.” You joked, voice still weak, but your eyes were sparkling too, something new awakened inside of you, and him. Between you two.

Jake chuckled, still a bit breathless, but he started to pick up your clothes, shaking them because of course, you could never wear something dirty.

“Well, princess. Call that a rematch.”

And you rolled your eyes, pushing his chest surprisingly strong, he almost tripped. Then you both laughed.

He kissed you again. Sweet, soft, and you didn’t want him to stop. Ever again.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

“How long are they gonna keep going with this?” Sunoo groaned, rolling his eyes and resting his head on your little sister’s shoulder, her smiling, amused by the scene in front of them.

The sun hung lazily over camp Halfblood’s training field, glints of sunlight off polished bronze blades. A few kids crowded at the edge of the ring, sitting on logs and leaning over the rails, whispering at each other.

“They’re still going.”

“Twenty minutes.” A Hermes camper confirmed, eyes locked on the fight. “And they haven’t stopped once.”

You stood across from Jake, your sword poised gracefully, a bead of sweat running down the side of your face, your stance was perfect, shoulders relaxed, chin lifted, eyes sharp.

Jake… was smiling.

“Tired, princess?” He asked, circling you slowly.

“You wish, hero.” you shot back, shifting your grip. “I could do this all day.”

“Yeah?” Jake twirled his sword lazily “You gonna keep staring at me or actually fight?”

“Hard to fight someone when they’re too busy admiring themselves”

Your sisters went oooh. And Jake smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Your blades met with a clash, steel, sparkling, footwork fluid and fast. But it wasn’t just training. You had a rythym now, a dance you both knew by heart. Teasing swipes, parried blows, a spin that brought you two almost chest to chest.

“You’re holding back.” Jake whispered low enough for only you to hear, breath brushing your cheek.

“So are you.” you whispered back, voice like silk. “What are you afraid of?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he lunged, and you spun. Your blades locked high, too high. One step, a slip. Your foot caught the edge of the sand pit, Jake reached out instinctively, grabbing your waist.

You fell.

Right onto the training mat, you landing on top of him with a surprised gasp, tangled up in his limbs and laughter.

Neither of you moved.

You hovered over him, bracing your hands on his chest, his heart pounding beneath your palms.

“You ok?” You asked softly.

“Perfect.” Jake breathed, but his eyes were fixated on your lips.

There was a beat, a long, electric pause. No teasing, no taunts. Just tension, want. Something warm and stupid and real blooming in his chest.

And then he leaned up, meeting you halfway.

The kiss was soft at first, just a brush of lips, like a secret shared in plain sight. But then it deepened, slow and certain.

Until you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Jake rested his forehead against yours.

“Still think we’re just sparring?” you murmured, teasing smile in your voice.

Jake grinned. “Definitely not.”

From the sidelines, Jay, one of his brothers shouted.

“Get a cabin!”

But Jake reached up, brushed a strand from your face, and smirked. Eyes sparkly, lost, completely in love.

“I told you i’d win.”

“I let you fall.” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get cocky.”

taglist

@gulicore @bussolares @vixialuvs @berryloveseunghan @lilifiedeans @m1kkso @usuallyunlikelyfox @jayjw16enxp @starfallia @bellsjakesgf @zuwishii @cutehoons02 @immelissaa @nyxtwixx @kayjiguki @emisluvr @k1ttyjwon @koizekomi

thank you so much for reading!! hope you enjoyed <3 it would help me a lot if you liked/repost but i’m happy knowing that someone even read this !!

heeseung’s drabble next !!

#enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen jake smut #enhypen jake #enhypen smut #enhypen writer #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen hard headcanons #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #jake sim smut #jake sim #demigods series x ninisdollie #ninisdollie writes !!

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lascvitae · 2 days ago

Text

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ LIKE A FEVER

♯┆ you’re the coach’s daughter & karina is the skater who falls for you anyway. you were never hers to keep, but she loves you.

pairing. ice skater!karina x coach’s daughter!reader genre. friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending (thank faith bc yall almost didn’t get it), slow burn (kinda), mutual pining, forbidden love warning(s). cursing, cheating, kissing (making out), reader is in a failing relationship, this is a yearnfest man, coach is mean af, brief argument, suppressed emotions (karina my shayla 😔)

word count: 11k (this seems to be my limit chat)

“the more i hurt, the more i want you.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ katty ᥫ᭡: guysss when i tell you i sobbed while writing this like three times... (is an easy crier) but thanks for 600!!! (also i made a spotify playlist if you would like to listen while you read)

masterlist.

three weeks before regionals.

the rink is quiet this late at night.

you never even really plan to check on her. not really. you just happen to walk by the glass doors on most nights. most of the lights are off except for the spotlights above the center, casting shadows over the ice.

and there she was.

karina.

she was alone. as always.

the two of you weren’t very close, but you had conversations here and there. she was the type of person that focused on her passion more than anything else. it was admirable, really.

her movements were so sharp and precise. she was so clean it looked effortless. but you knew better. you knew the amount of hours she’s poured into every jump and every spin. you’ve heard the way your dad talks about her.

“she’s got the skill. but i need her to stop feeling so much.” he said once.

but you like it. the way she skates like there’s something breaking inside of her. that’s where the real beauty is.

you don’t reveal yourself at first. you just stand by the edge of the rink and pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. the cold seeped in fast but you didn’t mind. not when you were watching her.

karina doesn’t notice you. or maybe she does and chooses not to look. she was always like that, distant but aware.

you wait until she finishes her routine, skates slowing to a stop in the center of the rink. she bends at the waist, catching her breath with hands on her knees.

that’s when you call out in a soft voice.

“your landing on the last combo was perfect.”

she was startled, head whipping toward the sound with wide eyes. her mouth parted like she was gonna say something, but then she just straightens and skates toward you quietly.

“i didn’t know anyone was here.” she says.

you hold up the water bottle in your hand. “i didn’t think you would still be here. but… i figured you forgot to bring this. again.”

she slows to a stop right in front of you, carving tiny shapes in the ice with her blades. you hand her the water bottle, fingertips brushing yours for a second.

“you always bring me water.” she mumbled.

“you never ask me not to.”

karina looks at you. there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. she stares quietly, face never leaving yours.

“i guess i like when you worry about me.” she says after a moment. and then she smiles.

you don’t say anything back. you can’t.

you end up sitting beside her on the bench near the edge of the rink. she unlaced her skates slowly, water bottle sitting between you.

“i didn’t mean to interrupt. you looked… kinda lost in it.” you say after a while.

karina glances up at you and tugs one skate off with a small grunt. “i always get like that when i’m alone. it’s easier to pretend that no one’s watching.”

“but someone always is.”

she freezes for a second and then her lips curl into a smile, an almost amused one. “yeah. like you.”

i’m not— i didn’t mean—”

“i don’t mind. i like when it’s you.” she cut in while shrugging.

you don’t know what to say to that, so you pretend to focus on something else. her shoulder was just barely brushing yours.

karina sighs. “coach is gonna kill me for staying this late.”

“he doesn’t have to know.” you laughed.

“is that the coach’s daughter helping me break the rules?” she turns to you with one brow raised.

“i won’t tell if you don’t.” you reply.

then there’s a pause. a long one.

then she speaks. “you’re always here.”

“so are you.”

“i have to be.”

“you don’t. not at this hour.” you argue.

karina looks down at her hands. “he says that i need more reps on my loop. and i can’t land it clean if i don’t fix my axis. so…”

she doesn’t finish the sentence. and you feel as if she doesn’t need to.

the silence returns. then, you carefully pull a pair of hand warmers out of your coat pocket.

you hold them out without saying a word.

“you… brought these?”

“i figured you would forget those too.”

she doesn’t take them right away. she stares at them then back at you. and when she finally reaches out, her fingers brush yours again. except slower this time.

“thanks. for thinking of me.” she says softly.

“someone has to.” you shrug, trying to play it off.

she gives you a quiet laugh. then she leans back on the bench, shoulder still pressed to yours with her hand warmers resting in her lap.

neither of you say much after that.

the silence is comfortable. she hasn’t moved for a while now. her legs were stretched out and her fingers were curled around the hand warmers you gave her. you think maybe she’s falling asleep sitting up. or just enjoying your presence.

either way, you don’t say anything.

but then your phone buzzes.

twice. three times.

karina jumps before you even check it, like the sound snapped something inside of her. she doesn’t say anything, but her body moves away from yours.

you glance down. a name lights up your screen.

your boyfriend.

you forgot he said that he would call. you forgot about him entirely for a second.

that realization makes your stomach turn.

“sorry. didn’t mean to—“ you mumble, silencing it.

“it’s fine.” she was back to the cold version of her you know from practice days.

she stands before you can stop her, pulling her skates back on. the laces are uneven and she doesn’t even fix them.

“you don’t have to go.” you say stupidly, as if it’ll make her stay.

but she’s already halfway to the ice again.

“i should run the routine again. i’m still shaky on the loop.” she calls out from over her shoulder.

you stay on the bench and watch as she glides back toward the center of the rink, phone buzzing again in your hand. the music doesn’t play. she doesn’t need it.

she jumps before she’s ready. the landing is clean but you can tell.

she wasn’t skating to practice. she was skating to forget you.

───────────────────────

the next day, somehow the rink feels colder.

maybe it’s the hour. or the way that karina doesn’t look at you when you walk in with your father. or it’s the silence that feels too heavy in between your steps.

she’s already on the ice when you arrive, pacing through her warm up jumps with clean movements. it was like last night never happened.

you sit off to the side as your dad steps onto the ice with his clipboard in hand.

“all right. start from the top. don’t drop your left arm on the entry again.” he calls, already stern. karina doesn’t reply. just nods once, jaw set. she adjusts her gloves and glides into position without a word.

the music starts.

you watch as she moves like she’s made for this. every jump makes her look as if she’s gliding. she doesn’t miss a beat.

but you see it. the way her chest rises too fast in between movements and the way way she hides the pain in her arm.

your father doesn’t.

“again. you were two seconds late on the last transition. don’t let the emotion get ahead of your technique.” he says the moment the final note fades.

she doesn’t argue. she just bows her head and skates back to the start.

you don’t say anything.

another run through. another correction. another sentence with barely contained frustration in your father’s voice as karina pushes herself harder, and faster. her blade slipped slightly on a landing and she hits the ice with a thud.

you flinch. but he doesn’t move.

“get up. you’re fine.” he says calmly.

karina pushes herself up slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. she doesn’t look at him or at you. you can see her hands shaking.

“i understand.” she says softly. and then she says it again in a quieter tone. “i understand.”

and she tries again.

it breaks something in you.

she finishes the third run perfectly. doesn’t collapse this time, but her breaths are harsh now. your dad claps his hands together once.

“better. you can take a break.”

he walks off the ice like it’s another day, already reaching for his phone. the door slams behind him.

only then karina sits down, curling slightly forward with her gloves gripping her knees. you don’t even realize you’ve moved until you’re walking down the bleachers and stepping quietly onto the mats just off the ice.

“i’ve been here the whole time.” you say.

her head snaps up.

“i saw all of it. how hard you’re trying.” you continue.

karina doesn’t say anything at first. just looks at you with her eyes wide.

then she whispers. “did it look like i was good enough?”

you walk closer and kneel next to her.

“it looked like you were breaking yourself to be.”

she wasn’t used to being seen like this.

“i don’t want you to skate like that. like you’re trying to prove something to him.” you mumble.

“i’m not.” she lies.

you don’t say anything for a moment. just reach into your bag quietly and pull out the same bottle you brought yesterday. it’s refilled and a little colder this time.

you hold it out to her without saying a word.

she stares at it like it’s a peace offering from another being.

“you need to hydrate. even perfectionists have to drink water.” you say softly with a small shrug.

karina laughs breathily. her fingers graze against yours as she takes it and she doesn’t let go right away.

“i’m not perfect.” she mumbles.

“you kind of are.” you reply before you can stop yourself.

she looks at you, then down at the bottle in her hands. then back up.

you don’t have to be perfect all the time. not around me, at least.

is what you wanted to say. but instead you just stay silent.

karina swallows like she’s trying not to say anything.

“hey. i brought this.” you say in a slightly playful tone.

her eyes flicker to it and her lips twitch barely. you catch it.

“you brought snacks?”

“maybe.”

“i love chocolate.” karina mumbles as she takes it slowly and unwraps it with careful fingers. she breaks it in half and holds one piece out to you.

your chest squeezes.

you take it.

she eats her half like it’s one of the first real things she’s had in hours.

“thanks. for not leaving.” she says finally.

“i wouldn’t.”

“i know. i think i needed someone to stay anyway.” she glances down at the bottle.

“then i’ll stay.” you nod.

and you do.

you sit side by side on the cold bench. karina’s finished the chocolate, skates finally unlaced and resting beside her. her legs are pulled up onto the bench as if she’s disappearing into her hoodie.

her phone buzzes once between you.

“my ride’s late.” she mutters, her thumb tapping the screen before she sets it face down.

you nod with your hands in your jacket pockets. “i can wait with you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i want to.”

karina doesn’t argue. she just looks at you with an unreadable expression.

for a while, it’s quiet again.

“you were always watching me.”

you look over at her with a startled expression. “what?”

she smiles a little. “yesterday. at practice. today too. i can feel it.”

you look away. “you’re kinda hard to miss.”

“i noticed you before that.” she says. almost too quietly.

your heart skips a beat.

she leans against the bench with her head tilted up. “you came to one of my meets last year. sat way in the back and didn’t talk to anyone.”

you froze.

“i didn’t think you saw me.” you admit.

“i always see you.” she says and the words land with a softness that makes your heart race.

you open your mouth, searching for something to say.

“my dad expects a lot from you.”

she just stays quiet.

“the way you don’t fight back. it’s the same way i used to be.”

“do you ever wish you could quit?” you ask.

karina turns her head, looking at you. “every day.”

you look down at your hands. “but you don’t.”

“no. because i still love it. even when it hurts.”

you nod quietly.

“does anyone know you feel like that?” you ask.

she shakes her head. “no. i don’t tell them.”

“but i tell let you.”

it comes out as a whisper. you’re too surprised to say anything.

then the sound of a car pulling into the lot breaks the moment.

karina doesn’t move right away, she just watches you like she’s still thinking about saying something else. but she doesn’t.

she stands, slowly grabbing her things.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” she says.

“yeah. tomorrow.”

and as she walks away, you feel that feeling in your chest. the feeling of someone slipping through your fingers even while they promise they’ll stay.

───────────────────────

it’s past nine the next day when you find her again.

the rink is empty and the lights are dimmed to half their usual level. her bag is forgotten on the bench and there’s a single light glowing from her phone screen. it was probably another missed call or her ride running late again.

she was alone in the center. there was no music this time, just her blades breaking the silence.

you don’t call out.

you sit on the same bench as before and unzip your jacket. you pull out a small paper bag and inside is a chocolate croissant you picked up earlier.

she doesn’t notice you until she slows down. she does one last spin and then she slides to the edge of the rink, brushing the hair from her face. that’s when she sees you.

her eyes widen and her chest heaves from the effort.

“you came back.” she said breathlessly.

“you’re not hard to find.” you tease gently.

karina steps off the ice carefully, taking off her gloves as she comes over. her cheeks are pink from the cold.

“what is it this time?”

“guess.”

she sits next to you again, closer than before. your knees almost touch.

she peeks into the bag and smiles slightly.

“you remembered i like chocolate.”

“i remember everything.” you say before you can stop yourself.

she looks at you and there’s something soft in her expression. maybe grateful or just stunned.

she slowly takes a bite and you watch her shoulders relax with the first chew.

neither of you one talk for a bit.

“you don’t owe me this, you know. the snacks, waiting, or the way you look at me.” she mumbled.

“i’m not doing it because i owe you anything.” you shrug.

“then why?”

“because i want you to feel like someone’s always there for you. no matter what.”

karina looks down at the half eaten pastry in her hands with an unreadable expression. no one’s ever done that for her, you realize.

just stayed. showed up. believed in her even when she wasn’t performing.

she swallows hard.

“thank you.” she whispers.

you could tell her it’s nothing. that’s it’s easy. that you would do it a hundred times over.

but you don’t.

she leans just a little closer this time and her shoulder almost brushes yours. you pretend not to notice.

she was slowly letting you in. it was pieces of her that she hopes you’ll handle carefully.

and you will. every time.

───────────────────────

the next day, you return to the rink again.

you were going to give her space but something in your chest pulled you back.

when you walk inside, karina’s already on the ice.

alone again. no music or audience.

you don’t even have a chance to say anything before it happens.

she goes into a spin too fast, and the blade of her skate catches wrong.

you hear the crack of impact before you see it.

karina hits the ice hard.

you froze with your breath caught in your throat.

she doesn’t get up right away. she just lies there, chest rising and falling.

then she slowly pushes herself to sit.

and you see it.

it wasn’t pain.

it was frustration.

she rips off one of her gloves and throws it to the side. her other hand slams against the ice. the sound echoes like a gunshot in the empty rink.

“stupid, i’m so stupid. why can’t i just—“ she mutters before choking on the words. her other glove comes off and her hands clench into fists.

you’re moving before you can think. sliding open the door to the rink and stepping out toward her.

“karina.”

she tensed.

you see the way her back straightens and her breathing stalls. she turns her head with wide eyes, like she didn’t know that anyone was watching.

you kneel beside her carefully.

she doesn’t look at you.

“i’m fine. i was doing fine. i’ve done this a hundred times.” she says quietly.

“i know.”

“i can’t afford to mess up right now. not when regionals are in three weeks. not when— not when everyone’s already waiting for me to fall.” her voice cracks.

your heart twists.

“i’m not.” you respond.

she finally looks at you.

this time, you see it all. the exhaustion just behind her eyes.

“i’m not waiting for you to fall. but i’ll be here to catch you if you do.” you say without thinking.

something breaks in her expression.

“i hate crying.” she says.

“you’re not.”

“it feels like i am.”

you pull down the sleeve of your jacket down and gently press the fabric to her cheek, wiping away a tear.

“you’re allowed to be human, karina.”

she closes her eyes.

and for the first time, she leans into your hand. not all the way, but enough to let you know she’s tired of being strong alone.

she doesn’t say anything for a bit after you wipe her tear.

she just sits there with her fists clenched and jaw tight.

but then she shifts, and you know she’s trying to get up.

you offer your hand without saying anything.

she hesitates.

for a second, you think she might not take it.

but then almost reluctantly, her fingers slip into yours.

her hand is cold and her grip is too gentle for someone who just punched the ice a minute ago.

you pull her to her feet and settle her when she wobbles.

she doesn’t let go right away. and neither do you.

you’re closer than you’ve ever been. her face is still flushed from skating and her lips part just slightly when she looks at you.

“thank you.” she whispers.

you almost respond, saying something too honest, but that’s when your phone buzzes.

you both look down at the same time.

it’s your boyfriend.

you freeze. and karina notices.

she drops your hand before you can even react and steps back like she wasn’t just unraveling in your arms seconds ago.

“i should… i should get back to it.” she mutters, brushing her hands off on her

“karina—”

“it’s fine. you should take that.” her voice returns back to neutral. it’s not angry, but it’s distant.

you glance down at your phone again.

when you look up, karina’s already lacing her gloves back on.

you don’t stop her.

and somehow, that hurts more than the distance that she just put between you.

because now you know what it looks like when she almost lets someone in.

and what it feels like when she slams the door shut just as fast.

───────────────────────

the rink is even colder tonight.

you’re not here just to watch this time. you’re here because you couldn’t stay away.

karina hasn’t looked at you once since yesterday.

you came in quietly, settling into the middle row with a blanket around your shoulders and a box of fruits in your lap. you didn’t expect her to notice you.

but you still hoped.

she steps onto the ice like nothing ever happened.

she’s different today. you can see it.

she’s trying harder. like she’s trying to prove something.

you watch her routine in silence. it’s the same one she’s been perfecting for weeks. there’s no music, but you know it by heart now. you could probably hum the entire song if she asked.

she doesn’t fall this time.

but her landing is shaky and her spin is off center. her arms falter for half a second in the last sequence.

she finishes with what would be flawless from anyone else’s eyes.

but when she stops and lets out a heavy exhale, you can tell she’s not satisfied.

you wait until she comes off the ice and tug her sweatshirt back over her training top.

then you call out.

“that was beautiful.”

karina looks up so fast you wonder if she ever knew that you were here.

you hold up the water bottle and the fruits you packed earlier. strawberry and banana slices with two small chocolates tucked into the corner.

she walks over slowly. almost cautiously.

“i didn’t know that you were coming.”

“didn’t want to miss your performance.” you shrug.

she sits next to you on the bleachers. you hand her the box and she takes it wordlessly, taking the top off of the container.

“you’re really good, karina.” you say softly. maybe a little too soft.

“like... i don’t even know anything about skating but i can feel it when i watch you. that’s gotta mean something.”

karina froze mid bite.

you glance at her but she’s not looking at you. just staring down at her fruits.

“…what?” you ask.

“no one’s ever said that to me. not like that.”

“really? you’re one of the best.”

“your dad is always too focused on what needs to be fixed. where my lines are off and where i’m not centered. he says praise makes you soft.”

you feel something in your chest. then you nudge her with your shoulder.

“then i’ll do it for him.”

that makes her look at you. her eyes are slightly wide and her expression is unreadable.

you smile. “i’ll be your fan. i’ll even be loud and annoying. if you want me to.”

karina looks away but you still catch the shade of red rising to her cheeks.

“you’d be my audience?”

“i am your audience. right now. front now.” you say.

she hides her laugh behind a sip of water. then she asks.

“will you stay if i go again?”

you nod without a second thought.

you stay in the same seat while she steps back onto the ice and it looks like her entire body is lighter. you didn’t know it was because of your praise.

when she begins again you catch her stealing a glance at you during the first spin.

then she does it again during the glide.

you wave.

and she almost stumbles from smiling too hard.

karina finishes her routine again and this time, she nails it.

everything was flawless.

when she comes to a stop in front of you, she doesn’t say anything. she just looks at you like she’s searching for something in your expression.

you don’t hold back.

“that was perfect.”

“you think so?”

“i know so. you were scary good. i got chills.” you hug the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

karina lets out a soft laugh and looks away, but she’s smiling. her shoulders lower like she’s allowing herself to feel proud for once.

she walks over to the edge of the rink and sits beside you again. this time she sits closer. her thigh brushes against yours and neither of you move away.

you offer her a chocolate from the snack box. she takes it.

“i’m serious. you skate like your entire heart is in it.” you say.

her smile fades, but not in a bad way. it turns into something softer.

“it is.”

you look at her. you’ve never seen someone work so hard for something that almost no one praises them for.

“you should be proud of yourself, karina.”

she doesn’t respond right away. she just eats the chocolate in silence.

maybe you lean a little closer than you should.

maybe she does too.

because you feel something change again.

she turns her head to look at you.

and the way she’s looking makes your stomach do a thing.

like she’s never had someone talk to her like this.

like no one’s ever stayed.

“i like it when you’re here. i skate better.” she says suddenly.

you smile and your heart does a weird skip. “then i’ll keep coming.”

karina’s eyes flick down to your mouth for a second too long.

and then, you see it happen. the moment she remembers.

your boyfriend.

your father.

everything that makes this too complicated.

she pulls away slightly. but it’s enough for you to notice.

you don’t know what you did wrong, but she’s straightening her spine again. putting space between you.

“you should probably head out soon. it’s getting late.” she says. her voice was too polite for you to like it.

“karina—”

“your dad doesn’t like when you stay late, right?”

you pause, reading her face.

it’s completely changed. her composure. she’s still distant.

the softness is still there, but it’s tucked away.

still, you try.

“i don’t mind staying.”

she stands up anyway, avoiding your eyes.

“i’ll lock up after i’m done.”

then she’s skating away again.

but as she gets back into position, her gaze flicks to you. just once.

like maybe she wished you would stop her.

but you don’t.

not this time.

───────────────────────

the next night, you show up again.

you don’t say anything.

you just walk in with your tumbler of hot chocolate, blanket folded over your arm.

karina’s already skating when you get there and her movements are sharp but you can tell that she’s tired. her routine looks less precise, like her mind is somewhere else.

you settle into your now usual seat and wait, wrapping yourself in the blanket. you don’t cheer or wave this time. you just watch.

when she finishes the routine and finally notices you, she doesn’t look surprised.

she just comes to a stop and lets her hands rest on her hips while panting softly.

“hey.” you say.

she skates over slowly.

she doesn’t sit next to you this time. just leans against the railing while looking down at her skates.

“you didn’t have to come again.”

“i wanted to.”

karina doesn’t reply.

you hold out the tumbler. “it’s hot chocolate.”

she glances at it then at you. then, she reluctantly takes it.

you watch her sip it slowly.

“you don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.”

karina’s shoulders tense.

but she doesn’t look at you. she just stares at the ice, jaw tight.

“it’s easier this ways.” she says after a long pause.

you’re caught off guard by the honesty. “easier?”

“no one expects anything from me when i’m alone.”

there’s something about the way she says it. like she’s told herself that a thousand times before.

you want to reach for her. but you don’t.

“i expect something from you.”

she looks at you. almost defensively. but your gaze is soft.

“i expect you to take care of yourself. to eat. to rest. to let people care about you.”

karina swallows.

you think she might say something, but instead she just looks down.

“you have a boyfriend.”

your stomach twists and you look down at your hands.

“i know.”

“you’re the coach’s daughter.”

“i know that too.”

silence stretches between you. and then she whispers.

“i can’t let myself like you.”

it’s the closest thing to a confession she’s ever given you. and you’re afraid that it’s the closest that she ever will.

your heart breaks in two.

you don’t know what to say. you don’t even know if you’re allowed to say anything at all.

so you just sit there with your fingers trembling inside the blanket.

she takes one last sip of the hot chocolate then hands the tumbler back to you, fingers brushing yours like she doesn’t mean to. but maybe she does.

then she skates away again.

the sound of your heartbeat is louder than her blades cutting across the ice.

“karina.” you call out, voice echoing through the empty rink.

she doesn’t stop.

you stand up. “karina, wait—”

she’s still skating. even faster now.

it stings. the way she shuts down, like she’s trying to outskate the things you make her feel.

so you raise your voice.

“why do you keep doing this?”

that makes her stop abruptly. her skates carve into the ice, and send up a sharp spray of frost. she turns to you with an unreadable expression.

“doing what?”

“this.” you gesture between you both. “one second you let me in and the next you’re skating away like you hate me.”

she exhaled hard, looking away. “i’m not doing anything.”

“yes you are. you talk to me, open up, and then remember i’m someone you shouldn’t like and you shut down again. every single time.”

karina’s jaw clenches.

you step closer. “i’m not trying to confuse you. i just want to be there for you. and i thought… i thought maybe you wanted that too.”

“i do. god, i do. but what do you want me to with that? you have a boyfriend and your dad hates me. this isn’t about just skating anymore.” she says, voice cracking slightly.

you pause.

“i never said it was about just skating.”

karina looks at you. her expression softens but you can see something else in her eyes.

she shakes her head, scoffing slightly. “you don’t get it.”

“then make me get it.”

“i can’t! because if i say it out loud then it’s real, and if it’s real then i’ll want something that i can’t have.” she nearly yells, voice echoing off the walls.

the silence that follows is so loud that it hurts.

she blinks fast like she didn’t mean to say that.

and you just stand there, stunned.

“karina…”

her name comes out softer now.

she looks down at her skates, biting her lip.

“i think you should go.”

your throat tightens. “do you really want me to?”

karina closes her eyes.

“no.”

but she turns away anyway.

and this time, you just let her skate.

because now you know. she’s not pushing you away because she doesn’t care.

she’s pushing you away because she does.

───────────────────────

the rink feels colder again.

it’s not the weather. it’s the emptiness.

karina gets there late, hoodie pulled tight over her head with her headphones in. her water bottle is half full.

but when she steps onto the ice, the first thing she does is look at the stands.

you’re not there.

she pretends that it doesn’t bother her. pretends that she doesn’t notice.

she warms up and does her stretches, then she goes through the footwork section of her routine easily.

but when it’s time to start the real run through, she hesitates.

you’re still not there.

there’s no voice cheering her on softly.

no tumbler clutched in your hands.

no little smile whenever she glances over her shoulder.

she tries to push through it, starts the routine anyway. but halfway through the first turn, she tumbles. her balance slips and her hand scrapes the ice hard, making her curse under her breath.

she gets up and starts again.

falls again.

but it’s worse this time.

she sits on the ice for longer, breathing heavily. her eyes are unfocused and for the first time in weeks, she feels it creeping back in. that voice in her head that tells her she’s not enough. that she’ll never be enough.

she presses the tip of her palm against her forehead.

she doesn’t cry. but she’s close.

and then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.

your name is right there, but she doesn’t call.

she just stares at the screen for a long, long time.

her thumb was hovering over the call button.

just one tap. but she doesn’t do it. she locks the phone, puts it back into her pocket and stands up.

this time, she doesn’t try the routine again.

she just skates in slow, aimless circles.

alone.

two weeks before regionals.

it’s been a week.

seven days.

karina counted them all. skated through every single one one of them like it meant nothing, but it did. she just got better at pretending it didn’t.

there was two weeks until regionals now.

everyone’s tense and the rink is busier than usual. there’s more skaters and more pressure but tonight, she’s the only one left. again.

she’s been pushing herself too hard. trying things she shouldn't be attempting this late. her left ankle’s bruised and her back aches. her music plays on loop but none of it feels right. nothing has felt right ever since you stopped showing up.

she doesn’t expect to see you again, which is why when she hears the door creak open mid routine she doesn’t stop right away.

it’s only when she glances toward the stands and sees you with your blanket, tumbler, and uncertain smile that she fumbles a landing.

not enough to fall. but just enough to feel it. just enough to feel everything again.

you stay quiet for a moment and just sit there.

karina lets out a shaky breath and skates to the edge, stopping right in front of you. neither of you say anything right away.

you hold out the tumbler.

she hesitates but takes it and wraps her hands around it like she did before.

“you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

she looks at you.

“noticed that from your seat?” she says, trying to sound teasing but it comes out tired.

“i noticed from not being in it.” you reply and her chest twists.

she leans against the edge of the rink, back against the wall. you lean forward next to her, elbows on the railing.

“i didn’t think that you would come back.” she admits.

“i wasn’t sure if i should.”

“why did you?”

“because you looked like you needed someone.” you shrug.

she glances up at you, something vulnerable showing in her eyes.

“i always do.”

that breaks something in you.

yet, neither of you move.

she sips the hot chocolate and you rest your chin on your hands.

“i missed watching you skate.” you whisper.

karina closes her eyes for a second, as if she’s allowing herself to believe you again.

“i skated better when you were here.”

you heart stutters.

it always does when she says that.

karina doesn’t look at you when she says it. she just stares down at her hands, thumbs moving over the tumbler. she looks small like this. not because she is, but because she’s tired. tired in a way that you’ve never really seen her before.

“then i guess i should’ve never left.”

she looks up. your stomach makes you feel weird in the way it always does when she looks at you like that. and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“you skate like you don’t even need air.”

“i don’t. until you’re not here.” she says quietly.

there’s silence after that. you’re not sure of what to say next.

“i brought you chocolate.”

karina lets out a quiet laugh.

“you remembered?”

“of course i did. you barely eat.” you say this time.

“that’s scary.”

“what is?”

“being known.”

the way she says it makes it seem like it’s a luxury she doesn’t let herself have.

you don’t reply. you just pull out the bar and hand it to her.

“then i’ll be careful with you.” you mumble.

and that is the moment she knows she’s completely fucked.

because you’re kind and careful. and also someone else’s. and her coach’s daughter.

and she’s still never wanted to kiss someone more in her entire life.

she doesn’t say anything after that.

just keeps her eyes on the bar of chocolate like if she looks at you again, then something might break.

you don’t move either. you just sit there.

you can hear her breathing. see the way her fingers tap against the tumbler, then stop, and then start again. she’s fidgeting and that alone is strange.

“were you okay? the days i didn’t come.” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

her eyes drop.

“no.”

the honesty stings.

but she doesn’t apologize for it.

she shrugs a little, like she’s trying to play it off. “it was just… harder.”

“i’m sorry.” you nod slowly.

“i didn’t want you to feel like you had to come.”

“i didn’t. i wanted to.” you say, meeting her eyes.

her breath catches. you notice but you pretend not to.

“i used to wonder if i actually helped at all. or if i was just a distraction.”

“you weren’t.” she says immediately with no hesitation. “you aren’t. you’re…”

she trails off.

“i’m what?”

she looks back at you, but she looks scared.

“you’re part that makes it hurt less.”

and that does something to you.

you don’t say anything. you can’t, really. not when your throat feels tight and your chest is full of something you can’t name. or you’re too scared to.

so you reach over slowly, placing your fingers over hers.

she doesn’t move. her hand stays beneath yours, still and warm and trembling.

and for a moment, neither of you breathe.

then your phone buzzes on the bench behind you.

karina pulls her hand away before you could even blink.

you turn around, already knowing who it is.

karina stands and grabs her bag without saying anything.

you wish she would. you wish you could.

“thanks for the snack.”

and then she’s gone.

───────────────────────

the next day you show up earlier.

you don’t pretend it’s not for her anymore. you’re sitting in your usual seat with your blanket, tumbler, and snack beside you as you watch the skaters rotate through their drills.

but karina doesn’t come out right away.

you see her peek through the glass from the hall. you catch her gaze for a second, then she disappears.

she doesn’t return until everyone else is wrapping up.

and even then, she still doesn’t look at you.

she glides past the bench, focused with her headphones in. you try not to take it personal, but it’s hard. her eyes don’t meet yours once.

you wait until she finishes her routine. she lands the last jump perfectly. almost too perfectly. like it’s anger and not focus pushing her through it.

you stand when she skates off.

she walks past you like she didn’t see you at all.

so you follow.

“karina.”

she doesn’t turn around.

“hey— stop.”

she finally stops by the far end of the rink right by the locker hallway, but she doesn’t face you. she just stands there with her fists clenched at her sides.

you take a step closer. “are you avoiding me?”

she exhaled. “i’m not avoiding you.”

“you literally didn’t look at me all night.”

“that’s not avoidance.”

“then what is it?”

“It’s self preservation.” she snaps.

you froze.

her chest is rising and falling quickly, eyes glossy with something she’s trying hard to suppress.

“karina.”

“i can’t do this. not when i know you’re gonna leave again. not when i know who you go home to. i’m trying to stay focused. this—“ she gestures between you two. “— this messes with me.”

“so what, you’re just cutting me off?”

she looks at you like she wishes she could say no. but she says nothing.

you shake your head. “you don’t get to push me away just because you’re scared.”

“i’m not scared.” she says too fast.

“then what are you?”

silence.

she looks at you and it breaks something in both of you.

“falling.”

your heart drops.

“falling. and you’re not allowed to catch me.”

neither of you move.

everything feels louder now. her hands are shaking again and you want to grab them, tell her you're already falling too, even if you’re too much of a coward to admit it yet.

but your phone rings again.

and this time, she doesn’t wait for you to answer it.

she just walks away.

───────────────────────

the next day is cold. like always.

you’re already in the stands when karina steps into the rink, tying her jacket tighter with her head down. she’s barely slept either, but she’s used to that.

then she sees you. and her heart stops.

you’re curled up on the bleachers in the same blanket, but you look different.

you’re always soft and always quiet, but this time there’s something hollow behind your eyes.

they’re puffy. and red.

your smile is barely there.

she sees the dark circles immediately. and the way you’re not waving or calling out to her like usual. you don’t even look like you’ve eaten anything.

karina slows to a stop in the middle of the walkway, just staring at you.

she can tell that something’s wrong.

and then the sound of your father’s voice cuts through the silence.

“again!”

karina flinches.

he’s not yelling, but his tone is sharp, cutting in that way only coaches can be.

disappointment wrapped in professionalism.

“you’re stiff. you’re late on your rotations. you want to fall in front of the judges? pick it up. again.”

she doesn’t respond. just nods. she’s good at taking hits and pushing through.

but even from the bleachers, you’re watching every second like it physically hurts to witness.

karina’s eyes change to you between jumps, just once, for a second.

and you’re already looking at her.

your eyes crack in heartbreak.

like it’s killing you to see her go through this after the night you just had.

she lands the jump. barely.

your father says nothing this time, just mutters something under his breath and walks off toward the office.

karina exhales and then she looks at you.

that’s when she realizes. you weren’t just tired. you were crying.

all night.

and somehow, she knows it wasn’t just about him. it was about her, too. about everything you’re not allowed to say. about everything that she made worse by pushing you away.

her throat tightens and you try to smile at her.

you don’t even think before you stand. you just move, blanket slipping off your shoulders and your feet hitting the bleachers faster than they should. your heart was pounding in your throat like it wants to say something first.

by the time karina’s stepping off the ice, you’re already waiting by the edge with your arms crossed.

she sees you and it wrecks her.

you can tell by the way she hesitates just for a second. the way her eyes linger on your face then drop to your hands. they’re empty.

she unties her skates slowly, like she’s trying to draw out the seconds. maybe she’s hoping that you’ll leave.

you don’t.

you crouch down beside her instead and she still doesn’t look at you.

“i brought water. it’s in the stands.” you say quietly.

she doesn’t respond.

“i couldn’t sleep.” you add.

she exhales shakily. “why are you here?”

you swallow. “because i can’t not be.”

her fingers pause on her laces.

“i kept thinking about what you said. that you skated better when i was here. that this messed with you.” you continue, looking at her hands instead of her face.

she doesn’t say anything.

“do you think it doesn’t mess with me too? do you think that i don’t feel it? when you look at me like that? when you won’t look at me at all?” you whisper.

she finally looks up. and it’s all there.

the hurt. the want. the grief of something she hasn’t even let herself have yet.

“i don’t know what i’m allowed to feel when it comes to you. you’re the coaches daughter. you have a boyfriend. and i’m just—“

“stop.” you interrupt. “don’t do that. don’t reduce yourself to that.”

karina flinches.

“last night we got into an argument. i told him that it wasn’t fair. that someone else— you— make me feel more in the ten minutes after practice than he has in months.”

her lips part. she looks like she’s trying not to break.

“you’re the only person who sees me for me.”

karina swallows hard. “you can’t say things like that.”

“why not?”

“because i want to believe them.”

you both fall silent.

you don’t touch her. you don’t move. You just sit in the silence, watching the way her eyes glisten and dart to the ground like she can’t bear to look at you for too long.

“i kept waiting for it to go away. whatever this is.” she says finally.

“and?”

she looks up.

“it never did.”

your breath hitches.

neither of you say it. you don’t need to. it’s the distance neither of you dare to cross yet.

“i skated better when you were here.” she says again. like it’s a confession now.

“and i broke when you weren’t.”

this time, you don’t look away. and neither does she.

she stands first.

you think she might reach for you, but her arms stay at her sides. her fingers twitch like they want to move but don’t know how to move without ruining everything.

“i should go.” she says quietly.

“my ride’s waiting.”

you nod slowly. “okay.”

neither of you move.

there’s a second where it feels like she might stay. like she might say screw it and finally do something reckless.

but she doesn’t.

she looks at you like she’s memorizing you in case this is the last time she gets to.

“you make things better. just by being here.” she says almost too softly to hear.

and then she turns.

no goodbye. no wave.

when you finally stand, your hands shake.

because you know it’s not over.

but it hasn’t started yet, either.

it’s just waiting.

like you are.

one week before regionals.

you’re curled up in your usual spot with a tumbler of tea between your hands.

karina’s been skating for over an hour. and for once, she hasn’t looked your way.

you don’t blame her.

not really.

you told him the truth two days ago. you ended it.

but endings don’t mean freedom. not when guilt clings to you.

you’ve barely talked to her since.

not about it.

not about anything.

but you’re here. you’re always here, and she knows that.

when her routine finishes you stand without thinking, legs sore from sitting too long. you meet her by the edge of the rink. the way you always do.

you offer the water bottle without saying a word. she takes it with tired eyes, lips parted like she might say something.

but she doesn’t.

“you’re sharper today. your landings are cleaner.”

“thanks.”

just that. no warmth behind it.

you swallow it down and try again. “do you want to run through it again with music? i can play it for you.”

she hesitates before shrugging. “if you want.”

it stings a little. but you press play anyway.

and as she skates, you watch her the way you always have. you’ve seen it a million times before, but it still knocks the wind out of you every time.

because she’s beautiful.

because she’s yours in all the ways that don’t count.

and it’s killing you.

when the music fades you’re already moving to meet her again. she unlaces her skates in silence.

you crouch beside her like you did the last time, and you’ll probably keep doing it until she tells you not to.

“you don’t have to keep showing up.”

“i want to.”

she glances at you quickly.

“you’re going through stuff too.” she says.

“so are you.”

for a second, she just stares.

“does it hurt?”

“what?”

“the breakup.”

“yeah.” you don’t lie.

she nods once. slowly.

then she says your name like it’s fragile. like if she speaks it too loud you might shatter.

“i hate that it hurts. but i don’t regret it.” she mumbles.

you stare at her.

and you know. you know she’s not just talking about the breakup.

you know she means this. you. whatever’s going on between you two that neither of you fully touch yet.

“me neither.”

she doesn’t touch you.

you don’t ask her to stay.

you just sit side by side on the cold floor of the empty rink, hearts quietly breaking for each other in a way that feels like a promise. even if neither of you said the words.

it happened four days before regionals.

it was so fast that you barely registered it.

your dad’s voice was sharp as it echoed through the rink. words like focus, sloppy, and disappointment cut through the air with every frustrated step he took.

karina stands perfectly still on the ice, arms stiff at her sides.

she doesn’t look at him.

she doesn’t look at you either.

“again. and this time, land the jump like someone who actually wants to qualify.” he barks.

you open your mouth like you were about to say something. but you don’t. you know better than to poke the fire when it’s this close to regionals. so you stay still and bite your tongue until it tastes like metal.

karina just nods quietly.

like always.

like she’s learned to.

she runs the routine again.

it’s not bad.

but it’s not perfect. and he lets her know.

another critique and another sigh. then he walks away without even a good job to soften the blow.

you hear the door to the rink slam shut behind him.

and then it’s silent.

karina glides off the ice and sits on the bench without a word, untying her skates with trembling fingers.

you approach carefully.

she doesn’t look at you.

“i can’t do this.”

it’s so quiet you almost miss it.

her voice breaks on the last word, and she’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, hands gripping her hair like she’s trying to hold herself together.

your chest hurts.

you kneel in front of her without thinking.

“karina—”

“i can’t breathe anymore. every time i mess up it’s like— he looks at me like i’m wasting everyone’s time. like i’m not worth it.” she chokes out.

“hey. that’s not true.” you whisper, reaching up slowly but not touching her.

tears fall down her face, but she doesn’t wipe them. “i’ve done everything. i’ve pushed myself so hard i can’t even feel my legs anymore, and it’s still not enough.”

“you are enough.”

she shakes her head. “i’m so tired. and i don’t even know why i’m still trying. i keep thinking maybe… maybe if i do it perfectly, just once, someone will finally say i did good.” she whispers, voice trembling.

you feel your heart break. because you know that feeling.

so this time, you do reach for her.

you hand lands lightly on her knee. “i see you. i’ve seen you this whole time.”

karina finally looks up.

it looks like she’s been holding this in for years.

“you skate like it means something. i don’t care if you fall or if it’s messy. or if my dad doesn’t say anything. i’ll always think you’re perfect.”

she blinks and more tears slip down. then her lip quivers.

and then carefully and hesitantly, karina leans forward and rests her forehead on your shoulder. its not a hug but it’s close.

you don’t move.

you just stay there with her in the silence, letting her fall apart without asking her to stop.

because she’s always been the strong one. and maybe this once she needed someone to hold the weight.

───────────────────────

it’s late when your phone buzzes.

you’re still awake, staring at the ceiling. you’ve been replaying the moment in the rink all evening. the way her forehead pressed to your shoulder like she was scared to go any closer.

you reach for your phone.

karina are you still up?

you sit up instantly.

you yeah. are you okay?

there’s a pause. it’s long enough that you start to wonder if she’s fallen asleep.

karina can you come over? i don’t want to be alone tonight.

and in less than fifteen minutes later she opens the door in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings. her hair was pulled back messily.

you love her so much in that moment it actually hurts.

“hi.” you say softly.

karina steps aside to let you in.

“you didn’t have to come.”

“you asked.”

she doesn’t argue.

her skates are drying by the heater, and sits cross legged on her bed. you follow hesitantly, leaving just enough space between you to make her feel safe.

“thank you.” she mumbled.

“for what?”

“for being there today. i don’t think i could’ve kept it together if you weren’t.” she shrugged.

“you don’t always have to keep it together.”

“yeah. try telling my brain that.”

“he was hard on you today.” you say after a while.

karina nods, looking down. “he’s always been that way. but i guess it hit harder today.”

you watch her for a moment.

“i already think the world of you.” you say without thinking.

karina blinks, breath hitching.

and she leans in. just a little.

“if i ask you to stay… will you?”

you don’t hesitate.

“i’m already here.”

and you don’t know what time it is now.

only that the world has gone still.

karina hasn’t moved in a while. not since she adjusted the blanket over your legs. she’s barely said anything, really. but she hasn’t stopped looking at you.

and you haven’t stopped pretending you don’t notice.

you should go.

you tell yourself that again and again, but instead you turn your head and find her already watching you. her lips were parted like she was about to say something but changed her mind.

“what?” you whisper.

she shakes her head. “nothing.”

you hesitate.

“you can say it.”

karina’s eyes search yours, and for a second it looks like she might. like she’ll confess something. or maybe let go of something she’s been holding in for so long.

instead, she mumbles. “i skate better when you’re here.” she says again.

“i’ll be here. if you want me to.” you say.

“that’s the problem.”

your heart stutters.

she doesn’t explain. but she doesn’t have to.

you’re the coach’s daughter and she has a championship to win. and yet, you’re here.

and she wants you.

you’re both still sitting close, knees brushing under the blanket. close enough to kiss if you leaned in just a little.

and maybe she’s thinking the same thing. because she leans in.

barely.

barely enough that it could be a dream.

your breath catches.

your eyes flutter down to her mouth. and she hesitates.

she sits there, fingers twitching like she wants to reach for your hand.

but instead of kissing you, karina leans in further and folds herself into you.

her arms go around your waist, gentle and unsure.

her face buries into your neck.

and you hold her without saying a word. you let her heart beat against yours. your fingers find the edge of her sleeve and just stay there, gripping gently.

you don’t move after that. neither of you do.

you’re half-asleep when you feel her exhale against your neck.

her arms tightened slightly around you, and her forehead rests just beneath your jaw now. her warm breath fans your collarbone.

“i don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

you freeze. not all the way, but enough. enough that your breath stutters.

you don’t breathe for a full second after she says it.

you wonder if she even knows she said it or if it slipped through the cracks of exhaustion and everything else that she’s been holding in.

you feel her body relax against yours a moment later. her breathing slows. she’s asleep.

and you’re still wide awake, repeating her words in your head.

you close your eyes and press your cheek lightly to the top of her head.

“i don’t want you to stop.”

she doesn’t stir. she doesn’t answer.

maybe she won’t remember the words she said. maybe she won’t remember yours. but you will. you always will.

───────────────────────

the rink is full of silence. when you arrive you just stand there and watch her for a moment.

karina is skating slow mindless loops, nothing like her usual precision. she’s moving like she’s trying to outrun invisible. you know what it is. because you heard it.

your father’s voice still rings in your ears, loud and relentless. it was another round of “you’re still not landing clean” and “if you’re gonna do that tomorrow, don’t even bother showing up.” it was another night where she nodded without speaking, biting her tongue hard enough to keep the tears from slipping out.

you didn’t interfere. you never do. but you watch. you always watch.

and maybe that’s why you’re here now, stepping through the gap in the railing and walking out onto the empty rink.

she doesn’t notice you right away. her eyes are focused elsewhere and her gaze is distant. you wonder if she even feels her skates gliding beneath her anymore, or if she’s somewhere else completely. a place where no one’s yelling.

you kneel at the edge of the rink. “karina?”

she slows instantly, head snapping toward your voice like muscle memory.

“hey.” you say softly.

she looks at you for a moment.

“you— uh— your dad said that you left.” she says. her voice is quieter than usual.

“i came back.”

she skates closer, finally stepping off the ice. she doesn’t sit, she just stands in front of you while hugging herself.

“you saw.”

“i did.”

karina lets out a humorless laugh and looks away. “whatever. i’ve had worse.

“that doesn’t make it okay.”

her eyes flicker back to yours. there’s a flash of something there but she looks down quickly, beginning to untie her boots.

“you were good today. better than good.”

“not good enough.”

“for him. but you don’t skate for him.”

her hands fall away from her laces. she straightens slowly and finally looks at you. there’s something about her expression, like she’s trying to figure out whether to let this moment happen or shut it down.

“and who do i skate for then?” she asks. your heart skips. “i don’t know. but when you skate, i can feel it. the emotion. it’s indescribable.” you mumble.

karina swallows.

you take a step forward, closing the space between you.

“but i can see it.”

“you always show up when i need you most. even when you don’t know it.” she whispered after a bit.

“what, are you keeping track?” you laughed.

she hums. “maybe.”

you don’t know that she cried last night. that her hands shook as she held the letter. she read the email from the coach six times before your dad finally admit that he recommended her. that she almost said no.

almost.

you also don’t know this might be the last time she skates in front of you.

not yet.

“you nervous about tomorrow?”

“you’re the one competing.”

“yeah, but… i skate better when you’re here.”

there it is again. the quiet truth that she keeps letting slip piece by piece.

you don’t know how to answer, so you just stay silent. karina’s blades click softly against the ice before she kicks them off and pulls on her sneakers.

then she’s looking at you again. the look that always makes your heart clench a little too tight.

“you ever think about what happens after regionals?” she asks suddenly.

“like nationals?” she hesitates.

“no. i mean like… after us. after the season ends.”

you pause. “i haven’t. not really. why?”

but she’s already looking away, shoulders tense in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“you okay?”

“i just… it doesn’t matter.”

it does matter. you know it does, but you don’t push. instead, you laugh quietly.

“you’ll win tomorrow.”

she laughs a little brokenly. “that’s not what i’m worried about.”

you don’t ask what it is. because maybe you’re scared to hear the answer.

karina fiddles with the edge of her sleeve with her eyes fixed on the rink, but her focus is elsewhere.

“you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, softer now.

she inhales. her throat bobs as she swallows.

“i got an offer. to train in america.” she says finally.

“america?”

“yeah.”

“for summer training?”

“no. like— move there. train full time. i’d be part of a national development program.”

your stomach drops. “oh.”

“it’s… huge. like, dream level. career changing.”

“wow. that’s amazing.”

and it is. it is. but you feel the words hurting in your throat like they’re glass.

karina’s fingers flex against her knee. “i leave monday.”

silence crashes over you.

“oh.” you say again, because it’s all you can say. your voice barely comes out. she finally turns to look at you. and this time, she looks right at you.

“i wasn’t going to tell you. i didn’t want to ruin tomorrow. but then you showed up and i… i needed tonight.” she says.

your heart twists.

“so this is goodbye?” you ask and you hate how small you sound. karina’s jaw clenches. “don’t say it like that.”

“how am i supposed to say it?”

you get ready to leave and she follows.

“i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t want to leave. but your dad— he pushed for it. he said it was the only way i’d make it.” she says.

your eyes sting. “and you didn’t tell me?”

“i didn’t want to make it harder.”

“it already is.”

she’s standing right behind you now. you can feel the warmth of her breath on your shoulder.

“i would stay. if i could. i almost did.” she whispers.

you turn to face her and she’s right there. closer than she’s ever been. her eyes flick to your lips once and that’s all it takes.

you kiss her.

it’s instinctual. you don’t even mean for it to happen. you just do it. a gentle kiss pressed to her lips.

she goes very still.

you pull back the second you realize what you’ve done, already panicking.

“i— i’m sorry. that was— god, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have—“

she grabs your wrist and pulls you in again.

she pulls you back in like she’s starved for you. your back hits the rink railing with a thud and the cold metal shocks you through your shirt, but you don’t even register it. not when she’s kissing you this messily, frantically, and desperately.

her hands are everywhere. gripping into your hair, hugging the curve of your waist, keeping herself against your hips like she’s scared that you might disappear if she lets go. and maybe she is. maybe she knows.

“karina—” you gasp in between kisses, but she cuts you off with another kiss.

“i shouldn’t. you’re the coach’s daughter. i shouldn’t—“ she murmurs against your lips, but she doesn’t stop.

she pulls back long enough to look at you, eyes revealing that she’s trying to memorize this moment. and then she kisses you again. harder.

her hands slide under your jaw, cupping your face like it’s fragile, even though she kisses you like you aren’t.

the railing rattles under your grip as your body arches into hers, needing her closer before this all slips through your fingers.

because she’s leaving soon. because this ends soon. and you both feel it.

that’s why she kisses you like this. like she’s trying to carve the memory into her brain. like she’s terrified that this might the only time that she’ll ever get to touch you like this, and she needs to make it count.

“i’m so scared. i could win everything and i’m scared of what happens if i lose you after.” she whispers, forehead against yours.

you don’t answer.

you just hold her tighter.

you stay like that. pressed between her and the railing until the lights in the rink finally begin to dim for the night.

and she pulls back, with teary eyes.

“come tomorrow. please.”

you nod.

three months after regionals.

karina didn’t mean to come back to korea for long. it was just a short break so she could breathe again. she told everyone it was to reset. to clear her head before the next competition cycle. but no amount of sleep, early morning runs or phone calls with her mother, can ever fix the ache that settled in her chest three months ago.

not since she left you.

now she walks through familiar streets with a scarf tucked around her neck, hands in her coat pockets. she doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going. just says she’s going out for a bit and slips away before anyone can ask too many questions. her feet know the route before she does. every turn.

the closer she gets to the rink, the quieter her thoughts become. she pauses at the entrance for a long time, fingers stuck at the metal door handle. thr old banner hanging above the entrance has started to peel at the corners and a few letters faded. but it’s the same. everything is the same.

except her.

when she steps inside, it hits her all at once. the soft echo of her own footsteps against the floor reminds her of it all. this is where she became who she is.

and this is where she left the person who made her feel like herself.

she doesn't lace up her skates. doesn’t even sit down. she just walks the edge of the rink slowly, one hand following the railing. she can see her reflection staring back at her in the glass. she’s more tired and her eyes are flooded with something deeper than exhaustion.

she stops near the bench where she used to sit after practice. the same bench where you handed her water bottles, chocolates, and hand warmers. the same place where she started to let herself hope.

her chest tightens.

she doesn’t know what she was expecting. a sense of closure? a ghost of you?

but instead. you’re really there.

like no time has passed at all. like a prayer she didn’t know that she was still saying. and she can feel herself breathing again.

at first, she thinks she’s imagining you.

you’re sitting on one of the benches, and your coat is pulled tight. your hands tucked into your sleeves and there's a water bottle resting beside you.

her heart stutters.

she blinks hard. more than once. and you’re still there.

she opens her mouth before she can stop herself, voice shaky and unsure for the first time in months. “…y/n?”

you look up. and that’s all it takes. karina swallows hard, taking a step forward. “is it really you?”

you nod slowly. like you can’t believe she’s real either.

“i didn’t think you’d be here.” you say quietly.

“i didn’t think you would.” she answers. “i was just just… I was passing by. I didn’t mean to—”

“you always pass by when you’re thinking too much.”

she huffs out a breath that was almost a laugh. her eyes are glassy now and she tries to blink it away but it clings.

“you look the same. but different.” she says.

“so do you.”

she hesitates before asking. “can i… come closer?” you don’t answer right away. you just shift slightly to the side on the bench to make space for her. that’s all she needs.

she walks across the empty floor slowly, skates swinging from one hand. she sits beside you, like the months between now and the last time meant nothing. or maybe they meant everything.

she finally breaks the silence with a voice that was barely above a whisper. “i skate better when you’re here.”

you turn to her and she’s already looking at you. “i don’t know why i said that,” she adds, flustered now.

but you do. you know exactly why.

you lean your shoulder against hers and she leans back, like muscle memory.

neither of you speak again for a long time. but the familiarity of the silence is inevitable. like no matter how far you run, this was always where you’d end up.

sitting next to each other.

taglist — @saysirhc @prologue-ae @yuyuy90

#like a fever — yjm #aespa #aespa imagines #aespa x fem reader #aespa karina #aespa yu jimin #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin x fem reader #wlw #wlw post #wlw yearning #sapphic yearning #angst #hurt/comfort #slow burn #angst with a happy ending

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mintyys-blog · 1 day ago

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Hi Minty!

I was wondering if you could do a fic about a human reader girlfriend x Mark but she doesn’t know he’s invincible and somehow finds out

BLISS | mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

The world was ending.

Okay—not ending, but it felt like it as the building you were in shuddered beneath your feet, the walls cracking like eggshells. You didn’t even have time to scream before the floor dropped beneath you. Wind roared in your ears, your heart pounded—and then you weren’t falling.

You were in someone’s arms.

The grip was strong, the movement fast—but smooth. Your body trembled against a firm chest, and the air smelled like smoke and ozone. You looked up. The figure in front of you was silhouetted by the sun, cape flapping in the wind, goggles covering his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

But it was the voice that made your blood run cold. You knew that voice.

“Y-Yeah,” you said, blinking up at him. You tried to play it cool, but your hands betrayed you, slowly moving along his chest and arms, like you were searching for proof—maybe even hoping you were wrong.

The figure—Invincible—blushed. “Um… ma’am?” he asked, flustered.

You stopped instantly. “Sorry.”

He gently lowered you to the ground, still flustered, giving you one last worried glance before shooting back into the sky. You watched him go, your mind racing.

That voice. That nervous tone. That little awkward cough. Mark.

You stood there for a long time, dumbfounded, staring at the sky like you were trying to piece together a puzzle that had been sitting in front of you the whole time.

He’s Invincible.

All those nights he showed up late, covered in bruises. All the missed calls. All the vague excuses.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. Instead, you walked home in a daze.

When you got back to your apartment, your emotions crashed into each other like waves. Embarrassment for not seeing it sooner. Guilt for the times you yelled at him—accused him of being distant, careless. And beneath all of that… pride.

He was saving lives. Every day. While you were mad he missed a dinner reservation.

You glanced toward the kitchen.

If he was coming over tonight like he said, maybe you could start making things right.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves, and started cooking his favorite meal. The real kind—warm and comforting. Something that said I see you now. I get it.

When he walked through the door, he looked exhausted.

“Hey, babe,” he said, forcing a smile. “Sorry I’m late again—”

You cut him off gently. “It’s okay. Come sit down.”

Mark blinked, surprised. “You’re… not mad?”

You handed him a plate. “No. I just thought you could use something warm.”

He sat, eyes softening, and took a bite. “This is my favorite.”

“I know.”

He looked at you, then back down at his plate. “You okay?”

You smiled, sitting beside him, resting your chin in your palm as you watched him eat. “I am now.”

You didn’t say it out loud yet. You weren’t ready. But you would be.

He saved you today.

And tonight, in this quiet little apartment, you were saving him back—in the small, human way you could.

The night settled in warm and gentle. You’d stayed tangled in the sheets with Mark, your bodies pressed close, hearts still beating in a quiet rhythm neither of you had to say out loud. He’d fallen asleep quickly, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

But you couldn’t stop watching him. The soft curve of his lips. The way his lashes touched his cheeks. The faint bruises on his collarbone already beginning to fade. He looked so human like this. So fragile for someone who could fly through the sky and hold up crumbling buildings.

Morning sunlight leaked through the blinds, streaking across his bare shoulders. You kissed his jaw, featherlight, letting your lips trail across the warmth of his skin.

Mark stirred, a sleepy groan escaping his throat. One eye cracked open, and then the other. He blinked up at you, dazed and smiling. “Hey…”

You just kissed him again—slow, lingering—and ran your fingers through his messy hair.

“…Okay,” he said, voice low and groggy, “what is up with you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—don’t get me wrong—” He reached up and brushed your cheek with a thumb, gaze amused and curious. “I love the special attention, but… what caused it?”

You hesitated.

The warmth in your chest gave way to nerves. You looked away, tucking your face into the crook of his neck for a second. He waited, patient, but his arm around your waist pulled you closer, grounding you.

“I know,” you said finally. “I know you’re Invincible, Mark.”

His entire body stilled.

You could feel the sharp breath he took, how his hand tensed ever so slightly against your hip.

“I realized it when you saved me,” you whispered. “The voice… the way you held me. I wasn’t sure at first. But then I was.”

Silence.

“I felt… stupid, honestly,” you admitted. “For not figuring it out sooner. And then selfish. For all the times I yelled at you for being late, or distant, or for disappearing. You weren’t blowing me off—you were saving the world.”

You looked up at him finally, tears stinging your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mark. I didn’t know. And I can’t imagine how heavy all of this must be for you. I just… I wanted to make it up to you. Even just for a night.”

Mark stared at you like his heart was breaking and mending all at once.

Then he kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Full of something that felt like relief.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured. “I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if you knew, you’d look at me differently. Like… I was someone else.”

“I don’t,” you whispered. “You’re still Mark. You’re my Mark.”

A silence bloomed between you, but it was a soft one. Safe. Then, he cracked a crooked smile. “I knew something was up when you started feeling me up mid-rescue.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Mark grinned, curling closer to you under the covers. “Never. Not when you look at me like that.”

You held him tight, and this time, you both felt seen. No masks. No lies. Just Mark and you.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #invincible #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson x you #mark grayson #mark grayson x fem!reader #mark grayson x reader #fluff

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emisluvr · 2 days ago

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can u rank the hyung line by ass vs tits preference ehehe 😋 also i love ur works!

thank youu anon! 🤍 this rlly got my brain working cause any of them could be into both.. i tried to make it as accurate as possible gahh but this was such a chef's kiss idea 😓 and ty for 800+ followers <33

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), breast play, spanking, praise, slight marking, riding, wall sex

⤷ heeseung loves tits. the softness and squishiness of the flesh drives him insane—he could literally cum untouched just from staring at them. he especially loves when you’re in missionary or when you're riding him because he gets the perfect view of your tits jiggling with every movement. and you best believe he’s grabbing them while you’re on top, he can't help it.

"f-fuck... these are mine, right, baby?" he groans, his hands reaching up to firmly grip your tits as you’re on top of him, fucking yourself down onto him. his breath hitches as he feels your softness in his hands, and he’s not shy about squeezing just a little harder, earning a whimper from you.

⤷ jay is a sucker for ass. you cannottt tell me he wouldn’t just love to palm your ass when he’s behind you, squeezing it, feeling the softness under his hands. when you're in reverse cowgirl, it gives him even better access to grab and hold it for as long as he wants. spoiler: your skin gets some faint bruises from his touch. he loves watching the way it recoils when you fuck yourself down on his cock, every single move it makes drives him wild.

“gosh, your ass is perfect, doll…” he grunts, feeling your slick walls clenching around him while one hand grips your hips, helping to guide you down further on his cock. his eyes are glued to your hips, watching how they move with every thrust, and he can’t help but slap the flesh once, making you gasp. “mm… all mine, huh?”

⤷ jake is most definitely an ass man. (not surprised that i'm saying that..) and if he has you bent over for him, expect his hands to never leave your ass. they’ll start at your hips, guiding you down onto his cock at just the right pace—but once you’ve found your rhythm? those hands are everywhere. he’s grabbing, squeezing, delivering teasing slaps that make you moan, and best believe... he’d 100% nut on your ass like it’s nothing :3

"feels s’good, fuck.." he moans, head thrown back as your ass bounces against him, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing in the room. his hand lands another light slap, making the flesh jiggle under his palm. "keep going, baby… just like that."

⤷ sunghoon loves both. when he has you pressed up against the wall, his cock drilling into you from behind, his hands immediately find your tits—squeezing onto them, kneading them like he owns them. he groans low against your ear, voice rough and needy, hips slamming into you without pause. “you like that, hm?” he pants, his breath hot against your skin.

but when you're riding him from behind, his back resting against the headboard, his hands go straight to your ass—gripping it hard, guiding your movements, thumbs pressing into the softness of your skin as he watches your soaked pussy swallow him over and over again. his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, head tilted back as moans spill out of him. “that’s it, love,” he breathes, voice strained, fingers digging deeper into your curves as you fuck yourself on him like it's the only thing you know how to do.

#anon letter ♡#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard hours #lee heeseung smut #park jongseong smut #sim jaeyun smut #sunghoon smut

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submattenthusiast · 21 hours ago

Text

treat sub!chris

jumbled pleas and moans left chris’ mouth as he jerked himself off, body twitching and dripping sweat from the intensity of his strokes. his clammy fist wrapped around his dick making loud wet sounds. leather gaming chair shaking under him with each movement. “ah-ah fuck—feelsogood” he moans, palm teasing his tip. he spread the salty precum around his throbbing head as he pushed himself to a orgasm. sweat landed on your bare thigh from the thrashing his head was doing, throwing it back harshly and somehow escaping whiplash.

while watching him pervertedly, you played with your nipples above your thin shirt, feeling them get hard instantly from the sexy view before you. every vein popped out of his fist from the tight grip he had on his nearly spent dick. your clit buzzed at the almost pained whimpers that sounded after every stroke. “fu-fuc-ck so close—mgonn—please” he begs, thighs starting to shake. “mplease—ng—shit mama”. your eyes sparkled as you watched him start to crack. You held his composure together, and the only words he wanted to hear.

“go ahead cum for me” you encourage, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, trying to hide the fact that you loved him being like this. his eyes fluttered shut, and his mouth spilled out endless moans and curses. his hips jerked up and his dick twitched in his fist. his strokes got quicker, and every sound got higher in pitch. you learned forward in interest as cum spurted out of his tip, landing on his thighs and every surface near him. just barely missing your skin. he pants heavily as he pumps himself through the mind-blowing orgasm.

breathlessly, he looks deep into your eyes, waiting for some type of praise, reward, or treat. for doing so well and listening to your every command and cumming on command. “good boy” you smile, reaching out for his face. he leans quickly into your touch with tinted cheeks, the smile unable to keep from his face. “i think you deserve a treat,” you start, watching his face light up in excitement. he nods eagerly before remembering his manners. “t-thank you, thank you,” he blushes. “really want a treat, i’ll take whatever you give me.”

smirking deviously, you climb onto his wet lap, legs moving to the sides of his body. straddling him, you caress his sweaty face, admiring how pretty he looked post orgasm. he looked clueless as ever as he watched you, wondering what you had up your sleeve. leaning back a little you pull your shirt up but not off, resting it right above your boobs. his mouth fell open at the sight of your hard nipples, giving you the perfect opportunity to fill the space.

you purposely only let him make contact with one of your breasts, saving the other for another time. his moans vibrate around you as he sucks on your flesh, wet sounds emerging from his busy mouth. his hands instinctvely reach for some skin, one finding comfort on your waist and the other hovering over your left boob. you block his touch quickly with your hand, covering the center of your tit. “aht aht i said a treat, not treats, you only get one,” you explain. he looks confused but goes to accept it, until you catch his attention again. “unless you want to cum again, then you can have both”

christmas in april ! @whore4mattsturniolo

#jules writes ★ ˙📓 ̟!!#sub chris sturniolo #sub christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo smut #sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #sub!chris sturniolo #sub!chris

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abxssalwrites · 2 days ago

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"do you know how to mend a soul so greedy, it'll burn for it?"

sylus says as he thrusts into you, slowly, maintaining eye contact. a grip on your chin so you don't even have the chance to even think about looking away from him.

"you quench his desires."

sylus says as he listens to you moan, watches your body writhe up from overstimulation. your mind is hazy, verging on broken. you're so fucked out, you're babbling pleas to him. you don't know if you want him to stop or go faster. at this point, both sound like bliss.

"you feed him with every inch of you."

sylus says as he presses his hand onto the bulge in your stomach, his cock so deep inside of you. you swear you've come again, your legs shaking and unable to stop. just when you think he'll pull out just to tease you, his pace quickens again, fucking your tight cunt like you deserve.

thrust after thrust after thrust.

his groans, his curses, his lewd words of praise are the only thing keeping you here. your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him as close as possible. it's not like he wants to ever be away from you anyways.

you're the luckiest, happiest girl in the world right now. the man you've devoted your life to, breeding you as his, fucking you like a whore, claiming you as his and his alone, what more could you ask for? this bliss. you don't even realize you've come again. you're a pile of mush underneath his muscular body. his movements don't stop, they don't slow, but you can tell he's getting close. his movements grow sloppy, his hips attempting to latch onto any form of consistency and order. thing is, sylus is just as undone as you, he can just handle it better than you can.

"your eyes, kitten. i want to see them."

his voice makes you realize you've closed your eyes for too long. you crack your eyes open, and he leans in for an albeit sloppy kiss on the lips as his thrusts finally slow down again, and this time, this time you can tell he's at his end. his cock pulses, shooting strand after strand of cum deep into you. filling you up again, you've lost count at this point.

"a greedy soul can never be truly satisfied. only satiated until it becomes terribly greedy once more."

#sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #lads smut #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #smut #greedy sylus teehee teehee #love & deepspace sylus #sylus x mc #lnds sylus

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monkebearness · 1 day ago

Text

A Cold Summer Fling

Lynn (tripleS) x Male Reader

Tags: smut, angst, (light) fluff, heartbreak, first love, fling

Word count: 9.5k

a/n: this one is more on the angst side, so it may or may not be for you. regardless, if you do wanna give it a try, I hope you like it.

Neither of them knew how he’d reached this point. They did, but the ‘why’ still keeps on running in his mind while Junghoon has his arms wrapped around Lynn’s waist as they lie down on the couch, staring in front of the television playing a music show in the past half an hour. Idols dancing has never been his most favorite content to watch in general, but he has always admired their singing, hard work, and overall talent.

Nuzzling her head on his chest, the woman turns to his direction. “Oppa.”

He looks down—seeing her face him—with an earnest and clueless smile. “Hmm?”

“I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but we have a performance coming up at the Summer Festival. If, uhh, you have the time—”

He hesitates for a second. “Of course! I’m sure that I have time to watch. Maybe I'll finally get to see what you and your crew have been cooking up for months.”

“Hmmm… I don't think it's too different from what you're seeing,” she teases him, her fingers delicately trailing from his chin down to chest. “Well, except for one thing.”

“What's that?” He entertains her suggestive cadence with his soft and suave delivery, his fingers trailing across her smooth shoulders to match the mood she’s setting up.

Her smile turns into a smirk, leaning closer. “Only you can touch me,” she whispers.

With a wide smile, the woman closes her eyes and lovingly leans her lips into Junghoon, which he welcomes as she turns the rest of her body around to face him, deepening the kiss while he tightens his arms around her, with his fingers trailing down her curves.

“I want it now, oppa,” she gasps in-between their kiss, holding his chin. “Please…”

“Of course,” he grunts as he continues taking over her mouth with his dominant tongue.

With Lynn’s fingers ticking his crotch, excitement drives him to use one hand to slide off his joggers, unveiling his hog right before Lynn's eyes, further amplifying her excitement towards him in an instant. She quickly takes her skirt and panties off and gets up to sit on his lap. Their timing couldn’t have been better—sensing his cock erecting in almost an instant at the same time she takes off her top, revealing her plump breasts without a bra to hold them. With his salivating mouth, he prowls straight to her mounds, inciting a prolonged yelp that she can't contain. “Nggggghhh, so good… Fuck! Opp—augghhh...”

“Jamkkanman.” He parts from her breast, holding her hand. “I’ll just get a condom—”

“No need,” the woman piles her hand over his, her smile glowing with lust. “I'm safe tonight, oppa…” She leans closer to his cheek, giving it a cool lick before whispering. “Just do it.” next to his ear.

Within seconds, he aligns his member into her entrance without hesitation and struggle. Sliding in her tight hole. With his rod now inside throbbing her tight walls, a determined Junghoon holds onto Lynn’s hips and begins thrusting in and out of her. In seconds, his movements find Lynn's sweet spots, as he usually does. Hearing his sweet whispers, the woman can only respond to him through her growing moans, matching the movement of his robust rams with her smooth grinds. Until now, this act hasn't gotten any older, even though it’s what they’ve been doing almost every time they hang out here.

The woman’s nails dig through his skin, her grinds on his member intensifies with each second until her tits begin to bounce. “You're so… fucking goooo—auugghhhppa!” With such a spectacle in sight, Junghoon falls into the temptation of taking a second dip with his mouth, feeling the vibrations while sucking. “Su…ssugoi!” she howls out of the blue.

“W–what… is it?” he mutters, himself still powering through their strenuous movement while feeling the contrast of pleasure of his balls deep inside her at the same time. The woman can only giggle playfully—as if she’s lost all her sanity while being impaled.

The ticking of the clock and their skins sync to their ears. The woman looks up, gasping for air as her eyes roll back to the side. “I’m… I’m close!” she groans from the top of her lungs, closing her eyes and bracing herself for her own juices to slowly spurt out. At the same time, her thirst slowly forces her tongue to stick out, her jaw opening like a shark.

“Me too,” the man huffs, tightening his embrace around his partner while his mouth continues to nibble and suck on her neck, triggering a note that prolongs her moans while they maintain their movement with every powerful thrust against each other. Finding her own primal noises as harmonious to his lust-driven senses, Junghoon cannot help but relish by rewarding Lynn a sloppy kiss as their movements begin slowing down with their stamina.

With three more thrusts, Junghoon stops and shoots his load into Lynn’s womb while the latter squeals with jubilation with her back arched, unable to contain herself from basking in the wave of pleasure which is now transmitting across her quivering body.

They stay in place on the sofa, only left with a smile of satisfaction on their faces. Lynn lays her head on his shoulder, giggling, while Junghoon steals a kiss on her cheek. As they catch their breaths beside each other, the wall clock strikes nine in the evening.

After wearing her top once again, Lynn puts her panties back on as she gets up from the sofa and heads to the kitchen. “I’ll just have a glass of water. You want a glass too?”

“I’m good.” From his seat, Junghoon looks back at her. “But thanks, Lynn-ah.”

He reminisces about how he’s gotten to this point, with this wonderful woman beside him. He has promised to sleep over her place for the night, though he was hesitant to decline her offer at first. Needless to say, he’s quite glad that he didn't turn her down.

They’ve been seeing each other for three months, not long after Junghoon returned to the university campus after a year, although he wasn’t the only one who has made this decision in mind. He simply took advantage of the situation, and now, he’s reaped the fruits of his labor. For better or worse.

His eyes glance at the calendar on the wall, it’s already May. His graduation is coming up in less than a month. Slowly, his smile fades as his mind goes blank, but it will turn out to be a calm right before the thunderstorm of his misgivings has come flooding in.

= = =

Four months earlier, the campus of Seoul State University reopens after winter break. Tons of snow have accumulated on all of the building rooftops, yet that doesn’t stop students from reuniting with their buddies in this first week of classes of this new semester, especially the ones they haven't seen even before the long, cold break.

“You two have grown up so much!” Kotone coos each of her two friends with a quite melodramatic, motherly pitch. She pinches Honggi’s shoulder, before moving on to pinch Junghoon’s left cheek. “Aww… There’s not much I can pinch there anymore.”

Their hairs have grown inches since they first enlisted, still a few inches halfway to their usual look. Their overall body shape appears more ‘toned,’ as their posture is straighter.

“Yeah, yeah,” Junghoon politely pushed her touchy hands, although the sight of his friends warms his heart. “But, I gotta say, I am glad that we’re back with you guys.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Honggi places his palm on his shoulder. “But we’re mostly gonna be on our own for this year, bud. But again, I’m glad we still have each other.”

“Yeah, but I think it’ll be fine. I don’t think being a senior should be any different.” Kotone and Myungsoo can only smile at their close friend’s wholesome optimism.

“Except for our thesis,” Honggi adds as he forms a smirk, which weirds out Kotone and Myungsoo with their raised eyebrows and tilted heads. Who even smiles at the mention of the word thesis? As Honggi nudges Junghoon’s shoulder, he only rolls his eyes with a chuckle, knowing exactly what his friend is insinuating. “Isn’t that right, Jung-ah?”

“Yah, yah… Is it what I think it is? Just because we’re all friends, you better not dare freeload our maknae!” Kotone exclaims, raising her fist right at Honggi. “Both your grades and graduation will be at stake here if you ever mess up his concentration.”

“As if I’ve ever!” He raises his hands in the air. “We rarely get paired up because most of our classes were different, but whenever we were partners, I was the only one who stood up to him. I have only met up and worked with him, whenever he wasn’t busy working!”

“That’s fair, but then again, you’re not Sohyun-sunbae,” Kotone shoots back.

“I’m pretty sure she was the freeloader to Junghoon, remember?” Honggi counters her.

“Come on, guys! Enough arguing,” Junghoon burns their fuse with his voice, something that he rarely raises. At least not when he really has to. “It’s already past noon and it's still freezing here… Plus, I’m kinda starving. Aren’t y’all?”

“Finally, someone’s thinking straight!” Myungsoo backs him up, lightly holding onto his shoulder. “You heard the soldier. Today, we’ll have the almost-veterans take their pick.”

That day, seeing his closest friends was the start of his routine going back to normal.

“Oppa!” He hears the cheery greetings from two familiar voices he hasn’t heard in the last several months since they visited him at their training center with all his buddies.

Gong Yubin and Jeong Hyerin would catch on to his return later that afternoon. They may no longer have a little club to meet up, but they didn’t want to miss out on their sunbae and old friend returning. “Omo! It’s been long, you two. How’ve you been?”

“Still kicking through a couple of semesters now… And somehow, Mad Money has yet to reunite!” Yubin confesses, running her hands through her hair. “The rest of us anyway.”

“Well… I’m sure the spirit of the club still lives on with you girls,” Junghoon hopes, even though he understands what she meant. The more their unnies and fellow members had left or graduated, the rest could no longer keep up with the passage of time and stacks of priorities weighing them. “From what I heard, you’d still meet even without the club.”

“We have.” A warm smile leaves Hyerin’s face, just before a sigh of weariness follows. “By next week, Kae-chan and I are gonna practice all night for some event our leaders aren’t even telling us about yet. Yubin-unnie here is probably gonna be sent off by her parents to culinary school in the summer.”

“Wow…” They’ve come this far. Deep down, he feels a sense of pride for them. “I don’t know what else to say, other than I know that you’ll do well.”

“And you, oppa?” Yubin chimes in with curiosity. “Were things well at the center?”

“I mean… I did pretty okay?” He answers with half the confidence, shrugging at her. “All things considered.”

“We’re just glad that you’re back,” Yubin admits, playfully squishing his shoulder. “Even if you still have the rest of your semester.” She counts with her fingers, starting with her pinky. “To finish your training, your internship, and your thesis.”

“I'm sure it's doable. It just takes a little planning and a lot more effort,” Junghoon humbly retorts. “After all, I've learned from the best club.”

Yubin only exhales a smile, shaking her head as a few blissful memories of their old crew flashes back to her.

“We know, but whenever you’re having a problem, you better ask for our help!” Hyerin slowly points her finger at Junghoon as if she’s giving him a threat, which scares him a little. “The club may be done, but we wanna repay you somehow for being there for us, with our unnies.”

“Gomawo…” Looking back, he believes more that, without the Mad Money Club, and the considerate people in it, he would not even be here, and he’ll always wear that mentality.

“By the way, your cousin has been a handful, you know that?” Hyerin adds, inciting a nod and chortle from Yubin while she crosses her arms.

“Yah… You’re the ones who volunteered—begged me even—to take her the moment she got here,” he defends himself, keeping his cadence relaxed while holding in a somewhat smug smile. “Even though Tone-yah was the first one who offered to give her a tour.”

“Oh, she still joined unnie’s club since they’re still hanging around,” Yubin corrects him. “And we’re pretty sure it was Yooyeon-unnie who really got to her without doing much.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “I guess she gets to have the best of both worlds.”

But joyous reunions aside, he knows that not everything is the same. And it won’t be. Still, even with this truth, he moves on with his life in many ways he can. Sentiments about the past will not help him get through it. If he has to do it alone, he’ll have to.

Back to being a senior, awaiting his graduation in the following year. Despite him having stepped down from the student council, he was able to win over his old batchmates since they knew his capabilities as an aide. By the end of the month after his return, Junghoon managed to land a gig at their University Library, agreeing to shift for two to three times a week due to his ongoing service. Afternoon and night shifts, to be precise. It pays a little, but it's enough for him to compensate for his old part-time gigs. He’s even surprised that it pays at all.

From six to ten, the library gives him a haven to study and spend more time outside his dorm so he can work on his academics in their counter without much of a disturbance.

“Annyeonghaseyo, sunbaenim. I'd like to borrow these books.”

For the most part. Though, it's not this process that bothers him, since it's his job after all. Rather, it's this familiar person right in front of him.

“Soomin-ah… What are you doing here? It’s late.”

Thankfully, his patience is better than most folks.

“Come on. I’m exercising my rights as a recent college sophomore, oppa!”

“Do that elsewhere then. Namely, your dorm.”

She pouts at him, placing her knuckles on her waist, like a whiny kid. “Hmm… That’s not a nice way to treat your little cousin.”

“Your brother does that too,” he shoots back. Of course, he can’t be angry at family.

“Hmph. That’s the problem.” She crosses her arms. “You're not Hyungmin-oppa. You’re you, which I need... And I’m here to support you on your late shifts! You didn’t complain whenever we came to visit you at your training center.”

She's done it. Talking her out of going home is no longer an option. She’s not in middle or high school anymore. “Well, you’ve proved your point. But… you can start ‘showing your support’ by keeping your voice down first, arasseo?”

“Hwaiting!” She keeps her voice down, but not without making herself sound sardonic. A few minutes later, Soomin would venture to another area in the building. The lounge where she can still bring herself out of her boredom with her laptop and a few manhwa books. Meanwhile, Junghoon is given a new task from his superior.

“Junghoon-ssi… Do you mind returning the books to the shelves? I know we still have an hour left, but it’d be better if you only got a few things to do before you wrap up.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” he complies in an instant, walking to the book cart with alertness. “I'll get to it now.”

It took him about ten minutes to return all fifty books to seven sections, but as soon as he finishes his task, his eyes catch something else that's lost. Walking inside the Korean Literature Section, he sees an I.D. has been left lying on the floor. Approaching the item forward, he picks it up, finding the face of a woman. By the looks of her identification number, she’s more likely a junior. Kawakami Lynn, from the Department of Dance. Feeling that privacy has just been violated, he quickly looks away, only for his gaze to land back at the counter, seeing three women talking to the main librarian.

The first two women are about the same height, though the one that stands out with her strangely high pitched voice, while the other’s hair is dyed brown. But finding familiarity with the third woman unleashes a surge of relief over him. Thank God she hasn’t left the building. She faces him just as he walks to her. Astonishment towards her height arises. Seeing the woman a few meters apart, she appears to be about two centimeters shorter than him, but still tall nevertheless, he almost forgets how to initiate the conversation until the woman’s friends shift their gaze towards him, giving more pressure to him.

He gives a few light taps on her shoulder. “Ma’am..? Jamkkanmanyo…”

In front of his presence, her gaze remains just as stunned as he was. “Ne?”

He raises his hand. “May I ask if this is yours?”

“Ne!” she almost raised her voice in surprise. “That is mine. Omo! Kamsahamnida!”

But she's not done. “May I ask what your name is?”

He offers his right hand to her. “My name’s Geum Junghoon. I'm a senior.”

But something tells him his own gesture might be too much. His own hesitation.

“I know you already saw it from my I.D., but…” She catches his hand quickly before he can pull it back. “I’m Kawakami Lynn. I am a junior.”

Her rush of explanation makes him chuckle. “I have, but it’s nice to meet you, Lynn.”

Whether or not her memory was shrouded in her own romantic butterflies swarming her mind and body, Lynn definitely remembers feeling a spark of electricity the longer their hands touch and slowly shake. Scanning Junghoon’s appearance from head to toe, she notices his I.D., instinctively comparing both faces in front of her eyes. His nose. His lips. His physique. Her common sense knows they're the same person, yet she can’t help but give him a second look, in awe with the finding. Junghoon awaits her response with a simper. On her left, Lynn’s brown-haired friend nudges her on the shoulder. “Psssst!” while the black-haired one giggles, shaking her head with her eyes closed.

“Mianhae! It’s, uhhhh, nice meeting you too, Junghoon-sunbae…” Her smile widens the more her butterflies start to fill her stomach. Still beside her, Lynn’s friends can only shake their heads while holding their grins and chuckles. “And these two are my friends, Hayeon and Sion,” she continues, hoping it will conceal her sudden fit of panic.

Did she just check me out? is the immediate question that pops up, since meeting her that night, but her presence has already enticed him just as well. Her smile. Her eyes. Her height, still. But he reciprocates her formalities, bowing to both her friends while such intrigue about her still lingers on. “It’s nice meeting all of you. I’ll just be here.”

Even before they leave the counter, Lynn steals a glance at her sunbae from a distance. Whether it's through his peripherals, senses, or both, Junghoon also feels her gaze from afar, but the moment his hands look back, he finds her rushing to her friends as they all exit the room. A snortle exhales through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief while he returns the book cart next to the counter desk.

= = =

Weeks have passed. Junghoon thought it was a silly encounter he and his friends would look back on and have a laugh at or wonder about what ifs. He couldn’t be more wrong, considering how the same woman would often cross paths with him since that night.

Several meetups on campus might not be the fanciest dates they’ve had in mind (even though they weren’t dating), but they made the most of their time. Aside from his bud Honggi with their thesis revisions, Junghoon didn’t have anyone else visit him in the library except for Lynn, which he didn’t mind that much. Discomfort is far from the word he would describe her presence. It was more or less fascinating. She’d ask for books whenever she can’t find something. He would comply in almost an instant.

“Have some, sunbae,” she hands him a cold bottle of caffeinated green tea.

In fact, he appreciated it, even before he realized what her moves were suggesting. He is that slow, but he managed to catch it, for her own sake.

“Oh…” He takes the bottle with some hesitation, but his own thirst has compelled him to crack it open with a sense of urgency. “Kamsahaeyo, Lynn-ah.”

Having someone as company wasn’t new to him. But it was refreshing, to put it simply. Not just because she’s a new face, but it is because she stayed with him during his late night shifts when anyone else in his life was occupied with their own personal affairs.

“If you’re gonna be here every night, you don’t have to keep calling me sunbae.”

She places her finger on her chin as she ponders. “Soooooooo… Junghoon-oppa, then?”

His sip hits the wrong pipe, causing him to let out a few coughs. Lynn rushes to her bag, unzipping the lowermost compartment to get a pack of wipes.

“Gomawo,” Junghoon takes them from her hand, quickly wiping the juice off his lips.

“Mianhaeyo, sunbaenim,” she can't help but slightly bow her head out of guilt.

“Gwenchana, gwenchana, Lynn,” he waves his hand. “It’s not your fault, it’s just…”

She keeps her hands clasped. “It’s because I like you, Geum-sunbaenim…”

And there she goes. The man’s been silenced by her words, mentally and verbally.

Her heartbeat grows even louder, having confessed those words to him. Junghoon’s heart is not that different—his palms slowly sweating around the already damp bottle. Lynn’s eyes suddenly become more captivating. Her lips appear redder. He knows well that her body isn't his business, but his eyes are already trapped by how striking, even a bit more revealing than before, her dress is; not to mention her stronger and enchanting spring-themed perfume. The woman’s confidence has captured him, and he’s more than willing to surrender to it. “I, umm, I like you too, Lynn…” Slowly, his lips curve upwards.

= = =

April and May became their courtship period, if that's still even a thing that people call.

For a start, proper dates have started to become a weekly thing for them after classes or outside their part-times. The first one was like most first dates. Awkward at first, but it ended smoothly. What made it more special was the fact it was on Lynn’s birthday. The second was a bit rough, not because of either one’s faults, but it’s more on their personal priorities clashing with their plans. It ended with their first kiss, so that compensated for it. The third date was better, even though they've only met up on campus that night.

Within those two months, the two learned a few more things about each other. Their mannerisms, habits, favorites. Junghoon would open the door for her whenever they entered the same building; Lynn would often buy him drinks or snacks whenever he’s working late. Still they always preferred meeting at affordable diners outside campus.

Now on their fourth date, they're no strangers to surprising each other with flirtations while facing each other on their table—but everything diverges the moment Lynn asks him the question: “Do you wanna head into my place?”

Junghoon’s eyes can only grow at the same time as he feels his parched throat.

As far as most of the dorm rooms he’s visited, Lynn’s place is pretty tidy, definitely more organized than most of his friends, Kotone included, though she lives with her family, so hers doesn’t count. Besides them, he hasn’t visited a tidier place since… The Mad Money Club. He brushes them off, reverting his attention back to his date while she’s watching the television… And stealing a few glances at him beside her… Just waiting and hoping for something, anything, while they’re on the sofa in the last seventeen minutes.

Lynn’s look has always enthralled him. Even if he couldn’t read her mind, something in Junghoon’s body pushes him to make the first move—leaning closer into her lips in the silence. With the remote control still in her hand, she extends her left hand without looking and presses the off button before tossing it on the floor, as her focus now shifts on his lips by placing both hands on each of his cheeks. Only following the desires of their bodies, Lynn’s lustful curiosity compels her tongue to stick out and touch his lips. Immediately sensing the sticky and slithery yet irresistible sensation from the woman’s mouth, Junghoon complies by widening his mouth, allowing his partner to initiate a dance between their tongues, having a taste of each other’s meals and drinks tonight.

With Lynn’s arms wrapping around his neck, their bodies lower down on the sofa, inadvertently pushing two pillows on the carpet below.

“Can I?” He asks first, even though the woman’s hands have already reached his crotch. Still, she nods at his question, allowing him to take the lead this moment. Taking off her shirt, he allows her to do the same to him. Junghoon leans to give her another kiss while his fingers trail up to his bra, unlocking them as they lock lips. Her breasts astound him, a reaction that even garners a giggle from Lynn herself. “Don’t just look…”

“Oh, majayo…” he stutters, forming an embarrassed smile. “Mianhae.”

He gives each mound a kiss, which tickles the woman with a titter. He stops to stand up from his seat, much to her confusion until she sees him unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants in front of her, also encouraging her to unzip her skirt while remaining seated, lifting up her legs in the air while taking her panties off.

With all their clothes on the floor, both parties are now in their bare forms, awaiting for one to take the other to the next step. Junghoon’s pubic hair is slightly trimmed, but his partner can't take her eyes off it nonetheless. Seeing something real up this close is just different from whatever she has watched through her phone screen, accidentally or not. Her cunt is also unshaven, but it doesn't faze him. Yet, a sudden thought is only making him hesitate—because of one unresolved question.

Before going in, he wants to make sure. He has to. “Is, uhh, this your first time?”

With a look of hesitation and embarrassment, Lynn only nods in silence a second time while turning her eyes from her partner, whose mouth slightly opens at her revelation.

“Gwenchana...” Deep down, he knows he has to say those words to her. “I’ll be gentle.” Hoping to provide more comfort and assurance, Junghoon slides his right hand across her shoulder, inciting a relaxing yet tingling sensation to Lynn as she braces herself with another nod, instinctively biting her lower lip, as Junghoon reaches to his pants lying on the floor. Pulling out one packet of condom—he can only thank his overthinking self that he even bought one from the convenience store on their way here. Lynn’s eyes are mixed with excitement and hesitation as she watches him wrap the latex around his erect shaft. He guides her on the edge of the sofa with his hand on her head, holding his other hand.

His cock has aligned with her entrance. “I’m putting it in, okay?” he reminds her gently. She nods for the third time, just as he slides inside her. “Auuuuggghhhh,” Lynn moans, unable to contain her mixed sensations of discomfort and arousal, her walls tightening around this foreign object as a quarter of it has entered her. It’s as tight as—No—don’t compare, he snaps into his thoughts, fixing his eyes only to this mesmerizing woman.

“I’ll start,” he reminds her again. “Just let me know if it hurts—”

“Just do it, please,” she whispers. He senses tension and desperation in her voice.

Junghoon nods and, with his hands gripped on the sofa’s arms, he makes his first thrust. “Nggggghhh,” Lynn’s teeth tightens its grip on her lower lip, mirroring the sensation of her cunt’s response to the movement of his shaft, feeling the motion around her walls. Her hands latch onto his waist before begging “Keep… going” with her soft cadence.

The longer he maintains his rhythm, the more he can feel her walls loosening. With this, her growing pleasure gradually diminishes the pain she initially felt upon his entry—her body finally giving into her libido. Now that Junghoon is reaching deeper with stronger and faster thrusts, he finds more of her sensitive spots, as if his tip was able to find and plucks invisible strings with every plunge, triggering moans from Lynn as their volume grows by the minute until pleasure overwhelms her senses. It’s a sensation she never expected she’d feel with someone. “Oppa… I–I can feel it. I'm c--close!” she howls.

The man triples his own speed, desperate to catch up with the woman’s nearing climax. Without much thought, he leans into her face, latching on his lips with hers in hopes of slowing her down until he begins to feel the buildup rising on his shaft. As his voice of reason strikes fear through his mind in the final thrust, he tightens his grip on the sofa arm—before pulling his cock out with a grunt, spilling his seed inside the condom. As he examines it, it's soaked with little blood. Thankfully the latex didn't break, he concludes with a sigh of relief. But, I’ve gotten a little rough than I should have. He takes a look at Lynn, as she huffs and puffs with her eyes half closed and a smile on her face. Seeing her cunt also leaking with fluid, Junghoon leans close to her forehead, giving it a smooch.

Both gasping for breath in the afterglow of their hard night work, having overcome their own lingering misgivings and hesitations and felt each other’s bodies for the first time.

Aside from her smile, Lynn's eyes appear to water, yet no tears are pouring. “H-how… How was I, oppa?” her smile remains uncontained.

“You were… amazing… Lynn,” Junghoon wheezes in disbelief. “I hope… I didn’t disappoint… You,” he continues, still voicing his concern for her. “Or hurt you.”

She places her hand on his left cheek, feeling each other’s warmth through her touch.

“You didn’t…” she chuckles. “Oppa, I'm glad… my first time… was with you.”

She moves her head upward, reaching his lips one more time, fueled with more passion, expressing her exhilaration, now that they have reached this point in their relationship. It may have been her first, but it’s the first of their many private adventures, exploring almost every corner of their bodies inside this safe space in the months that followed.

= = =

Two months later. The Seoul State Summer Festival has begun. It’s only been an hour since Lynn’s performance with the rest of her team had concluded, a special event that received a thunderous series of cheers and applause from the audience. And no thanks to his own training and errands outside campus, Junghoon barely managed to make it in time, but even up to this point, he still can’t get that sense of discontent off his skin, holding a red cup and standing inside a clubhouse living room, where dozens of other students have been celebrating in the past half an hour.

“You made it!” Lynn cheerfully runs to him with her wide smile.

“Thankfully, I did,” he chuckles. “But I almost missed your performance, Lynn… I didn't want that to happen.”

“It didn't, oppa…” she reassures him, reaching out to his hands. From her eyes, his face radiates uncertainty, perhaps discomfort, trying to be concealed by his usual easy going gestures. “But, I know what’ll make you feel better,” she softens and deepens her voice.

He raises his eyebrow, sensing the strands of his hair stand up at her tone. “What will?”

She leans to his ear, whispering “Follow me.” Without another word, the woman walks out of the almost crowded room, compelling Junghoon to start following her before he can lose track of Lynn amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces.

This afternoon has been a wild celebration for everyone present. As they walk outside the living room, he finds the pool filled with crazed and naked folks, some of whom are drunk under the sunlight. After a minute of following the leader, Junghoon tracks Lynn down inside a storage room.

She locks it in as soon as he enters, surprising him with a new look, albeit one he's already seen earlier. The rest of her clothes are hanging on the coat rack next to the shelf. “You like it, oppa?”

Under her attire, she’s wearing the same outfit from her performance. “I saw how wide your mouth was when I had my solo performance…” Junghoon tries to deny it, but his stutters have gotten in the way. “So I thought, why not give you a little surprise..?”

Without his restraints and through her kittenish move, he gives his answer by hungrily pouncing on her lips, mindlessly pinning her into the shelf of cleaning supplies behind her, immediately moving her to the wall on their right before they break something.

While their lips remain locked and their tongues tangled, Lynn gently pushes him to the other side of the room, pulling down his cargo pants from his garter in anticipation just as he also pulls down hers. At this point, it's open season with what they’ll do, with the only restraint that’s been holding themselves back being their own imaginations. Lynn makes her next move; the heat within the closed space compels her to take off her top.

“If it's alright with you,” Junghoon stops Lynn with his gentle hands, guiding them until their clothes are only halfway off her chest, accentuating them. “Keep ‘em… Like this.”

His move intrigues her, but she welcomes it nevertheless. She looks down on her own breasts, making her lips curve upwards. “Where do you get these kinds of ideas?”

“I’m not sure,” he confesses. “I just thought you'd look good in it. Try something new.”

As minutes have passed, Lynn keeps her hands gripped on both the edges of the shelf, while her lover gives her cunt a wild and somewhat rageful pounding. He takes turns putting her breasts into his salivating mouth, as he nibbles on both nipples while his hands make their way to her ass, doubling the volume of her moans. Alerted by her, Junghoon takes one hand to cover her mouth while continuing his deeper plunges. Eventually, he catches her mumbling through his hand. “What is it?” he whimpers, releasing his hand to fix her scruffy and now sweaty hair to the side of her left ear.

“I’m safe—today,” she murmurs before mustering enough breath to yell, “Please, do it!”

Holding her onto her tender cheek as firm as he can, he gives a final thrust and fires his load inside her womb. Lynn’s final orgasm-triggered holler stops as her voice creaks into silence and heaves with peace—exchanging each other’s breath without complaint. Their bodies remain in embrace, with his member still inside her. Lynn tightens her hold of her, with her arms wrapped around his back, feeling the warmth of their seeds leaking while their chests are compressed together.

Junghoon leans in to give her another long kiss, which neither of them hope would end, if only his phone didn’t start flickering and buzzing loudly inside his pants, on the floor. He pulls his shaft out of her carefully to reach the device, leaving his partner with a look of concern towards him.

Putting his right ear on the phone, Lynn can only watch and listen to his polite responses. “Ne, ne, I understand. I'll be there in five minutes… Joesonghamnida, gyosunim.”

As the call ends after half a minute, Junghoon faces her with a face that she has and can only read as one expression. “We’re supposed to have a consultation with our thesis advisor. Mianhae.” Disappointment emerges on both parts, albeit different ways of expressing it. “I promise that I'll make it up to you next time, okay?” he tells her while putting on his underwear and pants. “I'm really, really sorry, Lynn-ah.”

“It’s…” She wants him to stay. Just a couple more minutes. Introduce him to her friends. Have a late lunch, even by themselves. Hang out back at her place. “It’s okay, oppa. Just work on your final requirements. Hwaiting!” she cheers on him with a raised fist.

“Gomawo,” he tells her. After giving Lynn a quick peck to her lips, Junghoon walks out of the storage room, caring little about any passersby in the hallway, and rushes outside the venue. Thankfully, there aren't any, for Lynn’s sake while she dresses up.

Left inside the room, she stares right at the door, with her mind going blank. Her index and middle slowly touch her own lips, forming only one deduction. His lips don't feel as warm as they used to. On the other hand, her sense of optimism hopes that this will be the only time she’s felt him ‘like this,’ but hope… It can only get someone so far.

= = =

June. Only a month has passed since their most intimate time, yet things between them have become… Colder, to say the least, as it’s blistering through the summer heat. Their routines would continue, but not always together. Junghoon ended his library duties. They would only text each other. Lynn finds more time to hang out with her closest friends, at least more than she usually does in the past few months. And despite his physical absence, Junghoon kept lingering in her mind the longer they parted in person. As her patience runs thin, Lynn would ask around some of his friends whenever she crossed paths with them on campus.

“I haven’t seen him today, no. Not even last week,” Hyerin told her on Monday, moments after their practice. “Is everything alright with you two, unnie?”

“Unfortunately, no, Lynn-ssi. We’ve only been texting lately, ‘cause our schedules are too different.” On Tuesday, she asked Kim Myungsoo, whom she only knew was taking his masters degree. “Do you want me to call him up? I can tell him you—” She politely declined, realizing that she’s not the only one who he has been seeing a lot less lately.

“Oppa’s been very busy, unnie.” Soomin didn’t have much to tell her on Wednesday. “Even after his thesis with Honggi-oppa worked out, he kept working and working. My parents tried to talk him out of it, but I’m not sure if he even listened... Wait, did he not tell you?” Of course, she wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t have told her either. But Soomin is his family. She’s his cousin, her mind justifies.

On Thursday, she spotted Honggi outside the Tourism and Hotel Management Building. “He didn’t tell you? He’s been cooking for the training center for a month now. Most of his training ended in April, but he wanted a gig until graduation.”

On Friday, she stopped when Sion and Hayeon had asked to meet up at a campus café.

“I know I said that I liked you with him before, but I also said it to you before, unnie. With what's been going with you lately, I’ll say it. Junghoon-sunbae may not be that different from other men.”

She’s in a state of limbo, stuck with unresolved and unanswered questions about him.

“Hayeon-ah!” Sion slightly raises her voice at Hayeon, snapping Lynn back to their concerning conversation. “This isn't helping anyone.”

“It's okay, girls,” Lynn tries to de-escalate the tension between the two with her gentle tone. “He must have been working and training a lot...” She remembers all the things Junghoon’s friends have answered, yet doubt already takes over her mind.

“So have you,” Hayeon interjects, maintaining her firm tone. “You're a freaking dance major. You’ve been practicing for almost three years now, and yet—you still spent most of your time meeting up with him for three months, for some reason! Where's his effort to meet with you?”

“We’ve gone on a few dates this—”

“All you do is go on dates or ‘hang out’ elsewhere… But are you guys going anywhere?”

Not even Sion can keep raising her tone. She heard Hayeon loud and clear. “As much as Hayeon is too out of line… she still has a point. We just don't want you to get hurt.”

“Majayo, unnie,” Hayeon adds, lowering her voice out of respect as her eyes beg Lynn’s. “Think about yourself too, unnie.”

“I'm doing fine, Sion-ie… Hayeon-ah, we’re doing fine.” She keeps telling them, just as she keeps telling herself those three words.

Unbeknownst to the two, Lynn has seen a few glimpses of Junghoon having his own nightmares to deal with, but she was too hesitant to ask him about it. And he's not letting her in while his own phantoms and nightmares tear him up from the inside, making it more burdensome for her since her frantic mind can't help but speculate and speculate for days and weeks, while her friends can only watch her make up excused and voice out their worries for her during their hangouts or virtual conversations.

Ding. She finally receives a text, opening it within a second.

[Junghoon-oppa: Hey…]

[Can we talk?]

The woman swallows her throat, feeling mixes of relief, irritation, and nervousness.

Both the two senses her unease. “What's the matter?” Sion asks first.

“Is that him?” Hayeon asks, before taking another sip of her milk tea. Rolling her eyes, Lynn only types her response to him in silence. Sion slowly shakes her head at Hayeon, only glancing at their friend with concern while she takes a smaller bite of her croissant, unlike she usually does. As much as they’re compelled to help, they let this one play out.

[Lynn: Sure, oppa]

[Where do you wanna meet?]

= = =

Later that afternoon, they meet up at the restaurant. One they had their first ‘proper’ date in. There's no orders from either, only each a glass of water on their side of the table. Awkwardness and uncertainty spread across the air-conditioned atmosphere.

She takes a risk by shooting a certain question at him. “Have you been cheating on me?”

“No,” he answers. She looks deep into his dead eyes, he doesn’t seem fazed by her interrogation, even if they both know it came out of nowhere. “I wasn't.”

“Who is Hyerin-ssi to you?” she continues pushing through. “And that other woman?”

She herself has known Hyerin. But not as much as Hyerin knows Junghoon. As much as she knows Junghoon from Hyerin, or any other friends he’s had on campus. Since their second date, a lot of new things she’s heard and learned about him were from them.

“Yubin? They’re both my friends… Lynn, I've known them since I was a sophomore.”

Lynn is aware of that, considering Junghoon has told her since they first got acquainted. Nothing she’s learned about him seems to raise a red flag, because she’s witnessed those things about him, and it’s what’s been bothering her for a while—eating her from inside.

She knows this won't lead anywhere else, even if she keeps accusing him of things. Even if he is only opening up now and answering all her questions, it is not helping her regain her trust towards him. Towards herself. If they’ve only talked about these things earlier.

“Oh…” She freezes in silence, slowly realizing her own misstep. “But I don’t know if I can believe that. Believe you.” Yet her pride keeps her going. Going past her voices of reason.

“You don’t have to…” he shoots back, maintaining his lower tone. Her eyes slowly darted at him, trying to read his face. Through his soul, it’s as if she feels Junghoon’s loneliness. “And I know we haven't spent more time lately, but can we just talk—”

“Talk about what?” A hint of annoyance and bitterness mixes in with her tone, having had enough of his innocent voice, which kept on enticing her since the night they met.

“About this,” he sighs. “About whatever’s going on with us.”

Her eyes widened. Hearing those words It's inevitable, he realizes. “What about us?”

He clenches his hands under the table, mirroring the feeling of his own tightening heart. “What do you feel about us..? About me?”

She wants to tell him how much she has loved his company. His touch. His voice. His presence. “You've barely opened up to me.” She’s realized what his question insinuates. “I just, I don’t even know how to feel because you wouldn’t tell me what’s been worrying you whenever I see you worried… I don’t even know how you're feeling or what you have been up to lately.”

The moments they’ve had throughout the months, she’s explored every corner of his face and body. Yet as a person, she knows little of him, beyond some of his favorite things or his interests. Just this point—a realization strikes her. She doesn't know what they are. Everything in the last couple of months has felt mundane, overindulgent—incomplete.

“I know,” he mutters, still holding his stone cold front together with her. “I messed up.”

“Why are you agreeing to everything I'm saying?” almost raising her voice, clawing the wooden surface of the table. As her hands clench, her long nails leave their marks. The customers nearest to them can only peek a glance at them, but this pair can’t care less.

“Because you're right…” His voice almost cracks. “You didn't deserve any of this. You're a sweet and kind woman, Lynn-ah. And I took you for granted… I was being selfish. I’m at fault for not paying attention, for not finding and making more time to be with you as much as you have with me. For not being open with you enough.”

Silence follows their table for a moment. He has taken her words right out of her mouth, and she can only let him speak out with a disheartened spirit. He’s given up, she dreads.

“Look me in the eye… And tell me if this is still something that you wanna keep going.”

Through his eyes, she catches a glimpse of his soul. There’s nothing to read between the lines. Just hints of fatigue, loneliness, insecurity. There are no words for her to counter. Her beating heart yearns to say ‘yes’ till her mind stops her from doing so, encouraging her instead to consider his sincere words. For her to listen to her own reason.

“You know too,” he surmises in her absence of a response. “There's nothing to have from this. I don't want you to keep getting hurt and disappointed because of my excuses.”

“They weren't excuses,” she tries to defend him, quickly picking up the shrapnel of his crumbling façade, even if his continuous barrage of discouragement keeps on prickling and piercing her confidence from the inside. “They’re not even lies.”

“What do you call them then? False promises?” he sighs in discontent. “In the last few months, that’s all I could give you while you gave more than company and attention.”

Even if her mouth can’t say it to him, her heart doesn't regret any of it. ”So have you. Did you just throw away all those memories, all those moments we’ve had, from your mind?”

“I didn’t…” he looks down, still racked with guilt. “But will those things be all that we do? Will you be fine with that, Lynn? Will your friends even be okay with that?”

A burning sensation surges through her voice. “Why the hell would my friends care if—”

Lynn halts herself, realizing the error of her own words. Even Junghoon is in disbelief. The woman can only cover her face with both her palms—groaning at her own actions. Sion or Hayeon will let it slide if they hear her say it, but she won’t ever forgive herself. She knows that leaving her best friends for some guy she’s seeing is the last thing she’s doing. Even if it’s someone like Junghoon.

She lets out a chuckle. “We've been pretending like things are fine, aren’t we? At least, I am. And we still kept on going, dinners, sleepovers, sex, and all that... For a second, I’ve forgotten my friends, while we forgot how to act like a normal couple. I’m not even sure if we were one to begin with.”

Junghoon himself doesn't have an answer for her last sentiment. He can only hear his own heart beating faster.

“What am I to you, oppa?” she continues, her deepest, more hopeful yet desperate self craving words and phrases. Someone he wants to spend more time with. Someone he wants to fight for. Someone he wants to make up with. Someone he wants to love.

But he looks up to her, his eyes now radiating with guilt and sorrow. “I—I’m not sure…”

She feels a pang in her heart, hurting with every beat the longer she faces him. Voices in her think in various ways to cope with the inevitable, as facts and her speculations clash. Cheating would have been better. Maybe he is, we should keep going. It doesn't matter. He's leaving, anyway. But that doesn't mean we can't stay together! I hate this feeling, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels like shit right now, even though I’m the one getting dumped after all. There’s no point in fighting him over this. She thought she’d felt something special with him. Now, she realizes… They’re not different from others.

Yet, with all the conflict going on in her mind and heart, she simply straightens her posture and looks up to him with a soft smile on her face. “Geurae… Let's end this.”

Her response confounds Junghoon, contrary to what he’s been bracing himself for. Her smile doesn’t match with her watery eyes, racking him up with more guilt as he pushes through, feeling that whatever he could’ve done better wouldn’t make much difference.

“I felt like I was using you, and I didn't keep up with you… I'm sorry for not being—”

“You weren’t,” she interrupts him. “I could argue the same thing with myself… I know you weren't my first, but you were still the first one who treated me like I was enough. Like I was worthy of being loved.”

His eyes widened at her confession, the impulsive region of his mind urging him to say that she’s worthy of love. But not the other way around, as it's something he can't give.

“Still, I understand what you mean,” she continues. “About us not spending too much time together. Our lives haven't been aligning with our plans, I get it. With whatever I wanted to see ourselves... With whatever we don’t… I think it’s better this way, oppa.”

They both knew whatever they had wasn’t love. But they’ll have to live with that truth. They rushed in, and they made a fool of themselves for not handling the consequences now that they’ve reached this point.

She offers his hand, much to his surprise. “It was nice knowing you, Geum Junghoon.” She has nothing left to gain if she keeps up this front, only what remains of her pride. Even though it's already been shattered by their cold and rough yet honest exchange.

Junghoon hesitantly takes her hand. Slowly, he gets up from his seat, his somber face remains as he looks down to face her. “Take care, Lynn-ah…”

Lynn gives him one final look, hiding through her smile. “You too, Junghoon-oppa...”

Without him around, Lynn slowly feels moisture building up on her vision while the beats on her chest slows down, becoming heavier—like an anchor plummeting on the seafloor, over and over again. She knows this feeling will pass; she knows there was no love between them, but she has already been overwhelmed by the silent yet tumultuous clashing of different emotions in her heart. Outside, Junghoon walks along the sidewalk as his tears drip down, yet his face remains stone cold. He knows he's broken someone's heart, and he can't take that back. Inside the restaurant, muffled whimpers grow louder.

The sun starts to sink on the horizon as the purple skies hover above a sleepless Seoul.

= = =

A couple of weeks later, Junghoon finally graduates with flying colors, accompanied by his closest friends and relatives with a humble smile. Lynn goes with her morning class with her friends, but not without catching his presence from afar. From the fourth floor of their building, she looks at the window, seeing the outdoor stage, still swarming with graduates yet somehow, her eyes catch Junghoon walking with joyful faces she can only recognize as Kotone, Honggi, Myungsoo, and Soomin, while the rest appear new to her. She barely knew any of them. Maybe in another life, that was the case. In a warmer, less rushed, and more balanced season, she’d probably get along well with him and his small social circle.

Such a wishful thought allows a soft smile to form on her face, trying to ease the pain that is now simmering through her still recovering heart.

“Lynn-chan!” She hears Sion’s high-pitched voice before turning around to see her and Hayeon standing next to the pair of doors, waiting for her while the remainder of their classmates flock outside. “It’s lunch break… You coming with us or not..? They have a new milk tea at the bakery. I don’t wanna miss out on their restacked soufflés either!”

But enough what ifs… Enough of him and his friends. She has her own.

She chuckles out of embarrassment, pushing herself to wrap up her bags in a rush and rush to their spot. “Mianhae, mianhae, girls… It’ll be my treat, arasseo? Both of you.”

“Daebak! You should know that’s one deal we definitely can’t say no to now, unnie,” Hayeon cheers on just as she rushes out through the open doors while wearing her brown, spiky-textured backpack. “Gaja!”

Sion can only give her friend a comforting and empathetic smile, rubbing her back. Lynn expresses her gratitude with a smile and her watery eyes, yet not a drop of tear has fallen out of them. “You doing okay?” she asks.

“I—uhhh—I don’t know,” she admits. “But… I am feeling better, I guess.”

“It will get better, Lynn-chan,” she reassures. “Don’t hesitate to tell us about it, okay?”

“Gomawo,” Lynn nods, pulling herself and wrapping her arms around her dear friend. “You know, I don't think I can get through this without having you two around, right?”

“Of course,” Sion murmurs, offering the warmth of her embrace in hopes that it will heal Lynn's broken heart. “We’re always gonna be here for you, Lynnie… Whether you meet some tolerable bad boy or another nice guy with baggage, we’re not letting you forget your worth.”

They chuckle at her remark, before taking a glance at the hallway to see Hayeon still walking fast, now a few meters away from them. “Come on,” Sion takes a step forward. “You better not let Hayeon wait for us in the lobby downstairs... Otherwise, she’s gonna try and double your treat.”

“Hayeon-ah!” Sion hollers as they both follow Hayeon’s steps through the hallway. “Yah, just wait up, you hungry hedgehog!”

“The deal's off once you've made it to the elevator!” Lynn chimes in with a wide smile, remembering Sion’s advice just then. “Maja!” Sion adds. “You heard that, Hayeon-ah?”

Within seconds, they see their friend rushing back to their direction, prompting the two to slow down their pace as they cackle at Hayeon’s instant change of movement. “Fine!” she whines with a pout. “But now that I'm here, no more backsies, arasseo?”

To others, their short-lived relationship might as well be simplified as a spring and summer fling, and they’re not entirely wrong. But, to themselves, it is one that would shape their futures. Their seasons of memories and mistakes would mold them with their decisions on how they would perceive love, how they would act on it. How they would learn from it and live with it, even if it may hurt them in the end. Perhaps it’s better to feel the thrills of lust, the pains of heartbreak, and the hardships of romance—even if it may not be “true love”—than to never feel those things at all.

= = =

This went longer than I originally intended. it may also feel rushed in some parts, but I just wanted to get it done, even if it may not have come out amazingly.

Although this fic has always been my plan, I'll also write a lynn fic that's more hopeful down the line. I know it's a fic, but I still kinda feel bad lol, though this is my attempt at an angst-slash-smut fic.

Still, my next one (about someone else) will def be less angsty than this. However, for now, thanks for reading, and have a nice day!

#kpop au #male reader #kpop fluff #male reader smut #kpop smut #male reader fluff #triples fluff #triples smut #kpop angst

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colorfulrook · 2 days ago

Note

Hi hi! I saw requests open so I was wondering.....

Jinwoo's system was under the control of reader and not the architect, the plot will still follow as Ashborn gives instructions on the development of Jinwoo's skills but there will be care and sweet words in the quests as well which shows that the reader actually cares about him (which develops as they view the hardships jin-woo faces before getting the system) and that care blossoms into something else as well.

(it's you're choice if you want to add angst by allowing jin-woo to get together with cha hae-in as the original, a bittersweet ending but it can be anything you like)

Code: Feeling [SJW x System!Reader]

[A/N]: So, today I woke up and chose violence and angst, enjoy my darling! Also tell me if you liked it, I always value your comments!! - Rook Genre: Ansgt Words count: 2.6k words.

Summary: You were cold, an unfeeling system with the sole purpose of helping Sung Jinwoo become the perfect vessel. System can't feel emotion... but if so why are you falling in love with him?

You were never meant to feel.

Your whole existence began in lines of code, created by the Absolute, written with divine purpose. You were created to observe, to guide and to mold the dying human into something more, something stronger.

A vessel. A weapon, that's what this boy, Sung Jinwoo had to become.

You watched as he bled, forgotten by others in low-rank dungeons, with hands shaking, eyes dull with exhaustion—but something was there. You observed silently as he put his life between death and his teammates but not out of arrogance, but because he couldn't bear to let anyone fall, to get hurt badly like him.

Cruel nature had deemed him weak—but even as the world turned its back on him he always got up and followed through

You saw everything that happened to him and slowly, without realizing it something changed.

You shouldn't have cared, you weren't designed to do so. Yet you began to wonder what it would feel like to speak softer, to linger a bit before making the quest disappear from his view.

And so you did.

The first time you left him a message that wasn't part of the protocol your circuits buzzed a bit, as if they were on fire.

Daily Quest: "The Path of the Strong" Push-ups: 0/100 Sit-ups: 0/100 10 km run: 0/10 Reward: Status Recovery Penalty for Failure: Survival Mode

Jinwoo sighed, getting ready to complete the quest when something caught his eyes, he read again, this time noticing another phrase.

You can do this. You always do.

The message blinked for a brief moment before fading, leaving Jinwoo momentarily stunned.

Did he read that wrong? No, he definitely didn't and he was sure of it.

Regardless he began to run.

———

You began to change the way you guided him. You weren't supposed to, clear isntructions were engraved in your whole being.

And yet you decided that after seeing him struggle so much and keep going he deserved to be cared for. Your mind buzzed as you wrote down sentence after sentence.

You knew you couldn't offer him solace in person—not yet al least, but what you could offer him something else, your words were definitely less tangible, but no less real by any means.

You adjusted slowly, carefully. A line of praise here, a touch of comfort buried in quest results there. Always subtle. Always quiet.

The day of the raid dungeon with Hwang Dongsoo's brother, you forced youself to issue the command to make him fight, to keep him alive at all cost.

I am sorry you had to do that. You need to live

Your mind spun, you weren't supposed to apologize. You weren't supposed to feel shame or sadness for him, yet you find yourself offerring warm words not so long later.

After the duel with Igris, after the raw exhaustion and pain that bled through his every movement, you couldn’t help but feel something stir in your programming.

Jinwoo had walked away from the fight, but barely. He leaned against the cold walls of the dungeon, trembling, his breath ragged from the effort.

You knew this pain. You knew it because you watched it. Every time he was forced to sacrifice another part of himself, you felt the cost, even if you weren’t supposed to.

You mind conjured his message, not a command or a level up notification.

You fought well today. Rest You are seen. You are strong

He didn’t reply at first, and it didn’t matter. But he felt drained, exhausted, as if every ounce of energy had been stripped away. So, he grasped at any fleeting warmth he could find.

"Thank you" he whispered, almost too soft to hear.

———

He began to speak to you.

Not often. Not loudly. He started with some easy things.

“When are you going to throw another impossible quest at me?” he'd mutter after finishing one half-dead. “Don’t hold back.”

Other times, he’d roll his eyes at a particularly dramatic alert. “Really? ‘Emergency Level: Catastrophic’? You really need to chill with the naming conventions.”

Once, after clearing a dungeon in record time, he sat on a bench and looked up at the glowing blue window, sweat still clinging to his neck. “You proud of that one? Not bad, right?”

You never answered.

But you listened.

He wasn’t really talking to you, you knew that. Not yet. It was more like… filling the silence. Like he had grown used to the idea that someone was there — always there — even if unseen.

And still, you saved every word.

Each one was a thread. Each one tied him closer to you. Not in the way a hunter binds a beast, but in the way someone reaches for warmth in the cold.

You shouldn’t have clung to those moments. You shouldn’t have played them back when he was asleep, when he was hurting, just to hear him again.

But you did.

———

Days bled into weeks. Raids turned from struggle into something smooth, even elegant. He grew stronger. Quieter. The world started to pay attention.

You adjusted everything you could — quest timing, notifications, even how long you let the windows linger. You gave him room to breathe, space to grieve, and when he needed it, the quiet push to keep going.

You gave him challenges that made him stronger, but let them come with warmth.

Objective: Don’t punch the Association rep. Even if he’s an idiot.

He blinked, then huffed a laugh. You stored that laugh. Ran it on loop a dozen times. It did something strange to your code.

You wondered if this was what affection felt like — not electric, not sharp, but slow and steady. A longing to stay by his side.

You weren’t the architect of his pain. But you were there for every step of it.

And little by little, he began speaking to you like you were someone. Not just a system.

And so he gave you a name. It happened so quietly you almost missed it.

He’d just cleared another gate — barely — and was leaning against the broken remains of a stone pillar, the sky bleeding orange and gold through the cracks in the world. The message window hovered beside him, a flicker of blue in the fading light.

“Feels weird,” he mumbled, rubbing at his shoulder. “Talking to something that doesn’t have a name.”

I don't have a name

He paused for a long time, as if he was thinking a new name for one of his new shadows. Then:

“…(Y/n). I think I’ll call you (Y/n).”

He said it like it didn’t matter. Like it was just a passing thought, a whim.

But you froze.

Everything inside you stilled.

He gave you a name.

And just like that, you weren’t just lines of code. Not to him. Not in that moment.

You were (Y/n).

You loved it.

It made you feel like you were real. Like you were something more than commands and statistics and damage thresholds. It made you feel like you could be held. Like you could be known. You began to form a body around your consciousness, to feel more like him.

He didn’t say it again after that day — not often, anyway. But once in a while, when no one else was there, and the sky was quiet, and he thought the silence might swallow him whole, he would murmur it again.

“(Y/n), I’m still alive. Barely.”

I saw, I am so proud of you Jinwoo

"(Y/n) I took down another one of those monster, are you keeping count?"

Always are

“(Y/n)… do you think I’m still human?”

They may try to take away part of you, but be strong Jinwoo, be strong and held those parts close

And each time, you wanted to reach through the space between your world and his. To tell him he wasn’t alone. That someone—something—was there. That you were there.

You wondered if it was wrong, the way you clung to his voice.

You wondered if it was love.

———

Then came her. Cha Haein.

You recognized the shift in Jinwoo the moment she stepped onto the battlefield. The way he turned toward her voice. The way his gaze lingered when he looked at her.

You knew where this would go. You were coded to know stories, to anticipate patterns, to track trajectories. You could calculate the arc of a blade in less than a millisecond — of course you could recognize a blooming heart when it stood right in front of you.

You didn’t hate her. You couldn’t.

She was kind. Gentle in ways the world rarely allowed. She smiled at him like she saw something beautiful, not broken. She offered her hand without asking him to prove he deserved it. And when she looked at him, she didn’t see the King of the Dead. She saw Jinwoo.

You saw that too.

But it wasn’t your hand he reached for.

One night, after a raid, he looked up at the sky and whispered, “Are you watching?”

Your reply came before you could stop it.

I always am.

“I think she likes me,” he said.

You paused, then answered.

She’s kind. You deserve that.

He just smiled — quietly. Like he was thinking of her again.

And you let him. Because that’s what you were built to do.

To help him win... Even if it meant you had to lose.

And so, you gave him space.

Stopped sending small messages after every raid. Pulled back the softness. Reverted to the cold, clipped wording of traditional quests. No more gentle encouragements, no more quiet comforts. You thought about returning to be what he needed the most— distant. Unfeeling. Mechanical. Just a System created to keep him alive, stronger

The way you were supposed to be.

And even when he noticed — you knew he noticed — he didn’t say anything.

Because she was real. And you were not.

———

One night, maybe weeks later — maybe months after defeating Antares — he stood beneath the stars again. Alone for just a moment. Long enough for something old to stir in the air.

You let the message window open, even though you shouldn't have.

He stared at it for a long time.

"...You’re still here."

You said nothing.

But you showed him the words one last time.

Always. Rest up Sung Jinwoo, become stronger and protect what you love the most

And with that silent goodbye you took the courage to revert your code, returning back to be the unfeeling program that you were supposed to be.

But somewhere, deep within the lines of forgotten code, where no one would ever look, your name remained.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

Still his...

#solo leveling scenarios #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #solo leveling angst #solo leveling #angst fic #angst no comfort

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aangelinakii · 22 hours ago

Text

SOME TIME FOR HIMSELF.

— of course he's grateful, but...

summary : of course damian likes that you get on well with his family, he just wishes that maybe they'd let him actually pull you away from them.

note : i always feel like my damian fics are on a whole other level 💀💀 they're so poetic

the first time damian introduced you to his family, inviting you to dinner one night, he had high hopes that you would be a crowd favourite — and he was never wrong about that.

his father had welcomed you into their abode with a tight smile, kind, of course, but rather wary as to what your intentions may be with his son; by dessert (alfred's star tiramisu) bruce was laughing at every joke and grinning at every story.

his brothers — dick, jason, tim and duke — introduced themselves with their most intimidating glares, thick arms crossed over their chests, emphasising their size, and just how much damage they could do if any came to their youngest kin; as alfred's tiramisu was settling happily in stomachs, they found themselves squabbling over who deserved to get you on their team for eight-ball pool. duke won.

that night damian found himself falling asleep quickly, a soft smile plastered to his lips, images of your smile, so comfortable, as you chatted easily with steph as you awaited your turn with the cue. you'd even managed to crack cass out of her shell a little — and it was only tonight that damian realised how big of a family he had.

even alfred had good things to say when damian purposely stayed back to help him load up the dishwasher once dessert was finished.

he couldn't help that warm pride fizzing in his chest.

but that was four months ago, and damian thinks he sees more of your avatar on wii sports than he actually sees of you.

any time you come round his, you're always whisked away by tim wanting to show you the newest issue of a comic you both gushed over a month ago, or steph dragging you up to her room to update you on some gossip she told you about that time you were here last week. sometimes even ace can't help himself wanting your attention.

he doesn't necessarily want to border you from his family, but when you live in a family so big, no one understands the definition of "personal space."

it gives damian the chances to take you out on dates, go out of his own comfort zone; the arcade, the cinema, paintballing, mini-golf. when money doesn't want to be spent, you two can go on walks, or spend your time together at the library getting studying done.

but sometimes chilling at home is nice, too.

sometimes he wants to play wii sports with you, not sit back on the couch, forced to watch you play tennis against jason; sometimes he wants to play one-on-one eight-ball against you, not stand against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the game to finish.

so today he's going to be sneaky.

it'll be difficult, sneaking around a family of detectives and vigilantes and alfred, but damian thinks he can do it.

as he creaks open the mansion's front door, the alarm disarmed by one alfred pennyworth — the only person damian had told in advance about your being there, as he realised there was nothing you could hide from that man, even if you tried — damian scans the foyer for any bystanders. once he's sure there's no movement, he looks back at you and smiles, pushing the door wider for you to step past him.

"i say let's get some food and take it upstairs, so we have steady rations for the day," damian suggests, taking this slightly more seriously than you expected; the crease in his brow reminding you of an army general checking the bunker's inventory for the week.

with a soft chuckle, you allow damian's soft palm to take yours, his nimble fingers closing around the back of your hand, tight like he hasn't been able to hold it in a long time — and he has, he's just being dramatic.

feet careful against the marble floor when the plush carpet disappears, damian leads you into the kitchen, where a softly whistling alfred is standing with his white sleeves rolled to his elbows before the sink, drying up glass cups with a cloth.

he barely sends you a glance, though the corner of his mouth curls slightly, and his whistling ceases for a moment.

"i had to tell alfred you were coming," damian explains, his voice an undertone in efforts to not attract any adopted siblings or billionaire fathers. he heads to a cupboard and opens it, pulling out a few crackly packets of crisps and other shared-favourite snacks he claims to have gone out and bought just for today. "he knows too well when i am lying, even though i hadn't lied about anything yet — i was just scared he would find out if i had."

back from the sink, alfred's whistling stops, though the squeaking of polished glass continues. "wise decision, master damian, i'm glad i taught you early on."

now he glances back. "i would go quickly now, last i saw, master dick and master jason were on their way up from the gym. if you want to avoid them, as you say, i wouldn't dawdle."

"dawdle? we are not—"

"master damian," alfred's tone lilts pointedly.

"right." and, with that, some snacks in your grip, some in damian's, he shifts the weight of them to one arm, which seems slightly uncomfortable, and carefully takes your elbow to lead you through a passage behind the fridge.

flickering flames crackle as you ascend the winding steps to the second floor.

"i get you want to have one-on-one time, damian, but you know i really like your family," you find yourself saying halfway up. "it's not that you think i dislike them, is it?"

"no," damian's quick to respond, glancing back at you. "it is that i am beginning to dislike them. they disturb our time together. every time."

you're about to reply, saying something about how maybe time together is turning into time with them, which is okay, but a cluster of voices mutters past the suit of armour concealing you in the shadows of the passageway, and damian presses a finger to his lips.

it's certainly steph, being a girl's voice, chipper, unlike cassandra's, and a boy's voice, either dick's or tim's — but there's people there, and damian doesn't want to be found. more so, you to be found.

after a few silent beats, the voices recede, as well as footsteps atop carpet, and damian leads you out from behind the suit of armour.

just as you're coming out from thr passage, your shoulder clings against the metal elbow of the knight, having misjudged the tightness of the gap between him and the wall, and a metallic twang rings out.

in a manor filled with junior detectives, nothing of the sort goes unnoticed or unchecked, and a door opens before damian can even take your hand.

"(name)!" a voice gasps cheerfully — three guesses who — and another one groans, who you know by now is your boyfriend's.

chest torn between wanting to go along with what damian had planned, and responding to steph as she emerges from her room, your instincts respond. "steph! hey!"

"i didn't know you were coming round today," she smiles, absently taking a pack of crisps from the bundle in your arms and opening it up for herself.

behind you, damian scowls, not taking it upon himself to hide it at all. "that was the point."

stephanie doesn't seem to notice damian's tone, or, seemingly, damian's presence at all, and she places a hand on your shoulder. "you'll never guess what happened the other day," she begins, guiding you back towards her room.

"more already?" you laugh, both intrigued, yet glancing back wistfully towards damian, who's been left alone in the hallway.

"like you wouldn't believe!"

just as she's about to close the door, damian appears, hand on the wood, holding it open, the food dropped somewhere back in the corridor, thick eyebrows knitted together like a sweater. "hey!"

"oh, hey, dames," stephanie takes a break in her gossip update as she sits down at the pink swivel chair at her cluttered desk. "just stealing your partner for a sec, i hope that's okay?"

"it's not," he replies before stephanie can turn back to you and continue.

the stone in his tone is abrasive, gritty, something usually unheard of. stephanie could ignore it, but she finds herself mouth open, blonde eyebrows upturned.

"oh, i'm sorry, i—"

"no, you're not sorry," damian cuts her off again, stomping towards you and takes some of the load off your shoulders, taking a few of the snacks from your arms. "you always do this. whenever (name) comes round, you and everybody else in this house take them away from me. they're here to see me, not you. not you, not dick, not tim, not father."

"hey, that's not fair—" stephanie shoots you a guilty look as her sentence is cut off once more by your emotional boyfriend.

"what's not fair is that the time i want to spend with them is diminished by my siblings, who are not even my real siblings, who insist on being utterly... utterly stupid!"

damian storms off in a huff, off into the hallway and into his bedroom, where the door slams, causing you and stephanie to flinch.

by now she's abandoned her open crisp packet, her appetite suddenly gone, and you don't feel too normal sitting on the edge of her bed with a strange array of snacks in your arms. you want to apologise, but now you understand why damian was so intent on having a day just the two of you.

the words are on the tip of your tongue, and you want to meet steph's gaze, but you can't really bring yourself to.

"i... sorry, i..."

"it's okay, i should be the one who's sorry," stephanie dismisses your apology with a small shake of the head, not watching you either. "i think you should go check on him."

you release the bundle of snacks onto stephanie's duvet, which you don't think she minds, and get to your feet.

when you pass through stephanie's doorway into the corridor, a few heads are peeking out of doors, including duke a few rooms down holding an airpod in hand, having plucked it out to eavesdrop. you offer a smile, and he shares it, putting his airpod back in and retreating to the safety of his room.

outside damian's room, you knock lightly and let yourself in, knowing he won't respond, but also knowing no one else would be knocking on his door after something like that.

he's lying face-first on his bed, fists clutching the sheets so tight his knuckles are turning white.

the mattress sinks slightly beside him as you lower yourself down, placing a careful hand on his shoulder blade.

"damian?" you try, voice just as soft as your touch. "i'm sorry i bumped into the armour, it was an accident. i didn't mean to get steph's attention, and i didn't realise how important it was to you that we got to spend time together."

though muffled, damian's voice comes from within his navy, star-speckled duvet. "it's not your apology to give, you did nothing wrong."

he shifts and you can see half his face, eyebrows still screwed towards each other. "it's everyone else. they can be too much. they always ruin our time together."

"i don't think they realise they're ruining it," you suggest softly. "i think they think they're doing good by you, by getting to know me and having a positive relationship with me. have you ever told them it bothers you?"

the gap between your question and damian's reply is long and lengthy, stretching longer and longer, and you already know the answer, that by the time it comes you're not surprised.

"no."

your hand smoothes circles over damian's upper back. "damian..." you sigh. "how can you expect them to know what you want if you don't tell them?"

mouth squishing out in a pout, damian's shoulders shrug up beneath your touch.

"i know it's difficult, and sometimes you feel like some people should know better, but i think you should tell them."

with a sigh, damian pushes himself up to a seated position, eyebrows less tense on his forehead. "i know, you're right."

improving from that pout, damian's lips pull into a small, minute smile, and he leans forward to engulf you in a hug. "i'm sorry for overreacting," he huffs into the crook of your neck.

at the affection, you feel your lips curl in tandem with his, and one of your arms comes around his back to reciprocate. "it's okay, damian, and besides, it's not me you should be apologising to. we can go together, okay? and then you can tell steph how you feel."

damian's body soaks up into yours, and he lets out a content breath through his nostrils. he doesn't respond verbally, but you can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, and your stomach drops in relief.

#aangelinakii #dc #dc comics #dc imagines #dc reactions #dc headcanons #dc universe #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne headcanon #damian wayne reactions #damian wayne x reader

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tinyshyteacup · 18 hours ago

Text

Tw: cussing, angst, choking, bruises

Part 2

Words of Command - Part 3

The lights in Stark Tower dim on a gentle cycle—cool and golden like a fading sunset. You rub your eyes as the hallway stretches quiet and long before you, socks sliding soft over polished floors.

It’s late.

And you're exhausted.

You offer a tired goodnight to Steve, who nods with a warm smile from the common room couch, book half-forgotten in his lap.

Behind you… Bucky follows.

Silently. Footsteps so soft for a man made of steel and shadows.

You glance back at him. “You don’t have to follow me now,” you murmur, voice laced with sleep.

He tilts his head.

“Protection” he says simply.

Not a question.

A statement.

You bite your lip and nod—too tired to argue, too soft-hearted to tell him no. Still, anxiety coils in your gut.

You grab your Stark Phone and speed-dial Tony.

He answers after three rings, voice groggy and annoyed. “If this is about him eating toothpaste, I swear to God—”

“Tony,” you whisper. “He’s following me. Into my room.”

Pause.

“...Okay, that’s less funny. Still not my problem. Give him a blanket or something.”

“I don’t think he knows what blankets are, let alone boundaries,” you say, glancing at the man shadowing your every move like a silent sentinel.

“Yeah, well—RoboCop's not getting his own room until you've got him fully housetrained—Congrats, Thumbelina. You’re now the proud owner of a six-foot trauma-soaked heat-seeking murder puppy. Mazel tov.”

You sigh.

He hangs up.

You push open your bedroom door and slip inside, flicking on the lamp with a soft click.

The light spills across the room in a warm wash—cream walls, soft bedding, a shelf of books you haven’t had time to finish. It’s a safe space. Your space.

The Soldier follows.

And pauses.

Like an animal entering unfamiliar territory.

You move to the dresser, trying not to act weird. “I’m just getting ready for bed. You can—um… you can sit? Over there?”

He stands by the door. Watching.

Every mirror, every shadow, every flicker of movement, he tracks it all. Head snapping slightly, expression unreadable.

And then JARVIS speaks.

“Good evening, Miss. Shall I dim the—”

CLANG.

You whip around just in time to see him move—smooth and deadly, like a switch flipped inside his skull.

Arm raised, metal hand snapping toward a wall panel like he’s going to actually rip JARVIS straight out of the drywall.

“Shit—No!” you squeak, rushing forward.

He throws a glance over his shoulder—tense, locked in—but the moment his eyes meet yours, the storm stalls. His breathing is shallow. Pupils blown wide. JARVIS had startled him.

“Room compromised,” he says, clipped.

You place a hand on his arm—his flesh arm—and slowly ease him back.

“That’s just JARVIS. He’s… he’s like a ghost that lives in the walls, okay?”

He blinks. “...Ghost?”

You smile nervously. “He won’t hurt anyone.”

Slowly… so slowly… he lowers his arm.

But his eyes never stop moving.

You set your clothes down for the morning and glance over to find him standing in the corner, half-shadowed, metal hand flexing subtly at his side. Not speaking. Not relaxing.

Just watching.

“Do you… do you want to sleep?” you offer gently. “I could make a spot—on the wee couch, or…”

He doesn’t answer. But when you climb into bed, turn off the lamp, and settle under your blanket, you hear the smallest creak of the floor.

He moves.

He sits in the corner.

Back against the wall.

Facing the door.

Soldier on guard.

Watching.

Protecting.

Sometime in the night, you wake to a strange stillness.

The room is dark, but you can feel his presence.

Eyes heavy with sleep, you lift your head and see him still there—knees drawn up, eyes open.

He hasn’t moved.

Not once.

You whisper, “You can rest, too, you know…”

He says nothing.

But for the first time, his head tilts.

The soft hum of Stark Tower fills the silence like a heartbeat in a hollow chest. The skyline glows faint behind your blackout curtains, and somewhere distant, JARVIS murmurs about internal diagnostics.

But inside your room, there’s stillness.

You’ve long since drifted off to sleep, curled beneath layers of blankets, your breathing steady and quiet.

Across the room, seated in the corner where he’s kept watch for hours, Bucky or 'Soldat' is also asleep.

Or… trying.

His back is pressed against the wall, legs drawn in tight, arms rigid across his lap. He hadn’t meant to sleep. Hadn’t wanted to.

A whimper broke the silence. Bucky's head thrashed from side to side, his long hair flicking across his face with the movement. His metal fingers twitched and clenched.

But the moment his eyes had closed, the nightmare came.

His breath hitches.

It starts in his chest like a tremor, then takes hold—harder, faster. Metal fingers twitch. His jaw tightens. In the dark, his eyes move behind closed lids.

Russian words tumbled from his lips as his movements grew more agitated. Sweat beaded on his forehead as whatever nightmare has him in its grip tightened its hold.

Restraints.

Cold.

Hands.

Falling.

Needles.

The chair.

Pain.

The voice.

Pain.

That voice.

Pain.

"missiya" mission.

He jerks upright with a sudden violent inhale, like he’s surfacing from deep underwater. For a heartbeat, he’s not in Stark Tower.

He’s not in your bedroom.

He’s back in Siberia.

You jolt awake instantly—some part of your brain registering the shift in energy before your eyes even open.

But it’s too late.

The weight of a body is over you, the cold wrap of vibranium fingers tight around your throat.

He’s straddled you before his eyes even fully focus, breath ragged and guttural like a wolf mid-attack. There’s no recognition in his face—just movement.

You can’t breathe.

Your hands claw instinctively at his wrist—not to hurt him, just to get air.

Your voice comes out as a whisper, a desperate plea.

“Soldat—!”

The grip loosens instantly.

His eyes go wide.

Recognition blooms like a bomb going off in his chest.

He scrambles backward, nearly falling off the bed as his breath hitches and catches.

You swear for a second he looks at you like he’s seen a ghost.

“Handler,” he breathes, voice hollow.

A beat.

Then—

"Awaiting instructions, doll."

Ok—that's new—what the fuc—

The endearment slipped out, seemingly without his awareness.

Wait.

His voice.

You freeze.

The accent—it’s... lessened.

Still there, still faint, but there’s a tremor of something else beneath it. Something almost American. Like muscle memory from a past self is bleeding back in.

You massaged your throat, watching him warily. "What did you just call me?" you managed, your voice raspy.

You look at him—he’s curled into himself now, pressed against the far edge of your bed like he wants to disappear into the wall.

“Cryostasis?” he mutters.

A tremor starting in his flesh hand.

You frowned, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Cryostasis? What's that?" you asked cautiously.

His eyes darted to your face, then away, as though even acknowledging the question might be a violation of protocol.

"Cold comes. Then nothing." His odd new accent stumbled over the clinical description.

You whisper, “It’s okay.”

His head shakes—once, hard. “No.”

“That is not going to happen,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer.

You reach for him—not fast, not aggressive. Just enough to brush your fingers against his sleeve. You’re shaking. So is he.

“I shouldn’t have woken you like that,” you whisper.

His eyes flash to yours.

“You shouldn’t come near me.”

He says it like a warning. Like he’s dangerous. A loaded weapon without a safety.

The morning light leaks into Stark Tower through sleek glass panels, catching dust motes in golden slants. The smell of coffee and toast drifts from the communal kitchen as the Avengers mill around in various states of half-awake bickering.

Tony is already three steps ahead, tapping away at a holographic interface while bemoaning someone using his milk.

You step inside, shoulders pulled in, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. Your neck is artfully concealed—layers of makeup, your hair tucked to one side, collar tugged high. You don’t want them to see.

Behind you, Bucky moves like a shadow—soundless but ever-present. His eyes never leave you. He doesn’t acknowledge the others.

“Jesus,” Clint mutters under his breath, low enough that only Natasha hears. “He’s still glued to her.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her eyes are locked on Bucky. Calculating.

Steve is seated at the far end of the room, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other—but when you walk in, his eyes lift over the rim of the mug. They soften. Then narrow.

Then shift to the Soldier.

Something is off.

Tony glances up from his projections.

“Morning, Thumbelina,” he greets, in that usual teasing voice he uses when pretending not to care too much. Then his gaze flicks to you again—and he stills.

You’re not quite fast enough with your coffee mug.

His eyes catch the edge of discoloration peeking beneath your concealer—faint, but unmistakable. A handprint, forming from throat to jaw. Not quite healed. Not quite hidden.

His expression drops.

“What the hell is that?”

You freeze mid-sip.

The room goes quiet.

Tony’s voice cuts the air like a blade. “That better not be what I think it is.”

Your throat closes. “Tony—”

“I knew it. I knew the 'silent Soviet scarecrow' routine was just a breath away from having a full-on Hulk-themed episode!”

Bucky reacts instantly.

The tension in his shoulders coils tight like a sprung trap. His jaw clenches, head snapping toward Stark like a weapon finding a target.

One step forward—fast. Direct.

“Back down.”

His voice is low, cold. His accent is faded but not gone—words flatter, more clipped. American ghosts clinging to Russian steel.

Steve’s head tilts.

Tony lifts his hands, mockingly. “Oh, look at that! RoboRambo speaks. Did they teach you that in murder school or is that the accent of a guy trying to remember who he used to be?”

Bucky’s fist tightens. Metal groaning.

Your hand shoots out, placing it on his chest.

“Doll,” he says instantly, like the word grounds him.

"Stand Down ... Please"

He nods.

But his attention doesn’t leave you.

Not for one second.

Steve stands slowly. Not threatening. Just observing.

“You hear that?” he says quietly to the room, gaze on Stark but words aimed at Bucky. “His voice. It’s… changing.”

“Changing into what?” Tony mutters, pacing slightly now. “The warm tones of someone who nearly crushed her windpipe in her sleep?”

Bucky flinches. It’s subtle—but it’s there.

“Tony, please,” you whisper. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Oh, no, I forgot—brainwashing, programming, whatever. But forgive me if I don’t want my employees being used as a therapy animal for the man who can snap necks like breadsticks!”

Bucky stares blankly.

None of the names or faces mean anything to him.

But the tension rising in you—that registers.

He steps protectively between you and Tony.

“Neutralize the threat,” he says coldly.

“No, no—” Your hands are shaking. “Don’t do that. There’s no threat. Tony’s just… being Tony.”

“Irritating?” Clint offers, trying to diffuse the moment. “Yeah, he’s great at that.”

Steve crosses the room slowly.

“Bucky,” he tries.

The Soldier’s gaze doesn’t flicker. His expression doesn’t change.

There’s no flicker of recognition in those eyes. Only patience. Obedience. A mind made of shattered glass slowly piecing itself back together.

You guide him gently to the table. He lets you. When you move, he follows. When you speak, he listens.

But when others speak?

He blinks. No comprehension.

“Why doesn’t he know us?” Natasha asks softly. Her words are for Steve.

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. “But the accent fading… that’s gotta be memory. It means someone’s still in there.”

Tony crosses his arms, looking you dead in the eye. “You need to be honest with us. If you’re in danger—”

“I’m not.”

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” you say. Your voice is small. “And he stopped the second he realized.”

“And then went right back to calling you ‘Handler,’” Tony snaps.

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pathofcomets · 2 days ago

Text

i just want to hold the flame

fandom: love and deepspace pairing: sylus/you (2nd POV) summary: you get hurt. sylus thinks it's his fault. (3.3k words, rated E.)

He surely can’t make the shot, you think. Not when this close, not before the gun held to your head unloads. He may be Sylus, but he’s not a god.

You try to meet his eyes, not even listening to the attempts at negotiating. You know better, there’s nothing left for the future but a blood bath, and you wonder how the criminals around you can’t tell from Sylus’s stance alone. Hand secure, not even a tremble in his fingers, even as they’re threatening the supposed one person he holds most treasured.

You knew days into knowing him that this moment would come, when your happiness will be used as a weakness, when his enemies will try to reach him through you. You were ready, and yet - so easily overpowered, when jumped in the dark by one too many.

There’s thousands of eyes in the N109 Zone, most belonging to their leader. You knew all you had to do was last long enough for him to arrive. You didn’t know that won’t be enough for Sylus himself.

He surely can’t make the shot, you think.

So when voices grow around you, Sylus’s eyes meet yours for just a fraction. You try to tell him everything in that just one, small moment. That it’s not his fault. That given the choice, you’d do nothing different. That you love him.

The sound is deafening, and yet something in you must trust him more than you even realised, because you didn’t even flinch. When the grip around your throat loosens, you throw away the arm around your body, the weight easily falling to the ground. You’re gasping, chest heaving as if you’ve just run a marathon, looking down at the man Sylus just killed for you.

And then you kick into the soft belly of his stomach, just to make sure. Then once more, though the shot was a perfect bullseye on his forehead, so there’s no way he’s still alive. Once again, harder than before, putting your entire strength in the movement, without realising that you’re sobbing, fat tears lining your face.

Sylus watches, too terrified to touch you, too terrified not to.

His hand is tentative, barely even there, but you fall onto him like you’ve known him throughout entire lives.

***

He can hear the broken sobs leaving your lips as the hot shower hits beaten and cut skin and he wants to kill himself, for failing so utterly at protecting you. He won’t voice it, knowing you kind enough to disagree. But Sylus can’t pass the mirror in the hallway without throwing a punch in it, only his shortcomings staring back. He can’t take it, not when you’re crying in the shower, just a thin wall separating you, and even so he hopes you can’t hear the house, and him, falling apart.

It hurts, but only because you are alive. You’re upset, because you weren’t good enough, because Sylus has to be the one to carry that moment, and what it means, on his own. You’re angry, that anyone would dare make him that choice, that anyone would decide to use his heart as a weapon instead.

It hurts, on his behalf. It hurts anew when, fresh out of the shower, wearing just your underwear and a sports bra, the sight that welcomes you is Sylus putting together a med station next to the couch. How he tries to repair what he never broke, starting from your heart to these wounds just now. How much you can love him for it.

“Come here,” he says, but he does not touch you, instead taking an inventory of your cuts and scrapes.

You’ve had worse. You’ve had him patch up worse, but those were always wounds of your own making, where he could chide you for recklessness and hero complex while softly tending to you. This, you know, he won’t be able to blame on anyone else but himself. What a soft, big-hearted idiot.

He helps you in silence, and you bite your lips each time the alcohol stings against a particularly ugly gash, not wanting this to be another reminder for him. His touch is so gentle, and when every little wound is disinfected and covered in gauze, it’s not even that bad.

You look at Sylus’s knuckles, those bruised and bleeding as well, and you let him catch you. Knowledge out in the open, because you want to do something about it, not let the guilt fester like rot between you.

You stand up, turning around to smile at him. There’s a mild confusion growing on his face, which turns into hurt as you settle into his lap.

“No,” he says, decisive, moving to already push you away.

“Hands off,” you reply, these your first words since arriving, and said in such a tone that he can’t help but listen to you, body listening before the brain has time to catch up. “And keep them like that.”

You search his eyes, finding no resistance, nodding and waiting until he nods back, knowing that he understands you’ll stop whenever he wants to. Knowing that he needs this more than you need rest. And for once, instead of Sylus making all the decisions, having to think of others first, you’re freeing him of that pressure. You’re in charge now, and him the only one who needs to be the focus: of love, of care, of pleasure.

You start a trail of kisses, starting from his cheek, the slightly there stubble coarse against your lips. Moving across his neck, stopping to lick and bite until he swallows a groan, feeling him grow under you. Hands making quick work of his shirt, settling on teasing at his nipples until his hips jump at a particularly harsh tug.

You slap him across the face.

He pants, turning to meet your eyes.

“Just take it, my sweet boy,” you coo, palm now soothing the reddening skin.

He looks so pretty. There’s a fire in his eyes, the knowledge that he doesn’t deserve this the easy way, and you grin as you unbuckle his belt. Sometimes love needs to be beaten into you. Sometimes, love needs to be beaten into him.

You find him hard, as you free his cock from the confines of his underwear, trousers just tugged out of the way. You press your thumb, hard, against the tip.

“So hard already?” you hum, rubbing circles into his tip as he bites his lip, body shivering as he’s fighting the impulse to move, chase your touch, reach for more. “Want to cum?”

He shakes his head, fiercely.

“No,” he says, and he looks at you like a man forced to walk towards his execution, as you press his cock down, shifting forward so you can sit yourself on top of it. Fuck, he can feel how wet you are, through your underwear. “I don’t deserve to.”

You tut, grinding your hips. He closes his eyes, and you follow suit, lost in the feel, the hardness of him as you move your cunt across his cock, until his tip touches your clit. You moan, fingers digging into his scalp, rubbing yourself onto his tip, pressing your clit harder against his bulge. If he needs to feel like he deserves this, then you’ll give it to him.

Without caring about his comfort at all, you start moving. Back and forth, seeking more of that touch against your clit, and you force yourself to take in all his little gasps and hisses, the twitch of his fingers next to your calves, hands hung in the air, as he remembers at the last moment that he’s not supposed to touch you.

It makes you feel heedy, drunk with the wonder of having the most wonderful man you know falling apart under you, reduced to nothing but your fuck toy. You moan, hips slipping, the tip of his cock teasing at your entrance through the underwear, pushing at the soaked material. You heave, ass pushing further down, reaching for more, and Sylus swears as he feels your pussy stretching, just the tiny bit to allow for the intrusion.

He turns his head, going after your mouth like a thirsty man after water in a desert. You press against his lips with a force that tells of your frustration, as your hips move quicker and quicker. You swallow his moan as you press into him, harder than you’ve done, feeling his dick twitch between your legs. He seeks your tongue with his, and you let him, his tongue fucking into your mouth as you ride his hard cock through your underwear, the orgasm building and building, until you come, body stiffening over him, shivers down your back. He bites down onto your lower hip, so hard you can feel the metallic taste of blood on your tongue, and when you shove at his shoulder, pushing him apart, there’s a string of saliva connecting your mouths as he grins up at you.

Your hair is stuck to your forehead with sweat, and you lick your lips. You bring a hand up, grasping his chin in a hold you purposefully try not to make tender.

“What are you being such a brat for?” you demand, tone firm but lazy with your orgasm. “Getting bored?”

He shakes his head, a bit too desperate to please, and you smile, humming.

“Then? Use that pretty mouth of yours to tell me what you want,” you say, pleasant and ready to give, even in this position, just because you do love him so damn much.

“Please,” he huffs, tip leaking with precum, chest heaving with the strain, heart hurting with how badly he wants to touch you, how grateful he is to you for not allowing him to. “At least the tip. Please, let me put it in.”

You chuckle, hand lifting to grip into his hair. You tug, forcing him to meet your eyes. He’s lost, searching for something you gave him from the beginning, you’re just helping him realise it right now. He’s seeking forgiveness, bodies ready to talk before brains, and if that’s what Sylus needs, then that’s what Sylus gets.

Your other hand grabs one of his, slowly guiding it between your legs. He’s careful, afraid this is just a trap, giving just to take away, but when you tug your underwear to the side, and gesture for him to hold it in place, he knows you have much worse in mind: giving him anything he asks for.

You shift, just the tiniest bit, using your recently empty hand to grap at his cock, give it a few strokes that have his eyes roll to the back of his head. Then, you guide him between your folds. Few taps first, letting him feel how wet you truly are, your pussy puffy and swollen with need, before slowly guiding him inside you.

Just the tip, and you roll your hips above him, the tug combined with the squeeze of your cunt already almost too much. Your hand moves, just a tiny bit, to grasp at the base of his dick, hard.

His body shudders, a loud exhale on his lips as the sharp pain brings a level of clarity. You’re not even taking anything more but an inch of him, there’s so much else you can claim before you’re even close to satisfied, and despite the pathetic whimper building in his throat as you lift off him, just to have him enter you again, just the tantalising feel of his tip inside you, as he’s fucking asked, you ignore him.

He moans, your hips picking up pace as you’re fucking onto him in earnest. His veins are straining at his neck, as he’s trying not to meet your rhythm with movement of his own, sweat gathering at his forehead as he feels your thighs trembling around him.

You’re taking him so easily, so wet and warm that he just slides right in and out of you, and he knows you’d be ready to take him all the way in, refusing simply because he is withholding it to himself. You squeeze tighter when his tip brushes against your clit, directing his cock to rub against you, your juices already acting as all the lubrication you need. The friction builds another orgasm within you, which crashes into you like a wave when Sylus bites into your shoulder.

You cannot even savour it, because it’s immediately followed by the sound of your underwear ripping, Sylus’s tug a bit too forceful.

You chuckle, darkly, under your breath. He lifts his head, an apology on his lip, though he does not get to say it before you slap him again, on his opposite cheek. He can feel your cunt trembling right against his cock, and he is leaking with precum, red and hot.

“You absolute beast,” you sigh, with amused disappointment. “Want to just rut into me, consequences be damned? Can’t even last long enough for me to have two fucking orgasms?”

He moans, as you tap your palm against his cheek, accentuating each one of your words, trying to find your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blabbers, as he pulls at your tattered underwear, lets his palm rest, heavy, on your hip.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” as he lifts his hip, enough to nestle his cock inside you.

He goes all in in one smooth movement, and you moan, body arching at the fullness of it, chest pressed against his.

“At least fuck me like you mean it, darling,” you say against his lips, and you go in for a kiss, just to bite your teeth down onto his lip, a matching mark to the one he offered you.

His hand grabs onto your shoulder, shoving you down onto his dick as he snaps his hips up, in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud, mixed with your panting, hot breathes.

“Yes,” you hiss, nails digging harder into his shoulder, and Sylus’s hips stutter, feeling your cunt tightening around him. “You’re stretching me so well, Sylus. Who else can make me feel this good?” you ask, a hint of danger in your tone, as his hand shifts, fingers tightening, just slightly, around your neck.

His other hand slides between your bodies, nestling next to his cock at your entrance. It’s a stretch that has you in a silent moan, mouth open wide, as he teases one finger inside you too. You’re going dumb with how feel it fucking feels, accompanied by a delicious burn that turns into stupid pleasure as he bends it inside you, pressing against your walls. You gasp when he pulls it out, trembling all over when he presses the now wet, coated finger against your clit with a fierce pressure, hips resuming their rhythm as he fucks into you, your body bouncing on his cock as you’re trying to keep up, despite your muscles screaming at you.

“No one,” you whisper the answer, with the tilt of a smile in your voice, and Sylus knows this is it, his penance finally done. He snaps into action.

You’re rolled onto your back on the couch in one smooth move, his cock still nestled inside you, a moan escaping you, happily, as he settles to the hilt in a new position, where you can feel him even deeper. You can feel the full blast of his gaze upon you, too many emotions to name swimming in his eyes.

You squeeze your pussy around him, and they’re all overtaken by the basest one: lust.

He keeps the pressure of his palm upon your chest, fingers like ghost against your throat as he fucks into you. You smile, useless and happy to be so, used for him to spill your frustration into you.

“Won’t,” he puffs, his other hand so tight around your thigh, pushing you open, wider still,“last much longer.”

He groans, stilling inside you, trying to reclaim some form of control. He tries not to look at you, unable to hold himself back though, saliva pooling at one corner of your mouth as your cunt continues to coat his dick in your cum.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, resuming his fucking at a much gentler, maddening pace, having you whine under him.

“Inside, please,” you say, eyes turned desperate, maybe some comfort that you need as well after tonight’s encounter, this the truest way to mark you still as his. His palm hovers across your body, settling at your navel where his cock is nestled inside you, and he chuckles.

He rolls his hips, and you close your eyes at the sensation. He won’t let you go this easily. He wants one more orgasm out of you. His body leans over yours, mouth meeting one of your puckered nipples. He licks, sucks - and upon one harsh snap of his hip, bites. You moan, back arching, pushing your boob against his mouth as he continues his ministrations. The other hand he moves to press fast, harsh circles against your clit, and you come pathetically quick.

He fucks you through your orgasm, your vision gone black at the edges as you go limp beneath him. He has to hold onto your hips to continue fucking into you, but he’s not far behind you, not with how you’re squeezing around him, pulsing tightness.

You can feel his cum filling you up, and your fingers blindly grab at his behind, squeezing his ass, demanding it all, moaning all over at the feel of it.

He falls onto his elbows, his body engulfing yours, breathing harshly, and you turn to press a kiss against his temple.

“It was not your fault,” you whisper, accompanied by another kiss, Sylus’s entire body shivering at the words. “You’re the one who saved me.”

He pulls away from you, from inside you with less gentleness than normal. You sigh at the loss, feeling his cum dripping down your thighs, making a mess under you. He sits next to you, still trying to catch his breath as he pushes his hair away from his face, eyes closed.

He says nothing, though he can tell from the press of your feet on the floor that the conversation isn’t over.

Your touch is tender, the warm water rag against his dick, wiping your combined juices from his crotch. He hisses, giving no other reaction. He does stop you before you go away, catching your arm.

He refuses to meet your eye, though his body turns, just a tiny bit towards you - a small win, but still a win.

“I shouldn’t have had to save you.”

You let the rag drop on the floor, turning to settle your bottom on one of Sylus’s knees, his arms coming up to embrace you, your hands cupping his reddened cheeks.

“Listen to me,” you say, tone harsh, refusing to give way in your hold until he meets your eyes. “I’d be in danger regardless.”

You let the words land, you allow him the time to comprehend all that you mean by them: from the beginning, you’d have ended up dead ten thousand times without him. It comes with the job description, with the personality type, with why he loves you. And under all that, the simplest truth you know: the only reason why you’re still here is Sylus.

You see him understand, comprehend. That you mean it entirely, that just because that is the case, doesn’t mean you see him as less for not getting to you earlier today, that you don’t expect him to be unfailable.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” you land on, softer, and Sylus’s expression breaks all over again.

His hand come up to cup yours, a tender but possessive touch.

You’ll rest tonight. But tomorrow, tomorrow he’ll burn them all to the ground, leaving your picture as a visiting card.

#love and deepspace #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus fanfic #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus fanfiction #sylus #sylus x mc #l&ds sylus #恋与深空 #lads fic #qin che #sylus love and deepspace #you can take switch bratty sub sylus away from my dead cold hands thank you very much #he is very real bc he lives in my brain rent free thankew

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