#i KNOW how easy it would be to make him cry

[abyssyby]

off guard on duty

— the big twins watch the little twins for a day and long for what they think they'll never have.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: my babies my angels my loves ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ sylus is just a dad of 4. here's a silly little fic about the big twins watching the little twins. they have a great time. let me know what you think of this one lol, it was super fun to make! enjoy! ❀-urs important heads up for context of this story: kyros and lucian are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. around 3 years old at this time.

kieran, luke, lucian and kyros highlight!! | sylus x reader | fluff, angst, softbabysitter!twins, mom!reader, sufferingdad!sylus, bigtwins are also sylus's sons change my mind?? tw: separation anxiety/tantrums, past abuse mentioned (pls let me know if I missed any!)

Don’t drop them.

Don’t lose them.

Dinner is at six.

Easy enough. They’ve gone through more difficult missions before. Covert ones, requiring meticulous planning and great improvisation. 

Kieran prides himself in being able to execute seventeen different kinds of strategies to take down a group of thirty men within 5 minutes. Luke can persuade anyone into doing anything, and eliminate them— without a trace—if they don’t comply. Exceptional mercenaries. Isolated ghosts. Nothing is impossible.

Perfectly capable babysitters, if you ask them. 

How they made the silent twin wail like a siren and the rambunctious one sit still was beyond them.

“Papa!” Kyros screams, blotchy red cheeks puffed and damp bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. He presses himself against the heavy main door, as if forcing himself to walk through, stretching his little limbs and straining his ankles to reach the knob. “Papa! Papa!” 

“Keero mad.” Lucian blinks, staring at his brother across the room, snuggled against his mama’s blanket. Your scent envelops him, helps him stay calm in your absence. You had left for your mission earlier that day, and Lucian has since finished his little tantrum, as evidenced by his own salt-crusted cheeks.

Luke and Kieran are a mess, to put it mildly. 

“It’s okay, little boss,” Luke tries to say, pulling the toddler away from the door where Sylus had just left from. Kyros gurgles a desperate sound as he weighs himself down to the floor in protest. “Big boss will be back.” 

“Papa!” Kyros cries, calming words falling on deaf ears.

“I don’t think he knows who ‘big boss’ is.” Kieran, equally panicked but hiding his racing heart behind calm breathing, offers. “Little boss, papa will be back.”

Kyros seems to scream louder at that, stomping his little feet and running off to the crevice by the door. He squeezes himself against the corner and sobs. Fat droplets of tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. Heartbreakingly resembling an abandoned hamster.

Kieran’s arms fall to his sides—how? How is this little one such an angel during play time and…? Have they done something to upset him? Does he not really like them? Is this how he finds out that a child can have preferences and can choose not to prefer them? 

Before Kieran can spiral deeper in self-pity and throw Luke off with the swelling emotion in his chest, in their periphery, they see movement from the couch. Lucian, wrapped in his mother’s blanket, waddles over to his brother and gives him a little hug. “Squeezy-squeeze, Keero. No cry.”

Luke blinks at the sight. The realization comes to him in the form of a distant sensation— freezing cold cells, the deafening bang of a metal door and him, anguished and ashamed, crowding Kieran close to the corner of their room where they held one another—high on sedatives— after they had just torn each other apart to survive another day. 

With that, he moves slowly, approaching the little twins with caution and then opens his arms. “Kyros?” 

Lucian makes way, and at the sight, Kyros scrambles over to Luke and buries his hiccups in his chest. He engulfs him in a hug, mindful of the pressure he applies with his arms and how that would translate to a little body like Kyros’s. Pressure, deep, deep pressure tethers him back to them. 

Kyros deflates, nuzzling his wet little face into the fabric of Luke’s turtleneck. He can’t be bothered by the snot, relieved that the boy has begun to stop crying. 

“Papa will be back.” Luke says quietly, making sure to press his lips into the baby’s head so he can feel the sound. Something he’d observed you and Sylus would do to him. “Kieran and I are here.” 

He exhales when he realizes Kyros doesn’t struggle. That he is allowed to comfort him like his parents do. 

“Be back now.” Kyros murmurs, genuinely thinking big, strong Luke and Kieran can do something about it. 

“Later.” Luke assures him. “Just out on a mission.” 

“No, ‘ishun.” he shakes his head, eyes glassy and pleading. “No, pease?” 

“Sorry, buddy, Papa’s work is important.”

“Maybe we can do something else? Like… hide & go boom?” Kieran offers, mirroring the quiet voice and lifting Lucian up into his arms as well. An effort to put them all on equal footing. 

Lucian nods. “Yes.” 

Kyros shakes his head. “Don’wanna.” 

“Okay, that’s fine.” Luke nods, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “How ‘bout the hammock?” 

Kyros shakes his head again, much to their disappointment. 

Kieran racks his brain for ideas. Were it not for the devastation on the little boy’s face, he would have found it funny that he gets to see how Sylus would cry, if he were a small toddler. Lucian and Kyros look so much like Sylus, they might as well be triplets. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees the coat closet open, and an idea is born. “Hey… wanna see papa?” 

���𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Get out.” Kieran rasps, pushing his voice deep into his chest. He stands in an imposing pose, chin jutted out to accentuate his jaw and squinting his eyes to be half-lidded and bored. 

On his shoulders was Sylus’s brown leather coat, on his feet were Sylus’s large shoes and on his head… was Lucian. Serving as a giggly white wig on his hair.

“Give us the brooch!” Luke demands, Kyros in a baby carrier strapped tightly to his chest. He wore your hunter gloves on his thumb and forefinger, far too small, and Kyros held an empty water gun. 

“I hid it, go find it.” rasps Keiran again. Poorly hiding the cough that rips through his chest. 

“Where, papa?” Kyros giggles as he’s swung around. Luke makes exaggerated movements of disbelief. 

“Here.” cough. “There.” cough, cough. He rubs his throat and swallows drily, brows knitting together as he breathes out with great difficulty, “Somewhere.” 

Lucian— a sentient wig, apparently— points to the playroom. Kyros nods in understanding.

“Fine’da boots!” Kyros wriggles, willing Luke to march forward. Luke hobbles into the playroom and puts Kyros down, who dives into his toy box. Kieran follows with Lucian.

“Keero, no there!” Lucian says, scrambling off of Kieran’s shoulders, hitting him in the eye— both big twins wince— and sliding down his leg. 

“Don’t tell him, Cian, we’re team papa.” Kieran chuckles, rubbing his eye as he sinks onto the floor to watch the little twins. Something swells in his chest as he watches the two executing his little mission— an affirmation that he’s done something worth their time.

Luke pauses from searching for a clue. He asks, because it matters to the story, “Wait. Does that mean we’re team mama?” 

“Boots?” Kyros asks, holding up a toy fork. 

Lucian swats it away, “No!” 

Kyros continues his search, asking everyone if whatever he was interacting with was a brooch. 

“Boots?” He asks, bouncing on the trampoline. 

“Boots?” As he slides down the playset.

“Boots?” As he carefully stacks the colored rings into a wobbly tower. 

 Boots? Boots? Boots?

“I don’t think he remembers what the brooch looks like.” Luke finally says, after minutes of watching Kyros turn the place upside down. 

Lucian has since joined, and the moment he pulls out the plastic bathtime boat and presents it to them with a hopeful, “Dis boats?”— Kieran is sure he has forgotten now too. 

“No… uh…” Kieran thinks, lips quirking to the side. He tries to explain what the small, metal pin looks like to the toddlers again. They stare at him with wide, clueless eyes, feigning comprehension. “It’s black and has a bird— a small black bird in the middle,” he says, motioning towards Luke who points at the drawer it was in.

Lucian nods first. “Ohh…” 

Kyros hops up with a newfound fervor. “Bird! Ya, bird!” 

“Yes! Bird! Do you remember n— HEY!” 

In a flash, Kyros has tugged his brother out the door and the pair sprint down the halls. Kieran scrambles to stand, feeling his knees pop at the quick motion while Luke slips and tumbles on the rug trying to get to the door. He blinks back the black and white dots from his vision as he runs.

“Wait, wait!” Kieran begs, listening to the echoes of laughter down the halls to follow. Luke is already swiping through the security camera feed to locate them.

The boss is going to kill them. You’re going to kill them dead. 

The giggles resonate throughout the halls until they are confusing. Kieran swears he hears Lucian down the left and Kyros down the right, but Luke just saw them together on Camera 8. 

“They’re—they’re teleporting!” 

“Do they have evol? I’ve never seen them—did you hear that?!”

“Part boss? Did you spot wings?!” 

“Quiet! Let’s…” 

They stop. An argument between them brews just in the horizon when the silence swallows them whole. 

“Where are they?” Kieran glances at Luke’s phone. His jaw sets. Swipe after swipe through the camera feeds, they finds no trace of them. Luke’s hand begins to shake.

Kieran’s comments don’t help. “… I don’t like that.” Camera 13— empty. “No, no, I hate that.” 

Luke shakes his head as helplessness consumes him. “They’re invisible.” 

“Stop it.” 

Chills trickle down Luke’s spine as he hears faint laughter echo down the halls that he fails to localize. “Were they even real?” 

Kieran shoves his brother. “Listen to yourself!”  

Don’t lose them. 

Before their hysteria escalates— praise be— they hear a very distressed squawking. With a look, they take off left. Boss’s office. 

There they find Lucian balanced on his father’s chair— round belly dented over the head rest, stretching to reach the charging perch, little hands grabbing the mechanical bird by the neck. Kyros stares up, holding the other boy’s legs as to not let him fall. 

“Kee-wan, bird!” Lucian says proudly, wiggling in his already precarious state. Kieran feels his life force in his throat as he rushes to get him down from the chair. Palms cold and clammy, fingers trembling and struggling to get a grip.

Don’t drop them.

“Boots!” Kyros proclaims in a shout. It still surprises them how loud Kyros can actually be. “Pisto boots!” 

“Mephisto was not the br—“ Kieran’s mouth is slapped shut as Luke cuts him off with cheers.

“Little bosses found the brooch!” Because he can’t have them running off to find any other thing they think is the brooch again. He can’t do it. His head is still spinning from his wipe out. He curses under his breath, silently checking— just in case— for little wings. 

The little boys scream in delight. Kieran softens at the sight, silently grateful his brother cut him off. Who would want to miss this? 

He pries Lucian’s fingers off of Mephisto gently and places the bird back on the perch. “Nice job, kids.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Dinner comes at six o’clock. Sylus had put his boys into a routine so well maintained that the sound of the clock striking six wasn’t a bell, but his son’s growling stomachs.

“Papa made you squash.” Luke says, taking it out the fridge and heating it. Meanwhile, Kieran buckles them in their ridiculously luxurious high-chairs. “And fish…” 

Luke pauses at the note written on top of the bigger container of meat and potatoes. Reads: Big Twins in handwriting they’ve only seen on under-the-table-offers, bidding slips and ledgers. He tries not to let it get to him, takes it out and heats it as well.

“Papa home?” Kyros asks, although this time with more curiosity than despair.

“Not yet.” Kieran tells him, giving his shoulders a grounding squeeze.

It doesn’t escape them how they’ve been calling Sylus “papa” all day too. How it came so easily when the adjustment was needed. Somehow they can’t seem to stop. 

Luke serves dinner. Two ceramic plates and two silicone-suction-cupped bowls. 

Lucian’s nose knocks into a palm as his path to his food is blocked. Kieran chides, “It’s hot.”

Lucian blinks at Kieran, who is still wearing Sylus’s coat and shoes, and tilts his head in amusement. Something connects in his head and he giggles. “Like papa.” 

Kieran’s face flushes, and Luke howls in laughter as he takes that in too. He hurls the silicone spoon at his brother like a javelin, and through his laughter, Luke catches it with ease. Straight to the sink it went and a new spoon is handed to Lucian. 

An unspoken truth passes between the big twins, a dawning that settles in them like warm milk on a sleepless night, as they feed their corresponding little twin. 

This is their life now— not just running errands, killing, and negotiating for Sylus, no matter how much they enjoyed that. How that put them into use. How that gave them purpose. A reason to exist in this world that hated them enough to maim them, and strip them of who they were only to throw them away. Because even then, they were still worth nothing. 

Now, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, eating the food Sylus had prepared them, feeding their charges. They see, they hope: this—this is who they are. Not machines, not weapons—boys, brothers, parts of this family. No matter how fleeting it may all be. 

They doubt it, but they feel it. In the way you check up on them when they come back from a mission, in Sylus’s silent but kind regard, in the little twins’ comfort and acceptance. Despite their shortcomings, their differences, they have found a place here. And maybe one day, the masks will come off and they will be nothing, thrown away once more— but what a wonder to have had this all the same.

“Kee-wan, Wook,” Lucian tells Kyros, pointing a chubby little finger at the wrong twin as he says it. Pulling the two out of their spiraling thoughts, different but grounded in the same soil. 

Kyros shakes his head calmly, chewing on the soft squash Luke fed him. He points correctly, “Wook. Keewi.” 

Seeking confirmation, Kieran gives Kyros a thumbs up. The little boy grins a proud orange smile, squash and all. Meanwhile, Luke teaches Lucian the differences— “Kieran’s head is this weird sha—ow!”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You’re still snickering at the video footage Mephisto sent you of Sylus lingering on the front door from earlier. Head devastatingly pressed to the wood, a white fist around the handle as his son screamed for him to come back on the other side. 

“It was terrible,” he tells you. His hand hovers on your lower back as you both ascend the pathway to the base. 

You offer him a sympathetic smile and squeeze his shoulder. “I know.” 

“We’re back!” You announce as the door is pushed open. Sylus slips in behind you.

It takes a moment for the footsteps to emerge, but they do. They always do. Only it wasn’t just the two light-footed ones’ you usually hear. Accompanying them was the sound of loud, bounding leather boots. 

“Mama!” Lucian screeches, little legs pumping to get to you. Leading the charge. Behind him, his brother— face scrunched in solemn determination, trying to catch up. Eyes zeroed in on his papa. And behind them…

“Stop! Ow, Mephisto! Kieran, get him!”

“I’m trying— He’s— OW!” 

The mechanical bird nosedives towards the two larger twins who struggle to catch their wards and fight off the bird at the same time. You giggle at the sight, and you hear Sylus chuckle the faintest bit too. 

Both on your knees, you each catch a twin, showering them with affection. Leaving the base for work has been harder than ever since these two gained the curse of existential dread and skill of object permanence. 

“Papa home!” you turn at your Kyros’s voice, who pats his father’s hollow cheeks softly. Meant as a happy report rather than a guilt-tripping accusation. Still, it prickles Sylus’s nose red as he tries to swallow the emotion that rises with the memory of his son’s cries. 

He presses his nose into his angel’s silver hair and breathes him in. “Brave boy.” 

“Mama!” Lucian says, both hands on your cheeks, turning your gaze towards the fumbling big twins. He points, correctly this time to each. “Kee-wan. Wook.”

You squint, taking note of the differences despite their movement and then beam. “You’re right!”

He giggles like a pebble skipped over a frozen lake when you pepper his face with kisses. 

“Mephisto.” At Sylus’s command, the bird ceases. It flutters to a nearby shelf and tilts its head as if nothing happened. 

“Were Kieran and Luke good babysitters?” Sylus asks. Even if he knows, Mephisto having sent automatic updates on his twins’ mishaps.

The little twins nod happily in response, then came the litany of warbles meant to be a retelling of their day. Two baby birds with their mouths wide open trying to string together something coherent. 

You and Sylus catch ‘keewi papa’, ‘boots’, ’boats’ and ‘pisto mad’. Understanding was half the battle when both your boys told stories with such vigor. You struggled to keep them in your arms as they ‘swoosh’ed and ‘fwish’ed, reenacting as if they could project their imaginations to the wall for mama and papa to see. 

Sylus turns to the big twins who listened proudly. Given they had context, they seemed to understand more than the parents did. He raises a brow, squinting slightly at Kieran to make sure, then asks, “Are those my clothes?” 

Kieran jumps, tongue in his throat. “I—“ 

“Looks good on you.” Sylus says so casually it was unbelievable. Lucian nods in agreement, “Like papa!” 

“Wook squeezies.” Kyros mentions as well, pointing at Luke, who had calmed him earlier. He nods in approval, swinging his feet. “Like Wook squeezies.” 

“Looks like you guys did really good,” you commend, walking over to the big twins. You brush a feather out of Luke’s hair, eyes sharp as you secretly check for scratches from their earlier bird-attack. Luke flinches at the contact, and you point at his forehead knowingly. “Ice.”

He hesitates, then gives a bashful smile. Rug. Right. “Oh, that’s… psh.” 

You promise to get him some. And before you forget, you add, “Thanks, guys.” 

“Faithful minions—“ 

“—at your service.” 

The tired grins on their faces make your heart clench. That… doesn’t feel right. The silence that follows is hollow as the weight of their own words settle into the space between them. Is it possible for them to believe that’s all they are? Help? Followers only good for their hands to take orders? The mere thought settles like bile on your tongue. 

You shake your head at the ridiculous notion and prop Lucian up on your hip. “Tell your brothers goodnight, Cian.” 

Lucian extends his arms and Luke plucks him from your hold. Easy and familiar, Lucian presses his forehead on each one’s like a lion cub. “Na-nite.” He whispers.

And just like that, they feel the warmth that radiates off of the little one so overwhelmingly. Just as they do pain, they feel this too— this thing that neither of them have the words for yet. But it is heavy as it is true. Lucian��s hands touching their faces, the gentle repose of your eyes work wonders to cast away old, haunting thoughts of being lesser than or temporary. 

Kieran holds him a little longer. Luke stares. For once, they have no strategy, no words, no logic or skill to make sense of the feeling. Standing there, in silence, they choke on something so difficult to swallow.

You make a mental note to treat them to something fun soon. Hang out with them like you did before the little twins came along. Maybe Luke would appreciate an opportunity to redeem himself in laser tag, or Kieran would like to play a video game again. You’ll make the time.

They freeze when you press a chaste kiss to each of their cheeks, then pass Lucian back into your arms. Without another word, you turn towards the kitchen to hunt for something frozen and something to eat. Nodding along and offering “ah-huh”s and “then what?”s as Lucian’s weaves a colorful, jargon-laced story. 

Sylus follows after you, Kyros already snuggled to his chest with half-lidded eyes and fingers clutching his shirt. He pauses, just as he walks past the twins. A heavy air hangs between them, but it isn’t suffocating. Not tense, or harrowing. Come to think of it, they haven’t felt that in ages. Not since Sylus. 

The air was just… firm. Stable and calm. 

“Thank you,” he says to them, holding their gaze with a reverence that they’ve never noticed before—one they had only ever mistaken for dismissal. But now, really looking, they see it. What Sylus truly feels for them— proven in the trust he had placed in them. Gratitude in the way they cared for his kin, just as he once cared for them; taking them in despite their troubled beginnings.

Pride, in its full glory. 

He is proud of them. 

And as if Sylus sees the gears turn and lock into place in their heads, as if he has been welcomed into their twin loop at last, he smiles—careful and sincere. “Get some rest.” 

Kyros waves a sleepy little hand at them as they go.

Alone, Luke and Keiran turn. Faces reflecting each other. Once never needing a mirror, now taking in the flustered, upside-down smiles pulling at the corners of their lips. They shake their heads at the impossibility of it all. And yet. 

A home, a family. Despite their past, their sins and their scars— 

They are enough. 

Finally, they belong. 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more little twins ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading! 。゜゜(´ｏ`) ゜゜。

[wroetolando]

𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝙰𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando grows from a childhood friend to a famous f1 driver

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: 7 years - lukas graham

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: short mention of grief and loss

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Seven Years Old

“Once I was seven years old, my mama told me, go make yourself some friends or you’ll be lonely.”

The first time you met Lando Norris, he was covered in dirt.

He had just fallen off his bike—again—but instead of crying, he simply picked himself up, brushing off his scraped knees. You, always the quiet observer, reached into your pocket and pulled out a band-aid, sticking it onto his leg without a word.

Lando blinked at you, then grinned, showing off a missing tooth. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You shrugged, your eyes still averted, focused on your hands as you fiddled with the end of the band-aid.

“That’s okay,” he said, grinning even wider. “You’re my best friend now.”

You didn’t argue.

Lando wasn’t like the other kids in your neighborhood. He wasn’t loud or brash, but he was relentless, always in motion, constantly seeking something. His energy was contagious, and even though you preferred the quiet of your own thoughts, something about him drew you in.

Every afternoon, Lando would knock on your door, bike helmet in hand, asking if you wanted to join him for another adventure. You would always go, and before you knew it, you were inseparable.

He wasn’t just a friend; he was your constant.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Eleven Years Old

“I only see my goals, I don’t believe in failure, ’cause I know the smallest voices they can make it major.”

By eleven, Lando had made up his mind—he was going to be a race car driver.

“I’ll be in F1 one day,” he told you confidently, his hands gripping the handlebars of his bike like it was a steering wheel.

You kicked a rock near your feet. “And what if you don’t?”

He gasped dramatically, as if you had just insulted his entire existence. “How dare you?”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “I’m just saying, it’s not easy.”

“I don’t care,” he huffed. “I’m going to make it. You’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes but could see the fire in his eyes. He wasn’t joking. He was determined. And you admired him for it.

But deep down, a part of you feared what would happen when he actually made it.

You were happy in your own world, grounded in the simplicity of home and friends. But Lando? He was destined for bigger things. You could see it, even then.

Would he forget you when he was famous? Would the friendship fade like so many others? Or would it remain—unbreakable and constant, just like it had always been?

But Lando was steadfast, and every time you had those thoughts, he would look at you and reassure you with a simple, “I’m not going anywhere.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Eighteen Years Old

“I always had that dream like my daddy before me, so I started writing songs, I started writing stories.”

Lando made it to Formula 1 at eighteen.

You were sitting on your couch, watching him line up on the grid for his debut race. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and your heart pounded harder with every passing second. You could almost feel the rush of the engine in your chest, like a heartbeat.

Lando was about to live his dream, something he had worked for his whole life.

And you? You were still here. Back home. The quiet life you had grown accustomed to.

It should have been enough—seeing him succeed, watching him become the person he had always wanted to be.

But there was a quiet ache in your chest. The boy who had been your best friend was now racing among the best in the world. And you had to admit, part of you didn’t know where you fit into his new world.

He had made it. You were still trying to figure things out.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Twenty Years Old

“Once I was twenty years old my story got told, before the morning sun when life was lonely.”

Lando was famous now. Everyone knew his name, his face, his victories.

But despite the cameras and the flashing lights, despite the fans screaming for him, he called you late at night—just like always.

“I miss you,” he admitted one evening, his voice quieter than usual.

You swallowed hard. “You’re the one who left.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

He was still your Lando—the same boy who had scraped his knees and promised you forever. But now he was racing in F1, the world at his feet.

There were moments when it felt like you were living in two completely different worlds. His was filled with fame and endless opportunities, while yours was stuck in place. The feelings of longing were difficult to ignore.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Lando showed up at your door the next day.

When you opened it, he was standing there—hood pulled over his head, hands buried in his pockets, eyes tired but searching.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” he confessed. “I don’t care how crazy my life gets. I just… I need you in it.”

Your breath hitched.

And before you could stop yourself, you reached for him, pulling him inside—pulling him home.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Twenty-Three Years Old

“I got my boys with me, at least those in favor, and if we don’t meet before I leave I hope I’ll see you later.”

The Formula 1 world was now Lando’s world.

Carlos, Daniel, Oscar, and Max were his teammates, his competitors, his family. They were a constant presence in his life, and the camaraderie they shared made the loneliness of the race track feel a little less heavy.

But even then, there were moments when you could see the fatigue in his eyes—moments when he would glance at you, like he needed to ground himself again.

It was after one particularly difficult race that he showed up at your door.

The night was quiet, the usual noise of race cars and city streets a distant hum. But there he stood, knocking softly on your door, his hoodie pulled over his head, his eyes tired.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping into your home as if it was the only place he could truly breathe.

You didn’t ask any questions, didn’t push for an explanation. You just opened your arms and let him in.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he confessed as he sat on the couch, his head resting against the back of it.

You sat beside him, placing your hand on his. “You’re doing your best.”

“But it’s not enough,” he murmured.

“You’re enough.”

It wasn’t just about racing. It was about the uncertainty, the weight of always having to be something more, and sometimes feeling like he was losing himself in the process.

But you were there, as you had always been. And that was what mattered most.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Twenty-Five Years Old

“Soon we’ll be 30 years old, our songs have been sold, we’ve traveled around the world and we’re still roaming.”

Lando proposed to you in Monaco.

It wasn’t some extravagant gesture—no cameras, no grand speeches. Just the two of you, standing on a quiet balcony overlooking the harbor, the city lights reflecting in his eyes.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he told you, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care where life takes me. As long as you’re there, that’s enough.”

Your heart pounded as he dropped to one knee, a small velvet box in his hands.

“So… will you marry me?”

You laughed, already crying as you nodded. “Almost, always.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he slid the ring onto your finger.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Thirty Years Old

“My woman brought children for me, so I can sing them all my songs and I can tell them stories”

Life had changed.

You were married now, your last name matching his. The walls of your home were filled with laughter—tiny footsteps running through hallways, giggles echoing in the rooms.

Lando was still racing, still chasing podiums, still traveling the world. But now, he always had something to come home to.

Your kids—his greatest trophies.

“My boys are still with me,” he mused one night, watching a race replay with his son on his lap. “Carlos, Oscar, Max… They’re still out there, still fighting for glory.”

His voice turned softer.

“And Daniel?” you asked, knowing exactly where his mind had wandered.

Lando swallowed hard, eyes distant. There was a hint of sadness in his smile, a flicker of a memory.

“Some I had to leave behind.”

Daniel had been Lando’s closest friend for years. But life had a way of taking people in different directions. Daniel’s departure from F1 had hit hard, and Lando’s emotions were still raw, even after all these years.

He was grateful for the memories, the times they had shared. But the empty space left by Daniel’s absence was undeniable.

The silence that followed was heavy, but you didn’t press him. You simply nestled closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

Some people, no matter how much you love them, aren’t meant to stay forever.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Sixty Years Old

“Soon I’ll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold, or will I have a lot of children who can warm me?”

Lando was retired now. His body had slowed, his hair had silvered, but his heart—his heart was still the same.

Your children were grown, building lives of their own. The house was quieter, but it was never empty.

Yet, as sixty-one loomed closer, Lando grew restless.

“I don’t want to go yet,” he admitted one evening, sitting beside you on the porch. “My dad was sixty-one when he passed. What if…”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You’re not him, Lando.”

He exhaled shakily. “I’m scared.”

You turned to him, pressing a kiss to his weathered knuckles. “You have nothing to be scared of,” you whispered. “You’ve lived. You’ve loved. And no matter what happens next… you’re not alone.”

Lando looked at you then, his blue eyes still filled with the same love they held when he was seven years old.

“Almost, always?” he murmured.

You smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Always.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[no-144444]

simple, easy life- m.verstappen

summary: an accident happens and max's life changes for the worst

pairing: max verstappen x fem! reader

warnings: main character death, death, car crashes

a/n: YUKI TO RB???? I MEAN SLAY FOR HIM BUT ALSO THE RB IS SHIT, AND POOR LIAM, AND I HATE REDBULL! (not u isack, yuki, max, or liam, but fuck u helmut marko u twat)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Realistically, cars were Max’s first love. You weren’t disillusioned to the fact that Max was a car guy in every sense of the word, and constantly made jokes that he loved his cars more than you. 

He’d never drive a car again if it meant you never got hurt like this. 

He had been sitting at dinner, the most regular experience, the night before the China GP, and your best mate, Hailee, called him sobbing crying. 

“Max, it’s Y/n, I have no idea what’s happened, but it’s bad. She’s in emergency surgery or something, they didn’t tell me. I just- GET HERE, alright Max. Get here.”

And she hung up as his world stopped. His entire world shattered because you were hurt, you were thousands of miles away, and he had a race tomorrow. 

“Are you alright mate?” GP leaned over and questioned, his voice low. 

“I have to go back to Monaco,” he announced, getting up from his chair and tucking his jacket under his arm, beginning the walk out of the restaurant. 

GP fumbled to follow after him, and the voices of Helmut, Jos,  and Christian calling Max back echoed through the restaurant. “Mate, what’s going on?!” GP shouted after him as they reached the streets of Shanghai. 

“It’s personal,” he answered. “Get Yuki to fill my seat. Have Pepe fill his. Done.”

“Max, Christian isn’t going to take ‘it’s personal’ as a response, that’s going on?” GP grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “What’s happened?”

“Y/n’s hurt,” he admitted, looking down. “And she needs me.” 

His face fell, his jaw dropping. “My god, is she alright?” 

Max shrugged, emotion catching in his throat. “I don’t know.”

He'd never seen Max like that. He’d never seen him almost cry over a girl. He’d never seen him sacrifice championship points for someone, for anyone. 

“What’s going on Max?” Jos demanded, stepping out beside the two men. He placed a hand on the back of his neck, and Max tensed up. 

“I have to go back to Monaco,” he answered, his voice steady. “It’s important.” “Nothing’s more important than racing-”

“Y/n is,” Max interjected. “And she’s lying in a fucking hospital bed on the other side of the world, so yes, she’s more fucking important!” he argued, slapping his father’s hand away. “We have reserve drivers for a fucking reason. Use them.” 

And he walked away. Away to the airport where his jet was being stored, and he flew straight back home, catastrophizing the entire way. What if you were injured badly? What had happened? Had it been a drunk driver? Would you have serious disabilities? Would you have to take time off work? Which car were you driving, was it his? And the worst thought of all popped into his head; What if you were dead? 

He pushed it back as far as he could, but still, it stayed. Lingering like the smell of your goddamn perfume on his jacket.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

All he could smell was antiseptic and a little bit of dread. It had been an exhausting 14 hour flight, one he couldn’t rest on. Max prided himself on being able to sleep through anything, and anywhere. That was not the case when it came to you. 

“And how do you know the patient?” the nurse asked, pulling him out of his spiral once more. 

“I’m her fiancé,” he answered, eyes glassy and heavy. 

“She’s just down the hall in room 8. Be aware, it may be a bit of a jarring sight, she’s hooked up to a few machines, and she’s in an induced coma,” the nurse tried to put it as softly as she could, but no one could make that sound good, not even Bruce Buffer. “Do you want someone to accompany you? I can come in, just for moral support?” she offered, seeing the way Max’s body language changed at her words. 

He chuckled sadly. “You’re very kind, but no. Thank you.”

She nodded and he walked on. He needed to do this on his own, mostly because he didn’t really know what he was walking into. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he knew he was going to stand by you forever, if that’s how long this took. Though he hoped it wouldn’t. He hoped you’d pull through, get strong again, do all the things you wanted with your life. 

Be there with him while you both grew old, have you care for him even when no one remembered his name. 

Be in love. Get married. Have that small family you always wished for. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You died at 1.33am. The universe was taunting him, clearly. He held your hand. He didn’t call the nurse. He just sat there for a few moments, trying to imagine a future without you. He fucking couldn’t. His whole life was centred around you, around you being in it. After F1 he would just stay in Monaco with you, spend his days watching his kids grow up. He would walk them to school in the mornings and bring you back a coffee from your favourite shop, maybe a cinnamon roll on a Friday, or everyday. Depends on what you’d let him do. He’d come in, coffees in hand, and bring yours to you in bed, or maybe in your office. Maybe you’d kiss him. Maybe you’d smile one of those perfect smiles of yours. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, because you both knew you had another chance the next day. 

And all of that was gone. You were gone. 

So what was meant to happen now?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. 

But he had to. He ran through all the motions, he signed the paperwork, and he picked out the casket. 

But he should’ve been picking up the kids from school, holding your hand and kissing you, even if it embarrassed them. 

It should’ve been a simple, easy life. 

But it wasn’t.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

redbull & vcarb masterlist

[aajjks]

The Executioner (m)

synopsis. After all he was the only guy who would destroy everyone to protect you.

pairing. yandere jungkook x fem!reader.

warnings: vióléncé ánd gráphíc dépíctíóns óf hárm, psychólógícál ábúsé, mánípúlátíón., dárk thémes óf révéngé ánd páín., déscríptíóns óf ínténsívé cáréss, térrór, ánd prófánítý, mátúré lángúágé (prófánítý) ánd viólént áctíóns, YÁNDÈRÈ, RÈVÈNGÈ, 18+, búllyíng.

note. This is heavily heavily inspired by the glory, a.k.a. the Korean drama, which is a masterpiece so everyone should watch it I found this GIF on Pinterest so credit to the real owner and I just want to see on a serious note that if you’re ever being bullied, you have to stand up for yourself and no one deserves that kind of torture. So be kind. And if this flops? that is completely OK I just wrote this because I suddenly felt inspired. ENJOY BUT READ OUT YOUR OWN RISK.

•••

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. It doesn’t look like you anymore.

The girl who used to cry alone at night?

Gone.

The girl who allowed people to walk all over her? Gone. Now, you are something else. Something stronger. Something darker.

They break you. They shatter you, piece by piece.

The mocking laughter, the cruel jokes, the whispered insults— they still echo in your head.

Every memory of their cruelty makes your blood boil.

You promise yourself that one day, you’ll make them pay. But you don’t just want revenge.

No, you want them to suffer. You want to watch them burn.

And Jungkook? He’s been there the entire time. Watching. Waiting. You thought he was just another guy—

Sweet, charming, maybe even caring, but you were wrong.

Jungkook’s darkness runs deeper than you could’ve ever imagined.

It all starts the night you break down.

You can’t take it anymore. You’re ready to end it, to just walk away from the world.

But Jungkook’s there, waiting. He pulls you into his arms, whispers soft promises into your ear.

“I’ll make them pay,” he says, his voice like a knife slicing through the tension. “We’ll make them suffer together.”

And you believe him. You should’ve been scared, but all you feel is relief.

Maybe it’s because you see the darkness in his eyes, the same darkness you’ve buried deep inside yourself. Maybe it’s because he understands.

Together, you’ll take them all down.

The first target is always going to be Minji. She’s the one who started it all.

That fucking bitch will pay.

the one who laughed the loudest when you were at your lowest.

She’s the one who makes you feel like dirt. Jungkook knows exactly how to make her suffer without touching her.

His mind is brilliant, twisted in the best way possible.

“We start with rumors,” he whispers late one night as you both sit together, planning. “Small lies. Just enough to get her paranoid.”

You don’t question it. You just watch as he works.

The first lie isn’t even about her—

it’s about her family. Jungkook makes sure to tell a trusted friend that Minji’s father’s involved in shady business deals.

The seed’s planted, and it spreads quickly. But it doesn’t stop there. Jungkook finds out every little detail about her. The places she goes.

The things she says. The people she talks to. It’s easy to turn them into whispers, into whispers that will ruin her life.

It only takes a few days for Minji to start looking over her shoulder, her confidence slowly eroding as the whispers grow louder.

You see the change in her eyes when she walks past you in the hallway.

The panic. The fear.

She doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Her friends start distancing themselves, not because they think she’s guilty, but because the rumors make them second-guess everything.

You feel the cracks forming. You feel her starting to unravel. And it feels good.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark with satisfaction as he watches her fall apart. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he whispers, his voice dripping with malice.

You don’t even have to respond. You just watch, enjoying every moment of her pain.

“Do you think she’s figured it out?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet,” Jungkook answers, a grin spreading across his face. “But soon. She’ll beg for mercy when it all crashes down on her.”

The next target? Taehyun. That piece of shit who humiliated you in front of the whole school.

The one who laughed while everyone else joined in. Jungkook doesn’t have to say much. You know what needs to be done.

“You want to destroy him?” Jungkook asks, his voice quiet but laced with something dangerous.

“I’ll make him lose everything. We’ll start with his reputation, and then we’ll break him. Piece by piece.”

You can’t help but smile, a dark thrill running through your veins. Taehyun won’t see this coming.

Jungkook’s method is brilliant.

He tells one of Taehyun’s closest friends that Taehyun’s been cheating on his girlfriend.

A small, subtle lie, but enough to set things in motion.

Then, he plants more seeds. He makes sure Taehyun sees a text message from his supposed lover—something that’s carefully worded to stir up doubt.

It isn’t just the girl, though. Jungkook spreads rumors about Taehyun’s family, his past, things that could make anyone question their loyalty.

The next day,

Taehyun’s world comes crashing down. His girlfriend confronts him, furious, demanding answers.

His friends turn on him, unsure if they can trust him. The more Taehyun tries to fight back, the more the whispers grow. It isn’t just about the girl anymore. It’s about his character, his integrity.

Everything he’s worked so hard to build is falling apart, and he can’t stop it.

Taehyun finds you in the hallway, his face red with anger. “You think you can destroy me?” he spits, his eyes wild.

“You and your little boyfriend. You’ll regret this.”

You chuckle darkly, stepping closer. “You’re too late for regrets.”

Jungkook’s hand rests on your shoulder, his presence calming in a way, but also dangerous.

Taehyun looks at him, his eyes widening as he sees the madness in Jungkook’s gaze. Jungkook’s lips curl into a smile, but there’s nothing kind in it.

“You should’ve stayed quiet,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and full of venom. “Now you’ve made it personal.”

Taehyun backs off, his confidence shattered, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s done.

The third target is Jiwoo. The girl who always thinks she’s better than you.

The girl who humiliated you just for the fun of it. She’s the last one you need to break.

Jungkook’s plan is simple: break her mentally. Make her think she’s being hunted.

He starts small—text messages that make her think someone’s stalking her.

I know what you did. I’m watching you.

At first, it’s nothing more than a few strange messages. But soon, Jiwoo’s paranoia starts to take over.

She can’t leave her house without looking over her shoulder. She can’t sleep without checking her windows.

Jungkook makes sure her fear is constant. Her world is falling apart, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

You watch her crack, and it’s delicious.

She tries to confront you one day in the hallway, shaking with fear. “You think you’re so clever, huh?”

Jiwoo spits, but her voice cracks halfway through. “You think you can just destroy me like you did with the others?”

You laugh softly, stepping forward with a smile. “Oh, honey. You’re already destroyed. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her eyes narrow. “You can’t do this! I’ll make you pay for this!”

You pause for a moment, then laugh again. “I’m sorry, Jiwoo, but this is just the beginning. You really think I’m afraid of you? You should’ve kept your mouth shut when you had the chance.”

Jungkook steps behind you, his eyes burning with a fire that makes Jiwoo back up instinctively.

He doesn’t even look at her, just stares ahead, his presence enough to crush her will.

“Your life’s already over. It’s just… no one’s told you yet.”

Jiwoo’s face turns pale as she stumbles back. Her fight is gone. She has nothing left.

And then comes the final step. The last target is everyone. Every single person who ever made you feel small. Every person who thought they could walk all over you and get away with it.

Jungkook’s plan is grand. He orchestrates everything, using all the pain and darkness to his advantage.

He spreads lies. He creates chaos. He makes sure that every person who has ever wronged you knows what it feels like to lose everything.

Their reputations are torn apart. Their relationships destroyed. Their lives shattered.

And you? You stand by his side. You’re no longer the victim. You’re the one who makes it all happen.

But even as the revenge consumes you, you can’t ignore the way Jungkook looks at you.

His eyes are always on you, his gaze dark and intense.

You can feel his obsession growing, feeding off the chaos you both create. It’s intoxicating. You need it. You need him.

One night, after the last of your enemies is taken down, you find yourself alone with Jungkook.

His eyes are fixed on you, his body close. The air is thick with tension.

“We’ve done it,” he whispers, his voice filled with satisfaction. “They’re all gone. It’s just us now.”

You feel the heat between you rise. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you toward him.

His lips hover over yours, and you can feel the weight of the moment, the culmination of everything you’ve done together.

“Just us,” you murmur.

He kisses you then, fierce and consuming.

His hands tangle in your hair as his lips bruise yours, claiming you in a way that feels both like salvation and destruction. It’s everything—the revenge, the passion, the hunger.

You lose yourself in it, in him.

When you pull away, you’re both breathless. But this is just the beginning.

“Together,” Jungkook whispers, his voice raw.

“Forever.”

•••

It had all started when you least expected it.

You were a victim of the world around you—silent, unnoticed, walking the halls of your school with your head down, trying to avoid attention.

The insults, the whispered names, the cold stares from people who didn’t even know you—

they were all part of your daily routine. You had learned to live with it. It was easier than trying to fight it.

But on that day, something shifted. It started with Jungkook.

You didn’t know him. Not really. He was just another guy who’d somehow managed to rise above everyone else.

The guy who seemed to have it all— charisma, popularity, a smile that could charm the world.

He was everything you weren’t. And, to be honest, you hated him for it at first.

Why should someone like him care about someone like you?

The first time he spoke to you, you thought it was just another joke.

It was the kind of thing people did when they wanted to make someone feel awkward, to point out how out of place you were.

But Jungkook didn’t look at you with pity like everyone else did. He looked at you with… understanding.

His eyes were sharp, not soft like those who tried to make you feel better.

No, his gaze was intense, focused. It made your stomach twist.

He had caught you off guard that day in the hallway. His hand had settled on your shoulder so suddenly, you flinched.

Your first instinct was to shrug it off, push him away, tell him to go back to his crowd of popular, perfect friends.

But he didn’t let you. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence like a wall you couldn’t escape.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You alright?”

You weren’t. You were never alright. But you weren’t about to let him see that. You barely knew him. Hell, you didn’t even want to.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice thin.

His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in curiosity. “Are you?”

You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat. The truth was, you wanted someone to ask. But you also hated the idea of being vulnerable.

It was a weakness.

And weakness, in your world, was something to be exploited.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, with a little more conviction this time, though it didn’t stop the shaking in your hands.

Jungkook didn’t buy it. Of course,

he didn’t.

“You’re lying,” he said simply, his tone not judgmental, but certain.

It wasn’t the accusation that bothered you— it was the fact that he could see right through you, like your facade wasn’t even worth the effort.

His words hit too close to home, but you refused to let him know that.

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him to leave you alone, but for some reason, the words caught in your throat.

You couldn’t explain it, but something about him stopped you.

Something in the way he looked at you made you want to tell him everything, to unravel the tightly wound mess inside of you.

But that was insane, wasn’t it?

Why would you trust him? Why would you trust anyone?

“I’m fine,” you said again, almost pleading with yourself to believe it.

He watched you for a beat too long, and then, surprisingly—he smiled. It wasn’t some fake, pitying grin like the others. No, it was a smile that almost seemed… understanding.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said quietly. “I know what it feels like.”

You blinked, thrown off guard. “What?”

Jungkook shrugged, his eyes darkening slightly. “I know what it’s like. To be invisible. To be the one everyone picks on. To be ignored… hurt… because you’re not what people want you to be.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you just stared at him, trying to piece together what he was saying.

Was he messing with you? Was this some twisted joke? You didn’t know.

“I don’t believe you,” you finally said, taking a step back, wanting to put some space between you.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stood there, looking at you with the same steady gaze.

“It’s true,” he said simply, almost like a promise. “I’ve been where you are. I still am. I’m not like the rest of them.”

That… made you pause. You didn’t know what to think. Was he just some rich kid playing at empathy?

Or was there something real in his words?

“I can’t help you,” you said, not because you didn’t want it, but because you were terrified of what it would mean. “You don’t know me.”

“You don’t have to trust me,” Jungkook replied, his voice low but firm. “But I can help you. And I want to. If you’ll let me.”

The doubt you felt was overwhelming. You had been burned too many times, left alone when you thought people cared.

No one had ever really seen you.

No one had ever truly understood what it was like to feel completely alone, to feel like you were nothing more than a shadow in a room full of people.

And yet… Jungkook’s offer felt different. He wasn’t offering to fix you. He wasn’t offering some false comfort. It was something darker, something raw that you couldn’t push away.

He understood the pain.

Maybe that’s why you didn’t push him away, why you didn’t shut him down completely.

But you couldn’t trust him. Not yet.

“So, what do you want from me?” you asked, your voice rough, a sharp edge to it.

Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes still intense. “Nothing, not yet. But I’ve been watching. I’ve seen how they treat you. How they treat people like you. And I won’t stand for it.”

You couldn’t tell if he was serious or if it was just some weird power play.

But there was something in the way he said it, something in his eyes that made you pause.

“You want to take them down?” you asked, more to yourself than to him.

He nodded slowly, a glint of something dangerous in his expression. “Yeah. But it’s not just about them. It’s about making them regret ever thinking they could do this to you.”

You looked away, unsure whether to be terrified or relieved. Maybe it was a little bit of both. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like seeing people get crushed under the weight of others. And I think you’ve been crushed long enough.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you.

Maybe it was the fact that he had seen something in you that no one else had.

Maybe it was the darkness in his eyes that mirrored your own pain. You didn’t know.

But you couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady but unsure. “I’ll let you help me. But don’t think you’re saving me. I can handle this on my own.”

Jungkook’s smile softened, and for the first time, it felt like he wasn’t playing some game.

“I never said I was saving you. I’m just helping you get what you deserve.”

And that’s when you knew. It wasn’t about saving you—it was about destroying them.

Together.

[biteyoubiteme]

Im so ready to lock into this ive been waiting and it wasnt even that long bc rain is amazing but still im on the edge of my seat omfg- also i love pregancy trope im not even sorry its like a comfort fic i swear i cant turn them away- Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. EEEEEKKKK THE WRITING ALREADY ><

Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. STTOOOOOOOPPPPP I LOOVEE IT SM- 

What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? Is it too soon to say i love this so so so so so so much already??? Because i do ;-;-;--;-;- tiny fingers clutching agt yours- stop im going to cry- 

Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. Heeeey its my pookies from collide- 

A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” I LOVE THEM OMG- 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” “Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” stop i love how the world is falling apart for reader but jake is just like ‘hi’ lmao like the normality mixed in the angst is killing me i love it sm and im just eating it up uuuughghgh

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. Okay supposed mr. friends with benefits…..

Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” OMGOMGOGMGOGMGOMGOGMGOGMOGMGOGMOMG

“Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. NOOOOOO what if i screamed and cried and threw up bc no no no he is just a boy pleek “Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. ILL FIX IT OMFG HE WILL BREAK ME- 

“This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” STTTTOOOOOOOP IM ON MY KNEES PLS NO- also if he took the out i wouldnt forgive him whoops- but gosh i love this sm uuuuughgghghhgh

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. “I’m in.” ><EEEEEKKKK me when i know the outcome and still act shocked lol- 

A few days later, a jersey appears on the back of your desk chair. One of Jake’s, the fabric worn in places, his last name sprawled across the back in bold letters. You pick it up, running your fingers over the lettering. There’s a note tucked into the sleeve. "Just in case you need something warm." Your breath catches. And im kicking my feet and twirling my hair rn 

And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. STTTTOOOOOOPPPPP you know i love it when they cry- 

“I just—I need to see her.” okay so i love him- 

He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, UUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

“Are you gonna sleep with other girls?” you know what she is so real for this bc i would be asking the same thing lmao- 

Jake makes a low sound in his throat, his grip tightening slightly, his other hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers skim the hem of your shirt, hesitate — Then he pulls away just slightly, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “Are you—” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Are you sure?” You nod. Jake studies you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when he finds none, his lips crash into yours again. And this time  Neither of you stop. Jake kisses you like he’s making up for lost time. IM GOING CRAZY UUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH I LOVE THIS SM SM SM SM SM 

The thought creeps in, slow but merciless. If this is what his schedule looks like now—morning practices, late-night workouts, weekend-long away games—what the hell is it going to look like when he goes pro? Because he will. You know it as sure as you know the sun will rise in the morning. Jake was built for this. It’s what he’s worked for, what he’s bled for. Hockey isn’t just something he loves. It’s his future. And where the hell do you fit into that? I love the first line sm but uuuuggghhhh stop i love the angst but im hurting already- 

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence. Oh no no no no no no no it hurts why would you do this to me pleek no no no no no no- 

You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him GIRL HAS HE NOT BEEN DOING THIS THE WHOLE FIC WTF- PLSSSS

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move. SSTTTTOOOOPP THIS PAIN THIS MADNESS YOU HATE ME JUST SAY IT JUST SAY YOU WANT ME TO FEEL PAIN- 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync. “I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need. SSSSOOOOBBBBIIINNNGGGGG

“Win or lose; I want to come home to you,” Jake had said to you not long ago, those words echoing in your memory like a melody. They settle in your heart like a promise, something real, something that matters. The door opens softly, and you look up to see Jake reentering the room, his eyes catching yours immediately. His smile, though small, is genuine, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. The way he looks at you, the way his hand rests against your back once more as he steps closer. it’s as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the miracle of everything that’s happening.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” stop they are so cute ;-;-;; 

“Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.” ;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;; uuuuugggh i loved this sm i wanna sob and beg you for 20k more pleek- no but seriously i loved it sm 

OFF THE ICE s.jy

synopsis ⤑ You were having fun. That’s all. You were young, in college, readying yourself for true adulthood. You didn’t know adulthood would come so quick, in the form of a baby you didn’t plan for. With a man who was more in love with Hockey than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and it definitely wasn’t supposed to happen with him.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!Jake x pregnant!reader word count ⤑ 18k

warnings ⤑ pregnancy trope, smut, friends with benefits, angst , depictions of hockey injuries , probably more

crossing the line series.

read heeseung's story here.

Two pink lines. 

They stare back at you, unwavering. Bold. Permanent. 

Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. Pregnant. A hollow, sinking feeling settles in your stomach. No. No, no, no. This can’t be real. Your fingers tighten around the plastic stick, your knuckles aching from the grip. You were careful. You were always careful. Birth control, condoms, every precaution. You did everything right. So how the hell did this happen? 

You shake your head, your breathing ragged. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe the test is faulty. They mess up sometimes, right? You should take another one. Five more. Ten. You should drive to the store right now and buy every test on the shelf, because this? This can’t be happening. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you as you sink onto the closed toilet lid, one hand gripping the edge of the sink to ground yourself. 

Jake. His name crashes through your thoughts, and a fresh wave of nausea rises up in your throat. Oh my god. There’s only one person it could be. Jake. Your friend. Your friend with benefits. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms against them. Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. 

Your stomach lurches. You press a hand to it instinctively, but it’s still just you. Just your body, your life—except it’s not just yours anymore, is it? A shuddering breath leaves you, and suddenly, you feel so, so small. What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? 

Jake has hockey. The game is his whole world—the early-morning practices, the late-night workouts, the way his eyes light up when he steps onto the ice. He has a career to chase, a future that doesn’t include this. 

This will ruin everything. Tears burn at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You can’t cry. Not yet. Not until you’re sure, not until you go to the doctor and they tell you this is all some cruel mistake. Because if it’s not… You swallow hard, gripping the test so tightly it feels like it might snap in half. You can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If you don’t say it out loud, if you don’t give it weight, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe you can find a way to make this all go away. But deep down, beneath the panic, beneath the sheer, suffocating terror— You already know. This is real. And there’s no undoing it. 

Your breath shudders as you stare at the test, the past clawing its way back to you. You’re racking your brain trying to find when the two of you went wrong, when you stopped being careful. You know exactly how. The memory slams into you, sharp and unforgiving—that night. 

Two months ago. 

The house was packed. Bodies pressed together, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sharp bite of liquor. Music pounded through the speakers, rattling the walls, the bass thrumming through your chest. The whole hockey team was celebrating their win, and Jake was at the center of it all, grinning like he owned the night. Heeseung had won it all, again. Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here—you had a paper due, an exam creeping up—but when Jake texted “Where are you? We won. Get your ass over here,” you rolled your eyes, threw on something half-decent, and showed up anyway. And now you were here. Back pressed against a bathroom door, your fingers tangled in Jake’s hoodie, his mouth hot against yours. A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” 

Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” 

His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” And god, it was. You had always liked this about Jake—how easy it was, how uncomplicated. No messy feelings, no awkward expectations. Just heat, just want, just the press of his body against yours as he backed you up against the bathroom sink. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging it up, your mouths moving together in that frantic, greedy way they always did when neither of you could be bothered to make it back to one of your apartments. 

“Quickie?” you breathed against his lips, teasing. Jake groaned, already fumbling with your jeans. “Fuck, yeah.” It was fast. Dizzying. His hands were everywhere, pushing, pulling, unzipping. Your back hit the counter, your fingers in his hair, his mouth tracing fire along your throat. Your skin was hot, your pulse erratic, and nothing else mattered—not the party raging outside the door, not the alcohol humming through your system, not the fact that you weren’t exactly thinking. 

It wasn’t until he was pressed against you, skin to skin, that something in the back of your mind lurched. You blinked up at him, breathless. “Wait—do you have a—” 

Jake cursed under his breath. “Shit. No. I didn’t—” He moved like he was about to pull back, but god, you wanted him. The ache was unbearable, your body screaming at you to just— “It’s fine,” you whispered. You’re on the pill. It’s just one time. Jake hesitated, his hands gripping your waist like he was giving himself a second to think, but then your mouth was on his again, and whatever sliver of self-restraint he had vanished. 

With one delicious roll of his hips against yours he was a goner. “Holy- f-fuck.” Jake hissed, his mouth agape and eyes heavy lidded as he looked down at where the two of you were perfectly intertwined. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

“How’s that feeling, champion?” You purred in his ear, your hands playing in his hair as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

“Such a pretty pussy..” Jake groaned. His grip on your thighs was almost bruising but you didn't care, you welcomed the pain. Your head leaned back, hitting the mirror as moans fell from your lips like a mantra. Jake’s lips found the column of your neck sucking and biting at the skin. “You like that, baby?” 

“Uh-huh” You nodded your head finding it hard to find the ability to speak when Jake was doing unspeakable things to you. Jake’s thrusts were starting to become frantic, his moans higher and more frequent as it became apparent he was closer and closer to the edge. The music outside the door thumped, sounds of muffled voices passing by the door fell on deaf ears. You were too wrapped up in the way Jake was making you feel, coupled with the buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins. It was almost euphoric when your orgasm hit. Your legs shaking in Jake’s grip. 

“God-” Jake breathed. Your orgasm served as a catalyst for his own. His hips slamming against yours with finality. It was reckless. It was careless. It was just once. Except once was enough. 

Present day. 

Your stomach lurches. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the memory away, willing yourself back into the safety of denial. But it’s useless. The test is still in your hands. The two pink lines are still staring back at you. And no matter how much you wish you could undo it— You can’t. 

Your hands are still trembling. Your fingers ache from how hard you’re clutching the test, but you can’t let go. If you set it down, if you let it slip from your grasp, that means you’re accepting it. That means this is real.A choked sound slips past your lips before you can stop it. Your vision blurs. Then it happens—you break. 

A sob rips through your chest, raw and unrestrained. You fold in on yourself, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sounds, but it doesn’t stop the tears from coming. They fall in hot, messy streaks, slipping down your cheeks, soaking into your shirt. Your whole body shakes with it, shoulders curled forward, knees pulled up as if making yourself smaller might make this moment disappear. But nothing disappears. Nothing changes. You’re still here. Still alone in this room. Still pregnant. 

The word echoes inside your skull, over and over, until it drowns out everything else. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. The panic tightens around your ribs like a vice, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. You gasp, swallowing down air, trying to steady yourself, but it’s like you’re stuck underwater. Like you’re drowning. You don’t know how long you sit there—minutes? Hours? Time blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand. All you know is that you can’t do this. 

You can’t be pregnant. You can’t be a mom. You can’t tell Jake. A fresh wave of nausea churns in your stomach at the thought of him. Of his reaction. Of what this will do to him. To you. Jake, with his whole future mapped out in skates and ice and championships. Jake, who has never even hinted at wanting something serious with you—because this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Because it never has. And now, you’re carrying something that means everything. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against them. If you don’t see the test, if you don’t look at it, maybe—maybe—No.

You inhale sharply, forcing your mind through the fog of panic. There’s only one thing you can do right now. Only one thing that makes sense. Before you tell Jake—before you even let yourself fully believe this—you need to be sure. A pregnancy test is just plastic and dye. It could be wrong. It could be wrong. A doctor. You need a doctor. 

The thought latches onto you like a lifeline. If you go to the doctor and they tell you this is a mistake—if they tell you that somehow, someway, those pink lines don’t mean what you think they mean—then you can pretend this moment never happened. You can wipe it from existence. You have to know. Your phone is on your nightstand, facedown, dark. You force yourself to move, to function. Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and fear and the sheer impossibility of what’s happening, but somehow, you grab it. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull up the campus clinic’s number. 

You hesitate. Your thumb hovers over the call button, the moment stretching out in front of you. Because if you make this appointment—if you hear a doctor say the words out loud— Then it’s real. And once it’s real, you can never go back. A single tear drips onto the phone screen, smudging the numbers. You close your eyes. And you press call. 

The next day feels like a fever dream. You go through the motions, pretending your world hasn’t tilted off its axis. But every breath, every step, every blink reminds you that something is different. That there’s something inside you—growing, forming, changing everything. You haven’t said a word to anyone. 

Yuna had texted this morning to let you know she was crashing at her friend’s place again. You almost told her. You almost begged her to come home, to sit with you, to make you feel like you weren’t completely alone in this—but you couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until the doctor confirms what you already know deep in your bones. So, you’ve spent the entire day in silence. Sitting with this information like a stone in your gut, waiting for the inevitable unraveling. 

You didn’t sleep last night. Every time you closed your eyes, the thoughts crept in—images of Jake, of your future, of what this means for the rest of your life. Of every possibility, every terrible outcome. You’ve always thought of pregnancy as some far-off, abstract concept—something that happened to other people, to people who were ready, to people who wanted it. But not you. Never you. 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.

So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” 

Your grip tightens around the phone. It’s a simple question. A question you’ve answered a hundred times before with some variation of yeah, sure or your place or mine? But tonight, everything is different, and Jake has no idea. You swallow hard, throat dry. “I—I can’t.” 

He pauses. “Why not?” Because in less than two hours, I’ll be staring at an ultrasound screen, listening to a doctor tell me how many weeks pregnant I am. Because I don’t know how to look you in the eye, knowing that inside me—inside us—something is changing, something we never planned for, never wanted. “I'm sick,” you say instead. It’s a rushed excuse, flimsy and weak. “I think I caught something.” 

Jake hums, like he doesn’t quite buy it but isn’t ready to push. “You okay?” No. Not even close. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just tired. I think I just need to sleep it off.” Another pause. You know Jake well enough to know he’s debating whether or not to call you out. But finally, he just sighs. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” 

His voice is so normal. So Jake. And for a moment, you almost break. You almost say, Actually, there is something I need. I need you to know. I need you to tell me what the hell we’re supposed to do now. I need you to promise that I’m not in this alone. But the words don’t come. Instead, you rush out, “I gotta go,” before he can say anything else. You don’t wait for his response. You hang up, your hand shaking as you set your phone facedown beside you. 

The room is too quiet again. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline making your whole body feel light and untethered. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when everything inside you is breaking apart. And yet, that’s exactly what you do. You wipe at your face, stand up, and grab your coat. The appointment is waiting. And whether you’re ready or not— You’re about to find out exactly how much time you have left before you have to tell Jake the truth. 

The air outside is sharp, biting against your skin as you step out of your dorm. It’s early evening, but the sky is already dark, winter pressing its cold fingers into everything it touches. Streetlights flicker to life, their glow hazy against the fog of your breath as you exhale, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. The clinic isn’t far. Just a short walk across campus. Still, every step feels heavier than the last. 

Your stomach churns with nerves, your hands stuffed deep in your pockets to hide their trembling. The closer you get, the more the reality of what you’re about to do sinks in. There’s no turning back after this. Once the doctor confirms it—once they tell you exactly how far along you are—you’ll have no choice but to face this head-on. No more pretending. No more hoping the test was wrong. You wish Yuna were here. You wish someone was here. 

But instead, you walk into the clinic alone, head ducked, shoulders curled in like you can make yourself disappear. The receptionist barely looks up as you check in, only nodding before motioning toward the chairs in the waiting area. You sit. The room smells like antiseptic and old magazines, too-bright lights buzzing overhead. Your legs bounce restlessly, fingers twisting in your lap. The other people waiting don’t even spare you a glance, but you still feel exposed, like someone could look at you and just know. Your name is called. 

Your body moves on autopilot, following the nurse down the hall, into a room. She asks questions. You answer without really hearing yourself, your voice robotic, like you’re reciting lines for a role you never wanted. Then the real part begins. You lie back on the table, cold gel spread across your stomach. The machine hums to life, and your heart pounds. You don’t know if you want to look. You don’t know if you can. But then the doctor says, “There it is.” And you do. You look. 

The screen is grainy, shifting black and white, impossible to make sense of at first. Then she moves the wand, adjusting the angle, and— Your breath catches. A tiny flicker. Your whole body freezes. “That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says softly. “Would you like to hear it?” 

Your throat is too tight to answer. You don’t know what you expected, but not this. Not something so small, so fragile, so real. You nod. And then—sound. A rapid, steady rhythm, impossibly fast but undeniably there. Your vision blurs, and it takes you a second to realize you’re crying. 

Because this isn’t just a concept anymore. This isn’t just two pink lines or a mistake or a problem you don’t know how to solve. This is real. And whether you’re ready or not, this is happening. The doctor speaks again, gentle but firm. “You’re about seven weeks along.” 

Seven weeks. You squeeze your eyes shut. Because now there’s a heartbeat. Now there’s a timeline. Now there’s no way out of this moment, no way to pretend it hasn’t already changed you. You leave the clinic with a small printout in your hands, the black-and-white ultrasound photo pressed between your fingers. You don’t even know why you took it. Maybe because part of you knows that after tonight, everything is going to change. And Jake still has no idea. 

Back in the dorm you're still alone, Yuna not having come back yet. You were grateful for that as you just needed the time alone to process. Your phone buzzes. You flinch at the sudden vibration, your fingers tightening around the ultrasound printout still resting in your lap. It takes a second for you to move, to blink, to tear your gaze away from the tiny, grainy image on the paper. Another buzz. Your stomach twists. 

Slowly, like you already know what you’ll see, you reach for your phone and tilt the screen toward you. 

Jake: You feeling any better? 

You stare at the message, your pulse hammering in your throat. A third buzz. 

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. 

You suck in a sharp breath, a lump forming in your throat so quickly it nearly chokes you. Thinking about you. He doesn’t even realize what those words do to you right now, how they cut straight through your ribs, cracking something open inside you. You can picture him perfectly—his damp hair, his flushed cheeks, the easy way he leans against his locker while texting you, probably half-distracted, expecting you to reply with something simple. Something normal. But nothing is normal. Not anymore. The screen glares up at you, demanding an answer, but your fingers won’t move. 

What could you even say? Actually, I’m in my dorm having just left the doctor, staring at an ultrasound of the baby I never meant to have with you. But don’t worry, I’ll get back to you when I figure out how the hell to tell you. Another buzz. This time, it’s a call and you panic. Your heart slams against your ribs, and before you can stop yourself, you flip the phone over, screen-down, silencing it. The call cuts off. A few seconds later, another text comes through. 

Jake: You good? 

Your breathing is uneven. Your hands are shaking. You can’t do this. Not right now. You toss your phone away on the bed, like that will somehow make it all go away. Like that will somehow delay the inevitable. But you know it won’t you have to tell him soon, or it will eat you alive. 

For the next few hours you sit in silence, still not having left the dorm. The room is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock above your desk.  You’re curled up beneath your blankets, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep after getting back from the clinic, but your body had other plans. It wasn’t restful, though. Even in sleep, your mind wouldn’t stop spinning, replaying the sound of that tiny heartbeat over and over and over again. 

Suddenly a soft click of the door was heard. You stir, blinking blearily as the light flicks on. “Hey, are you awake?” Yuna’s voice is gentle, cautious. You push yourself up, rubbing at your eyes as you watch her drop her bag by the door. She looks guilty. “I’m sorry for being gone so long,” she says, brushing a hand through her dark hair. “Our study session ran late, and we figured, why not just turn it into a sleepover? I should’ve texted you more. I feel bad.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small, tired smile. “It’s fine. You don’t have to check in with me every second.” Yuna eyes you for a beat, like she’s trying to gauge if you really mean it. Then she sighs, kicking off her shoes before flopping onto the bed beside you. “I missed anything exciting?” Yes. No. everything. 

You swallow, shaking your head again. “Not really.” Yuna shifts, turning onto her side to face you. Then, her brows furrow. Her eyes scan your face, tracing the dark circles beneath your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you keep fidgeting with the edge of your blanket. “Okay, what’s wrong?” she asks, blunt as ever. 

Your heart stutters. “What? Nothing’s wrong.” 

Yuna doesn’t buy it for a second. She gives you a look, her sharp, knowing gaze cutting right through your weak attempt at indifference. “Don’t lie to me.” You open your mouth—ready to deny, to deflect, to do anything but tell the truth—but something inside you breaks. The weight of it all, the sheer impossibility of holding it in any longer, crushes you. You don’t say a word. You just reach under your pillow, where the crumpled ultrasound printout is still hidden, and pull it out with trembling fingers. 

Then, without looking at her, you hold it out. Yuna blinks, confused for a second—until she takes the paper from your hand and sees. Her entire body goes still. Silence. She stares down at the black-and-white image, her lips parting slightly. Her throat works like she wants to say something, but no words come out. Seconds stretch, heavy and suffocating. 

Finally, she looks at you. Her voice is quiet, but sharp with shock. “Is this…?” You nod, your chest tight. Yuna inhales sharply. “Holy shit.” She sits up straighter, like the weight of the moment is finally hitting her. She looks at the ultrasound again, like if she stares long enough, it’ll make sense. Then, eyes wide—voice barely above a whisper—she asks, “…It’s Jake’s? Right?” You let out a dry, humorless laugh, wiping at your face. “Of course, it is.” 

She looks up at you, eyes still wide with shock. “He’s the only one I’ve been with in a year,” you add quietly, voice almost getting lost in the space between you. Yuna swallows, nodding slowly, like she’s just now processing how real this is. Like she’s flipping through all the memories she has of you and Jake—of the nights you’d leave your dorm with a smirk and come back in one of his hoodies, of the way you never quite called him your boyfriend, of the way he was always just there. Her gaze sharpens. “How did he take it?” 

Your stomach twists. You hesitate just a second too long. Yuna’s face drops. “Oh my god.” She leans forward. “You didn’t tell him?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before shaking your head. Yuna groans, throwing her head back against the headboard. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Yuna—” 

“No.” She sits up straight again, looking at you with something between exasperation and concern. “You have to tell him.” 

“I know,” you say, voice tight. “I just—” 

“No,” she interrupts. “Not later, not eventually—you need to tell him now.” You shake your head quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your whole body feels cold, like the weight of this conversation is seeping into your bones. “You don’t get it,” you say, your voice almost breaking. “Jake loves hockey. More than anything. More than school, more than his own goddamn life sometimes.” You sniffle, shaking your head again. “If I tell him this, he’ll—” You stop, choking on the words. 

He’ll what? Walk away? Shut down? Look at you like you’ve just ruined his entire world? You don’t even know. That’s the problem. Yuna softens. She reaches out, placing a warm hand over yours. “Jake is a good guy,” she says gently. “He would never do that to you.” You stare down at your lap, at your fingers twisting in your hoodie sleeves. She says it like it's a fact. Like there’s no question, no possibility of anything else. But she doesn’t know what you know. 

She doesn’t know how much Jake lives for the game, how hockey is the thing that keeps his blood pumping, how he lights up when he talks about it in a way he never has about anything—or anyone—else. She doesn’t know that you’re terrified. Because if you tell Jake, if you say the words out loud— it’s real and it’s scary. 

The tears come fast. Faster than you expect. One second, you’re staring at your lap, chest too tight to breathe. The next, your vision is blurring, and your shoulders shake, and a broken sound rips from your throat before you can stop it. Yuna reacts instantly. “Hey—hey, no, don’t cry,” she says, shifting closer. Her arms wrap around you before you even realize what’s happening, pulling you into the warmth of her embrace. “I got you. It’s okay.” but it’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay. You bury your face into her shoulder, gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. She doesn’t let go, just rubs circles into your back as you fall apart. 

“I—I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice muffled. “I’m so scared, Yuna.” She sighs, resting her chin atop your head. “I know.” A fresh wave of tears spills over. You wish you didn’t feel like this. Wish you could be stronger, steadier, more in control. But right now, you’re none of those things. Right now, you’re just a girl who made a mistake and is staring down the consequences. Yuna squeezes you a little tighter. “Listen, whatever happens, you won’t be alone in this, okay? You have me. And when you tell Jake, you’ll have him too. And even if—even if he’s an idiot about it at first, I’ll kick his ass into shape.” That actually makes you let out a weak, teary laugh. 

Yuna gasps, dramatic as always. “Did you just laugh? Oh my god, it’s a miracle.” You sniffle. “Shut up.” She pulls back just enough to grin at you, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m serious, though. If worst comes to worst, you and I will just get married and raise the baby together. Two badass moms against the world.” 

A laugh bubbles out of you, real this time. “You’d hate being married to me.” 

“Yeah, but I’d do it out of love. I’d be the hot, rich, wine-drunk mom. You’d be the stressed one who has to actually parent.” You roll your eyes, but the weight in your chest feels just a little bit lighter. Yuna smiles. “See? You’re gonna be okay.” and you think, maybe she’s right, maybe you will be okay. 

The next day feels like a blur. Again. Like you’re going through the motions of life with no real end goal. You know you have to get up, do something. Tell Jake that he’s going to be a fucking father because the longer you keep this a secret the more its eating you up inside out. 

You spend most of your day in the dorm, curled up on the couch with the TV playing some random show you’re not even paying attention to. The volume is low, just background noise to fill the silence, but it doesn’t stop your mind from racing. Jake has been calling all day. Text after text, call after call—his name keeps flashing on your screen, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You know you should. You know avoiding him won’t make this easier. But every time you reach for your phone, your stomach twists, and your fingers freeze, and the weight of what you have to tell him slams into you all over again. So you do nothing. 

You let the calls go to voicemail. You leave the texts unread. And now, as the sun sets and the room is cast in a dim, golden glow, you’re still here—still stuck, still waiting, still pretending for just a little longer that none of this is happening. But then there's a knock on your door. And you're scared shitless because you think you know who it is. For a second, you don’t move, barely even breathe. Then another knock—firmer this time. 

Slowly, legs unsteady beneath you, you rise from the couch. Your hands feel cold as you grip the doorknob, pulse hammering in your ears as you turn it and pull the door open. And there he is. Jake. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, his hair still damp from a shower, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern. His eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—scan over you, taking in your messy hair, the exhaustion written all over your face, the way you’re not meeting his gaze. 

He shifts his weight, tilting his head. “…What’s going on with you?” You grip the edge of the door tighter. Your throat closes. Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” 

His voice is quieter now, tinged with something almost like worry. You swallow hard and your chest tightens, because this is it. There's no more running because Jake is right here in front of you. Jake doesn’t wait for permission. The second you hesitate, the second you shift like you might try to close the door on him, he pushes inside. 

The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in. He stands there, shoulders tense, his eyes scanning over you like he’s trying to read your mind. His brows are furrowed, frustration flickering behind his gaze. “What the hell is going on with you?” he demands. 

Your stomach knots. “Jake—” 

“No, seriously,” he cuts in, voice sharp. “Why the hell have you been ignoring me all day? You haven’t answered a single one of my texts, didn’t pick up any of my calls. I had to come here just to get you to look at me.” You take a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I told you. I’m sick.” 

Jake scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit.” Your breath catches. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he watches you. “You don’t just disappear like that. You don’t just cut me off without a reason.” He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. 

“Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. 

Your voice is small when you finally speak. “You didn’t do anything.” Jake takes a step closer, searching your face. “Then what is it?” You inhale shakily. Your hands tremble at your sides. Your throat burns. It’s time. There’s no easy way to do this. No way to soften it. 

So you just say it. “I’m pregnant.” 

Silence. It crashes over the room like a tidal wave. Jake doesn’t move, for a moment it looks like he doesn’t even breathe. Completely still. His face goes blank, his lips parting slightly like the words haven’t fully registered. His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body stiff with shock. You stare at him, heart pounding, waiting—waiting for something. Some kind of reaction. Some kind of response. But he doesn’t say a word. Your stomach twists. He just keeps standing there, frozen, staring at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. And maybe you had. 

You bite your lip, blinking back the burn in your eyes. When you finally speak again, your voice is quieter. Sharper. “This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. 

You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Jake just stands there. Still silent. Still unreadable. 

“Why are you not saying anything?” You whispered brokenly, the silence almost too much to bear. “Please say something.” 

Finally, Jake’s mouth opens but then it shuts again like he’s trying to find the ability to speak. Like a failing fish out of water. It’s nerve wracking, your body feels like it's on fire. “Please Jake.” You beg, at your wits end. 

“You’re giving me an out..” He trailed off, and your heart sank at the words. Was he really going to walk away and leave you to raise a baby alone? The thought terrified you to no end. “You’re giving me an out and a very big part of me is screaming at me to take it. it would be the smart thing, the easy thing and maybe the best thing for my career. My brain is ticking, yelling over and over ‘take the out, take the out. but there is a small part of me that outways the rest, a part that won’t let me be like the man who didn’t have the guts to raise me. that refuses to leave this kid, my kid, without a father. so, yes I'm quiet and yes I'm not saying anything. because my mind is going to war trying to think of a way to be a dad and a damn good hockey player at the sametime.” 

“Okay.” You said simply. And for a while you both sat in silence, neither of you finding the right words to say. Until you couldn���t take it anymore. 

“Did you figure it out?” You asked him. Jake’s eyes closed, a deep breath falling from his lips. 

“No.” He said simply, “but I will.” Your head shot up in surprise, your eyes wide and glassy with tears threatening to spill. 

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. 

“I’m in.” 

Jake and yourself had a lot more that you had to talk about, that was for sure. But the confirmation of him staying and raising this baby with you had definitely lifted a large weight off your shoulders and although you were less terrified it didn’t mean you were prepared. You were having a baby for god's sake. That scared you to death. And you weren't sure if you were entirely ready for it. 

Over the next few weeks Jake does things that prove he's all in. The first time Jake shows up, you don’t expect it. You step out of the campus doors, arms wrapped around yourself, still shaken from your last appointment. The air is crisp, biting at your skin as you take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. And then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. The rustling of fabric. And then - “Hey.” Your head snaps up. Jake is there, leaning against the side of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he just came from practice. 

Your stomach flips. “What are you doing here?” you ask. Jake shrugs, pushing off the car. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

​​You hesitate, tightening your grip on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I can take the bus,” you say, voice quiet. Jake raises a brow. “You could. Or you could let me drive you home.” You don’t have the energy to argue. Not today. So you nod. Jake doesn’t say much on the ride back. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel, but every so often, his gaze flickers toward you — like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. 

It keeps happening. 

A few days later, a jersey appears on the back of your desk chair. One of Jake’s, the fabric worn in places, his last name sprawled across the back in bold letters. You pick it up, running your fingers over the lettering. There’s a note tucked into the sleeve. "Just in case you need something warm." Your breath catches. 

The next time you see him, you don’t bring it up. But when you wear the jersey around your dorm, you pretend not to notice the way Yuna raises a knowing brow. Jake keeps showing up. Not in the obvious ways, not in ways that force anything. But in the background. In the small things. A decaf coffee left on your desk when you step out of class. A text asking if you’ve eaten. A moment at the rink where he catches your eyes before disappearing into the locker room. He doesn’t say anything about the pregnancy. Not yet. But he’s there. And that terrifies you just as much as it comforts you. 

Jake isn’t there. Not really. His body is on the ice, his skates cutting across the surface, his hands gripping his stick, but his mind—his mind is still sitting in that sterile doctor’s office, staring at a screen where a tiny, flickering heartbeat had filled the room. "There’s your baby."  He can still hear the doctor’s voice, still feel the way his stomach had plummeted as the reality of it settled in, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. "Your baby."  Jake clenches his jaw, gripping his stick tighter. 

“Jake!” The sharp bark of his name barely registers before — CRACK. The puck flies past him, a blur of black and white as it slams into the boards. “Jesus Christ, Sim!” Jake blinks, snapping back into focus just in time to see his coach skating toward him, fuming. His teammates shift uncomfortably, casting wary glances between them as Coach Bennet stops in front of Jake, eyes blazing. 

​​“You wanna tell me where the hell your head is at today?” Coach snaps. “Because it sure as hell isn’t here.” Jake swallows hard. His grip on his stick tightens, knuckles going white. “I—” Coach doesn’t let him finish. 

“You’ve been slow all practice. Missing passes, losing pucks—you’re a vital part of this team, Sim. You don’t get to check out like this.” His voice drops slightly, but it only makes the words hit harder. “Get it together. Now.” Jake nods stiffly.  He doesn’t say anything. Because what the hell is he supposed to say? That he can’t focus because his whole life changed forever? That there’s a baby now—a real, growing baby—and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that? That every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is that ultrasound? 

Coach exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Take five.” Jake doesn’t argue. He skates off the ice, his heart pounding. He needs to get his head straight. Now. Because if he doesn’t — He might just lose everything. 

Jake barely makes it through the rest of practice. He’s off. Way off. His passes are sloppy. His shots lack power. He’s slow to react, too caught up in his head to play the way he’s supposed to. By the time Coach blows the final whistle, Jake is drenched in sweat and running on empty. His entire body feels tense, like his muscles are wound so tight they might snap. He just needs to get out of here. 

He needs to shower, grab his stuff, and go check on you. But before he can make it out of the locker room — “Yo, Sim!” Jake glances up, spotting Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon making their way toward him. Jay slings an arm over his shoulders, still dripping wet from his shower. “We’re heading to a party tonight. You coming?” 

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

Jay pulls back slightly, raising a brow. “No?” 

“Dude,” Sunghoon snorts. “It’s a Friday night, and you’re passing up a party? Who are you?” Jake exhales, shaking his head as he shoves his gear into his bag. “I just—” He hesitates. “I have somewhere to be.” 

Heeseung leans against the lockers, crossing his arms. “You’ve been weird as hell all day, man.” Jay nods. “Yeah, what’s going on with you?” 

Jake grips the strap of his duffel so tight it hurts. He could make something up. Should make something up. But instead — it just spills out, before Jake could stop it. “She’s pregnant.” The words hang heavy in the air. None of them move. None of them speak. Jay blinks. “Wait. What?” and Jake laughs.

Or at least, he tries to. It comes out more like a broken, choked sound. His throat feels tight, his chest squeezed so hard it physically hurts. “She’s pregnant,” he says again, voice cracking. And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. 

His head falls into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he lets it out. Because he’s scared. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Because this isn’t part of the plan. And for the first time in his entire life, he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Fuck, man,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first to move, stepping closer and clamping a firm hand on Jake’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Jake shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” His voice is raw, shaky. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” 

Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Okay, first? Breathe.” Jake tries. And fails. He sucks in a breath, but it feels like nothing is getting in. His heart is racing, his mind spinning, and everything is just — “Jake.” Jay squeezes his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this.” Jake lifts his head, eyes red, glassy. 

“We got you, man,” Heeseung says quietly. “No matter what.” Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. And, I mean—” He gestures around. “This isn’t exactly news you should be dealing with alone.” 

Jay nudges him lightly. “Have you told her how you feel?” Jake wipes at his face, sniffing. “I don’t even know how I feel.” His voice wobbles. “I just—I need to see her.” Jay exchanges a glance with Heeseung before looking back at him. “Then go” 

Jake doesn’t wait. He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and leaves. 

The knock at your door startles you. You freeze mid-reach for your phone, heart suddenly hammering in your chest. You already know who it is. For a second, you consider ignoring it. Pretending you’re asleep. Pretending you’re busy. You’re not sure you want any company. But you can’t do that forever. 

So you force yourself up, smoothing down the front of your sweater as you cross the room. You take a steadying breath, gripping the doorknob with fingers that tremble just slightly, and pull it open. Jake stands there. The first thing you notice is the hoodie—dark gray, pulled up over his head, casting a shadow over his face. His duffel bag is slung over one shoulder, his hockey gear probably stuffed inside. His posture is a little tense, like he had to talk himself into coming here. But the real thing that catches your attention is what he’s holding. 

A takeout bag. Your throat tightens. “I, uh…” Jake shifts on his feet, glancing down at the bag like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it. “I remembered you said you were craving this, so I thought—” He hesitates, clears his throat, then lifts the bag slightly. “I figured I’d bring you some.” Something cracks inside you. Because it’s such a small thing—just food, just a meal—but the fact that he remembered that he went out of his way after practice when he was probably exhausted, when he could have avoided all of this — You swallow hard and step aside, voice softer than you mean for it to be. “Come in.” 

Jake hesitates for just a second before stepping inside. The door clicks shut behind him. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate, just walks straight over to your desk and sets the bag down before collapsing onto your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is normal. Like nothing between you has changed. He stretches out slightly, fingers drumming against his thigh before he looks at you. 

“So,” he says, voice easy, like he’s not breaking some invisible barrier by being here. “How was your day?” You blink. It’s such a simple question, but it feels heavier than it should. Because what does he want to hear? That you spent most of it overthinking? That you barely slept last night, kept up by the thought of everything crashing down around you? That every time you close your eyes, you see your own future in a way you never imagined it before? Instead, you inhale deeply and say, “It was fine.” Jake gives you a look. You fidget slightly under his gaze before sighing and elaborating. 

“I had class this morning,” you start, perching on the edge of your chair. “Yuna and I grabbed coffee after, but the barista completely messed up my order, so I ended up drinking the strongest espresso of my life. I swear I could hear colors after that.” Jake snorts, shaking his head. “Then I came back to my room, tried to take a nap, but the guys across the hall decided to have a full-on garage band session at, like, peak volume.” You groan, rubbing your temples. “It sounded like someone was murdering an electric guitar.” 

Jake tilts his head. “Were they at least good?” 

You deadpan. “No.” He chuckles, the sound low and familiar, something that almost makes you feel lighter. So you keep talking. You tell him about your classes, about how Yuna dragged you into watching some new drama that she’s absolutely obsessed with. About how you got sucked into a rabbit hole of cat videos on your phone, and one was so funny that you laughed until you cried. And the whole time, Jake listens. Not just in the polite, half-distracted way people sometimes do. No—he really listens. He nods at the right moments. Asks questions. Throws in sarcastic comments that make you roll your eyes but also bite back a smile. And it’s so… easy. 

For a few minutes, it’s like things are the way they used to be. Like there’s no giant, life-changing revelation hanging over your heads. Like it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been. But that’s the thing about pretending. Eventually, reality always catches up. 

You shouldn’t be staring at Jake. But you are. It’s not your fault, really. He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, hoodie still pulled up, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your blanket. The room is dim, just your bedside lamp casting a soft glow, making everything feel warmer. Closer. And maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s here, but — he looks good. Really, good. You could blame it on the hormones but you know that’s not entirely true, you were attracted to Jake enough to fuck him on the regular. 

Which is so not what you should be thinking about right now. Especially when everything between you is so much bigger than it used to be. Still, you can’t help but glance at him as you chew your food, watching the way his jaw tenses like he’s caught up in his own head. So, to fill the silence, you ask, “What about you? What did you do today?” 

Jake blinks, like you’ve just pulled him out of a thought he wasn’t ready to leave. Then he sighs. “Practice.” You raise a brow. “That’s it?” He huffs out a soft laugh. “That’s pretty much all I do.” 

You roll your eyes, leaning back against your pillows. “Yeah, yeah. Hockey is life.” Jake smirks. “Glad you’re finally getting it.” You nudge him lightly with your foot, and for the first time in days, something feels normal. But then you see the way his smirk fades slightly, the way his fingers keep fidgeting. 

“How was practice?” you ask. Jake hesitates. And you can tell — whatever it is, he doesn’t want to say it. But after a moment, he sighs. “It sucked.” That makes you pause. Jake never complains about practice. Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s been chewed out by his coach, even when he’s sore and bruised—he always shrugs it off. It’s just part of the game. So the fact that he’s saying it now means something. 

“Why?” you ask, setting your food down. Jake drags a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I don’t know. I couldn’t focus. Coach was on my ass all day. Kept telling me to get my head in the game.” He shakes his head, voice quieter now. “I just… couldn’t.” Your chest tightens. Because you know. You know why he couldn’t focus. And it hits you, suddenly — Jake is scared. Maybe not in the same way you are. Maybe not in the overwhelming, spiraling, how-will-I-ever-handle-this way that’s been sitting heavy in your chest since you saw that test. 

But still—Jake is scared. And for the first time since this whole thing started, you realize, You’re not the only one whose world is changing. Jake won’t look at you. His eyes stay fixed on some invisible point in the room, his jaw tense, fingers still picking at the frayed thread on your blanket. He looks like he wants to say something, like there’s too much sitting on his tongue, but he doesn’t know where to start. And for some reason, that makes your chest ache. 

“Jake…” you start carefully. His head tilts slightly, but he still doesn’t meet your gaze. You swallow. “Is it because of—”

“You,” Jake says suddenly. The word is soft. Quiet. But it still punches the air right out of your lungs. Your breath catches. “Me?” Jake finally lifts his eyes to yours, and god, they’re unreadable. Dark, searching—like he’s trying to figure out what the hell to do with everything inside him.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is rough, like he’s only just now admitting it to himself. “It’s you. It’s… this.” He gestures vaguely, and you know he means all of it. The pregnancy. The secret you held onto for weeks. The way everything between you is shifting, unsteady, the ground cracking beneath both of you in real time. And it’s weird. Because part of you has spent so long thinking about how this will change your life—how everything is unraveling for you—that it didn’t even occur to you that Jake is unraveling too.

That he’s scared. Just like you. The thought makes something twist deep in your stomach. You exhale, shifting slightly so you’re facing him completely. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you.” Jake’s brows knit together immediately. “What?” You glance down at your hands. “I know hockey is your whole life, Jake. I know you’ve got… plans, and dreams, and this wasn’t supposed to happen. And now it’s just—” You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek before whispering, “I don’t want you to hate me for it.”

Jake stiffens. The room is silent for a long, painful moment. Then, suddenly, he shifts—pushing himself off the bed and moving toward you so fast that your breath stumbles. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s closer now. Close enough that you can see the way his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his hoodie sleeves.

“Don’t say that,” he says, voice low. “Don’t ever say that.” You blink up at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Jake shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I could never hate you.” Your throat tightens. “But I—”

“You didn’t do this alone.” His voice is firm, certain. “You didn’t just wake up one day and decide to flip my life upside down. I was there, too.” You let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m the one carrying it.” Jake flinches slightly at the word carrying, but he doesn’t look away.

“I know,” he says. His voice is softer now. “And I know it’s different for you. I know I’ll never fully get what that feels like.” He swallows hard. “But this isn’t just on you, okay? I’m scared too.” Your heart stutters. Because this is Jake. The Jake who’s always been so steady. So sure of himself. Who skates like nothing in the world could shake him. And now he’s sitting in front of you, looking like he’s the one who can’t find his footing.

You don’t know what to say. So you just nod. Jake exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before falling back onto your bed. He stares at the ceiling for a long second, letting the silence settle between you again. Then, with a small, almost bitter laugh, he says, “God, no wonder Coach was on my ass all day.”

That startles a laugh out of you. It’s small, barely there, but Jake notices. His lips twitch. “Oh, so now it’s funny?”

You sniffle, shaking your head. “I mean… kinda.” Jake groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering.” You roll your eyes, nudging his foot lightly with yours. “It’s not suffering, it’s called consequences.” Jake drops his arm, lifting his head to give you a flat look. “I don’t like that word.”

You smirk. “Well, get used to it.” For a moment, you just sit there, looking at each other. And something settles. The air is still heavy, the weight of everything still pressing down on both of you. But… It doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore. 

The rest of the night kept going just like that, sat next together watching reruns, laughing about everything. You’re trying to focus on the show playing in front of you. Really, you are. But it’s hard—and not just because Jake keeps making little comments about the plot, half-serious, half to mess with you. It’s because you can’t stop thinking about it. Something that has been plaguing you these past few weeks. The feeling has been creeping up on you for weeks now, an itch under your skin that only seems to get worse. At first, you thought it was just stress, or maybe a weird symptom of everything your body was going through. But now, sitting here next to Jake, your legs tucked up under you, his thigh warm where it brushes against yours — 

You know exactly what it is. And god, it’s humiliating. Because there’s no good way to say it. Hey, Jake, I know our lives are changing forever, but by the way, I’m really, really horny. You press your lips together, eyes flickering toward him. He looks relaxed, his arm slung lazily over the back of your bed, fingers occasionally tapping against the blanket. His hoodie has shifted slightly, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his sweats, and why are you even looking at that? 

You force yourself to look back at the screen, gripping your blanket like it might physically restrain you from saying something stupid. But then Jake shifts, turning toward you slightly. “You good?” You freeze. “What?” 

Jake gives you a look. “You keep making weird faces.” Shit. You clear your throat, shaking your head quickly. “I’m fine.” Jake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure?” 

No. “Yeah.” but he doesn’t look away, god can he just look away. “Because if something’s wrong—” 

“I said I’m fine,” you blurt, a little too quickly, a little too defensive. Jake blinks. You clamp your mouth shut. Then, slowly, his expression shifts. Like he’s figuring something out. Like he’s putting a puzzle together, piece by piece. And suddenly, you regret everything. Because this is Jake.

Jake, who knows your body better than anyone. Jake, who has spent the last year reading your little shifts and signals, knowing exactly when you wanted him—when you needed him—even before you ever said a word. And now he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. Your stomach flips. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something — But you panic, snatching the remote and turning the volume up way too high.

Jake flinches at the sudden blare of noise. “Jesus—”

“Sorry!” You fumble with the remote, lowering it again. “My hand slipped.” Jake stares at you. Then—slowly—he smirks. Your stomach plummets. “Your hand slipped?” he repeats, amusement dripping from his tone. You nod quickly. “Yep.” Jake tilts his head, still watching you. Your heart is pounding. And you realize, with absolute horror, that there is no way you’re getting out of this.

Jake is still watching you. And you can tell by the glint in his eyes, the way his smirk is growing, that he knows something’s up. So, before he can start teasing you, you blurt out the first thing on your mind. “Are you gonna sleep with other girls?”

Jake stills. His smirk drops instantly. His whole expression shifts from amused to completely caught off guard. “What?” You don’t back down. You cross your arms, looking straight at him. “Now that I’m, you know…” You gesture vaguely toward your stomach. “Are you still gonna sleep with other people?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” Just that. No. No hesitation, no confusion, just a simple, matter-of-fact no. And that does something to you. Because you weren’t even sure why you asked it. Maybe because you never really talked about exclusivity before. Maybe because things between you have felt so different lately, and you needed to know. Or maybe because part of you was scared that nothing was different for Jake  that he’d still be going out, still be with other girls, while you were here, pregnant with his child.

But now, sitting here, watching the way his brows are still pulled together like he can’t believe you even asked  Something inside you loosens. You exhale. “Good.” Then, before you can overthink it, before Jake can even process what’s happening You lean in and kiss him.

Jake freezes. It’s so different from the way things used to be. Before, your kisses were quick, hungry, never filled with anything but need. But this is slow. This is intentional. And it’s Jake who responds first.

He melts into you, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just right as he deepens the kiss. His lips are warm, familiar, but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now, something softer, something that lingers. And god, you need him. Every built-up thought, every moment of tension from the last few weeks, crashes into you all at once. You press closer, hands fisting into his hoodie, pulling him in.

Jake makes a low sound in his throat, his grip tightening slightly, his other hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers skim the hem of your shirt, hesitate — Then he pulls away just slightly, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “Are you—” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Are you sure?” You nod. Jake studies you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when he finds none, his lips crash into yours again. And this time  Neither of you stop. Jake kisses you like he’s making up for lost time.

Like he’s been waiting for this, just as much as you have. His hands slide up your sides, slow and careful, like he’s still giving you a chance to change your mind but you don’t. You can’t. You press closer, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, and that’s all it takes. A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him, his flushed skin, his rapid breathing sends a shiver through you. He’s so warm, and when his hands find your hips, you let him guide you back against the pillows, your body reacting on instinct.

Everything feels different. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that makes you hesitate. Just in a way that makes you aware of the weight of his body, the way he touches you, the way he looks at you. Because for the first time, it’s not just mindless. For the first time, Jake is looking at you like he actually sees you. And god, you want him.

His lips trail down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder everywhere. His hands are careful, slower than usual, like he’s savoring the moment instead of rushing through it. And that’s the thing there’s no rush. Because tonight isn’t about just getting lost in each other. Tonight is something else. Something neither of you have had before. And as Jake’s lips find yours again, breathless, desperate, needing you let yourself fall. 

He took his time peeling off every layer of clothing that stood in your way, his sensual kisses leaving butterfly like feelings in his wake as he moved them up and down the expanse of your neck. It was more romantic than you had ever experienced. He was taking his time with you, cherishing your body as he helped you, cradled you. There was beauty in the way the two of you were finally joined, again. 

You are on top of him, your knees on either side of his hips, lifting yourself up than crashing down to the tune of your own heartbeat in your ears. Jake drank in the sight of you, his hands running up and down your body, squeezing at your breasts like a vice. They were noticeably bigger and it was apparent that Jake loved it. 

Your moans and groans grew in tandem as Jake whispered dirty things into your ear. The gasps he let out everytime your hips slapped against yours served as a catalyst to your already awaiting orgasm. It hit you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in its wake. Jake followed not long after. His body is shaking along with yours. And when it was over, you sat atop him with him still nestled deep inside of you and fell asleep. Feeling more peaceful than you have in weeks. 

The next morning, the first thing you register is warmth. It’s different from the usual comfort of your blankets or the lingering haze of sleep. It’s heavier, grounding, and when you blink your eyes open, it takes you a second to realize why. Jake is still next to you. He’s lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, one arm stretched lazily across your waist. His breathing is slow, deep, even, and in the soft morning light filtering through your curtains, he looks so peaceful. So different.

Jake is always moving, always carrying some kind of restless energy on the ice, at parties, even just sitting next to you. But right now, he’s still. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, his lips parted slightly as he sleeps. You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the subtle weight of his arm over you, and for a brief, fragile moment, you let yourself just exist here. In this sliver of morning where nothing has to be said. Where nothing has to change. But eventually, Jake stirs.

He shifts against the pillow, letting out a low hum as his lashes flutter open, still heavy with sleep. His grip on you tightens for a second before he pulls away, rubbing at his face. You watch as he blinks a few times, clearly still waking up, before his gaze finally settles on you. A small, lazy smile.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low, hoarse. You swallow, forcing yourself to look away from the mess of his hair, the sleep-drunk warmth in his eyes. "Morning." Jake shifts onto his side, his movements slower than usual, more relaxed. His eyes flicker toward the bedside table, where his phone buzzes quietly, before he turns back to you.

"The frat’s having a thing tonight," he says, voice still rough from sleep. "Not a party, just a small get-together. You should come." You hesitate. "A get-together?"

Jake nods, stretching one arm above his head before letting it drop back onto the pillow. "Yeah. Just the guys, Yunjin, Yuna, Heeseung’s girl. No crazy shit." He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “It might be good for you.” There’s something careful in the way he says it. Like he’s watching for your reaction. And the truth is, you don’t know how to feel. You haven’t really been out since everything happened. The idea of being around everyone again of feeling like things are normal when they’re so clearly not makes something twist in your chest.

Jake notices. "You don’t have to," he says, quieter now. “I just thought—" He stops, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just thought you might wanna get out for a bit. Clear your head.” And the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker to your stomach for the briefest second before meeting yours again.  You know what he means. He’s giving you an out. If you don’t want to go, he won’t push. If you say no, he won’t mention it again. But the idea lingers.

Because part of you does miss it. Misses laughing with Yuna and Yunjin, miss sitting around and watching Heeseung get bullied by the guys, miss feeling like yourself. Even if things aren’t the same anymore. You exhale slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “…Okay.” Jake blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually agree. Then slowly, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?” You nod, and something inside you eases. This could be fun and god knows you need that in your life right about now. 

That night, air is crisp as you step outside, carrying the first whispers of winter on its breath. You tug your coat tighter around you, relishing in the warmth as you walk alongside Jake. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, the fabric pulled over his head, but you can still see the easy grin playing at his lips. There’s something light about tonight, something you hadn’t expected. It’s been weeks of suffocating thoughts, of holding your breath, of feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on your chest. But tonight, for the first time, that pressure isn’t there. Maybe it’s because you’re choosing this. Or maybe it’s because Jake's here with you. 

Jake glances at you as you walk. “You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“You sure?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, playful, teasing. “Because I don’t wanna show up and have you ditch me two minutes in. That’d be kinda embarrassing.” You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small laugh that escapes you. “I’m not gonna ditch you.” Jake hums, side-eyeing you like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I dunno. You’ve been real unpredictable lately.”  You nudge him back, a little harder this time, and he lets out a soft chuckle.

The sidewalk stretches ahead, illuminated by the golden glow of streetlights. It’s late enough that campus is quiet, the usual bustle of students reduced to only the occasional passing group, muffled laughter carrying through the air. The night feels calm. Jake walks beside you in that familiar, effortless way—like being near you is second nature. And maybe it is. Maybe, despite everything, it always has been You glance over at him. “So, what exactly is this get-together?”

Jake shrugs. “Just a small thing. Heeseung and Jay wanted to do something before our next away game. No crazy party, just hanging out.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Swear on my life.” He presses a hand over his heart. “No surprise kegs, no random strangers passing out in the hall. Just us.” It sounds… nice. Like the kind of normalcy you hadn’t realized you missed until now. The thought makes you exhale softly, your steps slowing just a fraction. You hadn’t expected to feel good tonight. Hadn’t expected to look forward to anything, let alone this. Jake notices your pause and turns slightly, walking backward now so he can face you. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head, “we can still turn around, you know. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” But you do.

So you shake your head. “I wanna go.” Jake studies you for a second, like he’s searching for any hesitation. But there isn’t any. Not tonight. Eventually, he nods. “Okay,” he says. Then, his lips twitch into something softer. “Good.” And as you near the house, the sound of laughter spilling out onto the porch, the glow of string lights hanging from the windows, You realize you’re glad you came. 

The warmth of the frat house greets you the moment you step inside, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The air is thick with the scent of garlic bread and pasta, something home-cooked and rich, filling the space with a kind of comfort you hadn’t expected. Laughter hums in the background, the low murmur of conversation weaving between the sound of utensils clinking against plates. It’s not the kind of party you’d grown used to at this house. No booming music rattling the walls, no overwhelming crush of bodies moving in tandem, no spilled drinks coating the floor in sticky regret. Instead, it feels warm, familiar. Like a gathering of people who actually care about each other. Jake’s friends greet him instantly, throwing easy nods and teasing jabs his way. Jay claps him on the shoulder, Heeseung tosses some offhand comment about how “Wow, Sim, you actually showed up for once?” but then their attention shifts to you.

“Hey!” Yunjin grins, pulling you into a quick hug. “We were wondering if you’d come.” You smile. “Yeah, Jake convinced me.”

“Good. You needed to get out,” Yuna says, appearing at your side with her usual knowing smirk. “You can’t just sit in the dorm watching Netflix and eating fruit snacks for the next few months.”

You narrow your eyes. “That was one time.”

Yunjin snickers. “Sure, babe.”

There’s no judgment in their words, though, just familiarity. That easy friendship that makes your chest loosen. Everyone settles into a comfortable rhythm as the night unfolds, plates passed around, laughter spilling over casual conversation, Jake leaning back into the couch beside you, his arm draped along the back of it, close but not quite touching. And then, at some point, the conversation shifts.

“So,” Yunjin says, sitting forward, her eyes flickering between you and Jake. “We have to talk about something important.” You blink. “Uh… okay?”

Yuna grins. “A baby shower.” You choke on your drink. “A what?”

“A baby shower!” Heeseung’s girlfriend nods eagerly. “Come on, you have to have one! It’ll be so cute!” You stare at them. “I mean, I—”

“It’s not really up to you,” Yunjin interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve already decided. We’re throwing one.” Jake huffs a small laugh beside you, shaking his head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re having a baby, dude. This is happening.” Jay gestures between the two of you. “You might as well have a party for it.” You glance at Jake, unsure what to say. The idea of a baby shower hadn’t even crossed your mind yet. There’s been so much to think about. doctor’s appointments, your classes, the slow, terrifying reality of your life shifting that something as normal as a baby shower hadn’t even made it onto the list. But the way everyone is looking at you excited, hopeful, like they genuinely want to do this for you makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jake’s knee bumps against yours as he shifts beside you. “What do you think?” he asks, voice low enough that it’s meant just for you. You hesitate for only a second before nodding. “I think…” You exhale, looking back at your friends. “I think it sounds exciting.” The girls cheer. Heeseung claps Jake on the back. “Guess you better start making a registry, man.” Jake groans, but there’s something soft in his expression, something light. Something you’d love to see over and over again until you die. 

The conversation drifts naturally, flowing from one topic to the next like the rise and fall of a tide. The laughter still lingers in the air, the warmth of it curling around you like a blanket, but then the topic shifts. Jay leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Man, this schedule is gonna kill me.”

Heeseung snorts. “You say that every year.”

“Yeah, and I mean it every year.” Jay groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Back-to-back away games? We barely get time to breathe.” Jake lets out a low chuckle beside you. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jay lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “Shut up, Sim. You love this shit.” Jake shrugs, unbothered. “I mean, yeah. It’s hockey. What’s not to love?” And just like that, the floodgates open. The guys dive into a conversation that feels almost foreign to you, play schedules, practice drills, strategies for upcoming games. They speak in a language that’s second nature to them, that thrives in their bones, their voices animated, hands gesturing wildly as they argue over stats and game plans. And at first, it’s nothing. At first, you just sit there, listening. But then — Then it starts to settle.

Jake does love this. It’s not just a hobby, not just a college sport—it’s his life. The hours, the dedication, the grueling schedule—it doesn’t seem to weigh on him the way it does the others. He thrives in it. He needs it. And this is just college. If he’s this busy now…

The thought creeps in, slow but merciless. If this is what his schedule looks like now—morning practices, late-night workouts, weekend-long away games—what the hell is it going to look like when he goes pro? Because he will. You know it as sure as you know the sun will rise in the morning. Jake was built for this. It’s what he’s worked for, what he’s bled for. Hockey isn’t just something he loves. It’s his future. And where the hell do you fit into that?

You blink, barely registering that the conversation is still going, that the guys are still talking and laughing and teasing each other, that the warmth of the room hasn’t faded—but suddenly, it feels distant. A dull, steady ache starts in your chest, creeping up your throat, tightening around your ribs. You stare at the flickering candle on the table, at the way the wax pools and hardens, melting and reforming in an endless cycle. They keep talking. And you go quiet.

You don’t even realize how still you’ve gone until Jake nudges your knee with his own. “Hey.” His voice is softer now, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze, and there’s a slight furrow between his brows, that subtle shift that tells you he notices. “You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that the others don’t hear. You should say yes. Should push down the thoughts clawing at your chest, the creeping fear that tells you this is a mistake, that you’re deluding yourself into thinking this can work, that you won’t get left behind in the wake of his future.

But your throat is tight. So you just force a smile, nodding once. Jake doesn’t buy it. His gaze lingers, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to figure you out. But before he can press, someone calls his name, dragging him back into the conversation, and you take the out for what it is. You breathe. And the doubt lingers. The room is still alive with conversation, laughter curling at the edges of words, but your mind is somewhere else. Distant. Tangled.

Jake is talking again something about next week’s game, about how they need to tighten their defense but the words barely reach you. They swirl around the room, carried by voices that belong in this world, that fit. And then there’s you. Sitting here, stomach heavy with something that feels like lead, pressing against your ribs, against your lungs. Because how does this work? How do you fit?

You glance at Jake from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees, brows furrowed as he listens to Heeseung explain something about their last game. He’s so focused. So in his element, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. And then there’s the baby. And you. Where do you fit in all of this? It was easy, easier when the thought of being pregnant was still something distant, something you were still getting used to. But now it’s real. You’ve seen the ultrasound. Heard the heartbeat. There’s something inside you, someone that’s growing, changing, becoming more real every single day. And Jake..

Jake is here. He’s showing up. He’s bringing you food and taking you to appointments and rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way every time he catches himself looking at you for too long. But for how long? Because this is just college. This is before the contracts, before the NHL scouts come knocking, before his entire life shifts into something so much bigger than campus arenas and team dinners. You bite your lip, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. Jake loves hockey. It’s the one thing he’s never wavered on, the one thing that’s been steady, unwavering, untouchable.

And you, You’re just a detour. A pause in his story. A moment in time that he never planned for. He’s already stretched so thin. His schedule is already brutal. Morning practices, games, travel, training when would he even have time for you? For a baby? For late-night feedings and diaper changes and God, what were you thinking? This isn’t sustainable. This isn’t something that fits neatly into his world.

The realization crashes into you all at once, so heavy you almost feel sick. You need to talk to him. But then Jake laughs beside you, head thrown back, voice warm and unbothered, and when he looks at you, his smile is easy, soft. And for a second, just a second you wonder if maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he’s trying. Maybe he wants this. Maybe…

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, meant only for you. “You’re quiet.” You blink, jolted from your thoughts, your heart hammering against your ribs. You force a small smile. “Just tired.” Jake’s eyes linger for a second longer, like he doesn’t quite believe you. But then Jay nudges him, pulling him back into the conversation, and the moment is gone. And you, You’re still stuck wondering.

The night air is crisp when Jake pulls up in front of your dorm, the distant hum of campus life still lingering in the background, laughter from passing students, the occasional roar of a car engine down the street, the muffled bass of music from a party somewhere nearby. But inside the car, it’s just you and him.

The warmth of the heater hums softly, filling the silence that has stretched between you since you left the frat house. Jake’s hands are still wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, but he’s not in any rush to move. His eyes flick to you as you shift in your seat, your fingers curling and uncurling in your lap. “You want me to come in?” His voice is careful. Not forceful, not overbearing gentle. An offer. A quiet attempt to be there, to be with you.

You shake your head almost immediately. “No, it’s okay. I think I just wanna sleep.” The words leave your lips too quickly, too practiced, and you can tell by the way Jake’s brows furrow slightly that he catches it. That he knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out on it. He just exhales slowly, watching you for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a restless little rhythm, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how.

You push the car door open before he can change his mind and insist, before he can see through you too much. The cold air bites at your skin as you step out, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. You feel Jake’s gaze on you as you turn back toward the car, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for the ride.” Jake gives a small nod, his lips pressing together. “Yeah. Of course.”

You linger. For some reason, you linger. Your fingers tighten around the door, the weight in your chest heavy and pulling.Like there’s something that wants to slip out, some small confession that’s buried too deep for you to name just yet. But then Jake shifts in his seat, glancing toward the windshield, and the moment shatters. You clear your throat, forcing a small smile. “Night, Jake.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Night.” You shut the door and walk away before the doubt in your head can make you turn back.

Inside your dorm, it’s quiet. Too quiet. The air is still, untouched by Yuna’s usual presence—her music, her laughter, her constant, grounding presence that keeps you from feeling like you’re alone with your thoughts. But tonight, you are alone. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, shrugging off your jacket and letting it slip from your fingers onto the chair nearby. The room feels colder than usual, or maybe that’s just you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers threading through your hair as you stare at the floor. The doubt is back. That creeping, suffocating feeling that has latched onto you ever since the conversation about hockey at dinner. How does this work? You feel like you’re standing at the edge of something. A reality you’re not prepared for, a future that you don’t know how to step into. Jake is here now. But what about when the season gets more intense? What about when the scouts come, when contracts are on the table, when suddenly he’s got offers from teams that are miles and miles away?

What about when the NHL swallows him whole and you and this baby become nothing more than a footnote in his history? Your fingers tremble slightly as you rest them against your stomach. It’s still flat, still unchanged, but you know you know something is growing, shifting, taking root inside you. And yet, you still don’t know where you fit in Jake’s life. Maybe he’s showing up now. Maybe he’s trying. But what if this, this thing between you was never meant to last? You press your lips together, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes. You’re exhausted, your body heavy with the weight of your thoughts, but sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

It’s been a week. Seven days of silence. Seven days of unanswered texts, of ignored calls, of messages left on read. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, that eventually, Jake would force his way in. That he’d demand answers, refuse to let you keep pushing him away. But still, when the knock comes; sharp and insistent against your dorm door and  your stomach drops.

For a second, you think about pretending you’re not home. But then his voice comes through, firm but edged with something else. Something raw. “Open the door, please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers curling against the fabric of your hoodie. There’s no running from this. No delaying the inevitable. So you inhale, force your hands to stop shaking, and pull the door open. Jake is standing there, still in his practice gear, sweat dampening the strands of hair curling against his forehead, his hockey duffel slung over one shoulder. He must’ve come straight from the rink, must’ve been thinking about this the entire time because his eyes are already burning with frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he demands.

You cross your arms over your chest, stepping back just enough for him to push past you into the dorm. He does, kicking the door shut behind him, and suddenly the room feels too small. Too full of him. He turns to you, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “You’ve been ignoring me.” You scoff, arms tightening around yourself. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s because I needed some space.”

Jake shakes his head, running a hand down his face. “Space from what? Me? The baby? This whole situation?” He exhales, something heavy behind it. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know when something’s wrong with you?” You look away, fixing your gaze on the floor. “Jake—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the room, not loud, but firm. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.” Your throat tightens. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence.

His expression shifts, the frustration flickering into something else—hurt. You swallow hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “You might think you can handle it, but… this isn’t just a game, Jake. This isn’t a season, or a practice, or something you can walk away from if it gets too hard.” Your voice shakes, but you push forward. “This is a baby. A whole life. And you’re already stretched so thin. Your schedule is insane, your life is already moving in a direction that—” You shake your head, looking away. “What if I’m just setting myself up for disappointment?”

Jake exhales sharply, stepping closer again, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are stormy, filled with something desperate, something pleading. “I don’t know how to convince you,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t know how to make you believe me when I tell you that I want this. That I want to be here.” Your lip trembles, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him. He presses his lips together, dragging a hand through his hair. “And how am I supposed to do that if you won’t even let me try?” The words linger between you, thick and heavy, suffocating the space between breaths. You don’t have an answer.

So you just whisper, “I need space.” Jake’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow, controlled breath, like he’s forcing himself to accept it. He nods once, lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine.” But then his voice softens, just barely. “I have an away game this weekend. I’ll be gone until Monday.” His eyes search yours, like he’s looking for something, anything to tell him you’re not slipping too far away. “But I’ll be back. And when I am, we’re talking about this.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Okay.” Jake lingers for a moment, like there’s something else he wants to say. But instead, he just exhales, shoulders still tight with tension as he steps back toward the door. And then he’s gone. And the second the door clicks shut behind him, the weight in your chest pulls you under. 

The dorm is cloaked in darkness, save for the faint blue light spilling from the television screen. The glow flickers across the walls, illuminating the mess of blankets you’ve curled yourself into on the couch. The volume isn’t high, but it doesn’t need to be. The sound of the game filters in clearly, the scrape of skates on ice, the sharp whistles, the distant roar of the crowd.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t watch. That you’d let the game pass without so much as checking the score. But now you’re here, heart hammering against your ribs, watching him. Jake. The camera zooms in as he weaves through the defense, his body moving like something fluid, something effortless. His hair is damp with sweat beneath his helmet, strands sticking to his forehead as he skates into position. He’s good. He’s so good.

You can see it in the way he moves, in the way the opposing team struggles to keep up. They’re aggressive, irritated because they know they can’t outplay him, so they’ll try to beat him down instead. And that’s exactly what they do. The hits tonight have been brutal. More than usual. It’s a grueling, ruthless game, bodies slamming against the boards with resounding cracks. The referees aren’t calling much, letting things slide, letting them play too rough.

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain.

It takes two people to help him off the ice. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your hands clenched into fists. You hate this. You hate watching them get hurt like this. And then, Jake. He’s too fast, moving up the rink, his stick handling the puck with precision. The opposing team is trailing behind him, trying to keep up, trying to stop him.

They can’t. So one of them doesn’t even try. The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move.

Your vision blurs. The game fades into the background, the commentators talking too calm, too casual as Jake remains still. His limbs are tangled awkwardly beneath him, his hand curled slightly over his side, his helmet tilted askew. He still hasn’t moved. Oh God. Move, Jake. Your stomach is in your throat, a sharp, rising panic clawing up your chest. Your hands are shaking. Your breath is coming too fast, too shallow, and you feel like you might be sick.

Then, slowly, he stirs. Not much, just a twitch of his fingers, a subtle shift in his shoulders. But it’s enough for the trainer to rush onto the ice, teammates circling him as he tries to push himself up. The camera zooms in, his face is twisted, his brows drawn together in pain.

His hand is gripping his ribs. Your throat tightens. You can see it, he’s hurting. Even as he shakes his head at the trainer, even as he tries to play it off. He’s trying to act fine, trying to prove he can keep going, but you know him. You can see through it. Jake’s not okay. Tears burn at your eyes, and you don’t even try to fight them. You don’t care that you’ve spent the last week avoiding him, don’t care that you’ve been drowning in doubts, don’t care that you still don’t have all the answers. Because none of it matters right now. Jake is hurt. You just want to be with him, you need to be with him. You have to get to him, and fast. 

You barely remember how you got there, your feet pounding the pavement in a haze, the world a blur of motion as you rushed toward the hospital. You’re too frantic to think, too scared to process anything more than the fact that Jake was hurt, hurt in a way you couldn’t ignore, couldn’t pretend didn’t matter. The lights from the hospital sign flicker above you as you stumble through the entrance, the sterile scent of antiseptic and disinfectant hitting you like a wall. Your heart is hammering, the fear sitting heavy in your chest as you make your way to the front desk, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"I—I’m looking for Jake Sim," you stutter, your voice shaky, too soft as you try to push past the thick knot of panic that clings to your throat. The receptionist eyes you, takes a moment to type something into her computer. “Room 214,” she says flatly, barely glancing up. “He’s being kept for observation.”

Room 214.

The number echoes in your head as you make your way down the hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly. You can hear your pulse pounding in your ears, a steady thrum as you walk faster, too fast, the air around you seeming to constrict with every step. You reach the door. For a moment, you just stand there. Your hand is trembling as you push the door open, the sight of Jake in the bed almost too much to bear. His face is pale, too pale, and his eyes are closed, though he’s awake. He’s hooked up to an IV, his forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

He looks - fragile. Your breath catches in your throat as you step into the room, and it takes everything in you to swallow the rising lump of emotion that threatens to spill out. You’ve seen Jake take hits, seen him get back up from injury after injury. But this feels different. His head turns when he hears the door, his eyes opening slowly, a small smile curling on his lips when he sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough but warm, like he’s trying to ease the tension in the air. His smile is weak, his usual confidence stripped away by the injury, but it’s still there. It’s still him.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, your throat tight. You move to his side, hovering for a second before reaching out to touch his hand, your fingers trembling against his. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, the solid reassurance you’ve been craving, yet his grip feels fragile in a way you can’t quite shake.

“I didn’t mean to freak out like I did,” you murmur, your voice cracking. “I know you love the baby, and I know you’ll be there for them. I—I know you’ll be a good dad.” He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a faint wince on his face as he shifts his weight, but the way his lips curl into something resembling a smile makes your heart ache.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension that’s been hanging between you for days. “I used to think hockey was the world, that I lived for it, breathed for it. that it was my life. That hockey was the reason I woke up in the morning. I love hockey, hockey will always be my passion and it will always be what I want to do, and who i want to be. But it’s not my life. you are. you two are my life, you and this baby and I wouldn't want it any other way.” 

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air rushes out in one long, shaky exhale. Jake’s hand reaches up, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the pain he’s in. “I’ve been an idiot,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so focused on everything else, and I didn’t stop to think about what you needed. What we needed.”

Tears sting your eyes, a sudden rush of emotion overwhelming you. You hadn’t known how badly you needed to hear those words until they were out in the open. “Jake—” But he’s not letting you finish. He pulls you closer, gently, not forcefully, as though he’s afraid you might break. And when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, soft in a way that makes the world feel like it’s finally falling into place.

You close your eyes, the weight of everything you’ve been carrying melting away in an instant. His kiss is tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against yours, a delicate reassurance that he’s here. That he’s not going anywhere. But then, as if the words he’s spoken have unlocked something inside both of you, the kiss deepens, slow and aching, full of the longing that’s been building between you for weeks. The warmth of his lips against yours is the grounding force you needed to remind yourself that everything was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze full of tenderness, full of something real.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

“I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need.

AFTER. 

The baby shower is a blur of light and warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of happy conversations filling the air. The room is decorated with soft blues and yellows, little stuffed animals and pastel balloons drifting lazily overhead. It’s a cozy, intimate gathering. more like a family get-together than a grand celebration, and everything feels perfect. The air smells faintly of sweet pastries and flowers, and there’s an undeniable sense of anticipation hanging in the air, as if everyone is waiting for the moment when you and Jake’s little one will finally arrive.

Yuna is by your side, her bright smile radiating as she hands you a piece of cake, teasing you about cravings you’d been indulging in the past few months. You laugh along with her, feeling lighter than you have in ages. There’s a sense of peace in this room — a fleeting, magical calmness that you don’t want to end. Every now and then, your hand drifts to your swollen belly, gently pressing against the soft curve of it, as if the little life inside is dancing along to the rhythm of the moment.

Jake, ever the protective figure, is right by your side, his hand resting on the small of your back, his gaze never straying too far from you. His face, always so expressive, is filled with an emotion you can’t quite name, something soft, something cherishing. It’s hard to imagine a time when things were uncertain, when you wondered if he could be the father you needed, the partner you dreamed of. Because now, standing here with him, you know the truth. He’s already there. Already doing everything he can to show you he’s in this for the long haul.

“Do you need anything?” Jake asks, his voice low, full of the kind of care that only someone who loves you like he does can muster. You shake your head, the warmth from his touch making your heart swell. It’s moments like these, quiet, simple moments that remind you how far you’ve come from the uncertainty you once felt. How far you’ve both come.

“Just you,” you smile up at him, the words coming out without a second thought, and he grins at you like it’s the best compliment he could ever receive.

The guests are all mingling now, with the occasional burst of laughter ringing out as the game ideas you and Yuna came up with take full effect. Everyone is gathered around, exchanging baby gifts, newborn clothes, soft blankets, bottles, stuffed animals. Your friends and family are here, laughing and celebrating this new chapter of your life. The people you love most are sharing this with you. And even though there’s a bittersweet ache in your chest, because Sunghoon is absent, recovering from that god-awful injury, there’s a deep sense of thankfulness that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

“Hey,” Jake says, breaking you from your thoughts. His voice is so gentle, his hand finding yours in the crowd. “I need to step outside for a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, watching as he slips through the door. You know he’s been feeling the weight of everything lately, the pressure of balancing his career, school, and this new role as a soon-to-be father. You trust him to make it all work, to prove to you that he can handle the responsibilities. But there’s a piece of you, a vulnerable part, that still worries. The doubts always seem to rise like whispers in the back of your mind.

“Win or lose; I want to come home to you,” Jake had said to you not long ago, those words echoing in your memory like a melody. They settle in your heart like a promise, something real, something that matters. The door opens softly, and you look up to see Jake reentering the room, his eyes catching yours immediately. His smile, though small, is genuine, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. The way he looks at you, the way his hand rests against your back once more as he steps closer. it’s as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the miracle of everything that’s happening.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” The words settle between you both, and for a brief moment, the noise of the party fades into the background. All that matters is this. this feeling of being connected, being here, in this moment, together. The baby, the future, it’s all a little clearer now.

Jake’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The room seems to hum around you, the laughter and chatter distant, but in this small space between the two of you, the world feels as if it’s standing still. Everything has changed. The uncertainty, the doubts, the fear. it’s all been replaced by the certainty of one truth: You’re in this together. And when you see Jake’s face soften with that same familiar warmth, you know it’s true. He’s here. He’s home. “Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.”

Your heart swells in your chest, the weight of his promise settling deep inside you. And in that moment, you know it’s all going to be okay.

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

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[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° went out to look for a reason to hide

♡ a/n — for my childhood best friends to lovers series

♡ word count — 1.4k

♡ content — hiori yo x fem! reader, (could be gn! but just to be safe i said fem), probably ooc hiori, goes from ages 4 to the U-20 game, pining, not

♡ synopsis — And maybe, just maybe, the world would see who Hiori Yo tuly was one day. But for now, only you knew this version of him.

You met Hiori Yo when you were four years old.

The daycare was noisy, filled with the screeches and laughter of kids running around, playing games, making friends. But you weren’t like them. You sat at your own table, arms crossed, face pulled into a deep scowl as you mean-mugged anyone who dared to get too close. You had already made too many kids cry today—apparently, you didn’t know how to keep your thoughts to yourself.

"You’re too loud," your mom always said. "You don’t understand other people’s feelings."

But what did that even mean? You were four. How were you supposed to understand something so complicated when you could barely tie your shoes?

The other kids didn’t like you. You didn’t mean to hurt their feelings, but somehow, you always did. Even when you apologized, they never wanted to play with you again, everyone avoided you now, too scared to talk to you, too hurt by whatever you had said that you already forgot.

So you sat alone, mean-mugging anyone who got too close. You decided you’d rather sit by yourself anyway. At least that weird kid with blue hair wasn’t trying to talk to you.

But then, he did.

"Hi!"

You looked up from your scuffed-up lunchbox, eyes narrowing at the boy standing across from you. His hair was messy, sticking up in all the wrong places, and his cheeks were a little too round, making him look soft in a way that made your glare feel useless.

"Hi," you muttered.

The boy didn’t seem fazed by your disinterest. He dragged over one of the many chairs that had been abandoned at your table and plopped down, completely at ease. He had a book in his hands—one about soccer, judging by the pictures you could see from across the table.

"I’m Hiori!" he said cheerfully.

You raised a brow, glancing at the other kids behind him, the ones who actually wanted to play with him.

"The others wanna play with you."

Hiori only shrugged, flipping a page in his book before looking at you with an easy smile.

"I wanna be here."

And no matter how hard you tried to push him away, no matter how much you told him he was better off with the others, Hiori Yo never left your side.

Eventually… you became friends.

By junior high, not much had changed.

You still had trouble keeping friends—your outspokenness tended to scare people off, especially at this age, when kids were meaner, more sensitive. But Hiori was different. While people naturally drifted away from you, more and more people were drawn to him.

He was too nice, too good to tell them to leave him alone.

If they knew the real Hiori—the one who could stare dead-eyed at a game for hours, the one who matched your sharp energy effortlessly, the one who called you stupid when you were being stupid—maybe they wouldn’t like him so much.

You hummed to yourself as you walked home together after his soccer practice, still carrying the familiar weight of your school bag as he dragged his duffel over his shoulder. His face, once the picture of politeness and charm, was now set in an exhausted grimace.

"Aren’t you tired?" you asked, glancing up at him.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "God, they just never stop talking. ‘Hiori, do this! Hiori, can you—’ It’s... I don’t know."

You rolled your eyes. "You can just say no, you know?"

"No… I can’t. That’s not who I am."

He huffed, scratching the back of his neck. But was pleasing everyone really worth it? Hiding who he truly was just to please everyone? 

Was that why people questioned your friendship—because you never hid, while Hiori played a role for everyone but you?

Just thinking about it made you exhausted.

High school changed things.

Hiori finally found his edge, his perfect level of competitiveness. High school soccer was brutal—people got hurt all the time, whether on purpose or by accident.

And Hiori?

Well, to everyone else, sweet Hiori never meant to injure anyone. He was too nice, too soft, too apologetic for it to be intentional.

So what if Hiori had accidentally hurt more than a few players? He even apologized—everyone forgave him immediately.

But you knew better.

That wasn’t an accident.

You approached him after the game, watching as he wiped the sweat from his brow, his face still a mask of innocence.

"That was cruel, Hiori."

You smiled at him, reaching up to dab a bit of sweat from his forehead with your sleeve.

"Can’t score again if you’re hurt," he replied with a shrug.

You huffed, shaking your head as he slung an arm over your shoulders. "Can I come over later? Don’t wanna hear it from my parents."

"Of course. You know you’re always allowed to just walk in. My mom loves you."

Hiori smiled and kissed your forehead before leaving—something you’d done for years now. It was your way of saying goodbye. But lately, every time he did it, your heart squeezed like you were going to have a heart attack.

And you hated that feeling.

That night, Hiori snuck into your room.

To anyone else, sneaking a boy in would be scandalous. But this was Hiori. Your best friend.

So why did it feel different now?

You both lay side by side on your bed, turned toward each other as the dim glow of your bedside lamp illuminated his face.

"That was mean, Hiori… That kid’s seriously hurt."

You tried not to smile—it wasn’t funny! But knowing that he had done it on purpose while everyone else remained clueless made you feel special.

"Oh, hush. If I wanted to hear this, I would’ve just gone home."

He smirked, eyes gleaming in the low light, and for a second—just a second—you imagined kissing him.

"You look really pretty right now."

Your thoughts screeched to a halt.

"Huh?"

He only grinned, leaning in.

"You heard me."

And then he kissed you—not a short one, not too long. Just perfect.

When he pulled away, your mouth was slightly open, heart hammering against your ribs as he laughed.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that."

You threw a pillow at his head.

And from that moment on, Hiori Yo was yours. And you were his.

When Hiori got his Blue Lock letter, you read it over his shoulder, eyes widening.

"Oh! This is amazing! You have to—"

"I’m not going."

You gawked at him. "Why not?! You’re good, Hiori! This is huge!"

He shook his head. "I’m not that good. Not good enough."

It was frustrating—no one knew this side of him. No one but you. If anyone else saw this Hiori—the one who doubted himself, the one who picked himself apart daily—they wouldn’t believe it. But you knew him.

"Stop trying to hide. It’s annoying." You huffed, lightly hitting his arm. "Who cares if this fake version of you isn’t good? I know you—you can do this."

His face hardened. "You don’t get it. You’ve never had to hide how awful you are."

The words stabbed you. Sure, you were harsh, but you didn’t hide it.

"No one expects everything from you. I can’t go there and prove I’m not who they want me to be."

You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you.

"Please… Yo. Think about it. I know you. I know you want to do this."

You kissed him. Somehow, you ended up flat on his bed, staring up at him.

"What if I don’t make it?"

"Then I’ll be here. Waiting for you."

He left a week later.

(You shoved him onto that train yourself when he tried to run.)

You waited.

And when the U-20 match finally arrived, you were there.

You watched from the stands, gripping the railing, heart pounding. And when they won—when Hiori won—you didn’t even think.

You ran.

You vaulted the barrier, sprinting onto the field before security could stop you. Hiori turned just in time for you to jump on him, arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist.

"See? I told you!" You grinned, pressing a hard, breathless kiss to his lips.

His hands steadied you, holding you up with ease. And when he pulled back, you saw it.

A real smile. Not the one he gave everyone else.

Just for you.

"Thank you," he said, voice quiet beneath the roar of the crowd. "For everything."

And maybe, just maybe, the world would see this Hiori Yo one day. But for now, only you knew who he truly was.

i think i hate this? but i can't tell

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[yokumirumerafan]

can i ask for demon slayers reacting on discovering their feelings to y/n and confessing to her?

Demon Slayers Realizing Their Feelings & Confessing to Y/N 💕✨

🔥 Hashira Reactions

🟢 Gyomei Himejima (😭 Overwhelmed with Emotion)

Realizes his feelings through prayer and deep meditation.

“Y/N… I feel as though the gods themselves have placed you in my life.”

Confesses with sincerity and devotion, holding your hands gently.

Might cry while confessing, overwhelmed by how deeply he cares for you.

“Even if you do not return my feelings, I shall always cherish you.”

🟡 Haganezuka Hotaru (💢 Tsundere & Awkward)

Realizes his feelings after you defend his swords from getting insulted.

Spends DAYS grumbling and denying it before giving up.

Confesses aggressively like: “I LIKE YOU, OKAY? DEAL WITH IT.”

Forgets to actually wait for your answer and just storms off.

(Later peeks back, hoping you’ll say yes).

❤️ Rengoku Kyojuro (🔥 Loud & Passionate)

Realizes his feelings instantly—he’s not the type to be confused about love.

Watches you from afar with admiration, feeling his heart race.

Confesses with a booming voice: “Y/N! I HAVE FALLEN FOR YOU!”

Probably does it in public without hesitation.

“MY HEART BURNS FOR YOU LIKE A ROARING FLAME!” (dramatic but 100% serious).

💨 Sanemi Shinazugawa (💀 Denies It for the LONGEST Time)

“Tch. There’s no way I like them.” (Meanwhile, he’s glaring at anyone who talks to you.)

Gets jealous easily but won’t admit why.

The moment he realizes it, he freezes like his brain just short-circuited.

Confesses awkwardly, like: “Look, I—ugh—DAMN IT. I like you, okay?! Don’t make me say it twice.”

Blushes aggressively and looks away while waiting for your answer.

🌊 Giyuu Tomioka (🤨 Quiet but Sincere)

Takes a LONG time to realize his feelings.

He just thought you were "special" to him, but then Tanjiro was like: “Giyuu-san… I think you love Y/N.”

Confesses shyly, avoiding eye contact: “I… care for you. Deeply.”

Struggles to say the word ‘love’ but means every word.

“I don’t expect anything… but I wanted you to know.” (🥺💕)

💜 Shinobu Kocho (🦋 Teases You Until the End)

Realizes it quickly, but won’t admit it immediately.

Flirts with you constantly, watching your reactions.

Confesses playfully but seriously: “Oh my~ I think I’ve fallen for you. What shall we do about it?”

Smiles, but there’s a genuine softness in her eyes.

“You’re my favorite person, you know? I’d like to keep you by my side forever.”

🌿 Mitsuri Kanroji (💗 Pure & Excited)

Falls in love SO FAST.

Gushes about you to literally everyone before even realizing it herself.

When she finally figures it out, she screams into her pillow in happiness.

Confesses enthusiastically: “Y/N-CHAN!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!”

Tackles you into a hug before even waiting for an answer.

🦋 Muichiro Tokito (😐 Oblivious Until It Hits)

Doesn't realize his own feelings for the longest time.

Notices that he thinks about you all the time and gets annoyed when others take your attention.

When he finally realizes it, he just stares into space like: Oh.

Confesses casually but sincerely: “I like you. I’d prefer if you stayed by my side.”

Doesn’t say much, but his gaze is so intense that you know he means it.

🐍 Obanai Iguro (👀 Shy but Devoted)

Realizes it when he gets irrationally protective over you.

Keeps his distance at first, scared of rejection.

Confesses awkwardly but sweetly: “I know I’m not… easy to love. But I want you to know that you have my heart.”

His face is completely red, and he can’t look at you.

“If you don’t feel the same, I understand. Just… please don’t leave.”

🗡️ Main Trio Reactions

🍃 Tanjiro Kamado (🥰 Gentle & Heartfelt)

Realizes his feelings gradually—notices how happy he is around you.

Blushes a lot whenever he thinks about confessing.

Confesses sincerely: “Y/N… I love you. You make my world brighter.”

Would probably write a heartfelt letter in case he messes up his words.

Holds your hands so gently, waiting for your answer with hopeful eyes.

⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma (😭 Dramatic AF)

Falls in love with you IMMEDIATELY.

Screams and cries about his feelings to literally everyone except you.

Confesses in the most dramatic way possible: “Y/N, I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU! PLEASE MARRY ME!!”

Falls on his knees, clutching his heart like he’s dying.

If you say yes, he literally faints from happiness.

🐗 Inosuke Hashibira (😡 Clueless But Honest)

“Huh? Love? What’s that?” (Has no clue at first.)

Realizes he likes you when he wants you to be around all the time.

Confesses bluntly: “Oi. I like you. So you’re mine now, got it?”

ZERO hesitation. Just assumes you’ll say yes.

If you tease him, he’ll blush aggressively and yell: “DON’T MAKE IT WEIRD!”

[newtonsheffield]

How many games post sunday roast do you think it took for them to ban having family game time after dinner period? Everyone loves that Anthony found his other half but the way the competitiveness takes over is borderline frightening. once or twice, when they were on opposite teams, the trash talk and points arguing got so heated the littles thought they were going to break up. Greg almost cried about it. When they're on the same team they're so vicious and self satisfied it makes Colin cry because he was just trying to have a good time and he feels so attacked

I think probably… 8 weeks

The Bridgertons feel like they’ve tried everything. The first week Kate and Anthony arrived together, officially dating for the very first time they thought it would be a good idea if they were on the same team. Not only a good idea but they figured given Kate and Anthony didn’t even want to be separated long enough to stop holding hands to eat with both hands: probably wouldn’t be able to get them to do anything but.

Anthony and Kate trounced absolutely everyone at charades. It should have been illegal for Kate to guess the movie title from the number of words alone but there they are. With Benedict narrowing his eyes at them while they gloated.

“Do you have some sort of telepathic link?”

“Yeah.” Kate nodded. “They actually give you one when you register your relationship with the bureau.”

“I never should have supported this relationship. You’re too fucking smug.”

The week after they play monopoly and it gets vicious. Anthony’s red in the race with suppressed rage while Kate counts her money smugly.

“Are you guys…? Breaking up?” Gregory asked in shock.

Anthony scoffed, “No. she’s not getting out of this that easily!”

“Why would I want to get out of this when it’s so easy to beat him?!”

“You’re a monster!”

“Takes one to know one Ant!”

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART TWELVE)

I had to work late one day, and I came home to find Braden playing video games with the older boys, while the twins were crawling around in the family room. Brade was hunky as hell in his favorite faded T-shirt from the local NFL team and his PT shorts, furry legs stretched out barefoot as he got into trying to beat Keith. What made him more alluring was his natural, easy fatherhood. He was SO good with the boys, nurturing and a masculine role model for them. I had to consider myself the luckiest father in the world and was thankful I was a family man.

My son-husband paused the game then looked up at me. His face silently communicating something was serious. "Hi Dad... You should go check on Bill."

"Oh," I said. I was going to ask if it was serious, but I realized Braden didn't want to bring it up around the boys.

I made my way through our mansion to where Junior's room was. A guess flashed through my mind. Since that first magical date night, I'd pulled back some from Junior. Not emotionally, but we'd had less one-on-one time the week and a half since. I thought Junior knew why: his Daddy and I was trying for another pregnancy, and I'd focused my sexual energy there. I'd given Junior a couple of quick blowjobs before he went off to school, and I'd rimmed him a couple of times while he jerked off. But that was it.

The door wasn't completely closed now, but it was mostly shut. I gave a knock. "Can I come in, buddy?"

"Yeah, Dad," came the defeated reply.

Junior was still in his knit shit and golf shorts from practice, his favorite cap pulled down where the brim rested above the eyes. He was a good way into his senior year, and Junior already was rocking an impressive college-jock build. In other circumstances I'd be joining him in bed, making out with my special dude. But something was wrong, I could see a lot of worry in his eyes.

Instinctively, I shut the door. "What's wrong, kiddo?" I asked.

"I fucked it up, Dad," Junior said. "Just as we were getting close, I fucked it up."

I came and sat on the bed, placing my hand on Junior's strong leg where the soft hairs were starting to come in. "Why don't we start at the beginning?" I asked.

He nodded, and I could tell he was holding back tears. Maybe he'd been crying all afternoon. "I've been using protection, honest. But I guess the condom broke..." He paused. "Well, I know the condom broke. I didn't think it would be a big deal. But Mr. Carson called today, and he's pregnant, and I don't what to fucking do..."

"Tim Carson?" I asked. "Alex's Dad?" Alex was Junior's teammate and good friend. I tried not to sound judgmental, but I was just genuinely surprised to the point I thought maybe there was another Mr. Carson.

Junior nodded, emotion heavy. "It's messed up. Alex is weirded out, and Mr. Carson's upset. You can ground me, Dad... I've just been worried you'll break up with me."

I patted his leg, and began caressing the short hairs more affectionately. "I'm not breaking up with you, Junior," I assured him. "But you gotta man up and be there for Mr. Carson. And your son. Doesn't matter how awkward things are."

"I know, Dad. And I will." His voice got quiet. "I've been dreaming of being a Dad, but fuck, I didn't expect it to be like this. So soon, you know."

"I know, kiddo," I said. I figured this was the good time to tell Junior. "You know... when I fathered your Daddy... that was an unplanned pregnancy."

"For real?" Junior asked. I was surprised he hadn't put two and two together, doing the math between my and Braden's age. But my husband and I made sure that our boys saw loving parents, so maybe it just didn't occur to him.

"I was even younger. 16 and a dumb teen dad," I said self-deprecatingly. "But Braden turned out to be the best thing in my life... even better because he gave me five amazing sons, who were planned."

"Dad..." Junior's voice was getting heavy.

"I won't lie, kiddo, raising a kid is hard work."

"I know, Dad. I'm ready."

I patted his leg again. "Attaboy." Everything about Junior then was making me fall for him, as completely as I had Braden at that age. "So," I winked, trying to provide some levity. "Just one broken condom and your swimmers got it done, huh?"

It was a relief to see Junior's smile. "Guess so."

"You know..." I continued, running my fingers up Junior's leg, beneath the hem of his shorts. "If you were a true Drake man, you'd get a boner just thinking about the fact you knocked a guy up."

I could see the gears turn in Junior's head. The realization and the surprise that I was giving him permission to feel sexual right now. Permission to embrace the turn on maybe he didn't know was there.

I watched Junior get stiff in his shorts. For our time exploring each other the last month, I'd only watched his hardon form once from start to full erection. I was watching it now and it was beautiful. Especially because Junior's eyes went from his crotch to my face and back.

"I guess I'm a Drake man, all right," he hissed in lust.

"Fuck yeah, you are buddy," I growled and leaned in to kiss him.

This felt different than before. Not only had Junior upped his kissing game, copying the technique I'd coached him on over date night, but we were peers in a strange way. Fellow dads.

His hands were on my feeling my dress shirt beneath my suit as we got into it.

"God I love you, Dad. So fucking much," Junior hissed as I removed my shoes and got up onto bed with him. "I've just been worried sick you'd break things off."

"I know, Junior," I said, running my hand along his built chest. "Listen, I gotta be the dad sometimes," I said. "But you're a man on your own right now. And I care for you like crazy."

He had an adorable checked smile on his face. "I just knew you'd be mad at me."

"You gonna give me a reason to be?" I arched my eyebrow.

"No, sir," Junior laughed.

I gave an appreciative nod. I leaned in and whispered into his ear. "Maybe I can taste that breeding cock of your son."

"God yes," he answered in a croak and was already fiddling with his shorts. Maybe one of these days we'd get a more equal dynamic for who would initiate sex and when, but for now Junior deferred to when and how I'd fit in our own private time within my marriage to Braden.

This was fun, and I realized how excited I was that Junior had knocked up a guy. Rationally I knew it wasn't the right thing. Or at least it had happened too soon. But as I got closer to my son's hard prick I gripped it in my fingers and said lewdly. "You got a hardon when you heard Tim Carson was pregnant, Son?"

He shook his head. "Was too freaked actually," he said.

I looked up at him. "I know how you felt, son," remembering that conversation. "But now... I get huge boners when I knock your Daddy up."

"Fuck," Junior hissed. He loved that idea.

I licked his balls, tickling the orbs with my tongue. "Got powerful sperm in here."

"I do, Dad," Junior finally getting on my wavelength. "I fucking put a kid into Mr. Carson." I could sense his eyes on me, reading me in case he went too far.

"A son," I added, then licked to where his balls met his shaft. "You're gonna give me a fucking great-grandson."

"OH FUUUCK!" he hissed. At the idea but also because my tongue was tracing up his hard shaft.

"Fucking teen dad," I grunted. "You gotta a lot more before you can catch up with me."

"Course, Dad. Six sons is a lot."

I looked him dead in the eye. Junior was so frickin' sexy just then. "Especially cause I'm not stopping anytime soon."

"OH FUCK!" I knew how turned on Junior was getting because he was at a loss for words.

I didn't need the sex talk anyway. I leaned forward and began taking my son's dick in my mouth. The dick that had fucked Tim Carson and made a kid. A new life. I didn't need Braden's oral technique then, Junior was ready to blast pretty quick. He gripped my head and pumped some into my mouth as his dick spurted its seed. Maybe it was all in my head, but I imagined that his cum tasted different, more manly.

"Thank you," he hissed. Then, "Can I...?"

I shook my head and swallowed the rest of his cum. "I'll let your Daddy take care of that," I said. I slid out of bed and stood up, arranging the hardon in my trousers. "You tell him the news?"

Junior nodded yes. I could tell he'd dreaded telling me in a way he hadn't with Braden.

"Well, tomorrow, or the next day, see if you can bring Tim around the house," I suggested. "I want you to take responsibility, Junior, but maybe your Daddy and I can clear the air some."

"Sure, Dad. And thanks for understanding."

I leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "It's gonna change your life, Junior, in some not good ways as well as the amazing ones. But you got this, kiddo... I know you do.... and well, me and your Daddy have your back, OK?"

We let Junior have his space that evening, the rest of the family having dinner without him. I thought of checking with him before bed, but I knew he was OK, he just needed time to think and reflect. I think he valued that alone time just as much as me.

Later, when Braden and I got ready for bed, we knew we were gonna fuck. A hard fuck, going at it verbally. Talking about Junior's cock and sperm. Talking about our son becoming a father. It was an intense, simultaneous orgasm, and afterward, Braden and I held each other's sweaty naked bodies and had a serious conversation about expectations and how we could help Junior out.

***

Tim Carson was cordial when he came over the next day. It was small talk and introduction. I mean I knew him some from the team fundraiser and from the times I'd dropped Junior off for sleepovers a couple of years ago. Maybe it was one of those times, I wondered when was Junior first...

Now wasn't the time for recriminations. Tim felt nervous as hell to be there, even after Braden went to look after the twins, leaving just him, me and Junior in my study.

"This is awkward," the man said at last. Junior had good taste, I'll give him that. Mr. Carson was well preserved for a man in his 50s, fit, what I'd call a DILF. Like Doug Newcomb, only more normal looking, less movie star handsome. The man was a corporate lawyer, married with two kids. And his life had been turned upside down.

"Don't feel so on my account," I said.

He nodded, grateful. He looked over at Junior then at me. "You guys are going to think I'm crazy, but I wanna have this kid."

"It's not crazy at all, Mr. Carson," Junior said with a strange self-confidence.

He gave a gentle shrug. "Knowing I have this life inside my body, growing inside of me... it just feels meant to be."

"How far are you along?" I asked.

"Over three months," Tim answered. "I didn't know what was going on at first."

I did the math. This was before Junior and I first had sex, probably before I grounded him, but not much more. "How are you holding up?"

"Health-wise? Emotionally?..."

"Either."

"Health is good. I'm just dealing with my family." His voice got quiet. "Kelly always wanted another kid. She's not forgiving me, but I guess taking this as that chance, you know...?"

"I want to speak for Bill Jr here... he's going to be there however you need."

I saw a flash of worry on his face and maybe some real emotional conflict. He looked over at Junior, then back to me. "I'm going to raise him... Kelly and I are going to raise the kid as a Carson, Bill. I don't expect anything from Bill Jr. But maybe he could be the godfather."

"I'd be honored, Mr. Carson," Junior piped in.

I finally let them have a private conversation, getting up to go join Braden and our other sons in the family den. But before I did, I held out my hand to shake Tim Carson's. "I know my great-grandson will be a Carson, but I just want to let you know, Tim, that I consider you family."

"Thanks for understanding, Bill," Tim said. Up close, I could see what Junior saw in the man. The not classically handsome face had a way of growing on you. "And thanks for not stringing my balls up," he laughed.

I turned to Junior. "I'll be in the den if you need me for anything, son, OK?"

Junior smiled. Relieved and maybe surprised this whole conversation had gone better than he expected.

***

I did go check on Junior before bedtime. He was doing homework but was shirtless and just in some gym shorts in his room. "I take it Tim left," I said, as I knocked on the door.

"Just about a half hour ago," Junior said with a proud smirk. Then, "Sorry... I guess we never clarified House Rule Number 7," he said, referencing the idea of exclusivity.

"There's no House Rule 7, Junior," I said. He was at his desk, and I sat down on his bed. God, Brade was right. The kid was so much like me. Led around by his dick, but maybe not wanting to be like that. "Celebration sex is pretty powerful, isn't it?" I said. Bonding with my boy experiencing his first time with fatherhood.

That made Junior smile big. "I'll say, Dad. I know we talked about this, but bareback fucking is pretty damn incredible."

I laughed. "First time, raw?" I confirmed, making sure Junior had been truthful to me before.

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Other than the broken rubber time, but that didn't really count."

It was time for me to switch from wingman/buddy mode to parent mode. "You know, Mr. Carson has a family. A wife and kids."

He got more serious. "I know, Dad. We talked a lot. But Mr. Carson wanted it. I did too. At least one last time."

I felt for him... I think he felt this strange emotional side of becoming a father. This need to bond with the man he'd impregnated. I got up and reached over to pat his shoulder. In other circumstance, and if Junior hadn't just gotten laid, I might have initiated something. He was just so handsome and youthful and... dad-like. My second son, now a father himself.

"Maybe next date night we can just have a nice long conversation about being a father."

Junior seemed to take that in. "Sounds great, Dad... only no sex?"

"Horndog," I teased.

"I'm a Drake," Junior teased back.

I ran my fingers down his arm. I was getting a little turned on. "That you are, buddy." I leaned in some. There was just this bond Junior and I had at this moment. Fellow breeders. Junior following in my footsteps. Maybe this isn't the way it should have happened, but with sex and pregnancy it doesn't always play out like you want or expect.

"So... kiddo..." I said with a naughty look on my face. "I'm gonna go fuck your Daddy. See if I can make a son, too."

Junior's eyes grew excited. He may have just gotten his rocks off but he was clearly showing some lust at the idea. "Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah, stud. Wanna come watch tonight?"

"God, Dad, I'd love that."

Junior had joined in my and Brade's marriage bed a few times, but the action had been all oral. He'd never seen his parents fuck.

"Give it a half hour," I said. "Then come join us."

Braden was already getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth in the master bathroom as I stepped in, a big smirk on my face.

"What?" Brade laughed, spitting out the toothpaste. Then rinsing it out, it occurred him. "Oh fuck... Junior's joining us tonight?"

"If you're up for it, Son," I said, stepping behind him and gently gripping his strong shoulders to massage them as I look into his eyes in the mirror. "I want Junior to watch me breed you," I said.

"God," Braden said. And now I was able to see him throw hard in his shorts. I leaned in and kiss the side of his neck.

"I can't believe our son's a father now," I said softly.

"I know, Dad," Braden replied. "I've been thinking about that all day."

"Does it turn you on?" I asked. So far, other than a bout of sex talk during fucking, me and Brade's conversation had been about the practicality of Junior's paternity news and how we should respond as parents.

"Like crazy, Dad. I tolda ya he's gonna be like you."

We took our time getting naked and into bed. My son-husband and I were slow making out at first, enjoying the physical connection and the conversation.

"I'm so glad you were open to incest, Dad... way back when."

"I'm glad you got me to listen to my cock. Best decision I ever made."

We kissed more deeply.

A gentle knock came, but Junior went ahead and opened the door to slip on. I could tell he was hard in his shorts, but those didn't stay on long anyway. As he slid them off to show his large teen boner, he said softly. "Hey Dads."

I hadn't told Braden about Junior fucking Tim Carson earlier, but it didn't really matter. I was just amused he was recharged again, already.

"Hey Bill," Braden said, scooting to the side to give our son some space in the king sized bed. "It might be less foreplay tonight," he added.

"I don't care, Daddy," Junior said as he climbed over the base of the bed and onto the mattress between us. "I'm just so glad to be with you guys."

Braden kissed him first, then I pulled Junior toward me. By now, we were all getting the threesome dynamic, enjoying the multiple incestuous connections and relishing the feel of our naked bodies and hard cocks in various combinations.

At one point, I was getting overheated. I pulled back from a kiss with Junior, feeling up his bare chest openly in front of Braden. "You ready to watch, kiddo?"

Junior just grinned and nodded excitedly.

I crawled over his naked body and over to meet Braden in a heated kiss. Making out with my husband with our son watching gave a new thrill to sex with him. My Brade was now almost 40 and muscular and thick. And I was going to impregnate him again.

"You take your pill today, Son?" I asked as I pulled back. My body on top of his, hard cock humping Brade's.

He nodded. "Yeah, Dad. I'll take another, too."

I shook my head. "Doc says one a day."

Braden wasn't listening to me. Already he was reaching over to the foil packet on the nightstand.

"Fuck," I hissed. My dad cock was thinking for me now.

"Are those the fertility pills?" Junior asked. Excited.

I nodded, looking at my boyfriend. "When men get a little older, nature can use a little boost."

"Hot," Junior said. Then feeling out the more open sex talk he and I had been working, son asked, "Are those gonna make Daddy's womb extra fertile."

"I sure hope so," Braden said, popping the pill in his mouth and taking a sip of water from the glass before setting it down on the night stand. "I wanna get totally fucking pregnant tonight."

I ran my hands along Braden's hard abs, feeling the fur and looking back and forth between his amazing body and Junior. "I can't wait to knock up your daddy again."

"Yes," Junior hissed. He got on his knees and came closer to watch.

"Want to see us make you another brother, Bill?" Braden asked.

"God, Daddy..." Junior was getting excited as hell. "I've imagined you doing this SO much."

"Get the lube, kiddo," I growled. "I want you to get my cock ready to impregnate your Daddy."

"Yessir!"

As he reached over to the night table, I kissed Braden deeply. I didn't have to ask. My husband was wildly turned on. In heat.

"That pill kicking in, babe?" I asked in a soft growl.

"Dropping that egg for you now, Dad. All for you."

I leaned up. "For this cock."

"Hot fucking Dad cock," Brade grunted, reaching up to lovingly hold and stroke it.

"Guys!" Junior hissed, his own prick jerking as he scooted back in the bed. "So fucking hot!"

I gestured down at my own dick. "Slick me up, buddy... not too much... there... Nice!"

I kissed Junior, hard. Braden watched us make out, watched Junior almost whimper he was so worked up.

It took willpower to pull back, but I needed inside Brade, bad. I kicked apart his legs. Partly for show, I guess, playing it up for Junior. Braden knew and he smiled as he watched me get into the saddle, pushing down my rigid cock into place.

There's nothing like that first time, of me taking Braden's cherry. Or the night we made Junior, our first impregnation. But this was pretty damn close. At least having our son's eyes on the connection point between my bare dick and his daddy's receptive hole made this fuck feel special and new.

Junior watched me penetrate his other parent.

His hands were on me, rubbing my back, wanting to get close to me and to Brade in this primal sexual act. I loved that, but I also directed my attention to Braden. Modeling how husbands mate, with love but also sexual intensity.

"I love you, Brade..." I hissed, loud enough where Junior could hear.

"Love you, too, Dad."

I pushed in deeper. My cock inside my first born. While my second born witnessed it.

"Aw, that's it, Dad. Fuck me." Brade was wrapping his legs around me.

I turned to Junior. "Junior... can you put a pillow under Daddy's hips? It'll be a better angle."

"Yeah, Dad."

Braden chuckled. Then I powered into his body fully.

"Oh fuck yes, Brade," I hissed. "I love fucking you."

Junior's hands were back on me, his close presence turning me on. And I could see Braden watch us both as I fucked a little faster.

"Ready for son number seven, Son?" I asked.

"God yeah... I need you to impregnate me again. Fill me up with your sperm."

I put more power to my thrusts. No longer exactly showing off for Junior, this was me just getting into the breed-mating with his Daddy. "You all fertile for me, stud?"

He nodded in deep lust. "SO fucking fertile, Dad. Ready for that son you're gonna plant in there. However many sons you want."

"Shit!" I gasped. Junior was witnessing and hearing me and Brade go deep, for sure. "Give Junior here another little brother, maybe two."

"Maybe three."

"Damn. Show my boyfriend how we made him."

"Shit, Dad!" That was Junior's exclamation.

I didn't take my eyes of Brade, but as I fucked harder I spoke to Junior. "Yeah, kiddo. This is how we made you. I fucked your daddy nonstop till it took."

"Then we fucked some more, Dad," Braden hissed. His dick was jerking on his abs in excitement, quivering with each jab to his prostate.

"To celebrate," I added.

"Fuck yeah," Junior said. "I wish I could have watched. Wish I could have watched you fuck me into existence, Dad."

I don't know why that was the trigger, but Junior's words brought on my orgasm quick. I pounded in and leaned forward to kiss Brade as I seeded him full. As I ejaculated good and hard inside my husband, Junior's hands were on my sweaty back, sensually caressing me.

I gave Brade a deep romantic kiss as I came down from the high. We didn't have to say anything. We both intuited that there was a good chance that I'd just conceived our next son.

I gingerly retreated and once I broke free of Braden's ass, I used my thumb to push the excess sperm back into his hole.

Still breathing heavy, I turned to Junior. "If you wanna get one of your condoms, kiddo..." I offered.

"For real?" he asked. His dick was hard and jerking and on his smoother body it seemed to stand out more than my similarly sized cock did from mine. He looked at Braden, who nodded.

"That'd be fucking hot, Bill," my husband said.

We laughed as we watched Junior bound out of bed and slip on his shorts before slipping back out of the room.

I lay next to Brade and ran my hand along his sweaty chest. "You OK with the idea, Son?"

Brade smiled and nodded. "Junior's a stud, Dad. I didn't think the night could get more special and yet..."

"It's like experiencing it through new eyes," I said.

"Yeah."

Junior came back with two foil packets. He set them down on the nightstand and shucked his shorts down again. "You sure, Dad? Daddy?"

"That's a beautiful piece of son cock, Bill," Braden said, scooting over to taking Junior into his mouth.

"OH FUCK" Junior hissed, eyes on his daddy then up at me. "I didn't think you guys would go for this."

"You might want to get in him before he changes his mind," I joked.

Junior laughed and pulled back, leaning in to kiss Braden before he picked up a condom and ripped the wrapper with his teeth.

"This one better not break," I admonished him.

"No sir," Junior said, rolling down the sheath over his hard teen jock dick.

Meanwhile, Braden was pumping some lube on his fingers then applying the extra lubrication to his seeded hole. It had been a long time since I'd warn a rubber, but when we played with the Newcombs or the Connors, then Brade would often be a bottom to one of the dads.

It was my turn to watch what skills my stud 18-year-old son had. He was nervous fucking his Daddy but it was also clear he'd topped men before. Maybe a lot.

He fingered Braden's hole, reading my husband's reactions before pushing his dick into place. He quickly realized Brade was all loosened up from my fuck, so he pushed in.

"Oh God!" Brade hissed.

"Feel good, Daddy?" Junior asked, sensually as his hips pushed in then slowly swiveled for a slow pump.

"God, yeah, Bill. My own fucking son."

Junior was getting REAL into this now. "Your own son's fucking you, Dad."

"Oh fuck yes."

I didn't feel jealous watching this. Just the opposite, I was thrilled to see Junior make Braden so happy, so turned on. My husband began jerking his dick in time with each of our son's thrusts.

I gathered Junior was feeling the internal clenching. "Your ass feels so fucking tight, Daddy.. even after Dad fucked you."

"Push his seed deeper into me, son. AW, that's it... A little faster... Not too hard...."

Junior was getting into this fuck and it was magnificent to watch. My two sons, having sex. Fucking. It was just beautiful and hot. My cock was fully hard again. I reached out to touch Junior's back like he had mine.

"Oh shit," he hissed, hips jerking faster. I could tell our son was getting close,

Still, Braden beat him to the finish line. Hot white cum spurted out onto his meaty chest and ripped abs.

Almost a second after that I saw Junior's head go back and his eyes shut and his face flush red. "YES!" He wasn't an overly loud cummer. I enjoyed watching his O face. Different than Braden's. All Junior.

He had a big smile on his face as he relished the postcoital glow. Brade had a pretty big one, too. Then reaching down to hold the base of the rubber, Junior slowly extracted himself. There was a huge wad of cum pooled in the tip.

"Can I taste that, Bill?"

Junior nodded. "Yeah, Dad. I'd love that." He peeled off the condom and carefully brought it up to Braden's lips, turning out the contents.

"Fuck!" he hissed as he watched Brade slurp it all into his mouth, then swallow.

We let Braden shower off first. Junior and I embraced in the now damp sheets. Kissing softly.

"Thanks, Dad. That was the hottest thing."

"Pretty hot for us, too, Junior." I patted his bare ass as I held him close. "It's nice that we can trust you with this." I paused.

"Absolutely, Dad."

We kissed again, then it was my turn. I didn't know if Junior would be sleeping in our bed that night. It felt appropriate, and yet it didn't.

Turns out he made that decision for us. I walked back in to see only Braden in the bed. "Bill went to sleep in his own room."

"Probably for the best," I said.

Braden nodded. But as I got into bed, my husband pulled me close. "Thank you for that, Dad. You know I've been wanting that to happen."

I did and yet maybe I didn't know how much Brade had wanted it until then. We kissed some more.

I was happy and very sexually satisfied. Still, something nagged at me.

"I remember when you told me that Junior was gonna be trouble," I said softly,

Braden leaned up on his arm, looking at me. "Yeah?"

"I'm starting to see it."

***

I was in Doctor Fiedler's waiting room with Brade, when I got a call. Normally I'd ignore it unless it was an urgent work call. But it had been a while since I'd talked to Doug Newcomb.

I excused myself and stepped out in the hall. "Hey Newcomb, what's up?"

"I got some news, buddy..." he beamed. "As you know, Eric's graduating in May, and we've been talking, and we'd love to move out to your neighborhood."

"For real?" The news made me happy, happier than I would have thought, because I never expected this to happen.

"For real, Drake. We can talk details later, if you got a spare lot in your little subdivision."

"Incest Acres," I said quietly in to the phone. "We got a lot of spare lots."

"Incest Acres, buddy. Here we come. "

"So... what made you guys decide on that?"

I could almost hear the beaming smile on the other end. "Eric... well, you Drake men are inspiration, cause he wants to start a family with me."

"Shit." I loved hearing about incest procreation, and hearing it from the Newcombs was extra special.

"Yeah, I know right?" he chuckled. "We might not have the brood you do, but Eric wants a son bad. Turns out, I want to have one with him, too."

"It's the best, Newcomb. You'll see."

"What about you and Braden. Any news?" Doug new that we were trying for another pregnancy.

"At the doctor's office now, buddy. Waiting for the results."

"Oh shit. I'll let you go, man. Keep me updated."

"Will do... And Doug.. I'm super thrilled for you guys."

"Thanks, we are too. Talk later..."

I stepped back into the waiting room just as they were calling out Braden's name. I walked back to Fiedler's office with him.

Todd was all smiles as he ushered us in and shut the door.

"Well, gentlemen," he said with a playful smile. "I hope you're ready for triplets."

[esspeon]

a/n: there’s twitter links in this <33

tw: use of an ice cube, Zayne is kind of a mean dom :((, overstimulation, use of vibrators, doctor!zayne, mentions of being tied up, teasing.

Zayne who almost never uses his evol on you because that would be too easy, no? He may not seem like it but he absolutely loves having you at his mercy. His pretty darling begging him for a tiny break from the coldness of the ice cubes against her clit, how cute. “What’s wrong, darling? I thought you said you could handle the cold?” But then again, he tries to help distract you from the pain with pleasure, and his fingers seem to be doing wonders judging by your reaction and the moans you let out.

Zayne who doesn’t bother changing out of his scrubs when he punishes you. He knows it turns you on even more and he does it because you can’t touch him. Your wrists and ankles are bound, making it impossible for you to try and get away from the vibrator he presses to your clit even as you cum. He’s so mean sometimes :(. “What was that pretty? You want more? Alright.” He heard you say stop, but why would he? He’s almost got you exactly where he wants you and it would ruin all his hard work if he stopped now. “Zay-” you try, a yelp leaving your pretty lips when he turns up the intensity of the wand. “Ah-ah, it’s Doctor, sweet.”

Zayne who absolutely loves teasing you and not giving you what you want. He just loves the way you squirm and whimper underneath him, practically begging him to just put it in and he does eventually, after making sure you were practically crying from his teasing alone. “See, darling? All you had to do was beg.” Zayne would say, pushing his cock inside you all in one go.

[thecheshireprincess]

Hot Mess

Niragi x F!Reader

Summary: The Beach is a hot mess tonight, and so are you.

Content Warning: NSFW (18+); porn WITHOUT plot, smutty smut, just smut fr, daddy kink (bc Talia wouldn't be as funny without daddy issues), sex in public, curse words, brief mention of drugs and alcohol

I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️

A/N: I apologize for this.

Bright lights flashing, bass booming, drinks and drugs flowing. It is the way of The Beach. The temperature is hot and extremely humid tonight, making the air feel sweet and sticky around you. The people of The Beach are out of their minds, the bodies that dared to remain around the pool in this wet heat were dripping in sweat, among other things. The later it got, the more people coupled up and weren't exactly shy about it; the scene was quickly becoming a hot mess, and you were here for it.

You're sat listlessly in Niragi's lap on a luxurious cushioned daybed at the back corner of the pool deck. The man liked to perch himself where he could keep an eye on things. One of his large hands splayed protectively across your bare belly, the other rubbing soothing patterns up and down your thigh, fingers inching closer and closer to where you wanted him most.

You're keeping an eye on things too; it just happens that those things are making you extremely turned on. You are decidedly not immune to the veil of lust that had been blanketed over the resort tonight.

You're already getting desperate, shifting slightly to find some sort of friction. In doing so, you make your boyfriend groan under you and you notice his clothed bulge hardening as you squirm around.

"Easy, baby. Don't start things you can't finish," the man growls in your ear, pressing his tongue against the sweet spot on your neck. The delightful contrast of the warmth from his tongue and the coolness from the metal piercing never ceases to send a shiver down your spine. You nearly moan thinking of somewhere else you'd like to feel it.

A breathy gasp escapes you, grasping some strands of his hair between your fingers as he continues marking your neck before moving on to lick and bite your shoulders. Fuck, you feel on fire.

"Niragi, please," you beg instantly without being prompted for once, needing so much more from the man underneath you. You can feel his smirk against your neck, hearing you beg was one of his favorite things.

"Aww, my good girl, already begging for me. Tell me what you want, babe," he coos, long fingers dipping down provokingly towards your bikini bottoms.

You whine loudly, uninhibited, as his middle finger finds your clit through the fabric of your swimsuit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. "So wet for me, babe, you've soaked through your bathing suit," the man grins earnestly.

"Niragi! Quit teasing, please. I need you," you cry in frustration. It wasn't as though the man hadn't noticed that the entire population seemed to be in a lust filled haze; he just hadn't expected you to be joining them. He is not complaining in the slightest.

His grin spreads further across his already darkened features, he is definitely going to soak in this moment, "You want me to touch you in front of all these people, princess? Let them see how you fall apart on my fingers, hm?" You throw your head back with a heedy a moan at his dirty words, fuck yes you want that.

"Please, baby."

Niragi scans the pool deck once more, knowing that these idiots were not at all paying attention to you, all wrapped up in their own sloppy attempts to get off. A pity, for them; you were gorgeous.

He shifts you in his lap slightly, allowing your head to fall back on his shoulder as he wraps one arm around to hold you up and the other finally plunging into the drenched bottoms of your tiny bikini.

"What a mess you've made, princess," Niragi drawls, his middle and ring fingers gliding easily through your folds. Soaked. It would be easy for the man to notch his cock inside you right now, watching you impale yourself on him. But not yet. Niragi needed to savor this once in a lifetime moment.

He turns his head to look down at your face, eyes wide and doe-like staring up at him, pleading with him to take care of you. He grins wickedly, drinking in this moment. His lips crash down on yours in a fiery kiss, pressing two fingers into your dripping wet heat.

The man swallows your moans, taking the opportunity of a particularly loud one to press his tongue into your mouth. You gratefully accept, loving the way his tongue piercing feels against you, his fingers working you into a frenzy.

When his thumb expertly finds your clit, pressing down on it in tandem with his fingers working through you, you begin to babble incoherently. You won't last long like this, but Niragi doesn't care. He'll rip as many orgasms out of you as you'll give him; it makes his entire body feel warm to be wanted so desperately by you. He pulls away from your sloppy kiss, lips still attached to yours by a string of saliva.

"Feel good, my baby?" He asks, eyes blackened and a hint of teasing in his tone. His fingers curl in the most glorious way, hitting your spongey spot and making your toes curl and head spin.

A sharp whine escapes you, "Feels amazing, Daddy." Your once closed eyes pop open and you bring your hands to cover your mouth with an embarrassed gasp. Where the fuck had that come from? Niragi has frozen too, looking down at you in a way you've never seen him look before. Dangerous, like he is about to devour you whole. Your breath hitches, mental fog lifting a bit to realize that you might have fucked up.

"Say it again," he commands. Your furrow your eyebrows, slightly confused at his request. He yanks his fingers out of your dripping hole, bringing them to his mouth and sucking your arousal off them, charcoal eyes never leaving yours. You whimper at the loss of contact, but extremely turned on by his action.

"Say it again, or I stop touching you," he threatens this time, causing you to whine brattily. "Please Daddy, it feels amazing when you touch me like that," you acquiesce. A guttural rumble deep in Niragi's chest and the twitch of his cock still restrained in his jeans tells you that he loves it. How fun, a new kink.

You take this opportunity to turn around to face your boyfriend and clumsily release his rock hard and leaking member from his pants. Niragi's breath catches in his throat in surprise, it melting into a low groan of pleasure as your soft angelic hands jerk him a couple of times.

He reaches between you to shift your bikini bottoms to the side, lifting your hips, and helping you slide slowly down onto him. You both let out a moan in tandem, his hard cock stretching you so deliciously that your cunt is already fluttering around him.

"Fuck baby girl," Niragi hisses, "You're so tight, squeezing me so much, babe." More whines and mewls escape you hearing how desperate Niragi is for this, for you. You feel your arousal dripping onto his thighs and the cushioning of the daybed.

"Ride Daddy's cock, baby. Take what you need from him," he coos, making you clench further around him. Yes, you think you both love this new kink of yours. Your arms come up to rest on Niragi's shoulders, his hands gripping tightly at your hips. You start slow, lifting your hips until only the tip remains, then sliding all the way back in, feeling his heavy balls slap against you. You want to take your time teasing, but damn it if you aren't already close to your peak again.

You plant your feet on either side of Niragi's hips, using them as leverage to bounce yourself up and down on his cock, tears forming in your eyes at how perfect he felt inside you. You lean down to join your lips once more, allowing your moans of desperation to be caught in each other's mouths.

"Damn it, princess, m'so close already. What have you done to me tonight?" he warns you, making you whine. You don't want this amazing encounter to be over so soon. He brings his hand between you to slip two fingers onto your clit, rubbing quick circles just the way he knows you love it.

You're mesmerized for a few moments by the wet squelching of your arousal, the slapping of your skin against Niragi's, and the gasps and moans emitted from each of you. You wish you could hold onto this moment forever, but your pussy is getting tighter around your boyfriend, and he knows that you'll both be done for soon.

Niragi lifts you easily, expertly keeping his cock inside you as he lays you down on your back. Your legs come to wrap tightly around his waist as he wastes no time rutting into you desperately. He finds the sweet spot on your neck, a mess of teeth and saliva marking you for all to see. His.

If any of them bothered to look up from their own encounters, they'd see just how his you really are; eyes glazed over, lips swollen and covered in saliva, neck littered with bruises of varying shades of green, yellow, and black. But most of all, if they were paying attention, they'd see how your tight pussy drips messily for him now, how you mewl breathily underneath him, begging him to fill you with his warm cum.

"Daddy, please," you beg, so cockdrunk you aren't sure what you're begging for. But Niragi knows what his baby wants. "You want Daddy to fill your pretty pussy, huh, angel? Such a desperate little baby for my cum, aren't you?"

His filthy words combined with his cock driving intensely in and out of your weeping channel causes you to squeal loudly for Niragi, whose eyes shimmer at the prospect of someone, anyone looking over at you. You, who is getting her brains fucked out by him.

"Yes, Daddy please! Fill me up with your cum!" One, two, just three more thrusts sends Niragi over the edge, his balls tightening and letting out a feral groan into your neck. The flood of his hot cum into your womb pulls you over with him, lips and teeth finding his as you ride your highs together. So fucking hot, you think you nearly black out.

It takes some time to come down from that precipice, your breathing evening out over time as Niragi remains pressed on top of you, head resting in the crook of your neck. The man grins against your neck as he feels your pulse calming, one of your hands carding through the strands of his hair soothingly.

"Are you okay, princess?" He asks eventually, shakily pushing himself off of you and pulling out. You nod as you watch him adjust himself and put his cock away, then moving his attention to you.

"You look like a hot mess, baby," he laughs, admiring the way his cum seeps out of you before using two fingers to collect it and push it back in. "Let's get you inside, hm?"

"Okay, Daddy," you agree with a wide smirk.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

[venenna]

Love is a form of sentiment

Michael Kaiser x Reader

A/n: HEYAA ITS SATURDAY WHICH MEANS ANOTHER FIC!! Its a bit self-indulgent cuz i personally struggle with psychology, and i used my own book as source material so most info used should be correct. Maybe a bit occ but i tried my best. Also suggestive at the end. Ty @crystxlseesu for proof reading

Coming home from your first day of classes, exhaustion evident on your face, you throw your bag down pulling out your psychology book and note book.

This semester will be the death of you! There's so many terms to remember, and half of the stuff being told is nowhere to be seen in the book(probably because its been out of date for god knows how many decades).

You lock the door behind you, after doing so u make a beeline towards the dining table. Spreading all your materials on there.

You get your trusty markers and start highlighting your heart away(as if you knew what was important).

Soon enough, 15 whole pages were colored orange. And you're trying to make out the important bits, and by the looks of it you didn't know what was or wasn't important.

That's fine, absolutely fine! You'll just read everything and you'll be able to make it out for sure!

Nothing makes sense... After spending almost an hour reading your poor excuse of highlighting you still don't understand shit. And so you've given up on the book, tossing it aside.

Your new friend is your note book, surely you got something of help in there!

And.... You were wrong. Your note book had words that didn't even exist in your language, congratulations for making a whole new language! Sure there were some helpful information like the basic emotions:

Happiness (something you'd never feel again)

Anger (your new companion for studying)

Fear and (emotion that will follow into exam hall)

Sadness (a frequent visitor from now on)

Or

Factors of stress (im sure you got to know each other quite well):

Everyday life problems

Big changes in life

Frustrations and obstacles in meeting needs

Or certian personality traits as stress factor

Other than that you were left empty handed.

Now you were starting to feel frustration, nothing was making sense, your head is a mess from whole day of classes, and man your eyes were stinging... wait huh?

And before you knew it you pushed everything down from the table tears of frustration running down your cheeks. Burying your head in your elbow you let out a scream, which felt oddly liberating however you were still frustrated.

As the door clicked open to reveal your dear boyfriend, the one and only Michael Kaiser.

He was... intrigued by the state he found his lover, you, in. As he closed the door he slowly walked towards you, a sly smirk gracing his sharp features. Coming up behind you placing his hands on your shoulders he leans over you looking at the mess you made.

"Well hello to you meine liebe, you've had an eventful day im guessing?"

“Go away, im not in the mood Michael." Your voice coming out muffled.

“Oh? That wont do.” He said and you could hear the grin in his voice. He was leaning over your shoulder, hand on the table next to your notes. “Tell me, schatz. What’s bothering you?”

Slowly lifting up your head to look at him, eyes red from crying and your voice a bit hoarse from the scream you let out earlier.

"You want to listen?"

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Would i have asked if i didn't?"

And so you express to him your frustrations on psychology and how you didn't except for it to be so... difficult!

Kaiser lets out a low chuckle.

"Is that all schatz? I find psychology quite easy"

"Huh?! Are you mental?"

He just shrugs, that smug smirk plastered on his face.

"I've read a lot of books on it, i like to know how humas tick, its easy to understand really."

You stare at him dumbfounded.

You had to swallow your pride for the next words you were about to utter.

"Sit your ass down, and explain... Please?"

His smirk grew even wider(if it was even possible), he liked seeing you dependant on him.

"Well since you asked so nicely meine liebe, sure ill help you, it won't be that difficult after all."

Kaiser pushed himself from the table and walked into your shared bedroom.

After returning he put on his glasses as he pulled a chair next to you.

"Here's how it goes schatz.."

He started explaining the concept of emotions with such ease, and you understood every word. And you had to admit he looked good while doing it, legs crossed as he scanned over your material with such grace. And he continued to explain to you in detail everything you need to know, but made fun of you not understanding in the first place. He is an ass...but he is your ass.

There were still some stuff you didn't understand, but most of it made sense now after he explained.

"See what did i tell you? Its simple." He smirked while twirling some of your hair around his finger. Damn him! He knew what he was doing!

"Thanks Mihya..." A mischievous idea popped up in your fried brain.

You stood up leaning towards him and playing with collar of his shirt.

"Thanks for your help, maybe i could offer something in return?" You said smirking at him.

Oh.... Maybe he should help you more often.

A/n2: AND THANKS TO @dimsumo FOR HELP. i hope you enjoyed!!

[melwsnt]

────── ⋆⋅☆DEAR GHOST, DEAN WINCHESTER

summary. Dean’s death left a stain on your life.

word count. 749

this basically talks about grief so if you think that’ll affect you, you don’t have to read it!🫶🏼 I did cry while writing this.. please interact<3

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Dean’s absence felt like all the stars fell from the sky and then the world had no meaning without him in it.

Dean’s absence made you feel like, for once, death wasn’t so scary. It meant you could reunite with him- maybe soon, maybe not, but you’d see him again, you fully believed that.

You couldn’t touch baby for a while. Sitting in the driver’s seat made you feel like you belonged anywhere but there. Sam helped- and the first time you sat in that seat- you knew Dean was right beside you, probably making a joke about you being the only person allowed to drive baby.

You felt him- it’s like he was right there. You could hear his voice singing over the cassette you played that he loved so much.

Your body went cold and your arms covered themselves in chills.

Dean would make fun of you if he saw you right now. Looking so miserable over him. That’s what makes you sad. It’s knowing- that even in death he would think so little of himself- like he’s not a loss.

Except he is. He is a loss to you, to his little brother, to every single person he’s helped in his life, even though they don’t know that he’s gone.

He’s a loss to the world. The world was a safest place with Dean. Now it’s only half of it that’s safe, because half of the Winchesters is gone.

You know the drill, you’ve lost too many people already, but this loss feels different.

On the drive, you laugh. And then you start crying. Hating Dean was easy- but loving him was probably the worst thing of all. Because loving him meant worrying about when his or your last day would be. What last words you’d say to each other, what thing you could do or say to prevent it from happening.

You can’t prevent death, especially when hunting. You couldn’t prevent Dean from dying, and it doesn’t matter that his last words to you were I love you. What matters is that you felt his heart stop, saw his eyes close, his body go limp, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

You knew the vision would haunt both you and Sam forever, so you couldn’t prevent that either.

What you could do, was talk to Dean, because you knew he’d listen.

You’re not sure where you’re driving, it doesn’t matter what direction you go in, Dean would follow you to the ends of the world.

Even if you don’t see him, you can tell he’s waiting for you to say something. You can see him waiting, drumming his fingers on his leg, looking at you like you’re the only good thing left in this world besides his brother.

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’ You whisper under your breath.

‘Okay, so. Updates? Sam’s doing well, you can probably see that. He’s found someone, I think that’s gonna work out, he deserves it. We share baby, I’m sure you’d hate that.’ You laugh and take a deep breath.

‘I’m here talking to a ghost, so maybe I’m insane. I just- I need to know if you’re here, Dean. Give me a sign, anything. I just need to know that I’m not crazy.’

Then the cassette stops working.

A new song starts playing,this time on the radio and your heart stops.

It’s your song. You and dean’s. The song you’d belt on every car ride together. The song Dean once said made him realize how in love he was with you.

‘Thank you.’ You whisper again, a hand over your heart, because you know that he’ll hear it.

You’re sure Dean is smiling in the passenger seat, maybe has tears in his eyes.

Because you do. You wipe your nose, you cry, and you laugh. Because if you are going insane- you still can’t explain that.

Dean is definitely here. You feel weight on your arm, something is squeezing it. He is- as to tell you everything is going to be okay. Because even though he’s not here anymore, he still is, with you. And he’ll never leave- at least not until you join him.

Maybe that was the cruel plan the universe had for you two- but even in death, Dean was still here- wouldn’t leave your side, still loving you- so much you could still feel it.

Because he’s still Dean Winchester- even if he’s not part of this world anymore.

[mscherub]

Hello again, I’m the one that requested belly pooch and your writing is SCRUMPTIOUS so it’s worth the wait.

And don’t worry about taking too long life happens :3

I’ve also realized I forgor to give you my nickname 💀 but could I be 🌒?

With that out of the way could I request Third years with a reader who doesn’t like people behind/too close to them? Platonic or Romantic is fine ❤︎

For example whenever they’re in line with them for anything (cafeteria) reader kinda steps to the side or faces them so their back is towards a wall/open space and whenever they’re in crowds reader prefers to hurry to where they’re trying to go because it feels like the people are breathing down their neck?

As always thank you in advance and don’t stress yourself :D

A/N: HEYY AGAIN <3

Ofc! Ur nickname is now 🌒! LOVELY!!! And also ur so sweet, crying rn 🥲

Gonna send u flowers and hugs 😔

And I just wanna say sorry for being so busy AGAIN. Like…I got sick and took a detox from internet, then I had to make up a lot of work, then I had a whole thing with friends, then a trip to Washington DC which I’m still on while writing this—

(Eating out at the Hard Rock Cafe currently…took forever for food smh)

SHORT SHORT FICS TODAY GUYS! I love u all tho for dealing with me. Hugs and BIG BIG BOUQUETS OF FLOWERS!

Reader is gender neutral, referred to as Prefect or Y/N

Characters: Third Years (aka, all the guys I need to write for more, uhhh, hah…)

Tags: platonic or romantic, sneaking up on reader, silent understandings, probs not my best writing 😔

Warnings:

potentially a sensitive topic

Swearing

Not proofread all the way…

<3 <3 <3 <3

Trey:

I feel like Trey would be a big shoulder toucher, like…you know those people who always put a hand on your shoulder or pat your back and say you did a good job? Yea, Trey does that all the time to everyone

He notices that you don’t like it though, it’s not hard to see, and he watches how you tend to keep people within your line of sight

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

“Ace…you have to. You know what…you’re a lost cause.” You mumble. Tutoring the group is not easy, especially with Ace who seems to love to complain about everything and anything that doesn’t make sense or is “too hard.” Also, studying at Heartslabyul was a feat of its own…

“Well you’re just not teaching us right so…” he huffs. He puts a hand up and waves it indifferently, rolling his eyes and pulling out his phone.

A hand finds its way onto your shoulder and you whip around, of course accompanied by the jump of surprise. Trey stands frozen for a moment, slightly surprised at the small outburst and he retracts his hand. “Sorry…you ok?”

You give a curt nod, adjusting in your seat to face him properly while also trying to keep the first years within range and clear your throat. “I’m good…you just scared me…”

“I can tell…” He sighs. “You sure?”

“Mhmm…sorry. I just don’t like being surprised like that…you know.” You mumble, staying frozen in place.

“Oh. Ok. No, it’s ok. I got it.” Trey nods and smiles. It’s a warm one, like usual, but it’s laced with a sense of understanding.

He moves from behind your chair and instead goes behind Ace, plucking his phone right up and smirking down at him. “Study.”

Cater:

I imagine Cater to be a touchy type of person, not in a weird way though

Just sitting close to someone, leaning his head on their shoulder, basics, and it makes for a good photo opportunity too

He’s kinda sad when he sees you scooting away from his attempts. Thinks you don’t like him, poor cay-cay 😔

But he eventually catches on and understands. Ok, no probs, then.

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

“Prefect!” Cater beams, coming up to you in the hallway as you were trying to make a mad dash for the classroom so you could sit and get recouped. “Ahh! You look great! I mean you always do, but let’s take a pic! For magicam! Cmooonnnnn, help lil ol’ cay-kun here!”

He slings his arm around your shoulder and leans his cheek against yours, humming happily to himself as he rubs up against you with a giddy smile before he goes to click the button. Photos are fine, but geez was he touchy. You take the initiative and move out of his half embrace and smooth out your clothes in a nervous gesture.

“Huh? Heyyy, what’d I do?” Cater quirks a brow and lowers his phone. His smirk falters and it falls quickly, replaced by a solemn look.

“Less touchy would be nice…and don’t scare me like that…” you mumble

He thinks for a moment before nodding quickly to your words. “Got it…but can we still get a pic for my magicam? Cmonnnnnn Y/N?” He pouts.

“In a less crowded place…please.”

“Of course!” He almost grabs your arm, but he stops and instead motions with his hand to further down the hall where it’s less crowded.

“Now pose and say cheese!!”

Leona:

He isn’t super big on touch…but sneaking up

He doesn’t mean it

Another shoulder toucher, but worse. Grips your shoulder tight and kinda moves you so you look at him.

Also finds the attention on him all the time something nice

Though, he does have respect and he gets why you do it. He’ll respect that and he’ll refrain from doing it

Remembers that fact about you better than most, actually

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

“Jack…is this…no this is right.” You nod, scribbling down a few more notes before shutting your notebook and nodding. “Thank you. Ace and Deuce were busy…Epel was, too, same with Sebek. You’re a big help.”

“Mhm. If you ever need any other notes just ask…” His tail sways behind him gently and you give him a small soft smile. You just needed some notes since you didn’t get all of them during Trein’s class period. Grim was complaining in a hushed tone the whole time and kept pulling your attention back to him when you tried to focus it on the lecture. Clearly it was a failed attempt.

“Alright. That’s it then. I’m gonna go.” The chair squeaks against the floor as you push out and grab your items as you stand. You adjust them in your arms and walk towards the exit, but before you can a hand grips your shoulder and turns you to half face him.

“Herbivore, when did you get here? Thought I’d say hi.” He mumbles out while yawning.

You scramble out from under his heavy touch and roll your shoulders in turn. “Uh…hi…” you turn your whole body to face him.

He quirks an eyebrow at your action, his tail flicking behind him in interest. “You good?”

“Uh. Yea. Just…don’t surprise me like that again…I don’t like it. Sorry.”

“No. I got it. It’s fine.” He shows no sign of anything else. “You leaving?”

“Mhmmm…”

“Do you wanna be walked out?” He offers.

It sounded nice. You didn’t really want to have that alien feeling while being watched. “If you’re not busy?”

“I’m not. Cmon…”

Vil:

If Vil sneaks up on you somehow I don’t even know how. His heels should be enough to tell you how far behind he is from you

He’s not super touchy himself, but if he’s comfortable he’ll do a few fixes with your uniform, hair, or makeup if you wear any if it’s bothering him (it’s for your best of interest that he helps you out…)

He knows how to respect boundaries well. He also knows good ways to help you clam down. Why does he know that? Don’t tell him that you don’t think he gets stressed…he just looks fabulous while doing so…

And all your attention on him while he speaks? It’s nothing new for him, but coming from you, it’s nice

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

You were caught…again. So what your uniform was a little off? You were in a rush!

“I’m not quite fond of how you present yourself, sweet potato. Just forgetting to button up one can make you look sloppy.” His fingers fix your dress shirt swiftly with his usual motions of elegance.

“I…I can fix it myself.” You mumble as you gently push his hands away from you. He’s stunned. You look around and see the halls start to flood again and you quickly brush his presence off and you begin to walk to your next class.

Vil isn’t one to be ignored, so out of worry and curiosity as to why you left abruptly, he followed in suit.

“And being ignorant is another thing…” he huffs, his heels clicking as he matches pace with you rather quickly. How could he— you know what, never mind.

“Sorry, I just don’t want you touching me and I need to…get to class.”

He shuts up for a while, simply observing you and your expressions. He clears his throat. “Sorry. Let me…finish walking you to class. Maybe later you could come have a skin care night with me…if you’d like? You could apply the products yourself if you’d like that. And it would be a good way to relieve stress. Think about it, Prefect.” His hand hesitates to rest on your upper back before he schools himself and pulls it away.

“Is that a plausible thing? You seem like you need one.”

“I can consider it…”

Rook:

…

He pops up outa nowhere

Will scare you. Multiple times

It’s just a Rook thing, but Rook isn’t an uncouth man who doesn’t know how to respect boundaries of others, no (well—)

If you’re feeling rather uncomfortable then he’ll even offer to keep you safe.

Likes how you gaze at him while talking. (He’s weird <3)

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

“Bonjour!” His boisterous voice pipes up from behind you and you swear you felt your soul leave your body. Your head whips around and you see the blonde bob waving around. Rooks arms are open wide and he smiles down at you…and it looks ominous, but it’s Rook…

“You looks magnifique! Ahh, how beautiful your eyes are!” He takes a step forward and gently fixes a strand of your hair, smirking and narrowing his eyes.

“Hey! I’d…prefer not…” you mumble, backing away. You glare at him, your shoulders tense with building stress. You could trust him…to an extent, but he was always quirky no matter what. And you still didn’t want him so— so up and personal!

“Hmm? Why of course…apologies, mon Trickster, I did not realize.” He fixes his posture and still holds his smile, though his eyes soften. “Your beauty was too much to simply ignore.” He nods and then his smile softens.

“If you ever feel as if a moment may be too stressful, I’m simply a call away, you know?”

“Oh…ok.”

“Of course!” He chuckles before walking off…

Idia:

Bro will not be touching you, RESPECTFULLY

He doesn’t prefer touch

Also he won’t really sneak up on you, if he does he doesn’t mean it

He finds it a bit awkward how you always watch him so closely while talking to him, but you know what, at least your there with him

He gets it though, what you do, he can relate big time. Just chill with him and he’s fine. He can trust you…somewhat

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

The game you two were playing illuminates the room from off of the screen, button smashing coming from the both of you.

“I don’t,” Idia pauses to take a drink of whatever he decided to have that day, “get how you get along with everyone. I’d feel like I’d be made fun of…” he sighs, pursing his lips as he focuses in on the game.

“I…really don’t. I don’t like being around people for too long…or often. I also don’t like people behind me cause it just puts me off. Makes it feel like people are watching me and breathing down my neck…” you sigh, sticking your tongue out as you lock in.

“Oh.” Idia shrugs. “So, kinda same as me? K…well, still, you’re better at it than me. Fighting it. You don’t show any signs sometimes. Of being stressed I mean.”

Sun flashes across the screen and he glances over at you. “My room is always open for a…breather for you.” He looks away, blush coating his cheeks at the simple admission. “So come here to like…wind down if need be.”

“That’s…nice. Thanks. Two people alike should stick together, huh?”

“Don’t make it sound weird…”

Malleus:

He minds his hands. He’s been taught that like his whole life

And sneaking up…well…he definitely doesn’t mean it. His popping up at night is random and spooky…but u know what, we love mal!!

He loves the attention even if you do it out of nervousness

He’ll also try to make you at ease, though his methods aren’t always the best

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

“Grim! Wait— that damn…never mind.” He rushed in ahead of you into ramshackle before he could make sense of what you even said. He also leaves the door open haphazardly without a care. How unserious was he?

“Hello—“

“WHAT THE FUCK!” You jump and scramble to turn around, almost dropping your heavy textbooks and notebooks.

Malleus stands there wide eyed as he watches your labored and stressed breathing. “I…apologize.”

“No! It’s…fine. You just…ahhh…ok, you scared me. Bad.” You mumble, shaking your head and keeping a watchful eye on him. “Don’t pop up like that…refrain from doing so…sorry. I’m just…you scared me so bad…”

“I understand.” He nods and puts a hand to his chin, deep diving into your words and marking them down in his mind. “I apologize again.”

“It’s fine.”

“I simply wanted to ask if you’d like to take a walk with me tonight? Away from prying eyes and I’d ensure your safety always, child of man.” He smiles. His voice is deep and sensual, his way of an apology.

“I can…tag along for a bit.”

“Then let us go, child of man.”

Lilia:

Bros main thing is to scare people so…good luck

Jump scares! Sneaking in the shadows and making it feel like you’re being watch because you actually are!

He’s a walking nightmare

Notices your demeanor, though, and he’ll try to be mindful. He is just an old fae that wants to have fun 😔

He likes you, though, and he’ll make sure you’re comfortable above anything else, even while being cheeky

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

You’re already paranoid from an incident that happened earlier and you’re not looking for something else to add onto the mental stress of this anxiety. You just want to get back to your dorm and take a well deserved breather, HAH! No.

Slipping from the tree above as you walk up the pathway, Lilia moves to hang upside down and jump scares you.

“Boo!”

You let out a strangled yelp and stumble back.

“Oh? Fu, fu, fu. I scared you quite a bit, no?” Lilia chuckles and lands on his feet before strolling over. He notices you, looking a little more shaken than how other people would be when he scared them, and his caring instincts kick in. “Are you ok?”

“Fine.” You spit out, clearing your throat and looking around. “Sorry…you just. Don’t do that again…please. I know it’s your whole thing but…just please.” You mutter out, holding your items to your chest.

He reaches out to pat your shoulder but you shy away from his touch. All he has to offer is an apology.

“I’m deeply sorry…I did not know, Prefect. Say, how would you like I keep a watchful eye on you when I can. I believe that’s what I can do to pay you back.” He smiles again.

It puts you oddly at ease and you nod, sighing out and letting your shoulders relax.

Let’s ignore how this took me about two weeks to poorly write out. I’m tired y’all. I love u guyssss for being so so so so so so so appreciative of my writing and it makes me so happy ❤️

Kisses and hugs and AHH, I just love yall

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[skellseerwriting]

My Love

Calderus x Gn!Sick!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Content & Warnings: Hurt/comfort, physical comfort, fluff, brief descriptions of being unwell + some crying, emotional support dragon, Calderus has gentle hands and claws and grabbable horns, love confession?

Summary: Calderus shows up one night at your cabin after you fail to visit him for a few days

“Farmer?” A familiar voice called out through the opening crack of your front door. The slab of wood creaked further and a horned figure peered inside. “Oh, my dearest farmer…” he said once he saw your sorry state. Moonlight poured out behind him, covering his hair and shoulders.

“Calderus…” you turned further onto your stomach; covered in blankets.

“I am so glad to see you safe and sound.” His voice rapidly approached, along with the tap of claws on wooden floorboards. “What is…” he tentatively placed his fingers on you and you groaned into your pillow. “Are you unwell?” He whispered. Not wanting to look at him, you nodded. A moment passed, and the sound of something dragging across the floor pinged at the headache behind your eyes.

Presuming Calderus to be sitting in a chair at your bedside, you blindly reached out with one hand. It found its target and you tightened your hold to never let go.

“Is there anything I can do for you? I know I am not very good with cooking, but perhaps I could-“

“Juststayherewithme…” you mumbled, squeezing his hand to prevent him from leaving.

“Of course.” He responded in a silent nod, wrapping a second hand around your own. “Whatever it is that you want.”

A long, drawn out hum escaped your lips in satisfaction at the newfound peace of his presence. Your body was positively aching at the work you couldn’t pass up for your farm animals, just from the past few days alone. You’d been so busy, and so tired, and so sick that you couldn’t even visit Calderus.

“‘m sorry I didn’ visit you…” you told him, not able to keep the guilt out of your tone. The creak of the chair indicated him leaning forward as a hand held your shoulder.

“You do not need to apologize for that. I could handle you not visiting me for a few days. Right now, I am much more concerned about your own health.”

You hated how worried he sounded. Not because you hated him, no, quite the opposite. But because it just served to make you feel even more guilty.

“Please don’t worry about my health.” You cried suddenly in a high voice, the pain of your body aiding in your pained emotions. A tear or two ran down the side of your nose while you clutched your abdomen beneath you. Everything hurt. It hurt so much. You just wanted it to be gone and you wanted him to stay and make everything better.

Something touched your eyebrow and you flinched.

“Please don’t cry.” You heard the wobble in his voice as he said it. A clawed finger brushed some hair away from your temple before running down your moist cheek. “Anything but that…” he whispered more to himself than to you. His fingers trailed down your shoulder before sliding under the blanket. “I simply cannot bear it…”

“Calderus-“ you failed in your attempt not to sob.

“Shhh…” he hushed to you, caressing your back up and down with his hand. “Just allow me this, please, and if it is what you want, I shall leave afterwards.”

You squeezed your eyes shut farther and focused on his gentle touch. The blanket got pushed back, and he smoothed his palm up between your shoulder blades before rubbing deep circles into your side. It felt… so nice…

A humming originated from his mouth. The sound was music to your ears. He played a soft tune with his lips as he sought to quell the horrid aches within your back. It flowed into your ears and softened the hammering sensation behind your eyes; all melting away. Once he changed up his tactic and began scratching you through the thin cotton of your nightshirt, you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped you in an easy breath. His curved, yet gentle claws dragged up your spine and over your shoulders. At times they would reach the neck and delicately graze the skin there; sending tingly feelings through your nape and emitting more happy sighs from your parted lips. Those same sensations drew up and down your spine from the trail of his claws, and it made the experience all the more enjoyable. The musical hum of mysterious nature continued to grow, and as time went on, illegible words peeked through in a mumble of syllables. It was not in the common tongue. Something about it seemed ancient, but so was Calderus, and there were many things you had yet to learn about him.

And then you caught something among the words; something you had heard Calderus mutter to himself on occasion.

“What does that mean?” You perked up, blinking your bleary eyes in the moon-lit darkness. Calderus halted his movement and music in favor of focusing on you.

“What is it that you are referring to?” He inquired. His hand returned to his lap, and you mourned the loss of contact.

“That word you said.” You jutted your face forward for a second before laying your head sideways over folded arms. Now, he was horizontal on your visual axis. Still just as beautiful.

“Which one?” He leaned down. You spoke a jumbled version of the word you heard.

“I hear you say it all the time whenever I visit. You mumble it to yourself.” You explained. In leu of answering you immediately, Calderus’ face turned darker in the shadows. It reached the tips of his ears and he bashfully looked away; fingers covering his mouth.

“Calderus?” You tilted your head a bit. He hunched further away. “What does it mean?” You asked again, curiously.

With a shuddering breath, he parted his fingers and looked at you from the side; a single visible eye framed by a blush.

“It means ‘my love’.”

Oh.

Oh.

Heat flooded your cheeks. You buried your face into your pillow to smother it. How could you literally face him after hearing that? You would just tell him you still weren’t feeling well. Yeah, that would work. That is, it would have if you didn’t just hear him say your name with such love and tending care.

“Yeah?” You responded nervously, turning timid.

“It is getting late, and I cannot yet stray too far from my home. It is with such a heavy heart that I inform you I cannot stay any longer.”

You think your heart just broke.

“O-oh…” the word warbled out of you. The chair beneath him creaked as he went to stand up. “W-wait.” You told him. You weren’t sure what you were doing.

Scratch that, you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Yes?” He hummed, doing as you asked and leaning close again out of concern. In your spontaneity of not wanting him to leave you, you desired one last act of affection before he did. It would tide you over until you could see him again.

Sitting up from your formerly relaxed position, the blanket pooled around your hips and you reached your hands forward. Calderus found the sturdy base of his horns within the tight grip of your fingers to move as they pleased. He quietly yelped. Firmly, you pulled his face close and connected your lips.

Immediately after, you parted with a gasp-like intake of air, but didn’t let go of him yet. He looked much like before; only this time with a much, much darker skin tone on his cheeks. His eyes were so full of wonders and questions, but regretfully, neither of you had the time.

“Visit me tomorrow.” You pleaded, standing up on your knees now and looking down at Calderus’ face. He just stared in awe; sliding a hand up your arm before wrapping it around the one you had on his horn.

“I will.” He lilted, starry eyes turning heavy. His second hand found yours. Pulling them both off of his head, he brought them to his lips and kissed the knuckles with such a gentleness that it cured you of all misery. “My love.” He added, tightening his hold on you.

“I’ll be here.” You conceded in a slight lamentation. You slipped out of his hold and plopped down onto your feather mattress. “Don’t forget me.” You uttered quietly. Calderus crouched and l pressed his forehead to yours. It was a clumsy gesture, but it was perfect.

“I could never forget you. Even if I were to lose all of my memories, even if I lost every essence of myself, I know that you would still stay in the deepest recesses of my mind. You are too important to forget.” The last part was barely a breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your mouth closed in order not to cry. You would not cry. Not again.

“Just as long as you do not forget me either.” He said. Your eyes opened. He was about to leave, but the thought was unimaginable. Forget him? How could you ever forget someone so lovely? Someone so impossibly intertwined with your life that your very soul came to rely on him for air? For life?

“Never.” You whispered.

Then he left. You were alone once again with just your sickly body and the echo of his presence.

But you were happy.

Taglist: Calderus FoM

@smoochi-march @susanatactica

[hanaruri-tunes]

Caleb's very fun and easy bed guide!🛏💫

(a.k.a. list of things to keep in mind while doing the horizontal tango with Caleb)

1🍎 Know that anything you do during climax will automatically be cute (Telling him you love him/hate him, calling him a meanie/bully/dummy, hugging him, apologizing for cumming, ...)

2🍎 Drooling and crying, he'll definitely kiss and lick all of it away gratefully

3🍎 Munching on his skin or shirt when he fucks into you too hard

4🍎 Being very whiny and needy and bossy, he loves that. Will do his best to comply to guarantee a good time for his little pillow princess

5🍎 Thank him for his cock and cum, show him how polite you are only for him to explode in happiness and think "I should be the one thanking her! What a good girl<3"

6🍎 Shower his cock with kisses before you suck him off, gotta show him how thankful you are for all the spoiling he gives you on a daily basis. He also deserves a bit of pampering from time to time as well, doesn’t he? Even better if you cover him with lipstick marks, preferably using the one he bought for you

7🍎 Pet him! He's a good boy and a loyal pup, so of course he loves pets

8🍎 If you want to be destroyed, easy! Just slip in a snide remark with another guy's name in there (example: "I bet Zayne would be able to do this better.) Beware that you'll be unable to walk the next day though :/ Caleb wants to prove you wrong soooo bad, if you're able to think of other men then he must not be fucking you hard enough, right?

9🍎 Any service asked after the session will be fulfilled so it's the best moment to ask to be coddled! And don't worry, he'll never miss aftercare even without you telling him to

10🍎 If you want him to fuss over you even more, be brave and tell him which parts you liked most and how good they were. The pup loves positive feedback and will definitely take note of your tastes to make next time better!🥰

That was all for the Caleb guide! (for now?🧐)