#that's what she used and i'm not taking that from her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

killerplink · 2 days ago

Text

INFECTED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader x Jason Todd

Plot: What was supposed to be a simple mission to stop Ivy takes an unexpected turn when her latest scheme leaves you, Jason, and Dick trapped, and at the mercy of some very potent pollen. With your minds hazy and bodies burning, boundaries blur, and well... things escalate fast.

CW: sex pollen, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, threesome, oral sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex, praise, cum swallowing, double penetration, creampie, slight pain/pleasure mix, lots of cum, soft aftercare, and overall just filthy degeneracy.

A/N: I don't know if this is what y'all had in mind with this sex pollen fic, but as you might've noticed, I'm a yapper. I don't do 'let's fuck and leave' type of shit. No, we're diving deep into the filth and the feelings. So yeah... this turned out way longer than expected, but your girl loves details 😭

The warehouse stinks of damp wood and fertilizer, the air thick with the scent of Ivy's latest eco-terrorist bullshit. You, Jason, and Dick move quickly through the dimly lit space, scanning for the so-called "pollen bombs" that intel suggested she was planting all over Gotham.

"God, it reeks in here," Jason grumbles, wrinkling his nose behind his helmet. "What the hell is she even tryin' to do? Make the city smell like a goddamn greenhouse?"

"Could be worse," Dick muses, flipping acrobatically over a crate before kneeling beside a sleek metal canister. "Could smell like Killer Croc's lair."

Jason makes a gagging noise, and you fight back a laugh as you crouch beside them, eyeing the canister. It looks pretty standard—small, about the size of a fire extinguisher, a simple pressurized trigger system on top.

"Think this is one of them?" you ask.

"Either that or the world's most industrial lookin' Febreze bottle," Jason mutters.

Dick scoffs, running his gloved fingers along the side of the canister. "Ivy's getting sloppy. This is—"

PFFT.

The release is instant. The three of you barely have time to react before a thick, pale green vapor hisses from the canister, spreading out around you in a slow, curling cloud.

"Shit," Jason curses, jerking back, but it's already too late.

Instinctively, he pulls you with him, yanking you closer to his chest as if that could shield you from whatever the hell is happening. His arm wraps tight around you, his body stiffening as the vapor swirls around all three of you.

The gas spreads, clinging to your clothes, sneaking past your masks. You inhale before you can stop yourself, and—

"Wait," you murmur. "Why does it... smell good?"

Jason and Dick freeze, both of them taking tentative sniffs. The air is thick with something warm and sweet—notes of honey and spice, deep and rich like fresh blooms in the summer sun. It's nice. So nice, in fact, that for a second, the three of you just... stare at each other, confused.

Jason exhales sharply, waving a hand in front of his face. "Okay. What the fuck?"

Dick coughs, looking around at the dissipating mist. "Maybe it's, uh... a trap? Some kind of knockout gas?"

"We'd be on the floor by now, Grayson," you point out.

There's a beat of silence. The three of you just stand there, letting the last wisps of the pollen drift away, waiting for some kind of reaction—dizziness, nausea, anything.

But nothing happens.

Jason huffs. "So lemme get this straight. Ivy had all these bombs set up, and instead of droppin' us where we stand, it just..." he gestures vaguely, "Makes Gotham smell better?"

The absurdity of it hits you all at once. A soft giggle bubbles up in your throat, and then another, until you're actually laughing, shaking your head.

"Damn," you say, breathless. "Deadliest eco-terrorist in Gotham, and she really just gave us a perfume sample."

Jason snorts. "The horror."

Dick rolls his eyes, standing up and dusting himself off. "Okay, well, if this was supposed to be some big master plan, I think we can call it a bust. Let's get back to the cave and let Bats know."

Jason claps a hand on your back, steering you toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah, before Ivy shows up and actually does somethin' dangerous."

None of you notice it yet. The subtle heat creeping into your limbs, the faint buzz just beneath your skin. By the time you're in the Batmobile, it's in you.

The car hums beneath you, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the space as Gotham blurs past the tinted windows. Jason's driving, one hand gripping the gear shift, the other draped lazily over the wheel. Dick's in the passenger seat, his mask still on, head tilted slightly like he's lost in thought.

And you? You're burning up, but not in a sick way. Not in an oh God, something's wrong way. It's just... heat. Low and thick, curling beneath your skin, settling deep between your thighs in a way that has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You tug at your collar, brows furrowing, but it doesn't help. Nothing does.

It's all there, wrong but right at the same time, pooling in the pit of your stomach, thrumming between your legs. Your thighs press together, the friction sending a sharp little spark up your spine.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare out the window, pretending like you're not embarrassingly close to squirming in the backseat of the goddamn Batmobile like some desperate, needy mess.

Maybe it's just—God, maybe it's just them. Jason and Dick, sitting up front, broad shoulders filling out their suits, muscles flexing with every shift of the steering wheel, every casual movement.

That's it, you tell yourself. That has to be it.

This is just because you've been down bad lately, right? Because let's be honest, you've spent way too many nights with your hand or your toys between your thighs, gasping their names into your pillow. It's ridiculous how often it happens, how they've completely hijacked your brain.

Jason, with his sharp mouth, broad chest, big hands. That stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip. His voice, rough and lazy when he calls you "doll" like it's the easiest thing in the world.

And then there's Dick. All smooth charm and soft lips, stupidly pretty even when he's bleeding, the kind of guy who can talk anyone into anything. That boyish grin, those ridiculous acrobat's hips. The way he looks at you sometimes, all teasing and playful but just sharp enough to make you wonder.

Truth be told, you're painfully under-fucked. Gotham's dating scene is trash, and while you could technically take the edge off yourself, your current stash of sex toys is... underperforming. No matter what setting, what angle, it's just not enough. Not enough pressure, not enough stretch, not enough them.

Because the worst part? The part that keeps you up at night, panting into your pillow, legs shaking from overstimulation?

You don't think about some faceless, nameless fantasy. You think about them.

Jason, his big hands pinning your wrists down, his voice rough against your ear as he stretches you open. Dick, slick with sweat, his mouth everywhere, moaning into your skin as he fucks you deep.

Sometimes—fuck—sometimes, it's both. One of them eating you out while the other fucks your mouth, one stuffing you full while the other whispers the filthiest things in your ear.

Your fingers have been the next best thing, but they always leave you wanting. And now, sitting here, feeling hotter by the second, it's all rushing back—every desperate, aching thought.

No. You shake your head, pressing a hand to your cheek. Get a grip. You are not about to get horny in the goddamn Batmobile. Except... you already are. And you're not the only one.

Up front, Dick shifts in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek, his fingers curled into fists on his thighs. His suit is... well, not built for this. The material is thick, durable, but not forgiving. His cock is already half hard, twitching every time the car hits a bump in the road, the sensation sparking something hot and needy down his spine.

His jaw tightens. His thoughts have already turned against him, flashing back to every moment he's ever had to force himself not to look at you, not to stare too long at the way your suit hugs your curves, not to think about how sweet you probably sound when you moan.

But now? Now it's like those thoughts are pumping through his veins. He shifts again, pulling his hand over his lap, casually resting his elbow on the car door, tilting his head like he's just relaxing. But his fingers curl into his thigh, his cock throbbing against the fabric, and shit, he can't stop thinking about you.

He clenches his jaw. This is fine. He can just breathe through it, ignore it. Right?

Because it doesn't make sense. One second, he's fine, the next, his skin is tight, his pulse is loud, his body thrumming like it's been wired wrong. His mind flashes back to the warehouse, to the smoke. Shit. Okay. Okay, this is fine. Except it's not fine because he chances a glance in the rearview mirror.

And that is a mistake. Because there you are, brows furrowed, teeth sinking into your lip, looking so warm and soft and pretty.

He forces his gaze forward, but his dick throbs insistently against the fabric of his suit, demanding attention, aching in a way that has him pressing his thighs together and shifting in his seat, trying to be subtle about it.

But Jason notices, because of course he does. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers flexing as he watches Dick shift uncomfortably in his seat. The way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. The way he adjusts himself as subtly as he can.

Jason grits his teeth. Goddammit. This is already bad enough. He's used to getting hard, and that's not really news, considering he's around you.

It's embarrassing at this point. He's used to this constant, low-level problem whenever you're near. The way his body responds to you like some fucking reflex. A glance, a laugh, a casual touch, and suddenly, he's half-hard in his jeans like a goddamn teenager.

But this? This is different. This is fucking brutal. The heat is unbearable, his whole body buzzing with tension, his dick pressing uncomfortably against his pants. And fine, maybe he shouldn't be thinking about you right now, but his brain isn't listening.

It's giving him vivid fucking images—your lips wrapped around his cock, your pussy stretched around his fingers, the little gasps you'd make if he spread you open, if he fucked you just right. He exhales through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road. Not now. Not fucking now.

And then there's Dick. Sitting there. Shifting around. Acting all innocent, but Jason knows. He sees the way Dick's jaw is clenched, the way he's hiding behind his fucking hands, the way his shoulders keep tensing like he's fighting something off.

And that's a whole other problem. Because Jason does not get hard around Dick. But now? Now, his cock is aching, pressing insistently against the inside of his jeans, and it's fucking weird because Dick is right there.

No way in hell he's acknowledging this. He focuses on the road, breathing in through his nose, willing the heat to settle, willing the blood to go anywhere but his dick. It doesn't work. His suit is hot, the collar too tight, his whole body buzzing with restless, frustrated energy.

His fingers flex against the wheel. "Goddamn it," he mutters under his breath.

Neither of you hear him, and that is concerning. And then, Jason chances a glance in the rearview mirror, and you're squirming.

Not a lot, but enough. Shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together, lips parted ever so slightly, brows still drawn like you don't even realize you're doing it. He forces his eyes forward, gripping the wheel tight enough to hurt.

Oh, this is so fucked. And he knows—knows—it's about to get worse.

The second the Batmobile rolls into the cave, you're out.

"Okay—" you blurt, voice higher than usual. "I think I'm gonna take a shower."

You don't even wait for their answers before you're practically sprinting toward the locker room.

Jason clears his throat. "I think there was somethin' in that fuckin' smoke bomb."

"Yep," Dick says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking like he wants to say more but physically cannot.

Jason glances away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Y'know what, maybe she's right. A shower wouldn't hurt. Maybe wash these clothes, too, given whatever the fuck was in that shit is on us."

"Yep," Dick repeats, and then, without another word, both of them hurry toward the showers.

The locker room is sleek—clean lines, dark tiles, recessed lighting that casts a soft glow instead of that harsh, clinical brightness most locker rooms have. It's modern but comfortable, not cold or uninviting, just functional.

The walls are lined with neatly organized gear, each section personalized to its owner, creating a sense of quiet efficiency. Even the air has a faint hint of something metallic, like fresh tech waiting to be put to use. It's a space that serves its purpose, but it also feels like it's built for those who belong, making it almost... homey in its own way.

The showers are set up in a row, each with tinted glass dividers that fog up easily with the heat—not fully clear, but not enough to hide everything, either. No doors, no curtains, just a spacious, open layout that suddenly feels like the worst possible decision Bruce could've made.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. You're focused on the water cascading over your skin, the steam curling around you, the way your body still burns in a way that has nothing to do with the hot spray.

And okay, fine. You might be a little slow on the uptake, but even you have to admit now that this? This is not normal. You've never felt this desperate before. Not even after a dry spell, not even after the nights you spent aching between your sheets, body wired with need that just wouldn't settle. This is different. Worse.

You exhale sharply, pressing your palms against the cool tile as the water rushes down your back. Okay. Deep breaths. Just... get through this. It'll wear off.

Because your brain? Yeah, it's not helping.

But then you fucking hear it. Jason's low muttering as he steps under the spray, the deep groan he lets out when the hot water crashes over him. Dick exhaling hard, shifting around, the slap of water against skin as he pushes his hair back. And now, somehow, this is fucking worse.

It's giving you images. Images of Jason, big and broad and dripping, water sliding down his chest, over those stupidly defined abs, down to his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.

And Dick, all lean muscle and smooth skin, his own cock probably flushed and aching, his face tipped back under the spray as he runs a hand over his body, slicking up every inch of himself.

You squeeze your eyes shut. No. Nope. Not doing this. Not right now.

But the heat between your legs is unbearable. Your fingers twitch at your sides, your clit throbbing, aching for relief, and fuck it, you slip your hand between your thighs.

Your breath stutters, thighs trembling as you press your fingers against your puffy, soaked clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. And God, you're so fucking wet. Soaked. You can feel it, slicker than you've ever been, dripping down your thighs, mixing with the hot water as you rub yourself with quick, jerky movements.

This should do. Probably. Hopefully.

You bite your lip, forcing your moans down, listening, but the water covers any sound, the steady rush of the showers masking the way you whimper when your fingers slide lower, teasing at your entrance, dipping inside just enough to send a shudder up your spine.

This is fine. They can't hear you. They don't know. Right?

Dick exhales sharply, bracing one hand against the tile as the hot water rushes over him. His body is wired, his skin flushed, his cock still painfully, achingly hard even after scrubbing himself down, after doing everything in his power to focus on literally anything else.

But it's not working. It's. Not. Fucking. Working.

His jaw clenches as he glances down, swallowing hard at the sight of his cock—thick and heavy, desperate, the tip drooling precum as it twitches in the air. Okay, he can fix this.

It's just... the pollen. That's what this is. Not him, not you.

It's just a chemical reaction, and the fastest way to get this out of his system is to handle it. Quickly. Before it gets worse.

So he wraps his fingers around himself and gives a slow, experimental stroke. The relief is instant.

A shudder rolls down his spine as his breath hitches, his hand tightening just slightly as he jerks himself once, twice, watching the way his cock twitches, the way another thick bead of precum leaks from the tip, slicking up his palm.

Fuck, this is bad. Because now, now that he's touching himself, now that he's letting himself feel it—you're there. Well, not right next to him. Not really.

But in his head? You're everywhere. Your mouth on his, warm and desperate, your hands roaming down his chest, slipping lower, wrapping around his cock, pumping him with slow, teasing strokes.

Your breath, hot against his ear as you whisper his name, your tits pressed against him, soft and warm, your nipples dragging over his wet skin as you shift in his lap, grinding against his cock, your pussy so wet he can feel it even through the heat of the shower. His pace stutters, his breath turning ragged as his hips rock forward, fucking into his fist like a desperate, needy idiot.

Because fuck, he is needy. And the worst part? You're. Right. There.

A few feet away, just behind that glass divider, water rushing over your body, slicking up every inch of your skin, dripping down your tits, your stomach, your thighs.

And he wants you. Has for a long time.

But now? Now, it's not just want. It's need, and it's fucking unbearable. His hand moves faster, breath catching as his muscles tense, his balls pulling tight, his whole body thrumming with the need to cum.

Because he just needs to cum, and then this will be over. Right?

Jason has the exact same fucking thought.

Because his dick? Yeah, it's not going down. Not even slightly. His head tips back against the tile, a slow, heavy breath hissing through his teeth as he fists his cock, thick fingers wrapping tight around the swollen length. He's had plenty of inconvenient boners before.

That's just part of the package when he's got you in his life—skintight suits, little smirks, the way you fight like you own the city, like no one can touch you.

Yeah, he's used to being hard when you're around. But this? This is fucking ridiculous.

His whole body feels wired, too hot, like there's an electric current running under his skin. His dick hurts, heavy and flushed, leaking against his knuckles as he starts to stroke himself, slow and firm, the pressure making his breath hitch. This should help. This has to help.

He forces himself to think about other things—literally anything else—but his brain? Yeah, his brain is not cooperating.

Because all he can see is you. Your body under the spray, your tits glistening with water, your ass round and perfect, your thighs slick and parted just enough for him to see the way your pussy clenches, desperate and aching.

And fuck, you're right there. Right. Fucking. There.

So close he could just step over, press himself against your back, run his hands down your body, feel the way your slick little pussy drips against his fingers...

Fuck. His strokes get faster, hips bucking up into his own grip, stomach tightening as he groans under his breath, low and rough, trying to chase that sharp, bright edge of relief.

Because yeah, if he just gets this out of his system, if he just cums, then maybe he won't be thinking about how he wants to bury his cock inside you so fucking bad he's starting to lose his mind.

You rub your clit in tight little circles, slick and needy, but it's not enough. The ache between your thighs burns hotter with every second, but you can't tip over the edge. Not like this.

Not with Jason and Dick right there, close enough that your mind keeps conjuring them instead of whatever weak fantasy you were trying to focus on. You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly as your fingers work faster, but it's no use, because all you can think about is how good their hands would feel instead.

Jason's fingers, thick and rough, stretching you open. Dick's tongue, wet and eager, lapping at you until you're a trembling mess. Fuck. You let out a shaky breath and force yourself to stop, frustrated beyond belief, body pulsing with need that refuses to be satisfied.

Meanwhile, Jason is in his own personal nightmare. Fisting his cock was supposed to help. He thought if he just got off, the unbearable need would settle. But no, he's still rock hard, twitching in his grip, and he's gritting his teeth so hard it's a miracle his jaw hasn't snapped.

It's worse because you're right there. He knows you're showering only a few feet away, completely naked, slick water running down that perfect fucking body of yours, and it's driving him insane. His strokes slow, and he tips his head back against the tiled wall, a groan tearing from his throat before he can stop it.

And that's when Dick stiffens. Not just in the obvious way, though yeah, he's still rock hard, still throbbing, and still aching for more, even after cumming. His skin is flushed, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, and his cock hasn't softened at all. He's still leaking, still desperate, and it takes everything in him not to wrap his fingers around himself again and just keep going.

Jason, who is definitely still jerking off. Heat rushes up Dick's spine, a mix of embarrassment and something else—something dangerous—curling deep in his gut. They're both fucked.

Then Jason groans again, and it clicks. Dick's movements still. His brows furrow slightly. And before he even thinks it through, his gaze shifts—just barely—toward Jason's stall.

Jason must feel the stare, because his grip falters. He huffs a breath, tilting his head to the side just enough that their eyes meet through the fogged-up glass, and—

Oh. Oh, fuck.

The realization is heavy between them, thick with unspoken tension. Dick's lips part slightly, his fingers twitching at his side, and Jason—still flushed, still panting—grits his teeth, dragging a hand down his face like this is somehow his fault.

"This shit is fucked," Jason mutters, voice rough and strained.

Dick sways awkwardly, still pulsing with unbearable heat, and nods. Jason swallows hard, and when his gaze flicks to Dick, he finds the same wide-eyed, panting, wrecked expression staring back at him. They're both so far gone it's pathetic. And if they're this fucked, then you must be even worse.

And then? You step out of the stall.

Wrapped in nothing but a towel, beads of water dripping from your skin, steam curling around you like a fucking wet dream. And when you lift your gaze and see them, your breath catches.

Jason is still gripping his cock, hand frozen mid-stroke, his whole body stiff. Dick is still hard, still flushed, his eyes wide and dark as he takes you in. The tension is suffocating.

You all know what's happening here at this point. You swallow hard, your body throbbing with heat, and realization slams into you: none of you are getting through this alone.

The silence is thick, the kind that clings, all steam and heat and unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. All three of you just stand there, dripping wet, but you're the only one still clinging to any semblance of modesty, wrapped in a towel that suddenly feels too tight, too hot against your skin.

Dick and Jason? They're just there. Naked.

And maybe you'd all just keep standing here, awkward and unbearably turned on, if Dick didn't clear his throat and break the silence.

"So, uhm..." His voice cracks a little, and he grimaces before trying again. "There was something in the—"

"I know," you cut him off, and your voice is not as steady as you'd like it to be.

Jason, ever the blunt one, just snorts. "Yeah, so jerkin' off isn't doing shit."

That gets a laugh out of you, sharp and a little breathless. "You don't say."

And you really shouldn't be looking. You shouldn't. But they're right there. And when you finally, really let yourself look, trailing your gaze over bare skin, all toned muscle and broad shoulders and glistening tattoos, your eyes flicker down to their laps.

Fuck.

Your eyes drop before you can stop yourself, trailing down to where they stand, cocks heavy and thick against their stomachs, hard and mouthwatering, flushed at the tip.

Jason's hands flex at his sides, itching to reach for you.

Dick sways forward slightly, like he's barely restraining himself, like he wants to drop to his knees right then and there. And you whimper. A soft, needy little sound you cannot take back, and it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room.

Jason notices first—of course he does, always the one to pick up on the filthiest shit—and his eyes darken as his fingers twitch like he's about to grab you.

"So," he starts, voice thick, rough, the kind that settles low in your gut. "Maybe we should, uh... try and help each other out?"

You snap your gaze up to his face so fast your neck nearly cracks, and when you glance at Dick, he's already looking at you.

There's no denying it. There never has been. The attraction between you three has always been there, simmering under the surface, never acted on, never spoken out loud. You've thought about it. Of course you have. Working alongside them, running into them on patrol, spending late nights at the manor or in Jason's safe house—how couldn't you?

You know they like you. They know you like them. But friendship has always come first.

You know you're all good; you get tested regularly, a necessity when you're constantly fighting Gotham's worst, and besides, you're on birth control. You could walk away, end this right here, but they're right there. Naked, wet, needy, dicks that have no business being that fucking big, let alone rock solid.

And you want them so bad. So you do the only thing that makes sense: you let the towel slip from your fingers and drop to the floor.

The second it hits the tiles, their eyes devour you. It starts at your face, flicking down over the curve of your neck, the soft swell of your tits, the dip of your waist, the plush of your thighs—until finally, finally, both of them are staring straight at your bare, aching pussy, slick already glistening between your thighs.

And they look wrecked just from seeing you. Jason's jaw clenches, a muscle jumping in his cheek, and Dick sways slightly on his feet, but neither of them speak, too caught up in the sight of you until Jason finally breaks the silence.

"Fuck," he rasps, voice rough and thick. "You're fuckin' gorgeous."

Your face burns hotter, if that's even possible, heat rushing to your cheeks as they reach out almost in sync, hands gripping the knobs on their respective showers, twisting the water off in one smooth motion before stepping out.

And shit, they're even bigger up close.

Not just big, but big. Tall, broad, all muscle, sleek and strong, shoulders wide, thighs thick, every part of them defined—from the solid lines of their chests to the way their abs flex as they move, glistening wet, drops of water trailing down their skin in slow, teasing paths.

But it's their dicks that have you aching, twitching hard, flushed, heavy, and when Dick's cock gives a sharp throb, you bite back a moan so desperate it nearly chokes you.

Jason steps in first, heat radiating off him as he cups your cheek with one big, calloused hand, tilting your head up, eyes dark and hungry as he leans in.

And then he's kissing you. Hard, deep, hungry. His lips move against yours, hot and insistent, tongue sliding into your mouth like he's been waiting for this, starving for it, and fuck, he kisses like he fights—possessive, dominant, all-consuming.

His other hand doesn't hesitate, palms smoothing over your skin, rough fingers sliding straight down to your ass, grabbing a handful, squeezing tight, yanking you up flush against him until his cock presses firm against your belly.

You moan into his mouth, body shuddering as heat coils in your gut, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, every inch of him burning against you.

Behind you, Dick curses under his breath, and you can feel the heat of his stare, feel the way his breath comes out sharp, ragged, as he watches Jason kiss you like he owns you.

Dick steps up behind you, heat radiating off his body, slick skin pressing against your back, and you melt between them. Sandwiched, trapped, caught between two broad, solid bodies, both of them flushed and aching, cocks hard and hot against your skin. Jason groans when your tits press into his chest, and then Dick—fucking Dick—lets out the softest, neediest little exhale against your ear as his hands slide up your sides.

His fingers trace over your ribs, then higher, cupping your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples, teasing, stroking, making you gasp as Jason leans in and kisses you again.

It's not like before. This kiss is slower, deeper, Jason taking his time to drink you in. His tongue licks into your mouth, lazy, hungry, and his hands roam, one gripping the back of your neck while the other settles on your waist, fingers flexing like he can't decide whether he wants to pull you closer or just hold you there and enjoy every shaky breath you make.

Behind you, Dick's mouth is everywhere—pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, up your throat, teasing your ear as his hand dips lower. Fingertips ghosting down, past your belly, until they finally find your puffy, swollen clit.

You twitch at the contact, a sharp little gasp escaping against Jason's lips, and Dick groans, louder this time, pressing a little firmer, rubbing teasing little circles as he mutters, "You're so fucking wet."

Jason pulls back just enough to watch your face, brushing his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips.

His voice is strained, rough as he asks, "You okay with this? With whatever's about to happen?"

His eyes are dark, intense, filled with want but laced with concern, because they need this, need you, but not like this, not unless you want it just as badly. You nod quickly, already breathless, but Dick? Dick's not having it.

He dips his head lower, mouth brushing right against your ear as he whispers, "Use your words, love. We don't wanna push you into anything."

It's almost cruel, the way his fingers slow down, teasing, playing, rubbing lazy, barely there strokes over your clit when all you want is more.

"Yes," you gasp, pushing into his touch. "Please."

That's all it takes. Jason and Dick lock eyes, silent for a moment, and then? Dick nods once, sharp, decisive, and says, "Sauna. Now."

Jason groans. "Jesus fuck, Dickie-bird."

But he doesn't argue. He just watches as Dick takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the sauna with Jason trailing behind, adjusting the settings so it's warm, comfortable—not stifling, just enough to chase away the cold still clinging to your damp skin.

And the sauna? Yeah, of course it's luxurious as hell. Bruce built it, after all. The benches are smooth, made from high-quality wood, wide enough to lie down comfortably, and the warm lighting overhead makes everything feel softer, deeper. It's the kind of place you usually use when you're sore and beaten up after patrols, when you need to relax and let the heat soothe your body.

But tonight? Yeah, you're about to use it for something very different.

Before you can even process what's happening, Jason spins you around, hands everywhere, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You yelp, legs spreading instinctively as he hooks his arms beneath your thighs, locking you open, exposing you, presenting you, and Dick fucking drops to his knees.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on your dripping pussy, hands already reaching, fingers brushing your inner thighs as his mouth parts in awe. "Look at you."

Jason groans behind you, rolling his hips up just enough to grind his cock against your ass, kissing the side of your head, whispering, "You should see what you do to him, baby. He's fuckin' mesmerized."

And Dick? He kind of is. His chest rises and falls in shallow, desperate breaths as he stares, like he's starving, like he can't decide if he wants to taste you or just kneel there and worship.

Dick's hands grip your thighs, fingers pressing firm, grounding himself as he leans in, eyes fixed on your swollen, dripping pussy. His breath stutters out, warm against your slick skin, and he groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, this is so much better than he ever imagined.

And he has imagined it. More times than he'd ever admit. Nights spent fisting his cock to the thought of you, to the way your suit hugs your curves, to the way you smell when you're close, the teasing, flirty little smiles you send his way. He'd always wondered if you'd taste as good as you look.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice shaky.

With two fingers, he spreads you open, watching your slick drip, glistening in the dim heat of the sauna, and his tongue flicks out, hungry, catching a taste before he can stop himself.

And it wrecks him. His mouth seals over your cunt, tongue pushing deep, groaning as he devours you, hot and wet, lapping up every drop like he's been starving for it. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady as he buries himself between your legs, tongue stroking, circling, pushing in deep before dragging back out, flicking against your clit in slow, teasing swipes.

And the sounds you make? Insane.

Breathless, needy, these little gasps and whimpers that make Jason groan behind you, arms flexing as he adjusts his grip, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Solid and so hot against your back, his cock pressing thick against your ass, twitching every time you moan.

"Fuck, Grayson," Jason mutters, voice strained. "She's gonna lose it."

And you are.

Because fuck, Dick knows how to eat pussy. He's skilled, dedicated, every lick and suck sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He moans into you, the vibrations making you shudder, thighs trying to squeeze together, but Jason's grip doesn't let you move.

"Feels good, huh, baby?" Jason murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, his tone all smug and filthy, like he's enjoying this just as much as Dick is.

You can't even speak. Your fingers tangle in Dick's damp hair, clutching hard, back arching against Jason's chest as Dick flicks his tongue against your clit in quick, teasing strokes, like he knows exactly how to unravel you.

Jason groans behind you, his arms tightening around your legs. When your head falls against his shoulder and your eyes meet his, he kisses you.

Hard, deep, like he's claiming you, like he needs you just as much as Dick does. His tongue licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, bruising.

You whimper against his lips, and he groans, rolling his hips against your ass, grinding his cock against you, needing friction, needing something, because fuck, this is too much.

And Dick? He just moans against your pussy, tongue fucking into you, making you shudder so hard Jason has to tighten his grip just to keep you steady.

"So fucking good," Dick mutters, pulling back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making you sob his name. "So sweet. Fuck, I could eat you for hours."

Jason breaks the kiss just to groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Christ, Dickie, you're gonna kill her."

Dick grins against your skin, licking another slow, teasing stripe up your pussy, savoring the way you twitch, the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way your little gasps turn into full whimpers, desperate and broken.

His fingers ghost over your entrance, teasing, barely there, making your pussy clench on nothing. You squirm in Jason's hold, breath hitching as anticipation coils tight in your stomach, but Dick takes his time. Watches the way you drip for him, spread open and helpless, Jason's arms locked under your thighs to keep you wide and vulnerable.

"Fuck," Dick rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his breath hot against your pussy. "You're soaked."

His thumbs part your folds, and he groans at the sight—slick, glistening, so fucking pretty. His tongue flicks over your clit again, and your whole body jerks, a whimper spilling from your lips.

Jason tightens his grip, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his cock twitching against you as he murmurs, "Easy, baby. Let him take care of you."

And fuck, Dick does take care of you. His mouth works you over, tongue lapping at your swollen clit, lips wrapping around it to suck, firm and slow, drawing needy little noises from your throat. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady, keeping you from writhing too much even though all you want to do is grind against his face, chase the pleasure that's building fast.

Then his fingers press at your entrance again, just the tips, teasing, and you moan, the need to be filled overwhelming. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending another pulse of heat through your core before he finally pushes a finger inside.

It's so much thicker than yours, so much longer, stretching you just enough to make your walls flutter around it. He eases it in, lets you adjust, then curls it up, searching, until—

"Fuck—" you gasp, back arching as he finds that spot, rubbing against it before sliding another finger in beside the first.

The stretch burns just a little, but the way he moves them—God, the way they scissor inside you, slick and warm, thrusting deep—has your mind blanking.

"Feel good, sweetheart?" Jason murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw, hands adjusting their grip on your thighs as he holds you steady.

You nod frantically, but it's not enough. Not when you feel like you're unraveling from just this. "More," you breathe. "Please."

Dick groans like the plea physically pains him, but he doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, stretching you open as his lips wrap around your clit again, sucking just right, tongue flicking against the swollen bud.

Your thighs tremble, pleasure tightening, the slick sounds of his fingers fucking into you obscene, messy, wet. You're dripping, leaking down his hand, onto his wrist, but he doesn't care. His cock is throbbing, leaking against his stomach, but he doesn't fucking care.

All he wants is to make you cum on his tongue. And God, you're close. You can feel it winding tighter and tighter, pleasure curling deep, building fast. Your mind is spinning, flooded with heat and hunger, desperate to feel them everywhere. Their mouths, their hands, their dicks stretching you wide—

Fuck, you're gonna cum.

It hits you fast. A sharp, electric snap of pleasure, burning through every nerve, sending you spiraling. Your whole body locks up, and then, you're cumming, and it's so much. Your cunt tightens around Dick's fingers, pulsing, fluttering, sucking him deeper as wave after wave of heat crashes through you.

It's almost too much. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and a broken moan spills from your lips as your orgasm drags you under, pleasure rippling through every inch of you. You don't know if it's that fucking pollen messing with you or if Dick just knows how to make you come undone like this, but it feels insane. Shattering, like you're falling apart in Jason's arms, completely helpless to the pleasure tearing through you.

But Dick doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, thrusting his fingers deep, curling them just right, rubbing against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. His mouth stays locked around your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue over it, dragging you higher, stretching out your orgasm until it's too much, too intense.

All you can do is choke out a breathless, "D-Dick, wait—"

But he doesn't.

Your body jerks, overwhelmed, but he doesn't stop. His fingers work you open, deep and relentless, his tongue still lapping at your clit, pushing, pushing—

And then you gush. A sharp, full body shudder racks through you as hot, slick arousal pours from your cunt, drenching his fingers, his wrist, his fucking face.

It splashes against the sauna floor, and heat flares in your chest, embarrassment creeping up your spine as you gasp, "S-shit, I'm s-sorry—"

Jason lets out a rough groan, voice thick with arousal. "Fuck. A squirter, huh? That's so fuckin' hot, doll."

Dick doesn't care. He doesn't stop. His mouth stays on you, licking up every drop, his fingers fucking you slow, coaxing another trembling aftershock out of your spent, twitching cunt.

Your body is wrecked, boneless in Jason's grip, but Dick soothes you. Soft kisses pressed to your puffy clit, to your inner thighs, murmured praises against your overheated skin.

Jason groans against your ear, nipping at your jaw as he murmurs, "So pretty when you lose it, baby."

Dick finally pulls his fingers from your soaked pussy, and you whimper at the emptiness, body still twitching in the aftermath. He stands up, lifting his hand between you, watching the way your slick drips from his fingers before he licks them clean, moaning like he just tasted the best thing in the world.

And then he's kissing you.

It's not like Jason's kisses—Jason devours you, rough and desperate, all teeth and tongue. Dick? Dick takes his time. His lips move slow over yours, teasing, coaxing, his tongue sliding into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.

His cock grinds against your swollen, soaked pussy, dragging thick and leaking between your folds, and you feel the heat of Jason against your back as he presses closer, lips finding your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving marks.

Dick pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with need.

"You still with us, love?" he murmurs, voice low, sweet, but so thick with hunger.

And you are. But you need more. Jason slowly lowers you to the ground, careful, like he knows your legs won't hold you up yet. And he's right. The second your feet touch the sauna floor, your knees almost buckle, but they're right there.

Jason's strong hands steady your waist, while Dick's arms wrap around you, letting you melt against his chest, your cheek pressed to his flushed, sweat-damp skin. His heartbeat is racing, just like yours.

They try to soothe you, even though they're still buzzing with need, cocks aching, pulsing, leaking against your skin. You can feel it, how hard they both are, how they're holding back, muscles tensed like they're barely keeping themselves together.

Dick's fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head up as he murmurs, "You okay?"

His voice is strained, rough with hunger he's barely keeping in check.

You nod, breathless. "I need more. I want you both, I want—"

Jason groans, low and wrecked, because fuck, his dick hurts, throbbing, hot, swollen with need. He's usually not like this—he's got control, he can push past anything, but this?

That fucking pollen? His logic is gone. The only thing left is the raw, aching need clawing at his gut, the sight of you, flushed and needy, still dripping from what Dick did to you.

"You sure?" Dick asks, voice tight, hesitant, because they care, because you're friends, because this is everything all at once.

"Yes," you gasp. "Fuck, I can't—I need more."

They try to resist. Try to be good, to be the men who have held themselves back all these years, who have ignored the teasing, the tension, the way you've always looked at them.

But it's too much. You're naked, hot, trembling between them, still soaked with slick and sweat, so fucking desperate for them, just like they are for you.

They exchange a look, like they're about to actually say something, like they're going to make one last attempt at self-control.

But you're having none of it.

You grab both their hands, lacing your fingers with theirs as you guide them toward one of the benches, the air thick with tension, steam, and the undeniable pull of something you've all been trying to ignore for too long.

You stop in front of Dick, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you say, "Sit down."

And he does, because of course he does. Because he knows better than to fuck with you when you've made up your mind, and even though you're smaller than both of them, you've always had a way of getting what you want.

You grab a few towels, spreading them on the floor in front of him because, honestly? Your body is already gonna be wrecked when this is over—bruises, hickeys, everything—and you really don't need your knees all fucked up on top of it.

Then, slowly, you kneel between his legs.

Jason is still standing behind you, watching, stunned, because sure, you've always been bold. You've flirted, teased, laughed in their faces when they tried to resist you, but this? This is something else.

You turn your head, looking up at Jason through heavy lashes, and say, "I need you to fuck me while I suck Dick off."

They both go still. Like their brains just short-circuited. Like they can't quite believe what the fuck just came out of your mouth.

And you can see it happening, the exact moment something inside them snaps, because they've both fantasized about this, both thought about it more times than they'd ever admit, and now? Now you're on your knees, looking up at them, demanding it.

Dick swallows hard, his cock twitching, leaking against his stomach. His hands clench at his sides like he's trying so fucking hard to keep control. Jason? Jason just lets out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head, because fuck, you're gonna kill him.

Your ass wiggles as you shift into position, and behind you, Jason groans, deep and rough. "Fuck, look at you."

His big hands settle on your hips, hot and firm, fingers flexing like he's trying so hard to keep himself in check. And he can't help it, so he slaps your ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt.

"Oh—"

You gasp, thighs twitching, and Jason smirks, rubbing the mark he left behind, soothing the heat with his palm. "You like that shit, huh?"

You nod, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, glassy eyes, and his grip tightens.

"Got it, baby."

Then you turn back to Dick, gaze dropping to his cock. And God, he's just as long as Jason, maybe a little thinner, but just as pretty, thick and flushed, the veins along his shaft standing out against the hot, velvety skin. Precum beads at the tip, glistening, and when you lick your lips, Dick shudders, his breath hitching in his throat.

Behind you, Jason's hands slide lower, thumbs dragging over the curve of your ass before he spreads you open, groaning when he gets a good look at you.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, almost dazed, like he can't believe what he's seeing.

You're so wet, swollen, your slick dripping down your thighs, smearing against the inside of his fingers. And your pussy? Fuck, it's the prettiest fucking thing he's ever seen—hot, flushed, clenching around nothing, like you're begging for something to fill you up.

His head tips back for a second, like he needs to pull himself together, but when he looks down again, when he sees your cunt flutter around nothing, aching to be fucked?

He's fucking gone.

Because he knows you're gonna squeeze his dick like a glove, knows you're gonna be so fucking tight, so hot and wet around him that he might actually lose his mind. You're perfect. And this? This can't be real.

But oh, it is.

You shift your weight onto your knees, looking up at Dick, and he looks like he's about to lose his fucking mind too. Especially when you wrap your fingers around his cock. He sucks in a breath, head falling back against the bench as your grip tightens, your palm gliding over his length, slow and teasing.

Then you lean in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thigh, and Dick whimpers. The sound makes your cunt throb, pleasure sparking up your spine, because he looks so good like this—so flushed, so desperate, so pretty.

His cock pulses in your hand, leaking all over your fingers, and you purr, "Poor Grayson," before pressing a soft kiss to the tip, tongue flicking out to lap up his precum, tasting the salt and heat of him.

Behind you, Jason curses under his breath, and then you feel the hot, thick weight of his cock press against your dripping cunt.

You gasp, back arching as he rubs the wet head of his dick over your slit, dragging it up and down, teasing your swollen, puffy folds, mixing his precum with your slick until you're soaked in it.

And you? You're trembling. Because you need this. You need them. The second your lips part, taking Dick's cock into your mouth, his hand tangles in your hair. His fingers thread through the strands, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his other hand cradling your cheek.

You moan around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and he hisses, his head tipping back against the bench. "Fuck—"

You take him deeper, inch by inch, your jaw stretching to accommodate his length. He's thick, hot, the weight of him pressing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and suck. His thighs tense under your palms, muscles jumping when you bob your head slow, teasing, testing how much of him you can take.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his hips twitching—just barely—but you feel it, the way he wants to thrust, to fuck himself down your throat, but he waits, panting, letting you set the pace.

Behind you, Jason is shaking. Shaking.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, his whole body tight, because fuck, your ass is wiggling, pushing back against him, grinding against his cock like you're trying to drive him insane.

And it's working. His dick throbs, thick and aching, leaking against your soaked, swollen cunt as you shift again, tilting your hips just right, and Jason snaps. He lines himself up and starts to push in, slow, deliberate, even though his whole body is telling him to fuck you, to take you, to split you open and wreck you.

But he waits. He has to wait. Because he knows he's big, and with how tight you are—so hot and wet, squeezing around just the tip—he can't move, not even if he wanted to.

His whole body trembles as he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, grounding himself as much as he's grounding you. His big hands smooth up and down your sides, soothing, steadying, feeling the way your breath shudders as you try to relax, try to take him deeper.

But he waits, even though every muscle in his body is coiled tight, his jaw clenched so hard it aches, because even through the pollen haze, Jason cares. He needs you to feel good.

Your walls stretch around him, clutching at him, and he slides in so easily, your pussy welcoming him, pulling him in. He sinks in slow, inch by inch, splitting you open until he's fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt, and you can't help but moan. The vibration makes Dick's hips jerk, a curse tumbling from his lips as his fingers tighten in your hair.

And Jason?Jason groans, burying himself inside you, his forehead dropping against the back of your shoulder.

"Breathe, baby," he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing slow, soft kisses along your shoulder, his body trembling as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, even though he wants to move so fucking bad.

He gives you time, even though his entire body is screaming at him to fuck you, to finally lose himself in the heat of your cunt.

"You're doin' so good," he rasps, voice strained, like the feel of your pussy wrapped around his cock is driving him straight to the fucking edge.

You slide off Dick's cock with a gasp, a line of spit still connecting your lips to his flushed tip. Your fingers tighten around the base, stroking him as your head dips forward, and Jason groans behind you, eyes clenching shut, breathing through it, fighting against the way your pussy is milking his cock.

You can't breathe. You can't think. The feeling is overwhelming, his cock pulsing deep inside you, stretching you so wide you feel full. Too full, almost, but Jason soothes you through it, his lips trailing soft, slow kisses along your skin.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters under his breath, his jaw clenched, his whole body so tight he thinks he might snap in half.

And then, finally, you shift against him. A tiny moan leaves your lips, and Jason can't wait any longer. Slowly, he pulls out, his cock dragging against your sensitive, fluttering walls, making your whole body tremble. Then he pushes back in, just as slow, filling you up again, stretching you, claiming every inch of your cunt.

It burns. It aches—just a little. Your whimper is soft, almost inaudible, but Jason hears it.

And he shushes you, kissing your shoulder again, whispering, "You're doin' so fuckin' good for me."

Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging into your soft skin as he starts to move, slow and deliberate, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, filling you up again, making you moan.

It's too slow, too teasing. You need more.

So you refocus, letting yourself drown in the heat of Dick's body, the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and flushed and leaking all over your fingers. You slide your tongue over the tip, swirling around the slit, savoring the salty taste of his precum before taking him back into your mouth, sinking deeper this time.

The stretch is obscene, your lips stretched wide around him, your jaw aching as you push further, inch by inch, your throat tightening as he hits the back of your mouth. You gag, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, but you don't care.

You love it. It's better than every fantasy you've ever had, better than every late night thought of them, better than you could've ever imagined. Because they feel so good, sound so good, and you know you're not coming back from this.

Dick is gone. His fingers tangle in your hair again, watching the way you take him, the way you look up at him with glassy, desperate eyes, and fuck, you're so pretty like this, drooling all over his cock, taking him so fucking deep.

His whole body tenses, muscles tight, abs flexing, the veins in his forearms standing out as he tries to control himself, to hold back, but Jesus Christ, you're making it so fucking hard.

Jason is just as wrecked. His pace is still slow, but he's obsessed, his mind fuzzy with how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect your pussy is wrapped around his cock, gripping him like a vice.

He has to see it.

So he moves his hands from your waist, big palms spreading over the curve of your ass, gripping the flesh before pulling your cheeks apart, groaning when he gets a clear view of your soaked cunt stretched so tight around his dick.

His cock twitches, a groan slipping from his lips because fuck, you're swallowing him whole, your pussy gripping every inch of him, making a mess all over his cock, slick glistening along his length.

This is the best pussy he's ever had. But he knows it's you. It has nothing to do with that pollen. It's you.

And he's so fucking gone over you.

You whimper around Dick's cock, your eyes flicking up to meet his, watching the way his chest rises and falls in quick, desperate pants. And then, slowly, you let him slip from your mouth again, gasping for air, your hand tightening around the base as you pant.

"Fuck my mouth."

Dick freezes, his breath hitching, his lips parting as his brows furrow, like he's not sure he heard you right.

"W-what?"

You lick your lips, eyes heavy-lidded, spit glistening along your chin as you repeat, slow and clear. "Fuck. My. Mouth."

His whole body shudders, and he doesn't even think. Doesn't hesitate. He does it.

His grip tightens in your hair as he tilts your head back, and then he's pushing in, slow but firm, guiding his cock past your lips, groaning as the heat of your mouth wraps around him.

And behind you, Jason hisses, his fingers tightening on your ass before landing another sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

"Shit," he groans, his voice thick with arousal, dark with want. "You're freaky as fuck."

Dick's grip tightens in your hair as he starts to move, slow at first, thrusting shallowly, watching the way his cock glides over your slick tongue, the way your lips stretch around him, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"God, baby," he groans, voice strained, wrecked, his abs flexing as he pushes deeper, testing your limits, his hips jerking when you moan around him. "You feel so good—fuck, you're perfect. So sweet for me, taking me so well."

His words make your pussy clench around Jason's cock, the praise making your head spin, making you drool more as you relax your throat, letting Dick push deeper, the head of his cock nudging the back of your mouth. Your eyes flutter, heat sparking in your core as he fucks your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes.

His breath is ragged, his voice thick as he murmurs, "Just like that, pretty girl. You're doing so good. Such a perfect little thing."

Behind you, Jason groans, his grip bruising as he watches you take it, eyes dark, hungry.

"Fuck," he rasps, his voice rough, thick with need. "Look at you. So fuckin' nasty, baby. Goddamn, you're gonna make me lose my shit."

His hands slide over your ass, squeezing, spreading you open so he can watch the way your pussy stretches around his cock, gripping him like a fucking vice, sucking him in, milking him.

"You're so tight," he groans, his cock twitching inside you, his jaw clenching. "So fuckin' wet. Jesus Christ, this is the best pussy I've ever had."

The words make your walls flutter, make your body throb, and you can't help yourself. You push back against him, grinding your ass into his hips, moaning around Dick's cock as Jason curses, his fingers tightening on your ass.

And then he snaps. His patience shatters, his control slipping as he slams into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, yeah," Jason growls, dragging you back onto his cock, setting a relentless rhythm, fucking you deeper, harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steam-filled air. "That's what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this? Shit, you're so fuckin' needy, baby."

Your moans vibrate around Dick's cock, making him groan, his hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his fingers tugging on your hair, his head tipping back as he watches you, his cock throbbing as you swallow around him. "You're so fucking good, baby."

Jason groans, his cock dragging against your walls, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure skittering down your spine.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice low, dark, wrecked. "Gettin' your mouth fucked, gettin' your pussy fucked—shit, baby, you're drippin' all over my dick."

His words send a sharp throb through your core, making your walls squeeze around him, making him curse.

"Yeah, you like that? You like bein' a messy little thing?"

His words mix with Dick's soft, sweet praise, the contrast making your head spin, making your body ache for more, more, more. You're soaked, you're gone, and you're about to cum so hard.

Dick's fingers clench tighter in your hair, his whole body shaking as you take him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose brushes against the soft patch of hair at the base of his cock. His moans grow louder, ragged, his hips jerking forward, his self-control slipping between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice wrecked, shaking. "You're—shit, you're gonna make me—"

You hum around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him harder, and that's it. That's all it takes for him to lose it.

His cock twitches on your tongue, the thick veins pulsing against the heat of your mouth as his orgasm slams into him, ripping through him like a live wire.

"Oh, fuck—"

His breath catches, his whole body locking up as the first hot pulse of his cum spills onto your tongue, thick and heavy, coating your throat as he shudders, trembles, his head tipping back against the wall, his lips parting in a wrecked, shaking moan.

You swallow it all, every last drop, your throat working around him, and it's too much. His thighs tense, his abs flex, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his hips jerk, his cock throbbing, overstimulated, as you keep sucking, drawing out every last spurt of his release.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he whimpers, his grip tightening for a second before his hand slips from your hair, his body melting, shaking, spent.

You finally let him slide free with a soft, wet pop, licking the last traces of him from your lips, and when he finally cracks his eyes open, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and a dazed, blissed out expression, he groans.

"God," he breathes, still catching his breath, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip, cleaning up the mess he left behind. "You're so fucking good."

You only have a second to grin before Jason grabs you. His arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up, pulling you against his chest as he slams his cock back into your pussy, the force of it making you gasp, your body arching as he fills you up again, stretching you all over.

"Fuckin' shit," Jason growls, his voice low, desperate, his breath hot against your ear as he pounds into you, his cock hitting deep, slamming into that spot inside you that makes your whole body tremble.

His free hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in quick, tight circles, his fingers slippery with your arousal.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he grits out, his voice dark, wrecked. "Gonna soak my fuckin' dick?"

You whimper, nodding desperately, your nails digging into his arms, your whole body coiling tight, every thrust, every press of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

Your head tilts back, your lips parting, and Jason takes it as an invitation. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss filthy, messy, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucks you harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the steam thick air.

It's too much. The way he's pounding into you, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit, the way his mouth is devouring yours—it's all too much.

You shatter. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body locking up as your walls clamp down around Jason's cock, your pussy spasming, milking him as you moan into his mouth, your whole body shaking from the force of it.

But he doesn't stop.

"Yeah," Jason groans, his pace relentless, his fingers still working your clit, pushing you higher, keeping you right there, shoving you into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes, and then you gush, hot, wet, soaking his cock, the mess dripping down your thighs, pooling on the towels beneath you as your mind goes blank. Jason groans, his grip bruising, his voice full of awe and lust and pure fucking greed.

"Shit, baby," he growls, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your tits, squeezing, his hips still slamming into you. "You're so fuckin' hot—goddamn, look at this mess you're makin'."

You're gone, trembling in his arms, panting, whimpering, still coming, your body wrecked, and he loves it.

But even after you've soaked his dick, even after you've cum so hard your legs shake and your body trembles, he just keeps going, fucking you through it, chasing his own high, refusing to let you catch your breath.

Your thoughts are a mess, a haze of heat and pleasure and pure, desperate need. Every time he thrusts back inside, it knocks the air from your lungs, sending another sharp jolt of electricity up your spine, making your toes curl.

His dick is so big, so hot, so thick, stretching you to your limit, the swollen head hitting your cervix with every deep, brutal stroke, the impact sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure licking up your spine.

Jason groans, his breath hot against your ear, his big hands sliding from your waist to your tits, squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers.

"Fuck, baby," he moans, voice wrecked, breathless. "You feel so good—tight little pussy's so fuckin' wet, takin' my dick like a fuckin' dream."

His voice is a growl, his breath ragged, filthy, and it makes you clench around him, your body reacting to the sheer, raw hunger in his voice.

"Drippin' down my fuckin' balls, makin' a mess all over me," he mutters, his pace getting faster, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin filling the air. "Such a fuckin' good girl, lettin' me fuck you like this—shit—"

His moan is deep, gritty, his lips brushing against your neck, and it makes your brain melt.

You can feel Dick watching.

His heavy, ragged breathing, the way he groans softly under his breath every time your tits bounce from the sheer force of Jason's thrusts, the way he's still hard, his cock resting heavy against his abdomen as he watches Jason destroy you.

Jason buries his face in your shoulder, his pace stuttering, and then his voice turns urgent, desperate. "Shit," he pants. "Where do you want me to cum, doll?"

The words slip out before you even think.

"Inside," you whimper, the plea ragged, breathless. "Inside me, please."

Jason groans, his arms tightening around you, his body shaking. "Fuck."

He grabs your waist, slamming into you, fucking you like a man possessed, like he's starving for you, like he needs to be as deep as possible, stretching you wide, filling you to the fucking brim.

And it's like something in Dick snaps. He drops to his knees, his big hands sliding up your thighs, and then his fingers find your clit.

"Oh—fuck—"

Your whole body seizes—Jason's cock splitting you open, fucking you deep and hard, pounding into your soaking cunt while Dick's fingers rub your puffy, far-too-sensitive clit, quick and precise, pushing you higher, driving you insane.

Then Dick leans in, his lips brushing against yours, swallowing your moans, devouring them, and God, this has to be the hottest fuck of your life.

His tongue, hot, wet, messy against yours, kissing you like he needs you, like he's starving for the taste of your pleasure.

And shit, these two men—hot as fuck, sweaty, desperate, ruining you. They are going to wreck you for anyone else for sure.

Jason groans, his pace brutal, his cock pounding into your swollen, soaked pussy, stretching you so wide, splitting you open, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach.

He's right there, right on the edge, voice rough, breath ragged as he mutters, "C'mon, baby, I'm so close. Fuck, gimme one more, let me feel you."

And then, Dick starts slapping your clit slightly. It's sharp, the sting mixing with the unbearable pleasure of Jason's cock fucking you stupid, and that's it, you snap.

Your whole body locks up, your pussy clenching down hard around Jason's cock, milking him, your legs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, drowning you in wave after wave of pure, burning pleasure.

Your mouth falls open in a wrecked, wordless moan, eyes rolling back, sweat dripping down your skin as you shake, your whole body on fire, pleasure exploding behind your eyelids, your clit throbbing, your walls spasming around Jason's thick cock.

And he loses it.

"Fuck—" His breath punches out of him, a deep, desperate groan rumbling through his chest, his grip on your hips turning bruising as your pussy chokes his cock, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back.

He buries himself to the hilt, grinding deep, grinding so fucking deep, and then, he cums. Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, painting your walls, filling you up so much you can feel it, dripping out around his cock, mixing with your slick as he lets out a deep, wrecked groan.

But he doesn't stop.

Even as his dick throbs, even as he pulses inside you, he grits his teeth and fucks it deeper, slow, deep rolls of his hips, making sure every last drop stays buried inside you, making sure you feel it.

Dick's fingers never stop, still rubbing your aching clit, making you whimper, making your whole body jolt, your thighs quivering, your nipples aching, your pussy so full and sensitive that every little movement makes you twitch.

And then Dick finally lets you breathe.

He breaks the kiss, his lips swollen, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark with lust as he soothes you, his hands smoothing up your back, down your arms, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your temple, whispering soft praises against your skin.

Your breath shudders out of you, your head dropping forward onto Dick's shoulder as Jason stills behind you, his chest rising and falling, sweat slicking his skin, his grip still tight on your waist, grounding you as you tremble in their hold.

Jason does the same, his big hands rubbing slow, warm circles into your waist, his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath deep, calming, as he lets you come down.

But it's not enough. You still need more.

Your whole body buzzes with it, aching with it, and before you can stop yourself, before you can even think, the words tumble from your lips, breathless, desperate, "I need... I—w-want you both at the same time."

Jason freezes. "Fuckin' shit."

His arm tightens around your waist, his cock still buried inside you, twitching just at the thought of it.

And Dick? His breath catches, his fingers tightening against your skin, his lips parting as his brows furrow, something unreadable flickering across his face before he cups your cheek, pressing soft, sweet kisses all over your flushed skin.

"Love, maybe we should—"

"No," you shake your head, chest heaving. "I need it. I—fuck, I need more."

Dick hesitates. "But we'd need lube, and—"

"I have some," you gasp. "In—in my locker. In my bag."

They both freeze. Jason raises a brow, his lips twitching, while Dick blinks at you, head tilting slightly.

"...You what?"

Your face burns. "I just bought it—I was gonna take it home, but I kept forgetting—"

Jason smirks, shaking his head, while Dick huffs out a quiet laugh before turning on his heel.

"I'll get it."

Your thoughts swirl, still dazed, still high from pleasure. It's really just a coincidence, something you bought last week and forgot to leave at home, but now? Now, you're just grateful you have it.

The second Dick is gone, Jason leans in, his lips brushing against yours, slow, deep, his tongue dragging along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. You moan softly, body pressing into his, heat still pooling low in your stomach.

When he pulls away, his smirk is sharp, eyes dark.

"You just bought it, huh?"

Your eyes dart away, face burning, and he chuckles. Then Dick is back, the bottle of lube in hand, and he's grinning, but there's something in his eyes, something darker, something hungrier.

He tosses the bottle onto the bench, his gaze flickering between you and Jason before he murmurs, "That's real convenient, sweetheart."

Jason's lips brush against your neck, hot and damp with sweat, his breath still ragged as he drags his mouth along your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the flushed heat of your throat. His hands slide down your waist, holding you, still keeping you close, as if he doesn't want to pull away just yet.

But then he does. His cock slips free, and the loss makes you whine, your walls clenching around nothing, feeling so empty after being stretched and filled so deep.

Jason chuckles, low and rough, pressing another slow kiss to your shoulder before he straightens, his hands steady on your waist as he helps you up, keeping you from collapsing completely. And then, his cum starts dripping out of you.

Thick, warm, messy, streaking down your thighs, slick and obscene, mixing with your own wetness, making your skin glisten under the dim lights.

Jason groans, watching it, his fingers squeezing at your hips before he turns you around, cupping your face with both hands, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.

He kisses you, deep, messy, wet.

His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, curling against yours, dragging along the roof of your mouth, swallowing the small gasp you let out as he dominates the kiss.

It's all spit and heat, his grip firm, his fingers digging into your jaw as he devours you, groaning into your mouth, his own hips twitching forward instinctively, as if he's not done with you yet.

And maybe he's not. When he finally pulls away, your lips are slick with spit, swollen and tingling, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, heat coiling in your belly, but you don't even have time to dwell on it because you're already turning to Dick, your whole body still thrumming with need.

But Jason just smirks, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he murmurs, "Took me so fuckin' well."

"Lay on the bench."

His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but he doesn't question it. He grabs some towels first, spreading them out so he can sit more comfortably, before laying back, his cock still hard, standing thick and flushed against his stomach, twitching slightly as he watches you, pupils blown.

You barely give him time to think. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and the moment your soaked pussy presses against his cock, dragging along his length, he groans, his head falling back slightly.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up to cup your ass. "That pollen fucked us up badly."

You nod, whimpering, rubbing yourself against him, smearing Jason's cum and your own slick all over his cock, making it all slippery, all hot, and then, Dick grinds right back.

His hands tighten on your ass, his hips rolling up against yours, rubbing the thick, leaking head of his cock against your throbbing clit, making you moan, making your thighs tremble from the overstimulation.

Dick gasps, his fingers flexing against your ass, his chest rising sharply as his brows furrow, his mouth falling open in a soft, breathless moan. His thoughts are a mess.

But you need him inside. Now. Lifting yourself up, you barely hesitate before sinking down onto his cock, and it's so easy. You're soaked, dripping, stretched wide and ready from Jason, and Dick slides right in, filling you up in one smooth, wet motion, the thick length of him pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

He's inside you. He's inside you, and you feel so fucking good. So tight, so warm, so fucking wet, and it's all for him.

Well, for him and Jason, all of you caught up in this fever, this unbearable need, and fuck, he never thought this would happen, never thought he'd get to feel you like this, but now... now he can't stop thinking about it.

Can't stop thinking about how you feel around him, how you're squeezing him, how your slick drips down his length, coating his cock, making it so easy to slide deeper, making it so fucking hot.

"Jesus," he groans, his head tipping back, his fingers gripping at you. "Baby, you feel... fuck, you feel so good."

Dick can't stop kissing you. It's like he's obsessed, like he needs his mouth on you just as much as he needs to fuck you.

Every time his hips drive up, his cock sinking deep inside your dripping cunt, he's pulling you down to meet him, his lips crashing against yours, groaning into your mouth like he's drunk on the heat of you, the taste of you, the way your walls grip him so tight every time he moves.

"God, baby," he pants against your lips, voice breathless, wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, his cock rubbing against every tender, sensitive spot inside you. "I can't stop, I can't—"

You moan, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, clinging to him, feeling every shift of his muscles, every snap of his hips as he fucks into you with slow, deep, needy strokes.

And across from you, Jason watches. His lips are slightly parted, his chest rising with each heavy breath, his eyes locked on the way Dick's cock sinks in and out of your soaked, used pussy, slick noises filling the sauna, making his jaw clench.

"Fuck," he mutters, his grip tightening around his cock, stroking himself slowly.

His breath catches as he watches the way your body takes it, how easy it is for Dick to slide into you after he already ruined you, stretching you out, leaving you so wet that it's effortless.

His free hand slides up your back, fingers tracing along the sweat-slick curve of your spine, following it down to your ass, where he grips the flesh and spreads you slightly. The moment he does, he groans at the sight of Dick's cock fucking into your pussy, your hole clinging to him, soaked and messy, your juices dripping down to your thighs, making the whole thing so fucking filthy.

You hear the slick pop of a bottle being opened, and then, his fingers, cool and slick with lube, gliding over the rim of your other hole. A soft, teasing touch.

Your breath hitches, a shiver running through you even as you grind down onto Dick's cock, making him groan, his hands flexing against your hips. Jason smirks, rubbing slow circles around your rim, massaging the tight muscle, teasing it, not pushing in just yet.

"Gotta stretch you open first, doll," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the dip of your spine. "Don't wanna hurt you."

You nod, panting, pressing back into his hand as he finally, slowly, pushes in the tip of his finger. Your body twitches at the stretch, a sharp inhale escaping you as your walls flutter around Dick's cock at the same time, making him groan, his brows furrowing as he tries to keep himself from losing it.

Jason waits a moment, watching the way you react, his other hand rubbing slow circles along your waist, his voice softer this time when he asks, "You okay, baby?"

You exhale shakily, nodding, your body adjusting to the new sensation, the slight pressure of his finger stretching you open.

And then he starts to move.

Slowly, teasingly, fucking you with the single finger, slipping it in and out in careful strokes, feeling the way your body responds, the way your walls tremble around him, your moans growing softer, more desperate as he adds another finger.

A low, drawn out out moan escapes you, your body twitching, your walls fluttering around Dick's cock again, making him groan, his fingers gripping your hips harder.

"You're so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as he works his fingers in deeper, stretching you open, his cock twitching at the way you pulse around him.

His movements stay patient, calculated, letting you get used to every single sensation, letting you feel it, your body reacting to both him and Dick at the same time, your nerves lighting up from how much stimulation there is, how they're everywhere all at once.

By the time he slides in a third finger, you're trembling, panting, your nails digging into Dick's shoulders as he groans at the way you keep clenching around him.

"You're doin' so good, baby," Jason murmurs against your back, pressing a slow kiss between your shoulder blades, fingers curling inside you, stretching you wider.

Dick keeps kissing you. He can't stop.

His lips keep finding yours between every breathless moan, every shaky exhale, every soft noise that leaves your lips as Jason's fingers work you open, stretching you wider, preparing you for his dick.

You can barely think. Your body is trembling, nerves buzzing, your mind foggy with want, with need, your hands gripping Dick's shoulders as he pants against your lips, "You feel so good, sweetheart, I—fuck, I need to feel you."

Jason growls against your skin, his fingers sinking deeper, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until he's knuckle-deep, fucking them in and out in slow, filthy thrusts. He watches you shudder, listens to the way you gasp, the way your thighs tremble when he curls his fingers just right.

"Relax," he murmurs, dragging his teeth over your neck, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you still. "You're already takin' me so fuckin' well, baby—bet you'll stretch around my dick like a dream."

He spreads his fingers, stretching you wider, dragging them back just to push in again, deeper, rougher, wetter. The slick, obscene sounds of it make heat curl in your belly, make your whole body tighten, aching, desperate.

"Fuck, you feel this?" Jason grunts, his fingers twisting, pressing, stroking in slow, teasing circles. "So tight, so fuckin' perfect—gonna ruin you, baby."

Dick presses another kiss to your lips, then another, then another, each one deeper, more desperate, more needy, because he has to. He has to taste you, has to feel you, has to lose himself in you while Jason kneels behind you, his cock hard and aching, the tip glistening as he slowly, carefully pulls his fingers out of your ass.

A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you slightly, watching the way your body twitches, the way your ass clenches, still slightly open from how deep his fingers had been.

"Relax, doll," he murmurs, his breath warm against your spine as he slicks himself up with lube, rubbing the tip of his cock against your hole, teasing, pressing just slightly to gauge your reaction.

Your whole body shudders, and Dick cradles your face, kisses you slow, deep, as he whispers against your lips, "Breathe, pretty girl. I got you."

Jason presses in. Slowly. The stretch is immediate, intense, your body clenching around him as he sinks in, inch by inch, his jaw tight as he groans, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you shake as you adjust to the sheer size of him, to the way he's filling you.

Dick can feel it too. Your walls clenching around his cock, getting tighter just from how Jason is stretching you open, making him groan, his hands flexing against your waist.

"Fuck, baby," Jason grits out, his breath coming out shaky as he finally bottoms out, his forehead pressing against your back, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. "You feel so fuckin' good."

You're a mess. Your breath is shaky, your pulse racing, your body overwhelmed in the best way possible, stuffed full, stretched wide, both of them inside you, filling you to the absolute brim.

Still, it's not enough. You need more. And the moment you shift, rolling your hips slightly, feeling the way it makes Jason's cock nudge deeper, Dick lets out a sharp, wrecked sound and tightens his grip on your hips.

"Hold still, love," he breathes, his voice low, strained, adjusting his grip on you, making sure you don't have to move, don't have to do anything except take it.

And you will. You'll take all of it. Because they need this just as much as you do, and neither of them can hold back much longer.

Jason exhales hard through his nose, his grip steady on your hips, his cock pulsing, buried deep inside your ass as he presses his chest flush against your back.

His lips graze your shoulder, his breath warm, voice low and gruff when he murmurs, "Good? Still with us?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, your brain foggy, words barely forming as you pant, "M-Move, please..."

Dick is the first to obey. His fingers flex at your waist, his muscles tensing beneath you as he rolls his hips up, fucking into your soaked cunt slow and deep, dragging a moan from your throat as the thick length of him stretches you open all over again.

Jason groans at the sight, at the way your tight little hole clenches around Dick's cock, the way your body shudders when Dick fills you to the hilt, rubbing against the spots that make you gasp, make you shake.

And then, Jason moves. It's slow, deliberate, his hips grinding forward, easing himself out just to push back in, filling your ass just as Dick fills your pussy, the slow stretch making your breath catch, making your fingers curl against Dick's chest.

Your mind is blank. Absolutely fucking blank. You can barely register the words Dick is whispering, his voice soft, warm, each praise making you clench down tighter, "God, sweetheart, you feel so good—so tight, so perfect—taking both of us so well, baby, so fucking good—"

His words make your breath stutter, make your walls squeeze around him, make Jason groan, his hands gripping your hips, thumbs stroking your skin as he kisses your back, your shoulders, your neck, his lips soft, reverent, even as he fucks you.

And you can barely breathe. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your body trembling as they thrust into you, stretching you, filling you, overwhelming you with the sheer amount of pleasure you're drowning in.

Jason's hand slides around you. Finds your puffy little clit. Presses down. You wail.

Your whole body jerks, your breath shattering as Jason grins against your skin, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, slow and cruel, all while his cock grinds deep into your ass, making your walls clench around both of them.

Dick chokes on a moan, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into your waist, his cock stuffing your pussy, pushing deeper, hitting that spot that makes you keen.

Jason groans at the reaction, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, muttering, "Fuck, baby, that's it—take it—"

And you do. You take everything. The stretch, the pressure, the fullness, the filthy praise whispered into your ear, the heat of their bodies against yours. The way their cocks move inside you, making your vision swim, making your mind blank, making your whole body tremble as they keep fucking you.

And there's nothing—nothing—you want more.

Jason's fingers keep working your clit, slow and teasing one moment, rough and insistent the next, rubbing tight little circles that have your thighs trembling, your body caught between the steady drag of his cock in your ass and the deep, devastating thrusts of Dick's cock inside your pussy.

Your breath shatters, your body taut, stretched wide, so full, their cocks filling you over and over, slick and hot, the filthy sound of it echoing off the walls, slick wet noises mixing with your gasping moans, their groans, their praises.

Dick slides a hand up your waist, warm and firm, fingers trailing the sweat-slicked curves of your body, before moving higher, higher, until he cups your breast.

A strangled moan gets caught in your throat as he palms you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his grip firm, possessive, desperate, his hips never slowing, cock driving deep, kissing your cervix with every thrust.

Jason groans behind you, his cock throbbing, pulsing inside your tight, hot ass, his grip almost bruising at your hip as he watches Dick squeeze your tits, watches how you whimper and twitch, body so fucking responsive.

"Fuckin' hell," Jason rasps, pressing his forehead against your back, panting, "You're so tight, baby—grippin' me so good—"

Dick is all needy and breathless as he mutters, "You're so perfect—so wet, so fucking soft—"

And fuck, fuck, it's too much.

Your whole body tenses, muscles coiling, pleasure spiking, your slick dripping down, coating Dick's cock, soaking his thighs, Jason's fingers still rubbing your clit, still teasing, still playing with you.

Your vision blurs, your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and then you snap. Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking supernova, a shuddering, gut-wrenching explosion of white-hot pleasure. Wave after wave crashes into you as your pussy clenches, gripping Dick's cock so tight he chokes on a groan, hips faltering, hands gripping your waist to hold you there, fuck you through it, hips rutting up in messy, desperate thrusts.

Jason curses loud and filthy, his free hand digging into your hip as your ass tightens around him, milking his cock, making him throb, his jaw clenched so tight it aches as he rubs your clit faster, dragging out your orgasm, making you whimper, tremble, shake.

"That's it, doll," Jason growls, voice rough, filled with lust, "Fuck—look at you, so fuckin' messy, so good—"

Dick is moaning beneath you, his grip on you tightening, his cock still buried deep inside your spasming cunt, still rutting up into you, and it's so much, too much, your whole body a trembling, sweaty, soaked mess.

"M-more—"

Your voice is a broken little whimper, barely a sound at all, your body hot between them, overstimulated and fucked senseless, but still, still, you beg for more.

"H-harder—fuck—p-please—"

And that's it. That's it. Jason curses under his breath, and Dick's fingers tighten on your hips as something inside them just snaps, and they ruin you.

Jason grips your waist, holding you steady as he slams into your ass, hips snapping forward with messy, needy thrusts, cock stretching you wide, stuffing you so full, his abs flexing, sweat dripping down his chest.

Dick isn't any better. He's never fucked like this before, never felt like this before, usually so careful, so sweet, because he likes making love, likes taking his time. He's usually all slow, sensual touches and soft whispers, but the pollen, the fucking pollen.

You're soaking his cock, clenching around him, your pussy hot and wet and so fucking tight, making these little whimpering sounds that make his brain short-circuit, that make him lose every single ounce of restraint.

He pounds into you, moaning, hips driving up to meet yours again and again, his mind blank, wrecked, obsessed with how you feel around him, how good you take it, how you keep begging for it.

"Yes—yes—yes—more—fuck—"

You can't stop babbling, pleading, brain melting under the push and pull of their cocks inside you, their hands gripping you, keeping you in place, using you, fucking you.

"More—more—more—"

You're whimpering, gasping, trembling, bouncing between him and Jason like you belong to them.

"F-fuck—"

Jason feels like he's burning alive, the heat of your body, the way your ass grips his cock, the way you tremble every time he fucks you deeper, the sweat dripping down his back, his chest, his hips slapping your ass, his free hand sliding up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck, squeezing just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

"Shit, baby, you're so fuckin' tight—"

And then—

"Fuck—fuck— fuck—"

Dick breaks.

His whole body tenses, back arching, muscles coiling as his cock jerks inside you, and then he's cumming, gasping, groaning, fucking his seed deep into your cunt, pumping you full, stuffing you so full, hot and thick. His arms lock around your waist, holding you down as he ruts up into you, still moving, still fucking you through it because he can't stop, can't fucking stop.

And you—

You feel it, feel the hot rush of it inside you, feel it leak out around his cock, smearing on your swollen folds, on Jason's fingers still working your clit, on his balls, sticky and messy, so fucking filthy. You love it, love the way it drips out of you, love the way Dick whimpers as he fucks through his orgasm, love the way Jason grunts behind you, voice rough, guttural.

"Christ, look at that—fuckin' drippin'—"

And he's still fucking you, still grinding against you, his cock still hard, still deep, still pounding your ass, and you whimper, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive.

Jason's fingers are merciless.

They press against your swollen, throbbing clit, slick with a mess of cum, circling it, teasing, rubbing just right.

"F-fuck, Jay, I—"

Your words break, barely more than a whimper, and Dick shifts beneath you, his hands tight on your hips, his cock still stuffed deep in your wrecked pussy, and he feels it.

He feels the way your walls are fluttering, spasming, gripping him, the way your whole body is starting to shake.

"That's it, baby, let go—"

Jason's voice is low, gravelly, and then it hits you.

A wave of white-hot pleasure, so intense, so overwhelming, your whole body tenses and breaks at the same time, back arching, mouth falling open in a silent, shattered sob as you clench around both of them, your pussy squeezing Dick so tight he groans, hips jerking, and your ass—

"Shit—fuck—"

Jason chokes on his own breath, the sudden tight, spasming grip around his cock making his rhythm stutter, making his fingers falter, making his whole body tense as heat coils low in his gut, hot and throbbing, his hips snapping forward in shallow, desperate thrusts.

"Fuck— baby—"

His hand locks onto your waist, fingers digging into your soft, sweat-slicked skin, and he buries himself deep, cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling inside you, thick and hot. He can't stop moving, can't stop grinding into you, fucking it deeper, groaning, shuddering against your back as his orgasm wrecks him.

You sob.

Not just because it's too much, not just because your body is shaking, not just because your clit is pulsing under Jason's fingers, because your pussy is still leaking cum, because your ass is stuffed with it, because the pleasure is endless.

You sob because you've never been fucked this good, because it's Dick and Jason, because your body is spent. Because you're so tired and still trembling, still whimpering as Jason finally stills behind you, followed by Dick, both of them still inside you, both of them breathing hard.

"Baby—"

Dick’s voice is so soft, and you barely register it before your body gives out, before you collapse against his chest. His arms catch you, wrap around you, hold you tight, his big, warm hands rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back as you keep sobbing, sniffling, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

"Shit—"

Jason's hands smooth down your back, his lips pressing against the curve of your spine, kissing your sweat-damp skin as he exchanges a look with Dick, something unspoken, something concerned.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Dick murmurs, tucking you closer, his lips pressing to your temple, your forehead, "You're okay. We got you."

Jason hums against your back, his hands gentle now, tracing slow, grounding touches down your waist, your sides, rubbing at your hips, pressing softer kisses against your skin.

"M'sorry—" you hiccup, voice hoarse, and Jason shakes his head, arms tightening around you.

"Nah, baby," he murmurs, "Nothin' to be sorry for."

"We got you," Dick echoes, voice still so soft, lips still brushing against your skin, still pressing slow, tender kisses over your face, "We got you, love."

And the haze of the pollen is fading, just slightly, just enough to let the exhaustion creep in, just enough to let you sink into their warmth, just enough to let you breathe.

A little sniffle escapes you, barely more than a breath, and Jason exhales, his fingers tightening on your waist before he slowly, gently pulls out. You whimper, hips twitching at the loss, and he shushes you, hands smoothing down your sides, his voice low and gruff—

"Sorry, sweetheart."

It's only then, as his head starts to clear, that he sees you, like... really sees you.

The red marks scattered across your skin, the deep, dark hickeys, the little bruises blooming where fingers had gripped too tight, where mouths had been too hungry.

And normally, Jason wouldn't care. Wouldn't think about it, wouldn't dwell. But this wasn't some random fuck. This was you. And he cares about you.

He exchanges a look with Dick, who seems to be thinking the exact same thing, but before either of them can say anything, you lift your head slightly, voice soft, drowsy, still so blissed out.

"That was... that was so..." you pause as you take a slow, heavy breath. "That was the best fuck of my life."

For a second, they're stunned. Then Jason snorts, shaking his head as his hands squeeze your hips.

"You're somethin' else, pretty girl."

You hum, then shift, sitting up on Dick, your hands steadying yourself on his chest, his cock finally softening inside you.

Dick's hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, his gaze soft, fond, full of something warm and aching.

"You okay?"

You nod, but he tilts his head, eyes scanning your face. "You sure?"

"So fucking sure," you murmur, leaning into his palm, letting his touch ground you, soothe you.

Jason exhales, then reaches over, fingers brushing your damp, sweat-sticky hair from your shoulder before he leans in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your skin.

They let you breathe, let you come down completely, their hands slow and gentle, smoothing over your back, your arms, grounding you with soft touches, murmured reassurances, little praises that make your stomach flip.

And then, you shift again, lifting yourself from Dick's lap, and—

Oh.

The mess is... everywhere. Your thighs are slick, cum dripping from your swollen pussy, smearing on Dick's softening cock, streaking down onto the bench beneath you, pooling on the towels.

And now that the pollen haze has lifted, now that your mind is clearer, the sight of it, the reality of it, makes your face go hot, embarrassment creeping up your spine.

They see it. They know you. Jason clicks his tongue, turns you to face him, and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you, caging you against him.

"Don't do that shit," he murmurs, voice warm, rough, "It's fine. We'll clean up."

You bury your face in his chest, mumbling something unintelligible, and he huffs, hand smoothing down your back.

"Kinda late for that, doll."

You groan, lifting a weak arm to swat at his shoulder. "Shut up."

Dick chuckles, shaking his head as he stretches, standing from the bench, his legs shaky, his hands settling on his hips as he exhales.

"You two go ahead and clean up," he says, rolling his shoulders, "I'll handle things here."

And before you can argue, before you can say I can help or I should clean up too, he steps up behind you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

"Okay?"

You nod, still tucked against Jason's chest, and Dick hums, brushing his fingers down your arm before stepping away.

But before you can step away, Jason's arms tighten.

"Wait—"

Your words die in your throat as Jason lifts you, carrying you towards the showers like you weigh nothing, and normally, you'd protest.

Would roll your eyes, would shove at his shoulder, would grumble about carrying yourself. But right now, you're too fucked out to care. So you just sigh, letting your body go boneless against him, arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders as he carries you away.

Jason sets you down and turns on the water, the warm steam curling around you, soaking into your aching muscles. And the second your feet touch the tile, your knees buckle. But he's there, his hands steady on your waist, keeping you upright, and you let him.

His chest rises and falls with a slow, steady breath before he lifts one hand, cupping your face, his calloused fingers warm against your damp skin.

"You sure you're okay?"

His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, something almost hesitant underneath it.

You swallow, blinking up at him, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, your bones, every part of you. "Yeah." Your voice is soft, barely above a breath. "I just... 'm tired."

He nods. "I know."

You pout, and God, it's that little pout that always made him wanna kiss you, that always made his chest tight, even when he'd told himself not to care, even when he swore he wouldn't let it get to him.

"I wanna go home," you murmur, voice small, pleading.

His fingers tighten just slightly on your waist. "We'll take you home in a bit."

He leans in. Just a little. Just enough to brush his lips over yours—hesitant, almost unsure, because apparently, the pollen's not fucking with your heads anymore, and maybe this is where it ends, maybe this is where it stops, where everything just goes back to the way it was.

But you kiss him back. Soft, gentle, nothing like the desperate, frantic kisses from before, and his breath catches against your lips.

You pull back, barely, just enough to whisper, "Will you stay tonight?"

His brows pull together, his fingers brushing along your cheek. "Yeah, baby."

Your stomach flutters at the rasp of his voice, and you swallow, biting your lip before murmuring, "Both of you?"

He exhales, tilting his head down, brushing his nose against yours as he whispers, "Yeah. Both of us."

You nod, barely there, barely anything at all, and Jason watches you for a second, something warm, something almost uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

And then, you kiss him again. Soft, sweet, exhausted. And something about the way his lips press to yours, about the way his hand cradles your face, about the way his body relaxes against yours, even now... it feels right.

Like it was always meant to be this way.

Like something shifts inside you, deep in your chest, something small and fragile and terrifying.

Because you've had only fucked up men in your life before. Men who hurt. Men who took. Men who left nothing but bruises and scars in their wake. And now you have them—Jason, Dick—and you're scared.

Scared of losing them, scared of ruining this, scared of the ache in your chest that tells you you want them, not just like this, not just like what happened tonight, but something tells you they feel the same. Something tells you Dick feels the same. Something about the way Jason holds you now, the way he kisses you like it's not just about the fuck, like it matters, like you matter.

After cleaning up and making sure there's no evidence of what went down in the Batcave, the three of you made your way back to your apartment, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, but something warmer, something unchanged lingering between you all.

You're sprawled across your couch, tucked between two very warm, very big bodies, soaking up their heat as you all demolish a large pepperoni pizza. Because after that? After the hours of fucking, the overstimulation, the pollen that had you all wrapped up in a desperate, needy haze?

You're starving. And for once, there's no tension. No awkwardness. No 'so... what now?' kind of moment.

Just pizza. Just warmth. Just them.

Dick sits to your right, long legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing over your shoulder as he chews, completely at ease.

And Jason's on your left, reclined, socked feet propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place, one arm resting over your thighs while the other holds his slice, chewing with that half-lidded, relaxed expression that means he's content.

And the thing is, it's not weird. It should be, right?

You just got wrecked by both of them in the Batcave of all places, and now you're here, cuddled up between them like it's nothing, like this was normal, like this was just another night of the three of you hanging out.

Except, it wasn't just another night. It was the first time you'd crossed that boundary. The first time you let yourselves give in to the tension that had always been there, just beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for something—anything—to push you all over the edge.

And it should've changed everything. But it didn't. If anything, it felt like it enhanced it.

Like something had clicked into place. Like this was always meant to happen. Dick swallows his bite, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb as he watches you from the corner of his eye. And he knows you.

He knows that little crease between your brows means you're overthinking. That the way you press your lips together means you're trying to make sense of something, trying to name whatever the hell this is, trying to define it.

And for once, you don't have to. Because he gets it. He feels it.

He'd spent years wanting you, wanting this, but never acting on it, because you were one of his closest friends, because you were one of Jason's closest friend, because the idea of losing you over some reckless decision was too much, too dangerous.

Jason snorts as you grab another slice of pizza, shoving it into your mouth like you haven't eaten in days, and he bumps his knee against yours, mumbling, "Jesus, slow down, doll. You're gonna choke."

You roll your eyes, mouth full, and mumble back, "Whose fault is that?"

Dick laughs—a soft, breathy chuckle as he leans back against the couch, his arm draped casually behind you. "She's got a point."

Jason clicks his tongue, tearing off a bite of his own pizza. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

And it's so normal. So easy. Dick can't stop thinking about it. Because this should feel different. He thought it would feel different.

That maybe things would be awkward, that maybe you'd pull away, that maybe Jason would crack some joke that would make it feel less than what it was, like it was just another fuck, another good time.

But it wasn't.

And this—this easy, quiet warmth, the way you're curled up against them like you've always belonged there, the way Jason hasn't made a single move to leave, the way he hasn't wanted to leave... it feels like something that was always meant to happen.

Because as he glances at Jason, sees the way he's watching you, the way his fingers absently trace circles into your thigh, the way he looks so calm, so sated—he knows Jason feels the same.

Jason, who for the first time in years, isn't holding himself back. Jason, who had spent the last two hours running through every memory of you in his head, trying to figure out how he went so fucking long without having you like that, how he ever convinced himself to not want you. Because he did.

And he won't fucking say it, won't admit it, won't even let the thought settle too deep in his chest, but yeah. Yeah, he feels it, too.

He watches as you swipe a thumb across your lips, catching a stray bit of sauce, your lashes fluttering with exhaustion as you sink deeper into Dick's side, and something inside him tightens.

Because this isn't just some random hookup. This isn't just some heat of the moment bullshit he can brush off and forget. This is you. And fuck, if that doesn't scare the shit out of him.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching for another slice, and Dick glances at him, something knowing flickering behind those bright blue eyes.

But neither of them say anything. Because there's nothing to say. Nothing needs to be said. This was the first time the three of you crossed the boundaries of your friendship.

But not the last.

807 notes · View notes

verstappenverse · 2 days ago

Text

Call Me When You Breakup

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max is in the wrong relationship, and you both know it. But knowing isn’t choosing, and you’re done waiting.

1.8k words / Inspo / Masterlist

You don't want to be here.

Not in this overpriced, dimly lit restaurant. Not sitting across from your best friend who, for all intents and purposes, should be yours but isn't. Not watching him share a plate of something too delicate, too refined, with someone who doesn’t know him the way you do.

You shouldn't be here, but you are. Because Max asked, and you’ve never been able to say no to him.

His girlfriend, the word itself sticks in your throat like it doesn’t belong there, sits beside him her hand curled possessively around his arm like it’s an accessory.

She's beautiful in that effortless way that makes it impossible to hate her, but easy to envy and you do, not because she's done anything wrong, but because she has him and you don’t. She’s the kind of girl who wears white to brunch and never spills anything. Who smiles with her teeth but never with her eyes. She laughs at all the right moments, smiles like she’s being watched, and you suppose she probably always is.

She tells people he’s different with her, like it’s some accomplishment, like she’s smoothed out all the parts of him that used to be real. And maybe that’s what she wants, a version of Max that’s easier to manage. More polished. Less... passionate.

And maybe he needs that. Maybe it’s easier to be loved when no one sees the cracks.

But you do.

And you love him anyway.

"You're quiet tonight."

Max's voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, dragging you back into the present. His blue eyes flick to yours, brow furrowed. You know that look. Concern. Like he always gets when you're not yourself. Like he doesn't realise he’s the reason why.

"I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired."

His girlfriend, her name, why does her name escape you? Leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering something you can’t hear. Max laughs, low and affectionate, and it splinters something inside you.

You force your attention back to your plate, pushing the delicate food around with your fork, though you have no appetite for it. Each bite seems tasteless, it’s not the kind of meal you’re used to. You’d much rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere real, where the food is greasy and the air is thick with laughter, the kind of places where Max talks with his hands and lets himself forget who he has to be.

But tonight, he’s wearing someone else’s life. And you’re just the spectator.

Max's laughter, though, it’s still real. It’s just harder to swallow now, harder to accept, because it’s not for you. Not tonight.

Then he leans in closer than necessary, voice dropping again, warm and soothing, bringing you back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Your heart stutters for a beat. The question, the tone it’s always the same. Always concerned. Always directed at you. But never for you. You’ve learned to ignore the quiet ache that blossoms each time, because it’s pointless.

"I'm fine," you repeat, this time with more conviction. The smile feels less forced but still unnatural. "I promise."

His eyes linger on you like it’s a habit he can’t break, and you can tell he’s not buying it. His gaze flicks briefly to his girlfriend, who is now chatting animatedly with the waiter about some wine pairing, before he leans in, close enough that only you can hear.

"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me right?"

That damn sweetness in his voice. That quiet tenderness he saves just for you, like a secret between the two of you, a secret you’re not sure you can keep much longer. His girlfriend is only a few inches away, but the distance between you and Max has never felt more cavernous.

You swallow, unable to look at him, because if you do, you might say something you can’t take back. Something that would shatter the delicate balance you’ve managed to maintain.

You want to tell him that you're not fine. That you haven’t been for a long time. But you can’t. You just can't.

Instead, you nod, your throat tightening, unable to force the words past your lips. He doesn’t need to know. Not now. Not when it could ruin everything.

Later that night when you’re alone in your apartment, you do what you swore you wouldn’t.

You scroll through old photos, ones where it was just you and Max, before… before everything became complicated. Late-night drives through Monaco, your legs propped up on his dashboard. His arm around you after a race, champagne still clinging to his skin. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world.

And maybe you were.

Maybe, for a time, he was yours too.

You miss him. Not the version of him you get now, careful and distant, but the Max who used to call you at 3 a.m. just to talk. The Max who used to sit on your bathroom counter while you took off your makeup, who would trace patterns into your wrist absentmindedly as you talked about the future.

That version of Max doesn’t exist anymore.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just buried under the weight of a relationship that isn’t meant for him.

She’s the safe choice. The quiet, easy path. She’ll never demand the real version of him, but she’s there and for now that’s enough for him.

Your fingers hover over his name in your phone, heart hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t call.

But you want to.

Call me when you break up.

The words sit on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down.

Instead, you type a message you’ll never send.

We’re so meant for each other, when will you wake up?

You read the words, and the weight of them sinks deep in your chest. But you delete them immediately. They’re too raw. Too desperate. Too honest.

With a shaky breath, you shut off your phone, the screen fading to black.

The thing about being in love with Max Verstappen is that you never really stop waiting.

You wait for him to see you. Wait for him to realise what you've always known. Wait for the moment when he’ll turn to you and say, it was always you.

But waiting is exhausting.

And you're tired of feeling like an afterthought.

So you do what any rational, heartbroken person would. You try to forget.

You let strangers buy you drinks, let them whisper sweet nothings into your ear, let them kiss you in the dark corners of bars where no one knows your name. You chase distractions, hoping that one of them will make you feel something, anything, other than the ache of missing him.

But they never do.

Because none of them are Max.

And maybe that’s why when your phone rings one night, his name flashing across the screen, you still answer without hesitation. Because this isn’t the first time. It’s become a pattern. A quiet, painful ritual. A fight with her. A call to you.

"Hey."

He sounds off. Tired. Worn down in a way you’ve never heard before.

"Can I come over?"

Your pulse spikes. "Max—"

"I just… I don’t want to be alone right now."

The unspoken words hang between you.

I don’t want to be with her right now.

You exhale shakily. "Yeah. Of course."

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, cutting through the silence that had settled over your apartment like a heavy fog. You stand frozen for a moment, uncertainty crawling up your spine, before you force your legs to move.

He looks wrecked. Like he hasn't slept in days. He doesn't say anything at first, just steps inside, closing the distance between you in a way that makes your breath catch.

"Did something happen?" you ask softly.

Max shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "I just needed to see you."

The space between you closes with a speed that makes your pulse skip. It’s like he’s always known the exact way to find you, to make everything else fade away, to pull you back in like you’re a magnet and he’s the force that won’t let you escape.

His eyes search yours, and it’s in that moment you realise he knows.

He knows he's with the wrong person.

He knows that no matter how much he tries to pretend, it’s always been you.

But knowing something and choosing it are two entirely different things.

And you’re tired. Tired of waiting for him to make the right choice. Tired of standing here, always second. Always the backup when things aren’t perfect in his world.

So you step back, putting space between you that feels like a chasm.

"You can’t do this," you whisper. "You can't just run to me when things go wrong with her. It’s not fair."

His jaw tightens at your words, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down, taking a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of something unspoken. You can see the frustration, the guilt in the way his shoulders tense, but it doesn’t change anything.

"I—"

"You love me Max." Your throat tightens, interrupting him before he can pull you in, and you hate the way your voice cracks on the last word, but you don’t care. "I know you do."

Silence.

Painful, suffocating silence.

But then—

"I do." His voice is raw, like the words are being torn from him. "I do love you."

Your breath stutters. "Then why are you still with her?"

Max opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips. His eyes dart away from yours, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but can’t. He clenches his fists at his sides, and the tension in his body is palpable. "I... I don’t know," he mutters, voice thick. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"You’re supposed to choose Max!" Your voice cracks, the frustration bubbling over.

He opens his mouth again, but the words won't come. You watch him struggle, like he’s stuck in a loop of his own making. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt you," he says, regret creeping in.

"But you have," you say, your voice steady but filled with everything you’ve been holding in. "You have hurt me Max. And you don’t get to keep doing that and expect me to just be here when you feel like it."

Max takes a step toward you, but you shake your head, stepping back. "No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to have me when it’s convenient for you. You either choose me, or you don’t."

Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Because there’s no excuse. No reason good enough.

Just fear.

Of change. Of consequences. Of finally choosing what’s real over what’s easy.

And you? You’re done waiting for him to be brave.

So you smile, even though it hurts. Even though your heart is shattering.

"Call me when you break up."

Then you shut the door.

590 notes · View notes

urmum-lovesme · 2 days ago

Text

Bunny (P5)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: its been tough day today y'all #Ihateexams (projecting in this chpt idk if you can tell BAHAHA). Also I'm sorry for the late update 😬. My poor girl y/n idk if things can get any worse than this tbh..? (or can they....)

warnings: smoking, weed, drinking, a strip club, naked women, harassment, mention of sex, crying, aggressive behaviour (shoving/shouting), mentions of domestic abuse.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5)

Y/N stood at the sink, scrubbing at a plate with slow, methodical circles. The warm water ran over her hands, the sound of it filling the quiet kitchen. It was almost unsettling... the quiet. Usually, the house was filled with slurred shouting, breaking bottles, slamming drawers or the heavy silence of a man passed out on the couch. But today?

Today, Luke was standing right next to her, drying the dishes.

Just a towel in his hands, stacking plates in uneven piles as she placed them onto the drying rack. It wasn’t much- but it was sober. He was sober. Maybe a little hungover, his face drawn into a small tired frown, but he wasn’t slurring his words, wasn’t swaying on his feet. That alone made her stomach twist.

“You been out a lot lately,”

“I’ve been working.”

Luke commented, voice rough from sleep or whiskey- probably both she couldn't differentiate between the two anymore. Y/N hummed, placing another plate on the drying rack. He let out a low exhale, rubbing the towel over a glass.

“That’s good… keeping busy.”

A pause.

“JJ doin’ alright?”

Her hands faltered just slightly before she continued clearing her throat, “Yeah. He’s- good.”

Luke nodded, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, running a hand over his face. It was such a normal thing, a simple chore, standing here washing dishes with her dad. It should’ve been a small moment like it was for so many other people, something forgettable, something easy. She could feel the way her chest ached, feel the way she wanted to hold onto this moment, just for a little while- mind floating back to when she was younger and he’d take her and JJ on fishing trips with him, make them crappy, burnt pancakes for breakfast. But she couldn’t help the instinct of keeping her walls up, watching him from the corner of her eye, waiting for the moment the calm shattered, for reality to crash back down.

Because with Luke, it always did.

The kitchen was now quiet, except for the clink of dishes and the hum of the old ceiling fan overhead. The dim light cast long shadows across the counters, stretching out between them. Y/N wiped her hands on the rag, dishes now washed, her gaze still flickered to Luke drying the last dish. The silence had been hanging heavy; she could feel it pressing down on her shoulders, waiting to crack open. And then, without looking up, Luke muttered,

“Better not be lying.”

Y/N’s hands froze still gripping onto the rag in her hands, she blinked once, twice, before glancing over at him.

“What?”

Luke finally looked at her, his eyes sharp, unreadable, “about working”. Y/N felt her pulse quicken. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, even as she slowly pulled her hands towards the sink, wiping it with the rag.

“I work at the country club.”

Luke huffed, tossing the dish towel he was using onto the counter. “Yeah-” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You sure?”

“Yes- you think I’m dealing dru—?”

“-I think you’re my kid, and I know what it looks like when someone’s keeping secrets.”

He cut in but his voice wasn’t raised, it didn’t need to be. It was threatening enough as it was. Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose, her grip tightening around the cloth in her hands. She wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to fuck off, that shes the only reason they still had a roof over their heads and food in the fridge- but there was something in his tone, in the way he was watching her, that made it harder to breathe. She swallowed hard.

“I told you,” she said, voice quieter now, “I’m a waitress and sometimes... I clean”

“I hope so.”

Luke stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. Y/N’s stomach twisted. He dropped the dish cloth onto the counter and walked over to the fridge, cracking it open and grabbing a bottle of beer. Then he walked away without another word, leaving her standing there, heart pounding, hands fisting the material of her t-shirt.

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

The club was louder than usual tonight, the air thick with sweat and smoke. Y/N felt the exhaustion settling deep in her bones, dragging at her every step. It had been a long week- too long. She picked up an extra shift at the country club and seemed to be coming to the club every evening, so all she wanted was to get through the night without any more bullshit but, of course, that was too much to ask.

“Aw c’mon sweetheart, give me a smile.”

Y/N barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She forced a tight-lipped grin instead, just enough to appease the drunk tourist slouched in front of her. He looked like the type who had never stepped foot in a place like this before, all sunburnt and sloppy, his polo shirt wrinkled from a day of drinking. “Just trying to get past sugar” she said, voice smooth but empty. The guy let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and leaned in closer.

“And I’m just trying to have a little fun, sugar”

Y/N’s fingers twitched at her sides. She could feel the sweat sticking to her skin, the air suddenly feeling too thick, too suffocating. She spoke out to the man, keeping her tone light even though she could feel her patience fraying.

“I’m sure there are plenty of other girls who’d love to entertain you,”

The man clucked his tongue, tilting his head as his eyes went down to stare at her chest- tits being pushed up by a leopard print bra- before noticing the slight frown on her brow.

“Don’t be like that. You’re too pretty to have a face like that.”

Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head at his comment. She didn’t want to deal with this tonight. Not after the week she’d had. Not after— the man reached out, just barely brushing his fingers against her waist. It was light, barely anything. But it was enough for Y/N to take a sharp step back, her bracelets jingling at the sound, heart kicking up into her throat. She said, her voice sharper now,

“Don’t touch me”

“Whoa, relax, baby. No need to get all worked up.”

The guy raised his hands like he was innocent, like she was the one making a scene. Y/N swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Her nails dug into her palms, her entire body stiff as she fought to keep herself together as she walked over to an empty booth but she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. She sank into the empty booth, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes- trying not to smudge her mascara- as she tried to shake off the lingering tension from the encounter. Her pulse was still thrumming too fast, her body coiled tight. She just needed a second- just a second to breathe.

“Hey”

A soft voice pulled her back. Y/N blinked up to see Bambi standing there, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her head tilted in concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Y/N exhaled, nodding quickly. Bambi didn’t look convinced. She slid into the seat across from her, watching her carefully. “Maybe you should take a break Bunny…” Y/N shook her head before she could even think about it.

“No, he was just an asshole. I’m fine.”

Bambi sighed, reaching out to rub Y/N’s arm lightly. Her voice dropped, softer now. “C’mon, don’t be like this, okay? Just take the rest of the night off. It’s dead in here anyway.” Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering up to the small digital clock on the wall.

1:37 AM.

She could technically leave. The money tonight hadn’t been great, but she wasn’t sure she had the energy to keep pushing through either. “I don’t know…” she muttered. Bambi didn’t wait for her to make a decision. She just stood up, nodding her head toward the back.

“C’mon.”

Y/N followed her into the dressing room, the fluorescent lights making everything feel a little too bright. Bambi shuffled through her bag, muttering under her breath, until she finally pulled something out and turned back to Y/N. She watched as Bambi pressed a small joint into her palm.

“Take the night off”

Y/N stared down at it for a moment before her fingers curled around it. Maybe just this once couldn’t hurt? Y/N stepped out of the club, her bag now slung over her shoulder as she zipped up her hoodie against the cool night air. The parking lot was mostly empty, the neon glow from the club’s sign casting long, eerie shadows across the pavement.

It was one of those rare nights that Rafe didn’t show up, and for once, she felt relieved. The last time she saw him was at the country club that night- so it's not like she was eager to see him again. But it was odd, him not being there. In all these past few weeks he’d been getting under her skin more than usual, and she didn’t have the energy to deal with his shit tonight anyways. Always in the background, always watching, always pushing- she couldn’t deny that it was starting to get to her. So maybe it was good that he wasn't there... She let out a slow breath as she made her way towards her car thinking about getting home, showering, and forgetting this night- this week- ever happened. But then she saw it.

Something fluttering against her windshield. Her brows pulled together as she got closer, her stomach twisting in irritation before she even knew what it was. And sure enough—

“What the fuck?”

A goddamn parking ticket

Y/N snatched it off the glass, scoffing as she scanned over the bullshit fine. She always parked here. She never got ticketed. But apparently, one of her tires was inches over the line, and that was enough for some asshole cop to give her a fine?

“Fucks sake”

She muttered, shoving the ticket into her bag as she yanked her car door open. She threw herself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut a little harder than necessary. Just one more thing, one more headache. She dumped her bag into the passenger seat before her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, her jaw locked.

She just needed to get out of here.

Yet she couldn’t figure out if she was thinking of the club parking lot- or the island in general. Y/N let out a slow breath, her head falling back against the headrest. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, just long enough to let the exhaustion settle in her bones. Surprisingly, sitting alone in her car with the world muffled behind closed doors was hitting her all at once. She exhaled again, longer this time, before reaching up to tug at her earrings. The hoops clinked softly as she dropped them into the cupholder. Then came the rings, the thin ones stacked over her fingers, and finally the bracelets- the million little silver chains and beads that lined her wrists.

Her eyes flickered down.

A deep, ugly bruise was forming just beneath the faint imprints the bracelets had left behind. It had been a few days, but the color was still harsh- fading from deep purple to that sickly yellow-green. A reminder of her father's hold over her life, even when he wasn’t around. Her fingers ghosted over it and she swallowed looking away. Her gaze landed on the joint in the cupholder instead, its paper crinkled slightly from being shoved into her palm earlier. She thought about it. Thought about lighting up, about just forgetting for a little while and falling into the muffled haze she hasn’t been in for a while, but before she could, the screen of her phone lit up in her lap.

JJ (10)

She sighed, unlocking her phone with tired fingers.

JJ : yo

JJ : are you coming to the bonfire tonight y/n?

JJ : I literally told the gang ur coming

JJ : bruh

JJ : answer ur phoneeeee

JJ : seriously?????

JJ : i've seen you like twice this week and its literally Saturday

JJ : where are you

JJ : you never spend time with me anymore what is going on with you

JJ : ?

Her grip tightened on the phone slightly before she groaned, tossing it onto the passenger seat and dragging a hand down her face. JJ was having a go at her- she was the older sibling wasn’t it meant to be the other way around? Did he really think she was choosing to distance herself from him- she’s the only one keeping their family afloat and now she’s getting punished by him too. She shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she jammed the key into the ignition, shifting the car into reverse.

The tires screeched slightly against the pavement as she pulled out of the parking lot, gripping the wheel a little too hard. She sighed through her nose, stretching her fingers along the steering wheel. The hum of the engine was the only thing filling the silence, and it was too heavy, so she reached for the radio flicking the knob with her thumb. Nothing. She twisted it again but still nothing. Her eye twitched as she muttered, smacking the side of the console in frustration.

"Stupid piece of shit"

Yet the radio stayed stubbornly dead, leaving her with just the sound of her own breathing and the occasional rattle of the engine. The Cut blurred past her windows as she drove, the streetlights casting flickering shadows across the road. Her fingers drummed against the wheel, her body still buzzing with the exhaustion of the night. As she sat in silence driving she couldn’t help but mull over the question in her mind- and then it hit her

She didn’t want to go home.

Why the hell would she? Home was where all her problems were. Where her dad’s temper sat in the walls like cigarette smoke, where she could still hear the echoes of slammed doors and broken bottles. No, she couldn’t go back there- she didn’t want to. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, knuckles paling as she made a sharp turn, diverting from the usual route.

She knew exactly where she needed to be.

The road stretched longer as she drove toward the beach, the town fading behind her, the air growing saltier. When she finally pulled into a small parking lot—one that was never busy, never full, one that she used to bring JJ to when they were younger and Luke had too much to drink. She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Looking out through the windscreen she could see the dark ocean stretched out in front of her, endless, the waves crashing against the shore in a slow, steady rhythm. She killed the engine, sitting there for a second, just staring and she let out a small sigh, eyes looking down at the joint still sitting in her cup holder.

For a second, she just stared at it, debating.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she grabbed it, fingers brushing against the lighter beside it as she slipped out of the car. The beach was almost completely dark, save for the glow of the distant streetlights casting long shadows across the sand. The wind rolled in off the water, cool against her skin as she walked a little further down. She sat down, legs bent, one arm wrapped around her knees as she pulled the joint to her lips, sparking the lighter. The flame flickered for a moment before catching, the tip burning red-hot as she inhaled, holding the smoke deep in her lungs before slowly blowing it out.

The tension in her chest didn’t ease, not really, but at least it dulled the sharp edges.

She took another drag.

Then another and before she could stop it, before she even realised, her vision blurred.

The tears came out of nowhere.

Hot, quiet, slipping down her cheeks, dripping onto the sleeves of her hoodie. She rubbed at her face roughly, sniffling as she took another pull from the joint, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She hated crying- Luke always told her it was a sign of weakness- she wasn’t weak. But she was just so fucking tired. Of working her ass off just to barely scrape by. Of dealing with her dad. Of feeling like she was letting everyone down, like JJ was slipping away.

Like she was letting him down.

Y/N wiped her sleeve under her eyes again, sniffling hard, trying to force herself to get it together. The waves rolled in, soft and steady, the only sound filling the silence between her sniffles. The joint burned between her fingers, the cherry coloured tip glowing faintly in the dark. She brought it to her lips again, inhaling slow, the warmth spreading through her lungs, through her limbs, settling somewhere deep in her bones. Her eyes stayed locked on the water, mind hazy, thoughts swimming.

She barely even registered the sound of a car approaching in the distance. Not until the glow of headlights swept over the sand, catching the edge of her vision. Her head turned lazily, gaze trailing toward the parking lot just as a car pulled up right next to hers. She blinked at it once, twice, before looking back at the water, unfazed.

Probably just some kids hooking up.

No one ever came here. No one even knew about this spot. She rubbed at her cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie, feeling the dampness of the material. The joint between her fingers had burned down about halfway now, the fuzzy warmth settling into her muscles, making her limbs feel heavier. She took another slow drag, exhaling through her nose, ignoring the sound of an engine cutting off behind her. Whoever it was, they weren’t her problem.

The bright glare of the headlights blinked off and the sound of a car door slamming shut echoed.

She stayed still, unmoving, her gaze fixed on the water. Whoever it was, she didn’t care. Not enough to turn around, not enough to pull herself out of the haze settling over her, even when footsteps crunched against the sand.

A little uneven.

A little slow.

Whoever it was, were clearly coming her way. Her fingers tightened slightly around what was left of the joint, bringing it to her lips again just as the footsteps stopped.

Someone stood there, still as stone, eyes locked on her.

He hadn’t even recognized her at first- too caught up in his own head, too wired from the line he’d done before leaving Barry’s, his thoughts still tangled up in the mess of the night. He’d just wanted to clear his mind, let the salt air knock some sense back into him. But then he’d seen the curve of her shoulder and the delicate seashell inked into her skin, peeking out on her shoulder blade where her hoodie had slipped down. His jaw tensed, the buzz in his veins sharpening, his body instinctively pulling him closer before his mind could catch up.

He knew that tattoo.

And now, he wasn’t going anywhere- because what was she doing on his side of part beach?

“What are you doing here?”

His tone was unexpected- like he’d been caught off guard, like she was an intruder. But why wouldn’t he be? She doesn’t belong here. Not on this stretch of sand. This place was his mother’s.

Their place.

Before everything turned to shit, she’d bring him here on Sundays, just the two of them. She’d pack fresh fruit in a cooler, spread out a towel, and run her fingers through his hair while he sat between her legs, half-asleep from the warmth of the sun. It was the only place he'd ever cherished.

And now she was here.

Sitting in his sand.

Smoking on his beach.

Y/N doesn’t even look up, her voice sharp, cutting through the thick silence.

“Sorry is this your beach, Rafe?”

She almost laughs at herself, because it’s fucking ridiculous—the whole situation. She was supposed to be alone. Sitting in peace. But then he showed up. Just like her goddamn father. Just like every other man in her life who couldn’t let her fucking breathe. She hears his steps before she sees him, the uneven drag of his shoes against the sand. Then suddenly, he’s towering over her, and she feels it—the shift in the air, the pull of something inevitable. Her fingers drop the burnt-out joint into the sand, and she moves to stand, to leave, to get the hell away from him, but—

Rafe blocks her.

She collides into his chest with a quiet oof, stumbling back slightly, her balance thrown off for just a second. Y/N exhales sharply, shaking her head, before trying to move past him again. But this time, Rafe doesn’t just stand there. His hand comes out fast, gripping her upper arm- not hard, but firm enough to stop her in her tracks. She has to take a step back, her pulse spiking, annoyance flashing hot in her chest as she lets out a small scoff even in her drugged haze.

“Don’t be a bitch, Maybank.”

The words land like a slap. A slow-burning ember turning into a wildfire. It’s not even just the insult- it’s the way he says it. That low, condescending drawl. Like he’s above her. Like he thinks he can control her, that she’s just another thing for him to mess with, to push and pull whenever it suits him. And she doesn’t know if it’s the anger which has been building for weeks now, or the fact she was high.

But before she even fully registers the movement her hands shove into his chest

Forcefully

Enough that Rafe actually stumbles back, his balance thrown for a split second. And he just stands there, staring at her. Like he’s trying to process what just happened. For once, there’s no quick comeback. No smug remark. Just stunned silence as he looks at her like she’s someone he doesn’t quite recognize.

But then—just as quickly—his expression shifts. That smug fucking smirk creeps back onto his face, eyes flickering with something almost amused. Y/N feels her blood boil.

“YOU'RE THE FUCKING BITCH!”

Her voice cracks with frustration as she yells the words out at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She doesn’t even recognise herself- doesn’t care that she’s causing a scene, doesn’t care that her whole body is vibrating with anger. She’s shaking as she points her finger at him jaggedly and loudly slurs out,

“You’re the stupid fucking bitch”

Her breath comes in ragged bursts, chest rising and falling too fast, her whole body trembling with the weight of everything she’s been holding inside. Her chest tightens, a lump forming in her throat, and she knows—knows—she’s about to break. But she can’t stop herself now.

Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up, taken aback. Not just by what she said, but how she said it. Her voice isn’t steady like always. It’s cracked, uneven, shaking as much as her hands. The words come out slower, slurred, not just from the blunt but from the exhaustion, she’s unraveling right in front of him, drowning in everything she’s tried so hard to keep buried.

She can’t take it anymore so with a harsh, desperate push, she shoves him back- harder this time. "What do you want from me, huh?" Her voice cracks as she spits the words at him, and her body shakes with the force of everything she’s holding in.

"What do you want from me?.... Why won’t you just fucking leave me alone?!"

Her breath hitches, and her voice breaks completely in the middle of her sentence. It’s too much, and the tears she’s been fighting back spill over, streaking down her cheeks. They roll freely down her face now, mixing with the salt from the sea breeze, soaking into her already damp skin.

She stands there, trembling, her hands balled into fists, her chest heaving as she stares at him like she’s ready to either fight or run. For a moment, Rafe’s gaze softens but just as quickly, that softness vanishes, replaced by the cold indifference he wears so effortlessly.

He steps closer, his presence towering over her, filling the space between them. She can feel the weight of him standing there, like he’s waiting for something—and then, in his usual, dismissive tone, he speaks.

“You’re a fucking mess.”

It stings. The way he says it, like it's just another observation, like it means nothing to him. But it cuts deeper than anything he's said before.

Because she knows it true.

Her voice shakes with the anger which is still there, but now it’s mixed with something else- something raw and vulnerable.

“You’re so fucking selfish.”

She spits the words at him like they’re poison, her eyes flashing with something fierce, but he just stands there, watching her, as if it’s all some kind of show. She shoves him again, but this time he reacts faster, his hand shooting out to catch her wrist with surprising force.

“Don’t fucking push me.”

He holds her there, and the moment his fingers close around her wrist, she winces. It’s an instinctive reaction, and she can’t stop herself. The pain flares in an instant. Her bruised wrist—the one that’s been aching since her father grabbed it—feels like it’s being crushed.

Rafe notices.

He sees the way her face contorts with the slightest touch, the way her breath hitches as she struggles to keep her composure. Her pulse quickens as she yanks her wrist free, glaring at him with a mixture of fury and desperation.

“Get off of me”

She snaps, her voice breaking with frustration. He doesn’t say anything at first, but she can see the way his eyes linger on her, studying her like he’s piecing something together. It doesn’t take long for her to realize he’s noticed the bruise, and that just makes her snap harder.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

“Maybank—”

But she cuts him off, her frustration pouring out in a torrent of words She points at herself, her finger trembling in the air before she repeatedly jabs it into her chest aggressively.

“D'you think I want to work in that fucking club, huh? HUH, RAFE?!”

The words fly out of her like she’s been holding them back forever, her voice cracking slightly at the end. There’s desperation there now, unfiltered and it’s not just anger anymore. She’s screaming at him because he’s been tormenting her—trapping her in the world she’s trying to claw her way out of. Stuck between trying to survive and trying to hold onto a shred of dignity. The silence lingers between them, suffocating in its weight, and for the first time, it’s not charged with anger or frustration- it’s something else, something she can’t quite place. Her voice is quieter now, the anger draining out of her, leaving only exhaustion.

“Just leave me alone.”

The words are like a plea, but they still hold a sharp edge. She shoves past him, not bothering to spare him a glance as she walks towards her car, her body moving with purpose, as if every step is an effort to desperately escape from this moment, from him.

Behind her, Rafe watches her walk away, his eyes fixed on her retreating figure. His jaw clenches, and he gnaws at the inside of his cheek, unsure of what he’s feeling. There’s something there- it’s almost as if the walls he’s built around himself, the ones that keep him from caring about anything or anyone, are starting to crack. Why does he feel like this? Why does he feel this nagging sense of...

Regret

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apatheticsunday · 2 days ago

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Manifest Destiny

AKA "Danny knows about Bruce Wayne's little adoption habit, so he actively fights back by making digs at the older man's age. He doesn't realize he essentially adopted himself by calling Bruce 'grandpa'!" prompt idea!!

Okay, so 19-year-old Jazz moves to Gotham because Arkham has an psychiatrist internship that guarantees a job after graduation from Gotham-U. She takes a 12-13 year old Danny with because the "ghost attacks" (i.e., her parents are getting very obsessed with dissecting Phantom and it's genuinely worrying) are getting worse. Now Danny's in Gotham Prep... along with Damian Wayne.

They do not get along.

Damian stabs Danny with a pencil, Danny bites Damian so hard that he needs stitches, and the detentions only increase their bloodthirst because, "He started it!!" It comes to a head when Damian shoves Danny down the stairs (he wasn't really meaning to, he just pushed too hard), and Danny goes down hard. As in not-getting-back-up kind of hard. And Damian realizes he just killed a civilian. He's running through contingency plans, trying to figure out whether he can hide the body or if he should confess to Father, when the Fenton boy's broken neck... becomes un-broken?? And he sits up??

So, 13-year-old Damian makes a logical decision. Daniel Fenton is clearly his Arch Nemesis. He's undeniably a meta (perhaps with super-healing abilities?) so he can withstand Damian's too-enthusiastic violence. And Danny's like, this fucker just killed me. I'm going to beat his ass. Except Damian has a really high pain tolerance and is literally the heir to the League of Assassins. Long story short, Damian and Danny have "play dates" where they spend the entire time trying to kill/beat each other up. Jazz is just happy that Danny seems to have made a friend.

Bruce, on the other hand, takes one look at a scrawny, black-haired, blue-eyed kid who clearly has some childhood trauma, and mentally becomes Bat Dad. He tried to approach the subject once. Bruce carefully, tentatively asked, "Do you have a place to stay, son? We have plenty of rooms." To which Danny replied, "I'm not your son, I have a dad!! Why don't you go sit down before you break a hip, grandpa!!" (Tim choked on his tea, Damian nearly climbed across the table to strangle Danny, and Dick - who doesn't even live at the manor, he was just dropping off a case from Bludhaven PD - laughed so hard he cried.)

Except... Danny keeps coming over to the Wayne Manor (since Damian refuses to 'spar' at Jazz's one bedroom apartment, as it lacks a personal gymnasium). And Bruce is still kind, no matter how many times Danny makes fun of him for wearing bifocals or turtlenecks, or when he just straight up calls Bruce an old man. Plus, Damian's kind of mellowed out, too. He's teaching Danny actual sparring techniques, hand-to-hand combat, and explains different types of weapons/how to use them. Alfred brings the boys snacks. Occasionally Dick and Jason will visit for dinner, ruffling the boy's hair and joking about something or another. He's even introduced to Steph, Cass, and Barbara.

It dawns on Danny one evening, when Alfred is readying the car to take him back to his and Jazz's apartment. Bruce is scraping leftovers into a plastic container for Jazz to re-heat when he gets home and Danny's debating quietly with Damian about whether octopi are smarter than Superman. (Damian says yes, octopi are definitely smarter; he's seen Superman mutter to himself "lefty loosey, righty tighty" when trying to unscrew a water bottle cap.)

Then Bruce is handing Danny the leftovers, and Danny distractedly gives Bruce a side-hug, saying, "Thanks, grandpa."

Totally unironically. Danny's internal monologue is just what the fuck did I just say as Bruce slips him a $20 ("For a treat on the way home.") and escorts him to the front door. He thinks about it as Alfred drives him home. Thinks about it when he and Jazz curl up to watch a movie that night. Danny belatedly realizes that he's been unintentionally thinking of Bruce "Serial Adopter" Wayne as his grandfather??? For months now?? How could this happen??

Back at the Wayne Manor, Bruce is still in the kitchen, listening to Damian continue to debate Superman's intelligence while Tim scrolls on his work tablet. He'll probably take the kids, including the newest edition to the family, to the zoo this weekend.

#little does danny know that bruce is already a grandpa #so the “grandpa” insult isn't actually an insult #dick and babs are married with mar'i in this lol #batfam #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc

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dior-luxury · 3 days ago

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You Call Them A Different Name To Get Their Reaction

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] azul . chen'ya . cater . rollo . floyd

- [𝐩:𝐬] nothing really just guys being jelly

Note: This is a very random line-up Lol, I'm also working on requests right now! but enjoy guys!

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prided himself on maintaining composure, on being calm and collected in any situation. But the moment your lips uttered another name—someone else’s name—his entire world seemed to freeze.

He had been in the middle of discussing business with you at the lounge when it happened. You were laughing about something when, instead of calling him Azul, another name slipped out.

The conversation came to a standstill. Azul’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, but his expression remained carefully neutral. Too neutral.

"...I beg your pardon?" His voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous edge to it, like a blade concealed beneath silk.

You immediately realized your mistake and scrambled to correct yourself. "I—I didn’t mean to—"

Azul’s eyes darkened, and he let out a soft chuckle, adjusting his glasses as if regaining his composure. "Ah, I see. A slip of the tongue, is it?" His tone was polite, but you could tell he was troubled by it.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. "You wouldn’t happen to have someone else on your mind, would you?" His voice was light, teasing even, but the way he studied you—analyzing your every move—told you he was far from amused.

It would take reassurance, perhaps a bit of flattery, to mend his bruised pride. But one thing was certain—Azul would not forget this incident anytime soon.

Chen’ya

Chen’ya was used to teasing and playful banter, but he certainly hadn’t expected this.

You had been chatting absentmindedly when you called him by a completely different name. The moment the wrong name left your lips, the mischievous grin on his face widened.

"Oho~? What was that?" His ears perked up, and he leaned in, floating effortlessly beside you. "Did I just hear you call me someone else?"

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to—!"

"But you did~," he sing-songed, lazily looping around you like a cat stalking its prey. "How scandalous! How cruel!" He dramatically clutched his chest as if he had been mortally wounded.

You groaned. "Chen’ya, please—"

"Ah-ah~! What if I just started calling you by another name, hm?" His grin widened even further, fangs peeking through. "Wouldn’t want that, would we?"

Despite his teasing, there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t angry, just… intrigued. Amused. Maybe even a little too entertained.

"You do know I’m the most charming one around, right?" he purred, poking your cheek. "No one else could compare, so I’ll forgive you—just this once~!"

Cater Diamond

Cater’s usual easygoing demeanor faltered the moment you called him the wrong name.

You were in the middle of scrolling through Magicam together when the slip happened. At first, you didn’t even realize what you’d done—until you noticed that Cater had completely frozen.

His smile was still there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Heh… wait a sec." He turned to you, his head tilting slightly. "Did you just call me someone else’s name?"

Your stomach dropped. "Cater, I—"

"Yikes!" He let out an exaggerated laugh, but there was something unsettling about the way he kept smiling. "Like, what gives? I thought I was your fave~?"

You could tell he was trying to play it off, but beneath that carefree tone, there was something else—something deeper.

"Who were you thinking about, exactly?" His voice was light, but his fingers tapped restlessly against his phone.

If you reassured him, he’d eventually brush it off with a laugh, but later, you’d notice a flood of new selfies and posts with captions like "Cater Diamond, unforgettable as always~! #NoOneBetter #Right?"

You were definitely going to have to make it up to him.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s reaction was immediate.

The moment you called him the wrong name, his entire body tensed. His hands, which had been delicately adjusting the pages of a book, clenched into fists. His usually composed expression darkened as his lips pressed into a thin line.

"...I beg your pardon?" His voice was eerily quiet, and you could practically feel the shift in the air around him.

You gulped. "I didn’t mean to say that—"

"Who is it?" His gaze was sharp, piercing, demanding an answer.

The flames of the nearby lantern flickered violently, casting uneasy shadows across the room. Rollo exhaled slowly, as if reigning himself in. "I fail to see how such a mistake could occur," he said coldly. "Unless, of course… you were thinking of them in my presence."

The way he said it sent chills down your spine. He wasn’t throwing a tantrum or causing a scene—no, that wasn’t Rollo’s style. Instead, his displeasure seeped into the atmosphere, suffocating and inescapable.

"I do not tolerate being overlooked." His eyes met yours, unwavering. "Do not let it happen again."

You knew you had to be very careful with your next words.

Floyd Leech

Floyd’s reaction was nothing short of unpredictable.

One moment, he had been lounging beside you, playfully poking your side, and the next—his entire demeanor shifted the second another name left your lips.

His grin faded. His golden eyes gleamed dangerously as he tilted his head. "Huh?"

You felt your heart skip a beat.

"What did you just say?" His voice was deceptively light, but the way his fingers twitched against your arm sent a shiver down your spine.

"I—I didn’t mean to, it was an accident—"

"An accident~?" He let out a slow hum, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Dunnooo~ I think my ears must be playing tricks on me. ‘Cause it sounded like you just called me the wrong name."

You quickly tried to backtrack, but Floyd was already squeezing you into a vice-like hug, burying his face into your shoulder.

"Maaaan, I dunno if I should be mad or just suuuuper sad~" he whined. "Should I bite ya? Or should I make ya say my name over and over till ya never forget it again?"

You yelped. "Floyd!"

At the sound of his name, he suddenly grinned, loosening his grip. "Hehe~ That’s better!"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland headcanons #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst x reader #twst fanfic #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #azul ashengrotto x reader #che'nya x reader #cater diamond headcanons #cater diamond x reader #rollo flemme x reader #floyd leech x reader

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kenyummy · 1 day ago

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✰ 04. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 04. fantastic four.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: had to wrack my brain to remember what math i was learning in seventh grade LMAO . sometimes i forget damian is just a little guy in like seventh to eighth grade. crazy. and please let me know if there's any mistakes with pronouns/gender!!! i want to keep this open to everybody so im always trying my best ❤️

also ive realised how chopped harry is in the comics after taking my rose coloured lenses off. basically he and mj have their look in the ultimate spiderman TV show (in my eyes anyway, i kind of just described their appearance based off tgat lmaooo)

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

School has never felt so bland for you. Sure, it was never your favourite thing in the world—except for maybe biology—but you'd think that discovering a whole new world in your last year would make it a little more interesting.

It didn't.

It's been three weeks since you crash landed here in Gotham. The most you'd gotten from your family was an awkward "how are you" occasionally, and a lot of staring.

You'd only shown yourself as Spidey a few times to the public, but never stayed for those pesky news reporters shoving their microphones into your face. You'd never liked interviews, anyway.

The only highlight of your long days were MJ and Harry. You'd gotten over the initial shock of Harry being in love with you—convincing yourself that it really wasn't you he liked; it was this world's original you. (Though—that fact still lingers in the back of your mind whenever you talk).

Apart from that, school truly was uneventful. Your kooky art teacher was the only one of whom you actually liked, and it seemed the education here was rather lax. Uncaring. Not good for your future, surely—but you wouldn't have a future here, and you're sure this [name] Wayne will be just fine.

Speaking of schooling—the people here really seemed to hate the Gotham Prep kids. More than what a petty rivalry should be—it was pure malice.

Harry was especially adamant about this.

"They're all dumb, entitled rich kids who use daddy's money to get whatever they want, you know." He stabs his fork into a dry cut of chicken violently. Then points, accusatory, at MJ—who already presents a sneer to him. "And don't you start lumping me in with them—you know I'm not like that."

Her face twists, but soon she grins cheekily. "Okay, fine. Yeah, you're totally not, otherwise nobody here would like you one bit. And who doesn't love Harry, huh?"

"Oh, be quiet," But still, he smiles—damn his head is big. He glances over at you. You're picking around at your soggy broccoli with a frown. "Hey, [name]. Don't two of your brothers go to Gotham Prep?"

You look up at your ginger friend, head tilted to the side before it clicked. Oh, right. Tim and that young boy—Damian, if you remember correctly. Tim barely ever went to school if your diary was still accurate, and Damian had little choice but to.

(Doesn't seem like he'd be the social butterfly type, though.)

"Yeah, they do." You nod, still fiddling around with that vegetable.

"Not that I'm not glad that you're here—but why don't you go to school with them?" MJ leans forward in her seat. "I mean, isn't it easier for siblings to go to the same school?"

Your eyes widen for a second.

There's a few ways you can go about this.

One—you tell them everything you know about your other self. About how you never felt included enough to ask. How you never spent time with them. How it always felt like everything and everyone else was more important than you. How you suffered silently—begging for their attention for years like a house pet becoming a stray.

Two—you could tell them you have absolutely no idea because you have none of your memories of anything from the past years of this life—how you don't even remember all your siblings names half the time.

Or three, and your personal favourite—you can just lie.

It doesn't take a serial genius to figure out which one you chose.

"I guess I just didn't like the rich private school vibe they had going on." A smile falls over your lips. "Plus—you guys were coming here, so it gave me even more of a reason to attend, you know?"

You're not entirely sure that's true. But—if these two were anything like the Harry and MJ you know—then this would probably be right.

Judging from their smiles, your detective skills haven't failed you yet.

"Man!" MJ lolls her head back, groaning. "Can't believe I'm friends with two rich kids who get to choose which school they want—the beat down public or sleek rich private."

"Don't go dissing this school just because you're jealous of their uniforms," Harry snickers, pressing his index finger into MJ's cheek. She huffs and slaps him away.

"Silence, nepo baby. Your dad is basically Lex Luthor if he wasn't bald."

Harry looks more confused than offended at her comment, "Okay, but my dad isn't an evil mastermind plotting against a red and blue suited superhero."

You press your lips together thinly and look to the side, eyes focused on anything but him. Oh, Harry—if only you knew.

Damian Wayne had never truly seen the point of highschool.

Raised by assassains all his life—he had little room, time, and desire to learn about all this nonsense. While he enjoyed arts and fine literature—he couldn't find it within himself to care about the American Revolution, or whatever other ridiculous thing happened in history.

His maths teacher was absolutely, indubitably pathetic. Always on his phone as he assigns mountains of homework (because he never bothers to explain the complex materials they're given) on the latest subject—whether it be those blasted simultaneous equations, or to factorise useless monic trinomials. Even calculating tax and interest on the stupidest of cases.

Damian found himself sitting in the corner of his class in silence, staring down, bored, at the book in front of him. He truly hated math. There's so much real work to be done—crime to fight, plotting organisations to take down.

But his father, as always, is unmoving in his conviction that school is important. For Damian especially, anyway; Drake can skip as often as he likes because he's a senior already. Truly, ridiculous.

For Damian, and—oh.

You.

Bruce always seemed especially insistent on you two going to school. Even when everyone but him knew you skipped every few days and simply come home to wait.

Wait for what? For them?

His brows furrow. Suddenly, the black and white equations on the sheet blur and he zones out. Thinking.

You always did. From the day he'd walked into the manor, you were always there. Unconsciously, he'd notice it. A trait of a good assassin is that they can spot everyone in the room.

A trait of a great assassin is that they can spot everyone inside and watching.

Always, you were watching. Those pitiful stares. Desperate like a unloved pet. If he cared a little more (if any at all), he would've felt sorrow for your state.

Always wanting, but never asking. Never taking. Simply waiting for it all to come to you. He would never understand it. He would never understand you.

He would never understand how somebody could allow themselves to be so weak.

Like everybody else—when he first entered the manor, he proposed to fight you. Assuming—being the child of his father, like he was—you were worthy. That you were strong.

He doesn't know how he could've been so wrong. You immediantly reacted, gasping and clutching your face. He'd nicked it with the edge of his blade after he unsheathed it. You looked at the blood dotting your fingertips, then back at him, eyes wide.

Immediantly, Bruce rushed to his side and pushed him behind his larger, imposing figure—telling you to not interact with him because he's different to regular people. Different to you.

He watched you storm off from behind his father's legs; anger practically blaring off your figure.

Later—he happened to overhear you and Grayson talking quietly. Telling you to not be too hard on Damian, because he's troubled. That he's had a difficult life. At first—he was a tad offended—but that offence could not compare to the absolute fury burning in your eyes.

Though, it all melted away when Grayson's hand ruffled your hair. Like a little kid, you stared up at him, soft and starry-eyed as you unconsciously murmured you'd forgive your new little brother.

Damian dry-heaved. You were so goddamn weak.

So weak, and so normal. Everything you did was completely regular. You were on the same wavelength as the civilians he saved from burning rubble. The same as people who walked down the street, talking about their favourite Justice League member. Who cowered in fear in front of villains—to be saved by those heroes. By him.

You were nothing, and yet everything he could never have been.

(What child does not long for normalcy?)

Damian always thought you were rather helpless, regardless of how regular you were—and seeing you with that bullet lodged in your shoulder—he was right. Not being able to dodge something like a bullet—there was no wonder you never become a vigilante. There was no wonder you needed to be protected.

... Though—he began to think back.

Who did? Protect you; that is.

Whoever it was, they did a pretty awful job at it.

Damian strums his fingers against the hardwood table rhythmically. Face blank but mind running rapidly.

It couldn't have been Todd. No—he seemed to be in a frazzled state of mania when carrying your bleeding body in your arms. Perhaps he too, believed you were safe with the rest of his family.

(Oh how wrong Todd was—he looked livid.)

... Grayson?

No. When he's not in Blüdhaven, he is almost always with the other vigilantes within the family. Not here nor there, and certainly not close enough to protect you.

Not Drake. He never cared enough, despite everything. Not Cain, either. Though the silent protector type—she had too much on her plate to worry about you as well.

Gordon and Brown had their own families to worry about.

And his—your father? The Batman? There was no time for a regular child like you in the Batman's life of vigilantism. Whom he sworn to protect in his crusade now lay bleeding out in his great failure's arms.

...

Did you truly have nobody?

...

Damian couldn't really imagine it. He'd always assumed you had many friends to fill the void that yoir family left with their civilian clothes. ... Perhaps you did. He wouldn't know.

You are his only half sibling. In this world, only he is truly your brother, and you are his only older sibling. Does that not give him the slightest of responsibility?

He'd always been taught to keep everybody at arms length—even his own family. The whole world is out to get the Demon's grandson, then he must fight it. But his father taught him differently.

To protect those who cannot protect themselves—to keep those he cares about safe at any cost.

What of you? He does not care for you in the way an ordinary sibling should. Seeing you so weak, defenceless against him—must mean you trust him in some way.

(It's hard for him to fathom being able to feel so unprotected in a world he was taught was trying to extinguish him at every turn).

Regardless of how you don't belong—or how frosty you act toward your youngest brother—he has a duty.

No matter how hard you try—you can never sever the blood you two share. The others do not have this duty—but he does, because in the end, you are his. None of the others bothered, so Damian must.

You are everything he could never be, he has realised. But in the end, you are blood. It runs thicker in the veins than any water, and that is one of the most important things to Damian.

Seeing that same blood—his blood—spill out of you carelessly—that is a sight he will never bear witness to again.

Damian was the first one out the door as soon as the bell chimed in his ear. His bag slung tightly around his shoulders and textbook under his arm; he rushed into the familiar sight of a sleek, large car.

He shuts the door as he climbs into the backseat (Bruce said he was still too short to sit in the front, much to his son's displeasure). "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred glances back at him through the rear view mirror. "Good afternoon, Master Damian. How was school?"

"Same as usual. A waste of time." He clicks his seatbelt shut as the car begins to move. Alfred only hums, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"I'm unsurprised to hear you say so. I do hope you understand why exactly, you are enrolled in school, however. And why Master Bruce is so adamant about your attendance."

Damian knows. He's always known, because it has been drilled into his head like a mantra. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul weren't math teachers—and most of his time really was spent training and sparring to be the best he could be.

He was not illiterate, nor stupid. Rather smart, actually. However, he didn't exactly learn algebra and chemistry with the League of Assassins.

He grumbles. "I know, Pennyworth. Father cannot seem to stop reminding me that all these things are far more important than stopping the endless wave of crime in Gotham."

If he weren't on the road—Alfred surely would've given him a nasty look. "Master Damian, please—your sincerity is positively slaughtering me."

Damian rolls his eyes, opting to stop this fruitless conversation and look outside the windows instead. At the outside world—the sky already paling to deep auburn shades as they drive through the endless roads.

He watched all the cars moving past; hurrying to get to their destination. Each with their own story and reason for being there. Every single one with their own thoughts and worries. Some with children, others with pets, and some with piles of groceries.

All with their own, individual lives. Including him.

A bus, too. It stops for a moment at a sheltered space, then drives away, leaving a few people standing under the shade.

An elderly lady with a man, presumably her son, walking away with her. A woman with frizzy red hair and freckles dotted over her nose. A few schoolkids—some his age, some older. Clearly from the public school on the other side of Gotham, if only to judge from the scantily clad clothes some of the older students wore—

Wait, is that you?

He sits up—the car slowly coming to a stop at a red light. His eyes don't leave your figure as he presses his nose against the window; observing.

You look around at the people that pass by you—gripping your bag close to your side and rushing into the nearest alleyway.

He waits for a few moments. This red light feels rather long—but what feels longer is watching and waiting for you to come out of that alleyway.

You never do.

Even as the car begins to move once more, driving past the intersection, he crawls as far back as possible to even get a glimpse—but you never show.

Just today, he had decided to be the one to take up the mantle and protect you. Just today, during a boring math class, he has decided that since you are his blood, he must keep a helpless civilian like you safe.

And now you're gone. Are you dead, or something?

(Deep down, his stomach twists at the thought.)

"Pennyworth, pull over." Hid voice is more taut than he had imagined. "Now."

Alfred looks back, glancing at the streets around. He doesn't question the young boy, simply doing as he is asked and pulling over to a deserted parking area.

When he has parked the car, he turns around and sees Damian slipping his Robin mask on—somehow already fully suited up.

His eyes widen, "Master Damian, what—"

"I have something to do. Let Father know I will be back home late."

Opening the door, Damian rushes out and pulls out his grappling hook, swinging onto the nearest building's roof and looking around.

He spots the alleyway you'd run into. It is still. Absolutely no movement nor any looks from passer-bys. He rushes across the roves towards where the dark side seeped into the crack of the buildings.

Maybe you'd taken another way out?

But looking at the alleyway now, it's more like a dip between the buildings to stand in more than anything. It was blocked off on the other side.

So where...???

He drops down, landing on his soles and squinting as he stares around into the dark. There's nothing.

No people, nor bodies, and certainly not anything to indicate anybody was ever here.

Except...

He glances at the wall. Theres a white cocoon-esque oval webbed to the wall. Those same webs he'd seen all that time ago—from that spider. That would show up then leave immediantly. Never staying for longer than they had to.

Dodging all of his and Batman's attempts at asking who you were, and what you were doing in Gotham. Always swinging away into the distance before they could be subdued.

Now, he stares at their ball of webbing and wonders if it truly is an arachnid he's dealing with.

He pokes it, looking it up and down. Then, he sees it. Through the small holes in the webs and the translucent, silk-like material—he finally sees it.

Your bag.

He tears off the webbing faster than he can think, getting the sticky substance stuck to his gloves and clothes; he barely even notices it. He grabs your bag and stares it, swallowing hard.

His mind buzzes with an unfamiliar staticky feeling and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Despite all the noise in his ear—his brain is able to comprehend one singular question.

... What did that arachnid do to you?

Clothed fingers digging deep into the leather fabric of the bag—clearly worn down and fading. Old. He would get Father to purchase you another. ... When he sees you next. Because he will.

His jaw clenches hard.

Damian throws the bag over his shoulder and grapples up—swinging onto a building roof and running across.

Running for what, he isn't sure. But what he is sure of, is that once he gets his hands on that arachnid, it will not be kind.

To find out what happened to you—that is his duty as your blood sibling.

He decides that in this life, he will be your protector. In the next, if he is ever given a chance to be normal like you—he will become a doctor. Or perhaps a painter. Or a poet. Maybe he will ask you to help him decide when he finds you and that arachnid.

... Yes, that sounds good.

You cut through the cool wind as you swing through the city. Grinning widely underneath your mask—you don't think you've ever been so happy since you landed here.

You're sure nobody will take your stuff. Even if they do, you could always just get whatever else you needed again. You were far too excited to dwell on the small stuff right about now.

Landing on a rooftop, crouched—you walk down the wall of the apartment complex, and look around for civilians. As he told you—the streets around the back of the building were practically deserted.

You count the amount of rooms from the side, up and down.

"Row 5, Apartment block... 2..." You hum, and nod to yourself.

You tap your necklace and the nanobots all crawl off your body, leaving you in your regular clothes. You land safely on the balcony of the room you were given.

You smooth out your flared jeans and take in a deep breath. Then, you bring up your knuckles, and knock.

The glass screen door opens before you can say fantastic.

A small pair of arms wrap around your torso and knock you backwards—you fall on your ass and let out a loud laugh.

"Spidey!!! [name]!!!"

"Is that who I think it is?!" You tease, eyes squinted upwards and the young kid buries into your stomach. His giggles are muffled by the fabric and he squeezes you so tight you'd be inclined to choke—if it wasn't you. "Frankie!! How's my favourite Richard?"

"I can't believe you'd say that, [name]. That hurts." A familiarly sweet voice speaks.

"Sue!" You grin, taking in the sight of the blonde and her husband by her side. You get up—Franklin stumbles behind you—and crash into her arms.

She chuckles, patting your back and smiling down at you, "I missed you too, [name]. You always manage to find yourself in the strangest situations, don't you?"

Reed cradles his chin, "Well, we were technically the cause of this distortion in reality, Susan—"

But seeing the expression on both your and his wife's face; he stops himself. Only smiling sheepishly. "My apologies. It's great to see you again, [name]. I didn't think we'd find another familiar face in a different universe."

"You're getting better at this, Reed." You lift yourself from Sue's comforting cradle and grin brightly up at him. "I didn't think I'd see all of you guys again, either. When you all disappeared for so long—I was wondering if something bad happened."

"Hah! Ta us? You kiddin'? Ya more bug-brained 'den that spider that bit ya!"

"Ben!!!" You go flying toward the rock-encased man and wrap your arms around his comfortingly tough neck. He spins you around and lets you down with a loud laugh.

"'Ey kid, how're ya? Heard ya tackled ol' matchstick 'ere outta the sky!" He slaps his rocky chest laughing—in the corner of your eye, Johnny stands behind him, unimpressed.

He walks up beside you, swinging an arm around your neck and snarks, "Yeah—well, Spidey's always been known for catching people off guard, huh? Creepin' up when you least expect it."

"You're making [name] sound like a villain, Unc!" Frankin, who had found himself attached to the side of your shirt, sticks out his tongue.

Johnny recoils, face falling in pure horror as he dramatically points at the young boy, "UNC??!! I... I'm an Unc now...??? I'm not even 19! I can't be an Unc!!!"

You burst out into laughter at the genuineness of Johnny's expression, watching as he freaks out about being "old". Sue and Reed roll their eyes—while Ben is there with you, laughing his ass off like he'd just gotten a home run on Yancy Street.

Franklin looks at your laughing expression and starts giggling along—jumping up and down beside you with sparkling eyes.

"Stop laughing, [name]! We're the same age!" Johnny points, accusatory. "If I'm an Unc, you're a...!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm cooler than Uncle Johnny anyways, right Frankie?" You grin, picking up Franklin as he cuddles into your neck.

"Mhm!" He nods eagerly.

Johnny sends you a blazing glare, lips pouted out. "You and me. We're—" He gestures to the two of you. "—gonna have some issues, here. Okay. Everyone knows I'm the cool Uncle."

"No, that's Benny!" Franklin points to Ben.

The look on Johnny's face shifts into utter disbelief—Ben falls out of his chair laughing wildly.

"Gosh, I missed you so much, kid." You pull at one of Franklin's cheeks and chuckle. He stares at you in awe for a few seconds, before hugging the side of your head and giggling.

"I missed you too!"

That same warmth fills each crevice and pore of your body, as you huddle close to your dear friends and let yourself feel at home for this small moment.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a pair of azure eyes watches, sharp and unnerving in the back of your skull.

You notice it. Of course you do. Your mind is tingling with that buzz—but you want to enjoy this night of nothing but home, even if only once.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi @bunniotomia @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bat1212 @gaychaosgremlin @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @randomlyappearingartist @cxcilla @spidermanluvr444 @cruzerforce4256 @mybones537 @xjesterxjacksx @nirvanaxx1942 @djpuppy-kittens @br33zy-blizzardz @moon0goddess @0sunnyside01 @mei-simp @redsakura101 @the-dumber-scaramouche @wizzerreblogs @lovemiss-vale @deathbynarcisstick @allycat4458 @wonmyheart @luckyangelballoon @one-piecelover @hartwyrm @horror-lover-69 @maria-trisha @4rachn3 @galaxypurplerose @duskeras @coffeeaddictxd @lithiumval @kaz-playz

tsglist is closed, sorry! but do try and keep up with updates thank you!!!

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rainbowmod · 2 days ago

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Reze: *She holds your face. The audience fades away* What are you talking about Love? We're all by ourselves. Why wouldn't we be cuddling naked. *she gently places you back on the bed* Here lemme help you out. *She places some oil on your back, you could feel the cold on your spikes* Here lemme get those knots out. *She rubs your back, she was hitting all the sore spots you have from sitting at a desk all day. It felt amazing* Better?

Fiona: Then teach me! Do anything with me! Don't throw me away!! *she starts getting bigger with every statement. She was so upset that her dragon abilities were popping off* You never do anything with me Mom! You're always worried about Vito, then Veronika and now Viola! *she starts tearing up* Daddy used to take me to meetings and took me on trips! Now that he's gone, I'm no one's favorite anymore! *She was bigger then Iris at this point*

Lavaca: Well.....at least they're in the Hive..... it would probably be handled by the time she killed the kids....

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ddejavvu · 3 days ago

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mei! I have an request that has been rotting my brain for WEEKS. Now. I haven't seen you write for Bucky before, so I don't know if you will, but I'm taking a risk asking bc I have been SALIVATING.

It's so simple. Literally just Bucky eating the reader out, and he hikes her up on his shoulders, with her legs wrapped around his head and she's leaned up against the wall. I hope I'm drawing this correctly, but it has been ALL I have been thinking about. if you don't do bucky, that's okay but if you do PLEASEE.

on my old account that i never write on anymore i used to be the bucky queen. every time someone asks me if i'd ever write for bucky i take psychic damage (through no fault of yours). my bucky masterlist was pages long and sometimes i really do miss my metal armed fucktoy

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Cool metal digs into the fleshy globe of your ass, trailing up your back and surely leaving ridged indents in your skin that will itch later when he's let you down. Your back aches, your neck aches, and no amount of squirming against the wall will stop that, but the ecstasy between your thighs makes up for it and more. Bucky's slight scruff burns against your thighs as his mouth sucks tight against your hole, tongue dipping inside and adding to the slick mess that's already been produced there.

There's wetness escaping the seal of his lips, staining both his chin and your thighs alike, probably dripping down to the floor by now, streaming like saliva from the jowls of a feral beast. He's got you pinned to the wall behind you, your knees hiked over his shoulders to stabilize you while his super-powered muscles do the rest of the work. He doesn't seem to need to compensate much, but he does brace his arms beneath your ass for somewhere to put them. Regardless of his arms- he's pinned your cunt to the wall like he's making out with it.

He's eating it, really eating it like he's dipping his tongue into your mouth. His head bobs back and forth, his tongue pushing relentlessly into your pussy and licking it for all its worth. He gladly pushes his own spit into the mess of your slick, sucking and gulping the mixture down like water to a parched man. He's groaning, breathing heavily through his teeth ravenously when he's forced to come up for air. He dives back in to suck at your clit, latching on ferociously and straining the sensitive nub that's already aflame with stimulation. You gasp, thighs nearly falling off of his shoulders, but his strong arms hold you tight in place. Bucky's tightly sealed mouth over your clit sucks hard enough for it to hurt, like he's trying to swallow it and he's willing to smother himself between your legs to do it.

Your clit burns and you yank at his hair when you've had all you can handle, enduring five seconds more of it because you can't seem to tug tight enough on his locks to make him remember there's a world outside of the wet, warm space between your thighs.

He dips back into the slick cavity of your cunt to give your clit a break, but the point of his nose still scrapes unforgivingly against its stinging surface. The clit stimulation alone is nearly enough to throw you over the edge, but you wrestle the urge back to prolong the time in which Bucky licks the slick out of your weeping sex.

There's nothing to be said, no 'Bucky', no 'More, please!', no 'I need you', nothing you could have possibly strung together in your garbled haze of a brain. All you can do is make noises, animalistic and greedy, breathy gasps and dirty moans.

That's what sex with Bucky is- hungry, feral, rabid. It's sweat that his tongue sponges off of your neck, it's bite marks left on his well-built muscles, it's the burning raw skin of your thighs left behind by his barely-there beard. It's raw sex, nothing held back, nothing orchestrated, only urges. Bucky's tongue brings you back to reality, to the ache in your back as it dips down nearly to your ass, and you rake in a trembling breath as your thighs begin to shake.

You don't need to speak to let him know he's about to unravel you, he can feel it through the tremble in your core, by the wild clenching of your hole around his tongue, by the tightening of your fist in his hair. You shamelessly ride his face through your orgasm, bucking wildly against his mouth nearly hard enough to dislodge yourself from his shoulders. But it doesn't matter, he's got you pinned, your hips immovable from against his mouth.

He drags out your orgasm for as long as he can, licking and sucking and even biting wherever he feels he won't hurt you beyond repair. You're sure there's going to be a bruise against the flesh of your inner leg tomorrow, but you would have cut it off to keep riding Bucky's face for ten seconds longer.

Bliss turns to agony as Bucky doesn't relent, his mouth still working against your cunt like a kiss. You have to risk falling to get him off, pushing urgently against his head, hard enough to pry his hot, sucking mouth off of your pussy.

He's breathing just as heavily as you are when he breaks away, the lower half of his face coated in the mixture of your slick and his spit. It feels like it's dripping out of you, too, and you marvel at how his tongue was able to stretch your cunt out like a dick.

He nudges your thighs gently off of his shoulders, but you barely fall an inch before he catches you, lowering you to the ground on shaky legs. He doesn't bother letting you hold up your own weight, providing the strength of his own chest for you to slump against. He guides you to your bed, ignoring the way your spent cunt leaks over the sheets.

He must be able to read your worry about the mess, because he grunts, "I'll clean it up later. We can wash the sheets."

You grip weakly at his hand, mustering all of your energy to squeeze it tighter, "Can you- can we sleep?"

"You can sleep," He chuckles, brushing a hand over your forehead and pushing your head back down to the pillow, "I'm not tired."

You know that. You know he's barely ever tired, even after three rounds of nothing but giving you the pounding of your lifetime. So you watch him crack his neck, chest still heaving as he drags in oxygen, "I'm gonna go for a run. Call me when you're ready for more."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you

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lady-lani-1707 · 2 days ago

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"Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever- present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur."

- Margaret Atwood

Sabrina carpenter, let's talk about her.

She's one of many well known pop stars, and a sex symbol of Hollywood and western media, which in turn ends up influencing even developing nations. A child actor into a popsinger who released her new album "Short 'n sweet" which has gripped the charts.

The title obviously alludes to her height, something heavily refrenced by sabrina herself and reinforced through her branding.

This "sexy baby" trope is nothing but a pedophilic fantasy. In her concerts, sabrina will ask, "Have you ever tried *this* one?" And contort her body into a promiscuous pose that reveals her undergarments or even use male dancers to position herself in a manner referencing sex. That's not the concerning part. It's called the "Juno" pose, a movie about a pregnant teenage girl, and she refrences teenage pregnancy as some sort of joking leeway to sexualise herself. Additionally, the first image above is Sabrina carpenter recreating the classic image of Lolita, a young girl lusted after by a grown man.

So clearly 2 things are emphasised.

Her sexual attractiveness.

And her petite and small figure.

As said herself in her improvised catchphrases on her tours :

"I'm full grown, but I look like a niña/ Come put something big in my casita/ Mexico, I think you are bonita!" (February 2024)

Or how about...

"Gardens by the Bay, I wanna go there / Then, I'1l take you somewhere that has no hair / Singapore you're so perfect, it's no fair!" (March 2024)

Notice how both quotes emphasised sabrina looking like a "niña" (meaning little girl) in particular and being hairless.

It seems that in the modern day feminism, adult women co-opt girly femininity as proof of their sexual attractiveness. Adults who are regressing with frilly socks and bows on pigtails and endless aesthics like bimbo/softgirl/tradwife all promoting girlhood from the school girl clothing to the childish attitudes as the perfect woman. Endless girl-math, girl-talk, girl-dinner and plenty more sub categories demeaning women into girls. Using a pedophilic manner of embodying a teenage girl in all their perceived ditzy, naive, high-pitched soft and feminine talk and then turning around and telling us that no - actually that's what's sexually attractive for women to emulate.

Adult women so detached from that humiliating isolating experience of being a teenage girl that they now regress and try sexualise that experience.

On the other hand, young girls are hearing the wrong message. Adults are telling them that sexualising themselves isn't a good thing yet these same adults praise and invest in their favourite celebrities and pop media that all sell a harmful idea. They see sexualised women in media get all the positive reinforcement and have that socially programmed craving for male validation and attention.

Now to young adolescent girls, they want to rush into womanhood. They dress and try to act like the Caricature of a Catty 20, something rich socialite. The rise in sephora teens paying hundreds for makeup and clothes not made for them. Adult women are regressing, and young girls are trying to grow up too fast to be taken seriously for once.

For as much as many adult women feel heartbroken at the statistics of harm and harassment and child sexual abuse young girls face, it seems to be very shallow. They support industries that make girlhood into a hypersexual pedophilic caricature that only leads to harm of real girls.

Of course, they don't want to be girls anymore. They think growing up gives them agency, being taken seriously. I feel so bad for the little girls who grow up and realise... that never ends. That humiliation and demeaning from boys in their classes continues well on as an adult.

If adult women are too busy role-playing as hyperfeminine teenage girls and glorifying girlhood, and teenage girls are oversexuliaing themselves and wanting to escape girlhood for womanhood then WHO is protecting little girls?

It can't be the adult men who are the main consumers of child sexual abuse material and the pimps and groomers and traffickers.

It can't be the government's who don't crack down on female opression worldwide.

It can't even be adult women, who cater to pedophiles and pedophilic men by making themselves seem as petite and feminine and small and girlish as long as they physically can. Never wanting to age or be dare caught bare faced unless they have dozens of surgeries to look as youthful as they can naturally.

No. Nobody cares, it seems. The world seems to revolve and center male fantasies. Money is a the resource used to trade girls around - the real currency and delicacy that unites men from all over the world.

If adult women keep funding and praising idolculture that promotes pedophilia, than those adult women shouldn't call themselves feminists. It's one thing to listen to their songs, but buying merch and renting tickets and keeping that industry well fed is a disservice to all women.

You might say, so I just watch nothing? Do nothing? There's no radical feminist singers, and not everyone fits my viewpoint. Surely it's unrealistic to expect change? That's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that if someone cares enough, change happens, and you must give things up.

There's many ways to go about this, for one ignoring celebrities and celebrity culture, you might download their songs so as to not give them money for their work. And just in general, ignore them.

Death of celebrity culture is death to the beauty industry who all promote pedophilic beauty standards and profit off of womens desire to look youthful.

If you can't send money to save young girls, deny money to these celebrities that cater to pedophilic men's wet dreams.

Of course, it's going to be hard. It's feminism

You have to prioritise women and girls safety over fitting in. Ignore celebrities, reject the normalisation of gross pedophilic and misogynistic standards.

And remember, we are NOT the weird ones, everyone else is desensitised because pretty much every main industry benefits from the exploitation of the female people.

My dear sisters, don't worship female celebrities, they pander to pedophiles.

- Lani, your Lady

#radical feminism #radical feminists do interact #gender critical #terfsafe #radblr #radical feminists do touch #radical feminist safe #sabrina carpenter #pedophillia mention

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saythenametotheworld · 2 days ago

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You Are In Love | y.jh (18+)

A life-changing event caused you to escape to the countryside—a coastal village with a small population of mostly old people and women. It was there that you found peace in your turbulent life and an unexpected connection with Yoon Jeonghan.

Genre: mistaken identity, strangers to lovers, smut Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader Warning: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), NOT PROOFREAD! Canceled out the angst bcs, just bcs. Notes: 19k words, song prompt was You Are In Love by Taylor Swift. I miss Hannie sm. Why can't he be like jaehyun and taeyong who appear in public from time to time? jk, obviously. I'm not complaining (I am). Guys it's been a while! Although, I'm sure you're already used to me popping in and out randomly. Just wanna let yall know that I see your asks all the time and most of them make me giggle. I'm just a little shy so I don't interact much. I'll try tho :> Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor do I claim they would ever act irl the way they are portrayed in this story.

Playlist: You Are In Love - Taylor Swift, Star Blossom - Doyoung x Sejeong, Magnets - NIKI, Starlight - Taeyeon Enjoy~

After four hours on the road, you finally passed the sign marking the entrance to the small town. The coastal highway had felt endless, a stretch of asphalt lined with rolling hills, but now, the ocean breeze was carrying the freshness of the countryside and the faint scent of salt. You drove through gentle hills before reaching the heart of the village, where a few modest establishments lined the narrow streets.

You knew what was waiting for you—a small, idyllic town—but even so, the retro charm of the downtown area caught you off guard. No buildings rose taller than four stories. It was like a pocket of time frozen in place, with shopfronts displaying modern signs over worn wooden frames. The colors faded but were still vibrant in the afternoon light.

You drove past the last few storefronts, through rows of homes and wide open fields until you reached the guest house. It looked much like the other houses in the neighborhood—simple and unassuming, save for the bright red roof and the wooden signpost by the gate.

The gates were open, so you let yourself in, taking a moment to soak in the quiet surroundings. The house had a traditional Korean setup, with a low table outside, a shed of large clay crocks (probably holding kimchi or fermented soybean paste), an outdoor cooking area, and other signs of daily life scattered around.

Then, the front door swung open, and a petite elderly woman stepped onto the porch, dressed in a floral blouse and loose pants. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, her sharp eyes scanning you before she broke into a warm smile.

“You must be the city girl,” she said, hands on her hips. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked at her bluntness but caught the teasing glint in her eyes. You smiled apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry. Something came up, so I had to delay for a day. Is the room still available?”

“Of course! We don’t get many guests here. Haven’t had a single one this year until you.” She waved you inside. “Come. I don’t usually take in long-term guests, but I liked the way you spoke on the phone. You seemed polite.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in, wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. Something was cooking in the kitchen, filling the space with a savory aroma.

“You must be starving. Lunch is almost ready,” she called from the kitchen.

“Thank you. I’ll just grab my things from the car,” you said, pointing toward the door.

She nodded. “Ah, right. Let me help you with that.”

“No, it’s alright—”

“Hannie!” she called out, ignoring you. “Come out and help our guest with her luggage.”

A moment later, a figure appeared at the doorway. Tall, dark soft-looking hair trimmed just above the shoulders framed her delicate features—a straight nose, lips, and sharp, striking eyes with long lashes that would make anyone jealous.

There was something boyish in the way she moved. Her stride was quick and heavy, her clothes were loose and simple. A plaid button-down over a plain white t-shirt, and pair of dark sweatpants. Not exactly the dainty look you might’ve expected from someone with a face like that, but it suited her.

“Hannie,” the elderly woman called again, motioning to the car outside.

She only hummed in response before stepping down from the porch and heading straight for your trunk. You followed after her, popping the trunk open just as she reached it.

“Thank you,” you said. “I can get the heavier ones,” you offered, out of habit more than anything.

Hannie barely spared you a glance before hauling out your largest suitcase like it weighed nothing. “It’s fine.”

You blinked. Okay, strong girl.

A small duffel bag dangled from her other hand as she turned back toward the house, moving easily despite the weight. You had to admit, you were a little relieved to know there was another girl your age in the house. You’d expected to spend most of your time with elderly folks—nice as they were, they didn’t quite offer the same kind of connection. But with Hannie here, at least you’d have someone to talk to.

Shutting the trunk, you grabbed the rest of your bags and followed her inside.

The first three days passed uneventfully. You quickly became familiar with the routine in the house: the sounds of cooking from the kitchen, the fluttering of old curtains in the breeze, and the occasional gathering of the elderly ladies just outside the gates of the guest house. You had been expecting peace, but this was something else entirely—a rare kind of mundanity, where time seemed to stretch and slow down. You loved it more than you had anticipated.

Hannie, the granddaughter of the house, was always present in some way but never fully there. She rarely spoke, her gaze slipping past you instead of meeting your eyes, and she was gone for long stretches of the day. You sometimes wondered where she went—perhaps to town, perhaps somewhere even quieter than here—but it wasn’t a question you felt the need to ask. It didn’t seem like she would answer, anyway.

When you did cross paths, the interactions were brief. A polite nod from her, a quick greeting from you. Occasionally, you’d catch her in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove, or stepping onto the porch with a towel slung over her shoulder, hair damp from a shower. Once, when you mumbled a sleepy “good morning” while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you thought you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward before she disappeared out the door.

You assumed she was just a little shy. Maybe reserved. That was fine with you. It was oddly nice having another girl around who didn’t expect constant conversation.

The guest house owner—Gram, as she liked to be called—was warm and thoughtful, though she saw your lack of movement as odd. She often encouraged you to explore, to go into town, to at least take a walk.

“Most people get restless after a day or two,” she said one morning, watching you sip your tea at the low table outside. “You, though, you act like you’ve been waiting your whole life to sit still.”

You grinned. “Honestly, Gram? I have.”

She clicked her tongue, unconvinced. “Hannie, why don’t you take her into town today? Show her around. The store won’t burn down without you for a day.”

At the mention of her name, Hannie, who had been quietly peeling fruit by the water pump, finally glanced at you. Her expression was unreadable, but her head tilted ever so slightly, as if sizing you up. Then, just as quickly, she shrugged. “Sure.”

It wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic invitation, and you didn’t want to force anything. “Thanks, Gram, but I promise, I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself.”

Gram sighed, shaking her head. “If you say so. But if you change your mind, just tell Han.”

You nodded, and across the table, Hannie met your gaze again, her lips pressing into something like a faint smile before she went back to peeling.

Still, Gram refused to let you be completely idle. Every day, she gave you a small task—flipping sun-dried herbs at noon, covering them before sunset. It wasn’t much, but it made you feel like a part of the household rather than just a passing guest.

Hannie never commented on your meandering presence in the house. Sometimes, she’d walk past you on the way out, sometimes you’d catch sight of her returning in the late afternoon, looking effortlessly graceful yet somehow boyish in the way she moved.

As the days passed, little things about Hannie started catching your attention—details that didn’t quite match the soft-spoken, delicate image you’d formed of her at first. Her voice, though quiet, had a low, steady timbre. Occasionally, she’d roll her shoulders or rub the back of her neck in a way that felt oddly... rugged. There was something in the way she leaned against doorframes too, hands stuffed in her pockets, with a relaxed posture. And yet, she still looked as graceful as ever, dark hair soft against her skin, her features almost too pretty.

The contrast was interesting, but you didn’t think much of it—so what if she was a little rough around the edges? Plenty of girls had tomboyish sides.

Strong, you thought idly one afternoon, watching her haul in a sack of something from outside. Strong for someone so pretty.

But you didn’t dwell on it. More than anything, it was just nice having another girl around. She wasn’t unfriendly, but she wasn’t exactly inviting either. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, it suited the peacefulness of the guest house. You weren’t looking for company, and Hannie didn’t seem eager to offer it. But of course, living together would make people grow closer.

One morning, you found yourself at the kitchen table, lazily flipping through a magazine Gram had left lying around. Hannie stood by the sink, rinsing a handful of freshly picked persimmons.

“Do you eat these?” she asked.

You looked up. It was the first time she’d spoken to you without it being a response to something you said first. “I like them, but I never really had them fresh like that,” you admitted.

She grabbed a towel and started drying one. “They taste better chilled.”

“Oh?” You watched as she set a few aside and placed the rest in the fridge. “So you like them cold?”

She shrugged, placing one on the table in front of you. “Try it later.”

After that, you noticed other little things.

When you forgot your slippers outside one evening, you found them neatly placed by the door the next morning. The first time you struggled to lift one of Gram’s large water jugs, Hannie walked past, muttered, “You’ll hurt your back,” and hoisted it up with ease before you could protest.

“Thanks,” you said, surprised.

Gradually, your paths started crossing more. If she was already outside when you went to dry the herbs, she’d sit nearby, scrolling through her phone while you worked. If you ended up in the kitchen at the same time, she’d slide you a cup of whatever she was drinking without a word.

The conversations stretched a little longer, too. One weekend morning, you found her on the porch, sitting quietly under the sun. Without thinking, you sat beside her, stretching your legs out and basking in the sunshine.

“Gram says you haven’t gone to the beach yet,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s been trying to get me out of the house since day one.”

Hannie smirked slightly, eyes still on the road. “She’s not used to people who like sitting still.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

You talked about the weather, the best place to buy snacks in town, how the local stray cats had more attitude than city ones. They weren’t deep conversations, but they were comfortable.

Hannie still wasn’t overly talkative, but she started meeting your eyes more, responding with more than just a nod. And sometimes, when she thought you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch a small, amused smile on her lips.

It wasn’t much, but you were getting used to each other.

On a cool Saturday afternoon, you sat cross-legged at the low wooden table outside, with a basket of vegetables sitting between you and Hannie. Gram had roped the both of you into helping with dinner, which, in her words, “would taste better with young hands working on it.”

You didn’t mind. It gave you something to do.

Hannie, across from you, was peeling potatoes efficiently. You, on the other hand, were going slower, carefully stripping the skin from each one with a small knife.

“How long have you been staying here?” you asked.

Hannie didn’t look up from her task. “I live here.”

“Like, since birth?”

“Maybe,” she said, lips twitching.

You gave her a flat look. “That’s not a real answer.”

She considered for a second before finally saying, “I wasn’t born here, but I grew up here. I left a few years ago, but I came back.”

You nodded, filing that away. “Where did you go?”

She flipped a potato in her hand. “Seoul.”

“You lived there?”

“For a bit.”

“You’re very specific,” you said dryly.

She smirked. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Of course. I have to know who I’m living with.”

“Mm.” She switched to peeling carrots. “Your turn, then. I have to know who I’m living with, too. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

You rolled a potato in your hands. “Depends on the question.”

Hannie shot you an amused glance but didn’t push. “Why’d you come here?”

You shrugged. “I wanted a change of pace.”

She peeled another strip from the carrot. “That’s a vague answer.”

“The specifics are boring,” you said through gritted teeth, unwilling to divulge anything.

She let out a small huff of laughter. “Fair enough.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, just continuing your work. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, and you were realizing once again why they called this guest house The Sunset House. The smell of something simmering in the kitchen drifted through the air.

“What do you do all day, anyway?” you asked, breaking the comfortable quiet. “I always see you coming and going, but you never say where you’re headed.”

Hannie hummed. “I go to work at the grocery shop.”

You nodded. “So you’re not just freeloading off your Grandma, then?” you teased.

She snorted. “I have my own money and I know how to work for my meals.”

“Okay, but I have a real question,” you said, squinting at her. “What’s your skincare routine?”

Hannie blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “My what?”

“You have really nice skin,” you said matter-of-factly. “Like, it’s annoyingly flawless. I need to know what you’re using.”

She chuckled. “I just use whatever’s around.”

You frowned. “Liar.”

“It’s the truth,” she said, looking far too entertained.

“No fancy routine? No expensive products?”

“Nope.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but she just kept peeling, smug as ever. You huffed. “This is so unfair. Your skin is prettier than mine and I have like, a ten-step skincare routine.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

You grabbed a potato and chucked it at her arm. She caught it easily, shaking her head with a grin.

The conversation continued, flowing from one topic to another with no real direction—just small questions, half-answers, and the occasional amused remark. It wasn’t deep, but it didn’t need to be.

By the time you finished, the basket of peeled vegetables was full, the sun had lowered into a deep orange, and you had learned just enough about Hannie to know there was still more to figure out.

It was hard to ignore the nagging thought in your head ever since you arrived in town. While you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that you deserved this break from your turbulent city life, the anxiety that you should be doing something more productive lingered in the back of your mind.

It was probably because your mind and body were so used to being on high alert all the time, functioning at full capacity every day for the last several years that you start getting anxious when you’re not doing anything and just relaxing. You could feel an odd sense of suspicion, nagging at the back of your mind like, “Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

Watering Gram’s garden plants was enough to push away all these thoughts, though.

As you stood under the gentle heat of the morning sun, you maneuvered the hose expertly, a result of doing the chore every day for the last few weeks. You let out a slow breath, feeling oddly content with the simplicity of it.

“Are you planning to drown my plants?”

You startled slightly as Gram’s voice rang out. Turning, you found her watching you with a hand on her hip. “Come here,” she said, beckoning you over to the low wooden table. “I have a better use for those hands.”

You shut off the water and wandered over, only to be greeted with a rice cake shoved into your hand. “Would you like to come to the beach today?” she asked.

“The beach?”

“There’s a new teacher at the daycare center. Seola, a very lovely lady. She arranged a picnic with the elderly and the children.” Gram gave you a pointed look as she patted your hand. “You should come. You need to socialize with someone your age before you forget how to hold a conversation.”

Before you could respond, Hannie stepped out onto the porch in her usual shirt-over-tee combo and denim jeans, brushing her hair back with her hand, she slung a bag over her shoulder, acknowledging you with a brief nod before passing by.

“Gram, I’m off,” he said.

“Alright, see you later,” Gram replied. She waved him off before giving you another look. “Han will be there too, so you don’t have to worry about being around people you don’t know.”

Not that you needed much convincing. You had already planned to explore town today anyway. You finally had enough of the idle days, and you were now ready to see and experience the quaint charm of this small town.

So at noon, just before lunchtime, you drove to the beachside with Gram, the car packed with the food she had heartily prepared all morning.

The beach was lively with old and young voices, laughter, conversation, and the sound of waves rolling against the shore. You helped Gram set up the food, spreading it out on the picnic blankets as she introduced you to the small group already gathered there—a few elderly folks, some parents, and a handful of kids darting around with beach toys and shells. It felt like stepping into a family reunion, where everyone knew each other and shared years of memories you could only imagine.

Gram introduced you as a temporary resident. “She’ll be here for six months,” she explained, smiling as curious eyes turned your way. “Let’s all be nice to her. She’s from the big city.”

“Ah, so that’s why you look so pale,” an older woman teased, squinting at you. “You need some sun on you, dear.”

“She should eat more, too,” another one chimed in, eyeing you like she was already planning to pile food onto your plate.

“You’ll love it here,” one of the older women assured you. “Life moves slow, but there’s always something to do if you know where to look.”

Another joined in with a chuckle. “A bit of gossip now and then, a trip to the market, a walk by the coast… it doesn’t take much to stay busy here!”

They were warm, welcoming, and funny, and their playful remarks had the same lightheartedness as Gram’s. You found yourself smiling more than expected, caught up in their conversation as they asked about your stay. You also met Seola, the new daycare teacher who moved to town just two months ago. She was the same age as you were, and you felt a sense of kinship with her as someone who came from the big city yourself.

At one point, a little boy ran up to you out of nowhere, his face bright with excitement as he held out a shell. “Look! This is the best one I found today!”

You knelt down, taking the shell from his hands to admire it. “Wow, this is a good one,” you said, humoring his enthusiasm. He beamed, launching into a detailed explanation of why it was superior to all the others. You nodded along, half-listening—until something just past his shoulder caught your eye.

Out by the water, Hannie emerged from the waves, hands pushing through his soaked hair, slicking it back from his face. Droplets clung to his skin, sliding down sharp cheekbones and along the lines of his jaw. You blinked, something about the sight snagging on a thought you couldn’t quite place.

Then she stepped fully onto the shore, reached for the hem of her wet shirt, and pulled it over her head. And your mind went blank.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes registered the defined shoulders, the abs, the arms that clearly belonged to someone used to physical labor. The sunlight played across his skin, highlighting every line and shadow. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare.

Hannie wasn’t just a little masculine. Hannie wasn’t just oddly strong. Hannie… was a man.

Your breath caught in your throat, and an unexpected heat rose to your cheeks. The boy in front of you was still talking, but you couldn’t hear a word of it anymore.

How could you have missed this? It was as if every little sign from the past several days were suddenly lining up like pieces of a puzzle. The deeper voice, the way he carried himself, the fact that he had never once actually referred to himself as a girl. And then there were the times Gram had mentioned her grandson—the one you thought you’d never met, yet had been living with all along. He had never corrected you. And you? You had been so sure—so certain you knew exactly who you were living with.

As you stood there, still absorbing the shock, two teenage girls approached you excitedly.

“What’s it like living with Jeonghan?” one of them asked, practically bouncing on her toes.

“Who?” The name threw you off entirely.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” the other girl chimed in, as if it were obvious. “You’re staying at Gram’s guest house, right? Isn’t he amazing? He’s like the pride of our town.”

Jeonghan. The name sounded foreign to you, yet as you watched him crouch down to help one of the kids collect shells, it suddenly seemed to fit him perfectly.

“I thought his name was Hannie?” you asked, though the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how foolish they sounded. Hannie—it wasn’t his name. Just a nickname, something his grandmother must have been affectionately calling him.

The girls giggled, exchanging amused glances. “That’s just what the grandmas call him.”

One of them leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing a juicy secret. “He’s kind of famous, you know? We run a fan page for him—it’s almost at 100k followers.”

“He gets a ton of idol trainee offers. Some people even come all the way here just to see him,” the other added. “But he always turned them down. Now, he works at the store downtown. Everyone loves him.”

Jeonghan. Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan.

You blinked, still grappling with the idea that the quiet, elusive Hannie was actually Jeonghan, the town’s golden boy. Before you could think of what to say, Gram’s voice called out, interrupting the conversation.

“Lunch is ready! Come here and eat!”

The girls scampered off toward the picnic mat, giggling about something you couldn’t quite catch. You turned to follow, but your thoughts were still spinning.

“Kids! Hannie!” Gram called again, waving him over. “Come on, let’s eat!”

Jeonghan straightened, brushing sand from his hands before jogging up the beach. The sunlight glinted off his skin, drawing your gaze before you could stop yourself. Heat crept up your neck again.

He reached the mat and, without hesitation, plopped down next to you, his damp hair falling casually over his shoulder.

“You’re here too,” he said, smiling at you before grabbing a bottle of water. He seemed completely at ease, oblivious to the turmoil running through your mind.

Lunch was a lively affair, the mat spread under the shade of a large tree, bowls and plates of food passed around as conversations overlapped. The elders were particularly chatty, most of their attention—unsurprisingly—focused on Jeonghan.

“You know, our Hannie here was top of his class in university,” one of the grandmothers boasted, nudging the woman beside her. “Always so clever.”

“And so hardworking,” another added, her tone exaggerated in a way that felt suspiciously rehearsed. “Had all sorts of offers after graduation. He even worked in Seoul for a bit.”

“Really?” Seola, the teacher, perked up with interest, chopsticks pausing midair.

You, however, narrowed your eyes slightly. There was something oddly deliberate about how they were talking about him, as if… as if they were trying to sell him.

Jeonghan, sitting beside you, seemed completely unfazed. He took a sip of water, then casually met your gaze. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

You blinked, realizing that you had been staring. “I was just wondering why they’re talking about you like you’re a prized cow.”

Jeonghan nearly choked on his drink, turning away with a cough. Beside him, one of the elders clapped her hands together, unaware of your remark. “And! He’s very good with children,” she announced, nodding toward the group of kids playing nearby. “They all adore him.”

Seola chuckled. “That’s rare. Most guys aren’t patient enough with kids.”

“Exactly!” The older woman beamed. “That’s why any girl would be lucky to have him.”

Your eyes flickered to Jeonghan, curious as to how he’d react, but he was busy picking the green onions out of his soup. As if this whole matchmaking attempt had nothing to do with him.

You stifled a laugh. “You seem very popular, Jeonghan.”

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, finally looking at you. “Are you convinced?”

“Of what?”

“That I’m a catch.” He tilted his head, the corner of his lips twitching up just slightly.

Your chopsticks hovered over your plate. The way he said it was so casual, but something about his tone—low, smooth, just teasing enough—made your stomach flutter.

You masked it with an eye-roll. “I don’t know. You don’t seem that impressive to me.”

Gram clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it onto your plate. “Clearly, you need to spend more time with him.”

“Gram?” you questioned, genuinely perplexed by the insinuation in her tone.

The lunch continued in the same direction, the elders throwing more praises, Seola responding with polite interest, and Jeonghan humoring them without ever actually engaging. It was almost funny how unfazed he was—until you caught a few of the older women exchanging glances as if they were mentally taking notes on how both you and Seola were responding.

Oh god. They weren’t just selling Jeonghan. They were matchmaking him.

You needed some air.

As the meal wrapped up, you slipped away from the group, stepping onto the shore where the waves lapped at your feet. The realization of the past hour was still in your mind—not just about the elders’ intentions but also the fact that your whole perception of Jeonghan had shattered today.

And, of course, just as you were attempting to collect yourself, he appeared beside you. “Escaping?”

You glanced at him. “You too?”

“Sort of.” Jeonghan walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, letting the wind ruffle his damp hair. “Figured you’d need company.”

You hesitated before blurting, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a guy?”

Jeonghan stopped mid-step. “What?”

“The whole time, I thought you were a girl, maybe a little masculine or a lesbian, but biologically, a girl. I’ve been calling you ‘Hannie,’ but that’s not even your real name. Your name was Jeonghan. You never corrected me.”

His expression shifted from confusion to pure shock. “Wait.” He turned fully to you, blinking rapidly. “You thought I was a girl?!”

You crossed your arms. “You’re really pretty with equally pretty hair. Your grandma calls you Hannie.”

Jeonghan ran a hand down his face, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Oh my god.”

“I mean, can you blame me?” You gestured vaguely at him. “Look at you.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at himself as if seeing what you saw. Then he exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You smirked. “I think it’s kind of funny.”

Jeonghan shot you a look, smirking. “I bet you do.”

You basked in the comfortable silence as you continued walking. The waves were cool against your feet, and the voices behind you grew distant. Every now and then, you caught Jeonghan glancing at you, as if still processing what you had just confessed.

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. “A girl.”

You grinned. “I’d say I’m sorry, but…”

“But you’re not.”

“Not even a little bit.”

Jeonghan let out a sharp laugh, the kind that came from deep amusement rather than disbelief this time. You got the feeling he wouldn’t let this go anytime soon.

The next morning, Jeonghan was heading downtown for an errand, and Gram suggested you go with him. “You should get out more,” she said, nudging your arm. “Let Han show you around. It’ll be good for you.”

You didn’t see a reason to refuse. The town was still unfamiliar, and a trip to the market sounded more productive than another slow morning at the guest house. Plus, you figured you might as well start your car after letting it sit idle for so long.

Which was how you found yourself in the passenger seat, watching as Jeonghan adjusted the mirrors before smoothly pulling out onto the road. He drove leisurely, one hand resting on the wheel, his other elbow propped against the window.

By the time you reached the market, the streets were busy. Stalls lined the sidewalks, vendors calling out to passersby, with the scent of fresh produce, grilled food, and sweet treats. Jeonghan was greeted warmly at every turn, engaging small talks with vendors who seemed genuinely happy to see him. He was polite, smiling when an elderly woman at a vegetable stand patted his arm and called him “our handsome Jeonghan.”

Then she turned to you. “And who is this?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Have you finally brought a girlfriend home, Hannie?”

Before you could react, Jeonghan laughed. “She’s not, but she wished she was.”

“No, I don’t!” you exclaimed.

“No need to be shy, dear,” the vendor said, grinning. “If I were a few decades younger, I’d wish I was his girlfriend too.”

You groaned while Jeonghan bit back a laugh, handing over the money before gently steering you away.

“I can’t believe you have fans in every age group,” you scoffed.

“Well, it’s a small town,” he replied, chuckling.

After finishing the errand, Jeonghan led you to a small café tucked between two shops. The place had a cozy charm—wooden tables, hanging plants, and an old vinyl player in the corner playing soft jazz.

A man behind the counter beamed when she saw him. “Jeonghan! It’s been a while.”

“Hi, Joon. I’ll have the usual,” he greeted, then turned to you. “You?”

You looked up at the menu hanging overhead, wondering what to order or if you wanted coffee at all.

Joon’s gaze flicked to you. “This must be the pretty guest Gram was talking about.”

You glanced at him, curious. Jeonghan waved a hand. “Yeah. She doesn’t get out much. I’m showing her around town.”

“You should come more often. We make the best coffee in town,” Joon said proudly. “Not that there are any other coffee shops around,” he added, chuckling. “What can I get you?”

“Uh, I’ll have what he’s having,” you said, smiling politely at him.

“Coming right up!”

Jeonghan led you to a vacant table by the window. “You come here often?” you asked.

“Now and then.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from you, resting his forearm against the table. “The owner, Joon’s mom, used to sneak me free pastries when I was a kid. I feel obligated to keep giving her business.”

Your lips quirked up. “Bribed into loyalty. Classic.”

He just laughed, watching you for a moment before asking, “What do you think of the town so far?”

You thought about it and then shrugged. “It’s charming and peaceful. Everyone seems to know each other. It’s kind of nice.”

He hummed, stirring his drink lazily. “It has its charms.”

“Well, they seem to adore you,” you noted.

He shrugged. “I’m very likeable,” he said smugly, making you laugh.

Minutes later, Joon set two iced drinks on your table before slipping away. You took a sip and raised a brow. “Oh, this is sweet. Vanilla latte?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Decaf. You don’t like sweet?”

“I do,” you admitted. “But I didn’t peg you as the type.”

Jeonghan took a sip of his own drink. “And what type did you peg me as?”

You tilted your head, pretending to analyze him. “Black coffee. No sugar. Maybe a shot of espresso if you’re feeling adventurous.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Do I look like I hate myself?”

You laughed. “No, but,” you shrugged, making him smirk.

“I’ll have you know I like nice things. Why would I suffer through bitter coffee when I could enjoy this?” He lifted his drink in emphasis.

You smirked. “So you have a sweet tooth.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Do you care what about I think of you?” you asked back, narrowing your eyes playfully.

Jeonghan just took his drink and looked out of the window, ignoring your question entirely. You didn’t press, enjoying the coffee instead and the nice ambience of the cafe.

Before heading home, Jeonghan made one last stop at the grocery store. It was bigger than you expected, with stocked shelves and a steady flow of customers.

“You work here?” you asked as you followed him inside.

He nodded. “I own it. Well, not really. It was my grandpa’s. After he passed, someone had to take over.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause. “Is that why you came back?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He picked up a basket, taking his time as he strolled past the produce section. “You could say that,” he said eventually. “I came back because Gram would be lonely by herself. She’s old now, someone has to be here and make sure she’s alright.”

You glanced at him, noting how his expression didn’t change, but something about his voice softened.

“She still works at the pear farm,” he added, shaking his head fondly. “She said she’d go crazy if she had nothing to do, so someone has to be around to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.”

Hearing that made you feel like you understood them both a little more. The quiet life they had here, the small routines that kept them moving forward—it all made sense now. You became more curious about them, but you didn’t want to pry, so instead of asking, you just took what he told you and left it at that.

As you trailed behind him, your gaze landed on the skincare aisle. “Alright, spill. Which one is it?”

Jeonghan followed your line of sight, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still on this?”

“You’re ridiculously pretty,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair that I find out how.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, then reached out, grabbed a random product, and handed it to you. “Here.”

You examined the label. “This is a body wash.”

“Exactly.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re lying.”

He smirked. “You’ll never know.”

“And if I sneak into your bathroom later?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, then smirked before saying, “I guess I'll see you there, then. I take really long showers at night, you see.”

You blinked rapidly, surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation. Clearing your throat, you put the bottle back and turned away. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

The days that followed were more eventful than the previous ones. You still helped Gram around the guesthouse, still found time to sit outside with her in the afternoons, listening to the occasional stories she decided to share. But now, there was something different about your days—Jeonghan.

He wasn’t just around anymore. He was in your space, in your routine, slipping into your life as if he had always been there. Like how he took it upon himself to be your unofficial tour guide, showing up outside the guesthouse just as you were about to head out.

“Where are you going?” he’d ask.

“I’m not sure, but I’m going around town again today,” you’d say, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

His eyes would glint with amusement. “You’ll get lost.”

“No, I won’t.”

But you always did. Turning one too many corners in the winding streets, ending up somewhere you hadn’t planned. And somehow, Jeonghan was always there, lounging by a store or leaning against a wall like he’d been waiting for you the whole time.

“You have a terrible sense of direction,” he’d say, grinning.

“And you have too much free time,” you’d shoot back, but you never minded when he fell into step beside you.

He took you everywhere. To the best lookout point in town, where the cliffs met the endless blue of the sea. To the hills, where wildflowers bloomed in untamed clusters, swaying lazily under the afternoon sun. To the pear farm, where you met Gram’s friends—hardworking women who took one look at you and started teasing.

“She’s the one staying at the guesthouse?” one of them asked Jeonghan, squinting at you. “You’re showing her around, aren’t you?”

“Something like that,” Jeonghan replied, glancing your way with a smirk.

“Ah, what a handsome pair,” the woman sighed dramatically. “You look great together. You’d make the most beautiful babies.”

You choked on your own breath while Jeonghan just laughed, handing you a pear like nothing happened.

There was also the day he dragged you onto a boat. It wasn’t planned. You had only gone to the dock to look around, but Jeonghan had other ideas.

“Ever been boating?” he asked.

You eyed him warily. “No.”

“Great.” That was your only warning before he pulled you toward a small boat, casually untying it from the dock.

“Wait—what if I get seasick?” you protested.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ll find out when we get there,” he chuckled, offering a hand to help you board the boat.

You hesitated, but you took his hand anyway. He had never done anything to disappoint you so far, so you trusted him. And despite your initial wariness, you had to admit—it was nice. The air was crisp, the water was calm, the reefs below were beautiful, and the silence between you was comforting.

At one point, Jeonghan leaned back against the edge, stretching his arms. “You like it here, don’t you?”

You glanced at him. “I do.”

He smirked. “I’d bet fifty bucks you never leave.”

You scoffed. “Never leaving is a stretch. Maybe I’d never want to, but I will anyway because I have to.”

Jeonghan flashed a mischievous smile as if you had just challenged him. “A hundred, then. You will never want to leave, and you never will.”

You rolled your eyes. “Now you’re making me want to leave just so I can take your money.”

“Are you gonna play or not?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t need it.”

Jeonghan sighed nonchalantly. “Fine. But I know I’m right.”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between stolen pears and getting lost in town, between late afternoon coffees and spontaneous boat rides, you had started to enjoy his company. And maybe he had started to enjoy yours, too.

That afternoon, as you and Jeonghan strolled back home, he glanced at you and asked, “You free tonight?”

You arched a brow. “Why?”

“It’s Joon’s birthday,” he said. “He’s having a small party at the café. Just us and some friends. He invited you too.”

You hesitated. “He did?”

Jeonghan smirked. “He mentioned it the other day. You probably forgot.”

You did remember Joon casually saying something about it, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A small celebration at the café didn’t sound bad, and truthfully, you weren’t opposed to seeing other people your age, too. Most of the people you’d seen around were old enough to be your grandparents.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll come.”

“Good. We can go together.”

Later that evening, you followed Jeonghan to the café, which was livelier than usual. Warm lights glowed from the ceilings, the scent of coffee still permeating the air though none of it was being served now. All you could see on the table were bottles of soju and beer, spicy and fried food, and a cake sitting at the center.

The small space had been rearranged to fit a gathering, with a handful of tables pushed together. A few people were already there, chatting, laughing, clinking glasses. Most of them seemed around your age, and it didn’t take long to notice that many of them were couples.

“Jeonghannie hyung!” Joon’s voice rang out the moment you stepped inside. He grinned, wiping his hands on a towel before pulling him into a quick hug. Then he turned to you. “And look who actually came. Finally.”

You scoffed. “Happy birthday, Joon. And I do go outside, you know.”

“Only because Jeonghan drags you everywhere,” he teased, earning a snicker from Jeonghan himself. “Come in. Let me introduce you.”

You met a few of Jeonghan’s friends. You barely remembered their names, but it didn’t take long to notice that most of them had grown up together—and many had ended up marrying each other. Seola was also there, curled up beside a guy, her arm draped lazily over his.

“You made it,” she said, smiling when she saw you.

“I did.” You nodded toward the guy beside her. “Boyfriend?”

She nodded. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “Joon said he invited you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show.”

You shrugged. “Figured I should experience the town’s nightlife at least once.”

Seola laughed. “This is about as lively as it gets.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “So, you and Jeonghan, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not this again.”

“What? You don’t like him?”

“He’s fine, but he annoys me a lot.”

She laughed. “That’s how you know he likes you.”

Before you could protest, Joon clapped his hands together. “Alright, drinks are on me tonight. Eat, drink, have fun!”

“Happy birthday, Joon!”

The evening unraveled in a blur. There was food, laughter, and lots of conversation. At some point, someone turned on music, and people started to sway along. Jeonghan stuck to your side for most of the night, occasionally teasing you, occasionally offering you bites of his cake as if you didn’t have your own. You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until a few guests started nodding off in their seats, the conversations had grown louder, and the laughter became more unrestrained over the clinking of bottles and half-finished drinks.

Joon was already passed out on the table by the time you and Jeonghan decided to leave. His friends—still rowdy despite the late hour—bid you both a noisy farewell, slurring words and waving exaggeratedly as they walked you out the café doors.

The night air greeted you like a sigh of relief, cool against your warmed skin. You stretched your arms above your head, exhaling contentedly. “It’s nice out.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the two of you strolled down the quiet village road. “Yeah. I should thank you for coming tonight. Because of you, I wasn’t assigned to take care of Joon. He gets drunk so quickly and I have to clean up after him most of the time.”

You laughed, tilting your head toward him. “You’re welcome? I guess? I thought he could hold his liquor because he kept insisting he could outdrink everyone.”

“Well, he’s also the best liar among all of my friends too, so…” he replied, making you chuckle. The alcohol had settled pleasantly in your system, making it easy to laugh at whatever nonsense he spewed.

“You held your liquor pretty well,” he remarked, side-eyeing you with a smirk.

You grinned. “I have a high tolerance.”

“Almost as high as mine.”

“Almost?” You scoffed. “I was drinking at your pace all night, and I’m still standing. Do you see me stumbling into ditches or tripping over my own feet?”

Jeonghan smirked, challenging. “Well, not yet.”

You gasped, feigning offence. Eager to prove him wrong, you stepped ahead, turning to walk backward easily. Arms spread wide, you gave him a smug grin. “Look at that. Not tripping.”

That made him laugh and shake his head fondly as he beckoned you back to his side. “Alright, fine. You can walk.”

“I’m not even drunk at all,” you said, falling into step beside him.

“Yeah? How’s your balance?” he asked just before bumping his shoulder into yours, playful, teasing.

You almost tripped over yourself, but regained your balance in time. Scoffing, you nudged him back. He nudged harder, almost making you lose your footing again. Huffing, you shoved him, but he didn’t budge. Before you could react, Jeonghan caught you by the shoulders, pulling you flush against him.

The sudden closeness sent a jolt through you—not from surprise, but from the unmistakable heat of his body against yours.

And you didn’t pull away.

Maybe it was the alcohol making you more uninhibited, or maybe you simply wanted this too. You weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to think about it too much.

Neither of you spoke,as you both continued walking. His hands remained firm on your shoulders, like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. And you basked in the warmth of it, not even noticing that you were gradually leaning closer against him.

But then a sharp bark split through the silence, making you flinch and pull away from him. A dog stood behind a fence nearby, watching you both with wary eyes, still growling slightly. You held your breath, staring back at it. Then it barked once more, and you squealed.

“Run,” said Jeonghan, but you were already bolting.

The two of you raced through the empty streets, feet pounding against the road, breathless laughter echoing into the night. He nearly overtook you, but you darted ahead at the last second, reaching the guesthouse gate just before he did.

Panting, you turned to gloat—only to freeze when you realized how close he had stopped. Face-to-face, no, face-to-chest with Jeonghan, who was also catching his breath. You stood there, chest rising and falling, staring at each other in the dim glow of the streetlamp.

He looked ethereal under the yellow light, his hair slightly tousled from the wind, his lips parted as he exhaled. There was something almost dreamlike about the way he gazed at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, as if he were seeing something in you he hadn’t before.

The cool night air did nothing to ease the heat creeping up your skin. You were still drunk, or maybe just lightheaded from the run, but it was hard to focus on anything except how close he was—how easily he could reach for you if he wanted to.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

Maybe you were. But you were also a little drunk. And he was very, very handsome.

So you said it. “You’re so handsome.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d told him that, but this time, he didn’t laugh like he usually did. Instead, he stared at you with a soft expression on his face. Then, slowly, his eyes dipped lower, stopping on your lips. You did the same, your eyes landing on his plump lips, so pretty, so inviting.

For the first time, the thought crossed your mind.

What would it feel like to kiss him?

Would he be slow about it, teasing? Would he pull you in lazily, like it wasn’t anything special? Or would it be something else—something that would leave you breathless and light-headed?

“We should get inside,” he said, eyes still fixed on your lips.

You nodded. But neither of you moved. He didn’t touch you, but you felt it anyway—the intensity of his gaze, the way he stared at your lips.

Would he kiss you if you leaned in first? The thought was dangerous. But you couldn’t help it, not when he looked at you like that, like he was thinking the same thing.

Jeonghan exhaled deeply, like he had just come to a decision. He took a slow step toward you to close the distance and your entire body awoke with anticipation. Just as he was about to reach for your face, the gate rattled loudly.

Both of you jumped as it swung open, revealing a very awake, very confused Gram. “What are you two doing standing there?” she asked, peering at you both suspiciously.

Jeonghan, ever the smooth talker, recovered first. “We were just about to go inside, Gram.”

Gram squinted at him before clicking her tongue. “If you’re gonna flirt with our guest, at least do it inside where it’s warm.”

Your face heated instantly. “We weren’t—”

“Mm-hmm,” she cut you off, unimpressed. “Come on in, it’s late.”

She turned, leaving the gate open for you to follow. You swallowed, glancing back at Jeonghan who was watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Then, with a slight smirk, he gestured toward the door.

“After you,” he murmured.

You weren’t entirely sure what had just happened between you. But you had a feeling it wasn’t nothing.

You had barely finished setting down Gram’s breakfast tray when she sighed and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I swear, I feel fine,” she insisted, but the slight rasp in her voice and the warm touch of her skin told a different story.

“Gram, you have a fever.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “A slight fever never kills anyone.”

“Should I take you to a clinic?” you asked, but she shook her head.

“No need. I just need some rest,” she said, patting your hand. At that moment, Gram’s friends arrived with hearty chatter and warm smiles.

“How are you feeling?” one of them asked, squinting at Gram sprawled on the couch.

“I’m fine, but I’m worried about Hannie. He’s at the farm handling the inventory today, but it’s too much for one person,” Gram said, sighing almost too dramatically.

“Oh no, the poor boy,” said another who turned to you with a suspicious grin on her lips. “You should go help him.”

Another grandma agreed. “Oh, my. Yes, dear. You should.”

You hesitated. “I don’t wanna leave Gram alone—”

“She won’t be alone. We’re here,” said another, already nudging you out of the way.

“Go on, dear. Fret not. We’ll take care of her. We’ll make her soup.”

“She’ll be fine. You think we don’t know how to take care of one of our own?”

You hesitated, looking back at Gram, but she only chuckled weakly. “Go on. You’ll be more useful there than fussing over me.”

So you went. Jeonghan looked genuinely surprised when you arrived at the farm. He was sitting on a crate with a clipboard in one hand and a pen on the other. He took one look at you and cocked his head.

“Hi. What are you doing here? How’s Gram?”

“She’s fine her friends came over. She sent me here to help,” you said, brushing past him. “Said you had too much to do alone.”

Jeonghan snorted. “Did she now?” He leaned back, arms crossed. “Was it her or the other women?”

You frowned. “Um, all of them? Why does it matter?”

He smirked. “You’ve been tricked.”

“Tricked?”

“They’ve been trying to marry me off for years. This is exactly the kind of thing they’d do. Trick a poor, unsuspecting woman into spending time alone with me."

“Excuse me?” You blinked, thrown off. “And you just… let them?”

“They mean well. Just desperate to see me settled. Been at it for about four years now. And there’s not much I can do.” He shrugged, tapping the pen against the clipboard. “Besides, it doesn’t happen often. There aren’t that many women around my age who are still single. So when someone new shows up, they start getting ideas. Poor Seola kept getting baited on her first week here.”

That sent a rush of heat up your neck. You looked away, pretending to inspect the baskets of pears stacked nearby. “Well, sorry to disappoint them, but I’m only here to help.”

“Right,” he said, his voice laced with something teasing. “Strictly business.”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “Strictly business.”

“You’re not here thinking about how you almost kissed me a few nights ago.”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, indignant. You pointed a finger at him. “You almost kissed—” then pointed the finger at your chest— “me. Get your facts straight!”

Jeonghan chuckled but didn’t push it further. Instead, he handed you a clipboard and gestured toward the stacks of wooden crates. “If you insist on helping, you can double-check these counts while I finish up the rest.”

You huffed but took the clipboard anyway, moving toward the crates while he returned to his own work. The quiet stretched between you—not uncomfortable, but filled with a hyper-awareness that had been there for days now, ever since that one drunken moment outside the guest house.

You focused on counting and scribbling notes, but every so often, you caught glimpses of Jeonghan moving nearby. He worked with efficiency, sleeves rolled up, hands deftly sorting through the inventory. The sunlight filtering through the trees left patterns over his skin, making him look almost too picturesque for a man just organizing pears.

At one point, you were so absorbed in pretending not to be aware of him that you lost your footing, nearly stumbling over a crate. Jeonghan glanced up from where he was standing, just as you had steadied yourself.

“Careful,” he said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want Gram’s ‘strictly business’ helper to break something.”

You shot him a glare. “I tripped over a crate. Nothing to break here.”

He smirked. “Still, I’d be devastated if you got hurt on my watch. What would the old ladies say? Probably accuse me of mistreating my future wife.”

You groaned. “Can you not bringing that up?”

“Why? Does it bother you?”

Yes. Maybe. A little. You weren’t sure. But instead of answering, you tossed a pear at him. He caught it effortlessly, turning it over in his hand.

“You’re very defensive,” he mused, biting into the pear.

“And you’re very annoying,” you shot back, before returning to your clipboard.

The work continued. He teased you every now and then and you’d retort but mostly tried to drown him out. By the time you finished your part of the task, you felt the kind of exhaustion that wasn’t just physical.

Jeonghan stretched, rolling out his shoulders. “I think that’s good for today.”

“Great,” you said, setting down your clipboard. “Then I’ll—”

Before you could finish, rain started falling. It was so sudden that you both stood there for a second, blinking up at the sky as the cool droplets hit your skin. Soon, you realized it wasn’t stopping, and Jeonghan nudged your arm.

“Run to the warehouse,” he said, pointing to the warehouse which looked so far away. “Go,” he repeated, and you started running.

You reached it in no time, but not without getting soaked. Inside, the space was dry, the scent of cardboard boxes and ripened pears filling the air. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking off the water clinging to your skin. Jeonghan leaned against the doorway, watching the rain with furrowed brows.

He glanced at you a few moments later. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, rubbing your arms. “The weather was so nice today. I didn’t think it would rain.”

“Well, the weather likes to be unpredictable sometimes,” he said, gaze drifting over you before he reached for something on a nearby shelf—a folded blanket. He tossed it over your shoulders without a word.

You blinked. “Where did that come from?”

“Emergency stash,” he said simply. “Most of the workers here are old women. They prepare for anything and everything.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling it tighter around yourself.

Jeonghan just hummed, still watching the rain. And for a while, neither of you spoke. The world outside was misty and gray, but in here, it was warm and quiet. The warehouse was fairly large, but the space between you felt small. And it may be because the place was packed with endless crates of pears and shelves of pear products.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that before he turned toward you fully, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“You really don’t mind being here, do you?” he mused.

You frowned. “Well, I didn’t but if I had known it would rain, I wouldn’t have come up here at all.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant in this town. At the guesthouse. Helping out on some pear farm.”

You thought about it, about the slow mornings, the sense of peace you’d been trying to chase, the way you’d felt so much more at ease these days.

“I don’t mind,” you admitted, leaning back against the wall. “It’s… nice. No deadlines to chase. No stuck-up superiors breathing down my neck. No endless stack of workload to bury my face in.” You sighed in relief, smiling absentmindedly. “It’s really nice.”

“What happened?” he asked, joining you in your corner. “Back in the city?”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged. “I’m just taking a break from corporate life.”

“I see,” he replied, unconvinced but knew better than press for answers you weren’t ready to share.

The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the roof of the warehouse and soaking the ground outside. You could hear the soft trickle of water running off the edges of the roof, pooling into the dirt. The crates of pears sat forgotten outside, and you wondered if they’d be fine, though seeing Jeonghan not worrying about it made you assume they would be.

You noticed how Jeonghan shivered slightly, damp clothes clinging to his skin. “Cold?” you asked.

He shook his head, but you could tell he was lying. You scooted closer to him and draped the blanket over his shoulder, too. It was then that you realized that it was a small blanket, just enough to wrap around you but too small for the two of you.

Jeonghan chuckled. “Thanks, but I don’t think this is helping.”

“Right?” you replied, chuckling.

He shifted slightly, lifting one arm and draping it over your shoulder. You hesitated at first, but you let him pull you closer, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. He rubbed your arm with his hand, squeezing gently in an attempt to fight the cold against your skin. It worked, though not well enough.

“How long do you think this rain will last?” you asked, slowly leaning against his chest.

Jeonghan hummed, and you felt his chest vibrate. “Not too long, I think. An hour at most. Maybe half.”

“My car is just below the hill. I should have driven it all the way up here,” you sighed, closing your eyes.

“You didn’t know this would happen,” he said, rubbing your shoulder. “Did you see my pickup down there? I didn’t drive up, too.”

You chuckled, pulling away to look at him. You were gonna say something, but the way he was looking at you made you hold your breath.

His gaze was steady, searching, as if something was fascinating about your face. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just looked, and something about it sent a slow, burning heat in your chest. Your gaze drifted lower. His lips were slightly parted, and you knew—just as you had known that night outside the guesthouse—that this was going to happen.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One moment, there was space between you; the next, Jeonghan was leaning in, and your fingers had curled against the fabric of his shirt. His lips met yours. A slow, quick peck. Barely a kiss at all—just a taste. But then you exhaled, and he was kissing you again, properly this time.

Soft and lingering like he was savoring the moment, like he had thought about it and now that it was happening, he didn’t want to rush. His lips were warm, even with the cold outside. You responded without thinking, tilting your head, pressing closer. Your fingers tightened in his shirt. He hummed against your lips, low and pleased, his other hand finding the small of your back and pressing you closer. The blanket slipped from your shoulders, but you barely noticed.

Jeonghan angled his head, his hand sliding up to your jaw, thumb stroking just under your ear. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing you into parting for him. A quiet sound escaped you, something between a sigh and a gasp, and that was all it took for him to press you back against wall, his body flush against yours.

The heat between you burned hotter than the cold rain. His hands roamed, brushing over the curve of your hips, slipping under the hem of your shirt to find the warmth of your skin. You gasped against his mouth at the sensation, fingers tightening in his shirt.

He took that as encouragement. His lips left yours only to trail lower, to your jaw, and down to your neck. You shivered—not from the cold, but from the way he touched you. Your own hands moved, pushing beneath his damp shirt, palms pressing against his stomach. He let out a quiet, surprised laugh before he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier.

The rain outside blurred into nothing. It was just him. His lips, his hands, the heat of him against you. But then, he stopped, pulling away just enough to look at you. His fingers flexed against your waist, as if holding himself back.

He pressed his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply as he asked, “Is this okay?”

The words sent a jolt through you, cutting through the haze of heat and desire clouding your thoughts. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and for the first time since kissing him, you could hear the rain again—the steady downpour, the distant rumble of thunder.

Reality came crashing in, making you pull back slightly with a shaky breath. Your hands gripping his shirt loosened. His gaze searched yours, unreadable but patient. He was waiting.

“I…” You swallowed, looking away. “We shouldn’t.”

There was a second of silence, Jeonghan’s hand leaving your waist and reaching up to tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then he planted a soft kiss on your forehead and said, “Okay.”

You weren’t sure if the cold you felt now was from the rain or from something else entirely. But it was gone as soon as he pulled you into a hug.

“But we can do this, right?”

You chuckled lightly, closing your eyes and basking in his warmth. “Yeah,” you replied, wrapping your arms around him too. “Yeah, we can.”

You tossed and turned all night, replaying every moment at the warehouse. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he touched you with veneration, the addicting heat that had consumed you. All of it.

It was just the heat of the moment, you told yourself. Just a fleeting lapse of judgment, nothing more. But the longer you lay there, the more you realized you were lying.

You wanted it. You liked it. And you liked Jeonghan.

It wasn’t just your imagination. You didn’t imagine the way your heart raced when he kissed you. You didn’t imagine the sparks of pleasure dancing on your skin when he touched you. You didn’t imagine the way you melted in his arms when he held you close until the rain stopped.

You were still trying to come to terms with it when you heard faint voices outside. Curious, you pushed yourself up and peered through the window.

Outside, it was the early hours of dawn. In the dim dawn light, Jeonghan stood with Gram by the shed, lifting the lids off large clay crocks. Even though you couldn’t hear them, it wasn’t hard to guess what they were doing—Gram was transferring kimchi into a large container, with Jeonghan helping her.

As if sensing your gaze, he suddenly glanced up and caught you watching. You froze when his gaze met yours. But Jeonghan just smiled and raised a hand in a lazy wave, which you returned sheepishly.

Then he sent kisses your way, gestured that it was still too early, and mouthed that you should go back to sleep. Clearly, he had no idea you hadn’t slept a wink yet.

You huffed but nodded anyway, and just as you pulled back from the window, you heard Gram say something. Jeonghan turned to her, his head tilting in mock innocence, and you could imagine her scolding him for slacking off. Smiling to yourself, you shut your window and crawled back into bed.

As expected, you woke up late the next morning. It was almost noon, but it was the weekend, so you knew Jeonghan and Gram would be home all day. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Gram told you over lunch that he had gone to the city to visit his parents. You only nodded in response, pretending it didn’t affect you. But as the day stretched on, you found yourself missing him.

Which was stupid.

He was just a guy—a good-looking guy, yes, but that didn’t mean anything. Good-looking guys had a way of making you think you liked them when you really didn’t. Besides, liking Jeonghan wasn’t part of the plan. You had come here for peace and quiet—to breathe and to heal, not to get swept up in whatever this was.

So you spent the day distracting yourself—helping Gram in the kitchen, reading in the shade, taking a walk along the shore. Anything to push thoughts of him away. The more you did, the more you convinced yourself that you didn’t like him that much.

You weren’t that attached to him. You didn’t care that he wasn’t around, didn’t notice the way the day felt quieter without him. You weren’t thinking about the way he always leaned too close when he talked or how he made even the dullest moments entertaining.

Would he be back today? Tomorrow? Would he have texted you if you had exchanged numbers?

Stop it. This wasn’t you. You didn’t get flustered over a guy. You didn’t sit around waiting like some lovesick idiot. You were better than this.

You were fine. Your thoughts kept circling back to him, but you were fine. You just needed to reset. Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’d be back to normal.

So you sat outside on the porch after dinner, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him. You were just enjoying the evening air after a hearty meal. You weren’t glancing at the road every few minutes. You weren’t hoping he’d arrive before you ran out of reasons to stay outside.

Then, as if answering an unspoken wish, Jeonghan’s pickup came rolling into view, kicking up dust along the quiet road. The second you saw it, the day seemed brighter, and your heart felt lighter, warmer.

Oh.

So this was it. This was what it felt like to really like someone.

Jeonghan parked his truck and hopped out, already smiling from ear to ear as he walked over to where you were sitting on the porch. “Waiting for me?” he asked, opening his arms as if he was waiting for you to jump into them.

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. “No. I’m just getting some air.”

Jeonghan raised his brows. “You could’ve just lied and said you were. You’re hurting my feelings here.”

“I— what?”

He sighed, pouting. “I’m hurt because you’d been on my mind all day, and I couldn’t wait to come home and see you again.”

You blinked, suddenly feeling too warm despite the cool night air. The way he said it so smoothly, so easily, like it was just a simple fact, left you scrambling for a response. But nothing came.

Neither of you spoke.

Instead, you just stood there, staring at each other in the warm porch light. He didn’t even try to laugh it off or take it back so your heart thudded a little harder, unsure what to make of this.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Gram stepped out. “Hannie, you’re back so soon,” she greeted, eyeing him up and down. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“I did,” he answered, stepping back slightly. “I picked up something to eat on my way here.”

Gram huffed. “You should get some rest, then. You must be tired. Why didn’t you just spend the night at your parents’ house? Driving back and forth like that—” She gave him a knowing look, voice lilting with mischief. “It almost seems like you were excited to come home for some reason.”

You caught the implication immediately. Jeonghan did too, if the way he smirked was any indication.

“You’re right, Gram,” he said without missing a beat. Then, with a glance at you, he added, “Actually, I was wondering if I could take the reason out for a stroll.”

Gram barely spared him a glance as she waved a hand dismissively. “Do whatever you want.” She turned back toward the house, muttering, “Young people these days. So forward. Too liberated.”

And just like that, she was gone. You, however, were still standing there, completely dumbfounded.

You turned to Jeonghan, who was watching you with an all-too-pleased expression. He tilted his head toward the road.

“So? You coming?”

You walked in silence for the first few minutes. You were expecting Jeonghan to start the conversation because, obviously, he should be the one making conversation. There were plenty of things he could start with, like clarifying what he meant when he implied that you were the reason he chose to come home right away despite the long drive.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he finally asked, leaning down slightly to peek at your face.

You turned away. “No. What would I even say to you?”

Jeonghan straightened up, huffing. “I practically spelled it out for you, and you have nothing to say?”

You stopped in your tracks, exhaling sharply as you ran a hand over your nape. “Okay, what the hell is this? How about communicating clearly and more openly like grown adults instead of whatever this is?”

Jeonghan turned fully to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was light when he said, “I like you.”

For a second, your mind went completely blank. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then let out a breath. “Are you sure?”

His brows furrowed. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean—” You gestured vaguely. “It’s not just because of yesterday? Maybe it’s a momentary lapse of judgment. We kissed, and there was…” You hesitated to say it. “...a moment, and now you think you like me because of it.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, then asked, “Are you drunk?”

“No.” You shot him a look. “Jeonghan, I’m serious.”

He chuckled, but when he spoke again, he was serious. “No, it’s not just because of yesterday. I don’t pull something like that on just anyone. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“Why?”

He grimaced, like he couldn’t believe you had to ask. “What do you mean why? Because I do. You’re pretty and nice. You’re smart. You’re good with kids, good with elders.” His voice was steady, without hesitation. “I’m not in love with you or anything. Not yet, at least. I just think you’re… amazing. And honestly, I wasn’t planning to act on it.”

You frowned. “Then why are you?”

“Because,” he said, watching you closely, “I think you like me too.”

Your pulse quickened. “No, I don’t,” you lied, shamelessly.

Jeonghan’s was menacingly confident. “Yes, you do.”

You rolled your eyes and walked ahead, heading straight for the beach. He followed closely behind, undeterred. “Come on, I’m being honest here.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?” you asked, not even glancing back.

“Nothing. Just—” He caught up to you and slipped his hand into yours. “At least tell me you heard what I said.”

“I did.”

“So? What do you think?”

You sighed, pulling your hand back. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

And truly, you hadn’t. You liked him too, yes. But what to do about it? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did you want a relationship with him? Were you going to act on your feelings or pretend none of this ever happened? You haven’t decided yet.

That didn’t seem to discourage him, though. If anything, his smile turned triumphant. “So you’re gonna think about it?”

“Even if I do, there’s no guarantee that—”

“It’s alright,” he cut you off, grinning. “I know I can change your mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re making me want to reject you just to spite you.”

Jeonghan laughed, his head tipping back as he did. “You can try, but you wouldn’t want to.”

That made you laugh, too, though you weren’t sure if it was because it was funny or because he was right. Either way, it didn’t matter. You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “You’re really confident, huh?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “It’s not confidence. I just know I’m right.”

You scoffed, lightly kicking sand at him. He dodged with a laugh, but you caught the way he was still looking at you—like he already knew what you’d decide.

You weren’t sure exactly when Jeonghan decided to start his little mission, but once he did, it became impossible to ignore. Maybe it was when he started showing up more often, always finding excuses to be around you. Maybe it was when he started helping you without being asked—fixing the latch on your door when it got stuck, carrying things before you could, slipping you an extra slice of fruit without a word.

Or maybe it was when he stopped being subtle about it.

“You’re really going all out with this, aren’t you?” you asked him one afternoon when he took the heavy bag of groceries from your hands. One moment, you were struggling with the weight, and the next, he was lifting it effortlessly—like he’d been waiting for the chance.

“This isn’t even half of it.” He flashed you a smile. “Date me for real, and I’ll show you what all-out really means.”

At first, it was playful, something you could brush off. Jeonghan was naturally charming; he knew exactly what to say and how to say it to fluster you.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I might get the wrong idea,” he’d tease whenever you so much as glanced his way.

But then there were moments when the teasing fell away, leaving something else in its place.

One evening, after a long day, you sat on the porch, stretching your legs and watching the sky change from gold to deep blue. Jeonghan appeared beside you, holding two cups of tea. He handed you one without a word, then sat down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” he said, propping himself on his hands. “Gram told me you liked this kind.”

You turned to look at him, but he was already watching you. The usual mischief in his eyes had softened into something else. You looked away first.

But if his actions weren’t enough, he made sure everyone else knew he liked you, too.

It wasn’t over the top—no grand declarations or dramatic gestures. Jeonghan was smoother than that. He let people assume what they wanted and simply confirmed it with a smile. He wove it so naturally into conversations that it left no room for argument.

“You’re a good boy, Jeonghan,” a man at the market told him one day. “I should introduce you to my niece. She’s a lovely girl—smart, well-mannered—”

Jeonghan barely let him finish before shaking his head. “Ah, that won’t be necessary,” he said, glancing at you. “I already have someone I like.”

The man’s gaze flickered between you both before he let out a knowing laugh. “Oh, I see. You two make a nice couple.”

Before you could open your mouth to correct him, Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “I know, right? But she’s making me work for it.”

“Well, keep at it then.”

You groaned, moving to another stall before he could make it worse. But it didn’t stop there. As you browsed through vegetables, another vendor—a woman in her forties—raised an eyebrow at you. “You two seem close,” she said knowingly. “Are you finally together?”

Jeonghan sighed again, this time heavier, as if burdened. “Not yet. She’s making me suffer.”

You turned to glare at him. “Oh my god, stop saying that.”

The vendor laughed. “Smart girl. Make him work for it, dear.”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

At the market, the vendors chuckled and nodded approvingly when he sighed about how hard he was working to win you over. At the café, the barista raised an eyebrow when Jeonghan ordered your drink before you could even say it.

“He’s already ordering for you,” she mused, sliding the cup across the counter. “Boyfriend privileges?”

Jeonghan took the cup and handed it to you without missing a beat. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

You swatted his arm. “Why do you keep telling everyone that?”

“What? It’s true.” He looked at the barista. “She is making me work for it.”

The barista laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a good shot.”

“Exactly.” He flashed her a grin before steering you toward a table.

Then there were the aunties. The older women in town had a habit of doting on Jeonghan whenever they saw him, always fussing over how handsome he was, how polite. And, naturally, they always tried to set him up with their nieces or granddaughters.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right, Hannie?” one of them asked one afternoon as you both helped carry groceries to her house.

“No, but I’m trying,” Jeonghan replied.

The auntie’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, dear, you should consider it. He’s a catch.”

Jeonghan turned to you, smirking. “Hear that? I’m a catch.”

You rolled your eyes and walked off, pretending not to hear the rest of their conversation.

But despite all his teasing, despite how easy he made it seem, you could tell he meant it. The way he always lingered close, the way he took things from your hands without asking so you wouldn’t have to carry them, the way he looked at you—warm, steady, reassuring. He wasn’t playing around.

Soon, three months had passed and the town’s founding anniversary festival came. The celebration took place at the townhall by the beach, with tables stretched across the clearing. The scent of grilled fish and food blended with the salty breeze, and children ran barefoot across the sand, shrieking as they chased each other. It was the kind of gathering that felt timeless, a tradition that was part of the town itself.

You watched from the shade of a large tree, with a cup of cold barley tea in your hands. The scene before you was lively, familiar now, yet something inside you was restless.

Jeonghan was at the center of it all.

You weren’t sure when you lost track of him, but now, across the clearing, you spotted him with a group of aunties fussing over him. One of them reached up to pinch his cheek, scolding him for not eating enough, and he only laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder and promising to come by for dinner next week. Not far from them, a group of kids tugged at his sleeves, demanding that he join their game. He let them drag him off with a grin, playfully ruffling a boy’s hair as they ran.

He was so at home here. And a strange feeling twisted in your chest as you took it all in—the way people naturally gravitated toward him, the way he moved through the crowd like he belonged, because he did. He had a place here, something his, something permanent.

And you… you were just passing through. A guest in their steady everyday life.

Strong breeze rustled the trees overhead, and you exhaled, as if trying to shake the thoughts away. It shouldn’t matter. You knew from the start that this was temporary, that eventually, you’d have to leave. Which was why the idea of starting something with him felt so selfish.

Across the clearing, Jeonghan’s gaze caught yours and the smile that tore across his lips made your heart melt. You smiled back as he chased the kids away and started jogging toward you.

“Why do you look like that?” he asked as soon as he was sat next to you.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He carefully grabbed the cup from your hand and took a sip. “Like you’re about to cry.”

You huffed, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeonghan crouched beside you, resting his forearms on his knees, watching you carefully. “You’re thinking too hard about something,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” You looked away, but he reached out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re a bad liar.”

You sighed. “It’s just… it’s really nice here,” you admitted, gesturing toward the gathering. “You’re really part of this town, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Of course. I grew up here.”

“Exactly.” You let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “You belong here, Jeonghan. This is your home. And I’m just a guest.”

He studied you for a second, then said, “Is that what this is about?”

You shook your head, but it was unconvincing, even to yourself. Jeonghan exhaled, then reached up, lightly flicking your forehead.

You winced. “Ow—what was that for?”

“For being stupid.” He rested his chin on his hand. “You think just because I’ve lived here longer, that means I belong here more than you?”

“You do, though,” you muttered.

“Maybe.” His gaze softened. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because wasn’t that the problem? No matter how much you loved this town, it wasn’t yours. And if you started something with him, would it really be fair, knowing you’d have to leave eventually?

Jeonghan must have sensed your hesitation because his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I can’t help it,” you chuckled.

“It’s okay.” He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Just don’t talk yourself out of liking me.”

Shaking your head with a grin, you said, “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he replied, still holding your hand, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin.

You were staring at each other when someone called your name. “Enough with the eyes! Come help us with the lanterns,” one of the women called, waving you over to where a group of ladies sat beneath a pavilion.

Jeonghan rose to his feet, patting his knees as he said, “Go on, then.”

But before you could pull away, he leaned in to press a quick peck to your cheek. Your skin burned as a chorus of delighted gasps and giggles erupted from the women.

“Oh my,” someone cooed.

You turned to glare at Jeonghan but he was already walking away with a satisfied grin. “I’ll see you later,” he said casually, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just done that in broad daylight, in front of an entire audience.

You inhaled sharply, willing your face to cool before reluctantly stepping toward the pavilion. It didn’t help that all eyes were on you, their smirks making it painfully clear that you were about to be teased the moment you step under that shade.

“Oh, look at her,” one of them teased, nudging another. “Her face is all red.”

“About time, don’t you think?” another woman drawled, folding the paper carefully over the frame. “They’ve been at it for weeks now. It’s a wonder why they’re not dating yet.”

“You’re not?” asked one, turning to you with curious eyes.

You blinked, chuckling awkwardly as you sat down. “No. We’re not.”

You glanced around at the lanterns in progress, carefully folded and held together with thin wooden frames. “So how does this work?” you asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Ah, you’ve never done this before?” one of them asked, already making space in front of you. “Here. let me show you.”

“Flying lanterns are part of the festival. Every year, we make these, light them up at night and send them out to sea,” another explained, demonstrating how to fasten the frame together. “Most people make wishes on them before letting them go.”

You nodded, watching her hands. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Some people write their wishes down, but most just send them off and let fate handle the rest.”

The conversation wandered after that. The women shared stories about past festivals, about childhood memories, about their work, their families. Some had left the town for a time but eventually returned. Others had never left at all and found both their purpose and their love in this small town.

“Isn’t it funny how life works?” one of them mused. “Some of us spend years wanting to leave, only to realize later that there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.”

A few nodded in agreement, their expressions wistful. You listened quietly, fingers tracing the smooth paper of your lantern.

You never thought about staying, not once. This town had been an escape, a peaceful pause in your fast-paced life. But somehow, it kept drawing you in. You used to feel like a visitor passing through, but then there were mornings spent sipping tea with Gram, evenings watching the fishermen return with their catch, and nights when laughter—yours and Jeonghan’s—echoed through the town. Eventually, it got to a point where when you looked up, the sky was no longer unfamiliar. The people here weren’t strangers anymore.

And Jeonghan…

“You know,” another woman started, glancing at you with a knowing smile, “there’s a popular myth about these lanterns.”

That got your attention. “A myth?”

“It’s probably just that, a myth with no truth to it,” she said lightly, her hands expertly tying a knot, “but it’s been passed down longer than anyone can remember. They say that you can make wishes when you send out a lantern, but if you send one with your lover, it’s a wish to stay together forever.”

You smiled, finding it unsurprisingly typical but interesting nonetheless. “That’s… romantic.”

“That’s why couples always do it together,” another woman added, grinning. “It’s tradition.”

The first woman turned to you again. “Has Jeonghan asked you to send one with him yet?”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Then again, you should have expected the conversation to take this turn. Before you could answer, another woman let out a laugh. “Of course he has! He wouldn’t miss the chance.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing there was no way out of this. If you admitted that Jeonghan hadn’t asked, they’d tease him mercilessly. If you denied everything outright, they wouldn’t believe you. So instead, you focused on your lantern, pretending to be engrossed in aligning the edges.

The women continued chatting around you, discussing the upcoming lantern release, while your thoughts drifted.

Jeonghan hadn’t asked you to send one with him. Would he?

And if he did… would you say yes?

You waited for him to ask. Maybe it was foolish, but as the day stretched into the night and festivalgoers started making their way to the beach with lanterns in hand, you kept expecting Jeonghan to turn to you and say something. An invitation, even a playful one—anything that would suggest he wanted to go together.

But he never did. And somehow, you still ended up going with him. Not that you were expecting to go with someone else.

There was a mini talent show by the beach, with townsfolk participating by singing or dancing. Jeonghan had simply taken your hand and led you away from the main stage, settling on a low stone wall far from the noise of the crowd. From where you sat, the music was still within reach but the space around you was quiet.

He left to get food and returned not too long after, making you raise an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

Jeonghan handed you a skewer with a smirk. “Don’t ask, just eat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you still took the food. You talked over the hearty food. He complained about how long the lines were, you accused him of cutting them. He neither confirmed nor denied it, only smiled in that way that said maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

At some point, his gaze drifted to the lantern resting beside you.

“Did you make that?”

You hummed, nodding. “Where’s yours?”

He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. “I don’t need one.”

You glanced at him. “Why not?” You instinctively pushed the lanter away from him. “You are not taking mine.”

He frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to send one together?”

You stared at him, heat creeping up your cheeks. “W–What are you talking about?”

Jeonghan smirked teasingly. “So you already know the myth?”

You blinked but didn’t say anything. He turned his head toward you. “You’re not gonna make me go light one alone, will you?”

You scoffed. “Is this how you’re gonna ask me to light one with you? Surely you can do better.”

“Asking is for people who don’t get what they want.”

You let out an incredulous laugh and rolled your eyes. “Have fun lighting one by yourself then.”

He hummed, seemingly satisfied. For a moment, the conversation paused, the music from a young girl singing a ballad echoing through the cool night air. The warm glow of festival lights flickered over Jeonghan’s features as he watched you eat quietly and watch the show.

Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “What would you wish for?”

That made you glance at him, looking away just as quickly when you saw the fond look in his eyes. You cleared your throat. “I don’t know. Peace, maybe.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Like world peace? That’s so generic.”

“No. Peace in my own life,” you corrected, scoffing.

He hummed. “That’s not what most people wish for.”

“Yeah? What do most people wish for?”

He leaned back on his hands again, gazing toward the dark sea. “Love, money… fame?” He smirked. “A kiss under the fireworks.”

You chuckled. “That last one sounds oddly specific.”

“Does it?” His tone was light, but his eyes flickered back to you, holding yours for a second too long.

You looked away first, exhaling. “I think peace is a good wish.”

Jeonghan didn’t reply right away. “Is that why you left the city?” he asked eventually.

There it was, the question about your life and choices. Somehow, it didn’t feel as jarring as the previous times he tried to bring it up. Maybe because you wanted to tell him this time.

You pressed your lips together before answering. “I got fired for exposing a senior executive who sexually harassed one of my coworkers. Long story short, the company protected him and I got fired. I sued for wrongful termination but my own lawyer told me to back down, said the fight wasn’t worth it. They were too big and I was too small.”

Jeonghan’s expression hardened slightly. “So you gave up?”

“I didn’t at first,” you murmured. “But they made sure no one else would hire me. There spread rumors about me. That I leak information to rival companies. None of it was true, but in my field, something like leaking information is a big deal. It was enough to ruin me.”

Jeonghan didn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “It was. But I had no choice so I took the settlement and left. I just… wanted to be somewhere far away. I needed a temporary escape.”

“Temporary?” he echoed.

You glanced at him, only to find him still watching you intently.

You hesitated, fingers curling around the wooden frame of the lantern. You thought about the town, about the people who had unknowingly made space for you in their world. About Jeonghan who had secured a place for himself in your heart. And about you who had slowly started to belong here.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think I’m starting to change my mind.”

Jeonghan didn’t speak, just watched you, his gaze steady in the lantern-lit dark. Then he leaned in, slowly. You weren’t sure if you moved too, only that suddenly he was too close, his eyes flickering to your lips. His fingers brushed over yours on the cool concrete, squeezing as he continued leaning closer.

And just when your lips were about to meet, a loud boom echoed the air, and the sky erupted into colors.

You were startled, glancing at the sky as fireworks exploded in bursts of gold and red, reflecting in your eyes. Beside you, Jeonghan chuckled. “You wished for a kiss under the fireworks, didn’t you?”

You burst out laughing. “Shut up.”

He grinned, jumping down the ledge and nodding toward the crowd gathering by the beach. “Let’s go. They’re starting.”

You scrambled to grab your lantern and get down the wall. But Jeonghan was already lifting you by the waist and setting you carefully on your feet. Then with your fingers intertwined, he led you down the sandy path to the beach where people were starting to light their lanterns.

And for the first time since arriving in this town, staying sounded like a really good idea.

The drive up to the pear farm was quiet, but not in a way that felt empty or awkward. Jeonghan’s hand was warm against yours, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the back of your palm as he steered with his other hand.

When the lanterns started floating into the sky, he had leaned down to whisper, “The view is better from up the hill.”

And before you could even respond, he was already tugging you toward his truck, grinning like he knew you wouldn’t say no. And you didn’t.

Now, sitting on the rooftop of the warehouse, you could see what he meant. From here, the town stretched below, the coastline shimmering with lanterns drifting over the sea like golden fireflies. It was breathtaking.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It was much quieter than the festival down below. Up here, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. Jeonghan sat close, one arm over your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady and soothing. You turned your head, wanting to say something, only to find that he was already watching you.

He smiled. “I really, really, like you. You have no idea.”

“Well,” you breathed, smiling back at him. “I really, really, like you too.”

He smirked. “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Boy, bye,” you muttered, moving to stand up but he stopped you.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, looking nowhere near sorry at all. “Don’t go.”

His fingers brushed over your cheek, light at first, as if waiting for you to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you nuzzled into the warmth of his hand. The slight furrow of his brows and the affection in his eyes stirred something inside you, igniting some kind of courage that made you reach for his cheek and lean forward to press a soft kiss on his lips.

A quick one. Fleeting but it left a tingling sensation on your lips, itching for more. Something flickered in Jeonghan’s eyes before his lips crashed into yours in a slow, searching kiss. It wasn’t hurried or desperate, just deep, lingering, like neither of you wanted to let go. So you didn’t let go.

Jeonghan kissed you like he had all the time in the world. His lips moved over yours in a way that made your breath hitch, slow and thorough, like he was memorizing you, savoring the shape of your mouth, the way you sighed against his lips.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging onto him as warmth spread through you. He made a quiet sound when you pulled him closer, one hand slipping down to your waist, the other threading through your hair to tip your head back. The angle deepened the kiss and sent a shiver through you when his tongue pushed into your mouth.

You caught your breath when he pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours, his thumb tracing your jaw. Then, just as easily, his lips were back on yours, softer this time but just as insistent.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, only that at some point, you found yourself stepping down from the rooftop, hand in hand with him. The warehouse door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing the dim interior where weeks ago, something had almost happened between you. This time though, you weren’t stopping.

Jeonghan glanced at you with an inquiring look in his eyes, as if asking for a confirmation to continue. But you had already made up your mind. You reached for him, and he caught you in his arms with a breathless laugh. Then his lips were on yours again.

His hands slid down your back, pressing you flush against him. The warmth of his body, and the firmness of his touch was intoxicating. His lips trailed along your jaw, down the line of your throat, lingering at the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

“We can still stop if you’re not sure about this,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing.

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, already half undone from when you’d tugged at it earlier. “Stopping is the last thing in my mind right now.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His lips were on you again, hungrier this time, as if something had snapped inside him. The restraint he had so carefully held onto unraveled with every touch, every kiss. Your back met the cool surface of a stack of crates, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, the way he pressed into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

His hands slid higher, slipping beneath the tight band of your bra. The heat of his palm cupped your breast, sending a new wave of warmth through you. His lips left yours to trail lower, nipping at the hollow of your throat before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Your back arched into him before you even realized, his hands tightening at your waist in response.

“Jeonghan,” you breathed before you could stop it.

He hummed in response, the sound deep and approving. His fingers brushed along your ribs, teasing the hem of your dress upward, giving you plenty of time to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you tugged at his shirt and yanked it from his shoulders.

You could barely see him in the dim light, but you could still make out the smooth lines of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, his smooth long hair slightly disheveled from your hands running through it.

Without a word, he lifted you off your feet and kissed you again. Your legs wrapped around his torso, arms around his neck as he walked further into the warehouse and set you down an empty worktable.

The cold surface of the worktable sent a shiver through you, but Jeonghan’s hands were warm as they slid along your thighs, pushing them apart just enough to step between them. His gaze darkened as he took you in, his fingers trailing on the bare skin beneath your dress before he pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost absentmindedly, like he was too distracted by you to realize he’d said it aloud.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another slow, lingering kiss as his hands worked the clasp of your bra. The second it slipped from your shoulders, he palmed your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in circles. A whimper escaped you, your back arching into him.

He lowered his head, lips parting just before he wrapped them around your nipple, sucking slowly and deeply. The warmth of his mouth sent a sharp jolt of heat through your nerves, pooling low in your stomach.

“Jeonghan,” you gasped, thighs tightening around his waist as he switched to the other, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before closing his lips around it and sucking again. He groaned, like he was savoring the taste of you, like he couldn’t get enough.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips, pressing you firmly against him and there was no mistaking the hard press of his erection through his jeans. The realization sent another wave of heat through you, and you bucked against him without thinking.

He grunted and pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, half-lidded eyes directed at you. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he murmured, voice rough.

You kissed him, messy and eager, before smirking against his lips. “Well, wouldn’t you love it if I did?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he breathed before laying you down the table with urgency.

Your skin prickled with anticipation as you watched him unbuckle his belt. His fingers worked quickly, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough, freeing himself from the restraints of his clothes.

Your lips parted at the sight of him—hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. You felt yourself clench at nothing as he leaned over you again, hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against the damp fabric between your legs. The friction made you whimper, your thighs trembling around him.

“So sensitive,” he groaned, rolling his hips against yours, dragging himself along your clothed sex. “So soaked too.”

“Please do something about it,” you whispered, tilting your head back as his mouth found your throat, sucking at the supple skin, leaving behind a delightful sting that you knew you’d still see tomorrow.

His hands slipped into the waistband of your underwear, hooking his fingers in the fabric and dragging them down in one swift motion. The cool air against your bare skin made you shiver, but Jeonghan was quick to settle between your legs again, his fingers tracing teasingly up your inner thigh.

He paused, gaze flicking up to yours, searching. You knew what he was asking. pulling him down, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “I need you,” you whispered in his ear.

Jeonghan groaned into your mouth, pressing you deeper into the table as his hands roamed your skin. His fingers trailed lower, brushing against your inner thigh before sliding between your legs. A sharp gasp left you at the first stroke of his fingers. You didn’t bother pretending to be shy, not when he was rubbing delightfully against your clit, not when your hips bucked into his touch on instinct.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled back. You were just about ready to protest but your voice disappeared the second he dropped to his knees.

His hands gripped your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table. He looked up at you, eyes dark with something ravenous.

“Oh—” before you could form a word, his mouth was on you.

The first swipe of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you. “Jeonghan—” His name broke off into a gasp as he sucked your clit.

He hummed, satisfied, as he settled between your thighs like he belonged there, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still—though that did little to stop the way your legs trembled around him. Then, without warning, he buried his tongue inside you, licking deep, slow, dragging obscene noises from your lips.

Your hands flew to his hair, clutching and pulling when the pleasure became too much, only for him to groan in approval, his grip tightening on you. The sounds—his mouth, your gasps, the heat—filled the empty warehouse, making your tummy coil tighter and tighter with every movement of his tongue.

“Jeonghan,” you whimpered, thighs squeezing around his head. “I’m—”

“I know.” His voice was hoarse, breathless, and he didn’t stop—if anything, he doubled down, sucking harder, fingers replacing his tongue, thrusting deep, curling just right until the knot in your stomach came undone.

Your body arched off the table, waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you breathless, dazed, trembling beneath him.

Jeonghan kissed his way back up your body. He lingered at your boobs, then at you collarbone and your neck, his breath warm as he whispered against your skin, “You’re beautiful like this.”

You barely had the voice to respond, still trembling from the way he’d unraveled you so effortlessly. But when his lips met yours again, you tasted yourself on his tongue, and something about that sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. His forehead rested against yours, his lips brushing yours with every breath.

“Please tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and unsteady. Not because he didn’t know it, but because he needed to hear it.

You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I want you, Jeonghan.”

His hand slid down your thigh, lifting it higher against his waist as he positioned himself with you, moving slowly. His lips found yours again, swallowing your gasp as he pushed himself in, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delightful way.

He groaned softly into your mouth, his fingers intertwining with yours beside your head as he pushed deeper, until there was no space left between you. He didn’t move right away, just held you, let you feel him, let you adjust to the feeling of him buried inside you.

“You okay?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You nodded, breath shaky, overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you—like you were something to be cherished, something to be loved.

Then he started to move slowly, deeply, like he was practicing the clench, like he never wanted to forget the way you felt around him. He kissed you between every thrust, your lips, your cheek, your jaw, anywhere he could reach—his hands never leaving yours.

“You’re trembling.”

You were. From his hands, his mouth, his manhood and the intoxicating euphoria that clouded your head and left you gasping, arching into him, chasing every movement, every moment.

And when he finally whispered your name like a prayer, you knew you were completely, utterly lost in him.

Neither of you said much on the ride home, still giddy about what had just happened but too shy to talk about it. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, as he hummed quietly with the music from the stereo. The cool night air slipped in through the open window, carrying the faint echoes of the festival, but here, in the car, it was just the two of you.

The guest house was dark when you arrived, Gram still out enjoying the festival somewhere. You half expected Jeonghan to go back to his room, but you knew he’d follow you inside yours.

“Wanna shower together?” he asked, hugging your from behind and kissing the side of your head.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I think I’ll go by myself.”

“Oh, come on. Just say yes,” he whined, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Please?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Fine.” He was quick to tug you down the hall and into the bathroom.

In the bathroom, steam floated in the air as warm water cascaded over your shoulders. Jeonghan stood behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He reached for the soap, lathering it between his palms before smoothing it over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch more soothing than teasing.

His fingers traced along your spine, his lips brushing over the back of your neck before he whispered, “Don’t get turned on. We’re just taking a bath.”

You smacked his chest, laughing as you took the soap from his hand. “Turn around.”

Like an obedient puppy, he did as he was told and you lathered the soap against his back. For a long moment, you just stood there, quietly helping each other wash up.

As you were running your fingers into his hair, Jeonghan said, “You keep touching me like that, and we’re never getting out of here.”

You scoffed. “Take your mind out of the gutter.”

He grabbed your wrists gently, making you pause. “Okay, I hope you know that’s too much to ask when you’re standing here naked with me.”

“Oh my god, you’re the insatiable type, aren’t you?” you asked, shaking your head as you wriggled your hands free from his grip.

Jeonghan only grinned. “Baby, every man with a working penis is insatiable.”

You scoffed, flicking water at him. “That’s so insightful. Thanks,” you said with a deadpan expression.

He smirked. “I like to think I’m a man of wisdom.”

“You’re a menace. That’s what you are.”

“Yeah? And yet, here you are. Naked again. With me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Obviously, I have bad judgment.”

“Mm. Bad judgment is agreeing to shower with me and expecting nothing to happen.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Admit it. You wanted to see this again,” he added, gesturing to his body.

You shoved him under the water, laughing as you said. “Yeah, whatever.”

“See?” He slicked his hair back, giving you a triumphant look. “I always knew you liked me too much,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before stepping back under the spray.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he reached for the loofah, running it down your arm with care. For all his teasing, he took his time with you, washing your skin with gently strokes, like he enjoyed the act itself, not just the excuse to touch you.

At some point, his fingers found yours under the water, linking them together. You looked up to find him watching you. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The silence, the warmth, the feeling of standing here with him in the warm light of the bathroom, it was enough.

Steam was still in the air as you stood side by side in front of the bathroom mirror, you wrapped in a towel and him shirtless with gray sweatpants. You reached for your moisturizer while Jeonghan lazily brushed his teeth, watching you through the mirror.

“I saw a house for sale near the pear farm the other day,” you said casually, dabbing the product on your skin.

Jeonghan hummed, dipping his head down the sink to rinse his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “It’s nice. Small, but cozy. Has a garden.”

“I know that one. Nice house. The owners moved abroad with their daughter.” He wiped his mouth with a towel.

“Do you know how much they’re selling it for?”

He capped his toothbrush and turned to face you fully. “It should be affordable. Real estate isn’t too expensive around here. Why? You interested?”

“Maybe,” you replied, shrugging.

He made a thoughtful sound, turning back to the mirror. “I won’t move in with you unless you marry me first.”

You snorted. “Don’t we technically live together already?”

“This is a guest house. That’s different,” he countered. “Buying a house is serious. I like you a lot, but I won’t spend money on a house unless we’re official official.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to him. “I have my own money, you know?”

“So?”

“So? I’ll buy the house myself.”

Jeonghan nodded. “Yeah, I admire strong and independent women, but no. Not moving in with you unless you put a ring on it,” he said playfully, wiggling his fingers.

You shook your head, packing your skincare products back in your pouch. “I didn’t say I was gonna live there with you.”

“Oh?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Well, then if you’re living in that house, I should at least get a key.”

He turned to wash his hands, but halfway through, he froze. The bathroom went quiet except for the steady trickle of water against porcelain. Slowly, he turned back to you, his brows furrowing in realization.

“Wait a minute…”

You didn’t say anything, just shrugged. His eyes widened, and he straightened, covering his mouth in mock shock. “You’re staying?”

“I’m considering it.” You walked out of the bathroom, and as expected, Jeonghan was right behind you. “There’s a few things I can do if I settle down here. I could open a shop or something. Take up teaching or do marketing consults for the pear farm. I don’t see why not.”

You turned to find him still standing there, hand over his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Seriously?” you deadpanned.

He ignored you, blinking a few times before asking again, “You’re staying?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. I’m—”

Before you could say anything else, Jeonghan pulled you into a tight hug. He let out a breathy laugh against your hair, one hand sliding up to the nape of your neck.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him too. You hadn’t expected it to be such a simple decision. When you first arrived, you told yourself this was just temporary, a place to breathe before figuring out where to go next. But now, the thought of leaving felt impossible. The town had settled into your bones. The people, the warmth, the way the sea stretched endlessly against the sky—it had all become a part of you. And of course, admittedly one of the main reasons of your stay, Jeonghan.

Maybe you’d known for a while. Maybe you’d been staying long before you admitted it to yourself. Maybe your doubts were just the shadows of a past self trying to resist the peace you had found here.

You hugged him a little tighter, pressing your face into his shoulder. Jeonghan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips lifting into a mischievous smile.

“Let’s get married before you change your mind.”

You scoffed, patting his chest. “Okay, slow down, cowboy.”

And just like that, you were walking into a new phase in your life. Something slower, more mundane but steadier, and uneventful in the best way. It might have seemed too soon to say, but deep down, you knew you’d never regret choosing this life.

Choosing him.

[fin]

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