#yet never really acknowledging it other than a few moments. but at that same time bill makes MONEY for the home

[enhaflixer]

Touché - DATING YOU TO DISTRACT YOU BUT GETS DISTRACTED FIRST

Academic Rival!Jake x f!Reader (Smut, Crack, Fluff) MDNI 18+ ENHA HARD HOURS

Jake Sim has one job—beat you in the race for the Harrison Fellowship. His strategy? Get close. Get under your skin. Get you too distracted to focus. His method? Kissing you stupid. Pressing you against walls. Finding out exactly how far he can push before you snap. The problem? You like to push back. Now, between tangled sheets, heated arguments, and “just one more time” turning into every damn night, Jake’s got a new problem. He’s not thinking about winning anymore. He’s thinking about you. 💔 “This was supposed to be a game. So why do I feel like I’m the one getting played?”

-

You drum your fingers against the desk, watching Professor Martinez pace at the front of the lecture hall. The midterm papers are stacked neatly in his arms, and you can practically feel the anxiety radiating off the two hundred students packed into the room.

But you're not anxious. Not really.

You know exactly what score awaits you—the same score you've received on every major assessment since freshman year: the highest in the class.

Your eyes drift across the lecture hall to where Jake Sim sits, surrounded by his usual entourage. Even now, minutes before receiving a grade that could make or break their GPA, they're laughing at something he's said. The sound of his rich laughter carries across the room, drawing more than a few admiring glances.

Jake Sim. Campus golden boy. The kind of person who walks into a room and immediately owns it. The kind of student professors mention in other classes. The kind of face that appears on university brochures—which it literally does, as he's been the unofficial "face" of the university's marketing materials since sophomore year.

He's also the only person who's ever come close to beating your scores.

"Before I hand these back," Professor Martinez says, silencing the murmurs, "I want to discuss the grade distribution."

He clicks to display a graph on the projector screen. The curve looks normal enough, with a significant peak around the B-range.

"As you can see, the class average was 78.4," he continues. "We had a standard deviation of approximately 12 points. However—" he pauses, adjusting his glasses, "—we also had two outliers."

The next slide shows the same curve with two dots far to the right of the main distribution. Your throat tightens with a familiar tension.

Jake's eyes meet yours across the lecture hall. His expression is casual, but you recognize the intensity in his gaze. This is what it's always been like between you two: a silent acknowledgment of the competition that's defined your college experience.

"Our top two scores," Professor Martinez announces, "were separated by only half a point."

The room stills. This is closer than usual.

You see Jake sit up straighter, his perfectly coiffed hair catching the light as he leans forward. Even from across the room, you can see the flash of white teeth as he grins confidently. His friends nudge him, already assuming victory.

"Mr. Sim scored an impressive 98.2," Professor Martinez says, and a ripple of impressed murmurs spreads through the lecture hall.

Jake's golden-boy smile widens as he accepts congratulatory shoulder pats from his friends. He hasn't looked at you yet, clearly believing he's finally done it—finally beaten you.

"And Ms. L/N—" Professor Martinez pauses, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, "—scored a 98.7."

The half-point difference might as well be a chasm.

Jake's smile freezes in place, his dark eyes immediately seeking yours as the realization hits him. He's lost. Again. By the slimmest of margins.

You allow yourself a small, satisfied smile before looking down at your notebook, pretending to be humble about your victory. But inside, you're savoring the moment. It never gets old, watching the golden boy settle for silver.

After class, you take your time gathering your materials, accepting quiet congratulations from a few classmates. Unlike Jake, you don't have an entourage. You have acquaintances, study partners occasionally, but your focus has always been on achievement rather than popularity.

As you make your way up the steps of the lecture hall, you sense someone behind you. You don't need to turn to know who it is—you can tell from the expensive cologne and the sudden hushed whispers of nearby students watching the university's academic rivals in proximity.

"Congratulations," Jake says, falling into step beside you as you exit into the hallway. His voice carries none of the warmth it does when he's with his friends. "Half a point. Must be nice."

"It is," you reply coolly, clutching your midterm paper with its red 98.7% circled at the top. "Maybe next time."

Jake stops walking, forcing you to stop too unless you want to seem like you're fleeing. You turn to face him, noting the way his dark hair falls perfectly across his forehead despite the late afternoon humidity that has your own hair frizzing at the edges.

"There's always the final," he says, his voice lowering into something almost like a threat. "And the Harrison Fellowship application is due next month. Midterms are just one battle."

You raise an eyebrow. "A battle you lost."

Something flashes in his eyes—not anger exactly, but frustration mingled with something else. Challenge, perhaps. Determination.

"This isn't over," he says, his voice carrying just enough for a few passing students to slow down, sensing drama between the two top students.

"Never said it was," you reply with a sweet smile, hugging your perfect test paper to your chest.

Jake maintains eye contact for a moment longer than comfortable, then breaks into the easy, charismatic smile that's plastered across half the campus publications. The sudden shift is disorienting, his intensity disappearing behind his golden-boy mask so quickly you almost doubt it was ever there.

"See you in Advanced Statistical Methods tomorrow," he says cheerfully, as if your competition is just friendly banter. "Front row as usual?"

"Where else?" you respond, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.

He winks—actually winks—before turning to join his waiting friends, who immediately surround him like a protective bubble of popularity. You watch him go, telling yourself the flutter in your stomach is just the satisfaction of victory, not a reaction to those dark eyes or that practiced wink.

One of Jake's friends says something that makes the whole group laugh, and you catch Jake glancing back at you before joining in. Something about his expression makes you uneasy, like he's not quite done with this interaction.

You shake off the feeling and head toward the library. The Harrison Fellowship application won't write itself, and you'll need to maintain your perfect GPA if you want to beat Jake Sim for that too.

What you don't realize, as you push through the heavy library doors, is that Jake is watching you go, his mind already formulating a plan that has nothing to do with studying—and everything to do with making sure you don't beat him again.

-

Jake closes his apartment door behind him and leans against it, loosening his tie with a frustrated jerk. The congratulatory words from his friends still ring hollow in his ears. Second place. Again.

"Damn it," he mutters, tossing his backpack onto the couch. His roommate looks up from his laptop, eyebrows raised.

"Let me guess. You didn't beat her again?"

Jake shoots him a glare that would silence anyone else, but Ethan has been his best friend since orientation week. He's immune.

"Half a point," Jake says, collapsing into an armchair. "Half a freaking point."

Ethan whistles. "That's close, though. Closest you've gotten."

"Close doesn't get me the Harrison Fellowship," Jake snaps, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up for the first time all day. "Close doesn't get me into Stanford. Close is just another word for failure."

"Dramatic much?" Ethan chuckles, turning back to his computer.

But Jake isn't listening anymore. He's staring at the ceiling, where he's pinned his vision board—Stanford acceptance letter (photoshopped, for now), Harrison Fellowship certificate (also photoshopped), summer internship offer from Goldman Sachs (real, but he turned it down for a research position), and a cutout from last semester's dean's list (where your name appeared just above his).

A slow smile spreads across his face as an idea forms.

"I need to change tactics," he says, sitting up straight.

Ethan glances over. "What do you mean?"

Jake jumps up and begins pacing, energy suddenly radiating from him. "I've been trying to beat her on a level playing field, but that's clearly not working."

"So what, you're going to cheat?" Ethan frowns.

"No, nothing like that," Jake says, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm going to... distract."

Ethan closes his laptop, now fully invested in the conversation. "Distract how?"

Jake's smile grows wider, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm going to ask her out."

Ethan stares at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter. "You're joking."

"I'm completely serious," Jake says, grabbing his planner from his backpack and flipping it open. "Think about it—if she's spending time with me, that's less time studying. If I can get under her skin, disrupt that perfect focus..."

"That's cold, man," Ethan says, though he sounds impressed. "Even for you."

Jake shrugs, already jotting down ideas. "It's not personal. It's strategic."

"And what if she says no?" Ethan challenges.

Jake looks up, his signature confidence returning. He runs a hand through his hair, instantly restoring it to its usual perfection, and flashes the smile that got him voted "Most Likely to Succeed" three years running.

"No one says no to Jake Sim," he says with a wink.

Over the next hour, Jake crafts what he considers the perfect plan. He maps out your study schedule based on when he's seen you at the library. He notes your usual coffee spots, your preferred study locations, even which days you attend office hours. He's been your competition long enough to know your habits.

"Phase one: casual coffee," he mutters, writing it down. "Phase two: study dates. Phase three: actual dates."

Ethan watches with growing concern. "You know, most people just ask someone out because they like them."

"I do like her," Jake says absently, still planning. "I like beating her."

"You sound abusive."

"You know what I mean."

"And what happens when midterms are over? When you've gotten what you want?"

Jake looks up, genuinely confused. "Then I end it, obviously."

Ethan shakes his head. "You're going to fall on your face with this one, Sim."

"Watch me," Jake replies, holding up his planner with a flourish. Every hour of the next two weeks is now color-coded and annotated with his "Distraction Campaign."

He's never been more excited about a project in his life. The Harrison Fellowship is as good as his. And the look on your face when he finally beats you? He can already imagine it, can already feel the sweet satisfaction of victory.

What Jake doesn't account for is the possibility that his perfect plan might have one fatal flaw: himself.

-

The next morning, you're settling into your usual spot in the library's northeast corner—the one with the perfect combination of natural light and distance from foot traffic—when a coffee cup appears in your peripheral vision.

"Americano, extra shot, light room for cream. That's your usual, right?"

You look up to find Jake standing there, holding not one but two cups of coffee, dressed in a blue button-down that makes his eyes seem impossibly dark in comparison. His hair is artfully tousled, and he's wearing the smile that graces the university's promotional materials.

"How do you know my coffee order?" you ask, suspicious.

Jake shrugs, sliding the cup toward you. "I notice things."

"Like my study schedule?" You glance pointedly at your books, then back at him.

"Actually, that's why I'm here." Jake pulls out the chair across from you without waiting for an invitation. "I was thinking we could study together for the Advanced Statistical Methods final."

You nearly choke on your first sip of coffee. "Study together? You and me?"

"Why not? We're the top two students. It makes sense."

It makes absolutely no sense. You and Jake have been academic rivals since freshman year. Studying together would be like a gazelle inviting a cheetah to dinner.

"What's your angle?" you ask bluntly.

Jake places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Can't a guy just want to collaborate with a fellow academic?"

"A guy, yes. You? No."

His smile shifts into something more genuine—smaller but reaching his eyes. "Fair enough. But I'm serious. Professor Rivera's finals are legendary. Even I could use some help with time series analysis."

God, I'm good, Jake thinks, mentally congratulating himself. The humble approach is working perfectly. A little vulnerability, a touch of self-deprecation, and she's already softening. Time series analysis? Please. I memorized that chapter last week. But she doesn't need to know that. Step one of the Distraction Campaign is officially in motion.

Against your better judgment, you agree. You tell yourself it's because you can keep an eye on him this way, maybe even figure out his study techniques.

By the fourth study session, you're beginning to regret your decision. Not because Jake is unpleasant company—quite the opposite. The problem is that nothing gets done when he's around.

"So if we apply the Durbin-Watson statistic here—" you begin, only to be interrupted by Jake's phone buzzing for the twelfth time in twenty minutes.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all as he checks the message. "Study group chat. They're trying to figure out where to meet later."

"You have another study group today?" you ask, exasperated.

"No, tonight's the Alpha Delta Pi mixer. I'm helping set up." He flashes that campus celebrity smile. "You should come."

"Pass," you say, trying to refocus on your notes. "Some of us prioritize academics."

"All work and no play," Jake tsks, leaning back in his chair. His foot nudges yours under the table—accidentally? You can't tell.

"Can we please get back to time series analysis?"

"Sure, sure," he concedes, but within minutes, he's tapping his pen rhythmically against the textbook, creating a distracting beat.

You grab the pen from his hand. "Jake. Focus."

He grins. "Sorry. Did you know you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you're concentrating? It's cute."

The comment throws you so completely that you lose your place in your notes. Jake takes advantage of your momentary disorientation to check his phone again.

"Don't you have a system?" you ask, frustration mounting. "A study schedule? Notes? Anything?"

Jake laughs. "I have a photographic memory. I just need to read through something once."

You stare at him in disbelief. "That's..."

"Unfair? Yeah, I know." He winks. "But we all have our strengths. Mine's memory. Yours is..." he gestures vaguely, "...being intensely organized, I guess."

You narrow your eyes, not sure if you've been complimented or insulted.

The pattern continues for a week. Jake shows up at your study spots with coffee, snacks, or once, inexplicably, a small potted cactus ("It reminded me of you—prickly but low-maintenance"). He asks insightful questions just often enough that you can't justify kicking him out, but he constantly interrupts with texts, stories, or unnecessary observations.

"Did you know the librarian at the front desk used to be a professional ballerina?" he whispers, leaning so close you can smell his cologne. "She performed with the National Ballet for ten years before blowing out her knee."

"Fascinating," you mutter, trying to ignore how his proximity makes your heart rate pick up. "Can we please focus on the practice problems?"

"I was focusing," Jake protests. "I finished the set fifteen minutes ago."

You glance down at his paper. Sure enough, all twenty problems are completed, with work shown in his surprisingly neat handwriting.

"How did you—I've only done eight!"

Jake shrugs, looking pleased with himself. "Photographic memory, remember? I read the chapter once."

"Then why are you even here?" you snap, frustration boiling over.

His expression softens into something unreadable. "Maybe I like the company."

You don't have a quick response for that.

-

The day before your Advanced Statistical Methods final, Jake suggests studying at his apartment "for a change of scenery." Against your better judgment, you agree.

You arrive to find his roommate Ethan headed out the door.

"You must be the competition," Ethan says with a knowing smile. "Good luck." He shoots Jake a look you can't interpret before leaving.

Jake's apartment is surprisingly neat, with an unexpected number of books lining the walls. You'd pictured a bachelor pad with pizza boxes and sports memorabilia, not this adult space with actual furniture and framed art.

"What? Did you think I lived in a frat house?" Jake asks, reading your expression with annoying accuracy.

"Kind of," you admit.

"I'm more than just the campus golden boy, you know." There's an edge to his voice you haven't heard before.

The study session starts out productively enough. You quiz each other on formulas, and Jake makes flash cards that actually help clarify a complex concept you've been struggling with.

Then, in the middle of explaining autocorrelation, Jake suddenly says, "I'm starving. Want pizza?"

Before you can answer, he's on the phone ordering, and somehow twenty minutes disappear into a conversation about the best pizza toppings (you: mushroom and olive, him: Hawaiian, which leads to a heated debate about pineapple as a legitimate topping).

When the food arrives, Jake insists on taking a study break. One episode of a show turns into three. When you finally check your watch, it's 11 PM, and you've accomplished maybe a third of what you planned.

"I should go," you say, gathering your notes.

"It's late. I can walk you home."

"I live in the north dorms. It's a fifteen-minute walk."

"Exactly. Perfect opportunity to quiz each other on regression analysis."

You want to say no, but he's already grabbing his jacket.

The night air is cool, and Jake walks close enough that your shoulders occasionally brush. True to his word, he quizzes you on formulas as you walk, and you're begrudgingly impressed by how much he actually knows.

At your dorm entrance, he hands you a final flash card. "Last one."

You take it, squinting in the dim light. Instead of a formula, it reads: "Coffee tomorrow morning before the final? 7 AM?"

You look up to find him watching you intently, his usual confident smile replaced by something more hesitant.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," you say slowly. "I have a morning routine before exams."

"Part of which includes coffee, right? I'll bring it to you. No study talk. Just caffeine and moral support."

You should say no. This whole "friendship" with Jake has already cut into your study time more than you'd like to admit. But there's something in his expression that makes you pause.

"Fine. But if you're late with my coffee, all bets are off."

His smile returns full force. "I wouldn't dream of it."

As you head into your building, you realize with a start that you've actually enjoyed spending time with Jake. Not that you'd ever admit it to him.

What you don't see is the way Jake's smile transforms into a triumphant grin as soon as you're gone. He actually pumps his fist in the air like he's just scored the winning touchdown.

"Phase two: complete," he whispers to himself, pulling out his phone to text Ethan. THIS IS TOO EASY, he types, adding three crying-laughing emojis. She's actually letting me walk her to her dorm. Tomorrow I'll sabotage her entire morning routine.

He strolls back toward his apartment, checking items off his mental Distraction Campaign list. Yet somewhere between his self-congratulation and plotting tomorrow's coffee delivery (he plans to be precisely seven minutes late—just enough to throw off her exam prep but not enough for her to give up waiting), he realizes he's humming.

Jake Sim doesn't hum. But here he is, practically skipping down the sidewalk, because he's seeing you again in less than twelve hours. For the plan, he tells himself firmly. Obviously just for the plan.

-

The Statistical Methods final comes and goes. Despite Jake's best attempts at sabotage, you still manage to edge him out by two points. His frown when Professor Rivera announces the scores is brief but noticeable before he slips back into his golden boy persona, all easy smiles and gracious congratulations.

"This calls for a celebration," he says afterward, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom.

"Me beating you again?" you ask with a smirk.

"Our combined brilliance," he counters smoothly. "Dinner tonight? I know a place off campus that makes incredible pasta."

You hesitate. The study sessions were one thing—you could justify them as academic. But dinner? That sounds suspiciously like a date.

"I have to start my research paper for Political Economics," you say, which is true. The paper isn't due for two weeks, but your color-coded semester planner has tonight blocked off for outline development.

Jake's smile doesn't falter. "Perfect. I'll bring takeout to the library. Which section will you be in? The third-floor carrels or your usual table by the east windows?"

It's unnerving how well he knows your study habits.

"Fine. East windows. 7 PM." You shake your head, wondering when exactly you started agreeing to Jake Sim's proposals so easily.

Jake arrives at 6:58 PM with two bags of food that smell so divine you immediately realize how hungry you are. He pulls up a chair beside you—not across the table where a study partner would sit, but close enough that your elbows occasionally brush.

"I got you the mushroom ravioli," he says, unpacking containers. "And garlic bread. And tiramisu."

"How did you know I like mushroom ravioli?"

Jake grins. "You mentioned it during our pineapple-on-pizza debate. I pay attention."

The food is incredible, and despite your intentions to eat quickly and get back to work, you find yourself lingering over dinner, drawn into Jake's animated story about his disastrous first college party.

"So there I am, completely soaked, holding this stranger's pet iguana, while the campus police are knocking on the front door," he concludes, and you're laughing so hard you have to cover your mouth to avoid disturbing other students.

Jake reaches out and gently moves a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is so unexpected that you freeze.

"Sorry," he says, not looking sorry at all. "It was bothering me."

Perfect, Jake thinks, noting how you momentarily freeze at his touch. One small touch, ah-ah-ah! Another step in my master plan. He mentally checks off another item on his distraction checklist, feeling rather pleased with himself for how easily you've been thrown off your focus.

You clear your throat and turn back to your laptop, suddenly very interested in your research paper outline. "I should really get back to work."

"Of course," Jake says, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he pulls out his own laptop. "I've got some reading to do anyway."

Every few minutes, he shifts in his seat or sighs or taps his fingers on the table, each movement pulling your attention away from your work. You're about to snap at him when he leans over to look at your screen.

"Your outline structure is impressive," he says, genuinely. "I never thought to organize political theories that way."

The compliment catches you off guard, and you find yourself explaining your approach. Before you know it, an hour has passed discussing political philosophy instead of writing your outline.

"You're doing this on purpose," you accuse, suddenly realizing his game.

"Doing what?" He widens his eyes in mock innocence.

"Distracting me."

Jake places a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded. Can't I just enjoy intellectual conversation with the smartest person on campus?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Seems to be working so far," he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes and turn back to your laptop, determined to ignore him. It works for approximately five minutes before he slides a folded piece of paper in front of you.

Curious despite yourself, you open it to find a surprisingly good sketch of you concentrating on your work, complete with the small furrow between your eyebrows that he'd mentioned before.

"When did you do this?" you ask, startled.

"Just now. I dabble in drawing."

"Is there anything you're not good at?" The question comes out more sincere than you intended.

Jake's cocky smile falters for a moment. "Beating you, apparently."

There's a hint of genuine frustration in his voice that makes you look at him more closely. For a brief moment, the golden boy facade slips, and you catch a glimpse of something more complex beneath—ambition, insecurity, determination all mixed together.

Before you can respond, he stands up. "I should let you work. But first..." He hesitates, then plunges ahead. "Would you go out with me? Like, on an actual date. Not studying. Not takeout at the library. A real date."

You stare at him, speechless. This isn't part of your carefully planned semester. Dating Jake Sim doesn't fit anywhere in your color-coded schedule or your academic goals.

"Why?" you finally ask.

His smile returns, but it's different somehow—less practiced, more nervous. "Because I like you. Because you're the only person on campus who doesn't buy into my whole..." he gestures vaguely at himself,"...thing."

You stare at him blankly for a moment, then raise an eyebrow. "What 'thing'? Your dick?"

Jake's eyes widen in shock before he bursts out laughing, a genuine, unpolished laugh that's nothing like his carefully cultivated campus-celebrity chuckle.

"No! I meant—" he gestures vaguely again, still laughing, "—the whole golden boy persona. The Jake Sim Experience™."

"Oh," you say, fighting a smile. "I thought you were just being weird."

You should say no. Every logical part of your brain is screaming to reject this distraction from your goals.

"When?" you hear yourself asking instead.

Jake's face lights up with genuine surprise, as if he expected rejection. "Friday? 7 PM?"

"I have to work on my—"

"Political Economics paper, I know," he interrupts. "But even you need to take breaks sometimes. I promise to have you home at a reasonable hour, and I'll even help you with research on Saturday."

You find yourself nodding. "Okay. Friday."

"Okay," he echoes, looking so genuinely pleased that you momentarily forget this is Jake Sim, campus golden boy and your academic rival.

He gathers his things, still smiling. "I'll text you details."

As he walks away, you try to refocus on your outline, but your mind keeps drifting to Friday night. It's just one date, you tell yourself. What harm could it do?

-

Back at his apartment, Jake crosses off "Step 7: Secure actual date" from his Distraction Campaign list with a flourish.

"She actually said yes?" Ethan asks, looking up from his video game.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Jake tosses his backpack on the couch and collapses next to it.

"Because she's smart enough to know better?"

Jake throws a pillow at his roommate. "The plan is working perfectly. I've already cost her at least ten hours of study time this week. By the time the Harrison Fellowship application is due, she'll be so off her game I'll finally beat her."

"And you're still convinced this is just about winning?" Ethan asks, pausing his game to give Jake a knowing look.

"What else would it be about?"

Ethan snorts. "You sketched her, man. You never sketch anyone."

"It was part of the distraction," Jake insists, but he finds himself pulling out the second drawing he made—the one he didn't give her, the one that captures her mid-laugh, eyes bright with intelligence and humor.

"Right," Ethan says, noticing the drawing. "Just make sure you know which one of you is actually getting distracted here."

Jake rolls his eyes. "Please. I'm totally focused. You should hear my internal monologues when I'm with her. I literally count every successful distraction tactic like I'm Count Dracula or something. 'One missed study hour, ah-ah-ah! Two coffee dates, ah-ah-ah!'"

Ethan stares at him for a beat. "Yeah, right. Because that's not what love sounds like at all."

"Right?!" Jake agrees enthusiastically. "It's pure strategy. Nothing else."

Ethan face-palms. "That was sarcasm, you idiot."

"Whatever." Jake waves him off, completely missing the point. "You'll see when I win the fellowship and she's wondering what happened to her perfect GPA."

-

Friday arrives faster than you anticipated. You spend an embarrassing amount of time choosing an outfit—something casual enough to maintain your dignity but nice enough to acknowledge this is, in fact, a date.

When Jake knocks on your door at precisely 7 PM, he's brought his A-game. Designer jeans, a button-down with the sleeves rolled up to showcase his forearms, and that calculated smile that's gotten him through every social situation since puberty.

"You look nice," he says, his eyes doing an appreciative sweep that makes you momentarily self-conscious.

"So do you," you reply, because it's true, even if you wish it weren't.

The restaurant he's chosen is a small Italian place tucked away on a side street downtown, far enough from campus that you're unlikely to run into other students. It's intimate without being overtly romantic, with exposed brick walls and soft lighting.

The conversation flows surprisingly well. Jake is charming when he wants to be, asking questions about your hometown, your family, your childhood dreams. You find yourself laughing at his stories, drawn in by the way his face lights up when he talks about his first debate tournament victory.

This is going perfectly, Jake thinks, watching you smile at something he's said. Phase three proceeding exactly as planned. Every minute she spends with me is a minute not spent on the Harrison application. By this time next month, that fellowship will have my name on it.

His internal victory lap continues through dessert, especially when he catches you staring at his mouth while he tells a story about his freshman year roommate.

After dinner, Jake suggests a walk along the riverfront. The night is cool but not cold, and the path is lit by old-fashioned lampposts that cast a golden glow on the water.

"So," Jake says, walking close enough that your hands occasionally brush, "this was nice."

"It was," you admit, surprising yourself with how much you mean it.

"We should do it again sometime," he suggests, stopping by the railing overlooking the river.

"Maybe," you say, unwilling to concede too easily. "I do have a lot of work to do on my fellowship application."

Jake takes a step closer, exactly as he'd planned during his pre-date strategy session with Ethan. "The fellowship isn't for another month," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Plenty of time for both work and... other things."

Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you.

It's meant to be calculated—the perfect mix of confidence and restraint, designed to leave you wanting more, to occupy your thoughts when you should be focusing on academics. But something unexpected happens when his lips meet yours.

For a brief, disconcerting moment, Jake forgets the plan entirely.

Your response, the soft sound you make as your hands find his shoulders, the way you taste like the tiramisu you shared for dessert—it short-circuits his strategic thinking. When you pull back slightly, he follows, chasing your lips without conscious thought.

"That was..." you begin, sounding slightly breathless.

Jake quickly regains his composure, mentally adjusting his strategy. This is even better than I planned. She's completely flustered.

"Just the beginning," he finishes with a confident smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "If you want it to be."

You narrow your eyes slightly, as if trying to figure him out. "What's your angle, Sim?"

"No angle," he lies smoothly. "Just enjoying the moment."

You don't look entirely convinced, but when he leans in again, you meet him halfway.

-

Over the next week, Jake implements what he privately calls "Operation Kiss Distraction." The strategy is brilliant in its simplicity—physical contact prevents academic focus. And it works every time.

On Monday afternoon, you're reviewing notes for Professor Wright's Macroeconomics seminar when Jake slides into the chair beside you, coffee in hand.

"How's it going?" he asks, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.

"I need to finish these notes before—"

He silences you mid-sentence with a kiss, soft and deliberate. Your protest dissolves as his hand cups your cheek, tilting your face toward his. By the time he pulls away, you've forgotten what chapter you were reviewing.

"Before what?" he asks innocently, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

"I... don't remember," you admit, and Jake's smile is nothing short of triumphant.

On Wednesday, you're in the library's reference section, surrounded by economics journals for your fellowship research. Jake finds you there, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before you even realize he's arrived.

"How did you find me?" you ask, trying to maintain your focus on the article you've been highlighting.

"I always know where to find you," he murmurs, his lips moving to the sensitive spot below your ear. The highlighter slips from your fingers as he works his way along your neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

"Jake," you protest weakly, "I have to finish this research."

"In a minute," he promises, turning your chair to face him. His kiss is deeper this time, more insistent. Your hands find their way into his hair as he pulls you to your feet, backing you against the shelves. The solid weight of the books behind you contrasts with the warmth of his body against yours, his mouth hot and demanding.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both breathing hard. Jake's usual perfectly styled hair is mussed from your fingers, his eyes dark with something that looks like genuine desire.

"See? Just a minute," he says with a grin, though it's been at least fifteen.

You try to remember what journal article you were reading, but your mind is blank, filled instead with the lingering sensation of Jake's mouth on yours.

-

By Friday, you've developed a Pavlovian response to his presence—one look from Jake across a room and your pulse quickens in anticipation. He knows it too, using it to his advantage.

During a study group at his apartment, he waits until the others are engrossed in problem sets before leaning close, his breath warm against your ear.

“Meet me in the kitchen.”

You shouldn’t go. You have work to do. But two minutes later, your book is forgotten, and you’re following him anyway.

The moment you step inside, Jake is on you. He shoves you against the counter, his mouth crashing into yours, hungry and insistent. His hands are already under your sweater, fingers skimming up your sides, making you shiver at the contrast of his heat against your skin.

“We shouldn’t,” you pant as his teeth scrape against your collarbone, his grip tightening on your waist. “Everyone’s right there.”

“Then be quiet,” he murmurs, lips dragging lower.

A moan slips out before you can stop it as he sucks a deep mark onto your throat, his tongue teasing the bruised skin before moving lower. His hands wander, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers brushing over your soaked underwear.

“Fuck,” he exhales against your neck, pressing the pads of his fingers firmly over the thin fabric. “Already wet for me?”

Your breath hitches as he rubs slow, teasing circles, the pressure making your thighs shake. He chuckles, dark and low, before slipping his hand beneath the fabric, his fingers sliding against your slick folds.

You grip his shoulders as he works you open, curling his fingers just right, his pace unrelenting. Your body arches against him, desperate for more, but he doesn’t let up—doesn’t stop marking you, doesn’t stop driving you closer to the edge with expert precision.

“Cum for me,” he whispers against your skin, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Be a good girl and make a mess for me.”

And you do—your climax crashes over you, your body shuddering as his fingers continue their slow, torturous strokes, dragging it out until you’re barely holding yourself up.

He finally pulls back, admiring the deep red bruises blooming across your neck and chest, the way your body still trembles in the aftermath. He smooths a hand over your thigh, smirking as you struggle to catch your breath.

Twenty minutes later, you return to the study group, cheeks flushed, legs weak, lips swollen from his kisses. You pretend to focus, but you can still feel the ghost of his fingers between your thighs, the bruises throbbing like a silent confession.

Jake follows a minute after, looking impossibly composed, except for the self-satisfied smirk he can’t quite suppress.

Another productive session, he thinks, eyes flickering to the marks on your skin. She’s falling further behind every day.

-

The next Tuesday, after an especially intense makeout session that leaves you both disheveled and breathless, Jake captures your hands in his, expression suddenly serious.

"I've been thinking."

Your stomach tightens. Is this where he admits the whole thing has been a calculated distraction? That none of it meant anything?

"We've been doing... whatever this is... for a couple weeks now," he continues, his thumb tracing circles on your palm in a way that makes it hard to focus. "And I think we should make it official."

You blink, surprised. "Official?"

"Be my girlfriend," he says, flashing that perfect Jake Sim smile that's graced countless campus publications. "Properly."

It's the logical next step for his plan, he tells himself. Girlfriend status means more of her time, more distraction, more control over her schedule. It's strategic brilliance, not genuine desire. The flutter in his chest when she smiles up at him? Merely satisfaction with his own cunning.

"Okay," you agree, and he kisses you again, mentally checking off another item on his master plan.

Phase Four complete, Jake thinks triumphantly. This fellowship is as good as mine.

What Jake doesn't acknowledge, even to himself, is how often he finds himself thinking about you when you're not around. How he's started skipping his own study sessions to meet you. How his friends have noticed his GPA slipping while yours somehow remains steady.

"Dude, you missed the entire Econ study group yesterday," his friend Matt points out after class. "We're two weeks out from finals."

"I had something more important to do," Jake says, thinking of how you'd smiled against his mouth when he surprised you outside your afternoon lecture.

Matt looks skeptical. "More important than maintaining your GPA for the Harrison Fellowship? You've been working toward that since freshman year."

Jake shrugs it off, but the comment nags at him. Has he possibly overcommitted to his distraction strategy? Is he risking his own academic standing in the process?

He resolves to recalibrate, to find a better balance between distracting you and focusing on his own work. But that resolution lasts exactly as long as it takes for you to text him asking if he wants to meet at the library.

Just an hour, he promises himself. I'll kiss her senseless for an hour, then go back to my apartment and work on my application.

The hour turns into three, and he doesn't get any work done that night.

The pattern continues. Each time Jake thinks he's the one in control, each time he mentally tallies another successful distraction, he fails to notice how his own academic focus is slipping. How his perfectly organized planner is suddenly full of your name instead of study reminders. How he's started dreaming about you instead of his acceptance letter to Stanford.

-

"The plan is still on track," he insists when Ethan questions him. "She's completely distracted."

"And you're not?" Ethan asks pointedly, gesturing to Jake's phone that he's checking for the fifth time in ten minutes.

"Of course not," Jake scoffs, hastily putting his phone face-down. "I'm laser-focused on victory."

"Right," Ethan drawls. "That's why you've written her name in your planner instead of 'study for Econ final'?"

Jake slams the planner shut. "That's... strategic. So I remember when we're meeting to... implement distraction tactics."

"And the fact that you've started wearing cologne to the library?"

"Psychological warfare."

"You missed basketball with the guys to help her carry books."

"Building trust to maximize future distractions."

"You turned down Jessica Miller—who you've had a crush on since freshman orientation—because she asked you out on the same night you were supposed to see the protagonist."

"Commitment to the mission."

Ethan picks up a crumpled paper from Jake's desk and unfolds it. "And this poem?"

Jake snatches it away, cheeks reddening. "Research! I'm researching what kind of sappy stuff might further distract her."

"Uh-huh. And you've set her text tone to a special sound because...?"

"So I know exactly when my target is messaging me," Jake explains with the confidence of someone completely deluding himself.

"You literally have a framed photo of her on your nightstand."

"That's just to... remind me of the enemy."

Ethan throws his hands up in exasperation. "You planned your entire class schedule around hers for next semester!"

"Advanced strategic planning," Jake insists, even as he absently doodles her initials on his notebook margin. "The long game."

The truth—which Jake is nowhere near ready to admit—is that somewhere between calculated kisses and genuine laughter, between strategic touches and real conversations, his perfect plan has developed a fatal flaw:

He's falling for you. And he doesn't even realize it.

-

Jake wakes up in a cold sweat, staring at the calendar on his wall. Three weeks until the Harrison Fellowship deadline, and his plan is working too well—on himself.

"I need to recalibrate," he mutters, grabbing his planner. "Time for phase five: Total Disruption."

After a hurried breakfast, he texts Ethan his new strategy while walking to class.

"You're digging yourself deeper," Ethan replies immediately.

"Watch and learn," Jake types back with the unfounded confidence of a man about to step on a rake.

He implements the new tactics that very afternoon. When you mention needing to study at your apartment that night, Jake suggests studying together, kisses you until you agree, then "accidentally" falls asleep on your couch. By the time you wake him at 2 AM, neither of you has done any work, but he counts it as a win.

"Sorry, princess," he murmurs sleepily, using one of his new strategic pet names. "Guess I was more tired than I thought."

You raise an eyebrow at the nickname but let it slide. "You should go home and get some actual sleep."

"Or I could stay," he counters, pulling you down for another kiss. "Save myself the walk across campus."

It works. You let him stay, and Jake falls asleep feeling smug about another night of study time successfully sabotaged.

What he doesn't anticipate is waking to find you already up, quietly typing at your desk, wearing his sweatshirt from the night before.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you say without looking up. "Hope you don't mind I borrowed this. It's comfortable."

Jake stares, momentarily forgetting his master plan because something about seeing you in his clothes makes his chest feel tight. "I... no, that's... it looks good on you."

"Thanks," you reply, still focused on your laptop. "I made coffee. I've been up since six working on this fellowship essay. Having you here actually helped me focus—I didn't want to wake you by going out to the library."

Jake's smug feeling evaporates. "You've been working for three hours already?"

"Mmhmm. You're cute when you sleep, by the way. Very peaceful. Not at all like when you're awake and plotting world domination."

He's not sure which is more disconcerting—that his sleepover tactic completely backfired or that you called him cute.

The next day, he tries a new approach. While you're in the bathroom during a study session, he quickly closes all fifteen tabs on your laptop, thinking it will set your research back significantly.

You return, notice immediately, and sigh. "Did you close my browser?"

"Oh, did I?" Jake feigns innocence. "Sorry, I was just checking something and must have hit the wrong button."

"It's fine," you say, pulling out your phone. "I was using the cloud sync feature. See?" You tap a few buttons, and all fifteen tabs reappear on your laptop screen. "Everything's backed up automatically. Handy, right?"

Jake's smile feels brittle. "Super handy."

His attempt to hide your textbooks the following week is thwarted when you casually mention that you primarily use the e-book versions anyway. "They're searchable," you explain, showing him how quickly you can find specific information. "Much more efficient."

The emergency ice cream date he arranges the night before your Political Economics paper is due—which should have derailed your writing schedule—somehow turns into a productive discussion about Keynesian theory that actually helps you refine your thesis.

"This is exactly what I needed to tie my argument together," you tell him excitedly between bites of rocky road. "You're a genius, baby."

The casual endearment catches Jake so off guard that he chokes on his ice cream.

"You okay there, Jakey?" you ask, patting his back as he coughs.

"Fine," he wheezes, face red. "Just... went down the wrong way."

You continue using the nickname throughout the evening, each "Jakey" hitting him like a physical blow. It shouldn't affect him—it's just a name—but something about the affection in your voice when you say it makes his stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with ice cream.

By the time he walks you home, Jake is thoroughly confused by his own reactions. This isn't part of the plan. None of it is.

The clothing swap attempt is perhaps his most spectacular failure. After a particularly heated make-out session at his apartment, Jake deliberately puts his t-shirt in your bag and hides the one you wore over.

"Can't find my shirt," you say, rummaging through your things the next morning.

"That's weird," Jake replies, feigning confusion. "Maybe it got mixed in with the laundry?"

"Probably," you agree easily, grabbing one of his shirts from his drawer. "I'll borrow this one, okay? I'm already running late for Richardson's lecture."

Jake watches in disbelief as you pull his shirt on, gather your books, and kiss him goodbye. The shirt is too big, sliding off one shoulder, but instead of looking disheveled, you somehow make it look deliberate and stylish. When you walk into lecture twenty minutes later, he overhears two girls complimenting your outfit.

"Isn't that Jake Sim's shirt?" one whispers. "They must be serious."

The comment shouldn't please him. It's supposed to be about making you late, not about public confirmation of your relationship. Yet he finds himself smiling anyway.

-

The text message barrage during your Advanced Economic Theory seminar is Jake's next carefully plotted distraction. He sets alarms for precise intervals, determined to make your phone buzz continuously throughout Hammond's lecture.

8:05 AM: Morning. Left a coffee on your desk. Hope Hammond doesn't bore you to death today.

8:13 AM: Still thinking about last night. The way you gasped when I touched you there...hard to focus in class right now.

8:19 AM: Prof Wilson just used your elasticity argument from last week. Didn't credit you though, the bastard.

8:24 AM: thinking abt you in that tiny red dress of yours, suddenly my dicks stood up like a perfectly inelastic supply curve

8:31 AM: Found that article you needed for your paper. I'll trade it for dinner tonight. Thai place just opened downtown.

8:36 AM: You look so good in that blue sweater. Even better when I was taking it off you yesterday.

8:42 AM: Remember what we did in the library stacks last week? I keep picturing you pressed against those books, trying not to make a sound.

8:47 AM: Study at my place tonight? Ethan's gone till morning. We can actually be loud for once. I love it when you're loud.

8:52 AM: The hickey I left on your inner thigh still there? Maybe I should check personally after class.

8:55 AM: Just realized I still have your underwear from Tuesday. You can have them back... or not. Your call.

The messages continue, alternating between casual conversation starters, blatant attempts to tempt you away from academics, strategic pet names (Jake has privately ranked their effectiveness, with "princess" at the top), and the memes he's carefully selected as backup distractions.

But when class ends, you emerge looking perfectly composed. "Phone on silent," you explain when he casually asks if you got his texts. "I always silence it during Hammond's lectures. He's strict about interruptions."

"Right," Jake says, deflated. "Smart."

"But I did see them after class," you continue, linking your arm through his as you walk across the quad. "The memes were funny. Nice distraction technique."

Jake glances at you, trying to gauge whether you're annoyed about the explicit messages.

"So..." he ventures, "the other texts didn't bother you?"

"Bother me? No." You give him a sly smile. "Though I'm pretty sure Hammond would've had a stroke if he'd seen what you wrote about perfectly inelastic supply curves."

Jake feels his face warm slightly, which is ridiculous because he's not the type to blush. "I meant every word."

"I know you did." You lean closer. "And yes to dinner tonight. Though I already found that article myself."

"I meant what I said about my place too," Jake says, his voice dropping lower as a group of freshmen pass by. "Ethan really is gone all evening."

You pretend to consider it. "I do have that study block scheduled..."

"I'll make it worth rescheduling," he promises, mouth close to your ear.

"You always think you're so irresistible, don't you, Jakey?" you whisper back.

There it is again—that fluttering in his stomach at the nickname. It's getting harder to ignore, especially the way it sounds so natural coming from your lips. Jake doesn't understand why his calculated pet names feel like strategic maneuvers while yours feel like treasured endearments.

"We'll see," he says, already thinking of ways to make you forget all about your study schedule tonight. Maybe he'll wear that shirt you like, the one that brings out his eyes. Maybe he'll suggest dessert after dinner. Maybe he'll use that cologne you always seem to lean in for.

Jake's so busy plotting his next move that he doesn't notice the knowing smile on your face—or the flash drive in your bag containing a nearly completed fellowship draft that you've been working on during the hours he thinks you're distracted.

-

Three days later, Jake implements what he considers his most strategic move yet: the extended weekend getaway. Under the guise of a romantic surprise, he books a cabin at a lakeside resort two hours from campus for the weekend before a major economics presentation you both need to prepare for.

"No internet," he tells you with what he hopes is a charming smile. "Just you, me, and nature for two days."

To his surprise, you seem genuinely excited. "That sounds perfect! I've been so stressed with all these deadlines. A break will help clear my head."

"Exactly," Jake agrees, already imagining how far behind you'll fall without internet access or your usual study materials. "It'll be... relaxing."

They arrive Friday evening, and Jake is pleased to discover the cabin is as rustic as advertised. No WiFi, spotty cell service, and blissfully isolated from neighboring cabins.

"It's beautiful," you say, walking onto the small deck that overlooks the lake. The setting sun casts everything in a golden glow, including your profile as you lean against the railing.

Jake finds himself staring, momentarily forgetting his ulterior motives. "Yeah," he agrees softly. "Beautiful."

You turn and catch him looking, and something in his expression makes you smile in a way that creates a strange tightness in his chest.

"So," you say, walking back to him slowly. "What should we do first in our internet-free paradise?"

Jake has a detailed plan for keeping you thoroughly distracted all weekend. It involves hiking, canoeing, cooking together, board games, and strategic makeout sessions whenever you mention anything remotely academic.

What he doesn’t plan for is how the isolation amplifies everything between you. Without the constant interruptions of campus life, without the pressure of appearing a certain way for classmates or professors, something shifts.

-

Friday night, you build a fire in the small stone fireplace, and Jake uncorks a bottle of wine he brought specifically to lower your academic defenses. One glass turns into two, which turns into lazy kisses on the couch that grow increasingly desperate, increasingly needy.

Your hands slip under his sweater, dragging over warm, taut skin, feeling the way his muscles flex under your touch. When you tug it over his head, he helps you, throwing it aside like it’s useless, like all he needs right now is you. Then he does the same with your shirt, his hands immediately returning to your skin, sliding up your sides, his rings cold and teasing against your heat.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring at you, pupils blown. His hands roam, fingers grazing over your bare stomach, thumbs brushing up to your tits, teasing your nipples until they pebble under his touch. He groans, head tipping back for a second as if he’s trying to compose himself, but it’s useless. He’s already too far gone.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice gravelly, unfiltered. It’s not calculated—just a raw, messy confession that makes your breath hitch.

You don’t answer. You just pull him back down, kissing him deeper, harder, tongue sliding against his as you push up against him. He moans into your mouth, low and needy, gripping your hips as you press closer.

“Bedroom,” you whisper between kisses, and he barely nods before hauling you up, hands firm under your thighs as he carries you there.

The cabin’s lone bedroom is small, but he barely notices it, too focused on the way firelight spills across your skin, making you look almost unreal. Almost untouchable.

But he does touch you.

He lowers you onto the bed, spreading you out beneath him, then he’s kissing his way down, taking his time, dragging his lips over your collarbone, your stomach, leaving a path of heat in his wake.

And then he’s between your thighs, spreading you open, eyes dark, his rings a sharp, cool contrast against your burning skin.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice already wrecked. “Look at you, baby. So fucking wet.”

You whimper as he trails his fingers through your slick folds, the sensation heightened by the hard, unrelenting press of his rings against your sensitive skin.

“Jake,” you whisper, thighs twitching as he spreads your folds with his fingers, watching the way you glisten in the dim light.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re dripping. You want me that bad?”

You nod, gasping when he drags his thumb over your clit, pressing down, rubbing slow, torturous circles. The metal of his rings makes it colder, sharper, and the sensation sends a full-body shiver through you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Need to taste you.”

Then he dives in, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, hard.

You cry out, hands immediately burying in his hair, gripping tight, and Jake—Jake fucking moans so loud into you it vibrates through your whole body.

“Oh my god—Jake,” you whine, head falling back as he keeps going, licking, sucking, absolutely devouring you like he’s starving.

He groans again, his hips grinding into the mattress like he’s getting off just from tasting you, and the desperate, wrecked sounds coming from him make you even wetter.

Then he slides two fingers inside, and you swear you see stars.

“Holy fuck,” he pants against your thigh, thrusting his fingers in and out, his rings catching against your slick heat with every movement. “You’re so fucking tight. Jesus, baby.”

His fingers curl, finding that spot that makes your whole body jolt, and he moans again, practically whimpering against you as he watches you come undone beneath him.

“Listen to her,” he groans, voice shaking, fingers plunging deeper, faster, wetter. “Fucking talking to me, baby—your pussy’s talking to me—”

You sob his name, hips grinding against his mouth, and he loses it, sucking harder, fingers working even faster. The sounds are obscene—wet, messy, loud—but he loves it, loves how ruined you are, how ruined he is.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips slick with you. “Gonna make a mess all over my fingers, yeah?”

Your whole body tightens. The heat in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, thighs shaking as you come, clenching hard around his fingers.

Jake moans so loud it’s almost embarrassing, almost filthy the way he reacts to your pleasure like it’s his own.

He keeps moving, working you through it, voice a wrecked, desperate mess of praise. “That’s it, that’s my good fucking girl—holy shit, you feel so good—”

You whimper, body twitching from oversensitivity, and he finally slows down, pulling his fingers out, bringing them to his lips. He groans as he licks them clean, eyes dark and half-lidded as he stares at you.

Then he’s crawling up your body, kissing you breathless, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He’s lining himself up, pressing in, and the moment he pushes inside, his head drops back and he lets out the most wrecked, filthy moan you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He sounds like he’s falling apart, like this is undoing him completely. His forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged. “Oh my god, baby, you feel—” He exhales sharply, shaking. “I can’t—I need to move—”

“Do it,” you whimper, nails digging into his back.

He groans as he starts thrusting, deep and slow at first, like he’s savoring the way you feel wrapped around him. But then you moan, rolling your hips up to meet him, and he breaks.

He picks up the pace, fucking into you hard, deep, the bed creaking with every movement.

And he’s so loud.

Every thrust rips another filthy moan from his throat, another wrecked gasp, another desperate curse as he loses himself completely.

“God, you’re so loud,” you tease, voice breathless but smug, knowing full well how completely undone he is.

His response is immediate—he gets louder. A shameless, broken groan rips from his chest, his head tipping back, fingers digging into your hips.

“You—fuck—” His voice cracks, his thrusts turning erratic. “You’re gonna—gonna make me—”

“Cum inside me,” you whisper, staring right into his dark, blown-out eyes.

Jake fucking breaks.

He lets out the filthiest, most desperate moan you’ve ever heard, his whole body shaking, his hips snapping against yours one last time as he spills inside you, burying himself deep, filling you up with everything he has.

After, he collapses against you, still shuddering, breath uneven, lips brushing over your skin as he whispers something you can’t quite hear, something too soft, too raw.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be a distraction. But as you drift off to sleep against his chest, Jake stays awake, staring at the ceiling, completely, utterly fucked in a way that has nothing to do with sex.

-

Saturday morning, Jake wakes to find you gone from the bed. Panic spikes through him momentarily before he hears movement in the kitchen. He pulls on sweatpants and pads out to find you at the small stove, wearing nothing but his button-down shirt from the night before, making pancakes.

"Morning, angel," he says, the endearment falling from his lips without conscious thought. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and is rewarded with a smile that does strange things to his heart rate.

"Morning, Jakey," you reply, turning to kiss him properly. "Sleep well?"

That nickname again. He should hate it—it's childish, diminutive—but when you say it, it feels like some private treasure between you.

"Very," he says, and means it. "Those look good."

"Blueberry pancakes. I found some berries in the fridge."

Jake blinks. Cooking breakfast together was on his distraction agenda, but you've already taken the initiative. He'd planned to get up early, hide your phone to prevent you from checking emails, and control the day's activities. Instead, he slept later than intended, and you seem perfectly content in this tech-free environment he designed to frustrate you.

After breakfast, you suggest a hike, another item from his distraction checklist that you've somehow adopted as your own idea. The fall morning is crisp and clear, perfect for exploring the trails around the lake.

"I needed this," you say as you walk hand in hand along a pine-scented path. "I've been so focused on the fellowship and finals that I forgot what it's like to just... breathe."

Jake feels a twinge of guilt. "You have been working really hard."

You squeeze his hand. "We both have. That's why this weekend is so perfect. A chance to reset before the final push."

The guilt intensifies. He's been working hard, yes, but not as hard as he should be. Not as hard as you. His grades have slipped over the past few weeks, his focus increasingly fragmented between his academic goals and his fixation on sabotaging yours.

The hike leads to a small clearing overlooking the lake. Without discussion, you both stop to admire the view. You lean back against Jake's chest, and he wraps his arms around you instinctively, resting his chin on top of your head.

It's peaceful. Simple. For a few minutes, Jake forgets about fellowships and competition and distraction strategies. He just exists in this moment with you, and it feels bizarrely right.

"Thank you for planning this," you say softly.

"You're welcome, princess," he replies, the pet name now coming naturally.

You turn in his arms, looking up at him with an expression he can't quite decipher. "I like when you call me that," you admit.

"Yeah?" Jake tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I like when you call me Jakey."

The admission surprises him as much as it seems to please you. You rise on your tiptoes to kiss him, soft and sweet, and something in Jake's chest aches.

The moment is interrupted by a distant roll of thunder. You both look up to see dark clouds gathering on the horizon.

"We should head back," Jake says, taking your hand. "Looks like rain."

You make it halfway to the cabin before the skies open. By the time you reach the porch, you're both soaked through and laughing. Jake pulls you inside, where the remains of the previous night's fire have left the cabin pleasantly warm.

“We should get out of these wet clothes,” Jake suggests, voice thick with heat, his smirk widening when he sees your eyes darken.

You don’t hesitate. Your soaked jacket hits the floor with a heavy plop, followed by your drenched shirt, clinging to your skin before you peel it off.

“Race you to the shower,” you tease, already backing toward the bathroom.

Jake growls low in his throat, tearing off his own clothes as he follows, jeans hitting the floor as he stalks after you.

The moment you step under the spray, hot water cascading down, he’s on you—pressing you against the cold tiles, kissing you deep, messy, hungry.

His hands roam your slick skin, fingers trailing up your waist, over your tits, down your stomach—gripping, groping, claiming. The sharp chill of his rings against your heated body sends a shudder through you.

Then you reach for his hand, dragging it to your mouth. Holding eye contact, you wrap your lips around his middle and pointer finger, sucking slow, obscene.

Jake chokes.

“Ngh��� oh my fucking god—”

His hips jerk forward, cock twitching against your stomach, eyes blown wide as he watches you drag your tongue up the length of his fingers before pulling off with a wet pop.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, voice wrecked, and suddenly his mouth is at your ear, his breath hot, desperate. “Turn the fuck around.”

You obey without hesitation, pressing your hands flat against the tiles, arching your back just enough to tempt him.

Jake grips your hips, dragging his cock through your slick folds, teasing—

And then he slams inside.

“Fuck!” His moan is loud, raw, unfiltered, tearing from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt.

You gasp, gripping at the tiles as he stretches you open, splitting you apart. He barely gives you time to adjust before pulling out and slamming back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace that has you wailing.

“Louder,” he growls, voice shaking as he bites down hard on your shoulder, his hips snapping against you. “Fucking scream for me, baby.”

Your moans rise in pitch, gasping and broken, but it’s not enough for him.

“Fucking louder,” he snarls, gripping your chin and turning your head slightly. “Let everyone fucking hear what I’m doing to you.”

And fuck, that does it. You wail his name, voice cracking, high-pitched and desperate, and Jake fucking snaps.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans, loud, no shame, no restraint. “That’s it, that’s my good girl—fuck, you’re so loud for me, fuck, fuck—”

His fingers slide between your legs, rubbing your clit in harsh, fast circles. “Come on, baby—come for me—fucking scream for me while I ruin this little pussy—”

Your body locks up, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your moans turning into sharp cries as you come hard, clenching down so tight around him.

Jake fucking loses it.

“Fuuuuck, oh my god, fuck, fuck, fuck—ngh—”

His voice shatters, his thrusts turning wild, his hands gripping your hips hard as he slams into you one last time and spills inside you, hips twitching, letting out the most wrecked groan you’ve ever heard.

“Ohhh fuuuuck—” His head tips back, mouth hanging open, the filthiest, most obscene moan tearing from his throat as his cock pulses inside you, filling you up.

He keeps thrusting, whimpering, riding it out, his forehead pressing to your shoulder, panting so hard he’s practically breathless.

Silence. Just the heavy, ragged sound of your breathing, the water pounding down over you both.

Then—Jake laughs, breathless, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“Well.” His voice is wrecked, rough. “Guess I should’ve made you scream my fucking name sooner.”

-

Afterward, wrapped in the cabin's fluffy towels, you curl up together on the couch to watch the storm through the large windows. Jake pulls a blanket over you both, and you nestle against his side, fitting perfectly.

"This is nice," you murmur, already sounding half-asleep. "Just being here with you. No competition, no pressure."

Jake feels a fresh wave of guilt. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "It is."

Eventually, you doze off, your head on his chest, one hand curled possessively on his stomach. Jake strokes your hair absently, listening to the rain and your steady breathing, trying to ignore the growing realization that he's no longer sure what game he's playing—or if he's playing one at all.

That evening, Jake cooks dinner as planned, but the romantic meal meant to keep you from studying now feels like something he wants to do for you rather than to you. He finds himself putting extra effort into the pasta sauce, adding spices he knows you like, opening the better bottle of wine he'd brought as a backup.

You set the small table by candlelight, and when you sit down to eat, the conversation flows easily—not about classes or the fellowship, but about childhoods and dreams and favorite books. Jake learns more about you in one dinner than he has in three years of competitive observation.

"I want to make a difference," you tell him when he asks about your post-graduation plans. "Economics isn't just about markets and money to me. It's about understanding systems that affect real people's lives."

"That's... actually really cool," Jake says, surprised by his own sincerity.

"What about you?" you ask. "Why economics?"

Jake opens his mouth to give his standard answer—the one about prestigious job opportunities and his father's expectations—but what comes out is something closer to the truth.

"I'm good at it," he admits. "And being good at things has always been important to me. Maybe too important."

You reach across the table to take his hand. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to excel."

"There is when it's the only thing that matters," Jake says quietly, the words emerging from some honest place he usually keeps carefully locked away. "When you'll do anything to win."

You study him for a moment, head tilted thoughtfully. "So when exactly were you planning to tell me that this whole relationship was just an elaborate scheme to distract me from winning the fellowship?"

The question hits like a physical blow. Jake stares at you, mouth actually dropping open. "What—how did you—"

"Please." You roll your eyes. "The timing was painfully obvious. You suddenly wanted to 'study together' right when applications opened? The constant texts during lectures? Accidentally closing my browser tabs? Hiding my books? The weekend getaway with 'no internet'?" You make air quotes with your fingers. "I've been onto you since day one, Jake Sim."

Jake runs a hand through his hair, completely thrown off script. "I—well—shit."

"Did you actually have a written plan? Like an actual document called 'How to Sabotage Her Academic Career'?"

Jake winces. "It wasn't called that exactly, but..."

"Oh my god, you did!" You start laughing, which confuses him even more. "Let me guess, you had phases? Codenames? Did you rank your distraction techniques by effectiveness?"

His silence confirms it all.

"You stupid dumb fuck," you say, shaking your head in disbelief. "I knew everything from the very beginning. Every single move. And you thought you were being so clever."

Jake stares at you for a moment, then his expression shifts from embarrassment to something closer to amusement. His lips quirk up at the corners.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," he says, though his tone makes it abundantly clear he's not sorry at all. He leans forward, lowering his voice. "But I'm also not at all because honestly? Fucking you, being with you is so fucking enjoyable that I don't care what I did to get here."

"Are you serious right now?" You're caught between outrage and reluctant admiration at his audacity.

Jake shrugs, completely unrepentant. "The plan was stupid, sure. But it got us here. And here..." he reaches for your hand across the table, "...is pretty damn good."

"You're unbelievable," you tell him, though you don't pull your hand away.

"I know," he grins, completely missing the criticism. "So, do I need to grovel, or can we skip to the part where you forgive me because you've been playing me just as much as I've been playing you?"

After dinner, you curl up together in front of the fireplace with the second bottle of wine. The storm continues outside, rain pattering against the windows, making the cabin feel even more isolated from the rest of the world.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," you challenge, your head in Jake's lap as he plays with your hair.

He considers for a moment. "I almost transferred after freshman year."

You sit up, surprised. "Really? Why?"

"Because of you, actually," Jake admits. "You beaten me in every class we shared, and I'd never... I wasn't used to being second best. I thought maybe I wasn't cut out for this university after all."

"What changed your mind?"

Jake meets your eyes. "Pride. Stubbornness. I couldn't let you win like that."

"So you stayed just to beat me?" You sound more amused than offended.

"I stayed to prove I could," Jake corrects. "And then it became about more than that. About actually learning, actually growing. Having you as competition made me better."

You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. "You make me better too, you know. You push me to work harder, think differently."

The kiss deepens, wine and confessions making you both bolder. Before long, you're straddling his lap, the blanket fallen to the floor as his hands grip your thighs.

“Take me to bed, Jakey,” you murmur against his ear, voice dripping with heat, but your body is soft, pliant against him.

Jake groans, gripping your thighs tighter before standing, lifting you with ease, your legs locked around his waist. His arms wrap securely under you as he walks the short distance to the bed, his lips dragging over your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—like he can’t stop touching you.

The bed creaks as he lowers you onto it, but instead of diving in like usual, he hesitates. Hovering over you, eyes dark, his fingers trailing over your ribs, your stomach, up to your collarbones.

For once, he’s not rushing.

This time is slower, more deliberate.

Jake peels your clothes off piece by piece, kissing each newly exposed patch of skin, his mouth reverent, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. He lingers at your stomach, your hips, your inner thighs—leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

And you do the same, taking your time dragging your hands down his torso, feeling the muscles tense under your fingertips. You push down his briefs, freeing him completely, and the way his cock twitches in anticipation makes your thighs press together.

Then—finally—he sinks into you.

And it’s so fucking much.

The stretch, the heat, the way his hips press flush against yours, leaving no space between you. His forehead drops to your shoulder, a wrecked, trembling breath escaping him as he fully seats himself inside you.

He doesn’t move. He just stays there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard, his body shaking like he’s about to fall apart.

You feel everything—every pulse, every twitch, every inch of him pressing so deep inside you it makes your breath hitch.

“Jake,” you whisper, voice soft, fingers threading through his hair. “Look at me.”

Nothing.

He’s still hiding—head tucked against your neck, panting against your skin, avoiding your eyes like he’s afraid of what he’ll see.

“Jakey,” you murmur again, voice lilting, teasing. “Baby, look at me.”

Still nothing.

So you smack him.

“Ow—what the fuck?” he sputters, head snapping up.

And you take advantage of his shock—grabbing his face, cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at you.

The moment his eyes finally meet yours, something shifts.

His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his breathing erratic. You watch his throat work as he swallows hard, his body stiffening above you.

And then—his gaze drops.

Straight to your tits.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he groans, completely mesmerized, and instead of thrusting, instead of moving at all—he just stares. “Holy shit.”

You smack him again.

“Jake!”

“SORRY!” He grins, voice breathless, but his eyes don’t leave your chest. “It’s just—you look so fucking good—”

“You dumbass, I said look at me,” you growl, yanking his chin up—forcing his eyes back on yours.

He exhales sharply. And this time, he listens.

Eyes locked on yours, he lowers himself, lips grazing over your collarbone, trailing lower—lower—until his mouth finallycloses over your nipple.

“Ohhh, fuck,” you moan, your back arching into him as his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud.

Jake groans, low and deep, sucking hard, his lips wrapping around the soft flesh, but his eyes never leave your face.

“That’s it, baby—” His voice is thick, raspy, hot against your skin. “Wanted my fucking eyes? You got ’em.”

Fuck, it’s so much worse.

The way he’s sucking on your tits, so focused, so intent, his hips starting to rock against you in slow, deep thrusts—never breaking eye contact.

“You’re gonna watch me, baby,” he breathes, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses over your skin between every filthy suck. “Gonna watch me fucking ruin you.”

You whimper, clenching hard around him, and his groan vibrates against your breast.

“Oh my fucking god,” he chokes, voice breaking. “*You’re squeezing me so fucking tight—ngh—fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

You’re a mess now, panting, gasping, fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him closer.

“Jake— ohhh my god—”

“Louder,” he demands, voice rough, biting just hard enough to make you cry out. “Scream for me, baby—let me fucking hear you.”

And you do.

You moan his name so loud, your body shaking beneath him, and Jake fucking loses it.

“Fuuuuck— baby—fuck, you’re gonna make me—ngh—”

His hips snap forward, pace turning desperate, his breath coming in wrecked, gasping moans as he buries himself inside you, his cock hitting so deep it makes your vision blur.

“Come with me,” he pleads, voice wrecked, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles. “Fuck, please,”

The coil snaps.

Your orgasm rips through you, your walls squeezing around him so hard it has Jake shouting.

“Ohhh fuuuuck—”

His whole body trembles as he spills inside you, his hips twitching, his moans so loud, so filthy, his eyes still locked on yours even as he completely falls apart.

His thrusts stutter, erratic, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until he’s completely drained, panting, shaking, forehead pressed against yours.

A few moments pass, the air thick with heat and heavy breathing.

Then—Jake huffs a breathless laugh.

“Did you really fucking smack me?” he murmurs against your skin.

You smirk, breathless, fingers still buried in his hair. “Wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t a goddamn tit guy.”

Jake grins. “Guilty.” He kisses your collarbone, then your throat, then your jaw. “But can you blame me?”

You roll your eyes, legs still locked around his waist. “Just shut up and hold me, Jakey.”

And this time—he does.

"I think I'm falling for you," he says quietly, the words slipping out in the darkness before he can consider their implications.

You're silent for a moment, and Jake holds his breath, suddenly terrified. Then you prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him in the moonlight.

"I know," you say with a small smile. "Your distraction campaign has been pretty obvious."

Jake's eyes widen. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. I've been competing with you for three years. I know how your mind works." You trace his jawline with one finger. "What I couldn't figure out was when it stopped being a strategy and started being real."

"I'm not sure I know either," Jake admits. "Maybe it was real from the beginning, and I just didn't want to admit it."

You lean down to kiss him, soft and sweet. "For what it's worth, I'm falling for you too. Even though you're still a competitive jerk sometimes."

"And you're still an academic show-off," he retorts, but he's smiling as he pulls you back down against his chest.

As you drift to sleep in his arms, Jake realizes with a start that he hasn't thought about the Harrison Fellowship once all evening. More surprisingly, he doesn't care.

-

Sunday morning brings clear skies and the reluctant awareness that their weekend escape is coming to an end. Jake wakes to find you already up, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed with your laptop open.

"I thought there was no internet here," he says, sitting up groggily.

"There isn't," you confirm. "But I downloaded all my research documents before we left. I've been working on my fellowship application."

Jake blinks, his brain still foggy with sleep. "You... what?"

You glance at him over your shoulder. "I've been up since six. Thought I'd get some work done before you woke up."

"But this was supposed to be..." Jake trails off, realizing too late what he's about to admit.

"A way to keep me from working on my application?" you finish, arching an eyebrow. "Yeah, I figured that out about five minutes after you invited me."

Jake groans, falling back against the pillows. "Am I that transparent?"

"Only to me," you assure him, closing your laptop and crawling up the bed to kiss him. "And I came anyway, because I wanted to spend the weekend with you. But I'm still going to win that fellowship."

"You're terrifying," Jake informs you, pulling you down for a proper kiss. "And impressive."

"I know," you reply with a smirk that reminds him exactly why he's been obsessed with you for three years.

They spend their final morning at the cabin making love once more before reluctantly packing up to return to campus. The drive back is comfortable, your hand resting on Jake's thigh as he drives, the radio playing softly in the background.

As the campus comes into view, Jake feels a strange reluctance to return to reality—to classes and competition and the looming fellowship decision. The weekend has changed something fundamental between you, but he's not sure how it will translate back to real life.

"What now?" he asks as he pulls into a parking space outside your dorm.

You turn to face him, expression serious. "Now we both work our asses off on our applications, ace our finals, and see what happens. No sabotage, no distractions."

"And us?" Jake asks, surprised by how much your answer matters to him.

"Us is separate from the competition," you say firmly. "I want to be with you, Jake. But I'm still going to try to beat you in every class."

Jake laughs, relief washing over him. "I wouldn't have it any other way, princess."

You lean across the console to kiss him goodbye, lingering longer than necessary. "See you tomorrow, Jakey. I've got a fellowship application to finish."

As he watches you walk away, Jake is struck by the realization that for the first time since freshman year, he doesn't care if you beat him. He just wants you both to succeed.

-

Back at his apartment, Ethan takes one look at his face and bursts out laughing.

"Oh man, you've got it bad," he says, shaking his head. "What happened to 'Total Disruption'?"

Jake collapses onto the couch with a groan. "It all backfired. Spectacularly. She knew what I was doing the whole time."

"No shit," Ethan says, not even looking up from his game. "Everyone knew. You weren't exactly subtle."

"What do you mean everyone knew? I was totally subtle!"

Ethan pauses his game and turns to face Jake, exasperation written all over his face. "Dude. You literally canceled a meeting with your fellowship advisor because she texted asking if you wanted coffee. You've been walking around campus with this dopey smile for weeks. You drew her. Multiple times."

"That was part of the plan!" Jake protests.

"The plan you spent more time talking about than actually studying for the fellowship you supposedly care so much about?"

Jake opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. "Okay, but here's the thing—"

"No," Ethan holds up a hand. "Here's the thing. You're in love with her. You have been for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years, who knows?"

"I just realized it today," Jake admits quietly.

"TODAY?" Ethan throws his hands up. "Oh my god. I literally told you this would happen the day you made your stupid plan! Day one, I said, 'You're going to fall for her,' and you said, 'No way, it's purely strategic.'"

"I didn't think—"

"Obviously!" Ethan's practically shouting now. "You've been so busy convincing yourself this was all some master scheme that you completely missed what everyone else could see from a mile away."

"It wasn't that obvious," Jake mutters defensively.

"You FRAMED a PHOTO of her! It's on your NIGHTSTAND!"

"That was to remind me of my enemy—"

"Oh my GOD, will you STOP?" Ethan throws a pillow that hits Jake square in the face. "Just admit it. The great Jake Sim, master strategist, completely played himself."

Jake is silent for a long moment, then sighs heavily. "Fine. You were right. I played myself. I fell for her. Hard. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Ethan deadpans. "So what's the plan now, Romeo?"

Jake stares at the ceiling, thinking about your parting words. About competition and companionship, about winning and wanting.

"The plan," he says slowly, "is to stop planning so much and just... see what happens."

"Revolutionary," Ethan rolls his eyes. "What about the fellowship?"

Jake sits up, a new determination settling over him. "I'm still going to try to win it. But not by sabotaging her—by actually earning it. And if she wins instead..." He pauses, surprised to find he means what he's about to say. "Then she deserves it."

"Who are you and what have you done with Jake Sim?" Ethan asks, though his sarcasm has softened slightly.

Jake's phone buzzes with a text from you. He checks it immediately, a smile spreading across his face at the message: Missing my Jakey already. Study date tomorrow? I'll bring the coffee if you bring those amazing notes from Richardson's lecture.

"Case in point," Ethan says, watching Jake's expression change. "Completely whipped."

"I am not—"

"Just answer your girlfriend and spare me the denial," Ethan cuts him off, turning back to his game.

Jake ignores him, typing back: It's a date, princess. I'll even let you borrow my sweatshirt again.

Your reply comes seconds later: Bold of you to assume I was planning to give the first one back.

The warmth that spreads through Jake's chest at your message is undeniable, as is the realization that his perfect plan has completely, utterly, wonderfully failed.

Because the truth—which he's finally ready to admit—is that somewhere between calculated kisses and genuine laughter, between strategic touches and real connections, Jake Sim has done the one thing he never planned on:

He's fallen in love with his greatest rival. And he couldn't be happier about it.

fin.

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @kkamismom12 @princesstiti14

[vunblr]

Foundations (#2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.7.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter

From Monday to Wednesday, Bucky didn’t take Thomas to kindergarten. He had been away on a mission with Clint, retrieving classified data from a transnational drug dealer organization in Canada before it could disappear for good. It had been a tense operation that required more patience than Bucky liked to admit, but they got the job done.

By Thursday, despite the pounding migraine drilling into his skull, he took Thomas to school. He was exhausted, but after three days away, he wasn’t about to keep the kid out of his routine any longer, and he didn’t want to burden Sam and Steve any longer.

As they approached the entrance, his gaze landed on her. She was holding several small gift bags, and just as he got closer, he saw another parent handing her a neatly wrapped package.

“…Really, thank you so much for taking such good care of Flore. We’re going to miss you,” the man said warmly.

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Goodbye gifts.

It made sense. That was the polite thing to do, a simple gesture of appreciation. Good manners, acknowledgment of familiarity.

And yet, he had neither thought of it nor had the time to get her anything.

When he finally reached the door with Thomas, she greeted him with the same smile as always, showing no sign of expecting anything from him.

“Well aren’t you popular” he tried to joke.

“Being popular doesn’t pay the rent, but is nice.” She high-fived Thomas, ruffling his hair slightly before he ran off to join the other kids. Bucky watched him go, blinking a couple of times as he watched the child merge with the others.

When he turned back to her, she was shifting her weight slightly, grazing the strap of her bag with her fingers as if debating something.

Then, with a quick breath, she asked, “Are you alright?”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“Mr. Rog- Steve mentioned you were working when he dropped Thomas off these past few days, and-” she hesitated, scanning his face. “No offense, but you look a little… drained.”

His lips parted slightly, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. For a moment, he just looked at her, and she felt the creeping sense that maybe she’d overstepped.

“I’m sorry if-”

“Um, no.” He ran a gloved hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly. “It’s alright. I just have a migraine and I just…” He trailed off, as if even speaking was an effort.

Her expression softened, and before she could think twice, she was already rummaging through her jacket pockets. “Oh, that’s the worst. Here-“

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and held them out to him.

Bucky squinted slightly at her, blinking like he wasn’t sure if she was serious.

“Do you have photophobia right now?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied him.

His mouth opened, then closed. “…What?”

“The light,” she clarified, nudging the glasses toward him. “Is it making it worse?”

A beat. Then, reluctantly, “Yeah.”

She stepped just a little closer, enough that he caught the faintest trace of something floral on her scarf. “Take them,” she said. “I won’t be using them until later, and you can give them back when you pick up Thomas.”

Bucky glanced down at the sunglasses hesitatingly.

“They’re unisex,” she added, a small teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You won’t look weird.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he finally took them, and neither of them moved away for a second too long.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, slipping them on.

----

Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pills to kick in. A blister and a half. He needed his damn metabolism to cooperate for once. Just this once.

He shifted to his side, his landing his gaze on the sunglasses resting on the nightstand.

You look a little drained, she had said.

And he was.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have fought it. He would’ve just rotted in his apartment, letting time blur, barely moving, barely breathing until the serum forced his body to reset. He wouldn’t have eaten, wouldn’t have showered, wouldn’t have cared. Just waited it out in silence, in the dark, until the worst of it passed.

But that wasn’t an option anymore.

Not with Thomas in the house.

He didn’t want the kid worrying about things he shouldn’t have to. He’d already seen how distressed Thomas got when Bucky was too hurt, how his small hands would clutch at his sleeves, how his big blue eyes would fill with silent fear when he witnessed one of Bucky’s episodes.

So, he sucked it up.

He couldn’t rely on Steve or Sam every time. If he was here, he was the only one responsible for Thomas’s care. That was the job. That was what mattered.

Which meant that in the few hours Thomas was at kindergarten, Bucky would do the only thing he could, lie here, breathe through the pain, and hope that by the time pickup rolled around, he’d be functional.

----

By the time pickup rolled around, Bucky had already forced himself out of the apartment. The migraine had dulled into something manageable, not gone, but tolerable. He could function. That was enough.

Still, instead of walking straight up to the gate, he lingered nearby, half-hidden as he watched the other parents pick up their kids, exchanging smiles and small talk. He let the minutes slip by, waiting until only a handful of them remained before finally making his way forward.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, keeping his distance. Thomas spotted him instantly, and his little face lighted up as he ran toward him.

She, however, hesitated. Her brows pulled together slightly as she noticed Bucky wasn’t approaching fully, like he was deliberately keeping himself at the edge of things. But, instead thinking too much into it, she turned back to say goodbye to the remaining children.

Eventually, she moved toward the entrance, ready to grab her things and head out, until Thomas’s voice rang out behind her.

She barely had time to turn before the kid came bounding up to her, gripping a slightly wild but lovely bouquet of daisies.

“These are for you!” he announced, a little breathless from the run.

Blinking in surprise, she knelt down. “For me?”

Thomas nodded eagerly, holding the flowers out with both hands. “We’ll miss you!” Then, with great importance, he added, “Daddy says that if you put an aspirnin-  aspren- aspirine in the water, they’ll stay fresher for longer.”

She let out a soft, surprised laugh before her gaze caught on something tucked between the stems. A small card, slightly crumpled from Thomas’s grip.

Thank you for everything. Barnes Family

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, pulling Thomas into a warm hug. The boy giggled, squeezing her back before darting off toward his dad.

She swallowed, glancing past Thomas toward the gate.

Bucky was still standing back, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses she had lent him that morning. When he noticed her looking, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

She smiled, tightening her fingers gently around the bouquet. Then she watched them go, and turned to walk inside, with slower steps.

The flowers had moved her more than they should have.

Almost every parent had given her a small farewell gift: a box of chocolates, a scented candle, a handwritten note. All sweet gestures, all appreciated. But somehow, this felt different. More personal. More thoughtful.

Maybe it was because Thomas had delivered them with such excitement, his little hands gripping the stems like they were something important. Maybe it was that it’s been ages since someone gave her flowers.

Or maybe… it was because he was the one who bought them. And, she liked the idea more than she was willing to admit.

----

Friday morning, it was Steve who arrived at the kindergarten gate with Thomas.

The boy clung to his uncle’s hand, his usual energy was dimmed, and when he saw her, he only offered a small wave instead of his usual eager greeting.

She crouched slightly, offering him a gentle smile. “Good morning, Thomas.”

He mumbled a quiet “Morning” back, shifting on his feet.

Steve exhaled, giving her an apologetic look as he handed over the sunglasses she had lent Bucky the day before. “He wanted to stay home with his dad,” he explained. “Bucky’s… indisposed. If he seems a little off today, that’s probably why.”

She took the sunglasses, brushing her fingers briefly against the frame before slipping them into her pocket. “Oh, is he sick?”

Steve hesitated, a fraction of a second too long. Then, with an tight smile, he nodded. “Still dealing with that migraine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

The truth was more complicated.

Since coming back from the mission with Clint, Bucky had suffered a couple of seizures, probably triggered by stress and fatigue. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Just another mark Hydra had left on his body, a collateral damage from years of forced resets in the chair.

The migraines, the memory lapses, the muscle spasms, Bucky had learned to live with those. But the seizures were the worst. They left him wrecked afterward, his body aching like he’d been through a fight he didn’t remember.

So no, he wasn’t just indisposed.

But Steve wasn’t going to tell her that.

Not when Bucky would rather chew glass than let people see him vulnerable.

----

Thomas was quieter than usual that day. He followed the routine, sat in his usual spot during storytime, and played alongside his classmates, but there was a certain way in his movements, like his mind was elsewhere.

During free play, as she helped a group of kids build a tower with wooden blocks, Thomas suddenly looked up at her, furrowing his little brows in thought.

“Um Miss…?”

She smiled. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do adults get more hurt than kids when they fall?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because they’re sooo tall?”

She chuckled at the logic. “It’s about the same for everyone,” she explained gently. “Sometimes kids bounce back quickly, and sometimes adults do, too. It just depends on how they fall.”

Thomas pursed his lips, considering that. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Oh. That’s good. I was afraid Daddy was hurt.”

Something in her chest tightened.

She kept her voice even. “Why’s that, honey?”

Thomas didn’t seem to think much of the question, busy stacking blocks on top of each other. “’Cause sometimes Daddy falls a lot.” The words were so casual, so absentminded, that it took her a second to process them.

Her grip on the wooden block in her hand tightened slightly. “He does?”

Thomas nodded, completely unaware of the weight his words carried. “Not all the time,” he added quickly, as if to reassure her. “Just sometimes. And then he gets really tired after.”

She swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “I see.”

Thomas hummed in response, satisfied with her answer, and went back to his building, already distracted by something else.

But she wasn’t.

She watched him for a moment longer, as her mind quietly turned over what he’d just said. Something about Thomas’s words unsettled her, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t really her business.

It would be weird to ask Steve, and even if she did, what could she say? Hey, Thomas mentioned his dad falls a lot, should I be worried? No. That wasn’t her place.

So she let it be.

But the thought kept occupying her mind. Especially because today was her last full class with the kids. The festival was over the weekend, and then that was it. Monday would come, and Jane would take over.

Maybe that was why, glancing around to make sure the other kids weren’t watching, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. With a little wink, she placed them in his small hands. “Make sure your dady gets one, okay? And… I hope he feels better soon,” she said gently.

Thomas nodded, tucking the candies into his pocket. “Thank you, me too.”

----

Steve arrived to pick up Thomas just in time, jogging to the gate to greet the boy and ruffle his hair. Then he turned toward her. “How’d he do today?”

She smiled, though there was something… sad in it. “Pretty good, considering he was feeling a little down. I uh- hope James is recovering well.” she stuttered a little. Then, with a small smile, she added, “It’d be wonderful to have you both at the festival. Steve smiled. “But in case you can’t make it, and we don’t see each other again…” she fidgeted lightly with the strap of her bag before she continued, “I just wanted to thank you for helping us with the booths.”

Steve quirked a brow, puzzled.

That’s when she realized, he didn’t know.

Of course, why would he? It’s not like Thomas’s father would go out of his way to mention her to his friend.

“Oh, um… I’m just the substitute teacher,” she explained, suddenly feeling awkward. “The titular returns on Monday.”

Steve’s jaw ticked slightly. “Oh. Bucky didn’t- that’s a shame. After all these months, the kids must be super attached.”

She exhaled a little, nodding. “Yeah, it’s tough to leave them.”

He tilted his head. “Do you… have another school lined up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still looking for openings. In the meantime, I mostly fill the idle time nannying.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly like he was filing that information away. “Makes sense.” Then, with an easy smile, he clapped Thomas on the back and said, “Well, ma’am, I’ll definitely be coming tomorrow for those pies, Bucky or no Bucky. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring some people along.”

There was something in his tone that made her blink, like he was already planning something she wasn’t in on.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Should I be worried?”

Steve just grinned. “Nah. Just keep an eye out.”

-----

Bucky shifted on the couch when Steve and Thomas entered the apartment,  resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward. He offered the kid a tired smile. “Hey, bud. Go wash your hands and I’ll make you some cocoa.”

Thomas nodded obediently, padding toward the bathroom.

The second he was out of earshot, Steve dropped onto the couch next to Bucky. “So… Tommy’s teacher told me she’s leaving.” He stated casually.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and then grunted. A non-answer.

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You going to the event this weekend?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “I should take Thomas, yeah.”

The blonde continued to watch him with intent, almost without blinking.

Bucky looked up, tensing his shoulders. “What?”

“Are we going to pretend it’s not the last chance to see her?”

Bucky’s expression hardened and his posture turned rigid as he looked at his friend. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Steve didn’t even blink. “You know it's not my forte.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “Look, I appreciate this… need you have to push me forward, but I don’t need it, Stevie. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” there was an edge in his voice, a weight that made Steve’s shoulders drop just slightly.

“I know you do,” he said, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “But maybe that’s why-”

“Don’t.” Bucky’s voice was firm and final. “Just… don’t.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. “Man, you are stubborn.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and his voice snapped low and controlled, careful not to carry to the bathroom where Thomas was washing his hands. “You’re overthinking something that isn’t even a thing.”

Steve’s calm expression didn’t change, which only made Bucky’s jaw clench tighter. “You know damn well my few attempts at dating were a disaster,” he continued, sharply. “And I only did it because you kept pestering me about it.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky didn’t let him get a word in.

“You don’t get it.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

His shoulders hunched just slightly, his gaze dropping. “No sane person would look at me and think… and she’s not into me. I’d know.”

Steve’s face softened, as he took in the slumped set of Bucky’s shoulders, the way his hand stayed fisted at his side like he was holding himself together by only force of will.

“Bucky…”

But he just shook his head, standing up abruptly. “Just drop it, Steve.”

And with that, he walked off stiffly as he moved toward the hallway.

-----

Saturday arrived, and the festival was bursting with people.

The courtyard buzzed with laughter, music, and the scent of baked goods wafting through the air. Families crowded the booths, with hands full of cupcakes, crafts, and raffle tickets. The children dashed between the stalls, their little faces painted with colorful designs, excited.

And, of course, a noticeable crowd gathered around three particular men.

Steve had shown up with Sam and Clint in tow, and Sam -being Sam- had tweeted about it. That was all it took to draw in curious onlookers and eager fans who wanted to catch a glimpse of the Avengers in civilian mode. Some were bold enough to ask for selfies, which Sam graciously agreed to with his signature charm. Steve kept it low-key, smiling politely while Clint grumbled but still posed when cornered by particularly persistent fans.

The buzz from their appearance did wonders for sales. The bake sale sold out twice, and the raffle tickets were gone in record time.

She watched it all from the distance, with a pleased smile on her face. It was turning out even better than she’d hoped.

Then, she caught sight of Steve talking with the director, shaking her hand as he discreetly handed her an envelope. Even from afar, she saw the way the woman’s eyes widened before her hand flew to her mouth, clearly struggling to keep her composure. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose name was on that check. Things were going well, better than well, and that was good. The festival was a success, the kids were having a blast, and the school would benefit enormously from the donations.

She was happy. Truly.

But… she also couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt as the day passed by. She’d hoped to see him there. Maybe standing in a corner, lurking on the periphery with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began to dip lower, she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t going to happen.

She wouldn’t see him again.

Oh well. It was just an innocent crush, after all.

Nothing serious. Nothing life-altering. Just a harmless infatuation from observing and interacting with him on a daily basis, the same way she did with any other parent.

With the little difference that she didn’t go to work every morning wondering if any other parent would be wearing that blue henley that suited him so well. Or if his hair would be left loose, or pulled back in that short, neat ponytail that made his sharp features even more striking.

Or if maybe she might find an excuse to have some trivial physical contact. A casual brush of fingers when giving him a paper, a brief touch on her arm to get her attention.

Stupid, she chided herself, shaking her head as she moved to straighten the crafts table. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that.

----

Eventually, she found herself chatting with Steve and company before they took their leave.

They were… surprisingly normal.

Mr. Wilson -Sam- had a warm, easygoing demeanor. He complimented the cinnamon rolls with genuine enthusiasm and asked questions about the neighborhood, curious about the local community.

Clint, on the other hand, was… well. He made a big show of browsing the crafts table, holding up a knitted cat plushie with a serious expression. “So, if I get this for my dog… how long before he tears its head off?”

She stifled a laugh. “Depends on the dog, I suppose.”

He nodded solemnly, turning the plushie this way and that. “Yeah… Lucky’s got a soft spot for cat toys. Rips ‘em to shreds out of love, y’know?”

Steve rolled his eyes, muttering, “Pretty sure he eats them out of spite.”

Clint gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you accuse him of malice!”

They were good people. Easy people. And for a second, she understood how Thomas could be so fond of his father’s companions.

As they said their goodbyes, she almost asked Steve about him. The words were right there, hovering on the tip of her tongue. How’s James? Is he… alright?

But she swallowed them back.

----

After the Avengers trio left, the festival slowly quieted down. Without the crowd magnet that was Sam’s tweet, the streets grew calmer, and the noise of conversation softened as people trickled out. The streetlights flickered on, casting warm glows along the sidewalks.

She was absentmindedly rearranging a set of crocheted coasters on the table when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

Low, a little rough.

“How much for the coasters?”

Her heart gave a startled jolt as she turned around.

There he was, hands in his jacket pockets, hair pulled back neatly, the streetlight casting a soft glow over his tired features.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I- uh…” She cleared her throat, her smile slipping out before she could stop it. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s already playing with that girl… Fiona, or Flora,” Bucky replied, glancing toward the playground. “Apparently, she just got here. Same as us.”

She followed his gaze, watching the children chase each other, laughter echoing through the yard. “They get along well.”

“Yeah.” His eyes softened, lingering on the kids before he looked back at her. “Thank you for the sunglasses, by the way.”

Right. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I get migraines, too, so I know how it can be sometimes.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Yeah. They helped.”

She rocked back on her heels, brushing the edge of the table behind her with her fingers. “I’m glad.” He nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment. “And-” She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her face, “thank you for the flowers.”

His lips twitched, just enough to soften his expression as he lifted his gaze toward her. “Not too old-fashioned, I hope.”

Her eyes widened. “No, I… loved them,” she declared, almost too earnestly. She felt a little silly, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “The last time I got flowers was… well, a friend brought them when I was in the hospital for appendicitis… like five years ago.” She chuckled lightly, brushing the edge of the table again, a nervous habit she didn’t even realize she had.

There it was. The opening he should have ignored.

But he didn’t.

“And… what presents do your boyfriend give you on special occasions then?”

The question came out more casual than he felt. He kept his posture relaxed, like he didn’t really care about the answer. But his eyes were locked on her, sharp and unwavering.

Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened as heat flooded her cheeks. She looked down, fidgeting with the table’s edge again. “Oh, um… I’m not… I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

Bucky’s jaw shifted, and his teeth clenched before he relaxed them. His body unconsciously leaned just a fraction closer. “Oh.”

She looked up then, and their gazes met. His were piercing, framed by dark circles that spoke of exhaustion, but seemed to intensify the blue.

So, not seeing anybody. His throat bobbed, and his shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t expected to get this far. He exhaled, slowly and measured. “Right.”

Her gaze flickered down, suddenly finding the space between their feet very interesting. A strand of hair slipped from behind her ear, falling across her cheek, and she pushed it back again.

Before either of them could say another word, Thomas came running, voice loud and cheerful as he yelled. “Miss Y/n! Look!”

They both turned, and the spell broke as the child waved a giant cookie with excitement. “Flora’s mom gave me this!”

She forced herself to laugh. “Wow, that’s huge! You better save some for your dad.”

Thomas grinned, already taking a big bite. “No way!”

Bucky huffed, as a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. “Figures.”

The kid then scampered off, cookie half gone before he even made it back to the playground.

The moment gone, Bucky shifted, and his body tensed when he realized how close he was standing. He took a step back, squaring his shoulders. “I, uh… better keep an eye on him.”

She nodded, finally letting go of the table. “Yeah… of course.”

Before he walked away, she hesitated but found her voice. “I’m glad you came.”

His posture stilled and he straightened himself before slowly turning to face her. His gaze softened, his always-present guarded look slipping just for a moment.

“…Yeah. Me too.”

----

After their conversation, Bucky found himself hovering on the edges while keeping an eye on Thomas, his gaze instinctively drifting back to her as she moved between the booths, helping kids pick out treats, chatting easily with parents, her laughter blending into the warm evening air.

He lingered longer than he meant to, always just a few steps away but never quite close enough. Every time he tried to approach her again, something got in the way.

A parent pulled her aside to thank her. A kid called out her name, needing help. Another teacher waved her over, asking her opinion on where to store the leftover banners.

Bucky’s mouth would open, half-formed words on his tongue, but then he’d shut it again, stepping back, tensing his shoulders as the opportunity slipped away. Time slipped by, and the evening grew cooler as the crowd began to thin. Booths were closing up, the parents gathered their kids, and the buzz of excitement slowly winded down.

Eventually, Thomas tugged at his sleeve, his small voice pulling Bucky from his thoughts. “Daddy… I’m bored.”

Bucky blinked, looking down at him.

The kid’s eyes were drooping, since the day’s excitement clearly caught up to him. “Can we go home now?”

Bucky exhaled, resigned. “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s go.”

Thomas nodded, and then looked back toward the crafts booth, scrunching up his face. “Wait… I wanna say goodbye to Miss Y/n.”

His throat felt dry. But he swallowed it down, nodding as he squeezed his son’s fingers back. “Alright.”

He straightened his posture, forcing his shoulders to relax, willing himself to push past the stupid, adolescent feeling twisting in his gut. This wasn’t about him. It was for Thomas. Just for Thomas.

So he took a breath and walked toward her.

She was at the crafts booth, boxing up leftover yarn and packing away the crocheted coasters. When they approached, she looked up, and her eyes widened before a warm smile softened her face. “Hey, Thomas.” Then her gaze flicked to Bucky, lingering for a second too long on him before she looked back at the boy. “And James.”

Bucky’s chest tightened again, but he gave a curt nod, unconsciously squeezing Thomas’s hand just a bit tighter.

Thomas stepped forward, and tilted back his head to look up at her. “You’re really leaving?”

Her smile faltered, and she crouched down, “Yeah, buddy. I am.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his lips curled into a sad frown. “But… who’s gonna read the stories now?”

Her eyes shimmered, but her smile stayed firm. “Miss Jane will. And she’s really good at funny voices, too.”

Thomas’s nose wrinkled. “But I like your voices better.”

A laugh broke through her lips, soft and warm. “You’re gonna be just fine, kiddo. And hey, maybe I’ll come visit sometime, okay?”

Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Thomas beamed, stepping forward and wrapping his little arms around her neck. She stiffened, just for a moment, before hugging him back, closing her eyes as she held him close.

Bucky’s chest ached. He looked away, trying to ignore the sting of it all. This was just for Thomas.

When she finally pulled back, she ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourself, okay? And be good for your dad.”

Thomas nodded, his smile wide and sincere. “I will!”

She stood up, drifting her gaze back to Bucky. “Well, again, I’m glad you two could make it.”

His shoulders tensed, and he flicked his gaze to the side. “Yeah. Figured Thomas would want to… y’know.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, a shadow crossing her face. “Of course.”

For a second, the words were right there. The things he wanted to say, the things he knew he should say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just gave a stiff nod. “Take care.”

Her smile faltered, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the box. “You too, James.”

Thomas tugged at his hand, his little voice breaking through the moment. “Come on, Papa. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Bucky murmured. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, guiding his son away.

He didn’t look back.

Not even when he wanted to.

-----

A couple of weeks passed, and their daily life settled into a certain rhythm. Thomas adjusted well enough to the new teacher. According to him, she was “nice” and “funny,” but then he’d always add, with a little pout, “But Miss Y/n was better.”

Bucky didn’t have much to say to that. He just ruffled his son’s hair and changed the subject, pretending like the kid’s words didn’t affect him.

He felt drained again. It was getting harder to balance parenthood, missions, and the neurological bullshit that seemed determined to make his life a living hell. The migraines were more frequent, and the muscle spasms in his shoulder were more stubborn. And there were days when the exhaustion sank so deep into his bones, that he felt like he was drowning.

His temper was shorter. His mood was broodier, and that was saying a lot.

Not in front of Thomas, of course. He forced himself to keep it together around the kid, to push down the irritability and the tension coiling under his skin. But that meant the rest of his social circle got the brunt of it.

Steve noticed. They all did.

And Steve -being Steve- decided to stage an intervention ambushing in his living room.

“You need to find a nanny,” he said one evening, firmly.

“No,” Bucky snapped, not even looking up from his coffee. “I’m not letting a stranger into my house.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Buck, you can’t keep this up. Eventually, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, tightening his grip around his mug.

Steve’s voice softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “We’re all here for you. But we’ve got our own responsibilities, too. Our own missions, our own lives.” He paused. “You’re not a burden. You’re not in this alone, but you’ve got to figure out a way to make things work, not only for Thomas, for you too.”

The words settled like stones in Bucky’s gut.

He knew Steve was right. He knew he was leaning on the team too much, burdening them with his fucked-up life and his chaotic mind. But hearing it out loud stung in a way that made him feel like a failure all over again.

----

That week, he had to travel with Clint to Canada for a mission. He had made arrangements with Steve for Thomas to stay at his place. It felt like another burden to drop on his best friend, but he didn’t feel he had another choice.

Things ended a day earlier than expected, and Bucky didn’t bother going back to his apartment first. He was bone-tired, dirty, and stiff from travel, but he just wanted to see his kid. Make sure he was okay.

He called Steve, but there was no answer. Not unusual, but still irritating.

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to his place and rang the doorbell twice before he heard footsteps approaching.

The snarky remark he’d been ready to throw died in his throat the second the door swung open.

Because it wasn’t Steve standing there.

It was her.

Wearing a floral apron, hands dusted with flour, and a faint streak of it on her cheek as she blinked up at him in shock. Her mouth opened, then closed, her eyes wide.

Bucky’s brain shut down. His body locked up, as he looked at her, so familiar and yet so impossibly out of place. He barely managed a croaked, “What… what are you doing here?”

She blinked again, then straightened her pose, wiping her hands on the apron. “Oh- um… Hi, James.”

Hearing his name on her lips again made him feel things, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder. “Steve had to run an errand, and he asked me to watch Thomas for a while.” Her eyes flicked back to his, “I… didn’t know you’d be back today.”

Bucky stood there, frozen in the doorway, his tired mind struggling to catch up. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t understand. “Yeah. Came back early.”

She shifted her weight, playing nervously with the edge of her apron. “Right… well, Thomas is inside. We… we were making cookies.” She hesitated, then added, “He said they were your favorite.”

Bucky’s heart did something stupid, something he didn’t like, and he had to clear his throat to shake it off.

“Yeah. He’s… he’s right.”

She smiled then, soft and warm, relaxing her posture. “Well… come in, then.”

He stood there for half a second longer than he should have, as his brain still struggled to process the fact that she was here, in Steve’s house, baking cookies with his kid.

“Where’s Thomas?” His voice came out rougher than intended, low and gravelly as he moved past her, already unfastening the straps on his tactical vest.

She blinked, momentarily stunned before she managed to answer, “In… in the bathroom.”

Bucky grunted, not even looking at her as he pulled a knife from his thigh holster, the blade catching the light before he tucked it into an old cupboard by the hallway. Then came another knife, a handgun, and an extra clip, all disappearing behind the tiny wooden doors.

She knew it was rude to stare. She knew it.

But it was the first time she’d seen him like this.

The tactical suit made his broad shoulders seem impossibly solid, and the black fabric hugged his body, emphasizing the lines of his arms, as the curve of his biceps strained under the worn seams. The vest molded against his chest, doing nothing to hide the muscular expanse beneath it, or concealing just how strong he was.

His thick thighs were framed by those dark cargo pants that clung to him as he moved. Even weighed down by holsters and utility belts, he moved with a lethal grace. And his hair -God, his hair- disheveled and muddy, framing his face and somehow softening the hard cut of his jaw.

There was dirt smudged across his cheekbone, and a faint bruise along his jaw, evidence of whatever fight he’d been in. His lips were pressed in a thin line giving him an edge of danger.

Danger.

That was the word. He looked dangerous. And damn, if that wasn’t… hot.

He ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?” He turned to her, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. “Where’s Steve?”

She straightened, nervously brushing her fingers against the fabric of her apron before she crossed her arms, tightening her posture. “I don’t know, sincerely. He said he had things to do and asked me to babysit for a couple of hours.” Her chin lifted just slightly. “I told him the last time we saw each other that I’d be doing this until I found a spot in another kindergarten.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed.

“He said he asked you for my number,” she added, just a touch defensive.

He shifted his posture, narrowing his eyes. “Did he now?”

She tilted her head, pulling her brows together. “Didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer and flicked his gaze to the side, jaw working as he realized what happened. That punk.

Steve must’ve swiped her number from his phone at some point since he hadn’t deleted the contact yet.

His teeth clenched, and his body went rigid. Of course, he had planned this. He could practically hear that self-satisfied voice in his head, calling him out for being stubborn.

“Um… is everything alright?”

Her voice broke softly through his thoughts. Her arms were still crossed, and there was a crease of concern on her brow, as she pressed her lips together while she watched him.

Bucky exhaled slowly, relaxing his stance just a fraction. “…Yeah. Everything’s fine.” For a second, he didn’t know what to do. How to stand. What to say.

Silence.

Awkward, heavy silence.

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, nervously twisting the apron’s hem. “Well, I’m… I’m going to check on the cookies.”

He gave her a stiff nod.

The moment she rounded the corner and got out of sight, he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped forward as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about the possibility of seeing her again. Hell, the way his chest stuttered when she opened the door was proof of that. But the fact that Steve had the nerve to call her without letting him know bothered him.

He knew this wasn’t accidental. Not by a long shot. Steve didn’t do accidental when it came to him. The punk knew very well about the nightmares. About the shitty migraines and the episodes that left Bucky feeling like his body was betraying him. About the way he was falling behind, failing to balance it all.

He had been on his case for weeks about getting a nanny, and now… this? Her of all people?

His fingers curled into fists.

Damn it, Steve knew. He knew, and he’d gone behind his back, meddling in things he had no right to touch. He’d give the punk a piece of his mind for this.

Just as soon as he could breathe normally again.

“Daddy!”

Bucky’s head snapped up just in time to catch Thomas barreling toward him, flinging his little arms around his waist with all the force his tiny body could muster.

The impact made Bucky stumble back half a step before kneeling and wrapping his arms securely around his son.

He let himself sink into the moment, holding Thomas close, shutting his eyes for a second longer than necessary. The kid’s head was buried against his chest, warm and solid, real.

He stayed like that, resting his chin on the child’s messy hair until the boy started chattering excitedly.

“Daddy, we made cookies! Y/n let me mix the dough and everything!” Thomas pulled back just enough to look up at him, with bright eyes. “Uncle Steve was busy, but she came, and it was so much fun!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smile, nodding along as Thomas continued to recount his afternoon. His little voice was so cheerful, that Bucky couldn’t help but soften, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“I’m glad you had fun, buddy.” His voice was calm, even if his thoughts were anything but.

Meanwhile, she was still in the kitchen, apron in hand, tracing absentmindedly the floral pattern with her fingers as she leaned against the counter.

She didn’t know how to face him. Not after that awkward, clipped conversation. Not after the way his body had stiffened, and his eyes had narrowed as he realized she was there.

There was definitely something going on.

When Steve called, his voice had been chirpy and casual. He’d said he remembered her mentioning she was open to babysitting, and he asked if she was available for a few hours.

She’d said yes without a second thought.

They set a day and time, and she showed up expecting to watch Steve’s kid, or maybe a relative’s. She never imagined that Steve lived alone in his apartment and she’d walk in and find Thomas there.

He had been vague -really vague- when she asked who she’d be watching. He hadn’t lied, exactly. But he’d definitely led her to believe it would be his responsibility she was taking on.

When she arrived, Steve explained to her that Bucky was away, and he was in charge of the kid for some days. But then, some important things came up -again, he’d been vague about the details- and he couldn’t leave Thomas with just anyone.

“So I remembered what you told me,” he’d said with a disarming smile. “and asked Bucky for your number. He instantly agreed to it, he was so thrilled when I told him you were the one watching after the little guy.”

It had made sense at the time. He’d seemed so sure, so confident when he’d explained it all. And of course, it felt good to see Thomas again.

But then Bucky showed up at the door, tactical suit half undone, weapons dropping from his holsters, and she realized he didn’t look thrilled.

His expression had been guarded, his body was totally tense and his words clipped and cold. Not exactly the reaction of someone who had agreed to this arrangement. But then again… why would she suspect anything when Captain America himself had stood there, looking her straight in the eye with that earnest, honest gaze of his, and told her everything was fine?

And now here she was, hiding in the kitchen, debating whether she should leave or stay until Steve came back, since, technically, he was her employer for the day.

And, well… she needed the money.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Perfect. Just perfect.

How the hell did she get herself into this?

She looked toward the hallway, hearing Thomas’s cheerful voice as he babbled to his father. She could just make out the low, rumbling sound of Bucky’s replies, his tone softer and calmer than when he spoke to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she started to transfer the cookies from the cooling rack to a tray, arranging them with a precision that bordered on obsessive. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid thinking about the man who was currently standing just a few feet away.

Bucky heard her curse under her breath, quiet but unmistakable, and something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

None of this was her fault.

He exhaled through his nose, raking a hand through his grimy hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a tangle. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed to not be in this position, trying to smooth over a situation Steve had thrown them both into.

But here they were.

Steeling himself, he walked toward the kitchen, feeling ridiculously out of place in his tactical gear against the warm, homey scent of cinnamon and sugar.

She was still standing by the counter, transferring the cookies onto a tray, tense. So tense. He hesitated for a second before clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

She startled slightly but didn’t turn around.

He stood in the doorway, blocking some of the fading daylight, with his broad body.

“I, um…” He scratched at the back of his neck, brushing his fingers through tangled hair, already regretting how awkward this was. “Can you pass me a glass?”

Finally, she looked at him and nodded, moving to the cupboard and reaching up on her toes, grabbing one and handing it over without a word. Her fingers brushed his, soft and warm, and his grip tightened on the glass just a little too hard.

He filled it from the tap, taking a slow sip, using the seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I forgot…” He sighed, rolling the glass between his fingers. “Steve asked me for your number when I was out of the country. My mind was… elsewhere.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her expression eased just a bit. Were her eyes a little glassy?

Oh, he was definitely going to strangle Captain Jerk the minute he saw him.

“Yeah… so, sorry if I was rude back there.” He exhaled heavily, setting the glass down on the counter. “I know it’s by no means an excuse, but I’m tired-”

“Don’t worry,” she cut in softly, with a gentle voice as she shook her head. “Really. It’s fine.”

His lips parted slightly, surprised at how easily she let him off the hook.

“I can’t even imagine…” She waved her hand up and down, gesturing at his disheveled state. The dirty tactical suit, the bruises blooming under his jaw, and his wild, tangled hair.

Her gaze lingered a little too long on the way the fabric stretched over his chest. Luckily, he didn’t notice since his gaze drifted toward the tray of cookies.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Want one?”

He looked up, his gaze met hers, and for just a second, she forgot how to breathe. His blue eyes were softer now, warmer.

“…Yeah.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Yeah, I do.”

Her heart skipped, and her fingers trembled just a little as she tilted the tray toward him.

He hesitated just for a second like deciding which one to choose, then his eyes flicked again to her face. And there, sensing the warmth of his body standing so close to her, and his scent -sweat and leather, dust and something distinctively him- filling the small kitchen, she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in so much trouble.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira

[lyrefromthesea]

I really liked the idea of wolf hybrids hashiras :DD.

so maybe now wolf hybrids hashiras who are obsessed with the reader and the thought of owning the reader so they want to mark them somehow? for example by scenting them or leaving bites, etc.

Male Hashira x reader - Courting done right

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: wolf hybrid!au, omega!reader

Tengen:

• gifts. gifts. gifts. have i mentioned he's going to use gifts?

• such a cute omega, he is more than ready to take care of you and take you in as his tsugoku, his new lover - his everything. you're just not recognizable as his. not yet.

• he makes a point out of bestowing gifts upon you. they always have to be expensive and flashy. the gift that got everything going was a perfume, the same all his wives had.

• every demon slayer knows that exact scent, it's just that there's now a fourth individual wearing it. everyone realized it sooner than you - you carried the same hint as his wives.

Obanai:

• he gives you obvious hints about his courting intentions, directly telling you that he would like to take you to a nice restaurant or walk you home.

• but do not expect him to actually spell it out, he's not the kind of person to do it. by the time you openly acknowledge your relationship, everyone around the two of you has already thought you were mates.

• small presents and weekly dinners are more than common, he needs to show you that he can take care of you.

Rengoku:

• biting and scenting. it started with scenting though.

• when he finds you curled up somewhere, dozing off after a mission, he always does the same thing. as soon as he made sure you're really asleep, he's by your side, warm arms wrapping around your body and keeping you close.

• waking up and realizing that his scent had rubbed off on you, you are more than happy. it becomes natural to wake up with him by your side. the biting started after a kakushi eyed you weirdly. Kyojuro reacts quickly, leaving a bite on your shoulder before nuzzling against you like usually.

• neither of you complains about the new addition to his old habits. in fact, you make sure to doze off near him sometimes, happy to wake up with a new mark.

Sanemi:

• he's possessive of you, definitely not in the cute way either. when he realizes other corps members take interest in you, he's lurking near you. it doesn't take long for others to flee, the man is staring daggers into them.

• he starts to come up with courting methods when he realizes you're not going to be around him all the time. he needs to make his presence known, even when he's not really there.

• he's quick to give you a few pieces of his clothes, telling you to wear them every now and then. the clothes nearly reek of his scent, strong pheromones taking over the area around them. if he wanted to prove he's an alpha, he had clearly succeeded.

• and though the clothes came with the best intention - protecting you - people subconsciously try to avoid you whenever you wear them.

Giyuu:

• he's not to sure about courting you, he had never done so before. he tries to sneak a few secrets from couples he watches walking past him. presents, taking you out, scenting - he had tried it all.

• eventually manages to eat outside with you from time to time, often finding yourself conversing under a tree. he had to stop his tail from swishing around when you leaned against his arm, resting your head against his shoulder. uses the moment to rub his cheek against you lightly, leaving a faint hint of his scent behind.

• it's always a nice surprise to find a small gift from him near your door, wrapped in a small cloth. he knows that you know where they come from, happy when he sees them on you the next day.

Gyomei:

• with him, you can't say when exactly the courting began. he first offered scenting you a few weeks after you were ranked a hashira. though it was slightly weird at first, you quickly became used to it.

• you knew he would never force the scenting on you, but it somehow gotten to a silent agreement. it was for your safety at first - demons prefered attacking omegas - he could cover your scent with his own.

• however, the simple scenting quickly escalated into a mark or two, nuzzling against each other and eventually leaving bites on your shoulders.

[fiyaerrigan]

Tommy kisses Buck's birthmark, but only in the most intimate of moments where no one is around to see.

It's not something frantic or passionate, so it doesn't happen when they get physical. Hell, it doesn't happen often enough to take the place of "hello" kisses when Tommy arrives for a date. But when it does happen, Buck notices.

It's not that Buck has a thing about his birthmark. It's not even that Tommy has a thing about his birthmark—At least, he doesn't think Tommy does. Based on past experience, Buck's pretty sure he would have picked up on that by now.

He's been in a lot of relationships—hookups and romances alike—so he knows when someone likes his birthmark in a way that goes beyond passing appreciation. He's had partners who have to acknowledge it and point out its unique-ness and get into his birthmark in a way that Buck never fucking judged, because it felt good—plus, it wasn't like he had gone through life without fixating on a person's physical attributes. Buck has been known to check out a redhead and appreciate a Tommy-cleft or two, after all.

At the end of the day, the Birthmark Thing doesn't really matter to Buck: people liking it just sort of happens, and he's happy to go along with it whether it's an offhand compliment or something more.

But with Tommy—even if it maybe it is a thing and neither of them knows it—it just feels different.

It happens in moments where Buck least expects it.

It happens when they're both in bed exhausted from rough shifts and staring at the ceiling maybe a few inches apart, because one of them got tired of the other's body heat after five minutes cuddling. They end up back on the subject of work, and sometimes it's funny and sometimes it's sad. Either way, something happens and Buck is pulled across the distance—sometimes, Tommy's hand traces up Buck's arm and ghosts softly over Buck's brow, other times there's an abrupt tug towards him and a decisive smek of lips against skin. Every time, Buck can do nothing other than melt in the goddamned afterglow that follows.

It's just a kiss. It's not a kiss on the lips or a kiss that's dirty and better-suited for the charged silence of the bedroom. It's just a little peck. On his birthmark.

And yet, every time it happens, Tommy stares Buck down—practically dead in the eyes—and moves so deliberately. Time seems to slow. When he doesn't drown in Tommy's gaze, Buck swears he can see the slightest fear in the other man's eyes—there so subtly that Buck hesitates to say it's present at all.

What Tommy has to be afraid of, Buck doesn't know—or maybe he does. Only he's afraid, too.

Whatever it is, Buck doesn't ask. Whatever it is, Tommy doesn't say.

All Buck knows is that in the quiet moments where Tommy kisses his birthmark, it feels like Tommy's saying something. Something that matters.

Sometimes, a feeling hits Buck so intensely—expressed by three little words he just can't let out, not yet. When Buck gets that feeling, Tommy gets this look in his eyes like maybe he feels the same way. Most of the time, Buck can hardly bring himself to believe it. Other times, he's able to give in. Sometimes, when Tommy looks at Buck that way, he kisses Buck's birthmark.

When that happens—slowly, fearfully, tenderly—Buck can't help but think the following:

Maybe he loves me too. Maybe I can say it.

But Buck is Buck. He rushes into things and then they fall apart and burn before his eyes. And, sure, Tommy doesn't seem to mind—he even seems to like Buck's Buck-ness, if Buck's being honest—but Buck isn't about to let something this good fall apart just because he got ahead of himself.

So he doesn't say it, but Tommy still kisses him.

The days begin. Buck and Tommy go to work and kiss each other goodbye. After work, Tommy keeps buying dinner until Buck looks at him and grumbles that Tommy never lets him pay. Tommy's eyes soften, and Tommy smiles at him.

Later that night, when they're alone, Tommy kisses him and it feels like it means something.

The days end. Lots of days end, actually. Buck's been keeping stock of them like little scrapbook mementos held tightly to the chest. One second it's September, and the next it's Halloween and Buck has boils that are absolutely gross all over his face. Tommy kisses him anyway. Tommy goes to a funeral for a cowboy who died centuries ago, and doesn't laugh at Buck's expense—not in this moment where it matters.

Buck holds the day close to his chest. Weeks later, when he's fanning away smoke and scraping off the black edges of a failed attempt—at baking, not forgetting, he swears—Buck finds himself alone in his kitchen and defeated enough to admit a single fear:

He still holds the day close. He holds it close to his heart and cannot let it go.

Tommy kisses his birthmark.

The feeling builds and builds and burns.

[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | eight.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, smut

⇢word count: 7.3k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, a glimpse of seora in her athlete mode, more yunho x seora moments, more yunho x oc moments hehe, yunho opens up to oc about eunha, making out, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), soft sex!!, lots of tender moments

⇢on rotation: be alright - yunho | savior - kyuri

“Ace." Yunho calls for Seora just as she's about to run off to the court. "Goodluck. Kill 'em out there, hm?" Seora smiles up at her dad before doing their handshake.

"Will do my best, daddy-o!" She salutes before running towards the coach and her team, setting up on one side of the court. Yunho settles onto a seat in the bleachers of the school gym, making sure to leave some space for Mingi— whenever he gets here. 

Yunho waves and acknowledges a few parents walking in, all of them staying within the same area of the bleachers to support their kids in front of them, the right team. He takes a moment when a select few squeeze him on the shoulder or come to sit next to him for a quick chat, checking in on him and seeing if he's doing okay. He appreciates the gesture, and he also appreciates seeing what everyone has been up to since he doesn't normally do much with the other parents besides Chan-mi's. 

And that's really only to coordinate shopping dates or sleepovers.

Just as tipoff is about to begin and the teams getting ready out on the court, Mingi comes strolling in, plopping himself right next to his bestfriend.

"About time." Yunho says with a small laugh. "Almost missed tipoff." 

"I would never." Mingi and Yunho look out to the court, watching as Seora gets herself situated in the center for tipoff. She gets into position, bending at the knee ever so slightly to prepare for the jump. She quickly looks over at her dad, giving him a subtle nod when he acknowledges her by tapping the left side of his chest where his heart is. She gives him a tiny nod right before the ref blows the whistle and tosses the ball up.

Seora times herself perfectly and jumps up for the ball— able to tip it into their side of the court first.

Yunho and Mingi cheer loudly, watching as she storms down the court to execute a play. They continue to watch the team score repeated baskets, Mingi finding it a good point to start bringing up a conversation with his bestfriend

"So.. I see Hwa couldn't make it." Mingi chuckles a bit, making Yunho subtly shake his head.

"Well, Yoori was gonna find out sooner than later." Yunho responds, keeping his eye on the court and cheering in between.

"Is he with her right now?"

"Yeah, he is. I think she pulled an ultimatum on him. It's either he gets his shit together and starts getting serious or she's done completely."

⇢FLASHBACK

Seonghwa isn't sure if he feels guilty about what he did during the club, and maybe that speaks volumes as to where he stands with everything. Because he's not gonna lie, he did enjoy it. Noeul was fun. She's like that shiny new toy that he's still excited over. 

But yet, he's here. Having coffee with Yoori because a part of him feels like he needs to make it up to her without really making it up to her. 

To try to figure out what it is he really wants.

To see if Noeul really is just that shiny new toy to him and if his heart has truly belonged to Yoori all this time.

He doesn't wanna think anymore. 

And his mind agrees when the buzzer on the table goes off, signaling their drinks are ready to be picked up. Seonghwa doesn't really think at all, leaving his phone behind to go pick up the drinks at the counter and return the buzzer. Yoori keeps her gaze outside of the window until Seonghwa's phone vibrates on the table, causing her eyes to shift down to the notifications coming up on the screen.

Noeul?

She knows of her, but they've never really interacted like that.

And as far as she knows, Seonghwa hasn't either until now, apparently.

When Seonghwa comes back to the table, he can easily tell the mood has dropped. Yoori's got her brows knitted, her chin resting on the palm of her hand.

"Here." He carefully passes her coffee over.

"Since.. when did you know Noeul?"

"Oh, cause of Yunho and Y/N."

"But, you guys text like that?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Since when?"

"Since we all hung out. What's with the questions?"

"News to me."

"I can't make friends?" She rolls her eyes and sips her coffee. Intuition tells her that it's definitely more than that because why the hell is he suddenly making a new friend? One that's sending him text after text. 

Let's not forget the emoji next to her name.

He doesn't do that shit. Even if she put it in his phone herself, he would've changed it so quick.

"Yoori. I know you're not mad about that."

"I know you're not lying to me again." Seonghwa is taken aback by the statement, but deep down, he's honestly panicking and losing it. Anxious. 

Does she know exactly what happened?

"What happened when you guys went out?"

"Nothing!" He says a little too defensively, and it's definitely the cherry on top for Yoori to start tossing her things into her bag— setting her untouched coffee aside. "What are you doing?"

"Why the hell am I here if you're just gonna keep lying to my face, Seonghwa? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Yoori, I—"

"You know what." She looks at him. "We do this time and time again, and I don't know why I put myself through this when we aren't even serious. Why the fuck do I bend over backwards for you when I know you wouldn't do the same for me?" She scoffs. 

"Wait, wait. Stop. Just sit. Let me explain, will you?" She sighs, pausing in her motions. "I— I fucked up. But, it didn't mean anything to me. I was just drunk and she just happened to be all over me and—"

"If you're gonna keep pulling this, I'm done. I'm not doing this anymore, I'm done—"

"Yoori, please. It wasn't shit. It was literally just a drunk night out and I'm sorry I fucked up. It didn't mean anything to me, she didn't mean anything."

"Then why are you guys still texting? Do you want to be with her?"

"No."

"Then?"

"I'm just being nice."

⇢END

"Do you think he has feelings for Noeul, though?"

"I don't think so." Yunho lets out a breath. "Which is unfortunate that he had to pick her that night because Y/N told me she thinks Noeul is already super smitten with him despite the circumstances."

"Oh shit, really?"

"I mean, think about it." Yunho looks at him. "He was hella handsy with her, wouldn't leave her alone all night. Grabbed her number and texted her for awhile, then distanced himself when Yoori found out."

"Yeah, I guess you've got a point."

"And Yoori didn't even find out through Seonghwa, it was seeing Noeul's name pop up on his phone for the first time ever. She had to question him about it."

"Yikes, maybe he should've played his cards right." Yunho furrows his brows at him.

"Maybe the both of you should stop playing games in general. The hell am I gonna do with you two?" Yunho returns his attention to the court, finding Seora in the middle of a steal before barreling down the court into a layup. She makes the shot, but her momentum crashes her right into the wall— causing Yunho to stand.

"Ace!" Yunho calls out. She winces a bit and grabs at her shoulder before she's sprinting back down to the court. She throws him a quick thumbs up before he's slowly sitting back down and watching his daughter slip herself back into the game with ease.

"Jesus. She plays hard."

"Always." Yunho lets out the breath he's been holding.

"Competitive as hell like you."

"Well." Yunho chuckles a bit.

"How are you and Y/N doing?"

"Good." He smiles at Mingi. "Really good."

"So, what's the plan here? Ace still doesn't know?"

"No, she doesn't. But, I plan on telling her soon."

"You're making it official?"

"I want to, yeah. I haven't really planned how, or if I should tell Seora and get them to hang out first. I don't know. I'm at the point of just.. going with whatever feels right. Whatever comes first, however it should come first."

"You're not scared, are you?"

"I am. I just know Seora's gonna have a hard time adjusting."

"You never know, it could be different."

"Maybe. But, it's the first time someone else is coming into our lives after Eunha." Mingi nods silently, cheering along when Seora's team makes another shot to keep them in the lead.

"It'll all work out, okay?" Mingi gives his shoulder a squeeze. "She wants you to be happy, and I know she'll warm up to Y/N. She's a sweetheart, there's no way Seora wouldn't enjoy having her around."

"I just don't know how to make it clear that we're not replacing her mom. Ever."

"She'll know. She'll understand, even if it takes some time." Mingi breaks away from the court and briefly glances around, his eyes falling on the entrance. "Hey, isn't that Ara?" Yunho turns his head to see Ara sliding onto a bleacher next to a few people.

"Oh, shit. Yeah." Her eyes land on Yunho's and at first, she's surprised. Then, her smile dies down and she gives him a tiny wave that he returns.

"That'll be fun."

"Guess she's meeting Seora."

"You two still haven't talked?"

"Nah. Which is fine, but.. it’d suck if she was really holding a grudge against me."

"She'll get over it."

"Mm, I still care about her as a friend so yeah, hopefully things will get better between us." Yunho and Mingi continue to watch the game until the tiny half-time break in between. Seora quickly raises over to greet her Uncle Mingi in all her sweaty glory, teasing him and playing around before heading back to the team.

The rest of the game goes by eventfully— lots of ups and downs between scores, keeping the crowd on edge. This would be the game that would secure their spot in the playoffs, so both teams were giving their best.

In the end though, Seora makes the winning shot and Yunho finds that these are the moments that make him proud to be her father. She has grit, she's smart and she's independent— Eunha would be so happy to see how much she's grown and who this young lady is today. Yunho and Mingi cheer loudly, along with the other parents, standing and yelling as the team celebrates on the court with group hugs. Once the hype has died down, they congratulate the other team for their hardwork on the court, exchanging good sportsmanship before it all ends and the players are finding their way back to their parents and families.

"Goodjob, ace!" Mingi ruffles her hair before Yunho pulls her into a big hug and swings her around.

"That's my girl." Seora laughs as Yunho gives her one final hug and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "You did amazing out there, ace."

"Why, thank you." She does a bow.

"Starving?"

"Majorly."

"What do you wanna eat?"

"Can I come?" 

"No, you just want me to buy you food." Seora laughs at her dad and uncle bickering.

"Daddy, just let him come." Yunho clicks his teeth.

"Fine, but we play russian roulette."

"Fine! Where should we go?"

"You know all the good spots."

"Ace, what're you craving for?" Mingi scrolls through his phone with her. Just as they get busy scoping their options, Ara walks over, a small smile on the corner of her lips.

"Hey."

"Oh, hey." He nods at her. "What're you doing around these parts?" She chuckles.

"My niece is on the other team. I should've known I'd see you here. I don't know why it didn't click for me." Yunho chuckles.

"All good—"

"Dad, we finally found a spot." Seora tugs on his wrist, making him turn his attention to her. She looks at him, then at Ara, then raises a brow.

"Nice." He sees the questioning look on Seora's face. "Uh, this is Ara. She's a nurse at the hospital."

"Hey Seora, you did amazing out there!" Seora tugs on her bag straps and smiles. "Congrats on making it to the playoffs. My niece was on the other team and said you guys were really good. It was a tough game."

"Thank you!" She laughs a bit. "Now I gotta work extra hard on the next ones." Ara laughs.

"I'm sure you'll make it all the way to the end with that drive." Seora nods. "Anyway, there's an ice cream truck outside. You should convince your dad to let you get some before you head out." Her eyes light up as she looks at her dad.

"Oh, please?! I played so hard today!" Yunho laughs.

"Okay, go." He hands over his card.

"Chan-mi! There's ice cream! Let's go, I have my dad's card!"

"Aye, not the whole truck, though!" He calls out, making Mingi laugh behind him.

"Well, it was nice seeing you and meeting Seora. She seems sweet." She pauses for a bit. "See you around?"

"Yeah, it was. I'll see you." Yunho responds before she's off to meet her family, talking to Seora and Chan-min a bit when she falls in line behind them with her niece.

"That wasn't so bad."

"I guess so. Still felt awkward." Yunho looks at Mingi. "So, where are we eating?"

"Shake Shack. She saw it come up and got super juiced about it."

"Okay, fair."

"You covering for me?"

"The fuck am I? Your sugar daddy?"

"If you wanna be." Mingi smiles.

"You're full of shit—" Yunho glares at him.

"Dad!" He shifts his attention to his daughter, who is also dragging Chan-mi by the arm with their ice cream in hand. "Can I sleepover Chan-mi's again tonight? Please! I forgot our show has a new season releasing and we wanna watch it together!"

"Seora, you were literally just at their house last weekend. Why don't you guys stay at the house this time?"

"Because we wanna go to the community pool, too. Please!" She pleads again.

"I promise it's okay, my parents said yes." Chan-mi softly says with a small nod, making Yunho chuckle.

"Okay, fine. But, you need to give them a break, Seora."

"Yeah, sure!" She squeals with Chan-mi just as her parents come.

"Sorry, I really appreciate you guys taking her for another weekend." Yunho says to her parents and they give him a reassuring nod, laughing it off.

"Swear, Yunho. It's fine with us. We love having her over. Take more time for yourself." Chan-mi's dad squeezes his shoulder after a few pats.

"Thank you. Next time is on me." He responds before looking at Seora. "We need to eat and you need to pack up some things." He pinches her cheek, making her whine in protest. "What time can I bring her over?"

"Oh, we can pick her up in a few hours? We were going to be in the neighborhood to stop by his uncle's birthday party." Chan-mi's mom says, pointing at her father.

"You sure?"

"Yes! 100%." She laughs.

"Alright, thank you." Yunho shifts his attention back to Seora. "Let's go so you can be ready for when they pick you up."

"Okay!" She waves. "See you later!" Yunho and Mingi bid their farewells before they're splitting ways and off to Shake Shack.

After Shake Shack [that Mingi graciously paid for], Yunho brings his bestfriend home since he took an Uber earlier— claiming he was too lazy to drive and deal with traffic. Seora continues to poke fun at her uncle from behind his seat, poking him and pinching him before laughing loudly. Yunho thoroughly enjoys seeing them like this, especially when they bicker playfully like they did while eating. Seora is the same with Seonghwa, but she does it a lot less knowing he doesn't have as much patience as Mingi.

She loves him nonetheless. She wouldn't stop asking for Seonghwa during their meal, wondering why he couldn't make it to the game and Yunho couldn't really explain.

Too bad she could already sense it had something to do with ‘Miss Yoori that popped up on his phone.’ All Mingi and Yunho could do was shrug. Well, until Mingi ratted him out and said he did something that she wasn't happy about so he was trying to make up for it.

Which, leads Yunho to where he is now: loading the laundry before Seora pops next to him with a grave question.

"So, dad."

"Yup?" Yunho is tossing the clothes into the wash.

"What exactly did Uncle Hwa do to make him spend all his time with her? To make up for it?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know. You can't, anyway."

"Why not? He kissed someone else?" She helps throw the clothes into the wash. Yunho doesn't answer, and that's enough of an answer for her than anything else. "But, they aren't serious, right?"

"Ace. It doesn't matter if they're serious or not. You don't do that to someone you claim to care about and spend a lot of time with. You're just hurting all parties involved. So yeah, Uncle Hwa has a lot of things to fix and work on."

"Huh." She says, closing the door for her dad so he can immediately run the wash and get things going. 

"Yeah, huh." Yunho mocks her before laughing. "Are you packed? Chan-mi will probably be here any minute now."

"Yup."

"Charger?"

"Yes."

"Your prescription cream?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Yunho heads to the kitchen to sort through the fridge and see if there's anything he can whip up for himself.

"What're you gonna do when I leave?"

"Well first of all, find myself something to eat. Gotta get some groceries tomorrow for sure."

"Hang out with Uncle Mingi again?"

"No, god no. I've had enough for a day." Seora laughs. "I can just hang out here all by myself since my little one likes to leave so much."

"Daddy." Seora clings onto him like a koala, making him laugh. "I won't sleepover for awhile after this! We can go on our usual dates. Camping!" She reminds him and he nods, dragging her along to his room while she clings on.

"If you say so." Suddenly, her phone starts blaring in the kitchen. She quickly hops off to look out the window in her dad's room seeing Chan-mi's car out front.

"She's here!" She squeals loudly and rushes to the living room to grab her phone and all her things. "See you later!"

"Hey, hold on." Yunho comes out furrowing his brows. "You're gonna leave without a proper goodbye? For real?" She laughs before waddling over to hug him tightly, letting her dad plant a kiss to the top of her head. "Be safe, have fun, don't give them unnecessary headaches, please."

"I won't." Seora whines a bit. "I'll text you when I'm ready tomorrow?" Yunho nods.

"Love you, ace. Call me tonight."

"Will do!" She waves before rushing out the door, leaving Yunho to stand behind and wave at Chan-mi's parents as he watches his daughter throw her things into their trunk and climb into the backseat. Soon, they drive off with one last goodbye, leaving Yunho to his lonesome. 

He lets out a sigh as he drags himself into the house to finish cleaning around. He loves the fact that Seora has a close group of friends she can surround herself with, but he truly does hate these moments when he's home alone. No Seora to fill the void, the empty space.

It feels so fucking lonely.

Yunho tries to brush off the feeling until he's done with his chores, neatly folding all of the laundry and setting Seora's half onto her bed so she can put it away when she gets back. He looks at the clock noticing it's already past 6pm and the sun is setting. He makes his way to the convenience store, deciding to call you on his way over in case you were already back from spending the day with the girls. You had told him Noeul wanted to get her mind off of things so you and Sian offered to take her out for some retail therapy.

Luckily, you answer just as he swings the door open to the store, a smile instantly coming up on his face. 

You must be back.

"Hello?" Yunho bites his lip.

"Hey you." He slowly walks the aisles, trying to gauge what he's in the mood for.

"Yunho, hi." You giggle. "You okay?"

"I will be. Maybe. Depending on the answer to my next question."

"And what question is that?"

"Free tonight? My tiny bestfriend left me to go be with her other bestfriend." You laugh.

"Aw, sleepover at Chan-mi's again?"

"Mhm. Kinda lonely." Yunho teases.

"Well, you're in luck cause I am free now. What do you wanna do?"

"Just chill. Head to the beach or something with some convenience store food."

"I'm down for that."

"Want anything specific, love?"

"No, anything you choose is good with me." You laugh. "Surprise me."

"Cool. Can I pick you up in the next 30 minutes?"

"Of course you can."

"See you soon, baby." You smile to yourself. You set down the phone and quickly change into something more fitting for the beach, even though it's not too cold out. You slip on a matching, two piece grey sweatsuit— your jacket halfway zipped, a cami poking out from underneath. You take your turn to tidy up around your apartment, setting out new plugins to make your space smell fresh. You clean up the little trinkets and other items laid out across your coffee table, kitchen counter, bathroom and nightstand before getting your purse together and grabbing your shoes.

Just in time for Yunho to make his way up and to your door.

You hear Yunho lightly knock three times, making the butterflies in your tummy go wild. You swing the door open, immediately smiling when you see him leaning against the wall with a small bouquet in hand.

"Yunho." You poke out your bottom lip as you hug him tightly.

"Hey beautiful." You pull back and kiss him on the lips. "These are for you."

"I swear, you always pick the best bouquets." You smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He taps your nose, making you scrunch it in return.

"Let me get them in some water then we can go."

"No rush." You hurry off to find a free vase to stick them into, giving them a good amount of water to sit in.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Don't worry about it." You laugh, gently setting the vase on the table near the doorway. 

"We don't keep secrets between us."

"We don't. Except this. Let me handle buying the flowers for you." You shake your head and lock your door, letting Yunho slip his hand into yours effortlessly as you head down the steps.

"Can't even protest." Yunho swings the door open for you and waits until you slide in to get comfortable before shutting the door close.

"Thanks for hanging out with me, pretty."

"You don't have to thank me, Yunho. I love spending time with you." He smiles as he drives off towards the nearby beach. "How was Seora's game today? I'm sorry, I was so busy earlier just trying to keep up with Noeul and Sian."

"Good! They're off to the playoffs." Yunho chuckles.

"Aw, yay! Congrats! I'm sure they'll push it all the way through to the championships."

"Hope so! Ace is pretty competitive so I don't think she'll let it go unless they win it."

"Does she get that from you?" You tease and he nods.

"Honestly, hell yeah she does."

"Cute." You look at Yunho and gently press his hand to your lips while he continues to drive. He smiles, but you can tell there's something else on his mind. You assume he might just be thinking about Seora or he might just tired; but, something in his eyes says it's deeper than that, and you're not sure what it is.

"How was Noeul?" He softly breaks the silence with the question.

"I don't know, Yu. She seemed to be okay today, but she plays it off well. I know she's still thinking about it and is bothered by it, though."

"Mmyeah. I'm sorry, I don't really know what's up with Hwa." Yunho lets out a breath, driving effortlessly towards the beach. "I don't know what he wants and he doesn't know what he wants. He keeps saying he isn't ready for a relationship, but runs back to Yoori every time they get into an argument or fight."

"Then, he needs to figure this out soon before they both get deeply hurt. Did he say anything else about that night?"

"Not really. He tries not to talk about it around us. Well, especially me, because he knows I'll tell him stuff he doesn't wanna hear right now."

"Noeul also gets pretty attached. But, I think Hwa should have told her the truth. They were texting nonstop for awhile until he slowly stopped then ghosted her completely."

"I'm sorry, love. If I could, I'd talk to him, but I can't dictate what he does."

"I know. But, I'm sure he'll figure it out. Hopefully." You look at Yunho as he exits and starts cutting his way through the neighborhood to get to the beach.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, though. I hope she's okay. I'm not gonna say Hwa is a bad person cause he's not. He's just conflicted when it comes to what he wants in terms of a relationship."

"That's okay. It'll come to him. Noeul will be okay."

"Does she have feelings for him already?"

"I think so, but she's trying hard to suppress it." He finally pulls down the street and parks in front of the beach, letting out a sigh as he parks the car. He gives you a tiny, toothless smile and presses your fingers against his lips— giving your hand a squeeze. 

"Let's go and chill out on the sand." You nod. When you exit the car, Yunho grabs two blankets and a bag of food from the convenience store. He tells you that he grabbed fresh beef kimbap from the store, along with some fresh sweet potatoes, chips and other little goodies. He sets the blanket down before taking your hand when he sits. You snuggle up closely to him, letting the blanket drape over both of your shoulders.

The evening is still beautiful out— you and Yunho watching the last bits of the sun rest below the horizon as you eat and enjoy in small conversation about Seora, your family. Yunho reminisces about his childhood, remembering the days his dad used to take him to baseball and soccer games. Or, how his mom used to treat him to ice cream every time he got good grades on his school work. You feel sad for him when he talks about how things have drastically changed in their relationship and how he wishes he could have that back.

But, it can never be the same. Things can never go back to the way they were.

There's a small pause that allows you to break the sweet potato in half, sharing the other with Yunho while you listen to the waves crash along the shore and kids chasing after the water nearby. You lean your head against Yunho's arm while you hold onto it, finding comfort and solace in just being with him.

Then, things shift. 

And you'll forever remember this moment as the time Yunho finally opened up to you about everything.

The moment he was vulnerable, the moment he gave himself to you. The moment you were his and vice versa.

The moment you knew this was real.

"Despite the ups and downs, Eunha was always the peacemaker." He suddenly says, causing you to perk up and look at him— resting your chin on his arm as you listen closely and attentively. "She saw how my relationship with my parents crumbled over the years, especially when we kept Seora. But, she always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Always tried to see the other side of it regardless of how pissed off or frustrated I was. She tried to get me to see their side no matter what. She always tried to stay positive about everything." You continue to rub his arm affectionately, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs. He licks his lips, pausing in between his statements. You can tell he's digging up everything he's tucked away for so long; finally releasing all this pent up sadness, anger.

All this blue and grey.

The cloud that's been following him after all these years.

"When she passed, I didn't realize how much I needed that until I didn't have it anymore. It was just me, Seora and my thoughts."

"Yunho." You call for him softly and he looks down at you with a gentle smile. "Eunha seems like such a beautiful person."

"She is, yeah. She turned everything into something positive. She saw the silver lining regardless of how hard things got. She was always smiling, always happy to talk to people. She was the definition of selfless, always thinking about everyone else before herself. Always giving and giving, but never asking for anything in return. She loved going to the beach, being outdoors. She loved being crafty." Yunho chuckles a bit. "Seora's laugh, the way she gets loud and loves being super social. Loves journaling and scrapbooking. It's all Eunha. I see Eunha through Seora in so many different ways."

"She'll always be with you through Seora." You continue to rub his arm as he continues to look out at the water. There's a long pause before Yunho starts diving head first into the memories he purposely tried to forget. Afraid the pain will break him all over again.

Afraid he'll never recover.

"She was a graveyard nurse at a small hospice center nearby." Yunho says quietly. "That night—" He pauses and looks down at his hands, pressing his tongue to his cheek. You give his arm a quick squeeze to reassure him and it somewhat helps. He looks back out to the ocean and continues, although it's clear he's trying hard to hold back his tears. "She picked up another shift because they were short staffed. And even though she had been so tired, she volunteered. She loved that place, she loved her job. She believed she needed to be there, especially for the people who didn't have family stopping by to check on them during their last days. It was hard, but she really, really gave her life to that place." He sighs. "I kept telling her not to, especially if she was exhausted. Told her to give herself a break, let other people pick up the slack. But, she insisted. So, I let her go despite knowing I should've fought harder to keep her home so she could rest. I didn't think it'd be the last time I'd see her. I quickly said bye, gave her a kiss on the forehead and sent her off without thinking much about it. She was so close to home before a drunk driver collided head-on with her and that was it." He lets his tears fall freely, making you cry with him. He sniffs, quickly wiping away at his nose before he picks his head back up again. "Her parents seemed to have placed some kind of blame on me for her passing. And after all these years, it made me believe that it was my fault. It was my fault for not trying to stop her, for not thinking twice about sending her off that day."

"None of this was your fault, Yu."

"Then, why do I still feel like I should've done more?" He meets your eyes.

"This was out of your control." You say quietly. "You did your best no matter what, but there was nothing you could do to stop this. It's the shittiest thing about life, knowing our cards are laid out for us already." 

"I know, but at the same time, I wonder why it had to be her that night." He nibbles on his bottom lip, preventing it from trembling too much. "It still hurts until this day and I'm tired of wondering when it'll go away. I haven't even gone to visit her at the cemetery because I can't find the strength to."

"You just need to take your time with it. Everyone processes grief differently, and it doesn't matter how long it takes. But, you need to let yourself process it and feel it out. You can't keep it tucked away forever, babe." You run your hand through his hair to try and ease him. "You have me, and I'll always listen to you on your good and bad days. Let's get through this together." He lets out another small, shaky breath. Suddenly, you hear his cries picking up, making you hold onto him tighter;

Hoping he could feel your comfort through your soft, reassuring touches. 

"I lost her so suddenly, I didn't know what to do for the longest time." Yunho cries while you both continue listening to the waves crash against the sand. "I didn't even get to say goodbye properly and hold her one last time. The last picture I have of her is when I got the hospital and she was already gone." You feel the tears constantly welling up in your eyes as you watch Yunho finally release the feelings he had been harboring all these years. "I just— everything crumbled so quickly and I didn't even have time to process it. I've forced myself to bury this for so long because I didn't want Seora to think anything was wrong." You shake your head. "But, for the longest time, everything felt wrong. I felt so sad and empty, and I miss her so much every day." He cries harder.

"I'm so sorry, love. You didn't deserve any of that." You cup his cheeks and gently caress the surface, thumb swiping away at the tears that fall. "You both didn't deserve any of that."

"There's not a day that I don't think about her. But, it's so hard. It's been so hard." He can barely get out before he's crying more, leaning into your touch.

"And you're so strong. She sees it every day, she's with you every day. She never left. And I know she's so, so proud of you overcoming everything with Seora. For the way you two have persevered and blossomed from all of this." You look him in the eyes. "She is so happy to see how you've handled everything with so much grace and she knows you both love her so much. She knows, and she sees it." You cry, continuing to wipe his tears away until it subsides a bit. 

"Life has been so fucking hard without her."

"She never left, Yu. She's with you and Seora always." You repeat. He lets out a breath, his tears slowly coming to a stop when he gets a moment to gather himself. But, he can say that after all of this, he feels so relieved. Like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders because of this much needed release.

With you being here by his side.

"I'm sorry, baby." He laughs a bit to make the moment a little more lighthearted. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm glad you did, though. You needed to. And I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I meant it." He looks at you, staring deep into your eyes. He sees so much sincerity, so much comfort, so much love, and he sees Eunha.

Like Eunha sent you to be here with him, to be with him, to take care of him and Seora.

And that gives him the final push he needed to finally let her go, to release everything he's been needing to release into the ocean. Into the night sky.

To the moon.

You were genuinely heaven sent.

"Why don't we go see Eunha tomorrow? Together?" Yunho's lips curve into a tiny smile before he slides his hand into yours and gives it a good squeeze— kissing the surface before placing a kiss to your temple.

"Okay." Is all he says. "Thank you, Y/N. For being here for me."

"Always."

"No, you really have no idea how much I appreciate you." You look up at him as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "I needed this. And I wouldn't want anyone else to be here with me." You give him a toothless smile before the two of you sit in silence.

In peace.

After another half hour of just talking about life and showing you pictures Seora sent from Chan-mi's house, you and Yunho finally pack up and head back to your place. The ride is quiet, with the music softly filing the space while you continue to hold Yunho's free hand tightly. During the ride, you go back and forth between letting him be and asking him to stay because you aren't sure how he feels after the moment at the beach. You want to give him space, you want to avoid being too clingy and not giving him room to breathe.

But, you already hate the fact that you'll be home in the next 5 minutes and you won't be having Yunho until tomorrow again.

When he parks, he leans his head back against the head rest and looks over at you fondly, giving you a small, tired smile.

"Thank you again for coming out with me tonight."

"Always." You respond before he slips out to help you out of the car and up the steps. You get to your door, with Yunho behind you— hands dug deep into his pockets. "Goodnight, Yunho." You turn to him.

"Goodnight, beautiful." He gently grabs you by the arm to kiss you tenderly on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow before I get Seora." You nod. There's something in the air that makes you feel like you should just ask him to stay, especially when he takes a few steps backwards, finding it difficult to pull his eyes off of you. And you, the same.

"Actually, Yu."

"Hm?" He hums and pauses just as he's about to go down the steps.

"Wanna stay?"

"Y-you sure?"

"More than sure." He looks at you for a moment before nodding his head.

"Is it okay if I leave my car there?" You chuckle and nod, unlocking the door and stepping inside your humble abode.

"Yes. You'll be fine there." Yunho slowly follows, kicking his shoes off to the side before locking your door and settling onto the couch. Even though he's been here, a part of him still feels like he's intruding in your space. But, the other part is happy to be here because lord knows he didn't wanna go home and be alone tonight. "You can help yourself to whatever you need in the kitchen. I'm just gonna change and get situated."

"Course." Yunho watches as you head into the bathroom, flipping through the Netflix options on your TV. A call comes through on his phone, Seora's name popping up on the screen. While you wash up and get yourself ready for the evening, you overhear Yunho talking to Seora on the phone and you smile to yourself. You love hearing the way they talk to each other, even if it's for a brief 5 minutes just for Seora to tell her dad she's off to bed. She sweetly tells him that she loves him 'more than anything in the world' and Yunho returns the statement before he hangs up. You finish in the next 10 minutes, coming out of the bathroom in your shorts and longsleeve, a huge smile on your face. "What?" Yunho chuckles, confused.

"You and Seora are just the sweetest."

"Oh, you heard?" He laughs a bit. "Yeah, she's off to bed. Which I highly doubt, but glad she called me before she could forget." You giggle and plop next to him on the couch, shifting your attention to the TV screen. 

"Find anything you wanna watch?"

"No, I'll leave it up to you."

"You sure?"

"Mhm. I'm just here to be with you, Y/N." You smile at him, positioning yourself to partially rest on his body while he throws an arm over you. 

The rest of the evening goes by just as you'd imagine— you and Yunho settling for a movie you both hadn't watched but heard lots about, barely able to get through most of it without falling into a debate about the plot from time to time. Everything feels so lighthearted, the way you both bicker and tease each other; sharing cute, intimate moments you'll forever cherish.

And one touch leads to another, a kiss leads to another.

Tension so palpable it's hard to ignore.

In the next moment, you find yourself on his lap; tongues dancing around in a fight for dominance as you subtly work your hips against his. Yunho hisses at the feeling, letting out a breath when you tug back on his bottom lip— peppering his jaw and his neck with light, feathery kisses. 

"Y/N, baby." He breathes out, craning his neck so you have more access to him. You leave hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, his grip on your hips tightening. "Fuck." He breathes out. "Want you so badly."

"You can have me." You whisper near his ear before nibbling on his earlobe. He lets out a soft moan, his warm, large hand coming up your long sleeve to feel your bare skin.

"I don't wanna mess this up." He says lowly against your lips, grazing the surface.

"You won't mess anything up."

"You sure?" You nod. He takes one more look at you, trying to find any doubt hiding behind those beautiful, deep orbs. But, he doesn't see any. He doesn't see anything besides the same sincerity. The same comfort. 

The same love.

So, Yunho doesn't waste any time. He doesn't want to waste any more time when life is too short. He’s learned the hard way firsthand. He needs to make you his right here, right now. He needs to show you just how much he feels for you, how much he adores you.

How much his days don't mean shit without you now.

Yunho carries you in one, swift motion, lifting you with ease and tugging you close to his body while your legs wrap around his torso. The TV is a long, forgotten thought, a random preview playing for the next movie coming up on the autoplay feature. He gently lays you down on your bed, shedding off his shirt while you do the same with yours.

Shorts and jeans to follow.

Boxer briefs and panties off to another side of the bed.

Yunho's mouth drags across your skin, leaving kisses on every inch that he could possibly reach; hands roaming across every inch that he could possibly touch. He slots himself in between your thighs, lips pressing against your inner thighs before he's right where you need him to be. You let out a gasp, back slightly arching off of the mattress when he slowly laps away at your folds— sucking gently at your heat while your hands tug on his hair. He takes his time with you so as long as you can feel his adoration through his motions; tongue dragging deep in between your slit, continuing until you can't help but move against his mouth to lead you right to the edge. You moan loudly as your body jolts and allows your orgasm to wash over, Yunho placing soft kisses against you before he moves back up and hovers over you.

He coos and praises you, telling you just exactly how good you were for him in your ear while he adjusts his position. He nudges his tip at your clit, slowly sliding it up and down your folds before pressing in and inching himself deeper and deeper to the hilt. 

"Oh shit." He groans. "Feels too good." He lets out a shaky breath, trying his best to keep his composure. It's been so long for him that he finds himself struggling with his self-control, but he continues; only knowing how to relish in this moment, in you, as best as he knows. He keeps you close— forehead pressed against yours while he moves in and out of you at a steady pace. His fingers dig deep into the bare flesh of your hip, sure it'll leave some marks with the way he starts to pound into you.

Wanting, needing, yearning for you to reach your release. To see you reach your high, to see you on cloud nine.

"Want you—" He kisses your neck as he continues to plunge deeper, hitting that very spot that will send you spiraling in the next few minutes. "To be mine, baby." He groans against your skin. "Need you to be mine." Yunho goes faster, thoroughly loving the pretty sounds you make against him. Him too, close to reaching that high, taking his seat on cloud nine.

"Yours, Yunho." You whisper in his ear, just as he takes you further and further into bliss— doing a deep dive into the abyss of desire. "Just yours."

And in this moment, that’s all Yunho knows.

Just yours.

⇢taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @nopension @curse-of-art @thechaotictheoryy @likexaxdaydream @dalsuwaha @enha-stars @yasuraokaa @professormingisglasses @yunyunrin @pommelex @astral-trashcan @laura1399 @domfikeluva @tournesol155 @hwaskookies @yusalterego @hwa-stars @hyukssunflower @chngbnwf @jaytheatiny @lucid-galaxys-world @chaotic-floral @sofkloster @honeyrecommends @hwashua-luv @luvv4bby @spicxbnny @pandyandy71 @sanniesaurus @angel-hyuckie @wolviejex @purpleyou7x @honeyhotteoks

[ellswritings]

Relinquish Control

Roman Reigns (Joe Anoa‘i) x Reader

TW: This is long afff, like 14.4k long. Anywho… foul language, mutual pining, sexual tension, use of real names, Roman and reader being control freaks. I think that’s it. Not my best work… but oh well.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

When Y/N was told she would be moving from NXT to the main roster on Friday Night SmackDown, she couldn’t believe it. It had been her dream since she was a kid to make it to the big leagues like this. So when Paul Levesque told her she would have to work with a mentor for the next few months to solidify her position, she couldn’t refuse. If it means getting to fight alongside some of her heroes, she wouldn’t turn anything down.

It all became even more surreal when she was told that Roman Reigns, The Tribal Chief himself would be the one to mentor her.

At first, she was shocked. She wasn’t expecting the man who has currently had the world championship for about two years now consecutively would be the one to train her. She wasn’t expecting such a big name. But she couldn’t complain. Well, at least not yet.

At first, working with him was like a dream, until it wasn’t. Y/N was stubborn and had a very hard time taking orders. Joe on the other hand demands respect, he values the control he has in every aspect of his life. He’s not as smug as he portrays himself on camera, but he and Roman do share some very similar personality traits that make Y/N’s blood boil. But the feeling is mutual. It annoys him to no end that Y/N refuses to acknowledge him as her Tribal Chief. Most people would kill to be an honorary member of the Bloodline, but not her. The moment he offered her a spot at the table, she laughed it off and said she didn’t need his help. That she didn’t take orders from anyone.

Training the next day was particularly brutal for the poor girl after that. But she didn’t give up. And that’s another thing he admired yet hated about her. Her perseverance and hard headedness never lets up. In the ring and in their interactions. At first, it’s truly just annoying. She doesn’t blindly follow his orders. She pushes him, makes him justify why he wants her to train in certain ways.

And what makes it even worse is that she’s good. Really good. Anytime he gives her a critique, she applies it, albeit with a bit of sass and backtalk, but she does it and makes it better. It especially grates his nerves when she proves him wrong sometimes, doing a move a different way than he instructed and it actually ends up being more effective. At first he thought it would make him mad, but it started to make him more… interested than anything.

Y/N huffs frustratedly as Roman dodges her enzuigiri. It’s currently six thirty in the morning and they have already been training for two hours. It’s the same routine pretty much everyday besides Sunday’s. Get up at four, go to the gym, spend three to four hours training, do an ice bath, then she can go on with the rest of her day. Sometimes he even forces her to do extra sparring at the end of the night if he feels she needs it. It’s rigorous and her body hurts eighty percent of the time, but she won’t deny she’s getting better.

Roman tries to clothesline her but she quickly ducks under his arm, using the ropes of the ring to speed herself up as she attempts, and successfully executes a hurricanrana. She feels herself begin to smirk, a witty quip about to leave her lips, but the wind is quickly knocked out of her as Roman counters quickly, taking her hesitation as a moment of opportunity. He spears her to the floor, making her groan in anguish as he pins her for the entire three count.

“Being cocky will get you pinned every time,” he tells her, standing up effortlessly like they hadn’t just had a full on match. He sticks his hand out to help her up, but Y/N being her usual self scoffs quietly before pushing herself up on her own. She winces slightly, already feeling the soreness in her side where his spear made its impact. One thing about Roman is that just because she’s his mentee does not mean he goes easy on her in the ring. He’s not above knocking her on her ass if it means it’ll help her get better.

“You’re just mad ‘cause I practically chucked you across the ring,” she grumbles, unwrapping the white tape from her hands as she goes to leave the ring.

He follows after her, his voice remaining patient even though she’s tested every nerve he has. “It doesn’t matter how far you throw an opponent. The moment you get arrogant or take your attention away from the match is the moment you lose,” he lectures. “You need to get out of that immature ‘I need to prove myself’ mindset and actually start being a wrestler.”

“You act like I’m not doing that already,” Y/N fires back, rolling her shoulders to ease the ache. “Last I checked, I’m the one waking up at four in the damn morning, training until I can’t feel my legs, and getting my ass handed to me by a six-foot-three Tarzan-looking-man on a daily basis. What part of that says I’m not taking this seriously?”

Roman exhales through his nose, leveling her with a look. “You’re putting in the work, yeah. I see that. But you still fight like you have something to prove.”

“Because I do.”

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.” He steps closer, looming over her, arms crossed. “You’re already here, Y/N. You made it to the main roster. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. But you keep fighting like some rookie trying to earn a contract. And that? That’s what’s gonna cost you when it actually matters.”

Y/N glares up at him, jaw set. She hates that he has a point. She hates even more that she can feel it sinking in. But she’s not about to admit that. She snatches up her water bottle and takes a long sip, buying herself time before responding. “Maybe that’s just how I fight,” she finally says, tilting her head at him. “Maybe I like fighting like I have something to prove.”

Roman scoffs. “Then you better get used to getting pinned.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not happening.”

“Then fix it.” His voice is firm, steady. It’s the same voice he uses in the ring, the one that commands the entire arena without needing to yell. “Learn to control yourself, or someone else is gonna do it for you.”

Y/N bristles at that. “Yeah? And you think you’re the one to do it?”

Roman doesn’t blink. “I know I am.”

There’s a tension in the air now, something heavy crackling between them. Y/N refuses to look away first. She can feel the heat of his stare, the weight of it pressing into her skin. After a moment of silence, she slings her gym bag over her shoulder, not wanting to continue the conversation. She still has an ice bath she has to sit through. “Whatever, Chief.” She spits the title with sarcasm, making Roman’s jaw flex just slightly. Then, just as she turns to leave, his hand wraps around her wrist, halting her in place. Her eyes flick down to where he holds her, then back up to his face. “Dude, I’m done for today.”

Roman doesn’t let go. “You don’t decide when we’re done.”

“My body does,” she argues, trying to yank free.

His grip remains firm but not forceful, his head tilting slightly. “You talk a big game, but the second things don’t go your way, you’re ready to walk?” He tuts. “That’s not how this works.”

Y/N glares at him. “I trained for three hours, got speared, and sat through one of your monologues about control. That’s a full shift as far as I’m concerned. I’m clocking out.”

Roman doesn’t even blink. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

She folds her arms. “Oh, please, enlighten me.”

“You think this is just training.” He steps closer, the weight of his presence suffocating. “You think I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself in the ring.”

“That is what mentors do,” she shoots back.

Roman huffs a low, knowing laugh. “I’m not just your mentor, Y/N.”

She raises a brow. “Oh yeah? What else are you, then?”

His fingers trail from her wrist, up to her forearm, then to her shoulder before gripping it firmly. “Your leader.”

She actually laughs at that. “Hate to break it to you, but I haven’t exactly accepted your little ‘seat at the table’ offer, so I don’t have to answer to you. You’re my mentor, not my boss.”

Something flickers in his dark eyes. Amusement. Frustration. Maybe something else—something sharper. His fingers tighten slightly. “You think that matters?”

She scoffs, shoving at his chest, forcing distance between them. “Yes, actually.”

Roman doesn’t move an inch. He just watches her. Studies her. Feels the way her breath hitches for half a second before she squares her shoulders again. Then, with all the patience of a man who knows he’s already won, he tilts his head. “Get back in the ring.”

She lets out an exasperated breath. “Not happening.”

He doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t have to. His stare alone is a command, heavy and absolute. And damn it, it pisses her off that she’s even considering listening.

“You’re so full of yourself,” she mutters, crossing her arms.

“I have every right to be,” he counters smoothly. “Everything I say, everything I do—it works. That’s why you’re here, training under me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, so now you wanna acknowledge that I never asked for this?”

Roman steps forward again, forcing her to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. “You might not have asked, but you need it.” His voice drops, low and steady. “You need me.”

She exhales sharply through her nose. “You really think I can’t do this on my own?”

He smirks, head tilting. “You’re good, Y/N. But good doesn’t cut it here. You wanna make it? Wanna win?” His grip on her shoulder tightens. “Then acknowledge me as your Tribal Chief.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Dude, I’m not part of your little Samoan mafia or whatever the hell you call it.”

His smirk fades. “That doesn’t change anything.”

She gestures between them. “Uh, pretty sure it does. I’m not in the Bloodline, which means I don’t have to acknowledge shit.”

Roman exhales slowly, tongue running along the inside of his cheek. He should let this go. Shouldn’t let her get under his skin. But Y/N’s stubbornness, her complete defiance of him, grates his nerves in a way he hasn’t felt in years. She should want this. Anyone in the pro-wrestling world would. And yet here she is, looking him in the eye, daring him to push harder. Roman lets out a slow breath before shaking his head. “You’re gonna learn.”

“Oh yeah?” She lifts a brow. “And how’s that?”

He steps even closer, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the shift in the air between them is almost tangible. “Because I don’t lose,” he murmurs, voice dangerously low. “And I don’t let people walk away from me.” For the first time, Y/N’s expression flickers—just barely, but he sees it. That second of hesitation is all the confirmation he needs. His voice is calm, measured, unwavering. “You’ll acknowledge me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it’s going to happen.”

Her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “Don’t hold your breath, Chief.”

Roman just smirks. “We’ll see.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Another thing about having Joe as a mentor is that Y/N can only train with him or another member of the Bloodline. She didn’t necessarily mind that part of it. While it would be nice to get in the ring with some other people, she didn’t mind being with the guys. Josh and Jon are fun to be around, always making sparring more entertaining. Solo is really good about giving her advice she’ll actually use in the ring. And truthfully, she just loves being around Sami. He’s talented and has an energy that no one else can bring. She actually prefers the days when it’s all of them in the ring rather than just her and Roman.

Not that she minded being alone with Joe. It was the exact opposite. She loves getting under his skin and making him grit his teeth extra hard when she does something that irritates him. It’s also easier to stare at him for a bit too long when no one is around to tease her for it. Not that she would ever admit that she stares. But what makes her prefer the others being around is the fact that Roman’s attention is a bit more divided so she has more time to do workouts she wants to do.

Unfortunately, today doesn’t seem to want to work in her favor. She and Roman circle each other in the ring, Josh, Jon, and Sami watching from the side while Solo does his own workout on the other side of the gym. But he won’t lie, he is watching out of the corner of his eye.

The ring is alive with movement as Y/N and Roman circle each other. She’s fast, her footwork sharp, slipping past his reach with ease. He’s patient, methodical, letting her expend energy while he remains firmly planted.

Josh lets out a low whistle. “Man, she’s really got you moving, Uce.”

Jon grins. “She’s makin’ you sweat, big dog.”

Sami, ever the instigator, clasps his hands together. “I don’t wanna be dramatic, but I think we might be witnessing the fall of the Tribal Chief.”

Roman’s glare cuts through all of them, and they immediately sober up. Y/N smirks. “Aw, don’t be mad just because they can see I’m winning.”

Roman doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he lunges forward, forcing her to duck. She’s quick—spinning behind him and catching his arm to set up a ripcord knee strike. But instead of executing it cleanly, she twists her body in a way he hadn’t taught her, adding an extra rotation before slamming her knee toward his jaw. He steps back just in time, narrowly avoiding the full impact. Josh and Jon exchange glances, clearly impressed.

“Damn,” Jon mutters. “That was smooth.”

“Yeah, it was. I mean, jeez ma, you been holdin’ out on us?” Josh adds.

Roman doesn’t give her a second to enjoy their praise. He moves fast—too fast—sweeping her legs out from under her before she can react. Y/N hits the mat with a grunt, and before she can roll away, he pins her.

One… Two… Three.

She breathes hard beneath him, blinking up at the bright lights of the gym. But her focus isn’t on the lights. It’s on the way he’s not moving. The way he’s still pressed against her, his hands braced on either side of her head. For a moment, neither of them say anything. Then, Roman’s gaze flickers downward—just for a second—before he abruptly pushes off her and stands. Y/N exhales sharply, rolling onto her side before pushing herself up.

The guys are still watching, but wisely choose not to comment on the moment. Instead, Sami clears his throat. “Uh, not to brag, but I totally called that pin like ten seconds before it happened.”

Josh scoffs. “Oh, please. We all knew it was coming.”

Jon nods. “Yeah, but she put up a hell of a fight.” He looks at Y/N. “Respect.”

She grins. “Appreciate it.”

Roman, however, isn’t smiling. “You changed the move.”

Y/N turns to him, lifting an eyebrow. “Yeah. And? It still worked, didn’t it?”

“I already showed you how to do it properly,” he says, arms crossing.

She shrugs. “And I put my own twist on it.”

“That’s not how it works,” he says, voice even. “You’re under my training.”

She folds her arms. “That doesn’t mean I can’t try new things.”

Sami leans toward Jon and mutters, “This is getting good.”

Jon smacks his chest. “Shut up, man.”

Roman ignores them, his attention solely on Y/N. “The way I showed you works. You don’t need to change it.”

She exhales, shaking her head. “Just because it works your way doesn’t mean it’s the only way.”

His nostrils flare. “It is when I’m the one in charge of training you.”

She huffs. “That’s not a good enough excuse anymore.”

Jon and Josh wince like they’ve just witnessed someone stepping on a landmine while Sami quietly hums the Jaws theme. Roman inhales deeply, his patience hanging by a thread. “You four. Out.”

Josh and Jon are up immediately.

“Yup.”

“Say less.”

Sami gives Y/N an exaggerated thumbs-up before following them out. Solo lingers for a beat, his sharp gaze flicking between them before he silently nods and exits. The second the door shuts, the tension in the room triples. Y/N stands firm, arms crossed. “No audience for this part?”

Roman exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You need to learn respect.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. You know that I respect you, Joe.”

His gaze darkens slightly at the sound of his real name. She steps closer. “But I also think someone should keep your ego in check. And I think that someone might be me.”

His fingers flex. She’s testing him. He knows she is. And the worst part? He likes it. Her eyes don’t waver. She’s challenging him—daring him to react. Roman takes a slow, deep breath, every muscle in his body tight with restraint. She steps closer. He stiffens, his pulse spikes. If she says one more thing, he might just—

No.

Roman exhales sharply and steps back. “Get changed,” he says, his voice rough. “Training’s done.”

Y/N watches him for a second longer, then nods, grabbing her bag. But before she leaves, she looks over her shoulder. “You know,” she muses, “if you really wanted me to stop pushing you, you’d stop reacting.” Then she’s gone.

Roman lets out a slow, controlled breath, running a hand down his face. She’s a fighter that’s for sure, he just doesn’t understand why it’s him she has to fight.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N bounces up and down on her heels as she warms herself up for her match. It’s her first time going up against Bayley and she wanted to give the audience the best show that she could. A small smile graces her face when Jey and Sami walk up to her with bright smiles on their faces, hyping her up as she mentally preps herself. She relishes in their presence, hugging them tightly as they tell her how great she’s going to do. She had seen Jimmy a couple minutes prior but he wanted to go spend some time with Naomi as her match was today as well.

The only thing that makes her nervous is that she hasn’t seen or heard from Roman since being at the arena. He’s normally the first one to walk up to her. Whether it’s to tell her good luck or to remind her of correct form, he’s always the one to find her. But she hasn’t seen him at all and it’s making her nerves spike.

Even when she rolls her eyes at his comments or critiques, it still provides a sense of comfort knowing he’s there watching her match. In a way, she takes it as his way of telling her to go out there and kick some ass.

“You alright Uce?” Jey asks as he notices her looking around, anxiety seeping through her features.

“You’re not worried, right?” Sami folds his arms over his chest with an endearing grin. “ ‘Cause if you are, you shouldn’t be. You’ve been killing it in training. And your mic skills are phenomenal. Every city we’ve gone to loves you.”

Y/N shakes her head, “It’s not that…” she admits, chewing her bottom lip nervously. “It’s just– normally Joe comes to see me before I go out as my mentor or whatever and I haven’t seen him all day so it’s kinda throwing my routine off.”

Jey chuckles, “So now you want to talk to him?” He jokes, nudging her shoulder. “Thought you’d be happy you didn’t have to hear his incessant nagging.”

“Hey man, she’s gotta get her daily dose of pissing him off,” Sami chimes with his own laugh. “The day’s not complete if she doesn’t make him mad at least once.”

“Shut up,” Y/N rolls her eyes, smacking both of them. “I’m serious. It’s just weird he isn’t out here yet.” She glances around the corner one last time, “I don’t think I did anything out of the ordinary to make him not be here.”

“Sweetheart, just relax,” Jey grabs her shoulders softly, smiling gently at her. “He probably just lost track of time or got caught up with some business stuff. He’ll be here to see your match and to correct everything you did wrong once you win.” He slides in a small joke to try and ease her nerves, and it works. Like it always does.

“Yeah, don’t worry about him,” Sami adds. “You keep frowning like that and you’ll get wrinkles.”

“And you too pretty for that,” Jey winks.

Y/N laughs at their antics, but it still doesn’t calm the small storm swirling in her head. She would call or text him, but she’s had her phone in the locker room all day to keep her head in the right place. Avoid outside distractions. But it’s a good thing that she doesn’t know where Roman is or what he’s doing, because if she did, she would be beyond angry. At who? No one knows.

A scowl covers Roman’s lips as he walks through the guys locker room. He knows how late he’s running and he needs to make it out before Y/N’s match to give her some last minute advice. He keeps his face composed, not wanting to show how out of sorts he’s feeling. He’s never missed one of her matches and he doesn’t plan to start today. Especially since this fight against Bayley is opening up a perfect opportunity for Y/N to get her first title shot. Even though he can see her insufferable smirk now as she wins, he still wants to be there.

But as he moves through the space, his ears pick up on a conversation that immediately makes him stop in his tracks.

“She’s only getting this match because of Reigns,” a sneering voice mutters.

Roman’s stride slows. His head turns slightly, eyes narrowing as he spots a small group of guys near the benches. Mostly mid-card wrestlers—guys who like to run their mouths when they think no one important is listening. They blame their lack of success on everyone else but their own incompetence.

“She’s new as hell and already getting to work for a title shot?” another scoffs. “Come on, man. You know why she’s getting all these chances.”

A third voice, deeper and more smug, chimes in. “Yeah, she’s probably sucking Roman off behind the scenes. Ain’t no other reason for her to be moving up this fast.”

Laughter follows, low and conspiratorial. A fourth guy, younger but just as cocky, smirks. “I mean… she is pretty. If she wanted to use me to get to the top, I wouldn’t say no.”

The laughter grows louder. And then— Silence. Because he’s there… And no, not Roman Reigns.

Joe Anoa‘i.

He looms behind them, shoulders squared, his entire presence heavy with rage. His dark eyes bore into them like a warning shot before the kill, his face unreadable—calm in a way that’s so much worse. The guys freeze.

“Say that again.” The quiet command cuts through the locker room like a blade.

None of them move. None of them speak. Joe tilts his head, stepping forward just enough that the air shifts, thick and suffocating. “You think that shit’s funny?” His voice is low, slow—like a storm rolling in, inevitable and inescapable. “Think it’s real easy to talk about someone who ain’t here to defend themselves, huh?”

The guy who made the worst comment swallows hard. “Hey, man, it was just—”

Joe is in his face before he can finish, his presence alone making the guy shrink back. “I don’t give a damn what you think it was,” Joe growls. “What you’re not gonna do is disrespect her like that again. Not when every single one of you knows she can run circles around you.” No one breathes or even dares to make eye contact with the man. Joe’s jaw ticks as he takes another step forward, ensuring that every single one of them feels the weight of his anger. “I promise you—if I ever hear any of you say some shit like that about her again, I’ll make sure you don’t just walk out of here. I’ll make sure you’re carried out.” His voice drops even lower, dangerous. “On a stretcher.”

A tense, suffocating pause. Joe exhales sharply, nostrils flaring, eyes still burning with barely restrained fury. Then—he scoffs. A single, sharp sound. “That’s what I thought.”

Without another word, he turns and walks away, fists still clenched, mind still racing. He shouldn’t feel this protective over her. He knows that. But the thought of anyone talking about Y/N like that—disrespecting her, reducing her to something she damn sure isn’t—makes his blood boil. And if they ever did it again? He’d make sure they never forgot who they were dealing with.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N was on an absolute high after her match. She just won against Bayley of all people. An absolute legend in the locker room and someone everyone loves. It made her feel like she was truly working her way up in the business. She was proud of herself, however, Roman’s absence in the beginning lingered in the back of her mind for the whole match. It made her angry that he wasn’t there. It’s part of his job to show up and be there for her. That’s what mentors do.

Or maybe she just… wanted him there. Wanted his presence.

She feels a wide array of arms and voices enveloping her in congratulations as Solo, Sami, Jimmy, Jey, and even Naomi come to celebrate her big win. It takes a minute or so but something begins to feel off for her. A sharp pain shoots down her leg and she groans. Bayley had targeted her left leg a bit more than she was expecting, but she felt fine. Until now at least.

“I think I need to sit down…” Y/N tells them, causing every one of them to share a concerned look.

Josh is the first one to notice the small wince in her eyebrows, “What’s going on?” He asks worriedly.

“My leg,” she says, nodding down to it as they guide her over to one of the many stray pieces of furniture backstage.

Sami lets out an audible gasp as he looks at her knee, “Oh my God,” he kneels down in front of her. “That’s definitely not normal.”

Her right knee is battered and bruised from the many times Bayley ran her into the posts and turnbuckles. There were only a few times where it hit harder than anticipated, but she wasn’t expecting it to look this bad. It’s swollen beyond belief, already starting to have a dark bruise surrounding it. It looks very different from her good leg.

“Holy shit,” Trinity places her hands on the site gently making Y/N bite the inside of her cheek with a quiet groan. “Yeah, my bet is that it’s dislocated.” She shoots the younger woman an empathetic look, having experienced a similar injury herself. “I’m sorry hun, but we’re gonna have to get a paramedic or someone over here to push it back in place.”

Y/N winces again but nods, “Okay, yeah, let’s do that,” she manages to grunt out as the adrenaline wears off more and more.

Trinity assigns everyone a job to do to make sure this is as quick and painless as possible. Y/N’s only instruction was to stay where she was, which only made her chuckle because it’s not like she could walk very far.

After a few moments sitting alone, she couldn’t help but grind her teeth together as her knee throbbed relentlessly. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, counting down the seconds until someone could fix her current problem. The only thing she can do until one of them comes back with the paramedics is mentally prepare herself for the pain that comes with putting her knee back in place.

She heard the footsteps before she saw him. A slow, steady stride that was distinctly him. And then, rounding the corner with his usual brooding expression, Roman appeared, his gaze immediately locking onto her injury.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was low, controlled, but the storm in his eyes betrayed his composure. His arms crossed tightly over his chest as he took in the state she was in—her bruised and swollen knee, the way she sat awkwardly to avoid aggravating it, and worst of all, the fact that she was alone.

Y/N exhaled sharply, looking down at her knee. “Bayley happened,” she muttered, flexing her fingers against the cushion beside her. “Guess I took more hits than I realized.”

Roman’s eyes swept over her injury before narrowing. “And why are you sitting here by yourself?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was an unmistakable layer of frustration beneath it.

She should be mad at him. And she was. Or at least, she had been. But now, as the anger simmered down, it left behind something softer—something she wasn’t prepared to feel.

So instead of snapping at him, she just looked up, eyes filled with something vulnerable as she asked quietly, “Where were you?”

Roman’s jaw ticked. He knew she wasn’t just asking about now. She meant before the match. Before she stepped into the ring with Bayley, looking for his usual last-minute pep talk or critique. And he had no good excuse—at least, not one he could give her.

Y/N watched as his lips parted slightly, as if he were about to answer, but nothing came.

She sighed, shaking her head before looking away. “Never mind. Forget it.” A humorless chuckle escaped her lips, but it lacked its usual spark. “I don’t know why I assumed you’d be there for everything.”

That stung.

Roman felt his temper flare at her words, not because they were unfair, but because she genuinely believed them. He crouched down in front of her, leaning in slightly, his presence commanding as always.

“I’ll always be there,” he said, voice firm. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just a promise—it was a vow.

Her chest ached, but it wasn’t from her knee. She quickly looked away, suddenly feeling too exposed under his gaze.

Roman cleared his throat and nodded toward her leg. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he muttered. “You should’ve tapped out if it was this bad.”

Y/N let out a scoff, shaking her head. “Of course, even when I’m sitting here crippled, you still find a way to lecture me.”

Roman smirked slightly. “Someone’s gotta knock some sense into you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

But then, his expression softened, just slightly. “For what it’s worth…” He tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “I still saw you kick ass out there.”

Y/N raised a brow at him, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “Kick ass? So does that mean you don’t have a single critique for me this time?”

Roman gave a slow shrug. “It’d be mean to tell you while you’re injured.”

Y/N let out a genuine laugh at that, and for a second, the pain in her knee was completely forgotten. Then, without thinking, Roman reached forward, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture. Nothing he hadn’t done before. But this time… it felt different. The second his fingertips grazed her skin, something shifted in the air between them. It was like the world had tilted slightly off its axis, like everything had narrowed down to just this.

Her breath hitched. His hand lingered for a moment too long. And suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about her injury, or her frustration, or the match she had just won.

She was thinking about him.

Roman’s fingers curled into a loose fist as he pulled back, as if he was stopping himself from doing something reckless. His throat bobbed slightly, and Y/N could swear she saw the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his normally unreadable expression.

And then—

“Alright, we’re back!”

Jey’s voice sliced through the moment like a knife.

Roman was on his feet in an instant, stepping back just as Jimmy, Sami, and the others came rushing in with the paramedics.

Y/N exhaled slowly, blinking a few times as she tried to process whatever the hell had just happened. But judging by the way Roman was standing a little too stiffly beside her, arms crossed tightly over his chest, she wasn’t the only one feeling it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It had been a couple weeks since Y/N’s match with Bayley and she’s been on a winning streak ever since. Her knee healed up quite nicely, occasionally needing to wear a brace to keep the pressure off of it, but other than that, it’s been great.

The only thing that seems to have shifted slightly is her dynamic with Joe. Since that night, things have been a bit more… tense than usual. They still argue and challenge each other like they used to, but now instead of it ending with one of them rolling their eyes and leaving, it ends with one of them getting in the other’s face and staring at each other for way too long to be considered normal.

Even during training, Y/N finds herself shivering whenever he places his hands on her to help correct a move she messed up on. Anytime he’s around her, whispering in her ear how to use the correct form, her mind fogs and she can no longer focus on what they were doing. It frustrates him to no end because he perceives her as being off her game. And in a way she is, but it’s not her fault.

It’s his.

For being sculpted by the damn Greek gods. He’s intoxicating. She didn’t realize how genuinely attractive he was because she was always so focused on making him mad. But now she wants to make him mad for other reasons.

Now she wants to irritate him so he feels the need to get in her space. To invade her senses with everything that is Roman. She knows it’s more than wrong for her to feel this way about the man who is mentoring her, but she can’t help it. He’s managed to worm his way into her mind and she doesn’t mind his residency.

Her knuckles rap on the door to his private office three times. She bites the inside of her cheek until a small “come in” allows her access into the room. She slowly opens the door, her breath hitching when she sees what’s in front of her.

It’s nothing scandalous. Just Joe hunched over his desk, his hair pulled back in a manbun, a tight fitting t-shirt and sweats adorning his body as he fills out some paperwork. But the soft glow of the yellow light and the way his face isn’t pinched so tightly, it makes him look majestic.

“Jon said you wanted to see me,” she says, taking a step closer to his desk, arms folded over her chest.

“Yeah, I do,” he nods as he places his pen down, folding his hands together as he leans forward. Y/N can’t help the way her eyes travel to his biceps, the way they flex with just the smallest of movements makes her heart hammer against her ribcage.

There’s a long moment of silence until she realizes she’s been staring for a bit too long. “About…?” She asks with her usual level of sass.

Y/N watches as Joe leans back in his chair, a slow inhale filling his broad chest. He studies her, his dark eyes dragging over her face like he’s weighing something, considering his approach. She’s used to his intensity by now, but something about the way he’s looking at her tonight sets her nerves on edge.

“I think,” he finally says, voice smooth and deliberate, “we need to revisit your answer from a few months ago.”

She blinks. “My—what?”

His lips twitch, just barely. “Your answer. About the Bloodline.”

Y/N shifts her weight, arms tightening over her chest as she exhales sharply. “Seriously? That’s what this is about?”

Joe tilts his head, unfazed by her exasperation. “Yeah. It is.”

Y/N lets out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “I thought we already settled this.”

“I didn’t.”

Her eyes snap to his, but he’s already rising from his chair, moving with that quiet, lethal confidence that always makes her feel like she’s on the verge of being devoured.

“Y/N,” he says, stepping closer, voice dropping just slightly. “You’ve been running with us for months now. Winning matches. Representing us. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re already part of this family.”

She clenches her jaw, heart thudding. “I told you—I don’t do hierarchies.”

Joe hums, as if he expected that answer. He reaches for something on his desk, lifting it into view.

The Bloodline jacket.

The sight of it sends an odd rush through her—one she really doesn’t want to analyze.

“This belongs to you,” Joe murmurs, stepping even closer.

Y/N swallows, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Joe lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re the only one who hasn’t accepted it yet. Everybody else already knows where you stand.”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “And where exactly is that?”

Joe just watches her, the answer in his silence.

It’s in the way Solo always has her back. In the way the Usos claim her as one of their own. In the way Paul Heyman talks about her like she’s already sworn her allegiance.

She is part of this. She just hasn’t said it yet.

Y/N exhales slowly, shaking her head. “I don’t need a jacket to prove I’m good enough to run with you.”

Joe’s smirk is slow, dangerous. “No. But it’d be nice to hear you say it.”

Her breath catches slightly. She can feel the shift now. The sudden weight in the air between them. The way his voice has dipped just enough to make her stomach tighten.

“Put it on,” Joe says, softer this time, stepping around her. The move is so smooth, so fluid, that she doesn’t even realize what’s happening until he’s right behind her.

Her pulse hammers.

Because now he’s close. So close she can feel the heat radiating from his body, the soft tickle of his breath against the side of her neck. Y/N’s whole body locks up, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. She should step away. She should shake her head and make some smart-ass comment and put space between them before this tension swallows her whole.

But she doesn’t. Because for some godforsaken reason, she loves it. She likes the way his presence wraps around her like something tangible. Likes the way he makes it impossible to think straight.

His fingers brush over her shoulder, guiding the jacket into place like a crown being placed on royalty.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice a low, steady hum against her skin. “Acknowledge me.”

Y/N exhales, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before she forces them back open. She doesn’t do this. She doesn’t submit. And no matter how badly her body is betraying her right now, she won’t start with him.

So with every ounce of control she has left, she steps forward, letting the jacket slip from her shoulders before turning to face him. Joe watches her, his expression unreadable. “I don’t take orders,” she says, voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart.

A slow smirk curves his lips. “I know.”

There’s something about the way he says it—like he isn’t mad. Like he likes this push and pull just as much as she does. Y/N clenches her jaw, forcing herself to ignore the way her stomach flips at the sight of that goddamn smirk. “So that’s it?” she asks, tilting her chin. “You’re just gonna let it go?”

Joe exhales through his nose, looking almost amused. “You think I’m gonna stop just because you’re being stubborn?”

Y/N scoffs. “I think you’re gonna try.”

Joe’s eyes darken slightly, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. She should really stop provoking him. But God, it’s fun.

Before either of them can say another word, the door swings open.

“Hey, Uce, we got—”

Josh stops short, his eyes flicking between them.

Joe takes a step back, his posture shifting, expression smoothing back into something unreadable. Y/N clenches her jaw, pulse still thundering in her ears as Josh gives them both a slow, knowing look.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters under his breath before shaking his head. “We’ll talk later, big dog.”

Joe doesn’t look at her as Jey exits, but Y/N feels his attention shift back to her. The air between them is different now. Electric. Dangerous. And as much as she wants to put off her decision—she knows she won’t be able to. One way or the other, Roman’s going to get an answer. Y/N just doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to stand her ground with him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Y/N saunters her way to the ring. It’s a buzzing Friday night in Atlanta Georgia as her theme music echoes around the large stadium. Y/N stops dead center of the walkway, dropping it low which causes whistles to emerge from the audience. She laughs, stopping to say hi to fans and sign posters on her way.

Roman, Jey, Jimmy, Sami, Solo, and Paul Heyman watch with a mix of curiosity, irritation, amusement, and anger as she had just interrupted their segment. None of them knew this was planned beside her which is what made their reactions even better.

It was all Paul Levesque’s idea. To have her go out and interrupt an important moment to cause some tension. The crowd loves her attitude so it was good for business to do something like this.

Y/N moves toward the steps, taking her time, soaking in the moment before slipping into the ring. She doesn’t acknowledge the tension immediately, instead adjusting the leather jacket over her shoulders before finally turning to face Roman.

The Tribal Chief.

She lifts the mic, tapping it twice before speaking, her voice carrying over the noise. “So this is what a Bloodline family meeting looks like,” she muses, glancing around. “I gotta say, it’s a little culty.”

Roman stares at her blankly as the room buzzes with anticipation and tension. Everyone’s eyes flicker between Roman and Y/N, the Tribal Chief staring her down like she just committed a war crime. Y/N can’t help but chuckle. She tilts her head, running her tongue over her teeth before lifting her mic again. “You don’t look happy to see me, Chief.”

Roman exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “You got a habit of interrupting things that don’t concern you.”

She scoffs, pacing a slow circle around them. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” She gestures around the arena, the thousands of screaming fans. “This? This concerns me. Everything concerns me.” She shrugs. “Guess that’s the price of being a free agent. No orders. No one to answer to.” Her smirk sharpens as she turns back to him. “Unlike you.”

Jey lets out a sharp laugh before he schools his face, coughing into his fist. Jimmy’s grin widens, clearly entertained, while Sami presses his lips together like he’s trying to become invisible.

Roman, however, remains still. Controlled. Watching.

Y/N clicks her tongue. “You like to call yourself the Head of the Table, right?” She steps forward, deliberately closing the space between them. “But from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just another guy scared to eat alone.”

The tension in the ring spikes. Jey’s brows shoot up. Even Solo shifts slightly, his gaze flickering to Roman.

Y/N takes another step, lifting a hand to count off on her fingers. “You need your cousins to fight your battles. You need your Wise Man to do your talking. Hell, you even needed Sami here to boost morale. But you?” She gestures to him with her mic. “Take all that away, and what are you?”

The crowd lets out an “OHHHHH!” in response, feeding off her confidence, her defiance.

Roman doesn’t react immediately. He just tilts his head slightly, as if considering her words. Then he finally lifts his mic. “You don’t stand with us. We know that You’ve made that clear.”

“Damn right, I don’t.” Y/N folds her arms, her eyes burning with challenge. “I don’t fall in line. I lead.”

Roman hums low in his throat, nodding as he steps closer, his presence suffocating. “That why you’re out here? You trying to prove something?”

“Nah.” Y/N tilts her chin up, her smirk unwavering. “Just thought someone should finally tell you the truth.”

Roman watches her, dark eyes unwavering, before he slowly shakes his head. “Nah.” His voice is calm, controlled. “Nah, you know what I think? You’re out here because you want my attention.”

Y/N raises a brow. “Oh, you think so?”

Roman exhales slowly, stepping even closer, his voice dropping to something almost intimate despite the thousands watching. “You want to stand across from me. Test me. Push me.” His head tilts slightly. “You want to be noticed. But sweetheart, the only person here who deserves to be noticed… who deserves acknowledgment is me,” his voice drops an octave making the crowd erupt. “I am your Tribal Chief.”

The crowd screams, chanting, urging her to do as he asks, “Acknowledge him! Acknowledge him!”

Y/N’s smirk falters for half a second before she lets out a scoff. “That’s cute, really. The whole cult leader act.” She leans in slightly, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You need my validation that bad?”

Roman just watches her, waiting. The crowd chants louder, the entire stadium shaking.

Y/N exhales, shaking her head. “Yeah, sorry, big guy. Not happening.” She shifts her stance, glancing at his cousins before looking back at him. “If anything, maybe this table needs a new head. Maybe… you should acknowledge me.”

There’s a flicker in his expression—something dangerous, something unreadable. “You better watch your mouth.”

And that’s when she makes her mistake. She clicks her tongue, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Or what, Roman? You gonna have your lapdogs do your dirty work for you again?”

The air shifts instantly. Jey’s grin vanishes. Jimmy stops smirking. Even Sami looks alarmed. Roman doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Then, he exhales slowly, hands on his hips, before he turns slightly—to no one in particular. “Solo. Jimmy.”

That’s it. No further instruction. No elaboration.

And before Y/N can fully process what’s happening, hands grab her arms, yanking her back.

“What the hell?” she snaps, struggling against them. The crowd erupts in a chaotic mix of cheers and shouts, but she barely hears them over the sudden shock of the moment.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

Jimmy has a firm grip on one arm, but it’s Solo who truly locks her down, his strength damn near unshakable. Y/N thrashes, planting her feet, but they don’t stop, dragging her out of the ring as she shouts, “You seriously this pressed, Roman?!”

Roman doesn’t react. Doesn’t stop them. Just watches.

And as she’s hauled up the ramp, the last thing she sees before disappearing behind the curtain is him standing there, unmoved, unreadable.

But still watching.

She kicks and yells at Solo and Jimmy as they drag her to Roman’s office. Some of the other wrestlers watch as she’s taken. She sends them all pleading looks, silently begging for someone to save her but no one does. A part of her is genuinely fearful that she crossed a line, but he knew it was all acting, right? He had to. It’s part of their job, their characters. The world knows he’s offered her a spot at the table and she’s been very vocal about where she stands. It aligned with their story, so why is he doing this? Could it be to add to it and she’s worried for nothing?

Jimmy and Solo open the door to the room, allowing her to walk inside. Both men look like they want to say something, to apologize, wish her luck, save her, but they decide against it. Y/N sends them a reassuring smile before they walk off. She looks over her shoulder for a split second and suddenly the door closes with a small click, indicating the door has been locked.

She turns back around and sees a seething Roman Reigns standing in front of her. His chest rises and falls with every breath, his jaw clenched tightly as he stares at the mouthy woman in front of him. He’s been slowly losing it since the day he met her and today might be the day where he disregards the importance of professional boundaries.

Today might be the day where he snaps.

The silence between them stretches tight, humming with something thick and electric.

Y/N stands her ground, her breath even despite the wildfire running through her veins. But Roman—he’s not still. His fists flex at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. Like he’s trying to steady himself. Like he’s fighting the urge to do something neither of them can take back.

Good.

She wants to push him.

Because he’s been pushing her for weeks, forcing her into this—into whatever this is. The way he looks at her like he sees everything. The way he steps too close, speaks too low, lingers too long. She’s not stupid. She’s noticed. But he won’t admit it. Not outright.

So she’ll make him.

She tilts her head slightly, keeping her voice cool. “If you have something to say, Chief, say it.”

Roman exhales slowly through his nose, his jaw flexing. “You think this is a joke?”

Y/N smirks. “I think you like being in charge of everyone in your life, and it gives you an insatiable itch that you can’t scratch knowing you can’t break me. That you can’t get me to beg for your validation.”

His fists clench. There it is. A crack in the armor. A flicker of something darker in his eyes.

Y/N steps closer, feeling reckless, feeling emboldened by the way his breathing changes, the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes track every single movement she makes like he can’t help himself.

She lifts a brow. “Or am I wrong?”

Roman doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But the air shifts. Tightens.

And that’s when she knows she’s right. She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You don’t like that I don’t fall in line. That I can read you like a damn book. That I can see through all those stoic walls you put up. I see what you hide from the world.”

Roman’s jaw ticks. She takes another step forward. “What is it, huh?” she pushes. “You bark orders at everyone else, and they listen, but me? I don’t make it easy for you, do I?”

Roman exhales, slow, measured. “You need to watch yourself, Y/N.”

She ignores the warning. “No, I think you do.” She sees it again—the flicker of something barely restrained. So she keeps going. “Because you can pretend all you want, but I see it,” she murmurs. “The way you look at me.”

Roman’s gaze darkens. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

She tilts her head. “Am I?”

His fists flex again, and she doesn’t miss the way his breath catches, just slightly, at the challenge in her tone.

“Tell me, Chief,” she continues, voice smooth, sharp. “Did you like it?”

His brow furrows slightly, just barely. “Like what?”

“The jacket.”

His entire body tenses.

Bingo.

Y/N smirks, stepping even closer, forcing him to either back away or stand his ground. He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t.

“I saw the way you looked at me when I wore it,” she says, voice quieter now, more pointed. “I saw the way your grip tightened, the way your jaw clenched. You couldn’t stop staring.”

Roman exhales sharply, his eyes locked onto hers with a fire that wasn’t there before. Y/N tilts her head. “Why is that?” Roman doesn’t answer so she presses further. “Was it because I didn’t belong in it?” she muses, watching him closely. “Or was it because I did? That the simple thought of me walking around in your colors did something to you?”

That’s when it happens. The shift. The moment his restraint snaps. Roman moves before she can blink. One second, he’s standing in front of her, barely keeping himself in check—

The next, he’s shoving her back, forcing her down into the chair behind her.

The movement is fast, precise, effortless. His hands grip the arms of the chair, caging her in, his face inches from hers, his body looming over hers like a storm about to break.

Y/N’s breath catches, her pulse hammering. Roman stares at her, breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling in sharp, deliberate movements.

And then—

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, dangerous.

Y/N swallows, her skin burning where he hovers, where his presence presses down on her like gravity. She wants to speak. Wants to throw something back at him. But she can’t. Because she feels it now. The weight of it. Of every single one of their battles, their challenges, their little wars. They weren’t just about dominance.

She suddenly finds it hard to maintain eye contact, but Roman can see her trying to mentally escape. He quickly takes her jaw into his hand, holding it in place so she can’t look away from him. She got to talk, so now it’s his turn.

“Don’t look away from me.”

Y/N can feel the chills surge through her body at the command. His hand is warm on her icy skin, causing her cheeks to flush from the actual heat and the situation. She blinks slowly, her eyelashes fluttering which makes Roman suck in a sharp breath. The innocence in her face is more than misleading. Looking at her, anyone would think she’s nice, well-mannered, and behaved.

How wrong they would be.

Roman exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to her lips for half a second before flicking back up. “I shouldn’t be looking at you the way that I do,” he says, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

Y/N’s throat tightens. She breathes, steady despite the fire running through her veins. “Then stop.”

His lips twitch, just barely. “You think it’s that simple?” he asks, tilting his head.

Y/N narrows her eyes. “I think you’re scared of what happens if you give in.”

Roman hums, his grip tightening slightly on the chair. “I think you look at me the same way I look at you.”

Her stomach flips. She doesn’t answer. Because if she does—she might just crack.

“You look at me like you want me to do something about it,” he murmurs.

Y/N’s heart continues to hammer at a rate that can’t be considered healthy. His face is so close to hers. If she simply leaned forward, she could satisfy the craving of wanting his lips on hers.

Roman exhales slowly, his thumb grazing the underside of her jaw. “Say it,” he murmurs.

Y/N swallows. “Say what?”

“That you don’t feel it.” His voice is almost a whisper now, but it’s rough, heavy with something dangerous. “That you don’t feel this.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. She should lie. She should laugh. She should roll her eyes, shake her head, tell him he’s imagining things. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she exhales slowly, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “Now look who’s playing dangerous.”

Roman’s grip on the chair tightens. “And you don’t mind playing high risk, do you?”

Y/N lets the smallest smirk touch her lips. “No,” she murmurs. “I don’t.”

And just like that— Roman lets her go.

The absence of his touch is immediate, almost jarring, but Y/N refuses to back down. She holds his gaze for a long moment, neither of them speaking, neither of them breaking.

Then, finally, Roman exhales, voice quieter now. “This isn’t over.”

Y/N’s pulse is still racing, but she smirks. “I would despair if it was.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N sits in the locker room, her head tilted back against the cool metal of the lockers, eyes shut as she tries to steady the storm in her head. But it’s useless. Roman’s voice is still there. The feeling of his fingers on her jaw, the weight of his stare—every moment of their last confrontation is still there. And it’s driving her insane.

The worst part? It’s not just the tension, the fights, the way they keep pushing each other to the edge. It’s the fact that deep down, something in her craves it. Craves him. And that? That’s unacceptable.

A sharp sigh leaves her lips, frustration simmering beneath her skin as she rubs her hands over her face. “Fucking hell,” she mutters under her breath.

“That bad, huh?”

She jerks her head up at the sound of Seth’s voice. He’s leaning against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest, his expression somewhere between amused and knowing.

Y/N groans, dropping her head back. “Please don’t start.”

Seth chuckles, pushing off the lockers and dropping onto the bench beside her. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

She shoots him a look. “You’re thinking it.”

“Well, yeah,” Seth admits, smirking. “You’re sitting here, looking like you wanna put your head through a wall. And considering your favorite hobby lately has been trying to start a war with Roman, I’m gonna go ahead and assume he’s the reason you look like you’re about to lose your damn mind.”

Y/N scoffs. “I am not starting a war with him.”

Seth raises an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am. But it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

Seth hums. “Mm. Sure.”

She glares at him. “Don’t ‘mm, sure’ me.”

Seth just smirks again, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Alright, so tell me—what’d he say after he had his goonies drag you to his office?”

Y/N exhales sharply. “It’s not even—ugh. It’s not just one thing. It’s everything. The way he looks at me, the way he gets in my face, the way he acts like I belong to him or something.” She throws her hands up. “It’s like he’s always there, always pushing, always—watching me.”

Seth tilts his head, studying her. “And that bothers you?”

She blinks. “Obviously.”

Seth shrugs. “You sure about that?”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Seth sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know you like to fight. It’s what you do. But if this was just about him trying to control you, you’d have walked away by now.”

Y/N tenses. “I have walked away.”

Seth snorts. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

She falls silent.

Seth gives her a knowing look. “Y/N, you’re not fighting him because you hate what he represents. You’re fighting him because you feel it too, and you don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

Her breath catches. “No,” she says automatically. “That’s not—”

“Then why do you care so much?” Seth challenges.

Y/N clenches her jaw.

Seth exhales, shaking his head. “You wanna know why he gets under your skin? Why you can’t get him out of your head?”

She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t stop him, either.

Seth leans back, his expression shifting, no longer teasing but thoughtful. “Because you don’t trust it,” he says simply.

Y/N stiffens.

“You don’t trust that someone like him—someone as powerful as he is—can want you without trying to own you,” Seth continues. “And maybe, yeah, maybe a part of him does want to own you. But not in the way you think.”

Her throat feels tight.

“You think he wants control?” Seth shakes his head. “No. He wants you. And that scares the hell out of you.”

Y/N swallows hard, looking away. “You’re wrong.”

Seth smirks. “Then why are you still sitting here like you’re trying to solve the world’s hardest riddle?”

She says nothing.

And Seth? Seth just pats her shoulder before standing up, his voice lighter now as he walks away. “Think about it, princess.”

Later that night, Y/N finds herself wandering around aimlessly as she waits for Jey and Jimmy to finish their match. The backstage halls are quieter than usual, but Y/N barely notices. Her boots echo against the concrete floor as she walks aimlessly, lost in thought, Seth’s words playing over and over in her head.

"You don’t trust that someone like him—someone as powerful as he is—can want you without trying to own you."

"He wants you. And that scares the hell out of you."

Her jaw clenches as she swipes a hand down her face. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. Because if he’s right—

No. She won’t let herself finish that thought.

Y/N exhales sharply, trying to shake the feeling, but it clings to her like a second skin. Her body is restless, like an itch she can’t scratch, an answer she can’t find. She needs to move, to do something—anything to distract herself.

Then she hears it. Roman’s voice. She stops in her tracks.

It’s low, rough with something she can’t quite place, but there’s a weight to it that makes her breath catch in her throat. The door to his locker room is cracked open just enough to let the sound slip through, an unguarded moment not meant for anyone else to hear. She shouldn’t listen, but she does.

Inside, Roman runs a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down his beard as he exhales heavily. “I don’t know what else to do,” he mutters, voice strained.

Paul, standing beside him, folds his hands in front of him. “She’s stubborn.”

A short, humorless chuckle leaves Roman’s lips. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Paul tilts his head. “She fights you at every turn. That doesn’t surprise me. But what does concern me…” He hesitates.

Roman looks up at him, already knowing where this is going. “Go ahead, Wise Man. Say it.”

Paul sighs, carefully choosing his words. “I think you’re making this personal.”

Roman scoffs, shaking his head. “It is personal.”

Paul studies him for a moment. “More than it should be?”

Roman tenses. That’s the problem, isn’t it? It is more personal than it should be. At first, it was just about bringing her in, keeping her close, making sure she understood who she belonged to. It was about loyalty, about keeping her safe in the way he deemed necessary. But somewhere along the way—he stopped thinking about it as just a responsibility. Somewhere along the way—it became about her. Roman exhales sharply. “You don’t get it, Paul.”

Paul raises a brow. “Then help me understand.”

Roman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together as he stares at the floor. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve given her space. I’ve given her time. I’ve tried forcing her hand. None of it works.” He lifts his gaze, eyes dark with frustration. “She’s still fighting me.”

Paul hums thoughtfully. “She’s also scared.”

Roman’s eyes flicker. “Of me?”

Paul shakes his head. “No. Of what you mean to her.”

Roman stills and Paul steps forward slightly, his voice careful. “She’s never had someone like you before. Someone who watches over her. Someone who sees her.” He tilts his head. “And I don’t think she knows what to do with that.”

Silence stretches between them.

“I’m not trying to control her,” Roman says quietly. “I just…” He trails off, voice rough around the edges. His fingers tighten together. “I don’t want her to be alone in this.”

Paul watches him for a long moment. Then he exhales, nodding slowly. “You care for her.”

Roman’s jaw tightens. “She’s one of mine.”

Paul doesn’t look convinced. “It’s more than that. I can see it. She’s more than just numbers to you.”

Roman exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face again. He doesn’t answer. Because what is there to say?

Outside the door, Y/N can barely breathe. Her pulse pounds in her ears, her hands clenched at her sides as she tries to process what she just heard. She wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting him to be struggling just as much as she was. Because he is struggling. She hears it in his voice, the weight behind his words. She feels it. It isn’t just about dominance or control for him. It’s about her.

It’s about them.

The realization makes something shift inside her, something she can’t ignore any longer. Because if she’s been fighting this— So has he. If she’s been pushing him away— He’s been holding himself back. Her breath catches.

Seth was right.

The reason Roman gets under her skin isn’t because she hates him. It’s because she’s terrified of what it means to want him. To trust him. To let herself be his. And for the first time, she wonders… What if she stopped fighting? What if she acknowledged him?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Looking at herself in the mirror, Y/N couldn’t believe what she was doing. She shrugs on the familiar black and red colors, a small smirk on her face as she admires how she looks in the mirror. Roman has his own segment in the next few minutes and she intends to make it one he’ll never forget.

After everything that’s happened between them, she’s finally come to realize that fighting him is only a way of trying to deny how she really felt about Joe and what he meant to her. She was trying hard to fight his control because truthfully, she wouldn’t mind belonging to him.

Her eyes dance over the Bloodline jacket that fits her far too well, her fingers dancing over the fabric. She runs her fingers over the stitching, the weight of it heavier than she expected. He’s been waiting for her to wear it. To claim her place.

And for the first time— She thinks she might actually want to.

This time It’s not about defiance. It’s about choice. It’s about him. And this time… She’s finally ready to choose.

The arena is electric. The crowd is still buzzing from the match that just ended, the energy thick with excitement, with awe, with dominance. Roman Reigns stands in the center of the ring, championship slung over his shoulder, sweat glistening against his skin as he takes in the sea of fans, the deafening chants of his name.

Another victory. Another opponent put down.

Whoever stood across from him tonight had already become an afterthought. It didn’t matter who it was—Cody, Seth, AJ—because the result was always the same.

Roman Reigns. On top. As always.

He lifts the mic to his lips, smirking as he lets the audience’s reaction settle.

But then— The music hits. Her music. And Roman’s entire demeanor shifts.

The crowd erupts at the familiar sound, voices rising in a chaotic mixture of cheers and gasps. The camera pans back to the entrance, but Roman doesn’t turn. He doesn’t need to. His grip tightens around the mic, his fingers flexing, his jaw clenching. He already knows what this is. Another interruption. Another challenge. Another night where she tries to test him.

He exhales through his nose, fighting the instinct to roll his eyes. She’s been doing this for weeks now, throwing herself into his moments, standing against him with that fire in her eyes, acting like she has any kind of control in this game.

And tonight, she’s trying it again. At least—that’s what he thinks.

Then he sees her. And for the first time in a long time—Roman Reigns is shocked, the breath feeling like it’s been knocked out of his lungs. Because Y/N isn’t strutting out in her usual gear, not in the colors she’s worn every time she’s stepped onto this stage before.

No.

She’s wearing his colors. Black and red. The Bloodline colors. And not just that. The Bloodline jacket. His jacket. The one she’s refused to put on, the one she’s ignored, rejected—until now.

Roman’s body goes still, his expression unreadable, but inside, his pulse is pounding. She steps onto the stage slowly, deliberately, her smirk unmistakable as she scans the crowd, soaking in their reaction. She knows what she’s doing. The way she walks, the way her fingers play with the edges of the jacket, the way she makes a show of it. Roman’s eyes darken. She’s teasing him. Pushing him. But this time—it’s different. Because for the first time, she’s not pushing him away. She’s coming closer.

Y/N starts her slow descent down the ramp, taking her time, milking the moment. Roman doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off her, his championship hanging loosely from his grip. The closer she gets, the more the tension builds. By the time she reaches the steps, the anticipation in the air is thick. She climbs into the ring smoothly, sliding between the ropes with ease, and then—finally—she stands before him.

Roman stares down at her, his breath slow, controlled, his face still a mask of dominance. But inside, he feels the fight in his veins, the war between wanting to push her back or pull her in. Then she smiles. That smile. The one that tells him she knows what she’s doing to him. She lifts the mic, tilting her head slightly, her voice laced with amusement. "You like what you see, Chief?"

A muscle in Roman’s jaw ticks. The crowd erupts. A slow smirk plays on her lips as she takes another step forward, intentionally making him feel the heat of her presence, making sure he sees every inch of her in that jacket. She turns in a slow circle, dragging her fingers along the hem of the fabric, as if showing off. Roman’s fingers twitch. She stops in front of him again, the playful tilt of her head only fueling the tension stretching between them. "You look surprised," she muses, eyes flickering over his face, watching his every reaction.

Roman exhales sharply through his nose. “Should I be?”

She hums, trailing her fingers along the sleeve of the jacket now. “I don’t know, Tribal Chief. Should you be?”

Roman clenches his jaw. She’s testing him. Again. But it’s different this time. Because now, she’s his. Even if she doesn’t fully realize it yet. His voice is lower when he speaks, edged with something darker, something controlled. “Why are you wearing that?”

Y/N runs a hand down the front of the jacket, smoothing the fabric over her frame, and then—without warning—she reaches out, her fingers ghosting over his bicep. Roman’s muscles tighten instinctively beneath her touch. She doesn’t move away. "I just figured it was about time," she murmurs, her tone laced with something dangerously close to sweet.

Roman’s nostrils flare. “Figured what was about time?”

She smiles again—soft, slow, knowing. "For me to look this good in your colors."

Roman clenches his fists once again. The crowd is losing their minds, but Roman barely hears them over the sound of his own thoughts. Over the heat building in his chest, in his veins. She’s pushing him to the edge of his own restraint. And she knows it. He watches her, silent, his dark eyes burning into hers. “You think this is a game?”

Y/N bites her lip, amusement flickering in her gaze. “No. But I do think this is fun.”

Roman fights the urge to exhale too hard. Fights the urge to reach for her, to do something. He tilts his head, stepping closer, his voice dropping. “And you think wearing that makes you one of us now?”

She smirks. “Maybe.”

Roman watches her for another long second, studying her face, trying to find anything in her expression that might tell him what she’s really thinking.

And then she turns to the crowd. Her gaze sweeps over them before she lifts the microphone again. "I think it’s time to accept my rightful place at the table, no?"

The arena explodes. Roman feels something shift in the air—something real. She turns back to face him, standing tall. And then she lifts her hand, raising her finger in the air. The acknowledgment. The submission. The choice. Then, locking eyes with him, steady and unshaken. "I acknowledge you."

Roman doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. Because for weeks, for months, she has fought him. Denied him. And now— Now she’s standing in his ring, wearing his jacket, looking him in the eyes and giving in. By choice.

Roman clenches his jaw, his chest rising and falling with every controlled breath, forcing himself to stay composed. Because every instinct in his body is screaming at him to grab her. To claim her. To remind her who she just gave herself to. But he doesn’t. Because he is the Tribal Chief. He is in control. He forces a slow, measured smirk to tug at his lips, his voice dropping to something only she can hear.

"Took you long enough."

The crowd erupts. Y/N just grins. And for the first time— She feels like she belongs.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Walking backstage, Y/N could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Roman has his hand placed gently on her lower back, no words being exchanged as he guides her back to his private office. Her nerves are on fire. She could see in his eyes how satisfied he was seeing her representing him and his family. She just hopes it sent the message she wanted it to.

She doesn’t want to just belong to the Bloodline. She wants to belong to him. Because for once in her life, she isn’t afraid to let someone help her. To give someone else a say in her life. As they walk, Y/N notices Colby staring at her from his spot against the wall with a knowing smirk on his face. She rolls her eyes at him, mouthing for him to “shut up” as they finally round the corner and walk into his office.

There’s a comfortable tension between the two of them as the door smoothly shuts. Y/N fiddles with the fabric of her new jacket, still trying to decipher what’s going on in Roman’s head. His expression hadn’t changed since they left the ring. He stays silent, walking past her to set his championship down on his chair. He’s deliberate, taking his time, making her squirm before he finally leans back on his desk to face her.

His arms are outstretched behind him as he leans comfortably on the wood. He can see the gears turning in her head and part of him wants to make her wait before saying anything. It would serve as a form of punishment for all the back talk she’s been giving him since he took her under his wing.

But seeing her there, rocking his colors better than he ever could, glancing around the room all nervous. It made his heart clench. He couldn’t let her sit there and think he was mad. “Well, you were right about one thing,” his voice comes out low and gruff, making Y/N’s eyes widen slightly. She wasn’t expecting him to be the one to break the silence, let alone say something like that.

“What?” Y/N asks. She almost cringes at how small her voice sounds in comparison to his. She normally matches his energy, his dominance, but right now her anxiety is too high. She doesn’t know if what she did was the right move.

Suddenly he’s standing from his spot, slowly walking over to her. Y/N can feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he cups her chin the same way he did the other night, but this time it’s much more gentle, soft even. Her heart flutters at the way he’s looking down at her. Normally his eyes are filled with some sort of irritation whenever he looks at her, but now they’re just filled with what she can only call adoration, longing maybe. “Seeing you in these colors does do something to me,” he admits quietly, the corner of his lip quirking up into an almost smile.

Y/N feels a small weight lift off her chest. He likes it. She finds herself leaning into his touch, allowing her head to rest on his hand. “Does it now?” She says, her teasing edge returning to her voice.

She raises her hand up to his arms, her fingers lightly facing the tribal tattoo that covers it. Joe sucks in a breath, fighting off the chills that threaten to explode over his skin. He loves how her touch feels. It’s almost like sliding into a freshly warmed hoodie on a cold day. “You look beautiful.”

Every brick Y/N had put in place to keep herself guarded crumbles. Any ounce of professionalism she had left disappeared at that moment. The way he said that was different than anything he had ever said to her before. He said it like it was the only truth he had ever known. Nobody has ever looked at her the way Joe is right now. There’s that same small voice that’s haunted her, telling her to run away, that he doesn’t mean it. But when she sees the unwavering expression on his face, it silences any doubts she could have. She tilts her head, “You really think so?”

“I’ve always thought so,” he confirms. “Just fought really hard to not admit it… but I don’t think I want to fight it anymore.”

Y/N chuckles softly, “I actually kinda like it,” she says, messing with the jacket once more. “I don’t know why it took me so long to just put it on. It’s pretty cute.”

Roman shakes his head, his smile growing, “Cause you’re a stubborn ass who does the exact opposite of what she’s told.”

Y/N slaps his chest with a playful glare, “Well, maybe if you weren’t so bossy I wouldn’t feel the need to defy you all the time.”

“Nah, you just did it ‘cause you like pissin’ me off,” he says, his hands finding their way to her hips. He squeezes the soft flesh there, finally feeling like the world isn’t going to crash down around him by admitting how he feels.

“You liked it too,” she counters with a grin. “But I came around eventually didn’t I?” She raises her eyebrows.

Roman studies her for a moment, his dark eyes flickering over her face as if trying to commit every little detail to memory. The teasing, the playfulness—it’s always been their dynamic. But tonight, there’s something different. Something heavier in the air between them. He feels it in the way she’s looking up at him, waiting, holding her breath like she’s expecting him to finally say what’s been left unspoken for so long.His hands tighten slightly on her hips, grounding himself in the reality that she’s here, in his colors, letting him hold her like this. Letting him see the parts of her she doesn’t just give to anyone.

“You did come around,” he repeats, his voice softer now. “Took your sweet ass time, though.”

Y/N tilts her head, lips twitching. “Yeah, well, I had to be sure it was worth it.”

Roman smirks, cocking a brow. “And?”

Her fingers trace lazy patterns over his chest, her touch barely there, but enough to make his skin burn. “I think it is.”

A satisfied hum rumbles in his chest. “Damn right, it is.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. She shifts a little closer, her hands sliding up his biceps, fingers pressing against the firm muscle beneath them. “You know, I think it’s funny” she muses, “even the Wise Man picked up on it.”

Roman quirks a brow. “Picked up on what?”

She gives him a knowing look. “How different you are with me. How I mean more to you than just numbers.”

His expression doesn’t change, but she feels his fingers twitch slightly against her hips. He knows exactly what she’s talking about.

“Oh,” he drawls, smirking. “So you were spying on me?”

Y/N giggles, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe...”

Before she can say anything else, he moves. Swift and effortless, like it takes no effort at all to lift her up. A surprised squeal leaves her lips as he hoists her into his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. “Joe!” she exclaims, laughing breathlessly as her arms loop around his neck.

He just chuckles, the sound deep and rich in her ear. “You know, you got a real bad habit of eavesdropping.”

Y/N grins. “It’s not eavesdropping if you’re talking about me.”

Roman shakes his head, his smirk never faltering. His hands slide along her thighs, securing her against him as he presses her back against the nearest wall. His gaze drops to her lips, his grip tightening just a little.

“You drive me insane, you know that?”

Y/N hums in amusement, her fingers threading into his hair. “I do.”

Then, finally, after what feels like forever, he kisses her. It’s not hesitant or uncertain. It’s not careful or slow. It’s deep, firm, and claiming—like he’s been holding back for too damn long and he’s finally allowing himself to take what he’s wanted. Y/N melts into him instantly, her body molding against his as her hands tug at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groans into her mouth, one hand sliding up her back, pressing her tighter against him as he deepens the kiss. She tastes like victory, like home, like every damn thing he’s been too stubborn to admit he needed.

When they finally break apart, Y/N’s eyes are bright with mischief, her lips swollen from his kiss. “Took you long enough,” she teases, mocking his words from the ring.

Roman lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head before his hand drops to her ass, delivering a playful smack.

Y/N gasps, eyes widening slightly before a delighted giggle escapes her.

“Gonna have to teach you some manners,” he murmurs, his voice dark with promise.

Y/N bites her lip, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Oh yeah? Think you’re up for that?”

Roman grins. “Oh, I know I am.”

And as he kisses her again, she knows she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[skyahri]

Hate |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Kakashi Hatake, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha

Summary: Hate is a strong word, but it's also a very fragile one.

Warnings: Brief smut, kissing mentions of p and v. Some angst, but all comfort. Mentions of blood, violence, and death.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Kakashi Hatake

You hated how full of himself he was. He was always talking down to people, to his teammates and so-called friends. He goes out of his way to show people up no matter how inappropriate the situation may be.

He hated that you always stuck up for people he considered weak. He hated how much time and energy you put into helping others instead of focusing on your own training. He hated that you had so much potential, yet seemed to waste it at every opportunity.

As time went on and you were forced into each other's inner circles, your occasional arguments became a constant bicker. It got even worse when you were assigned to his ANBU team. You questioned his every move and fought every decision he made.

In return, he always gave you the least desirable night shifts. He'd make you write all the reports, saying something about needing to learn to respect your elders (he's only a few months older than you).

Once you were put in charge of your own team, things quieted down. Not because either of you had mellowed out, but because you didn't cross paths as often anymore.

Because of how rarely you saw him, you always made sure to make your brief encounters worth it. You had practically written a list of insults to throw his way. He returned the same energy with out hesitation.

Eventually, after his genin team had gone their separate ways and you had finally retired from ANBU, you had a seemingly infinite amount of time to rekindle your rivalry with him.

He always seemed to be heading in the same direction as you were. It didn't matter if you were on your way to the Hokage's office, the shops, or meeting up with someone- he was always there.

You tried to fight with him like the good old days, but it was different now that you were grown adults. Maybe the ungodly amount of trauma combined with the wedge distance had created in your odd relationship had finally put an end to your petty war.

Thinking back, maybe this is what it had been all along, and your stupid kid brain was too proud to admit what was really going on.

Your arguing had turned into kissing the moment he stepped through your apartment door. Things moved quickly, expert hands doing away with endless layers of Jonin uniforms in a rushed attempt to feel more of each other.

It felt right. Like the decades of tension had finally come to a head and you were being forced to deal with it in the most animalistic way possible.

"I hate you."

Your mumbling between desperate kisses. He doesn't acknowledge you immediately, opting to instead lift you by your ass so your legs could wrap around him. He pushes you against the wall, pressing his clothed election right against your womanhood.

"I hate you, too."

Neither of you acknowledges the elephant in the room, that the word you're looking for isn't actually hate. But that's beyond your cloudy minds right now.

Shikamaru Nara

Shikamaru has never really bothered with social pleasantries or subjected himself to cater to what people like and dislike. In fact, he often chastised people for caring what others think.

He always commented about what you wore, how well groomed you were, and the overall effort you put into your appearance each day.

You hated listening to it, which is why you always did your best to avoid him.

It wasn't even about you specifically. You hated hearing how rudely he'd shut down Ino when she would ramble on about anything. You hated when he complained about how loud Naruto and Kiba were despite knowing that they're just excitable people. You hated hearing the damn near sexist remarks he'd make about how stupid people were for giving any shots about how they looked.

It was annoying. It didn't seem to phase anyone else anymore, but that almost made it worse.

You were at your breaking point. Just one comment away from losing your composure and you prayed to God you'd be able to refrain from saying anything too harsh.

But alas, Kakashi had assigned you to yet another mission with him- the sixth one just this month.

At least he waited until you were at the Inn before he started up with you. You honestly don't know why he let you shower first if it was going to be such an issue.

"Finally. I thought you'd be in there forever."

"What the Hell is your problem with me?"

He paused in his tracks. He wasn't expecting you to say anything to his usual grumbling, and especially didn't expect it to be so hostile.

"You always take forever in the bathroom."

"It was twenty minutes. You'll live."

"It wouldn't be that long if you didn't bother with all the extra shit you use."

"Why is it such a problem that I care about what I look like? I don't ever involve you in it and yet you're always talking about it."

He rolled his eyes, about to blow off whatever you were saying, but you started up again before he could.

"All you ever do is bitch and whine and moan about dumb shit that doesn't concern you. I like to look nice. I like wearing clothes that compliment my figure and putting time into the health of my hair and skin. It's not the end of the world, so shut the fuck up about it already."

You walked past him and lay in one of the twin beds, tired from the journey and pissed about your teammate's usual poor behavior.

He didn't say anything. He continued with what he was going to do before the argument and carried on like nothing had happened.

He kept any conversations strictly professional for the duration of the mission, something you were ecstatic about.

It wasn't until a few days after you returned home that you heard from him. He showed up at your apartment unprompted, looking irritated and slightly flustered.

"After talking with my team, it may have come to my attention that I might be kind of an ass."

You invited him in, curious as to what he had to say. He admitted that he had never been called out on it. Most people don't take him too seriously and he may have gotten a bit too comfortable voicing every thought that crossed his mind.

Although he had mostly soothed any nerves you had, you still decided he owed you.

You dragged him into your room, sat him at your vanity, and laughed when he groaned. You pulled out all the stops for him. You took him through your entire routine start to finish and when you were done, you asked him hiw it felt.

He hated that it felt nice. He hated that he suddenly realized how dry his skin usually was and how clean he suddenly felt. He would never fully admit that to you, though.

Him showing up at your apartment the next day, conveniently around the time you usually started these things, was all the confirmation you needed that he no longer deemed it a waste of time.

Sasuke Uchiha

He hated going to the Hokage's office, not because he was still in the thick of earning his freedom after the war, but because he hated Kakashi’s assistant.

You annoy him. He hates that you so confidently push his buttons. He hates that you're just a civilian, but you've been given so much authority over him. It was an unfit existence for the last Uchiha.

You enjoyed messing with him. He would grumble when given his assignment and you made sure to mock him with a playful pout. You'd check in with the ANBU watching over him to make sure he was behaving. You always used that word- behaving. As if he were a child.

Unfortunately for Sasuke, Kakashi isn't in the village right now, meaning he's stuck taking orders from you. He swears Kakashi picked you to oversee him intentionally, knowing how much it would bother him.

He's sitting next to you, helping you go through seemingly endless piles of paperwork. He wasn't sure if this was better than all the D-rank missions he'd been assigned lately, but he begrudgingly accepted the change of pace.

He glances at you through his peripherals. The sun is just going down, the orange light illuminating your soft features. Your usual bratty expression was replaced with a more peaceful one.

This was most likely just as much a break for you as it was for him. He wasn't oblivious to the way you had to reel Kakashi in every day, damn near having to tie him to his chair to get anything done.

"You can go home. I'll finish up here and we can resume tomorrow."

He didn't argue, thankful for relief from the horrifically tedious task. As he was leaving the building, he suddenly got this feeling in his gut that he should stay.

Of course, not wanting to do more paperwork than he was required to, he ignored the feeling and carried on.

He should've stayed. Just an hour after he left, while you were packing up for the night, the tower was raided by rogue nin.

The alarm sounded in the village, immediately calling all available shinobi. Bee, the ANBU assigned to him, gave him permission to lend a hand, and off they went to the tower.

He teleported himself to Kakashi’s office, knowing you would most likely be in there or at least somewhere near. What he wasn't expecting, however, was you standing over a body, kunai in hand and blood splattered across your body.

"Y/N?"

You didn't move, couldn't move. He reached forward, tugged the blade out of your shaky grip, and let it fall to the floor. You let him, not really in the mood to fight any more than you had to right now.

"Is he dead?"

Your question caught him off guard.

"I've never killed anyone before."

Ah. Civilian. Right. Sure, you belonged to a Shinobu village and even worked under the Kage, but that was vastly different than being on the front lines.

He thought for a second. Was he in any sort of position to be responsible for you at the moment? Should he hand you off to one of the other nin and return home?

"Cover your eyes."

It took a minute for his words to register in your hazy mind, but once they did you obeyed. If there was one thing you knew would benefit you, it would be allowing him to take the lead for now.

He put his hand between your shoulder blades and guided you through the hallways, down the stairs, and away from the tower completely. He glanced around, but couldn't find Bee, so he opted to take you back to his apartment. It would cause a lot less trouble if he was where he was supposed to be after all.

At home, he sat you down in the tub and turned on the water. He left you there, letting all the blood loosen from your skin. He returned a moment later, setting a stack of clothes down on the counter and grabbing a rag from the cabinet.

Neither of you spoke as he gently scrubbed your face. When he was done, he got a little bit of shampoo and worked all the red out of your hair.

You were slowly coming out of your daze. It was nice being brought out by something kind and comforting. It was almost enough to distract you from the night's events. Almost.

When he was done, he handed you the cloth, telling you to finish up and see him when you're done. You nodded, standing up and undressing when the door closed. You noticed how clean the water ran, most likely due to how thoroughly the Uchiha had taken care of you.

When you stepped out of the tub, you noticed the clothes on the counter. Upon closer inspection, they were similar to the ones he was wearing now- a t-shirt and sweats.

You joined him in the adjacent bedroom where he waited patiently. He all but forced you into his bed, shutting down all of your protests. When he went to leave the room, you quickly grabbed the fabric of his shirt to stop him.

"Please stay."

He didn't fight you. He walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down, leaning against the headboard and staring blanky in front of him.

You were thankful for the comfort of simply not being alone. Not after tonight, when so much had happened and the trauma was still fresh in your mind.

He tried telling himself that this was not a personal act, but instead one that would aid his village. But who was he kidding? He was realizing you weren't all that terrible and he had just allowed his angst brain to manipulate him into thinking so.

[machveil]

Heheheh

Loser! Konig when after the soldiers pull their prank on him you reverse the roles.

You catch him alone (or invite him somewhere private under a guise) and try to confront him about what happened. He doesn't want to talk about it and tries to avoid the subject. Looking like a scolded schoolboy hunched in his seat, feeling hot embarrassment swell in his throat as he looks at the floor to avoid eye contact.

He hears you get up and walk behind him and assumes you're leaving. Of course you are, he fucked up, he never should have ever assumed someone could like him and now look at how he's embarrassed himself. It's probably for the best that you leave before you see his tears-

Your hand snakes around his throat to tilt his head back the same way he did to you so he can look at you standing above him. Breath hitching.

You scold him for not making eye contact. "Can't even look me in the eye? Acting so shy now, surely you remember being so bold before."

He leans into your hand, eyes rolling back and lips parting in euphoria if he presses against you hard enough maybe you'll leave a mark

He's so out of it he fails to react when your hand leaves his neck and only notices when your thumb swipes some drool leaking from his lips and presses on his tongue.

He has to blink himself back to reality just in time to hear you tell him to find you when he plans on being anything more than a coward as you leave the room.

oh my god, I didn’t think this could get any better— (in reference to this post and the follow up)

CW: light choking, humiliation, König gets hard twice, back at it with the Loser!König vibes

he really couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge you. he wanted to, but that burning guilt in his chest always clawed up his throat when he caught a glimpse of you. wrapped a hand around your neck in a drunken stupor

he could only apologize so many times before fleeing - never letting you get a word in. if he did, he was sure all you’d say was how disgusting he was, a pervert. someone you considered a friend, sneaking up on you, condescending tone as he asked you to speak a language you didn’t know. ‘Ich liebe dich’ - he can hardly believe he asked you to say that

and yet, that confused look in your eyes as he held you? he can’t stop thinking about it. it’s burned into his mind, a blessing and a curse - you looked cute, brows knit and lips a little pouty with concern… but that shame would come back to gnaw at his mind. a double edged sword, but that expression of yours outweighs his guilt at night behind closed doors

he shouldn’t be turned on over what happened - but in that moment you looked so helpless to him. you aren’t, you’re still a soldier, but in his twisted mind you looked fragile. he was embarrassed when he fled, red hot anger in his chest from being lied to, but oh so achingly hard when he reached his room that night

he was used to hiding under his sheets, used to bucking into his fist as he imagined you, but this time? the shame and guilt eating at his mind - instead of picturing you under him, all König could think about was you calling him gross, vile for assuming you’d like him. cheeks flushed with humiliation, because that’s what it was to him. humiliated that he’d bought into a lie, humiliated that he was getting off on what happened

a long night, alone in his dark room moaning - your voice degrading him echoing in his head. he couldn’t say when he fell asleep, but when he woke up that morning he decided it’d be better to apologize again, repeatedly, and leave. leave you alone, pine from afar, and keep himself company at night with thoughts of you

and that’s what he did - it’s been a few days since then. as large as he was, he was surprisingly good at evading you. it’s difficult for him when you have to see each other, the forced proximity twisting his gut with nerves. he missed the butterflies you gave him, the warmth that bloomed in his chest. he still thinks about you smiling at him, a small distraction as he walks away from the training grounds, unaware of you coming up behind him

“König! Hey, come here for a second.”, he’s sure he’s just hearing something, his heads so caught up with guilt that your voice is just playing in his mind. but when he feels a hand grab his wrist, he looks down and sees you, his blood running cold as you look up at him, “Just wait a second, please?”

all you get are icy eyes staring down at you - his flushed face hidden behind his hood, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. all he can muster is a curt nod, his throat dry as he tries to breathe in, “Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me and— well, I think we just need to talk about what happened, okay?”

you’re met with silence, hand falling from his wrist as he stares. you’re about to turn around, call this a lost cause and try again later when he speaks, “Okay.”. his voice was strained, small when it was usually a little louder. it made your heart twist hearing him like that - even if he was reserved and didn’t speak much, he’d still carry confidence when he spoke to you. he did before

a beat passes before you crack a small smile at him, a quick nod in the direction of the barracks. when you turn to walk König finds himself frozen for a moment. why would he say okay? maybe he just wanted to bite the bullet and get this over with subconsciously, let you yell at him and be mad - he wouldn’t blame you

wrapped his too big, too calloused, too rough hand around you - that was the only image in his head. he could still see it when he closed his eyes - he could still feel your skin on his if he focused. it made him feel dirty, it made him feel— “König?”

he’s brought back out of his mind when he hears your voice. paused a few feet ahead of him, waiting for him to follow. and, like the lovesick fool he is, he does what he always does - he follows you. glued to your side like it’s where he belongs, but all he feels is the sense that, once alone, you’ll call him deprived, a desperate man that just wanted to feel you

it’s a short walk to the barracks, nothing said between you two. König’s room is closer, and rather than draw out the walk to your room, you stop in front of his. “Is it okay if we talk in here?”, you cautiously ask, afraid he’d run away again

he wants to say something, voice his thoughts, but all he does is reach for the door handle. a quick turn, and it’s opening - the giant man stepping over the threshold. you’re quick to follow him in, in case he shuts the door or turns to leave. maybe, you think, he’ll be more at ease in his own room

he sighs, deep and audible as he pulls out his desk chair. he’s almost too big for it, a little too bulky. his back to the door, he simply looks down - unable to look at you, sure of what’s to come. a screaming fit, spewing obscenities, something that’ll make his heart shatter more than it already has

he hears you speaking, sees your shoes in front of him as he looks at the floor. it’s all muffled, tuned out as his brain swirls with ‘what if’s’. what if they yell? what if they cry? what if they leave? what if they never come back? what if—

it takes him a moment to notice you’re not standing in front of him anymore, and when he glances up you’re not in view. gone. left him to wallow in his room, to sit and think. he’s already tugging his hood off, discarded onto his desk. messy copper hair and scars on display, he sinks back into his chair, head held low

he lets his eyes flutter shut, the silence in the room deafening as he mourns. stupid, it’s worse knowing he’s lost you and you’re still roaming the base. gone, but still here— eyes opening when he feels a hand on his neck, a palm against his throat, he swallows

“You won’t talk to me, you can’t even look at me, König.”, oh god, your voice, low and condescending as you speak. your fingers snugly resting against the column of his throat, déjà vu hits König like a truck when your pointer finger nudges against his chin, “You were really confident… what happened to that?”

bare skin touching bare skin, and when you gently press your finger under his chin, making him tilt his head up? he’s pretty sure this is pure bliss, “Look at me.”. and, oh, that stern tone you have goes straight down his spine, nerves tingling as his icy gaze meets yours. your hand— your warmth against his neck nearly has his brain turning to mush

he likes this, he’s being scolded by you for ignoring you, your hand wrapped around his neck. eyes half lidded, gazing up at you, his mind is somewhere else entirely. you’re talking again, probably commenting on how he’s been behaving, but all he’s focused on doing is leaning into your touch. pressing his neck a little more against your hand, biting back a low groan when you absentmindedly squeeze

you weren’t even looking at him anymore, gesturing with your other hand as you look up - frustrated, your eyebrows knit. you look so good like this, and the effect is more than obvious. between the tent in his pants on the way it looks like his brain should be oozing out his ears, the drool running down his chin, König’s not really present in the moment

he nearly misses it when you move your hand off his neck, blinking when you wipe the drool from his lip. “I’m not mad, König. Just… when you get yourself together, feel free to come find me, yeah?”, and there’s that smile - fond gaze looking down at him the way he missed, this time more intimate. patting his cheek briefly, spit smearing his skin a little, he sits up and watches you leave

he’ll come find you Maus, eventually. for now, in the dim lighting of his room, he’s more focused on working his belt off

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ CADAVER

tw. wound fucking, blood, gore, don’t read this if you’re squeamish!!, somnophilia, oral, noncon, megumi is delusional in this, yandere, belly bulge but gross! , cannibalistic thoughts wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. this one,,, was me pushing myself to just go buck wild, and channel my inner junji, and i think i got somewhere with it... a select few of you will understand me when i say that ,, this is like my love letter to megumi fr ♡ like i said though, this one might be the one that has people a little yucked out but! it's basically my halloween fic, for the spooky month

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

When the rattling of the stretcher finally quiets in the halls and the rising rate of adrenaline starts to flatten out, Megumi’s lost on what to do. Any of the other sorcerers can’t decide what the next step is either, it seems. Yuji with his back pressed against the glass and staring off into the empty part of the hall they just came from, and principal Yaga a stern quietness and arms crossed. Ieiri-san will do her best work today of any days if there’s anything to be done about it, but Megumi can tell. That uncertainty hangs over all of them as the faint breathing of a collapsed body grows more pitched and panicked.

Megumi always sort of hated you. He didn’t like you from the second he first met you, and it just grew and grew and grew from there. He hates your stupid demeanor with your higher-than-thou morals and your sky-high milestones and that grin that could make even the coldest heart split in two. It doesn’t escape him that this is the same reason he always did enjoy Maki, but you were — more recognizable to him, and yet somehow much further away.

He always hated the way he’d catch himself watching the soft motion of your lashes, or how your mouth would form words, the heat that would carry color to your face. He always hated the quiet moments you’d sit by his side, rattling his heart out of his chest and laughing at him for his hot cheeks; and he always hated how you’d be the thought on his mind right after he’d made sure his own limbs hadn’t yet been blown to bits. But standing with his hands covered in a coating of blood that isn’t his, dripping onto the panes of the old flooring, he wonders what that hatred ever really got him. It never helped him understand you better, that for someone so alike himself, you were so much better at everything.

His chest is rising and falling too fast.

Gojo’s too late, always is when it comes down to the wire, Megumi thinks as the lankier man rushes through and stops a few feet away from them. Yaga’s brow pinches, before he lifts his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the white blond. “What’s the status,” Gojo has to ask, and before he has another conscious thought, Megumi’s furiously rubbing his hands over his sweater in an attempt to get the blood off while his teeth clack with how hard he’s clenching them. There’s a thickness between his ears that makes everything sound far off. The blood stains his fingers the more he rubs, and his face gets hotter and hotter as it lasts.

But he thinks he hears the principal explain.

How you had been pinned down and knocked clean out, head bashed against the concrete pillars. How Megumi had been too busy trying and failing to keep the uglier curse from blasting you both to shit, to notice. How the other special grade had picked you up by the neck and unceremoniously shoved something into your mouth and pushed until it went down your throat - until you started convulsing, spitting out blood and bile before he could reach you. Megumi hadn’t taken the time to look then, but he knows now what it was, slimy, decaying contents of a little vial that had gone missing a few months ago.

“The girl must’ve been a real good match.” Yaga pushes his fingers to his brow, as if forcibly trying to push the frown down. “Ieiri’s doing what she can.” It doesn’t make any of them feel better when Gojo clicks his tongue and aims his eyes at the door, before casting a quick glance at Megumi under thick, blond lashes. He wants to puke. He’d shoved his fingers down your throat for what felt like hours, trying desperately to get you to throw up the curse. Had carried you all the way back while you were sobbing and wailing in pain. Nothing.

If even the worst case repeats itself, they’ll have another incarnation on their hands, and the noose will be tightened around your throat. Yuji must have already realized this, because he’s yet to say anything since you’d been tied onto the stretcher with blood pouring out of your nose and ears and coughing up grime. Megumi’s not even sure if Ieiri would hesitate to put you down without a second warning before it gets to the same turning point. And he is pissed. At the situation, his friends, himself, you. He’s so angry his hands shake, and so angry tears start stinging behind his eyes, feeling like any motion might cause him to throw up. He hates you.

+

Your chest’s rising with big motions up and down, up and down, as you drum your feet on his bedsheets like an excited rabbit. Megumi grunts, snatches the book from your hands and tosses it back down with the others that were not-so-neatly stacked on his desk. Your shape on his bed makes a dent in his mind that he’ll have to keep replaying over and over when he closes his eyes, and it has a frown pulling his eyebrows down automatically. “So grumpy,” you yawn, and also roll over onto your stomach to tuck your legs to your core, lifting one hand to rest your face into it.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Might as well be,” you giggle back, and he watches for a moment as your hair falls along your shoulders in a gentle brush, making you look even more enchanting. You’re soft and parts of you are shiny like silk, seemingly oozing your rosy, peachy aura all over his stuff. You catch his eyes for just a few breaths, still rising your chest too distractingly, before you push yourself up and slide off the bed to walk up to him. He pivots to thumb through the notes on his desk again, to be farther away from your face probably, and his shoulders rise into an uncomfortable pinch when you approach, feet patting on his floor. “Megumi.” You say his name with a clear pout.

Then heat covers his skin at the base of his throat and he freezes, letting the way you drag your soft lips over his pulse fill him up entirely. His hands shake too hard to keep a grip on the paper, so he spins you around and shoves you back against the desk as you hiss at the sudden painful grip, his fist wrapped into the collar of your shirt. “I already told you to stop doing that.” He hisses, and your eyes are wide and glittering like diamonds, beautiful color peering up at him.

“But you like it when I do that,” you whisper back ever so softly, and his head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, cracking his skull under a non-escapable pressure. He can’t think, can’t even eat normally without the ghost of you hanging over him and shaking him up. It’s unbearable even when you’re not around. His fist unclenches from the flimsy fabric to instead grip your chin with his thumb, and his heart bangs against his ribcage harder than can be normal. Harder than is healthy. A little thought in the back of his skull begs to push. Just once, deny you from digging your claws deeper into him— but he’s already melted to your shape before he can blink.

His face drops like you’re magnetic, thighs pushing you further into the desk and also into him; and it’s truly embarrassing that his hands are still shaking like they do. You lean in when he does, and let your lips meet his hungry, treacherous mouth, other hand sliding to your waist to pull you closer. Your tongue brushes his and he implodes inside, and he swears it hurts to be this close to you.

Not that you care. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer, and his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin.

+

He finds himself wandering back to the quieter wing of the school when the sun’s already dipped far past the horizon, and the cold starts picking up. He’s dragging his feet, so he won’t fucking rush back to the room he finds himself thinking about so fast he stumbles. He’s glaring at the patterns in the floorboards so he doesn’t cry. You’re stable- quiet puffs of air escaping your nose every few seconds, but you’re still under surveillance. As far as the clans are concerned, they’ll put something sharp between your eyes sooner rather than later, before whatever’s slumbering inside you wakes up. But Gojo’s fighting for you. It makes him grimace to think about.

Knocking his knuckles onto the doorframe, he enters the dimly lit room. Nanami doesn’t stand when he spots him, but does uncross his legs as he takes a deep breath. Neither of them speak for a while, and the dark haired man takes that time to run his eyes over you. You’re not as dirty as you were when you first got back, shivering and shaking. You’re no longer dripping with blood, though he’s sure if he were to look close enough, he’d still be able to see flecks of it between your cracked lips. As he walks up, he finds himself thinking that you look strangely peaceful, and that doesn’t seem entirely right.

Save for the bloody mark that seems branded into your forehead, you look like you’re quietly sleeping on the metal slab that supports your body. After all the pain and agony you’ve caused in him, sleepless nights and long days of wondering, hoping you’d be okay. Why is it that he’s the one affected by you? Why is it that he’s the one who’s going to have to say goodbye again? He stares at your unmoving form as if that’ll give him an answer, but it doesn’t. And the pit in his stomach swells again. He’s just so angry all the time. Megumi breathes out. “It’s my turn to take watch for a while.”

“You’re early,” Nanami’s deep baritone chastises, but he gets up from the seat anyway. He smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, before slowly placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. The weight is heavy, and somehow doesn’t soothe him at all. But there’s an attempt, he guesses. He’s still not entirely sure why everyone is looking at him like he’s the one who needs it most, broken and disheveled and mourning. He’s been able to finish his tasks like everyone else has, and he can banish the thought of you when he’s supposed to focus on work— at least, mostly. He doesn’t need the fucking pity. “Want some coffee? Or green tea?” Nanami asks, letting his hand slide off when Megumi shrugs.

“No. I’m okay.”

The older man seems to hesitate, simply nodding when he walks past. Before closing the door behind him, he once again clears his voice, and Megumi turns over his shoulder. The blond has this look in his eyes, of pity, as he talks. “Megumi, there’s a chance she pulls through.” Why again - that fucking pity? “Don’t give up.” Though it makes him tingle with an unbearable sort of itch deep under the skin, he grits his teeth, and his brain’s hot and irritated when he responds.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nanami doesn’t seem to believe him, but still softly slides the door closed behind him, and when the footsteps grow softer and softer, Megumi allows for a second to collect himself. He braces his hands onto the metal as he leans in, close enough to feel just the slightest bit of your warmth on his fingers, and see the way you’re still breathing, though shallow, too faint for his liking. His brows pinch when he finds himself with his forehead pressed to your stomach, hunched over like he’s praying at your shrine or something. But he can’t help it.

As much time as he spent beside you with a frown on his face, it never feels enough. He can’t stay away, like it’s an involuntary thing— you leave him no choice in the matter. Even here in the darkness, whining softly into your wheezed breaths, it isn’t enough to be beside you. He can’t do anything from here at your bedside; and that uselessness makes him feel even more uneasy. He needs to be closer to you. Wants to be so close you two get stuck together and melt together like an inseparable entity, would want to crawl inside you if he could.

His nose presses into the clean shirt that smells like your laundry, as he clenches his fists so hard along the table edge they start to ache. His eyes are pressed closed tight when he allows him just a second to nose below your sternum, and that uncomfortable stinging sensation comes back to his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” his lips brush against your covered skin, taking in the lack of heat, of your smell and the way you sounded with his face buried there, “I didn’t mean it.”

+

“Aw, ow, ow, Megumi~” You pout with a pitched whine as his hand stays screwed around your knee for a little longer, keeping you trapped under his heavier, taller body so that you start wiggling. Your head falls back against his arm, and you lean to press a few kisses to his wrist that’s holding your own to the floor. “Be more gentle.” You pout when you pull back and flash him that fucking look that sends icy shivers down his spine, and exactly nothing else. “You can be gentle, can’t you?” Every other part of him flushes with heat under your doe-eyed, pitiful look, definitely when you start wiggling out of his grasp like you’re suddenly over the game.

You started it. He wouldn’t put himself in your range on purpose. When you’re about halfway out from under his crouched form, you sit up to be face to face; and you brush your hand past his ear, down his jaw and neck and trail his collarbones, all places he’s convinced are now stained a bright, obnoxious pink from his flush. You let your fingers linger when you tilt your head aside a bit so you can slot your lips over his into a sweet, little kiss, and you pull your lips into another pout. “Swear you’re doing it to hurt me sometimes. I’m never trying to hurt you, you know.” A few strands of hair fall over your eye when you sit below him, and he has to fight every single muscle in his body not to push it back for you.

He wants to see your eyes. He wants you to see him like this, pinned under you like the attraction you render him as— his body collapses on top of you as you start giggling all fucking cutely, and his heart races more than it ever has. Your heartbeat drums into his face when he buries it into your softness, chest against his cheek, too long for his own sanity before he drags himself off you. And it is a drag. His entire body starts feeling sluggish when you’re this close to him, close enough to drown himself in your scent. He won’t ever say it, but that scent gets him hard and awfully mellow all at once, his cock coming to life in his pants before he’s moving.

You look happy. Your eyes are those bright, gentle colors that rain down on him, and your lips are quirked into a soft smile, you must know what you’re doing to him. Setting him up for failure again. He huffs and pushes himself onto his back instead, knocking his head to the floor while you’re moving from the rug - splaying your knees either side of him before you nuzzle right back on top of his chest and make it even harder to get a breath, let alone catch it. He’s sure he’s panting a little when you leave your warmth draped all over him, and you don’t do anything other than be there.

His arms are still on the floor, his body rigid under you, but you’re softly giggling into his peck before he frowns down at you again when you catch his eyes. “What?”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” you admit, not proud, not gloating - just stating the fact, and heat overtakes his neck now too. Instead of letting you wind him up any further, he bucks you off and switches positions again, now with your two wrists caught in his hands as you squeak with the ache that probably lodges in your back.

“Can you get off of me?” He sits back on his feet, not letting go of your hands yet, before your eyes flutter and you grab him back. Well, brush your fingers over the skin you can reach, pawing at him just enough to tickle. “What’s with you today?” he bites back, and also snatches his hands back to escape the onslaught of feelings that wash over him. You don’t sit up this time, and from the tilt of your head, you’re considering your answer for a while before you speak out.

“Do you like me, Megumi?” Fuck. His room seems to collapse in on itself. Or, maybe it’s his body— because he gets a little more short of breath, and his thoughts short circuit as his mouth stupidly drops open. He’s choked up for long enough that he has to clear his voice to try an answer, and even then, he gets stuck. You’re studying him so closely it must show. The blaring warmth that fills him up and makes his ears bright red. After another second, your eyes seem to dim slightly, as you push your cheek to your shoulder, opening yourself up to even more attacks. “Love y’, ‘gumi.”

+

He straightens up with enough tightness in his chest to choke him, makes his eyes sting and his head blare cold, painful warnings— he grabs some of the glasses from the small table beside him, launches it straight into the wall until it shatters into a million pieces upon impact. The loud clang doesn’t do anything to settle his anger, where he fists his hands into his hair and pulls, in hopes the worry will somehow vanish.

“Why do you always have to be such a hero?” he hisses, even though you can’t answer now, “wouldn’t it have been enough to just stay here with me?!” He tilts your face to his and drops his lips to yours, and that familiar softness is enough to have him clenching his eyes shut again against the tears. He kisses you until your mouth opens a bit, then slides his tongue up against yours and grips your shoulders, pulling your limp body towards him more. “I’ll be better to you.” He pleads. You don’t move, and the breaths going over his cheeks are so shallow.

But he can’t stop himself from tangling your tongue with his, licking into your mouth and chasing the warmth until he runs out of breath. You’re so fucking pretty still. He kisses you again, bumping teeth, and grips your hip hard as he lays over you a little more, chest to chest and feeling it brush against him with each soft pant he lets out, each gravelly moan. It doesn’t hurt so much to brush his tongue against yours, to swallow your taste on his tongue until his lips numb — but while it doesn’t ache, it’s also not enough. Before he’s able to think about the morality of his actions, his thumbs are hooking under your shirt and pushing it up, over your soft belly and ribcage all the way up until it’s over your tits, where his lips travel to as soon as the skin’s exposed. You’re so soft still, too.

He’s not sure what he’s doing other than leaving messy, open mouth kisses onto you, kneading your skin between his hands as all the warmth in his body pools into his groin. Your tits are sucked into his mouth, one then the other, as he rubs his face into the doughy skin, then he’s pulling and pinching at your tits like he knows makes you whimper. The sound’s burned into his working memory, and it drives him on to run his face down your soft body to the part where your thighs meet. The skin just above your skirt of the softest, warmest, and he full on moans when his cock twitches hard in his pants and he reaches down to grab himself.

Normally you’d be blinking up at him now, sending him that little look with grabby hands, ready to wrap your puffy lips around him— it’s different when it’s his hand screwed around himself and not even moving yet. he can’t, or he’ll cum in his pants, and he’s not going to waste his cum like that when your warm pussy’s right before him. He’s shaky when he pushes the fabric up, flipping it over your tummy; and groans again when he licks down your panties and mouths at the seat of it. It tastes so much like you his eyes roll back, and his knees give a little, while more precum leaks out of him and into his pants.

He frees his hands momentarily to slide you to the edge of the metallic table, two hands gripping your butt and squeezing, then hooking his finger in your panties to just pull them aside. He doesn’t care about the chaffing he’ll have. Not even a second thought when your little pussy is in front of him, and he pushes his mouth to you for some open mouthed kisses, down to your pussy and back up. Wrapping his mouth around your clit, he sucks hard, and rubs the bud a few times with his tongue. He swears your breathing goes more pitched and heavier when he does, when his fingers trail down your puffier lips to rub the bit of wetness around.

His cock’s painfully hard in his pants, and after a few more times licking you up and down so that your slick covers the entire bottom half of his face, he pushes the zipper down and then takes himself out to watch how red and sore the head of his cock already is, oozing pre and coating both his boxers and his shaft. He spits into his hand to give himself a few tight-wrung pumps, tighter than he likes normally- if he doesn’t, he’ll spill all over your cute, little pussy. He pushes his fingertips inside your now wetter cunt, watching it wink and beg for something to fill, and groans when one finger slides in with ease.

Your soft walls are still soft and hot around him, giving mean licks over your clit again and again in a way that would normally overstimulate you too easily. You don’t whimper or whine now, take his finger nice and sweet inside your squelching, gooey walls, only making a little noise when he slides in a second and he can feel the slight bit of stretching you need. He’s dripping onto the table now, balls tight and heavy - imagines how you moan and look when you’re sucking on them and you smack your lips with each open mouthed kiss or lick. You between his legs is always enough to have his knees giving, and it’s no different now, he has to hold himself up against you before he thinks better of it.

You’re slid back on the table too easily, making room for him when he pushes one of your legs aside— and let out a slight gasp when he hoists himself over your body. He just wants you. So bad. It’s not so embarrassing when you’re not awake to see how fucking crazy he looks, flushed, cock twitching between his legs as he strains to kiss you again, lick over your tongue for more of your taste, and breathes your name. “Baby, fuck- I need to be inside you.” He wants to hide away in your safety forever. A crystalline, fucked up thought springs up in his mind for just a second, but he banishes that with a few blinks.

Instead he lines himself up over your hot, needy pussy and pushes inside just the head at first, grunting tightly at the softness that envelops him. His whole body shudders as he pushes in deeper, feeling that pit in his stomach expand with each inch that he goes deeper, tangles his fingers with yours when he bottoms out and fills you up so well. You’re curled into his touch, and he kisses you, his thoughts blanking as he pulls back, and snaps his hips back inside you. You’re hot and wet and it feels so fucking good, clenching your hand inside his larger one. It’s not fair. He’s losing his mind, and you’re always the end of him.

His cock rubs against your swollen insides with rough, imprecise strokes — he doesn’t mean to, it’s just that trying to focus on anything other than the heat as he slides in and out of your tight pussy is too much. You’re too much; you’re haunting him even now. He kisses down your face to your neck, sucks on your skin and bites down hard enough to make a serious mark, wanting to hear you cry. Normally, you’d cry out his name so pretty, dig your nails into his back until he’s letting you go and grinding back on his cock, but you can’t do that now. His cockhead bumps your spot each time he fucks himself into you further, but it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough. He wants to be closer to you, and that horrible image that was launched into his head creeps back up before his eyes, bloody and horrible. Maybe he always told himself that he hated you because - no matter how much he fought, he would never be able to stomach actually hurting you as much as it hurts him. But now, withering on top of you as his cock thumps with how much blood rushes south, everything else falls away. He wants to claw and bite and carve his way to your insides and make you pay just a little for his sins. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs pumping blood through his body to his lungs, his gut, his cock.

He pulls out of you to kiss down your tits and over your covered ribs, thumbing over the head of his cock and gliding it over your puffy clit, your wet pussy lips and flicking it just in and out of your drooling cunt— before he puts a sloppy few kisses there too, tongue coated in slick. The blood pumps through his head so hard he feels dizzy, pounding behind his eyes as the heat of your cunt overwhelms him entirely. It’s too hard to stay sane -he’s never felt less sane than now- when you’re laying below him like this, ready to leave him all alone. You wormed your way into his heart when he didn’t want it, and now, now that’s all about to end.

His mouth is dry, but he’s drooling as he grips your thigh and kneads the doughy skin of your tummy— looking so soft and warm and perfectly shaped for him. He wants -needs, needs it, to feel you swallow him, ruin him- to cut you open and eat your insides out with the sick force of what he’s feeling right now— he groans your name again, desperately trying and failing to get it out of his head— the more he tries the better it feels to think it. Despite having his fist around the base of his cock, stings of white shoot over your body as he crumples in on himself and paints you with his cum. He’s still hard though, painfully so, and as soon as he’s done cumming he can already feel the building urge to do it again, trailing his shaking fingers down to your clenching pussy and rubbing your clit until your body starts wiggling back just a little too.

Megumi wants to go, bury this urge down and never think of it again. He really does— but it’s like he’s possessed, drooling over your body and flicking his cock in and out of your pussy without sliding back in. He might’ve had it wrong this whole time, but if this is love - God, he loves you, he loves, loves, loves you so much he’s not ever going to have enough. Can’t ever say goodbye, not when his entire soul’s been bound to yours, has been rotted away into nothing like this. There’s only you, and him; and he can’t get close enough to make this fucking feeling go away.

With black spots swimming over his vision, he’s not sure what he’s doing until he’s knelt on the floor and shards of glass cut his knees open through his pants; he doesn’t feel it - just trembles as he gets one of the larger shards and crawls back to you, right between your plush thighs as he kisses your face over and over until he feels like he’ll be sick. “Forgive me when you wake up, baby.” It doesn’t really sound like him anymore, faint and messy as he ruts his cock against the inside of your thigh and stares at your face for a little longer. He paws at your tummy again, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - he feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in ages - or the fact that all his blood is cleary in his swollen cock, hot and heavy.

He kisses you again, pants against your chest as he watches between your two bodies as one arm keeps him up, and the other drags the shard of glass below your belly button just hard enough to create a little cut. He just- just wants to be a little closer, you’ll let him, you’ll let him- he’s been so fucking mean to you and if he can just do this, he’ll make it up to you. Specks of blood well up that he swipes his thumb through to slide it into his mouth, get used to the taste of copper on his tongue. Sometimes he bites your lip hard enough to split it, and you tear up and whine, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He could cum on the spot when you yank like that, but the taste now isn’t enough. As he pushes the shard of glass into your skin harder, watching one layer make way for another, tougher tissue that still gives when he grids down a little- he waits for the moment where he feels bad, regrets and walks it all back- but the feeling doesn’t come. Your body looks so pretty like this, robbed of your innocence by his hands; and he doesn’t wanna cum yet, fuck. The adrenaline swimming in his head is pounding too hard to feel anything other than love for you, and the pulling, almost unbearable sensation of wanting to slide back into you. The blood pools around the hole as he slides along, hearing the skin squelch and snap, building a sweat along his neck and collar. Maybe you’d lick it up if you were awake.

The blood runs, covers his entire fist that’s wrapped tight around the glass, it creates little rivers that you’ll both be laying in soon. He coughs, before kissing you below your jaw, feeling the weak pulse beneath his lips— and righting himself to look at his work with a better angle, groaning. There’s both more blood and less than he expected, pooling in your belly button, all over your pretty pussy, his thighs and hands- his cock not yet. He drops the glass aside as he thumbs over the wound and sure enough- he’s cut through fat and muscle and sinew without too much struggle, because you’re soft all over.

He pushes the fleshy gash open more, thumbs over the clean cut he made with a strange sort of fascination before the hot, hot blood gets to be too much for his curiosity and he leans in to lick from your clit up, up, up until his tongue reaches the raised, tight skin— what has he done, what’s he doing, this, this isn’t — he can’t stand the heat that’s coming out of you for long, and it smells, but that isn’t what sticks with him right now. He’s never wanted to be closer. The gaping pouch of your belly’s drooling red for him. The head of his cock twitches when he feels the hot of your stomach coating him in blood, and coating you in turn. The cum from before’s all but washed away, but he’s sure he can give you another couple orgasms before he tuckers out.

He’s strung so high all of this feels like a dream, like his head is about to roll off of his neck; he pushes in with a garbled sort of sound that comes from deep, deep inside him. The skin doesn’t wanna give way at first, but he manages to push back hard enough before suddenly he’s inside, and it’s like nothing else. The pressure of a slab of skin taking him where it’s not meant to go— bleeding and whining out like this, it’s euphoric. He’s able to see his cock’s outline glide into you until it’s bulging your stomach, squelching and sucking him back in; feels like you’re taking him deeper than ever, letting him fuck his cock so deep he’ll hit your ribs soon. You’re so fucking beautiful, even like this, getting coated and letting him fuck it.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying, but the peace that washes him entirely clean might be close; he grinds his hips into you hard enough to rock your body under him as he laces your hands again. Both, this time, just chasing after an end that seems like it’ll never come.

He feels infinite. Your blood’s so hot it’s almost painful, and the tightness of the hole he carved into you is entirely different from your pussy, pushing back against him like you’re begging him to get out. He imagines you’d beg so pretty- but he’s inside you, finally inside and deeper than anyone’s ever been. He’s able to watch his cock blow up your belly and make it hollow when he pulls back, and God- he should feel worse than he does. He could swallow you whole if you’d let him. The feeling has him shuddering over you as he pants your name, makes your tits brush over his chest- and his balls smack against the smooth stretch of skin until he can’t feel his feet any longer.

Now he’s got you dirtied, he wants to ruin you too, leave you a mangled mess of flesh and swallow every last bit of you until he never forgets the taste. But that would require he’d stop fucking his hot cock into your bloody, little pouch, and that won’t happen. He’s panting, sweat running down his back from the effort, and his groin starts to feel a little raw too. He might’ve been going for hours by now, licking your mouth clean from his drool only to dirty you again. The head of his cock feels fucked raw inside you, and his thighs shake before his shoulders square over you.

Megumi speeds up his pace fucking into your guts -actually- until he clenches every muscle, is overcome again and reaches heaven inside you, spurting creamy white into the pouch he’s created for himself; “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his hand has to twist into an uncomfortable position to reach for your clit, but he wildly does it anyway— cramping up, until he’s collapsing on top of you and stilling inside. The stench of blood makes the entire room smell, as he thumbs over the side of your blood-coated thigh with one hand, and feels the shaking all the way up and down his spine. He pulls out so slowly, pumping the last bits of cum out with a throaty moan, before he slides off the table onto awfully shaky legs.

If he was any more lucid, he’d think twice before leaning by your side to kiss your eyes, your nose, your pouty lips as the tears that must’ve been building for a while run down your temple— and suppresses the need to actually eat you- for now, he rubs a softer hand over your exposed tummy, before folding the now blood-drenched fabric of your skirt back down to hide your puffy pussy, lest he be tempted again. He whispers his love into your ears, nuzzles at your hairline until the feeling comes back to his hands and feet and he tucks his spent cock back into his boxers, and goes about cleaning the mess he made of the floor.

It’s only when an uncomfortable scratchy sound comes that he notices the burning heat on his neck, the dried sweat painfully sticky— and straightens up beside you when you start to shake again. Immediately his worry is sky high. Even in the gross air of mixed blood and cum and the scent of sex soaking everything, his mind is just clear enough to hold your head when you thrash around a few times, and your chest rises wildly up and down. Then before his very eyes, the damage he’d done upon you slowly starts to stitch itself together, like weaving threads. Lacing you up until every bit of muscle, fat, and skin restores to it’s pristine glory before he ever touched you, with a little puff of cursed energy.

He bites his lip hard when the shaking stops, and your back lands back onto the metal with a soft clang. The noise is louder now it’s quiet in the room. Megumi waits for a bit longer before he brushes the hair from your face, and doesn't mind it that he’s leaving tracks. The darkness is filled with his tense breathing, and then — every sound at once. Your eyes shoot open with a cry, sobbing out like a baby for a few painful seconds. But then spot him thumbing your tears away devoted like he is -though he won’t admit it to you, and you let out a noise of pure relief.

It’s almost poetic, when you crash back into his arms and this time, he lets your arms wind around his waist.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[fatalhoon]

jisung headcanons — random relationship things

warnings | not much, very fluffy! one mention of reader being smaller than him, one swear word, one tiny nsfw mention, g!n overall but reader is described as having hair long enough to tie up/braid and does their makeup

a.n | i need him :((

this cute lil mf i adore him

first of all he’s such a silly little goober

he’s shy so it takes him a while to get used to being completely authentic around you

but eventually he’ll relax when he knows for certain that you love him exactly how he is and he can be himself

he strikes me as the type to do the dumbest little things just so he can hear you laugh

a few examples:

sometimes when you’re kissing, out of nowhere he’ll blow air into your mouth to puff up your cheeks

he never does it during more serious and truly intimate moments (he can read the room)

but when he does it catches you off guard every time and it always sends you into a giggle fit because its just so stupid

you’ll go in to kiss him again but now you think he’s just gonna do it again even if he promises he won’t so you can’t continue without laughing

“i’m not even doing anything!” he pouts

but seeing you so giggly about something he did just makes him so happy (and proud)

if you’re sitting somewhere he’ll come over and just

sit on you

straight up knock the wind out of you and shuffle around, groaning like he can’t get comfortable

and act like he’s completely oblivious to the fact he’s literally using you as a cushion

he’ll pull out his phone and text you like “hey where are you :(“

and he pretends he can’t hear you if you try and talk to him

its already really hard for him to keep a straight face when he does this so all you have to do is tickle him

then he has to acknowledge you

“omg hi i didn’t even see you there!! :))”

in the same vein, he’ll come up to you while you’re standing and just flop his full weight onto you in a hug

if you clock it before it happens you’ll have to adjust your stance or grab onto something so you don’t fall over

but if you don’t then uh. good luck soldier

(just kidding he’ll catch you)

you do the same thing to him but he’s bigger and it doesn’t have the same effect on him

he loves it anyway though, he’ll drop anything he’s doing to wrap an arm around your waist

another thing he likes to do is use your hands to do things for him

like he’ll grab your hands and move them around, so really its still him doing it he’s just using your hands instead

mostly when he’s on his phone or if he’s playing a game

he holds your hand which holds his phone, and grabs your finger to scroll through his feed

or he’ll have you in front of him and gives you the game controller, reaching around you to puppet your hands

if you’re wearing a hoodie he shoves his arms through the sleeves with yours to make it easier

you’re more than likely wearing his hoodie anyway so he says its only fair that you share it

i’m a physical touch jisung truther if you couldn’t tell

he must always be touching you in some capacity

scientists have not proven why yet but the working theory is that jisung is a certified cutie

he just loves being close to you!! so physical affection is the best way to remind himself that you’re here with him :’)

canonically, jisung is a wanderer

he’ll trail around with no real destination in mind

he just has lots of thoughts in his head and likes to walk while he sorts them out

sometimes he’ll hold your hand and make you walk around with him if he’s feeling clingy (which is often)

other times he’ll just let you be

but he always kisses your cheek or your head when he passes by

absolutely the type to cling to you while you’re in the middle of a task and shuffle around the house with you

its just a little hard for him to sit still sometimes

even if he is sitting still, his hands are not

and i reiterate, he likes to be touching you in some way, so more often than not he’ll be playing with your fingers or your hair

jisung is also a canon rambler

mostly to himself

if you’re there he doesn’t expect a reply because really he’s just talking to himself

but if you have an opinion on the topic he’ll always listen

if he’s talking about something and you happen to fall asleep he keeps the conversation going by himself

once you told him that his talking made its way into your dream and you had a full blown rant about aliens with him while you were asleep

it was the cutest thing he’s ever heard

sometimes he’ll be so excited to say something that he’ll cut you off

he doesn’t mean to, it just comes out a little sooner than he means for it to, and he always apologizes

he gets better about that as time goes on

he has a habit of imitating things you say

not in the sense that he’s mocking you, he just likes the way it sounds when you say it so he tries to parrot it

he’ll do that with certain facial expressions you make too

jisung is a curious boy, and he loves to learn everything he can about the people he loves

he watches your favorite movies and shows with you, he takes the time to participate in your hobbies, he lets you take him to all of your favorite places

so he can get a glimpse into the aspects of your life that make you happy

his favorite thing though is watching you play your favorite video games

if you’re gaming he insists that you sit on his lap or between his legs so he can wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on your shoulder

he’s a little bit of a backseat gamer but you don’t really mind

its a bit annoying when he nags you about continuously losing a fight or dying on the same level (you know he means well)

but you love the input he gives on more slice of life type games, like decorating your animal crossing island or farming your crops in stardew valley

he did however just about have a heart attack when you showed him how many ways you knew how to kill a sim

co op games are one of his favorite ways to spend time with you as well

especially if one or both of you are absolutely shit at it (which if we’re being honest is like 95% of the time)

overcooked, however, is dangerous territory

too many soups burned

anyway, his curiosity doesn’t stop at just your hobbies and interests

even mundane things like daily habits and routines are things that jisung wants to know all about

along the way he’s picked up on such small things that you barely remember ever mentioning them

all of your preferences are filed away in his head

whenever you’re doing something like your hair or makeup or skincare, he’ll sit with you and ask what every aspect of it is or does

eventually he’ll ask if you can teach him how to do them for you

it definitely required a little.. practice

but no one is perfect the first time they try something new!!

(you had to tell him that, even he didn’t let you leave the house the first time he did your makeup)

he gets better though, especially doing your hair!

to the point that he got tired of doing simple ponytails and braids and took it upon himself to research new hairstyles to teach himself

you found it very endearing :’)

jisung loves to shower together

less in a sexual way (though he isn’t opposed) and more because it feels so intimate and domestic to him

and he adores when you wash his hair for him

feeling you gently massaging in the shampoo and scratching at his scalp is probably his favorite feeling in the whole world

in conclusion

jisung would be so sweet and clingy i love him to death :((

[springtyme]

Maybe something with Steve x f!reader where she is a bit inexperienced and insecure when it comes to dating ad steve askes her out but she is oblivous and thinks it's just as freinds but steve really likes her

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 ♡

Steve Harrington x reader || Main masterlist || Steve playlist

summary: If anyone had told your high school self that in a few years you would become friends with Steve Harrington, you would never have believed them, but here you are.

word count: 4.1k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟗) 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

The crisp autumn air wraps around you like a cozy blanket as you step out of your house, one hand clutching your purse while the other fiddles nervously with the hem of your sweater. Tonight is the annual Hawkins fall festival, and you are beyond excited, you’ve always loved this time of year and Halloween is just around the corner. You’re especially excited because Steve asked you if the two of you should go together, which, if you had been told this a few years back, you would never have believed. 

Back then, Steve Harrington was the quintessential popular kid: the cocky, charming, handsome, jock,  always surrounded by a group of friends, the king of cool himself. He was all the things that you were not. You were the quiet girl, the one who blended into the background, often lost in books or daydreams. You had admired him from a distance, never once as much as imagined that he’d ever as much as acknowledge your existence. 

But people change. Steve has transformed over the years, shedding his old persona for something deeper, something more substantial. You have become friends after you started working full time at family video with him this summer. It was awkward at first; the memories of your high school days still lingered in the back of your mind. But as the weeks passed, you found a rhythm together. Steve’s charm was still there, but now it was complemented by kindness and genuine interest in those around him. He was no longer just the popular kid; he was just Steve—and you happen to really like this Steve. 

Sometimes you think that he might feel the same way about you. There are those moments when his gaze linger a little too long, or when he will lean in a little closer than needed to laugh at something silly you said. He seems to always remember the little things—your favorite candy, the books you love, how you like your coffee—there’s a comfortable warmth that has built between you, something that simultaneously feels completely normal and natural yet so confusing. 

You don’t know what to make of it all, all you know is the butterflies in your stomach are practically doing the cha-cha everytime he looks at you, which makes you feel silly, you’re not his type, but the feeling is undeniable. 

You take a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs, and step outside fully. Steve is standing by his car, a warm smile lighting up his face as he catches sight of you. His hair is slightly tousled by the wind, and he’s wearing that dark green sweatshirt you mentioned under his jacket that you had mentioned you liked a few weeks ago.

“Hey,” he calls out, a smile spreading on his face as he sees you, his eyes sparkling in the golden light of the last sun of the day that illuminates the street. 

“Hey!” you call back, trying to match his energy as you walk towards him. You notice the way his gaze flickers from your face to your outfit—a simple but cute sweater and jeans—but also the way you feel inexplicably warm inside, even as a light breeze rustles the leaves around you.

“You look great,” he compliments, his smile growing wider as he opens the car door for you. You slip inside, fighting back the blush creeping up your cheeks. “I’m really glad that you said yes to come with me, I really wasn’t sure if you would say yes.”

You nod, excitement bubbling in your chest. “Of course. This is going to be fun.”

Steve smiles at your words, a soft one that makes your heart flutter even more. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he admits, starting the engine with a low roar.

The drive to the festival passes quickly, filled with casual chatter and laughter, though you can’t help but feel like there is a slight tension in the air between you. The festival lights twinkle in the distance as you park, and your heart races at the sight of all the attractions—the hay bales, the pumpkins, and the Ferris wheel glowing in the twilight.

As you step out of the car, Steve reaches to grab your hand, a brief but electric moment that makes your pulse quicken. It surprises you, and you, more on instinct than thought, do a little jolt of surprise as you feel his warmth enveloping your fingers. Your action seems to startle him as well. He quickly lets go, and you both look at each other, your cheeks heating as if you’ve both just felt the thrill of a secret.

“Uh, how about we start with the ferris wheel?” he suggests, trying to mask his own awkwardness as you move towards the ticket booth, the festive air filled with laughter and the scent of caramel apples.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” you reply, your voice a little shaky as you try to regain your composure. You keep your eyes on the colorful lights strung above, using them as a distraction from the fluttering in your stomach. Friends hold hands, especially in crowded areas, it’s completely normal, but you have just made it weird. 

You purchase your tickets, and while waiting in line, you sneak glances at him, noticing how the festival lights cast a warm glow on his features.

As you stand in line to the ride, the excited energy of the festival surrounds you, yet the moment feels isolated within its own bubble. The cheerful screams from the rides seem distant as you steal another sideways glance at Steve. His brow is furrowed slightly in concentration as he watches the ferris wheel turn, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s trying to keep himself grounded amidst the bubbling awkwardness that seems to linger between you.

“Do you… um, like ferris wheels?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, breaking the comfortable silence while trying to affirm the choice of ride.

You chuckle lightly, appreciative of the effort he’s making to fill the space with conversation. “I think they’re great. It’s nice to see everything from up high, even though I’m a little afraid of heights.” The confession spills from your lips before you can second-guess it.

“Uh oh,” he grins, his tension visibly dissipating as a laugh escapes him. “Guess I’m gonna have to protect you from the edge then.”

“Right,” you reply, your heart racing a little faster. There’s something so comforting in his charm, so disarming in the way he manages to make you laugh while also feeling slightly vulnerable.

There’s only a few more people ahead, you can hear the laughter and excited shrieks of those already atop the ferris wheel, and your heart flutters nervously. The excitement of the ride combines with the nervous energy between you and Steve, creating a concoction of emotions that feels exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Finally, your turn arrives, and you step into the little cabin of the ferris wheel, Steve following behind you. The moment the door closes, you feel an immediate sense of closeness. You both sit on the bench as the ride begins its slow ascent.

A gentle breeze wafts through the cabin as you start climbing higher. The view below spreads out like a beautiful tapestry—people laughing, lights twinkling in the cool night air, and the pumpkin patch glowing in the distance. For a moment, despite that familiar feeling of fear that jolts through your stomach and chest from the height, you’re moved by the beauty of it all.

But just as quickly, the magic of the moment shifts, and you become acutely aware of Steve next to you. The cabin sways slightly, and instinctively, you lean in closer to him, hoping to steady yourself. Your shoulder brushes against his, and the side of your thighs presses against each other, and suddenly, there’s an electric charge in the air again. 

Steve seems to notice, too; his breath hitches slightly, and he glances at you, his brown eyes searching yours for a brief moment before darting away, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. The world outside the ferris wheel becomes a distant memory, the vibrant festival lights melting into a blurred backdrop as the two of you share this intimate space.

“How’re you holding up?” he asks, attempting to calm you with that signature Steve Harrington smile. It’s warm and inviting, and you can’t help but return it, hoping it conveys the mix of excitement and anxiety brewing within you.

“Honestly?” you start, biting your lip slightly as you consider whether to admit the truth. “I’m a little scared, but being up here with you helps.” You hope your honesty doesn’t make things awkward again.

“I’m always available whenever you need to ride a ferris wheel,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, but both of you can sense the shift. His arm brushes against yours, and you can feel his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your sweater.

“What would I do without a friend like you,” you reply. You really are grateful to have him in your life, you’ve never been the girl with the most friends and most of the ones you have moved away from Hawkins after high school, but in this moment you can’t help but wish that you and Steve could be more than that. Your gaze drifts down again, watching the world spin beneath you, so you don’t see how his face falls slightly from your words. 

The air between you thickens with unspoken words, the gentle rocking of the ferris wheel almost amplifying the silence. You focus on the lights below, momentarily getting lost in the vibrant colors and sounds of laughter, but your mind drifts back to Steve. Thoughts of his warmth against your skin make your heart race even faster.

“Hey,” he begins, his voice slightly hesitant, forcing your attention back to him. “I was thinking about…um, going to the hayride after this. It’ll be fun, right?” He’s trying to recapture the lightness of the moment, but there’s a different edge to his tone, almost insecurity.

“Sure,” you reply, maybe a bit too fast, wanting to seem interested in his idea and hopefully get the vibe between you back on track.

He smiles at your enthusiasm, but it’s a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he turns his gaze back to the ground below, watching the festival swirling around. The brief flicker of uncertainty in his expression doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter even more wildly.

Once the ride ends and you both exit the cabin, the festival feels even more alive, filled with laughter, screams, and the smell of fried food wafting through the air.

The lights twinkle like the stars above, casting a gentle glow over everything, but the feeling of electric tension still lingers. Forcing a smile, you look over at Steve, hoping to read his expression. He’s glancing slightly shyly at you, scrunching his hands in his pockets again—a telltale sign of nerves.

“Let’s head to the pretzel stand first,” you suggest, wanting to ease the awkwardness. The buttery, salty scent of the pretzels wafts through the air, beckoning you. Plus, you could use a little snack to settle the butterflies.

“Yeah… great idea,” he says, looking towards you, but you break the eye contact too quickly, feeling an odd mix of courage and shyness wash over you. As you walk together, the distance between you feels both far and impossibly close. 

When you approach the stand, the line is relatively short, which is a relief. You’re both quiet as you wait in line. You order two warm, buttery pretzels, and as the vendor hands them over, Steve pays, insisting it’s his treat. You protest, arguing that you could cover your half, but he brushes you off with a simple, “no, no, I got it. I was the one who asked you out, remember?” 

You know that he didn’t mean it like that, but a small warmth spreads in your chest at the thought of this being more than just a friendly outing. You quickly push the thought aside as he hands you your pretzel, mumbling a, “thanks,” without looking him in the eyes. You know that you’re being dumb, you just wish that you could keep your feelings in check, but he looks too good in the sparkling lights, his eyes twinkling in a way that almost hurts. 

There is something about being here with him that feels so bittersweet. It’s easier to just not look at him. You take a bite of your pretzel, the salty goodness grounding you in the moment, and glance around at the festival, trying to focus on the lively atmosphere rather than the tension curling in your stomach.

 You keep eating in silence and you keep focusing on the surroundings of the fair around you, looking anywhere but at Steve besides you. You glance at the spin-the-wheel booth nearby, where a group of kids cheer excitedly as one of them wins a stuffed animal. You can’t help but envy their carefree joy and excitement. You don’t know why you have to find everything so difficult as you stand here with Steve, who was once so far out of reach.

It’s not like you want to ignore him, but suddenly you just don’t know what to say or how to act around him. Growing up, you’ve never been the one people chose, and the idea of going to a fair with a boy who you like and who is as sweet to you as Steve is overwhelming, one of those things you have romanticized, and now that you’re actually here, in a way that is so close to that teenager fantasy you had, but still not in the way you had dreamed of—with someone who just sees you as a friend and colleague.

“Are you alright?” Steve’s voice breaks through your thoughts, the hint of concern in his tone making you look up. He’s studying you closely, his brow slightly furrowed and that adorable furrow in his forehead deepening as he watches you. “You’ve been a bit quiet since the ferris wheel. Was this like… a bad idea?”

“I’m fine!” you assure him a bit too quickly, and you wince at how defensive it ends up sounding. 

“Okay…” he replies, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. It stings more than it should because you know he cares, and that makes it even harder to explain what’s going on inside your head.

You continue to walk in silence for a moment, the vibrant sounds of the festival contrasting with the uncertainty hanging in the air between you. Your heart feels heavy, torn between the joy of being with him and the fear of ruining the one precious relationship you currently have. With each step, a battle rages in your mind, and the taste of the pretzel suddenly feels stale.

“Ready for the hayride?” Steve finally asks after you’ve finished your pretzels, breaking the awkward stretch of silence that had settled between you.

“Yeah, sure,” you respond, trying to sound chill and casual, but you’re afraid it comes out sounding more like indifference. 

When you reach the hayride area, you find a rustic wooden wagon decked out with hay bales and pulled by a tractor, its engine humming softly. The laughter of children playing nearby fills your ears, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the world has been lifted. You both hop onto the wagon, taking a seat on a hay bale amid a group of families and friends, and once again, you feel the familiar warmth of Steve beside you.

The tractor lurches forward, and you cling to the edge of your bale as the wagon bounces along the dirt path, the chill of the autumn air mingling with the warmth radiating from Steve. He adjusts his position slightly, leaning closer as the wagon sways, and the subtle change sends your heart racing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice as the ride jostles you both slightly.

“Yeah, I’m fine—just enjoying the view,” you reply, your gaze fixed on the canopy of stars beginning to twinkle above, but your heart is still tuned to him. 

He chuckles softly, but it is a sound that feels somewhat insecure. “I mean, it’s a nice view, but… I would kind of hope you would look at me every now and then.”

Caught off guard, you turn your head to meet his gaze. There’s something in his expression—vulnerability mixed with that boyish charm—that feels disarmingly sincere.

“I’m sorry if I have read things wrong, or if you felt like you had to say yes to this because I asked you,” he continues, the usual lightness in his voice replaced with an honest sincerity that makes your heart race. “We can just forget that this was ever supposed to be a date and just hang out as friends if that's what you’d prefer.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you fades into a blur. The sound of the tractor and the laughter of kids playing in the distance become muffled as all your focus shifts to him. ‘This was supposed to be a date…’ Did he really just say that?  

Your heart races in your chest, both from the weight of his words and the vulnerability etched in his expression. You’ve always thought you could keep your feelings hidden, but now, watching him wrestle with his own insecurities, you can’t bear the thought of losing what you’ve built together over these past months.

Your breath hitches, disbelief coursing through you. “This is a date?” It feels surreal, and your mind races to catch up with your heart.

“Yeah,” he affirms, his gaze steady and sincere, each word punctuated by the thrum of your pulse. The admission hangs in the air, heavy and exhilarating.

“Oh,” you manage to breathe out, the weight of his words settling in like the leaves falling around you. Your cheeks flush, warmth flooding your entire face as you try to process what this means.

Steve seems to realize the misunderstanding, his facedeepens with a mix of hope and anxiety. “I mean, if you want it to be…” He shifts slightly, clearly feeling exposed, but the earnest look in his eyes anchors you to the moment.

You can hardly believe this, the butterflies in your stomach now performing a whole concert rather than just a cha-cha. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…” you stammer, trying to find the right words while your heart races like it’s in a sprint. “I thought we were just… hanging out as friends.”

His expression shifts slightly, a blend of relief and a hint of hurt flickering across his features.

“Shit, I should have made it clearer when I asked you out. I was pretty nervous… It’s totally okay, if you don’t feel the same, but I really hoped we could be… more than just friends. I really like you, you know?” The determination in his voice swells with sincerity, and your breath catches again, this time for an entirely different reason. His honesty floods the air around you, and for a moment, everything seems to fade—the laughter, the stars overhead, the gentle bumps of the wagon.

You can hardly process the whirlwind of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave. “You... really like me?” The surprise in your voice is undeniable. You had convinced yourself that the interest was one-sided, a figment of your imagination conjured by the butterflies and the lingering glances.

“Yeah, I do,” he reiterates, an earnest smile breaking through his initial unease. “I didn’t want to rush anything, but spending time with you these past months has been so much fun. Back in high school I always thought you seemed so smart and cool and you know… really pretty. But I didn’t think you would be into a dumb jock like me.” His voice carries a hint of vulnerability, making you melt a little more for him.

Your heart swells at his confession, and the rush of emotions leaves you momentarily speechless. “I thought you weren’t into girls like me,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, vulnerability seeping into your words.

“Girls like you?” he echoes, eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. “That’s just not true. You’re incredible. You’re smart, funny, and you’re not afraid to be yourself.” The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver down your spine, filling the gaps left by all the self-doubt that had crept in over the years.

“I… I like you too, Steve,” you admit softly, your heart pounding against your ribcage as the truth finally escapes. The world around you falls away, the crackling of the hay under your knees and the sounds from the festival merging into a blurry background.

He smiles at you, that same breathtaking smile that had made your heart race all summer long. “Really? I mean, wow. I was worried I might have stepped over the line, putting us in some weird situation,” he admits, relief washing over his features.

You shake your head, a joyful laugh bubbling up. “You could never make things weird. I just didn’t realize you felt that way. I always thought I was just... you know, the quiet girl with the crush.”

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that feels like your own secret shared between the two of you. “Well, turns out we’ve both been a bit clueless, huh?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up as you realize how amusing this whole situation is. “Seems like it,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “I never thought you even noticed me.”

“Trust me, I noticed,” he responds, the intensity of his gaze making your stomach flip. “We can take this slow, just enjoy the night, but I want you to know that I would love to be more than just friends.”

His eyes search yours for reassurance, and at that moment, amidst the laughter and lights of the festival, the world around you shifts into clarity. You both breathe deeply, holding onto this newfound connection as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

With the stars twinkling above, the tractor bumps along the path, and you can’t help but lean a little closer, feeling bolder in the warmth of his confession. “Okay,” you finally respond, your heart fluttering at the thought of all that could come next. “I mean, I’d like that.”

Steve beams, a boyish grin spreading across his face. As the tractor lumbers along, the bright lights of the festival twinkling in the distance. And then, without thinking much at all, you lean in, drawn by some instinctive need to close the distance between you. Your heart beats wildly, anticipation hanging thick in the air as you catch the scent of the autumn breeze mixed with the sweetness of caramel apples and the warmth of hay all around you. Time seems to slow as he meets you halfway, and in a heartbeat, your lips brush against his in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s sweet, electrifying, a spark that ignites every nerve ending in your body.

You hold your breath, momentarily surprised by how right it feels—like fitting the last piece of a puzzle you didn’t even know was missing. When you pull back slightly, the look in his eyes is pure wonder, the fluttering tension replaced by something warmer and deeper. 

“Wow,” he breathes, a soft laugh escaping his lips as if he can hardly believe it just happened. The smile on his face is electric, and your heart swoops at the sight of it. “That was—”

“Really nice,” you finish for him, you still feel the imprint of his lips against yours. It surprises you how natural it felt, how right—as if you had been waiting for this moment without even knowing it.

“Definitely,” he nods, his smile only getting wider as the reality of what just happened sinks in.

You chuckle lightly, your heart still racing as the aftershocks of the kiss continue to pulse through you. You lean your shoulder against his. Steve’s arm finds its way around you, pulling you a little closer, and you feel safe, excited, and thankful that tonight is unfolding in a way you never dared hope.

The wagon lurches forward again, providing a firm reminder of the bustling festival around you. You both settle into a comfortable silence, your shoulders brushing against one another, and it feels like you’re creating your own little world away from everything.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ♡

[ladyofthebookcase]

i need to yap about cultural nudity in nine sols NOW. context for new followers is that i watched kill la kill this summer and really enjoyed it and the commentary it made on nudity and the desexualization of the naked body. not sure how i want to structure this so i'll just kind of block it out based on the three main characters that are relevant to this. also when i say "the text" i mean the game of nine sols as a piece of media, like how english majors would refer to the book or movie they're studying. im not an english major but i could be.

goumang: my initial reaction to seeing her was to be like "huh she's not wearing any pants that's weird", followed by "well that's probably normal for solarians, they're cat people after all so it's probably less of a big deal in their culture" and then i just didn't care about it for like the rest of the game until i replayed it and got to her again and went "oh that's right, no one else has their pussy out like that. i guess that's just a goumang thing?" and, while i think it IS probably just a goumang thing to some extent (see the post about her being pussy out because of furgonomics basically/it's comfortable for her bird legs), an interesting thing to note here is yi's complete lack of reaction to it. goumang doesn't interact with any other characters in this outfit (the jiangshi don't count cus they can say like 2 words ok), and it could be argued that yi simply has bigger priorities/is not into women, but i do think it's notable nonetheless that literally zero acknowledgement is made to the fact that goumang is just walking around pussy out. not even non-diagetic elements interact with that at all; she's never censored in her manga cutscenes or posed in a way that either hides or exposes her. what this means is that her nudity isn't really treated like nudity. the text completely ignores it! now, we also know from a dev comment that solarians are matriarchal, which i think definitely ties into the different treatment of goumang and jiequan in this regard (i.e. why he's censored and she's not, from an in-world perspective, probably is similar to the way "women's" chests are censored in our world, although non-diagetically we know why he's censored lmao.)

jiequan: ok hmm. i'm no jiegolar, so i'm open to input on this one, but the element here i find significant is that jiequan is seen interacting with another person (aside from yi) while being naked. the fact that ji is hidden behind a screen is most likely just to obscure their identity (specifically his tall form) from the viewer, since they don't seem to have a problem also going around essentially pussy out the entire game; this is to say, it's not because jiequan is naked. i will say that the jiequan naked scenes have quite a different Vibe than the goumang and lady e scenes (no seriouesly why is that one cutscene so sexually charged help) but i think it's reasonable to chalk that up to 1) jiequan is a freak and 2) he's obsessed with yi so that changes the overall vibe of their interactions as opposed to, say, goumang. yeah i don't really know what i'm saying on this topic i don't have enough jiequan brainrot experience for this really. it does kind of give the vibe of like an emperor chilling in the nude in his palace and he's allowed to do that because he's the emperor though.

hm. yeah let's move onto something i've thought a bit more about.

lady ethereal: now THIS is really interesting to me for a few reasons, the first of which being that yeah, she's hot, and the game treats her as such! and yet at the same time it doesn't oversexualise her, or portray her as attractive at the expense of her personality. in fact, once again yi makes zero acknowledgement of her nudity-- his focus is on her, and that something strange is happening to her. yi also shows no discomfort or shame about entering the hot spring-- there's no "wait, you want me to get naked?!?!?!" moment that some media might have had, and i think that's really good not only because im a sucker for different cultural and hypothetical-cultural interpretations of nonsexual nudity, but also because a moment like that would have been cheesy and annoying and made the scene less serious. the focus of that scene ISN'T that the hot lynx woman is hot, it's that there is something mentally wrong with the hot lynx woman. the fact that these scenes take place at a hot spring without the text ever interacting with the nudity of the characters is to me a really strong argument for the idea that nudity is fairly normal and definitely not inherently sexual for solarians. the idea that it is inherently sexual is a very historically recent and western thing anyway and maybe i just haven't consumed enough media where it's not portrayed that way but i found this portrayal really refreshing ESPECIALLY WHEN ITS WOMEN ok this isn't even in a gay way i literally don't care about bodies like that. i dont having sex. i just think it's really really refreshing and nice for women to be, like, able to have these kind of scenes and character moments without the text reducing the entire scene to "ohh look boobies lol". without them being censored or hypersexualised or made into a joke. rips off shirt to reveal a tattoo on my bare chest that says "I FEEL STRONGLY ABOUT AFAB BODIES BEING TREATED LIKE THEY'RE INHERENTLY SEXUAL AND THE STRONG EMOTION I FEEL ABOUT THIS IS THAT IT FUCKING SUCKS". thank you for reading my essay.

[stayteezdreams]

More Or Less Than Friends

Plot: You and Seungmin aren't quite friends, but you're not not friends. Feelings neither of you are sure about linger under the surface. Everything changes one night when you fall asleep at his apartment.

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x Gn!Reader

A/n: Prologue and Continuation of this scenario post. Section involving reader falling asleep in dorm is a slightly edited/extended version of the Scenario post drabble. A/n #2: I haaate how this ended but my brain decided to give up on me when I was almost done lol. I hope you like it anyways!

Requested By: Anon; I also just wanted to write it as well.

Warnings: Nothing I can think of :)

Words: 4,382

You had been Felix's friend for a few years before you met the others. It didn't take long before you became great friends with all of them, often spending time with them.

Well, most of them.

For some reason, unbeknownst to you, you and Seungmin never grew very close.

You could have conversations, and hang out, but never alone. It wasn't on purpose, there was just always someone else there. And it's not like he made you uncomfortable, it was the opposite actually.

You felt comfortable around him, you thought he was funny, cute and kind. He even made jokes with or about you sometimes, and it never felt rude. As if it was a gently way of getting closer to you. Though the distance never seemed to lessen between you.

After some deep thought, you were fairly sure you had a crush on him, or at least you would if you knew more about him. You wanted to be closer to him, but could never find the right moments. The two of you were never alone together, and even if you ended up beside each other, you never gave the other all of your attention. Through nerves or awkwardness you weren't really sure.

You didn't feel as though you had the right to call him a friend, and calling him and acquaintance seemed too cold. So, he was just Seungmin, the guy who had a place in your heart you couldn't quite understand.

Seungmin, though never showing it, felt exactly the same about you.

Ever since you became friends with everyone, he felt drawn to you, but always remained distant. Your presence almost comforted him, and he enjoyed seeing you. But he never showed it, barely even ever acknowledging you other than brief conversation or jokes, and he wasn't sure why.

Was he shy around you? Maybe. Did something about you make him uncomfortable? No, that's not it. He was comfortable around you, more so than he showed. He liked you. But he wasn't sure in what way.

There were times he would purposefully sit beside you, or walk near you, hoping maybe something would naturally bring you together after that. But any time the two of you almost started talking, or getting to know one another, something got in the middle. As if it wasn't meant to be.

Seungmin didn't understand what you were to him, but he wanted to figure it out.

So, he started to pay a bit more attention to you, focusing on the things you mentioned you liked and disliked. The more he did, the more he realized you two had in common. How had he not known you had the same favorite music, and shows, and books? Similar hobbies, or thoughts on the world. With every new fact he learned, the more he realized you were practically the different side of the same coin.

Was this why you never got close, yet were always comfortable around each other? You were akin to one another in more ways than he expected, was this why everyone said opposites attract? The more similar you are the more distance existed between you?

No matter how much Seungmin thought about it, the less it made sense. In his mind, he felt the two of you should be friends, maybe even best-friends, or more, yet you were....nothing? Not friends, not strangers, not even acquaintances really. You were an enigma in his life, that he truly wanted to figure out.

On days like this, what you wanted was to smile and laugh. So, you often made use of your friends for a distraction.

Your legs were heavy with the exhaustion of the day as you walked down the hall towards the boys apartments.

Knocking on Felix's apartment, you waited, but heard no answer. Pouting you pulled out your phone and texted Felix asking if he was home. Leaning against the wall, you let out a soft sigh after a few minutes. Trying the other apartment next door, and also receiving no reply you stood in the hall for a minute wondering what to do. The last thing you wanted was to head back to your own apartment. Your roommate was the last person you wanted to see.

You had no issues with each other, but she was overwhelming, especially on days like today. When nothing seemed to work out or make sense and all you wanted was to relax.

Rummaging through your bag you pulled out the spare key Felix had given you. You hesitated to go in, wondering if it might annoy them. I mean, they all said you could have it, even Seungmin gave a nod of agreement when Felix offered the key. You were at their apartments more often than not anymore anyways.

Sending the group chat a message warning them you were there, you made your way inside. You called out to see if there was indeed no one home. The apartment was silent and you made your way to the couch.

Flipping on the television you laid your head back and stared up at the ceiling. The day running through your mind again, only causing your heart to race with annoyance and stress all over again.

Groaning you looked around the apartment. Why did they all have to be gone today of all days?

Your eyes caught on a blanket on the edge of the couch. You recognized it as Seungmin's. Gently grabbing it and pulling it to you, you found yourself bringing it to your face. It smelled like Seungmin, a scent you had picked up on whenever he walked past, or sat beside you. As your heart fluttered you came back to your senses, looking around the apartment as if you might get caught. Your face was hot as you gently ran your hands over the soft fabric.

Lying down on the couch, and pulling the blanket over you. you stared at the television, not really watching, just zoning out. Having to wake up a few hours early to go to work today, your exhaustion was palpable. Slowly, you began drifting to sleep, forgetting you were trying to wait up for the boys.

When Seungmin came back from practice, the last thing he was expecting when he walked into the apartment was a guest.

His eyes landed on your familiar pair of shoes and he rose his brow in surprise, his heart palpitating. He knew he was the first one home as the others had more things to do at the studio before heading home as well.

You came and went as you please, and though Seungmin sometimes made comments as if it annoyed him, or making fun of the fact you basically live here to the others. He always liked when you were around, especially more so recently as his fondness and desire to know you grew.

Walking into the apartment, his eyes found you immediately. Seungmin seemed to forget how to breath as he saw your slumbering figure on the couch. As he watched you in silence, he was unaware of the fond smile that stretched across his face.

Softly and quietly, Seungmin set his stuff down before walking over to you. Kneeling down in front of the couch he noticed his blanket draped over your legs and his heart skipped a beat. Grabbing it, he gently adjusted the blanket so it covered more of you.

As he stared at you, he wondered why you came to the apartment when it was empty, and he couldn't help but worry something bad had happened. Wondering if the others knew you were here, he pulled out his phone, noticing a few texts to the group chat. Opening it, he saw your messages from almost an hour ago.

He felt guilty that you went unnoticed and received no replies. The way you spoke in the group chat was slightly off, making him assume he was correct. Something did happen.

Looking back at your slumbering face he let out a soft sigh. In moments like this, where Seungmin was looking at you, often when you didn't realize it, he always felt that same sense of regret. He regretted never getting closer to you.

He couldn't even call himself your friend without doubting it. But he desperately wanted to be more than whatever he was to you.

He really did admire you, he liked your presence, and your company. But he didn't acknowledge it enough. And he often wondered now, what things would be like between you if he did.

Would there be a chance to be more?

Seungmin sat on the floor by the couch for a while, keeping you company even if you weren't aware of his presence.

Suddenly hearing the sound of the others at the end of the building hall, Seungmin felt a sense of panic. He didn't want their loud voices and to wake you.

Without really thinking, he found himself scooping you gently into his arms and carrying you to his room.

Setting you down on his bed, you mumbled a bit as you readjusted. He stared at you with wide eyes for a moment before he let out a soft sigh, glad you had not fully woken.

Quickly going back out and grabbing your things from the living room as the others were unlocking the door, he escaped to his room before they entered.

Why was he being so secretive about your presence? They would eventually see your texts and wonder where you were, right? All he had to say is you were sleeping and tell them to be quiet.

Looking at you once more, now cuddling up to one of his pillows, he admitted to himself it was selfish. A selfish need to be the only one to see you like this.

As the apartment quieted down, the others escaping to their rooms, Seungmin gently settled on the bed beside you, sitting up against the headboard as he scrolled on his phone. Every once and a while he would steal a glance at you, checking to see if you were still asleep.

Eventually some of the others replied to your messages, asking when you went home. Seungmin wasn't sure if he should tell them you were asleep in his room or not. Should he just wait? Leaning his head back against the headboard as he thought about it, he fell victim to sleep before he knew it.

When you finally found yourself waking, you were confused to find yourself in a bed. Looking around in confusion, your heart jolted as you saw Seungmin beside you. His head leaned to the side as he slept.

Looking around again, you realized you were in Seungmin's room. You had never been in here before, but it was easy to see it was his, even if he wasn't beside you.

Why would he bring you in here? Had the others come back, was that why? So you didn't get woken up?

Your heart raced at the thoughts passing through your mind. Looking back over at him, you admired his sleeping face as butterflies swirled through your stomach.

Deciding he must be uncomfortable, you gently shook his shoulder, causing him to wake up. As his eyes met yours he sat upright, suddenly nervous. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, nor had he thought far enough ahead to know what to say when you woke up.

"Ah, you're awake."

You nodded as you sat up, "Did you bring me in here?"

Seungmin swallowed nervously as he nodded. "You seemed to be pretty tired and when the others came back I didn't want them to wake you."

You smiled at him and his heart flipped.

"Thank you."

"Did something happen today?"

Your heart skipped at the question. Was it obvious? You bit your lips lightly and nodded as you picked at the blanket still draped over you, "Long day."

He nodded softly, watching you. As you noticed how dark it appeared outside you sat up. "Oh... I should probably go, it looks like its pretty late."

Seungmin realized you were right, you had both slept until after sunset. He shook his head softly, speaking before really thinking.

"Its too late, you should just stay the night."

You stared at him for a second as your heart raced. "Stay...here?" He nodded silently. You added on shyly, "Would that....be okay?"

He nodded again before clearing his throat softly. "I wouldn't feel right letting you go home this late by yourself."

After a moments contemplation, you nodded. "If you're okay with it, I am."

He replied quickly, almost too quickly. "I am."

"Do you want me to sleep on the floor?"

He let out a soft laugh, "No, just stay there. The bed's big enough."

The air was a little tense as the two of you settled back into the bed. You were hyper-aware of how close Seungmin was now, you were back to back, but still close. And as nervous as this made you, you still felt yourself giving into sleep again.

Seungmin's heart was beating unevenly as he lied still beside you. He was filled with a mixture of giddiness, anxiety and disbelief. How had you gone to distant friends of sorts, to sleeping in the same bed?

The silence hung in the air until you both drifted to sleep. Both of you feeling that something had changed between you suddenly. You weren't sure what yet, but you were excited to find out.

As the soft morning light peaked through the windows, you kept your eyes closed as you embraced the comfort around you. Recalling where you were, your heart raced a little as you slowly opened your eyes.

Your heart jolted as you realized you and Seungmin were now facing each other, faces only a few inches apart. His hand was gently gripped your sleeve, as if he wanted to keep you close.

You swallowed nervously as you stared at him. You had the overwhelming desire to trace your fingers along his face as he slumbered peacefully. You took a few minutes to admire him, noticing every mark and spot on his features you hadn't before.

After some time, you realized how it might seem if the others woke up and you were here. That might not be a conversation Seungmin would want to have to deal with. Plus, would things be awkward between you if he woke up and found himself latching onto you?

Slowly, and gently, you pried your sleeve from his grip and climbed out of his bed. As he moved and mumbled a few times you froze, fearing he would wake up and find you practically straddling him as you tried to get out of the bed.

Finally managing to get out of the bed without waking him, you grabbed a sticky note and pen off of is desk and wrote on it, before sticking it to the pillow beside Seungmin.

You didn't want to linger in case things got awkward, but you did want him to know how grateful you were of his kindness. Sparing one more glance at him, your heart fluttered as you grabbed your things and silently left the apartment. As you left, you knew Seungmin was going to occupy your thoughts a lot more now.

Seungmin stretched as he woke up, before he suddenly remembered your presence. His eyes shot open as he looked beside him, seeing just an empty bed. Sitting up, he felt a sense of disappointment at your absence, before his eyes spotted the sticky note.

Picking it up, he read it over a few times, a small smile growing on his face.

'I wasn't sure if I should stay or not, but I didn't want things to be awkward with the others if they saw me here still. Thank you for letting me stay and being so nice to me, after the day I had I appreciated it more than you know. I'll see you later Seungmin. - Y/n'

Looking back to wear you had been laying, he recalled waking in the middle of the night to find you facing him, the moonlight from outside illuminating you in an almost ethereal light. He couldn't stop himself from gently tracing your features with his fingers, barely brushing your skin as not to wake you. He watched you for some time, before eventually falling asleep again.

Lying back down with a sigh, he pulled the blanket you had been using over him, your scent filling his nose as he did. Pulling it closer, he inhaled the scent and felt butterflies in his stomach.

He understood now, he did have feelings for you. You weren't friends, perhaps because the feeling that had gone unnoticed stopped him. But he wanted to be closer to you now, to explore the possiblities of what you could be.

Reading over your note again he decided he would do better, do more to get closer to you.

Before you knew what to say to the others, Felix had texted you asking if you were doing alright. Seungmin had told them that you had fallen asleep at their apartment, and that he let you sleep in his room so you were disturbed by the others.

You could tell he had not told them you stayed the night, or that he had carried you to his room himself. Things you wondered if he kept a secret to spare you from possible teasing, or if he wanted it just between the two of you.

The next time you saw Seungmin was when you were invited over to their place for game-night a few days later. When you arrived, Seungmin answered the door. And instead of his usual soft smile in greeting, he grinned at you, taking your bag from you as you slipped off your shoes.

His behavior towards you was more open and bright, and obvious to not just you, but the others. He asked you if you wanted a drink, before leaving to get you one before you could even answer. You looked over and saw the guys watching in amusement as they looked at you with a questioning gaze.

You shrugged your shoulders, as your heart fluttered, wondering if he really did feel the change between you that night like you had. Maybe you hadn't imagined it at all.

Throughout the night, you and the others were confused, yet intrigued by Seungmin's behavior towards you. He sat beside you, talking to you more often and open than he ever had. He brought you food and offered you a blanket, his blanket, when he thought you might get cold.

When he went to the bathroom Han turned towards you and began interrogating you. "Are you guys dating?"

"What?" You asked startled, "No!"

"I think he wants to though." Hyunjin added with a smirk making you throw a piece of popcorn at him.

Your eyes met Felix's and he smiled brightly before he leaned closer and spoke to you, "I always thought he had a crush on you and now I know he does."

You shush them before you sat back on the couch, ignoring their teasing gazes as Seungmin came back into the room. As he sat beside you, he grabbed the blanket on you and moved to cover himself as well, covered the two of you at the same time, side by side. Your heart jolted as butterflies filled your stomach.

When it came time for you to go home, you felt nervous as Seungmin lingered by the door as you slid on your shoes. You had said goodbye to the others and grabbed your bag. Seeing Seungmin slip on his jacket you rose your brow in question. Was he going out?

He met your eyes. "I'm gonna walk you home." His tone came out as though it was obvious what he was going to do.

"O-oh, okay." You smiled, your chest fluttering anxiously.

The two of you were silent until you walked out of the apartment and made your way down the familiar street you walked dozens of times.

Seungmin inhaled the cool breeze as he walked beside you, his arm almost brushing yours as he kept very little distance between the two of you.

"Thank you for walking me home. You didn't have too, but I appreciate it." You said softly and Seungmin nodded with a smile.

"I don't have too, but I want too." He said softly, his tone almost shy.

Your eyes met for a moment before you both quickly looked away. Silence lingered between you for a few moments as you saw Seungmin steal a few quick glances at you.

Slowly, you started talking, awkward small talk turning into casual comfortable conversation. Your steps slowed as you got closer, absent-mindedly wanting your walk to last as long as you could make it.

When you finally reached your apartment, you turned to Seungmin with a kind smile. "Thanks again for walking me home. Be careful on your way back."

He nodded with a smile, "I will."

As you started to turn and walk away Seungmin quickly spoke up. "Wait!"

Turning back to him he swallowed nervously as he fidgeted. "I was wondering if you were free tomorrow."

Your heart jolted as you bit the inside of your lip and nodded. "I am."

"Its smoothie day." He noted on and you realized what he meant.

Once every other week you and a few of the others would go get smoothies at a shop you all fell in love with a couple years ago.

Seungmin rarely went, so it was a pleasant surprise he was going this time. But underneath that, there was a mild disappointment. For a moment, you thought he may be asking you on a date.

You felt a soft disappointment in your chest as you nodded, "Right! I almost forgot" You chuckled softly. "I'll be there."

He nodded "Good." As he took a a few steps back, he motioned for you to head inside as he smiled, "Goodnight."

You smiled and waved softly in return, "Goodnight Seungmin."

As you headed inside, you felt an odd mixture of emotion. Excitement, bewilderment, bashfulness, all of it making you finally truly acknowledge something you had only allowed yourself momentary thoughts of. You definitely, had feelings for Seungmin.

You hoped the others wouldn't notice or point out how you seemed to dress up a little bit more today. You accepted your feelings for Seungmin had grown, though you weren't sure what to do about it.

Though his changed behavior towards you made you think he felt the same, you still feared maybe he had just finally accepted you as a friend. So you didn't want to get your hopes up too much.

As you approached the familiar smoothie spot, your phone buzzed. Reading the message from Felix you furrowed your brow in confusion.

'Enjoy your smoothies ;)'

'Okay, so Felix isn't coming, but what's with the winky face?' You wondered as you headed inside.

Looking around, your heart fluttered as you spotted Seungmin waiting nearby at a table. Looking around more, you saw none of the others, and suddenly realized what Felix's text meant. Did they all stand you up so you'd be alone together?

Swallowing nervously you walked over to him, your stomach filling with butterflies.

Looking up, Seungmin smiled before standing up quickly and pulling a chair out for you.

You smiled in thanks as you sat down. "No one else is coming?" You asked casually, trying not to show your nervousness.

Seungmin sat down and shook his head, appearing a bit nervous as well. "I actually asked them not to come."

"Oh?" Your heart jolted as your eyes widened a bit.

He met your eyes and smiled softly, obviously nervous now. "I kind of hoped we could make this a date...if you're okay with that."

You were silent for a brief moment as you processed what he said. unable to resist smiling you nodded, "I'm okay with it."

Seungmin studied you for a second before he grinned, relief washing over him. "Good. I- I really wanted to get closer to you, I mean I have for a while, but since...since that night you fell asleep at the apartment, I uh- I feel like..." He struggled to get out what he wanted to say as he let out a soft breath.

"Something changed?"

He met your eyes, a bit startled that you understood what he was trying to say. He nodded mutely and you smiled, "I felt it too."

You smiled softly at each other for a moment before you let out a soft chuckle. "It's kind of weird right?"

He chucked as he ran his hands nervously over his legs and nodded. "Yeah. I've never really knew where we stood."

You nodded, "Right? I wasn't sure if we were friends or what, but..."

"But?"

You tried to search for the right words, "But, I always felt comfortable around you, and wanted to be friends we just never seemed to get there."

He nodded in agreement. "That's how I felt too."

You both chuckled as you both understood you had more in common than you thought.

Seungmin started, slowly. "I think... I've been attracted to you since we met. I just didn't recognize it completely. And that stopped me from really getting closer to you even though I wanted too. But that night, I finally realized just how much I want to be around you."

Your heart was pounding as he spoke, your neck and face warm. "So now, we're...what?"

He thought for a second before chuckled, "I don't really know how to label it."

You resisted giggling as you hummed, "We don't have to label anything yet, but I do like where we are headed."

He nodded slowly, "Me too."

Slowly moving his chair closer to you, he cautiously moved his hands to intertwine with yours.

"So how about we start here? We are more or less than friends, with intentions to be more."

Your eyes moved from your intertwined hands to his eyes as you smiled brightly. "How poetic." You giggled, "I like it."

He squeezed your hand softly as he grinned at you, finally relieved knowing where he wanted to go with you, and how to start.

xx End xx

General Taglist:

@otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669, @tinyelfperson,

@pinievsev, @teenyfinds, @everythingboutkpop, @shymexican, @stillwjk-channie-lixie @LuckyPainterTyphoon (cannot tag; have you confirmed your email yet?)

Stray Kids Taglist:

 @laylasbunbunny, @skz1-4-3, @prettymiye0n, @thunderous-wolf, @thedistractedwriter,

@briqnne, @dinossaurz, @staytiny2000, @msauthor, @vnessalau,

@dancinglikebutterflywings, @3rachasninja

Seungmin Taglist:

@hongjoongsprincess

-Taglist Form-

[multifandomfix]

Silence Speaks Volumes — Cersei Lannister

Summary: You’ve been quiet for as long as Cersei has known you. The other maids gossip about you. Cersei wants to get to the bottom of what keeps you so silent.

Word Count: 1,265

Warnings: Slight angst

Cersei Lannister had known you for what felt like a lifetime, yet she couldn’t remember the first time you crossed her path. It didn’t matter, really. What did matter was how you had remained a quiet, elusive figure in her castle. You were a maid, just one among many, but there was something about you that intrigued her. Something she couldn’t quite place, nor could the other maids. They whispered behind your back, calling you the “mute” as if that title alone could explain your silence.

She often heard them gossiping in the halls, their voices full of curiosity and disdain, but she never paid them much mind. Cersei wasn’t interested in the gossip of common women. But you…you were different. Even in the midst of their idle chatter, you always remained stoic and unmoved, your lips barely parting for the briefest words when required, your eyes only ever meeting the ground as you went about your work.

There was something about that quiet that gnawed at her, something compelling. It was as if you were hiding something, something from the world, from her. It wasn’t just a simple shyness or a preference for silence; no, it was something deeper. And Cersei wanted to know what it was.

It took her a while, but she eventually found a way to get closer to you. You worked usually just out of sight from the rest of the servants, far from prying eyes. And so, Cersei found herself wandering the Red Keep more often in search of you, her eyes scanning every room until they found you. When she found you, you were always the same, eyes lowered as you worked silently, never speaking to anyone unless absolutely necessary.

It was subtle at first. Cersei would linger for a few moments, watching you, observing your movements as you went about your chores. At times, she would offer small pleasantries, casual words that never seemed to elicit any response. And yet, you never ignored her. You never appeared startled by her presence. Instead, you merely acknowledged her with a brief nod or a soft glance before returning to your work.

She couldn’t help but notice that you never flinched when she spoke to you, never showed any fear of her, though many did. Your indifference, your calmness, intrigued her more than anything else. Most of the women in King’s Landing feared her, even admired her to some degree, but you seemed almost entirely unfazed by her presence.

One evening, when the light of the setting sun filtered through the tall windows, painting the room in hues of gold and amber, Cersei made her move. You were in the kitchen, kneading dough at the counter, the soft thud of your hands on the flour covered surface the only sound in the room. You didn’t notice her standing there until she spoke, her voice low and commanding.

“Why do you never speak?”

It wasn’t an accusation, nor was it meant to be a challenge. She simply wanted to understand. She knew you weren’t deaf, and you weren’t mute. You had spoken to the other servants when necessary. Yet, when it came to her, you remained silent, a stone wall of quietness.

You paused for a moment, hands still, as if considering her question. You didn’t look up, didn’t meet her gaze. And yet, she could feel your discomfort rising, the briefest flicker of something behind your eyes before it was gone again. Cersei waited, her gaze unwavering, watching you, studying you with a patience that surprised even herself.

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft and barely audible. “I don’t have anything worth saying.”

Your words were simple, but they carried a weight, a vulnerability that Cersei hadn’t expected. You weren’t a mute; you simply chose silence because you didn’t think your words mattered. Cersei felt a strange tug in her chest. It was a feeling she didn’t often allow herself to acknowledge.

She took a step closer, her heels clicking sharply on the stone floor, a sound that seemed to resonate in the otherwise quiet room.

“That’s not true,” Cersei said, her tone more tender than she intended. “Everyone has something worth saying.” It was a true enough statement, even if it were the case that she didn’t much care for many things that were said by others, they still held a certain kind of importance to them.

You finally looked up at her, your eyes briefly meeting hers before dropping again, a silent apology in your gaze. Cersei couldn’t help but notice how your lips trembled, as if you were on the verge of saying more. But you didn’t. Instead, you returned to your dough, as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just chipped away at the wall you’d built around yourself.

Cersei watched you for a moment longer before turning to leave, but then, she stopped herself. She couldn’t walk away just yet. She was too close now, and something within her urged her to push further, to know the full truth of your silence.

“I don’t believe you,” she said quietly, not wishing to frighten you, to scare you off from ever uttering a word again, at least not until she heard what she wanted from you. “You may not speak much, but that doesn’t mean you have nothing of value to say.”

You flinched slightly, and for the briefest moment, Cersei saw something in your eyes, something raw, something untamed. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced with the same guarded expression you always wore. You continued working, but Cersei could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy between the two of you.

“I…I don’t want to trouble anyone,” you whispered, so quietly she barely heard the words. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

Cersei’s heart stilled at the faint sadness in your voice. Something inside her shifted. She was accustomed to people hiding their emotions, but this felt different. This felt like something she could understand, something that resonated with her own unspoken pain.

She stepped closer to you, her hand gently resting on your arm. “You’re not troubling anyone, not me. If you want to speak, you can.”

For the first time in a long while, you met her gaze, your eyes wide, and in them, Cersei saw something she hadn’t expected. There was a softness there, an openness that had been buried beneath layers of silence and restraint.

And then, before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out.

“I…I care for you,” you whispered, your voice shaking with the weight of the confession. “I’ve always cared for you.”

The silence that followed felt deafening. You froze, your hands trembling as you realized what you had just said. Cersei, too, stood still, her heart thundering in her chest, but for reasons she couldn’t understand. She had expected many things, but not this. Never this.

Your face flushed a deep red, and you immediately lowered your gaze, ashamed of your confession. But Cersei didn’t look away. She didn’t retreat.

Instead, she gently cupped your chin, tilting your face so that your eyes met hers once more. There was something different in her gaze now, something softer.

“You need not be ashamed,” she murmured, her voice low and sincere. “You are not the only one who has hidden feelings.”

In that moment, with those words, you realized that your silence had held far more than just words. It had held everything you had been too afraid to speak aloud. And for the first time, Cersei Lannister listened.

For @luv-tegan-07

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Cersei Lannister: @riveranddoctorsong123, @yreat, @hc-geralt-23, @floresferae, @geekyandgay98, @lady-darkswan3, @abitchnamedtia, @witchthewriter, @lannister-apologist

[alwayssassydreamer]

Lost and Found

A/N: thanks for the request Ann "kid story, reader and kid did run into each other a few times and there's always some tension but they never admitted it and then they lost track of each other until one day they met again, nsfw and gn!reader" sorry it took so long and i hope you like it

Warnings: nsfwish, sex implied, sexual tension, MDNI

Characters: Kid x GnReader

The first time you met Kid, it was nothing special. He was just another brash, loud pirate—impossible to ignore, but not exactly someone you’d seek out either. Yet, from that first encounter, there had been something undeniable between you. Something electric, a pull neither of you acknowledged. At first, you’d chalk it up to mere tension, the kind of animosity that flares when two people constantly clash. You spent months crossing paths, barely exchanging more than a few words, yet every time you did, it was as if the room got hotter. Your gazes lingered a moment too long, your hearts raced for reasons neither of you would admit. But still, nothing ever came of it.

And eventually, life swept you in different directions, as life tends to do.

Years passed. And Kid—Eustass Kid—became nothing more than a name in the back of your mind. The fiery, reckless pirate you couldn't quite forget, but whom you never expected to see again. Until one day, by chance, your paths crossed once more.

You hadn't planned on seeing him, of course. In fact, you had no idea what he’d been up to in all this time. But there he was, just as you remembered. The same fiery red hair, the same cocky posture, the same smirk that seemed to dare the world to challenge him.

Except this time, the air between you felt different. It was charged, heavy with things left unsaid and years of unspoken tension that had only built with time.

You tried to ignore it but his presence was magnetic. And when his eyes met yours, that old, familiar spark flared again. The last time you had seen him, you had almost convinced yourself the pull between you was just your imagination. But now, it felt real, like a flame reigniting in the pit of your stomach.

Kid studied you, his gaze sharp, calculating. The kind of look he reserved for those few things he took seriously. It lingered a moment longer than necessary before he approached you, his steps measured but with that confident swagger.

"Didn’t think I'd run into you again," he said, his voice rough, like it always was, but there was an edge to it now. Something unspoken.

You met his eyes, your breath catching. "I didn’t expect to see you either."

There it was again—the heat between you. That tension, that push and pull. He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his body radiating against yours, the faint scent of metal, oil and something sharper underneath. You shifted, uncertain of how to react, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. He had that effect on you.

“You still the same, huh?” Kid’s voice dropped lower, his eyes scanning your face, lingering on the subtle changes time had brought. His gaze softened for the briefest second before that cocky smirk returned.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was strained. "Yeah, you haven’t changed either."

It was then that the silence fell between you, thick with everything that had been left unsaid in those years. There was no more pretense of avoiding it. That pull between you had never really faded—it had just waited, simmering beneath the surface, and now it was undeniable.

“Remember the last time we saw each other?” he asked, his voice low, leaning just a bit closer. You couldn’t help the small shiver that ran down your spine, his proximity almost too much to bear. Your chest tightened, memories of the last time you had crossed paths swirling in your mind.

You nodded, your mouth dry, trying to control the flutter of nerves rising in your stomach. “Yeah, I remember.”

There had been an intensity that night—though nothing had happened. You could still recall the way his gaze lingered on you, the way the world seemed to pause in the brief moments when your eyes met, the heat simmering just below the surface. Nothing more than stolen glances, a few teasing words, but the energy had been palpable. Neither of you had acted on it. Until now.

A few beats passed, neither of you speaking, until Kid broke the silence with that same low, dangerous tone. “I don’t think I can keep ignoring this,” he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes never left yours, dark and intent, like a storm ready to break.

And before you could even respond, he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. You could feel his breath on your face now, just inches away, your heart pounding in your chest. Your lips parted slightly, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat.

He saw the hesitation, the subtle shift in your expression, but he didn’t pull back. Instead, his hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your skin.

"Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it," he whispered, his voice a filled with temptation. “I know I have.”

Your breath hitched. The moment you had been denying for so long, the one you had pushed to the back of your mind, was finally here.

"You keep biting that lip," Kid murmured, leaning forward slightly, his voice a low growl. "Are you nervous, or are you hiding something?"

You froze, meeting his eyes, and for a second, you could’ve sworn you saw the dangerous edge of desire in them. "I don’t know what you mean," you replied, your voice far steadier than you felt.

But as you stared back at him, you realized that your act was slipping. He was too perceptive, too sure of himself, too close. And that damn look on his face told you he knew exactly what was going on inside your head. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

The air around you felt suffocating. "You're a hell of a liar, but I can see right through you," he said, his hand brushing the edge of your arm. You could feel the heat of his skin, and your breath hitched again.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak, but you could feel the desire in the pit of your stomach. Every inch of you wanted to give in, wanted to finally break the silence that had been building between you for far too long. The tension between you both was unbearable, and your resolve crumbled, just a little bit.

The fantasies played out like a film—his hands on your body, his lips trailing hotly down your neck, the heat of his touch spreading through you. The way his powerful form would feel pressed against yours, skin to skin. You swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away, but they only lingered, burning at the back of your mind.

His fingers grazed your jaw, and you nearly lost it. "I bet you’re imagining all kinds of things right now," he continued, voice low, dangerous. "If you could read my mind... you'd know exactly how badly I want you."

Without thinking, you closed the distance, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was all heat and hunger. It was everything you had both been holding back for years. The world faded away, the space between you collapsing as the kiss deepened, both of you needing, wanting—no longer willing to pretend.

Kid’s hands slid down your sides, pulling you against him, and you didn’t fight it. The years of silence, of distance, of pretending nothing was there—all of it came rushing forward in a flood of passion.

As his hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you there, you felt the shift. This wasn’t a passing moment. This was the beginning of something neither of you had ever been ready to face—until now.

His lips parted from yours for a split second, his breath ragged. “You still want this?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

You didn’t hesitate. “More than you know.”

And with that, Kid’s smirk returned, a dangerous, confident grin that sent another shiver down your spine. Without another word, he took control, his hands moving to undress you slowly, each motion deliberate, teasing. The tension between you built to an almost unbearable point, and you realized then—this was no longer a game of hesitation.

Kid’s eyes darkened as he slowly undressed you, his movements deliberate, controlled, but with an underlying hunger that made your skin prickle in anticipation. Each piece of clothing that came off felt like a weight lifting from your chest, exposing the raw desire you had both been burying for so long. His hands were firm, gentle in a way that only made the anticipation more unbearable.

His lips trailed down your neck, pressing against your skin with a teasing slowness that had your breath catching in your throat. You could feel his heart beating erratically against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. You had wanted this, wanted him, for so long that now that you were here, now that the moment was finally happening, you could hardly breathe.

You pulled him closer, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kissed him fiercely, letting go of all the restraint you had held onto. It was no longer about playing games, no longer about pretending you didn’t feel the connection between you. It was raw, it was real, and it was more intense than either of you had ever expected.

His lips moved from your mouth to your collarbone, kissing and biting his way down your skin. The sensation was electrifying, every touch sending shockwaves of desire through your body. You arched into him, pressing yourself closer as his hands traced the curves of your body, familiar but different now in the way he touched you—more possessive, more urgent.

When he reached the sensitive skin beneath your ear, you gasped, the feeling overwhelming. Kid paused, his breath warm against your skin as he pulled back slightly, his face inches from yours. His eyes flickered with something darker, something that made your heart race.

“I’ve wanted this for so damn long,” he muttered, voice rough with desire. “And I know you have, too.”

You nodded without hesitation, your lips trembling as you finally gave in to the craving you’d fought against for so long. “I have,” you whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

And with that, Kid didn’t hold back any longer as he slid his vest off. His lips crashed against yours again, harder this time, more desperate, as if he was trying to make up for lost time. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you against him as your bodies pressed together, skin on skin, hearts pounding in perfect sync.

You lost track of everything—the past, the future, the reason you had ever been apart in the first place. All that mattered was the way he touched you, the way he kissed you, the way his name felt like a prayer on your lips as you finally let go of all the tension.

When Kid’s hands began unbuckling his pants, you gasped, the heat between you unbearable. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and there was no more hesitation, no more games. The hunger in his gaze matched your own, and without another word, he pressed you back onto the bed.

You were barely aware of the world around you as he moved over you, his body caging you in, his weight deliciously heavy. The only thing that mattered was the fire burning between you both, the way his hands roamed over your skin, igniting a wildfire of sensations that you couldn’t control. He kissed you again, fiercely, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his hands slipped between your bodies, pulling you even closer.

The sensations were dizzying. His mouth, his hands, his body—all of it was overwhelming. You didn’t know where you ended and he began anymore. The boundaries between you had dissolved, and all that remained was the pulsing need for each other, for the connection you’d both been denying for so long.

When his lips found their way down your neck again, your hands clung to him desperately, your breath coming in uneven gasps. You knew you couldn’t hold out much longer. The tension was unbearable, and Kid seemed to know exactly how to push you to the edge, every touch a carefully calculated move that made your body tremble with want.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he muttered, his voice low and rough in your ear. His fingers found the edge of your underwear, tugging them off with a quiet intensity that made your heart skip. “Been wanting to do this for too damn long.”

You moaned softly, your chest rising and falling with each breath. “Then stop holding back,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, full of urgency. “Take me.”

Your words made him smirk cockily before his lips met yours in a kiss that was fierce, hungry, and deep, as if he was marking you—claiming you in the way you both had craved for so long. His body pressed against yours, and with a single, powerful movement, you felt the heat of him fill you completely.

You gasped, your body arching into his as he took you with a desperate urgency. The world blurred into a haze of sensation, the only thing real was the way he moved against you, the way you both fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle finally finding their place.

Every thrust, every movement, brought you closer to the edge, the tension between you growing tighter, hotter. Kid’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless cry, and he responded with a low growl, pushing himself deeper, faster, the intensity building until it felt like you might burst from the pressure.

You were both losing control, consumed by the moment, by the need, by everything you had been holding back. And as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you both came together in a shattering wave of release.

For a long moment, you lay together, breathless and tangled in each other’s arms. Kid’s face was buried in your neck, his body heavy on top of yours, but neither of you cared. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

“I’m not letting you go again,” Kid muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. "You’ve had me from the start.”

You smiled softly, your fingers threading through his hair. "Good," you whispered. "Because I wasn't planning on letting you go again"

[moon-ayyye]

OMG i am so happy to see your response and I just finally got down to sitting again I cant believe I forgot my other headcanons or elaborations I'd like to touch up on so forgive my word vomit again

Jason is so "I don't know why the Hive (all-caste) chose me but it did. and I think it always had. It's song (the blades) is very loud and beautiful I am so very afraid." coded to me I don't know what to say.

1.) In my own universe, I like to merge both Lost Days and RHATO backstories together to explain him having all the the skills he does. I have to mention two things for context for this headcanon:

a.) Jason spends lots of time away and alone, being tutored by other people around the world, all sponsored by Talia. She does not want him to be the curse that Ra's warned him to be, and she wants him to be the bright boy she knows he can be instead of having lost everything in his ressurection. She takes the hands off approach, opting to let him figure things out himself and not getting involved with stuff unless he personally asks or if its too big to handle alone (she has her own helpers deployed here and there to keep an eye to make sure he's alive, but otherwise contact is minimal. It's for his own sake, and she figures he does not want to be put under the spotlight and tracked down the way Bruce does for all his loved ones). For the most part, calls are not common unless between training and that's okay for the both of them.

b.) The All Caste exists somewhere like a pocket dimension of sorts that does not exist on earth itself. As a result, time does not move the same way in their own world as it does for earth. What could be a century in that dimension could be an hour on earth. There is no proper estimate, as everything flunctuates, but generally it can be said that time runs much slower on earth than in that other dimension

Aka my headcanon is that at some point between tutors, Jason, somehow, someway, slips through the cracks of dimensions and finds himself with the All-Caste. I believe its canon that he said that the training was so brutal he wishes he had died, or something to that effect. I do not think for a moment the training he received was something that could be achieved within months or a few years. He was there for what genuinely felt like an eternity, and perhaps he was. It took more than a few measly years or so to forge that boy's soul into a weapon, to teach him how to summon the blades but also how to effectively use it, how to not be overcome by it, and how to hide it away so the blades, and by extension, Jason would not be exploited. Jason probably, nearly go insane at the prospect of never being able to go back home, to not just put his revenge into motion but to be able to see Bruce and reach gotham at all (and he missed talia too, and wondered if she is looking. he does not give himself hope).

And when everything was over, and he had been at the end of his training, he wakes up in a forest, the same spot in the same forest he was in before he slipped through the cracks of space and time. He finds a missed call from talia, 3 days ago. He swipes it and calls her back, and she is relieved, yet peeved of his lack of response. He gets coordinates to the nearest airport, and a plane ticket. everything immediately disappears into exasperation and mild anxiety, knowing he's going to get chewed out by talia for worrying her. and its he's been fed a sedative to numb everything and cut out the source of suffering.

(The All-Caste made sure if they wanted him to succeed, they had to be wary of his mortal constraints. They've seen the results of not acknowledging such short life spans and how it would wither away at any promising protege. So they had to, for lack of better word, tinker a little at his brain, here and there. Nothing that would fuck with him too much, at least not his mortal body and brain, really (but his soul is a different story), but if they want a weapon to live long, they have to take care of the sheath too. he also. compartmentalized everything really hard to not think about everything. So whereas he does have the memory of his training, its not kept in his brain, its detached and its more a part of his soul, and the all blades more than anything, and as a result he can look at it all detachedly without his brain melting down)

2.) YOU MENTIONING HIM HAVING NON HUMAN FEATURES/BEHAVIOURS MY BELOVED!!! I like to think that when Jason uses the power of the the all blades or the all caste, whereas Essence's eyes are entirely black, no whites to be seen, I like to think that Jason's pupils expand until all the pretty teal in his eyes are swallowed up by black. In the same way that pupils expanding have a purpose (letting in sunlight) i think this too should also have a purpose: mainly to be able to better perceive magical things that he usually tries his best to hide away from. I think over time, or after his mortal death, he'll have eyes that are much more like essence's, but for now its a terrifying black hole amidst a white background. i just think it would be neat, for someone to look him in the eye and understand what it means to see something that is, for once, NOT the Jason Todd they know.

(something something i want to elaborate on how The boy that died and the boy that came back are not seen as the same person even when they are. Jason is still the same boy, just experienced circumstances that have changed him radically. He did not suddenly come back wrong or is different from the boy that everybody knew and like to, in their head's, keep separate. They say he's not the same but when you take in the sight of All Blade's wielder, the last few living mortals of the All-Caste, you realize that *this* is what is means to come back different. Robin II and Red Hood are the same person. Jason Todd and the one who's soul has been permanently altered to be a weapon in the grand scheme of things, are not. And the Bats realize that when they stare at a black hole and it stares back at them)

3.) Talking again about weird body modifications in general, I think Jason, despite the contrary, runs cold. He's a corpse, he's come back *wrong*, and I think despite there being multiple dead bats and birds, the fundamental difference between all of them is that nobody has ever reached the final stage of decomposition and come back from that. Coming back from decomposition does a lot of fucked up things to you and that involved you being more corpse-like. He's cold, and he's very pale, and when its particularly cold his lips are a haunting(ly pretty) shade of maroon, almost verging on a bluish purple if you look hard enough or you are close enough for you to get punched in the throat. He constantly has warm clothes on, like his leather jacket and heavy duty armor under his kevlar zip up even in the summer and he's just fine with it for a reason. He enjoys warmth, and his body seeks it out badly, to the point where the palms of his hands have slight burns on them from how he's put his hands directly into the fire to feel warm (he did it, once, in front of Dick's fireplace, forgetting about the other's presence until dick had to pull him back with thinly veiled horror, and then it was dead silent as Dick patched up Jason's hands and quietly mentioned he'd have to take a few days off physical labor for the injury to heal. They don't talk about it ever again, but Dick starts to keep his room a bit warmer when he knows Jason will visit.)

(Also, it makes everybody who knew Jason before he died a little bit squeamish to look at Jason for too long. Jaybin was pale but grew a soft, healthier tan that made him look so full of life. It makes the change so much more worse to look at)

4.) cursed Gotham is canon and real idc, especially lady Gotham. I think shes jaded and toxic and is representative of Gotham's despairing nature. I think she looks down at Jason (or up, ion think she going to heaven if that's even possible) and she looks at all he is, and she, in the most affectionate way she can muster, is like "I'm going to put that Beast into Situations". he eventually deals with more and more magical bullshit shenanigans and has nearly died a few times again and that's her doing. She does not let him die though, the last time he came back, he left her clutches and got stained with magic that is not hers. So she would rather have him to herself as long as she can, which is contingent on him being alive.

5.) Jason can see and hear spirits. He's learned to "block out" (read: dissociate until it doesn't feel real) his ability to see them for the most part, but when he concentrates, he sees and hears phantoms. It's helpful that him being alive means they're translucent and barely visible to him and he goes on with his life. Except sometimes something cursed happens and the magical part of him doesn't let him ignore it, and he is forced to see them clearly, like people and not smoke. Sometimes they're in a death echo. Sometimes they're weeping or screaming at nothing in particular. Sometimes they stare at him and try to process his presence the same way he tries to process theirs. Very rarely, there is something' is tugging on his sleeve and wailing him to look back or get his attention. he tries not to look. Not much scares him but this truly unnerves him, especially when he has to act normal because he's in the company of someone else.

6.) i think he should have a cool visual effect like ghostrider in which when he holds the blades, and the blade his held up near his face, the flames create a visual in which the person looking at Jay sees his skull.

wow this was so fucking long i got lost in the sauce and lost the plot. this was the true word vomit more than anything else, but I'd like to hear your thoughts and you own headcanons too omg!!!

Honestly rn I don't think I have anything else to add. You genuinely might be my favourite anon. Consider writing fics or posting this shit on your own blog, this is gold